“If you didn’t bring anything, don’t worry,” he told her. “Just wear whatever you have.” Sybil agreed, as they set Quinne’s bags down in Andy’s room, and she noticed the sparkling blue nail polish that matched Quinne’s hair. It was a complete look.
“Actually, I did bring some dresses for dinner,” Quinne said quietly. “My grandparents are quite formal too, when we stay with them. And they’re alive, which is worse.” They all laughed. Sybil realized, as she left them to settle in, that she had now become officially eccentric herself. She was living with dead people who seemed to be alive, in a mansion, in a time warp. There was no way she could ever feel normal again, or explain it to anyone sane, although Quinne said she thought it was fine. Maybe one had to have electric blue hair to feel that way.
Andy and Quinne went out shortly after to have lunch, he wanted to show her around the city. He borrowed his mother’s car and gave Sybil a big hug, happy to be home with his parents and to have Quinne with him. He was in love with her, which was easy to see. She was a sweet girl, and seemed like a bright one, and despite the punk-rock style she exhibited, she was obviously very well brought up. Sybil could hardly wait for Augusta and Angus to see her, if they chose to appear, and hear what they’d say about her. It would do them good to be mildly provoked, the thought of it amused Sybil.
They had that opportunity at dinner, when Quinne appeared in a tight black evening gown that showed off her figure, startlingly high black suede platform shoes, her tattoos in full evidence, and the electric blue hair brushed straight up and gelled, a bit like the bride of Frankenstein, but blue and much prettier. And Andy was wearing black tie. Sybil was wearing a dark green velvet evening gown. Blake had come home from the office on time, met their guest, and changed into his dinner jacket, and Caroline was due back from Los Angeles the next day, for the Christmas break. Quinne and Caro had already met on Skype and followed each other on Instagram to share photos.
Quinne walked into the dining room blended among them, and Augusta’s eyebrows nearly shot into her hairline when she saw her. There were no words to describe the look on her face, and Gwyneth and Sybil had to turn away so Augusta didn’t see them laugh.
“Oh, my dear,” Gwyneth whispered to her, nearly choking.
“I warned both of them,” Sybil whispered back, “but she’s actually very nice, very polite, and seems very bright.” When Sybil turned around, Augusta was interrogating their guest by then. She noticed her accent instantly, and knew she was Scottish. “And where are you from?”
Quinne told her, and Augusta narrowed her eyes. “What is your father’s name?” She supplied it and the dowager stared at her intently, as though to discover if she was an imposter. “Castle Creagh?” Augusta asked pointedly, and Quinne nodded with a smile. She wasn’t afraid of Augusta and thought her remarkably like her own grandmother, which amused her. It was a breed she understood and knew well, whatever the century, ghosts or not.
“Ian MacDonald and my late husband went to school together,” Augusta said, smiling benignly at their visitor.
“He’s my great-grandfather,” Quinne said, smiling back and Augusta looked shocked for an instant, not remembering that in Quinne’s world, he’d been dead for sixty years.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, and didn’t comment on the hair, the tattoos, the shoes, or any part of her outfit. She looked delighted to see her.
“I’m visiting Andy,” she said demurely with a smile, and Augusta told Angus who she was. He looked pleased too, although he didn’t seem to remember who her great-grandfather was, but Augusta reminded him that her father was the current Earl of Creagh, and they lived at Castle Creagh.
“Your family hasn’t sold it, have they?” she asked, looking concerned.
“No, ma’am, they haven’t.” Quinne addressed her formally in a thick Scottish burr that made Andy smile. She put it on when she wanted to, and knew that it would be a winning card with Augusta. After that, she sat down at the table next to Bettina and they chatted. Andy had told her that Bettina was leaving for Paris soon, and Quinne said she loved Paris and had studied at the Sorbonne for six months. “Though my accent is awful, pure Scot,” she confessed, and Bettina laughed. She’d been brushing up on hers ever since she’d decided to go. And she wanted to hire a French governess when she got there, in addition to her American nurse, so Lili would learn to speak French.
Considering Quinne’s exotic appearance, the dinner went remarkably well. The fact that she was Scottish, and the daughter of the Earl of Creagh, had won Augusta over immediately. He was as eccentric as his daughter. Quinne had told Andy that her father had attempted to be a rock star at one time, but Augusta wasn’t aware of that obviously, although she did say later, when Andy and Quinne left the table to go out so he could continue showing her the town, that the Creaghs had always been a little odd. But she thought Quinne was a pretty girl with good manners from a good family.
Sybil added that Quinne wanted to go to medical school, and Augusta looked shocked. “Why would she want to do that? How unsuitable for the daughter of a peer,” she said grandly. “You’ll have to talk her out of that.” The electric blue hair didn’t bother her, but the possibility of her becoming a doctor did. They lived in a mad world, Sybil thought to herself, and she and Gwyneth exchanged a look.
The next day Caroline came home from school. She didn’t bring Max with her, but he was coming up after Christmas to spend New Year’s Eve with her. He had gone to Mexico first, to meet his parents for Christmas.
Everyone had a good time at dinner, and they all played charades afterward, after Quinne and Andy went out. Josiah was exceptionally good at it. Andy and Quinne came back early to join the young people again. Josiah told Andy how much he liked her. Lucy did too, although she was a little jealous of her, but Andy was always attentive to Lucy and treated her like a sister. It was the same way Josiah felt about Caro now. And they all recognized that they needed to spend time with their contemporaries too. They couldn’t exist solely in the Butterfields’ rarefied world, in a dimension accessible only to the two families. The Gregorys needed more than that, although the Butterfields and the mansion were home base.
“As soon as my grandmother knew you were a countess, she didn’t even notice the color of your hair,” Josiah teased Quinne when they sat in the drawing room playing cards.
“My mother is still alive, so I’m not a countess yet,” Quinne corrected him. “And her hair is shocking pink. It was purple for a few years. She just changed it. My father’s is blue too. It’s genetic.” She grinned at him.