Her brother, Lachlan, and his wife, Maddie, remained at the table with her and they were soon joined by Arabella and her new husband, Gideon. As Donovan’s only sister, Arabella would want to be present at the wedding, and that was probably the reason Donovan and Claresta joined them as well, soon to be followed by Ethan, much to her delight.

  Though Arabella had been talking of her new home, the attention quickly turned to Ethan, whom the others didn’t know very well, other than Claresta and Donovan.

  “What is a plantation like?” Lachlan asked. “How does it differ from an estate?”

  Fanella was curious as well and leaned in to hear his response.

  “The purpose is not so different. We have a large home and much of our land is devoted to crops, and we are self-sustaining.” He shrugged. “Structures are different, of course, along with the climate.”

  She assumed the differences were vast and she wished he’d provide more description, but it was as if Ethan didn’t wish to speak of his home.

  “Darius mentioned you grow sugar cane,” Donovan offered.

  “As well as corn and rye. However, it’s the sugar that we sell after it has been milled.”

  “You don’t sell the corn and rye?” Lachlan asked.

  “We use that to make whiskey.” The corner of Ethan’s mouth tipped. “Another lucrative business, though we are beginning to make rum as well.”

  Certainly she did not hear him correctly. “Whisky, ye say?” Fanella asked.

  “Yes.”

  “From corn and rye.”

  “Yes,” Ethan answered a bit slower.

  “What of barley?”

  “We don’t use barley,” he answered, though there was a question in his tone, as if he wondered why she was even asking.

  “No barley? Ye canna make a good whisky without barley.” Fanella couldn’t even imagine the taste. They didn’t even use corn, though their family had in the past. Now all they used was barley and rye, as it should be.

  Ethan smiled, then tilted his head, studying her. “And how do you know so much about making whiskey?”

  While her family stared at her, Fanella struggled to find an appropriate answer. “Our family distills whisky for our family.” Which was the truth, of course, so she hadn’t lied in not telling Ethan about the smuggling that was quite lucrative for the Grants.

  “I can assure you that our whiskey is quite good without barley.”

  She would love to prove to him that her family’s whisky was superior to the American whiskey, except it could see her family arrested.

  Or, would it?

  “Perhaps before ye return to America ye might visit and ye can taste it then.” She smiled so sweetly that it was all Ethan could do not to call her bluff. Except, perhaps she wasn’t aware of to whom they smuggled, and, in that case, he couldn’t risk revealing his uncle.

  “I just might take you up on that offer.” Not that he needed to taste the whisky again. Little did Fanella know, but Ethan had already drunk Grant whisky, as well as MacGregor whisky. His uncle had shared it with his nephews with a promise to never reveal where it had come from. They had been required to renew that promise when Claresta and Donovan became betrothed.

  What Ethan really wondered was how much Fanella knew of the smuggling, if she knew anything at all. Though, now that he was coming to know her better, he wouldn’t be surprised if she participated, which didn’t set well with him at all.

  The Scots distilled a fine whisky but not as fine as what they produced in Louisiana. However, he would like to see her home and visit Falkirk and see if it truly was tedious, then perhaps he could gauge how she might enjoy New Orleans.

  Except, she wouldn’t be returning with him so Ethan must stop wondering how Fanella could fit into his life back home.

  “Do you happen to have any of your Louisiana whiskey with you, Mr. Copeland?” Lachlan asked.

  “I wasn’t certain if it would be legal to bring any with me,” he answered, without actually answering.

  “Aye, he does.” Donovan smirked. “It isna as fine as MacGregor whisky.”

  Lachlan lifted an eyebrow. “Then it is certainly not as fine as Grant whisky as ours is superior to yers.”

  “Ye ken that isna true,” Donovan argued.

  “To tell you the truth,” Ethan interrupted before the two could come to blows. “I have tasted them both and could not tell them apart.”

