“You’re meeting his parents!!?” Katie grabbed Colin’s shoulders so hard, he feared he’d have bruises. “The Marquess and Marchioness of Kirkross?”

“Aye, tomorrow night.” He still couldn’t believe it himself. But every moment this week seemed unreal.

Having finished the day’s canvass, he and Katie moved through Glasgow’s George Square, where hundreds of people were milling about, their Scottish Saltire flags and Yes banners waving in the brisk wind. It wasn’t an official rally, just like-minded people coming together to share this feeling of jittery hope. Most were near his age, but there were older people as well, including parents with children, who played tag among the fenced-off monuments or danced to the guitarist and bongo players camped out on the grassy area to their left.

“This is amazing!” Katie twirled around, arms extended, looking more like a winsome hippie than a fearsome fullback. “I’m so lucky to be here to witness history.”

“We’ve not won yet,” Colin pointed out, though with a week and a day until the referendum vote, the Yes side had all the momentum.

“Win or lose, this is epic.” She pulled out her phone. “And definitely selfie-worthy.”

They joined one of the Saltire-waving crowds, then posed together in front of the flag. Colin screwed up his face, making rock horns with one hand and holding up his Yes Scotland sign with the other.

Katie took the picture, then laughed when she examined it. “You are such a wackadoodle.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“When it comes to selfies, sure. Instagramming this now.” She thumbed the screen for a few seconds. “There. I’ll hear about it from Siobhan for posing with a Yes flag. We got into it on Facebook last night after I posted a Three Stooges reference.”

“I saw.” Colin grimaced, both at the conflict between Katie and her girlfriend, and at the mention of the heads of the three major political parties. Sunday’s poll showing Yes with a lead had thrown the Westminster establishment into a panic. They were falling all over one another promising Scotland more powers if it stayed in the Union. No one Colin knew actually believed these empty vows, and even many No voters were insulted by the “love-bombing.”

“So are you nervous about going to Dunleven?” Katie asked him, plucking a stray leaf from her thick dark ponytail.

“Terrified. Andrew got the menu from his mum, so tonight we’re having a dress rehearsal on how to eat things properly.”

Katie gave a delighted groan. “That is sooooo sweet of him. How much has he told his parents about you?”

“They know about my, erm, family situation. So they’ll not be asking awkward questions like what my father does for a living.” He rubbed his stomach, feeling queasy at the very thought. “Andrew swears they’re nice people.”

“I believe it,” Katie said. “Andrew’s pretty nice.”

“Hah! Andrew is lots of good things, but ‘nice’ isnae one of them.”

“Same goes for you, so you’re a perfect pair.”

“I’m not nice?” Colin secretly took this as a compliment, along with his and Andrew’s designation as a perfect pair. It would have seemed insane a month ago, but the last few days had been a dream. Every night they were snuggling close on the couch watching romantic films, then later falling asleep in each other’s arms. And in between, the sex had somehow been better than ever.

Katie grinned at a yellow-vested police officer posing for a selfie with a young Yesser. “What about the referendum?” she asked Colin. “Have you converted Andrew to independence?”

“I’ve not tried. We argue about it constantly, but we both know there’s no convincing the other, so we just have fun with it.”

“I do not understand men. How can you be so calm? How can you not take it personally?” Her bright green eyes grew suddenly wet.

“It’s probably just a phase. We’re at that infatuation stage, you know, where even our farts are adorable.”

“Ugh. Like I said, I do not understand men.” She rubbed her nose. “But I do understand falling in love. It was magic.”

Colin wanted to protest that he wasn’t falling in love with Andrew, but it would have been a lie. In any case, Katie’s phone was ringing, with a musical tone he recognized as Siobhan’s. He stepped away to give them privacy, turning to talk to a group of Yessers beside the Queen Victoria statue. It was easy to make instant friends these days, when they all shared a common goal.

