She eyed him carefully. He was so devilishly handsome with an air of self-confidence that made it difficult to broach the subject of Wolf. But she was determined to lay all her concerns on the table today. The last day they had together before becoming man and wife.
She cleared her throat. “Northcliffe, you have yet to meet my dog. I shall send for Wolf after the wedding.”
He tightened the reins as the carriage approached a sharp corner. “I prefer you call me by my given name when we’re alone.”
“Very well. But you haven’t said whether you object to my dog.”
Grant raised his brows. “I’m fond of dogs. Had a few as a boy. Toby was the last of them, a first rate rabbiter, died of old age. Grandfather has King Charles spaniels and Father a greyhound, Rufus.”
“Then perhaps your grandfather won’t mind Wolf. He prefers to live in the house.”
“Does he indeed,” he cocked a brow. “A house dog named Wolf?”
Mercy grinned and shrugged. What would Grant make of Wolf? Did he assume the dog was a small breed? She twisted her fingers together. The wedding would be called off if he refused this one wish of hers. She didn’t care what Father said. “You really don’t mind, then?”
“Not if he’s house trained. And doesn’t sleep in the bedchamber. I draw the line at that.”
Would they share a bedchamber? In a stately mansion, it seemed unlikely. It was not the usual practice amongst theton. Her mother and father had their own chambers, as did Charity and Robin, although they were so in love that she doubted they slept apart. Mercy spent several minutes dwelling on the subject whilst studying Grant’s hands on the reins. She took a deep breath. “Wolf is well trained. A bed near the kitchen fire will do.” She sank back on the seat relieved to have got that off her chest.
He laughed. “Does Wolf like cats? There are several mousers living below stairs.”
“Wolf is very sociable with the cats at home.” The same couldn’t be said for birds of any description or squirrels, although they seemed always to outwit the dog. Mercy thought it prudent to leave that unsaid. Wolf enjoyed company and she wondered if he would be permitted to join them in the parlor. Tempted as she was to have a promise from Grant, she knew it would be dishonest, for he had yet to see her dog. Instead, she smiled, remembering Honor’s advice, although she did dislike having to ask permission for every little thing. And she wasn’t confident she could manage to always be so obliging.
“Thank you, Grant.”
Grant’s golden brown eyes warmed. “I like to hear my name on your lips.” His grin flashed dazzling against olive skin. “Here we are.” When he pulled the horses up before a big set of gates, the gatekeeper rushed from the gatehouse to open them. He smiled and bowed as Grant drove through them.
The mansion seemed to stretch for over a mile. A pair of burley footmen in green and gold livery came forward at their approach. Grant greeted each of them by name, tossed the reins to one and took her arm. They crossed the mosaic-floored porch beneath a pedimented portico supported by six massive columns. The butler waited at the doors beneath a semi-circular window. In his black attire, he reminded Mercy of a fearsome crow, until the glimmer of a welcoming smile softened the harsh lines of his face when Grant introduced them.
Ellison bowed. “How do you do, my lady. My lord, your grandfather is in the drawing room.”
The long drawing room enveloped Mercy with scents from potted flowers, beeswax, smoke, aged wool and damp dog. Her senses overwhelmed, she moved forward attempting to take it all in, crowded as it was with memorabilia and huge, gilt-framed family portraits. She spotted what might be a Van Dyke amongst them. Charity would enjoy viewing them. Mercy could spend hours in this chamber, which had an Adam’s fireplace on each far wall, examining every interesting detail.
“Grandfather, I am pleased to present my fiancée, Lady Mercy.”
She was so taken with the chamber, she started when a craggy faced gentleman rose, and with one hand on his cane, made her a courtly bow.
She hurried over to him and sank into a deep curtsey before his frail legs gave way. “I am honored to make your acquaintance, Your Grace.”
He took her hand and raised it to his lips. His faded brown eyes held a surprisingly youthful sparkle. “So, this is your fiancée, m’boy. Welcome, my dear, to Thornhill. I did not expect to have the pleasure of welcoming my grandson’s wife to this house.” He turned to Grant, looping an arm around his shoulders. “Good news indeed.”
Grant hugged his grandfather, the affection and respect he held for him obvious. A side of Grant she had not seen before. He’d been just as respectful, but more coolly circumspect with his father.
“Sit down, sit down,” the duke urged, easing himself back into the wing chair and tucking his stick beside him. “Well, Grant, you’ve chosen well, I must say.” His eyes settled on her with a twinkle. “Your father and I are old friends, Lady Mercy, although I’ve not set eyes on him for some years. Used to play an excellent game of chess when we belonged to the same London club. He has yet to beat me. I must remind him of it.” He chuckled. “Do you play chess, my dear?”
“Not well enough to play with you, Your Grace.”
“We shall see.” He smiled. “The tea tray has been ordered. I’m sure you’re parched after the drive.”
“I’ll have a whiskey,” Grant said. “Grandfather?”
When his grandfather declined, Grant walked over to the sideboard, its polished surface covered in bottles and crystal glasses.
A footman admitted a pair of black-and-white King Charles spaniels into the room. They ran noisily over the rug to settle at the duke’s feet, beside the small fire burning in the grate.
Mercy jumped up. “Oh, they’re adorable.” She dropped to her knees to pat their silky, damp fur. Their dark button eyes looked at her with interest. “What are their names, Your Grace?”
The Duke cast an affectionate glance at them. “The bigger of the two is Jasper. The other Julian. They have just had their bath. During their walk this morning, they disgraced themselves by rolling in mud.”