  Stunned silence fell over the table. A moment later, Claresta burst out laughing at the shocked faces of the Grants and MacGregors followed by the laughter of Gideon Trent who had only married a MacGregor and had no attachment to the whisky.

  “There is a distinct difference, Mr. Copeland,” Arabella insisted.

  Actually, when he sampled the two side by side, he had noted the difference but if his uncle were to give him a glass of whisky now, Ethan would not be able to tell if it was Grant or MacGregor. Besides, if he had admitted to noting the difference that one time, they may attempt to force him to name the best, which he was not willing to do. For one, he had preferred the Grant whisky when he’d had the opportunity to compare, but his cousin was marrying a MacGregor.

  “Am I to understand there is a disagreement over which whisky is better?” His Grace asked as he stopped beside the table.

  “Aye, Yer Grace,” Donovan answered.

  “Has anyone at the table tasted the Copeland whiskey?” he asked.

  “Only Donovan,” Ethan answered.

  “Then we must have a tasting to determine which is the superior whisky.”

  “Which the MacGregors will claim is theirs, the Grants will insist theirs is the best, and the Copelands will claim their own,” Her Grace reminded her husband.

  “Yes, I can see your point.” His Grace rubbed his chin. “However, I don’t see why that should stop any of us from enjoying a nip, do you.” At that he returned to the dais. “There has been a discussion, or challenge you might say,” he laughed. “Any man who wishes to make the comparison between the MacGregor Whisky, Grant Whisky or Copeland American Whiskey should join me in the library.”

  Apparently, there was no secret within the castle or among the guests that His Grace enjoyed illegal whisky smuggled from Scotland.

  “Well, that hardly seems fair,” Fanella complained.

  “It certainly isna,” Arabella Trent echoed.

  “It’s just like the men to go off tastin’ and leave us behind,” Arabella grumbled.

  Did these women actually drink whisky? It was hardly proper that they do so. He’d been under the impression that England and Scotland were much like America. Women could sip wine at dinner, or after, but they never drank stronger spirits. Perhaps these women were allowed a small taste since their families did produce the whisky, but he couldn’t imagine any of the women at the table drinking more than that. Further proof, if Fanella was used to drinking stronger spirits, the wine that she had partaken in wouldn’t have caused a slight inebriation in her a few evenings earlier.

  As much as he wished to remain with Fanella in the great hall, every other man had decided to join His Grace and it would seem odd if only Ethan remained back with the women.

  After they entered, His Grace had a footman begin to pour the drinks. However, he set a privacy screen so that nobody could see what the footman poured. The first was a Scot whisky, but Ethan didn’t know which Scot had produced it. At least not until the MacGregors proclaimed it to be theirs in which the Grants agreed. How the blazes could they tell the difference without a side by side tasting?

  As the night grew long and camaraderie abounded, with much help from the whisky, Ethan enjoyed himself but remained near the open door and watched for Fanella. He knew that she’d pass the library on her way to her chamber and he wanted to see her one last time before he retired. And, just as His Grace asked the footman to pour another round, Fanella walked by with barely a glance into the room. Ethan set his glass aside and ducked out and caught up to her just outside of the music room, and quickly pulled her within.

  “What are ye doin’?”

  “Shhhh.” He put a finger against her lips. Perhaps this wasn’t wise, and hadn’t he insisted, to himself, that he’d not be alone with Fanella? Except that was before he had spent an entire evening first at a separate table, but where he could view her from afar, and then across from her as they debated the merits of making whiskey. It had been frustrating to only view her and not touch.

  “Do you still have the mistletoe?”

  Fanella pulled it from her pocket.

  “You should always keep it with you.”

  She tilted her head. “And why is that?”

  He took it from her and held it over her head. “Because I may wish to do this.” Then he placed his lips against hers. In an instant, Fanella melted into him and her hands anchored upon his shoulders as if she needed support.

