Shelby looked up from the book she’d been pretending to read ever since dinner, watching as her uncle made his way to the mahogany table holding an assortment of his favorite liquid refreshments.
She loved her uncle, loved him very much. He was happy, silly, sometimes profane, and totally outrageous. Such a handsome man, with his thick shock of white hair and neatly-trimmed beard, his boozy-red cheeks and nose, his twinkling blue eyes. His devilish smile, his lust for life. Sort of like a trim, dapper Santa Claus on speed. “Uncle Alfred?”
“Umm? Yes, my pet?”
She almost lost her courage, then asked her question anyway. “Have you ever wondered what life would be like if we were... normal?”
Alfred Taite leaned an elbow against the mantel, balanced his brandy snifter in his free hand, and stared at his niece. “Define normal, my darling.”
Shelby stood up, began to pace. “You know—normal.” She spread her arms to indicate the magnificently furnished Taite drawing room, the entire Tudor mansion, their entire world. “As opposed to this, which is about as abnormal as it gets.”
“Oh,” Alfred said, taking a sip of brandy. “You mean poor, don’t you? I try not to think about that, actually. I wouldn’t either, Shelby, if I were you. You don’t want to see how the other half lives, and nobody certainly wants to live as the other half lives. Just the thought is giving me shivers. It would only deject you. Trust me on this.”
Shelby drew her hands into fists, trying to find the words to say what she meant. “I don’t mean poor, exactly, Uncle Alfred. I mean... I mean real. Yes, that’s what Jim called it. Real. I want to feel real. I want to experience life as a real person. A normal person.”
“No you don’t, darling. I have it on good authority that the real people don’t think real life is all it’s cracked up to be. And you said Jim? Who, pray tell, is Jim?”
“Our chauffeur, Uncle Alfred. Surely you know his name.”
He blinked at her, pushed himself away from the mantel, truly not comprehending. “Why? Is there a reason I should? It’s enough that he knows me, knows he’s supposed to pick me up, take me places, not lose me.”
“You’re insufferably arrogant, do you know that?” Shelby asked, smiling at her uncle.
“A large part of my charm, my darling,” he said, saluting her with the snifter. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe the esteemed Jim is waiting for me outside. Wouldn’t it make Somerton happier if we were to call the man James? Well, never mind about that. Do you remember who I’m squiring this evening, my pet, and, for God’s sake, why?”
Shelby grinned, shook her head. “Mrs. Oberon, Uncle Alfred. To a special summer presentation of the opera, which explains your tails.”
“Oh, yes, yes, the penguin suit,” Alfred said, trying to turn about, to look at his own backside. “Well, I’ll be on my way then. Unless you want to discuss more of this real-life business?”
Shelby shook her head again. “No, Uncle Alfred. That’s all right. I think this is something I’ll just have to work out for myself.”
He patted her cheek. “Splendid idea, darling. Just don’t say work, all right? You’re a Taite, remember? Work. What a horrible, four-letter word. Why, next thing we know, you’ll be abusing my sensitive ears with words like industry and discipline and—ye gods!—social conscience.”
Shelby bit her lip. “Uncle Alfred? Aren’t all those words somewhere on the Taite family crest?”
“What a depressing reminder. Somerton wears the damn thing on those ridiculous blazers he wears at the yacht club, which is horribly embarrassing.” Alfred looked at her owlishly. “How you’ve pained me, to remind me of those nagging Taite responsibilities. Responsibility—another horrible word. You’re so unlike me at times. In fact, sometimes, Shelby, I wonder if I had anything to do with your birth.”
“You didn’t, Uncle Alfred.”
“Oh, that’s right. Pity. My brother was so like Somerton, right down to that horrible cleft in his chin—which is why I wear this beard, you know, to camouflage mine own. You’d have more spirit if I’d cuckolded your father, damn me if you wouldn’t. But, then, I never could abide your mother, God rest both their starchy souls.”
Shelby’s smile faded. Not because of his comments about her parents, who’d both died a dozen years ago after living lives quite separate from those of their two obligatory offspring. It was her uncle’s comments about her lack of spirit that upset her. “I don’t have any spirit, Uncle Alfred? Do you really believe that?”
Alfred laid down the top hat and cape he’d picked up and walked over to his niece. “Did I say that? Oh, I’m sorry, darling. But you have been moping a bit of late, haven’t you? Chin—blessedly not cleft—dragging on the carpets and all of that? You’ve been unhappy. Probably because you’re so very proper and upright otherwise.”
“Unlike you,” she said sadly.
“Ah, yes. I remember my own youth, long gone and sorely lamented. Was asked to leave two prep schools and three colleges—a Taite record, and one of which I remain inordinately proud. But I lived, darling, I experienced! I toured Europe, traveled across America, rubbed elbows with the little people, learned all about this real life you’ve been hinting at so longingly tonight.”
Shelby’s heart began to beat faster, excitement at her uncle’s adventures warming her blood, speeding her pulse. “You did? I never knew, never guessed. You broke out, Uncle Alfred? You broke away from all this, went your own way—experienced life?”
“Oh, I most certainly did, my child.” He sighed, bent down, picked up his snifter once more. “And then I... settled. Being cut off from one’s allowance while sitting in a broken-down Thunderbird in the middle of an Arizona desert tends to bring one sharply to his senses. Now I drink, and I squire old ladies wearing too much old family money and definitely too much scent, and I drink some more. But I do have my memories. Those I do have.”
“Memories,” Shelby repeated, chewing on her bottom lip. Perhaps, she thought, being settled wouldn’t be so bad, not if she had memories. Her smile began to grow again, the fairly crazy idea that had knocked on her mind earlier now finding an open door and a welcome mat.
She put her arms around her uncle and kissed him soundly on his flushed cheek. “Oh, thank you, Uncle Alfred. Thank you so much!”
He stepped back, holding on to her arms, looking deeply into her eyes. “Thank me? For what?”
“Why, for helping to create me, of course,” she said, kissing him yet again. “I’ve got some of your spirit somewhere inside of me. I must. And it’s about time I did something with it, before I settle.”