The three university-age lasses were discussing today’s speech by the Tory Prime Minister, David Cameron.

“He said he’d be ‘heartbroken,’” the blonde one said, “if Scotland left the Union.” She made a fake pout. “Poor lamb.”

“Is he trying to win more votes for Yes?” Colin asked.

They all laughed. Most Scots had hated Cameron’s Conservative Party since the 1980s reign of Margaret Thatcher, so the opportunity to make a Tory cry would tempt even the staunchest No voter.

“Apparently Obama’s made a statement in support of the Union too,” said the tallest girl. She twisted the end of her loose brown braid about her finger. “I used to like that guy.”

“I wonder if my American mate knows about this.” Colin turned to see Katie standing where he’d left her, staring at the phone in her hand. The look on her face was pure devastation.

Oh no.

He rushed over to her. “What is it? Is it Siobhan? Is she—”

“It’s over.” Her next breath was a shallow gasp. “I’ve lost her.”

“She broke up with you?”

Katie nodded, her lips pressed so tight they were turning white.

“Because of a selfie?” he asked. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Not the picture,” she choked out, shoving her phone at him. “The caption.”

He brought up her Instagram app and looked at the photo she’d posted of them ten minutes ago. Underneath she’d written, Hanging with @WarriorColin after a long day’s canvas.

Colin guessed Siobhan wasn’t raging about Katie misspelling canvass. “You never told her you were campaigning, did you?”

Katie shook her head, tucking in her chin, her shoulders beginning to jerk with the effort not to cry.

“Still,” he said, “it’s pure madness to break up with you over it.” He opened his arms. “C’mere.”

“I can’t—” Katie hugged her own waist as if literally holding herself together. “If I hug you, I’ll cry, and I don’t want to cry in front of all these happy people. It’s bad luck.”

“I think the movement will survive one lass’s tears.” He gently took her wrists. “C’mon, stiff upper lips look silly on American faces.”

She choked out a laugh that morphed into a sob, then reached out to draw him close. “I can’t believe this is happening.” Her body shook against his. “We’ve been together seven months. We loved—” She hiccuped. “We loved each other. Now she hates me.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“It is! After that stupid poll came out Sunday, she got all scared. She got mean.”

Colin thought of how shell-shocked Andrew had looked Sunday morning before the canvass. Would he have turned vicious too, if he’d not witnessed the reality of Colin’s life?

He hugged Katie tighter. “She might come back. Maybe after the referendum—”

“It’ll be worse!” She pulled away so hard, he almost fell over. “If we come this close to winning and still lose, we’ll be crushed. If we win, and we’ve destroyed the Union—” She lifted an arm toward the pigeon-shite-splattered statue of Queen Victoria. “They’ll hate us.”

Colin dreaded either scenario, and right now, he’d no idea which was more likely. Thinking of the nineteenth of September, the day after the referendum, was like looking into a pitch-black crystal ball. “I don’t know,” he said, “it’s been bitter at times, but we’re still one people.”

“No, you’re not.” Katie reached into her pocket and pulled out a ragged tissue that looked like it had already sopped up its share of tears. “I’ve seen it happen in the States. Democrats and Republicans read different newspapers, watch different networks, eat different chicken—”

“Chicken?”

“Chick-fil-A hates gays, remember?” She dabbed at her nose with what was left of the tissue. “My point is, everything is political. Saying ‘Merry Christmas!’ offends liberals, and saying ‘Happy Holidays!’ offends conservatives. Everyone just talks to people they agree with.” She gave up on the tattered tissue and used her sleeve to wipe her face. “Twitter makes it worse, cos you can just tune out anyone with a different point of view. I hate seeing Scotland turn into that.”

“Me too.” Colin looked around the square, at the smiling faces and dancing weans, at the dogs with wagging tails and lasses with waving flags. In the middle of this, it seemed every Scot wanted independence. It seemed so possible and peaceful and right.

