“Sophistication comes with age and experience, and if accompanied with charm and wit, is excessively entertaining. But innocence and fresh beauty have its own appeal. Just be your delightful self, dearest. Men will fall in love with you in droves.”
Mercy didn’t want droves of men. Just one very special one. Had she driven Northcliffe away? He’d left the ballroom immediately after their dance. Tomorrow, she and Mama were to go to Mrs. Bishop’s musicale where her daughter was to perform a selection of Irish airs. Mercy wondered if he would be as contemptuous of untried musicians. She hoped he would attend, she’d enjoy giving him a set down, but only if Miss Bishop was in good voice.
Chapter Four
WITH A SMILE of welcome, the gatekeeper tipped his hat as Grant rode his horse through the massive wrought iron gates bearing his family crest. The long drive bordered by ancient elms led across a bridge over a rushing stream guarded by a pair of lichen-covered stone lions. Through the trees in the park, Thornhill appeared, towering over the landscape.
Grant remembered spending a good deal of his boyhood here, riding, hunting, and fishing when home from school and then university, as his parents were often in London due to his father’s parliamentary obligations.
At the stables, after Grant greeted the groom, he left his horse in his care. He made his way around to the front of the sprawling stone mansion while pulling off his leather gloves and removing his beaver hat.
Their butler, Elliston helped him out of his greatcoat. “Good to see you, my lord,” he said, his smile transforming his features. “You’ll find the duke and your father in the drawing room.”
In the great hall, the enormous painting of the house as it was one hundred and fifty years ago, still hung in pride of place, and on the west side was a large mural painted by Sir James Thorn. Grant breathed in the familiar smells of old timber, beeswax, and a floral bouquet from a large flower arrangement placed on an oak pier table. He climbed the broad staircase to his chamber to wash and change. Suitable attire was kept here for his visits. It always seemed like coming home, he seldom stayed at his father’s manor house. He heaved a sigh. This homecoming was tinged with sadness, a funeral awaited them.
A half hour later, tidily kitted out in a tailcoat of Spanish blue and fawn trousers, Grant was admitted by the footman to the long drawing room, cozy despite its size and crammed with family memorabilia. A favorite spot of his grandfather’s with the long windows facing south. Grant walked the length of the Turkish carpet toward the two men huddled by the fireplace. A pair of china, King Charles spaniels grinned at him from the stone mantel each side of a French guilt mantel clock, and two spaniels in their image lolled in baskets beside the fire. The saffron yellow papered walls were covered in ornate gilt frames, paintings of family members with their children, dogs, and horses. The largest and most impressive of the oils hung above the stone fireplace. Lady Anne, Grant’s grandmother, seated in the garden dressed in an eighteenth-century poppy-red gown; his father, James, a gangling boy beside her. Well-thumbed leather tomes with gilt bindings were stacked on a table and potted orchids crowded the window alcove.
In wing chairs before the fire, his father and grandfather faced each other over a wood and marble chess set, nursing ruby-filled wine glasses. “Good afternoon, Father, Grandfather.”
“Grant, my boy!” Grandfather beckoned him with a gnarled finger. “Ridden up from London, have you? Sit down and rest your bones. You’ve been a bit tardy of late. Haven’t seen you for over a month.” He gave a wry smile, deepening the crags in his leathery skin. “I won’t be around forever you know.”
Grant took a deep breath at the palpable sorrow tightening his chest. Death hung unspoken in the air with the realization that change was inevitable. The day would come when his grandfather’s vital presence would be gone. How cold and unwelcoming the house would be then. He forced a smile. “You’ll live to be a hundred, Grandfather.”
His father managed a grim smile. “Your grandfather and I have been trying to make sense of this distressing news.”
As the well-worn, emerald-green plush cushions on the sofa settled beneath him, Grant stretched out his tired legs. “I can hardly bring myself to believe it.”
“Bring a glass of wine for my grandson, Charles.”
The footman complied and handed the glass to Grant.
“What have you heard about Nat’s death?” Grant asked, after the footman left the room.
“Nothing much at all,” his father said with a frown. He smoothed his abundant dark hair sprinkled with silver. “His groom found him dead. He’d been missing for hours.”
“I’m sure you’ve sent a message of condolence, but I thought I’d ride up there and offer the family’s sympathy in person,” Grant said. “Perhaps I can discover something to ease Jenny’s distress.”
Grandfather gave a nod of approval. “Good lad.”
His father’s gaze roamed over him, no doubt searching for signs of dissipation. “Any news from London?”
“Nash is busy reconstructing Buckingham Palace for the king. But His Majesty looked very unwell when I last saw him.”
His father nodded. “His abuses are killing him.”
“The fourth George overindulges,” Grandfather said. “Nothing like his father. ‘Farmer George’ was a good man, until his illness sent him mad.”
“Why anyone would want to halt the progress of Locomotion Number One from Stockton to Darlington, beggar’s belief,” Father said with a worried frown. “As if the country isn’t in enough pain, with the stock market on a dangerous downward trajectory since those Latin American countries cannot repay their loans. And the Bank of England vacillating about whether to shore up support.”
Grandfather nodded. “Precarious times.”
His father put down his glass and mulled over the chess board. “Your sister Arabella has begun her Season with Aunt Jane as chaperone.” He moved his knight. “I trust you will make time to escort her to balls when you return to London. Keep those wolves from the door, eh?”
“I have made that promise to her, Father.” He was very fond of Bella, his only sibling. They’d seen too little of each other in the last couple of years, for she was eight years younger than him, and had been a schoolroom miss when he’d left home.
Grandfather pounced on the knight and moved his queen. “Checkmate.”
Father laughed and pushed back his chair. “That will teach me to be more observant. We’ll talk more later, Grant. I believe I’ll read for a few hours before dinner.”
