Jamie’s hurt expression morphed into one of annoyance—perhaps the first time Portia had ever seen it on his face. “I don’t see what the problem is. Unless you’re planning on cutting and running, that’s your title, aye?”

“Give it a rest.” Tav glared at him as he ripped at the tape surrounding the trunk and pried it open. “It’s bad enough other people will call me that. I don’t need to hear it in my own home.”

Jamie’s mouth twisted. “Oh, you mean the home that you got from your father the duke, along with a title, power, and who knows how many millions of quid?”

“Hey, guys,” Portia said, stepping in between them. Two large men who knew how to grapple and use swords arguing was a little frightening, even if she knew they’d never hurt one another. Physically, at least.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re jealous,” Tav said, ignoring her. “You think I asked for any of this?”

Jamie exhaled a frustrated noise and ran a hand over his face, before using it to gesture in Tav’s direction. “Obviously I’m jealous. Who wouldn’t be jealous of someone who had won the absentee father lottery? But that’s not the problem here. Your whinging all the damned time is the problem!”

“Whinging?” Tav seemed to choke on the word and Portia stepped back from between them.

Jamie’s face scrunched up. “For years, we’ve all had to hear about how little you care about this building, even though you encouraged me and Cheryl to invest our livelihood in it. As if being gifted a grand old building was a burden. And now you’ve been given a title and money and power and all you can do is complain about that, too! Fuck’s sake, Tavish, you really are a wanker, you know that?”

Jamie turned to go.

“Jamie. Jamie!”

Jamie stopped. His hands went to his waist, his shoulders slumped, and his head dropped forward. “Yeah?”

“I’m sorry. Guess I’ve kind of had tunnel vision about all this. Or wankervision.”

Jamie chuckled a bit, then sighed and turned around.

“Come here, bruv.” He held his arms open and beckoned Tav with his hands. “You know I don’t like arguing. Family have to stick together. Bring it in.”

Portia watched as Tav lumbered over and clapped his baby brother in a hug. Just like that, all the angry energy between them dissolved like cotton candy under a sprinkler. If there was anything to be jealous about, it wasn’t Tav’s title.

She glanced over at the trunk. “Oh, your clothes have arrived!”

She busied herself pulling out the various slacks, jeans, sweaters, and suits and laying them carefully over the backs of the kitchen chairs.

“Clothes?” Tav and Jamie said at the same time.

Portia grabbed one of the shirts, a blue houndstooth button-up that was impossibly soft, and walked over to Tav, holding it up against his chest. “They’re from a service that delivers clothing. You try it on. If you like it, you keep it. If not, you send it back with the trunk. No need to go to shops.”

Tav rubbed the material of the shirt between his thumb and forefinger. “Hm. You know, I can’t even take the piss out of this. Doing the whole fitting mess without leaving the house? I could get used to that.”

“Try it on, Tav!” Jamie said. His anger was gone, and he was already excitedly digging through the clothing, picking out items he thought would look good.

Portia’s phone vibrated on the kitchen table. “I’ll give you some privacy. But Jamie, take a photo of every outfit so I can check them out later.”

“You’re not going to supervise?” Tavish said with a quirk of his brows.

“I trust your judgment,” she said quickly. She didn’t really, when it came to clothing, but the last thing she needed was to be in a room with a half-dressed Tavish. The kernel of a crush was a full-grown stalk, budding ears of corn that could not be harvested. She swept up her phone and turned her back on Tavish and his inviting brows. Besides, one of her parents was on the phone and she was certain she couldn’t hold a conversation if Tav was stripping down in front of her.

“Hello?”

“Portia Monique Hobbs.” Her mother’s voice was sharp on the other end of the phone. “Why did I have to find out about this duke business from your sister?”

“Reggie told you?” Portia was blindsided. She’d told Reggie because it was pretty huge news and Tav had agreed that she could announce it in the travel column she’d been doing for Reggie. Low key, high visibility, totally in their control. She hadn’t expected her sister to run and tell her parents, but then again, Reggie had conversations with them that consisted of more than flailing defensively.

“Well, she stopped by the office and Vanessa started talking about your little trip, since she’d seen some stuff about it on Reggie’s site. Vanessa then started talking about some photo of you with this man you’re apprenticing with, and when I asked if the only reason you’d gone was to ‘hook up’ with some Scottish man, Reggie explained what was going on.”

Portia couldn’t even muster up the energy to be angry at her mother’s assumption, though she was sure it would come eventually.

“I told you that I took this apprenticeship because I was interested in helping build this business and in learning this craft. You really thought it was possible that I came here to chase after a man?”