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perhaps nineteen, maybe a little older, and his expression gave him an air of moneyed confidence. Like his father, he wore a suit and tie, but an updated version, the kind that looked effortlessly expensive. Lord Vincent descended the staircase and walked deliberately towards her, a smile playing at the edges of his mouth. All of which gave Ondine the chance to appreciate his features.
    â€˜Vincent, is there something you want, boy?’ The Duke’s voice sounded terse.
    The young lord’s buoyancy dimmed a fraction. Ondine could see an annoyed look cross his face.
    A familiar pang took hold in Ondine. Despite their differences in social status, they shared something in common – parents who expected them to behave as adults, but treated them like children.
    â€˜No, sir,’ Vincent said. In the blink of an eye he resethis features, giving him fresh confidence as if nothing could trouble him. ‘I was merely on my way out to an engagement.’
    â€˜Right then. Be home by two, and don’t bring any flotsam back with you this time,’ the Duke said.
    A nod was all that the Duke received in return. As Vincent walked past Ondine towards the door, she dared a glance and saw him roll his eyes. An inappropriate giggle formed, but she tamped it down.
    â€˜I don’t like him,’ Shambles whispered.
    If not for the Scottish accent, Ondine would have sworn the words had come straight from her father.
    When the meeting with the Duke finally finished, Josef hustled them back to the hotel so they could resume work, all the while lecturing Ondine about the dangers of unruly boys.
    â€˜Don’t fall for the first boy who pays you attention. Keep yourself nice,’ he said as they approached the family pub.
    â€˜Da, give me a little credit,
please
, and stop treating me like a kid,’ Ondine whined, betraying her maturity.
    â€˜That’s right, you’re
nineteen
, aren’t you? Trying to act all sophisticated to impress the little lord.’
    â€˜I was not! I only lied about my age because the Duke asked how old I was, and if I’d told him the truth, then he’d wonder why an underage girl was serving alcohol. I was saving
your
skin.’
    â€˜Hold your tongue,’ Josef said as they walked through the gate to the rear garden, ‘we’re home now. Time for you to get back to work.’
    Just when Ondine thought she’d won the argument, Da had pulled the ‘I’m your father’ routine, using it like a get-out-of-jail-free card. His timing, as always, was perfect, because he usually called an end to their debates just as Ondine thought of some great comeback lines. Like, ‘You were born old’ and ‘You’re just grumpy because it saves time being anything else.’ Words that would, for now, remain unspoken. 16 But before Ondine could work up a full head of steam, she saw something that took her breath away.
    It was a scene that made her appreciate her eldest sister more than cinnamon toast and marshmallows, because what they witnessed on that balmy summer evening made her father forget all about potential problems between Ondine and Lord Vincent.
    There was her eldest sister Marguerite, in the darkened beer garden, all kissy-face with a young man.
    â€˜Margi, what is going on?’ her father spluttered.
    For a fleeting moment, Ondine felt sorry for her sister. In some respects, she could understand why her da ragged on to her about boys, because she was the youngest. But Margi was positively ancient and old enough to do whatever she liked in Ondine’s eyes.
    â€˜This ought to be good!’ Shambles said, positioning himself on Ondine’s shoulder for a better view of the oncoming fireworks.
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    13 It should be noted that you can’t just rock up to the Duke of Brugel’s city estate and say hello. He’s a very busy man. He has a whole country to run. In this case, because of the seriousness of Ondine and