Yet in his canvassing, he’d met No voters who weren’t stupid, or feart, or uninformed. They simply loved being part of the United Kingdom, with all their hearts—hearts that would break if the sun rose a week on Friday to a shattered Union.

But all births came with pain, and this birth of a new country would be worth it. It had to be.

“It’s. An actual. Castle.”

“Yes.” Andrew switched off the Tesla and peered at Colin’s face, which was alarmingly pale. “I mentioned that, did I not?”

“I thought you were joking.” Colin seemed to be struggling to breathe.

“My jokes are usually funnier than that.”

Looking entirely unamused, Colin gripped the dashboard as he leaned forward to examine Dunleven Castle through the windscreen.

Andrew gestured to the Tudor-Gothic portion of his home—whose rose-gray facade, he noticed, had lost a few more stones since his last visit. “This bit to the right here is about two hundred years old. It’s where I grew up.”

Colin craned his neck. “Did you live in one of those tower things?”

“The turrets? No, I had a regular suite—er, room.” He cleared his throat. “The part way over there in front of us, with the darker gray stone, is the Auld Keep, built in 1425.” When Colin goggled, Andrew attempted to play down the grandeur without sounding dismissive. “We don’t use it ourselves, except at Christmas Eve and when my siblings got married. Mostly we hire it out. Last month a Game of Thrones fan club used the banquet hall for a Red Wedding reenactment.”

“Is there a dungeon?”

“Why, you fancy being chained up?”

Colin looked at him. “That was a joke, right?”

“Yes. You can tell because it was funny.”

“Sometimes you’re funny by accident.”

Andrew touched Colin’s hand, finding it slightly chilled. “For the hundredth time, you’ll be fine.”

Colin glanced down at the box of chocolates he was clutching for grim death in his lap. Debrett’s Guide to Etiquette and Modern Manners—which Colin had gallantly read twice this week and reviewed with Andrew during their drive—said that when one visits a wealthy estate, it was appropriate to bring a small gift with no practical value.

Andrew was immensely touched Colin had managed to get through Debrett’s without too much scoffing. The lad was earnestly trying to make a good impression.

“Do I look all right?” he asked Andrew.

“To the manor born, you look.”

“Because I’m wearing your clothes.” He tugged on the lapel of the gray summer-tweed blazer Andrew had loaned him, along with matching trousers, a dusty green V-neck jumper, and a blue dress shirt. Colin had refused to let Andrew buy him a brand-new outfit, protesting that the tuxedo kilt was already too much.

“You could be dressed in rags,” Andrew said, “and they would still adore you.”

“Why?”

Andrew made jazz hands around his own grinning face. “Because of this.”

“Because you’re hot?”

“Because I’m happy.” Andrew quickly kissed him, then slipped out of the car. While he waited for Colin to join him, he took a deep inhale of the country air, listening to the birds and crickets sing. Seeing Dunleven through Colin’s eyes made Andrew remember how special it was, despite its deterioration.

He hadn’t lied about being happy. This week, the barriers between them had crumbled as they committed to the utter madness that was their relationship. He’d even shown Colin the Answer Fish.

“It’s like a giant mouth,” Colin whispered beside him, gaping up at the castle’s wide main entrance. The arch above the porch stairs came to a sharp peak, and the large oaken door was flanked by a pair of tall, dark windows. It was rather intimidating, come to think of it.

“Just pretend it’s the back door instead of the front.” Andrew took Colin’s hand. “That way it’s not a mouth, but an arsehole.”

Colin’s booming laugh echoed through the courtyard, bouncing among the stone walls and bringing life to this ancient estate.

As they mounted the stairs, the front door opened. Mum swept over the threshold sporting a warm smile and a pink tweed jacket over a white summer dress.

“Andrew!” She embraced him tightly. “You look dashing as always.”

He laughed. “You say that every time.”

“Because it’s true.”

