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he didn’t remember, with a couch by a window that looked out over the front drive. At the entrance was the guard station where his grandfather worked. Colin wasn’t even sure if he still worked there anymore or if he’d retired.
    “I’ll be back in a moment,” the man said.
    “Who are you?” Colin asked him.
    “I’m the MacDowalls’ butler. You may call me Paul.”
    Also surreal. Had Colin wandered onto the set of Downton Abbey ? Rhiannon’s parents hadn’t had a butler the last time he’d been here.
    “Ah, will you please take these to Rhiannon?” Colin handed Paul the rose bouquet. The letter, too, just in case she wasn’t inclined to see him.
    Paul was gone for five minutes. Colin knew, because there was a clock on the wall and it ticked, loudly. He stood and walked out of the holding area and into the great room with its tall ceilings, about thirty feet high, and the stone fireplace with the baronial swords and shields on display. That display had been Colin’s favorite part of the castle. His gaze moved to the staircase where he and Rhiannon had once hidden. The staircase had been completely rerouted now, and their hiding place was gone.
    Paul’s throat cleared. Colin turned.
    “I’m sorry, but Rhiannon isn’t seeing anyone today.”
    “Did she take my letter?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Do you know if she read it?”
    “I’m sorry, sir, but I couldn’t say.” Paul took a step and then paused, waiting for Colin to follow him to the door, but Colin stood rooted.
    “If you’ll allow me to lead you out.” Paul tilted his head, signaling the end of Colin’s visit.
    But it bothered him that Rhiannon was avoiding him. Something was wrong. “Will she be coming to my father’s funeral?” he asked Paul. “Or maybe her parents or brother?” What was his name? “Malcolm,” Colin said, remembering.
    Paul frowned, but Colin didn’t move. He needed to know. “The funeral is on Sunday,” Colin said stubbornly. He didn’t know what time, though. Now he wished he’d asked his grandmother.
    It made him feel terrible, still.
    “Excuse me while I check for you,” Paul murmured.
    Colin waited, for twenty-two minutes this time. He exchanged text messages with Mack—his friend had set up a tee time for them at a nearby course, at Colin’s request—to pass the time. When Paul at last returned to the small anteroom where Colin sat on the couch, watching the birds flit outside, he carried a tray with a formal tea service. Pot, teacup, bone china, the works.
    Colin stared. He’d expected none of this. Rhiannon’s family had always been more formal than his, but this was just excessive. He’d spent a good portion of his childhood living in a trailer, eating off mismatched plates and drinking out of jelly glasses.
    He stood while Paul set down the tray. There was only one cup.
    “Mr. MacDowall will be arriving shortly to speak with you,” Paul said.
    “Rhiannon’s father is coming?”
    “No, sir. Mr. Malcolm MacDowall.”
    Rhiannon’s brother ? Colin just felt confused. “Why did you call him?”
    “Because you asked about him, sir. And since he is at his company’s Byrne Glennie facility today, and is therefore available locally, he has decided to stop by and speak with you.”
    Colin sat, his hand on his forehead. All he’d wanted was to apologize to Rhiannon. He had the feeling he was missing something important.
    Paul poured tea into a cup. “Cream or sugar?”
    Colin shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t drink tea.” When had this gotten so complicated?
    “Try this, sir.” Paul used a pair of silver tongs to drop a sugar cube into the cup and then added a small amount of cream from a tiny pitcher. He passed Colin the delicate cup and saucer, but Colin just stared at him. He didn’t dare touch the damn thing. What if he dropped it?
    Paul cleared his throat, then placed the cup and saucer back on the tray. Straightening, he said formally, “Mr. MacDowall requested that I serve