“When did MacTavish start using animal traps on the estate? I thought he was always so softhearted.”

“He doesn’t. He swears he never laid the trap, but he must have done, of course. Who else would put a bally great trap on one of our paths, and especially a path that Binky always walks in the morning?”

“Crikey. Is Binky all right?”

“Of course he’s not all right,” she snapped, reverting to type for the first time. “He’s laid up with a dashed great dressing over his ankle. In fact he was extremely lucky he was wearing those old boots that belonged to his grandfather. I kept telling him to throw them away but now I’m glad he didn’t listen to me. Anything less stout and the trap would have had his foot off. As it was the trap wouldn’t close completely and he got away with nasty gashes down to the bone and a cut tendon.”

“Poor old Binky. How terrible for him.”

“Terrible for him? What about terrible for me with all these awful people in the house?”

“What awful people?”

“My dear, we have a house full of disgusting Americans.”

“Paying guests?”

“Of course not paying guests. What on earth gave you that idea? Since when did a duke take in paying guests? No, these are friends of the Prince of Wales, or rather a certain woman among them is a friend of the Prince of Wales.”

“Oh, I see. Her.”

“As you say, ‘Her.’ The prince is at Balmoral, of course, and his woman friend would certainly not be welcome there, so the prince asked Binky if he could offer her hospitality so she’d be close enough to visit. And you know Binky—always too softhearted. Can’t say no to anybody. And he looks up to the prince, always has done. So of course he said yes.”

I nodded with sympathy.

“And the prince suggested that maybe we build a little house party around her and her husband—oh, did I mention that she still has a husband in tow? Mooches around like a lost sheep, poor fellow. Spends his time playing billiards. Can’t even shoot. So Binky goes ahead and invites some people to make up a house party—the cousins, of all people, to start with.”

“Which cousins?”

“On the Scottish side. You know that dreadful hairy pair, Lachan and Murdoch.”

“Oh yes. I remember well.” Lachan and Murdoch had always rather terrified me with their wild Highland appearance and behavior. I remember Murdoch demonstrating how to toss the caber with a fallen pine tree and hurling it through a window.

“Well, my dear, they haven’t improved with age, and you have no idea how much they eat and drink.”