It was true. Tonight he was wearing a Maison Martin Margiela silk cotton summer-tweed suit, an outfit which had made Colin proclaim him “the only man who looks sexy in beige.”

Andrew kissed his mother’s cheek, then stepped back. “Mum, Lady Kirkross, may I introduce my boyfriend, Colin MacDuff.” His lips tingled as they uttered the word boyfriend.

Colin took the hand Mum offered. “Lady Kirkross. How do you do.”

“Mr. MacDuff. How do you do.”

Colin opened his mouth as if to answer, then shut it, no doubt recalling that How do you do was a greeting, not a question. Well done, Andrew thought.

“Welcome to Dunleven,” Mum said with a smile, then turned at the sound of footsteps. “And here’s Lord Kirkross.”

Dad ambled out onto the porch, his welcome as warm as Mum’s.

Colin greeted Andrew’s father smoothly, shaking his hand and offering a nod of the perfect angle and duration. As they all turned to go inside, his glance at Andrew somehow combined relief and terror.

Andrew took his hand again and offered an encouraging smile. He would have given a thousand pounds to know what Colin was thinking right now.

So…much…tweed.

It was true what they said about the countryside. Enormous tracts of land without a human in sight. Lords and ladies who defined the word subdued. And of course the ubiquitous tweed, in case one needed to go trudging through damp underbrush at a moment’s notice.

At least Colin had got through the introductions without any faux pas or solecisms, a word he’d learned from Debrett’s.

He stepped through the castle’s front door, and immediately his feet stopped working.

It looked even bigger from the inside. The hall in front of them was split into two. The archway to the left opened onto a sitting area beside a grand wooden staircase. The archway in front of him displayed a hall that ran the length of the building, with a rose-red carpet that seemed to stretch into infinity. The ceilings, here in the foyer and down the hallway, were made of white plaster, peaked like in a cathedral, with stone carvings at the center of each peak.

“It’s all so gorgeous,” Colin whispered, craning his neck to gape at the foyer’s massive brass chandelier.

“Thank you,” Lady Kirkross said. “We maintain it as well as we can afford to, at least the parts our guests see. Some sections are crumbling, but that’s the way it is with old houses.”

“I can imagine.” He couldn’t imagine. As they made their way down the hall, Colin tried to focus on the chatter among Andrew and his parents, rather than calculating whether his entire flat could fit inside each room they passed.

They lingered for drinks in the drawing room, where a small blaze burned in a marble fireplace, which was fronted by a fuzzy gray rug. Colin answered Lord and Lady Kirkross’s questions on his university studies and plans for starting his own business someday. He spoke at half his normal speed, so they could understand his Glaswegian accent, and asked polite questions in return, using as cues the dozens of family photos and portraits arranged on side tables, the mantelpiece, and the piano.

He was keeping his composure rather well, he thought, until the fireplace rug suddenly stood up and shook itself.

“Oh my God, it’s a dog,” he blurted, nearly spilling his drink. As he recovered, Colin was grateful hadn’t said Fucking hell! or worse.

“Spenser, come and meet Colin.” Andrew pursed his lips, making a kissing sound. The dog turned, banging its hip into the glass coffee table, and made straight for Andrew, whose face he started licking methodically. “Not me, you old horse.”

Colin put out his hand, which promptly filled with a fuzzy gray muzzle. “A deerhound, right? I’ve never seen one in real life, only on the Crufts dog show on TV.” He scratched behind Spenser’s ear, and the dog leaned his head into it, giving a huff of pleasure. Colin glanced at Andrew to see his face looking nearly as blissful as the dog’s. “Talking of animals,” Colin said, “I’ve noticed you’ve no—that is—” He stopped, fearing himself out of line.

“That we’ve no what, Colin?” Lady Kirkross asked.

“Heads.” He waved a hand at the walls. “Of deer and all. Most estates—when I’ve seen them on TV, there’s taxidermy everywhere.”