  He should not have kissed her. They were alone and he wanted to keep kissing her. He wanted to do more than kiss her and if he didn’t stop right now, that is what he’d be doing.

  With those thoughts he broke away. “Goodnight, Fanella.” He handed the mistletoe back to her.

  She offered a small smile. “Good night, Ethan,” and then she was gone, leaving him quite frustrated and alone.

  Just as he was about to exit, she popped back in the room. “Could ye do me a favor?”

  “Anything.”

  At that she hitched a brow as if daring him. But there was nothing that she could request that he wouldn’t provide.

  “Will ye bring me some of yer whisky so that I can try it?”

  Except that. “A miss should not be drinking whiskey.”

  “I drink it at home.”

  “But you are a guest in the castle and not in your home. It’s not proper, as you know.”

  Fanella pulled the mistletoe from her sleeve and studied it. “Then I might not be needin’ this anymore either.”

  Would she seriously deny further kissing if he didn’t bring her whiskey? “That’s blackmail,” he ground out.

  “I consider it bargainin’.” She smiled, then glided out of the music room as if she were quite certain of herself.

  Chapter 14

  The following afternoon Fanella was still quite put out. How dare Ethan decide if she could taste the Copeland whiskey or not. He wasn’t her father, brother or even courting her. He was simply someone she enjoyed spending time with and kissing. Except, there would be no more kissing. She’d been quite serious when she told him that the mistletoe would not be needed.

  “Have you visited the guard tower?” Ethan asked as he came across Fanella at the foot of the stairs.

  It had been her intention to take a walk within the bailey, alone. “No, I have not.” Her words were crisp, short and without warmth.

  “Very little has changed, other than it is not used any longer,” he offered. “We could visit it now and then you can decide what you wish to see next.”

  “I doona believe I wish to explore the castle further but thank ye.” Fanella tried to move past him but Ethan blocked her path.

  “Is this because of the whiskey?”

  She notched her chin but didn’t answer. She shouldn’t need to offer an explanation.

  “Fanella, I cannot share whiskey with you. It isn’t right and your brothers would likely have my head.”

  “They would not,” she insisted.

  “I would rather not risk it, if you don’t mind.”

  “I do mind,” Fanella sniffed.

  Ethan placed fisted hands on his hips. “Are you always this stubborn?”

  “Aye, when it’s important, or someone is tryin’ to tell me what I can or canna do.”

  “Is the whiskey so important?”

  “Not as important as ye tellin’ me what I canna do.”

  He nodded. “I believe we are at an impasse.”

  “I suppose we are. Good day Mr. Copeland.” With that, Fanella walked around him and made her way to the outer door. Once she enjoyed a brisk walk, she’d feel much better. Of that she was certain.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t wish to spend time alone with Ethan, she simply feared that she’d not be able to hold onto her convictions of not kissing him.

  Oh, she so enjoyed kissing Ethan, but that didn’t matter. As long as he insisted on making decisions for her, she’d not give him any further time.

  However, the problem with convictions was that they could be rather cold, especially when kissing could make a body so very warm.

  By the time she returned inside, Fenella’s face was numb, as were her fingers, even though she’d worn gloves and all she wanted was a hot cup of tea. Of course, Ethan’s lips could warm her just as well, but that was no longer an option and she must cease thinking about kissing, at least until he relented and let her taste his whiskey.

  Aye, she was a stubborn lass, which she well knew, and it had gotten her into trouble in the past and usually only left her with regrets. However, it wasn’t so much that tasting the whiskey was so important and if he would have offered a reasonable explanation of why he couldn’t share any with her, Fanella might have been placated. The fact that he’d decided that she simply couldn’t taste it because of her gender is what had angered her and the very reason she’d not let go over her vow until she’d won.

  Raised voices drew Fanella toward the parlor, though she couldn’t yet hear what all the excitement was about. When she stepped inside, the three maiden aunts were twittering with excitement, as was Her Grace, while Ethan stood there, his fists once again anchored on his hips while he stared down his older brother.

