The Abbey

Western Aberdeen

The Scottish Highlands

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DEAREST DERMOT,

A chair is a piece of furniture—designed long before the time of the pharaohs—for sitting. Kindly make a note of this information, since it is particularly relevant when the aforenamed furniture is located in my work room.

You may retrieve the pile of books, journals, paper and (apparently) associated miscellaneous paraphernalia at your leisure. The items are currently located in the pig sty where Little Dermot (who, as you know, is hardly little any longer) is no doubt perusing the material with great interest.

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DEAREST MILLIE,

Vile slander! I must proclaim my blamelessness in the strongest terms! One must recall that I was shockingly distracted. Allow me to clarify. After wandering unknowingly into a lovely young woman’s office this morning, I was seduced! You read that correctly, m’lady . . . seduced! She was not to be either rebuffed or denied.

What else was a man to do with the armful of work materials he was carrying but to put them down on the nearest chair?

P.S. Is it possible the aforementioned young lady retained a pocket watch that may have dropped from my coat as it was being stripped from the body?

P.P.S. For all his qualities, I don’t believe Little Dermot has ever learned to tell time.

P.P.P.S. Never mind, I just found the timepiece in my waistcoat pocket.

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DEAREST DERMOT,

Since we are proclaiming innocence, I must declare that seduction was hardly my intention. Not at first. The elderberry stain on your shirt from breakfast was too much for my nature—which, as you know—is inclined to correct disorder and chaos wherever I find it.

P.S. I’m overjoyed that you have found your watch. That was an anniversary gift and needs to be treasured.

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DEAREST MILLIE,

Catastrophe! I need you! I just spilled my coffee on my trousers. The mess is indescribable!

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DEAREST DERMOT,

Come at once!

P.S. Come at once!

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THE NOTE WAS NOT DRY on the paper before the door burst open and slammed shut behind him.

Millie met him in the middle of her work room, impatiently undoing the buttons of his trousers. Dermot’s hands were all over her, and she laughed as he fumbled with her skirts. She pushed at his coat, and he tugged at her dress even as he was kicking off his shoes.

“We have a bedroom,” he reminded her.

“It’s midday. Everyone will know.”

Losing his balance when she yanked his waistcoat open, he staggered back against her writing desk. He started to fall, and Millie reached out for him. He grabbed for her. The tearing sound of his shoulder seam stopped them only for an instant.

“Hurry,” she exclaimed. “We don’t have much time.”

“I’m certain you’re mistaken, my love. It’s nowhere near time for—”

The two of them froze, hearing the knock on the door. Dermot let out a frustrated breath. Millie hushed him into silence.

“Just a moment,” she called out.

A flurry of activity ensued. Buttons were refastened haphazardly. Dermot had only one arm in his waistcoat before Millie was driving his coat onto his other arm. As she tried to smooth her dress, he was crawling on his hands and knees under her table looking for one of his shoes. When she hissed at him to hurry, he reversed direction and banged his head before overturning a chair. On his feet again, they looked at each other and tried to stop laughing. Wonderful disaster.

A moment later, their clothes had been reasonably straightened. Trouser bulges had been subdued. Hair had been smoothed down as much as possible.

Tucking in an errant tendril of hair behind her ear, Millie took a breath and tried to look serious. She nodded at Dermot, and he opened the door.

Two small boys—five and seven years old—stood waiting in the corridor. The older lad was reasonably clean, but the younger was not.

“Mother, he’s testing my patience today.”

Though the younger one could dirty his clothes walking from the drawing room to the Great Hall, today he was filthier than usual. And from the smell, she knew exactly were he’d been.

“I was just making him comfortable,” he argued.

“Who were you making comfortable, dear?”

“The pig,” the older lad shouted, tugging at the rope in his hand.

Joining them a second later was a pig, the size of a small pony, grinning at her.

“He had Little Dermot in my bed.”

“He has a cold,” the younger one said, appealing to his father. “He couldn’t sleep in the pens, could he?”

As the children continued to argue, Millie exchanged a look with Dermot. Their two sons.

“Whatever am I going to do with you?”

“Baths, to begin with,” Dermot suggested.

“Can Little Dermot take a bath with us too?”

Millie smiled at the snort of disgust from her older son. She was the happiest woman in the Highlands.