Lord Kirkross laughed. “We are mavericks in that respect.”

“Dunleven had plenty of dead animals on display before it was in Charles’s hands.” Lady Kirkross gestured to her husband. “But we got rid of them the day we moved in.”

“As a child I always found them disturbing.” Andrew’s father gave a mock shudder. “But I fear when I’m gone, the heads will return.”

“Over my dead body,” Colin heard Andrew mutter.

“Sorry?” his mother asked.

“Nothing.” Andrew scratched Spenser’s hip with the toe of his shoe. “I’d just rather not ruin the evening by discussing my brother, even obliquely.”

Fortunately Dermot, the butler, arrived then to announce that dinner was served. They went out through a side door onto a wide brick porch. Colin looked out over the lawn beyond, imagining how fast he could dribble a football over the manicured grass.

“See? I told you she’d love it.” Andrew pointed to the center of the adjoining rose garden, where the bronze yeti he’d bought from the Skymall catalog stood amid the bushes.

“My ability to humor you has no limits,” Lady Kirkross told her son.

They sat for the first course, oysters on the half shell. Thanks to Andrew’s dress rehearsal, Colin knew to use a fork to pick out the meat, then drink the remaining juice from the end of the shell, and finally to use the finger bowl to clean his fingers.

Most etiquette rules, Colin had discovered, were mere common sense. Still, it was exhausting to remember them all—like eating soup off the side of the spoon instead of the end, or tearing off each bite of bread instead of chomping the roll and setting its saliva-drenched remains on his plate—while at the same time keeping up pleasant conversation. But he wouldn’t have done so well on his A-levels if he weren’t clever and a quick learner.

At the end of the main course, the door to the veranda opened, but instead of the butler, out streaked a pair of yapping terriers, one white and one black. They rushed down the porch stairs and into the garden, ignoring the diners.

“Bonnie! Clyde!” Lord Kirkross called as he stood. The dogs ignored him. “I’d better collect them before they dig up all the roses.”

“I’ll give you a hand, Dad.” Andrew got to his feet, giving Colin’s shoulder a reassuring brush of fingertips. “Be right back.”

“Those wee rapscallions,” Lady Kirkross said to Colin. “The problem with collecting a pack of animals no one else wants is that there’s often a good reason no one wants them.”

Colin watched the dogs spin around the garden, easily avoiding their pursuers. “Is ‘pack’ the term for a group of terriers? Seems it should be ‘tornado.’”

Lady Kirkross laughed. “I like that. ‘A tornado of terriers.’”

Dermot came out then to serve the pudding course, a mixed-berry sorbet. Good, something simple. Colin waited until Andrew’s mother had tucked in, then began to eat his own.

“How did you enjoy New York?” she asked him. “Was it everything you’d imagined?”

“And more. The energy was tremendous.”

“It sounded quite the lark.” She took another dainty bite of her sorbet. “I hope it was worth it.”

Colin’s spoon froze above his dish. “Sorry?”

“On your weekend abroad, Andrew was meant to go to the Perth Ball, a significant event in our social season.” She dabbed her napkin at the corner of her mouth. “Several royals were in attendance. One of them asked after Andrew, and I had to tell them my son had broken his commitment to be present.”

“I’m sorry.” Colin’s heart thundered in his chest. “I didnae—I didn’t know.”

“Andrew explained what this Broadway show meant to you. About your uncle’s death in the war.” She tilted her head. “I was sorry to hear about that.”

“Thank you. But he shouldn’t have broken his obligation. We could have waited.”

“My son’s not one for waiting, as I assume you’ve noticed. When he wants something, he takes it and asks forgiveness later. Or not.” Lady Kirkross dipped her spoon into her sorbet but didn’t lift it. “He has made some foolish decisions on your account.”

Colin’s mouth went pure dry.

She turned her head toward the garden, where Andrew and his father were laughing at the dogs. “This may seem an outrageous statement to someone in your position, but we can’t offer Andrew much, his father and I. Dunleven costs a fortune to maintain.”

