~LAYLA~
I stood in front of the antique mirror in the Blue Room the next day, adjusting my cream-colored dress. I had chosen it carefully. It was elegant, expensive, and distinctly modern. I wasn’t going downstairs to play dress-up in their world; I was going down there as myself.
"You look ready for I don’t know...?" Axel said, coming up behind and wrapping his arms around my waist. He slled of a mix of my shampoo, which he had stolen in the bathroom, and his cologne.
"Well, we ended up having dinner alone last night. I feel like breakfast would be different," I admitted, leaning back into him. "A hostile different."
"Just rember," Axel murmured into my ear, "you’ve faced worse than a few snobby aristocrats. You took down a crime syndicate and definitely can handle breakfast."
I smiled, turning to kiss him. "Let’s go get so coffee before I start throwing antiques."
We walked down the grand staircase together. The house was quiet, and the only sound was the steady ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway.
When we entered the dining room, the silence was different.
The table was long enough to land a plane on. Isabelle and Julian sat at one end, looking like a pair of miserable oil paintings. Isabelle was reading a newspaper while Julian was stabbing at a sausage like it had offended him.
"Good morning," I greeted.
Isabelle lowered her paper slowly. Her eyes scanned my outfit, stopping at the flair of my dress with a disapproving look.
"You’re late," she said. "Breakfast is served at eight sharp."
"It’s 8:03," Axel said, pulling out a chair for .
"Precisely," Isabelle sniffed.
We sat down and a footman imdiately appeared, pouring coffee.
"Did you sleep well?" Julian asked without looking up. "The Blue Room can be drafty. It’s where we usually put the distant relatives."
"It was lovely," I lied smoothly. "Very historic."
"Yes, well," Isabelle said, buttering a piece of toast. "I suppose it’s a step up from what you’re used to."
I paused, my coffee cup halfway to my mouth. "And what is that supposed to mean, Madam Isabelle?"
"Oh, nothing, dear," she smiled thinly. "Just that your country is so... rugged. And I understand your upbringing was sowhat... colourful, wasn’t it? I imagine you aren’t accustod to this level of... refinent."
She gestured vaguely at the room, the silver, the crystal. Eveything.
Axel was about to say sothing, but I stopped him with a slight shake of head.
I set my cup down.
"You’re right," I said calmly. "I’m not used to hos that burn through fifty thousand pounds a month in heating bills because the insulation hasn’t been updated since the 1920s."
Isabelle froze. Julian choked on his coffee.
"I did a little reading last night," I continued, buttering my own toast. "Public records are fascinating. The Huntington Estate has been operating at a loss for five years. You’re liquidating assets to cover maintenance costs, and I’m guessing your father has no idea. So, while I may not know which fork to use for the fish course, Madam Isabelle, I do know how to run a profitable business. Maybe you should focus less on my ’refinent’ and more on your balance sheet."
Axel coughed to hide a laugh.
Isabelle’s face went a shade of red that clashed with the wallpaper. She opened her mouth to retort, but the sound of the double doors opening stopped her.
We all turned.
Pennyworth walked in, but he wasn’t alone. He was pushing a wheelchair.
"Father?" Isabelle gasped, standing up. "What are you doing down here?"
The Duke of Berkshire looked tired. His skin was still pale, but he held his chin high in his velvet smoking jacket.
"I live here, Isabelle," the Duke rasped. "I decided I wanted breakfast in my own dining room. Is that a problem?"
"But the doctor said..."
"The doctor is an old worrywart," the Duke snapped. He looked at , and his face softened instantly. "Good morning, my dear."
"Good morning, your..." I said, standing up, cutting myself midway. Was I about to say your Highness? Dukeship? Lord? "Sir." I said instead.
"Sit, sit," he waved his hand. "Pennyworth, put there. Next to my granddaughter."
Pennyworth wheeled him to the head of the table, placing him right beside . This forced Julian to shuffle his chair down, demoting him further away from the head. He looked furious.
"You look well, sir," Axel said respectfully. "Sorry, we haven’t been introduced. I’m Axel O’Brien. Layla’s husband."
The Duke studied him for a long moment, his sharp blue eyes taking in everything. "O’Brien," he said finally. "Irish?"
"Arican, sir. But yes, Irish roots."
"Good stock," the Duke nodded approvingly. "And you take care of my granddaughter?"
"With my life," Axel said without hesitation.
"I feel better already," the Duke said, a small smile playing at his lips. He looked at the spread of food. "Is there bacon? I want bacon. The nurses have been feeding gruel."
"Father, really," Isabelle sighed, sitting back down. "Your heart."
"My heart is fine," the Duke said, taking a piece of bacon. "It’s my patience that is failing."
He turned to , ignoring his daughter entirely. "Did you sleep well? No ghosts?"
"No ghosts," I smiled.
"Good." He patted my hand. "Because we have a busy day."
Before I could ask what he ant, the doors opened again. A staff mber walked in, ushering in a man in a suit: Axel’s contact from the lab. He carried a sealed envelope.
The room went silent.
"Apologies for the intrusion. Mr. O’Brien," the man said. "The results."
Axel took the envelope. He didn’t open it imdiately. He looked at Isabelle and Julian. They were staring at the envelope like it was a bomb.
Axel tore the seal. He pulled out the docunt, scanned it once, and then handed it to the Duke.
"98.9 per cent," Axel said clearly. "A direct match. She shares 28 per cent of her genetic markers with you, sir. Consistent with a grandparent relationship."
The Duke didn’t even look at the paper. He just looked at .
"I didn’t need a test," he whispered. "I knew, even before I got the first result an hour ago."
That ans his doctor had already delivered his results directly to the Duke.
"Well," Julian said in a high, tight voice. "I suppose... that settles it then."
"It does," the Duke said. His voice suddenly gained strength, booming across the table. "It settles everything."
He turned to Pennyworth. "Arthur!"
"Yes, Your Grace?"
"Call the social secretary," the Duke commanded. "And call the press office."
"Father, what are you doing?" Isabelle asked, her voice trembling.
"I am throwing a party," the Duke announced. "In two days. We will open the Grand Ballroom."
"Two days?" Isabelle cried. "That’s impossible! We can’t organise a ball in two days!"
"We are Huntingtons," the Duke said. "We can do whatever we damn well please. I want everyone to know. The entire county. The entire country."
He reached out and took my hand, raising it in the air.
"My granddaughter has returned," he declared. "And at the ball, I will make a formal announcent regarding the future of the estate."
Julian dropped his fork. It clattered loudly against the china.
Isabelle looked from the Duke to , her eyes wide with panic.
"An announcent?" she whispered.
"Yes," the Duke said, smiling at . "It’s ti to set things right."
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