  “I knew it was a very bad idea to bring those parrots to England,” Darius argued. “You could have left them at home.”

  “No, I couldn’t have. They are my pets and they stay with me.”

  “Then you won’t be leaving until they can all go with you,” Darius insisted.

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” Her Grace interrupted. “Ethan has promised me one of the chicks.”

  Fanella blinked at Ethan. Chicks? Had the parrots laid eggs?

  Well, apparently they had or they wouldn’t be discussing chicks.

  “You know how I feel about those da…birds,” Darius reminded Ethan, who simply grinned.

  “Yes, you’ve made your dislike for them well-known, several times over, but as you are not yet in charge of Chatwell Castle, you have no say over any promise I’ve made to Her Grace. In fact, I intend to leave all the chicks with her when I return home with Rogue and Lady.”

  His eyes widened. “All of the chicks? How many eggs are there?”

  “At last count, two, but we are hoping for more.” Lady Joanna clapped her hands excitedly.

  “What will you do with two or more parrots, Your Grace?” Darius asked. “They need fresh fruit, nuts, and require proper care and water.”

  “They have all of that and more in the conservatory, she assured him. “It is a perfect habitat for the chicks to thrive.”

  “We promise to help take care of them,” Lady Priscilla offered to which Darius’ eyes grew wider.

  “How will you do that?”

  “Oh, didn’t you know? We are to take up residence and remain here. Our nephew worries about us traveling, and we are getting on in years, and Her Grace wished for our company, especially now that Claresta will be gone,” Lady Esther explained.

  “You will be living here for good?”

  Fanella got the distinct impression that Darius was not happy with this change in circumstances, but as he was not yet the duke, there was little he could do and he certainly had no say.

  “Parrot chicks and maddening maidens, that is what I came to England for?”

  Her Grace laughed. “No, you came to England to be a duke. You simply have the added bonus of maddening maidens and parrots.”

  Did they actually just call the three sisters maddening maidens? Rogue may have called them such but Fanella never dreamed the rest of the family did as well. How very rude and insulting, yet the three appeared unfazed and certainly not offended.

  “Magnificent maidens,” Lady Priscilla corrected.

  “Yes, of course,” Darius offered dryly as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “As long as the parrots stay in the conservatory, I promise to stay out.” On those words he marched across the room and exited the parlor.

  “Oh dear, he still hasn’t gotten over the incident, has he,” Lady Esther proclaimed.

  “No, he has not and I doubt he ever will,” Ethan laughed.

  “Miss Fanella, please join us for tea,” Lady Joanna offered when she noted Fanella standing just within the room.

  “Yes, please join us,” Her Grace insisted, “and Ethan can tell us what Rogue and Lady did to offend Darius.”

  “Thank you.” Fanella found an empty seat and accepted the cup of tea as everyone’s attention turned to Ethan.

  “While these three were visiting a few years ago, Darius was also attempting to court a young woman. Unfortunately, Rogue had picked up on a few of the unpleasant names I may have called my brother when angry with him. However, he’d also seen Darius kiss someone who was not the woman he was attempting to court. As Darius and this young woman were visiting one afternoon, Rogue flew by and settled upon a tree above them and proceeded to call him a number of foul names, proclaiming that he had kissed another woman, and then he defecated on Darius’ head.”

  “It was horrifying and delightful at the same time,” Lady Priscilla added.

  “We were so lucky to have witnessed it as nobody would have believed the story otherwise,” Lady Esther insisted.

  “Why were you there?” Her Grace asked.

  “Why, chaperoning, of course,” Lady Joanna answered. “It’s what we do best.”

  Fanella nearly choked on her tea since they weren’t very good chaperones at all. At least they hadn’t been for her and Ethan. Not that it mattered as he hadn’t attempted to kiss her yet, and it wouldn’t matter in the future because she had no intention of allowing him to do so unless he realized his error.