Colin nodded, afraid to speak. Even the crickets seemed to have suddenly hushed.

“This means that after university, Andrew won’t have the sort of money which automatically opens doors to success. To make his way in the world, he’ll need to rely on his social connections.”

Or his abilities, like the rest of us. Anger boiled within Colin. He set down his spoon as lightly as he could.

“Ma’am.” Colin struggled to keep his voice low and level. “Are you asking me to save Andrew’s reputation by leaving him?”

Lady Kirkross raised her chin. “I wasn’t finished.”

“But—”

“Please.” She held up a silencing hand that Colin recognized well from his time with Andrew. “I was about to add the words, ‘Or so I’ve always believed.’”

Colin squinted at her. Now he knew where Andrew inherited his sense of drama.

Her face softened, and her voice dropped to a whisper. “He may lose his station if he loves you, but he’ll be happy. I’ve not seen such genuine joy on his face since he was a child. When he looks at you…” She paused, smoothing the ends of her shoulder-length silver hair. “He’s always put on a good show, but deep down—not even very deep—he’s growing weary of the life he’s built for himself. He wants something more. He’s worth something more than being a Twitter celebrity and the toast of London society. If he goes down that path, he’ll become yet another shallow, self-absorbed toff.” To Colin’s surprise, she reached across the table and grasped his hand. “But with someone like you to inspire him, he could do great things.”

He knew he should be flattered—and relieved—by her faith and support. But a few of her words made him uneasy. “By ‘great things,’ you mean…”

“Politically, of course.” She let go of him and returned to her sorbet. “You’re a perfect example of how hard work and ambition can overcome the most unpleasant circumstances. There are those who say that cutting benefits forces people to sink or swim. Well, here you are swimming to a better life. You’re proof that austerity works.”

Colin’s skin crawled with horror. Him, a poster boy for Tory policies?

He opened his mouth to tell Lady Kirkross he could only hope to “swim” because tuition was free in Scotland, a benefit that her people would happily take away. To tell her that all his hard work and ambition might get him exactly fucking nowhere, thanks to the shit economy magnified by her beloved austerity.

“Haha!” Andrew’s voice rang out from the garden. “Got you, ya wee fandan.”

Colin closed his mouth. “Sorry,” he told Lady Kirkross. “I may have taught him that word.”

She chuckled. “At least he’s learning something in Glasgow.”

Colin stared down into the blue-purple sorbet, willing himself to eat despite his churning stomach. He recalled what Andrew had said that first night they’d met again in Fergus and John’s kitchen: “Now you’ll be a productive member of society, rather than continue your parents’ toxic welfare habits.”

Those words had made Colin feel small as a gnat. Did Andrew still feel that way? Is that what he’d told his parents, that Colin was a perfect example of why their beliefs were all so very right?

Andrew and his father trudged up the porch stairs, each with a wiggling terrier under his arm. “Brilliant scrum, Dad.” He held up the Scottie dog as if to toss it. “Mum, catch!”

“Don’t you dare,” she said with a laugh.

Andrew angled the wee black pup so they were nose to nose. “Back inside with you and your failed rebellion.” He took a step toward the porch door, then stopped short. “Oh.”

Colin turned to see a large man in his thirties ambling toward them, with the posture of someone who already owned this place.

“George,” the others said, with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

He stopped when he saw Colin. “Terribly sorry. I forgot you had company tonight.”

Aye, right, Colin thought as he stood to greet his boyfriend’s infamous brother, musing how all of Lord Kirkross’s handsomeness genes had gone to his second son.

Andrew stepped forward, still wrangling the Scottie. “George, Lord Ballingry, may I introduce Colin MacDuff, my boyfriend.”

“Lord Ballingry, how do you do.”

