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The Stuart Estate was large—much larger than the Grant family’s own. When Niel and his siblings went there to visit, they were welcomed by a wrought iron gate, which had legume vines climbing up the gate’s twisting bars. When they had gotten in the property, they saw a well-kept lawn with despicable statues fixed on various points. Each building of the land had the Stuart coat of arms on it. It did not look warm and welcoming at all to the four children.

“This looks more like a penitentiary than an ancestral home,” Elle remarked. Niel noticed how her hand was on her chin, like a wise old man deep in thought. So unwomanly, he remarked silently.

Quickly, Patricia had hushed her older sister, but Frances made no move. She just blankly stared at the manor in front of them. It looked old and intimidating. It was so unlike their own home, which was warm and homely to all who would visit. The boy wondered if commoners were allowed to even lay eyes on the estate.

The four siblings inched slowly to the steps leading to the wide mahogany door, from which came out a tall uniformed butler who carried the air of a prime minister.

“You are the Grant children, I presume?” he asked them. His head was tilted in such an angle that his chin was seen more than his heavily-lidded blue eyes. When Niel and his sisters nodded, the butler introduced himself as Alastair Wright, saying, “Come in now. The lord and lady are expecting you.”

When the four were already in and the door was already closed and locked shut, Niel saw how dark and unapproachable the corridor leading to the sitting room was. The narrow walls were lined with fading portraits of the Stuart ancestors, most with the same maiden name for they were all inbred, and each Stuart member bore a nasty grin. To think that his own mother was a part of this family made Niel shudder.

However, his sisters appeared calm and reposed, and when they reached the living room, there were four people waiting. All of them resembled the portraits from the corridor. The tall man stood up and approached them.

“You must be Tyrone’s bunch,” he commented, seeing the resemblance the twins had to their father. Afterwards, he reached out a hand to Niel. “I am Lord Wilhelm Stuart, owner of the Stuart estate.”

Now, it must be very confusing, to have one’s uncle introduce himself to his teenage nephew, but Niel had never seen him before in the family celebrations, and he knew why. Despite his parents’ marriage, it never really patched up the family rivalry; something always came up that tore that patch. Thus, none of the Stuarts ever visited the Grants, and the Grants simply never acknowledged that one of their in-laws was a Stuart.

Nevertheless, Niel took the gloved hand with a faux smile and said, “I am Nathaniel John, heir to the Grant estate.” He had been taught by his mother to introduce himself with his “birthright”, and he quickly saw the resemblance of his introduction to his uncle’s, realizing that this way of introduction was a Stuart tradition. However, the boy pushed these aside, tried to act like a mature boy which he wasn’t, and tilted his head to the tall boy’s direction. “He is Edward, I assume?” Fitting in with this cold family was tough.

Lord Wilhelm looked behind him, grinned for a second, and took the boy with him. “Yes, his is my son and heir to the Stuart land, and, I think you already know, the husband-to-be of your sister Frances.” He smiled, albeit not so genuinely, at Frances. He then pointed at the shorter girl beside his wife. “That girl is Franciné, my daughter.”

After all the introductions were made, the air was tense and uneasy, so Lady Anne quickly convinced her spouse to take the boys hunting, while she watch the girls sew, a suggestion that made Elle squirm. Niel tried to hide his chuckle; Elle was useless when it came to stitching.

So, he, his cousin, and his uncle left the sitting room and grabbed a rifle each before heading out. Alastair followed them with a gun of his own, and the four males went to the forest just outside the Stuart estate.

“I sure hope your father taught you how to shoot, Nathan,” Edward said as he inspected his gun. “This forest is perfectly wild and left intact and undomesticated.”

Niel tried to hide a scowl at both the way his cousin called him and the haughtiness in Edward’s tone. He turned the rifle so the tube would be facing him, closed his left eye, and looked into the hole.

“Idiot!”

The remark nearly made Niel pull the trigger and inevitably blind his eye, but thankfully he didn’t. He just dropped the gun in shock.

“You don’t do it that way, silly cousin of mine,” Edward said, taking the gun. “You remove the bullets first, then inspect it, but still, I think a even peasant knows how to inspect his gun then shoot.” He aimed and shot at an unsuspecting large bird. “Like this, see?” He snickered and shook his head. “Clearly, my uncle did not teach his own heir well. Or maybe he thought you were too much of a baby for hunting?” He then poked at Niel’s stomach. “With all that blubber, I don’t think he thought otherwise. Maybe eating a bit less would make your father think about seriously training you and not just letting you shoot slow, dim-witted cows?” He then pointed at himself. “Look at me. I may be a bit on the skinny side, but at least my father has taught me how to actually hunt. He’s been teaching me since I was seven. The Grants are surely too soft on you.”

Seeing Niel’s offended face, Edward shook his head again. “I’m sorry. I must have been too rough on you. You see, this is how we greet relatives our age.” He plucked a shiny cranberry from its bush and ate it. “You should know that we Stuarts are blunt, and that our jokes may offend faint hearts.”

Jokes? Niel desperately wanted to punch this sorry excuse of a relative, but he merely picked up his gun, shot at a tree, ignored his uncle and cousin’s “good-natured” jokes about him, and excused himself. He was going to tell Frances; he could not accept that his sister was going to marry such a boy.