George hesitated before shaking the hand Colin extended, long enough to make it awkward, long enough to make Colin wonder if he’d erred in offering it. He recalled a line from the Debrett’s guide: A gentleman is never rude unintentionally.

“Will you join us for pudding?” Lord Kirkross asked his elder son.

Lord Ballingry’s gaze slithered from Colin to the table, conveying that he’d rather dine with a rabid stoat. “Thank you, but no. I only popped in to give you the good news. The sale of the loch quadrant will be finalized on the twenty-second.” He turned to Andrew. “Mr. Olkhovsky was particularly enamored of the boathouse. He’ll be demolishing it to make room for a dacha, of course, but he found the location simply charming.” George spared Colin a glance. “A dacha is a Russian country house.”

Colin nodded. “Yes, I know.”

Andrew had gone utterly still at the news. The Scottie stretched up and licked his chin, snapping him out of his fog. “We’re staying there tonight. I suppose it’ll be the last time.” He went to the door and deposited the dog inside, then came back to take the Westie from his father.

Lady Kirkross seemed suddenly uncomfortable as well as she adjusted her teacup on its saucer. She gestured for Colin and her husband to take their seats again. Shoulders slumped, Andrew made his way to the table through the thick, silent air.

“Are the two of you going riding tomorrow?” George asked him. “No doubt your Mr. MacDuff would love to meet Timothy.”

Andrew stiffened as he sat down. “I don’t know.”

“You should,” George said. “The three of you could have a jolly old time.”

“Who’s Timothy?” Colin asked, though he sensed he shouldn’t.

“The stableboy,” George said.

“The stablemaster,” Andrew said, louder, through clenched teeth. “George, if you’re not staying—”

“Where are you from, Mr. MacDuff?” the earl asked.

“Glasgow.” Colin didn’t offer specifics and hoped they wouldn’t be requested.

“That’s an exciting place of late,” George said. “Were you at that kids’ debate at the Hydro arena today?”

“No, sir. That was for sixteen- and seventeen-year-olds.”

“And you’re what age?”

“Nineteen,” Colin replied, though the question seemed a semi-rude one, based on the rustlings of discomfort from Andrew’s parents.

“Ah, sorry. I took you for younger, probably because you’re wearing Andrew’s old clothes.”

“George!” Lady Kirkross exclaimed. “Apologize this instant.”

“What for? They look good on him, and it’s a fitting way for Andrew to mark his territory.”

Colin’s hairline prickled with the heat of shame. He was torn between the instinct to smash George’s doughy face and the knowledge that to do so would end his life as he knew it.

But Andrew had already leapt from his chair and was now advancing on his brother, wielding the sorbet spoon. “You will apologize to Mr. MacDuff, or I will carve out your eyeball and feed it to the dogs.”

“Oh,” Lady Kirkross said softly.

George, who was at least fifty pounds heavier than his younger brother, didn’t back away an inch. But he did turn his head to Colin and say, “I’m sorry if I offended. Please forgive me.”

Colin looked to the marquess and marchioness for cues. Their eyes begged him to defuse the tension. He stood slowly, straightening his blazer in what he hoped was a dignified manner. “Of course. No offense taken.”

“Thank you.” George stepped back. “Mother, Father, my apologies again for interrupting. Enjoy your evening.” He turned for the door.

“Lord Ballingry.” Colin’s sharp voice echoed back to him from the castle’s stone wall.

George stopped and looked around, as if wondering what insignificant entity could be addressing him. “What is it?”

“You’ve not apologized to your brother,” Colin said.

“It’s all right.” Andrew started to move back to the table. “Just let him go.”

“It’s not all right.” Colin put a supportive hand on Andrew’s back.

“An oversight,” George said. “In my haste to depart, Andrew, I neglected to specifically include your delicate self in my blanket apology. Consider it said.” He spun on his heel again and disappeared into the house.

Floored, Colin turned to Andrew and blurted the singular thought exploding through his mind. “What an absolute cunt!”