A woman in a smart navy suit stood at the top of the stairs, her hands clasped in front of her, a stern look on her face and a hairstyle that looked like it would withstand a tornado.
Was that Ryder’s mother? She was hardly what I’d imagined, but then he hadn’t said much.
Ryder stepped out of the car, then turned, took my hand and helped me out. As he closed the door, he waved. “Hi, Mrs. MacBee,” Ryder said, grinning like he was seeing a long-lost friend.
I smiled at her but she just nodded. “Is that your mother?”
“No,” he said with a laugh. “That’s Mrs. MacBee, our housekeeper. Don’t worry, her bark is worse than her bite.”
Our driver opened the trunk and he and Ryder emptied our bags from the back. “I’ll do these,” Ryder said.
“No, sir. It’s my job.”
Ryder sighed but picked up the largest bag in one hand, took mine in the other and we climbed the twelve steps toward Mrs. MacBee.
“You didn’t let me have your dietary requirements,” she said to Ryder as we reached the top.
“Good to see you too, Mrs. MacBee,” he replied with a nod. “Let me introduce you to Miss Scarlett King.” He headed down the stairs to help Lane with the rest of the bags, oblivious to Lane’s obvious annoyance.
“How do you do, Miss King?” Mrs. MacBee addressed me.
My smile felt tight as it stretched across my face and I took her outstretched hand and shook it. “Oh, please call me Scarlett.” No one I dealt with ever called me by my last name.
“Welcome, Miss King,” she said and she turned and walked inside.
Had it been inappropriate to ask her to call me Scarlett?
Ryder put his arm around my shoulders as he reached the top of the stairs again. “It’s good to be home,” he said, turning us both so we faced away from the house, out across the lake. There was nothing but trees and grass as far as the eye could see. Did his family own all this land?
“This is my favorite view in the world,” Ryder said.
“It’s beautiful.”
“Come and I’ll show you around,” Ryder said, tugging me toward him.
We turned and passed through the huge oak double doors.
“Grandfather,” Ryder said as we got inside, the heavy thud of the doors behind making me jump.
An elderly man with a walking stick, dressed in what looked like a robe, came toward us. He held up his hands, his stick swinging like a pendulum. “Ryder, my dear boy, it’s so good to see you.” He gave me a wink as Ryder put his arm around him in a half-hug. “Even better that you brought your bride.” After such a formal introduction to Mrs. MacBee, it wouldn’t have surprised me if Ryder had shaken his grandfather’s hand.
“Should you be out of bed?” Ryder asked, trying to take his arm.
His grandfather batted him away. “Don’t you start. I’m here to meet my soon-to-be granddaughter-in-law.” He held out his hands and I glanced at Ryder for guidance. It didn’t seem like his grandfather intended to hug me, but . . . I reached out and he took both of my hands in his and squeezed. It was more than a handshake, but less than a hug. I exhaled. “You have no idea how grateful I am to have you here,” he said. “You’re a very good girl helping my grandson like this.” Ryder hadn’t warned me that his grandfather knew. Did that mean he wanted Ryder to inherit over Frederick?
“It’s so good to meet you, sir.”
His grandfather chuckled and I wasn’t sure why. Perhaps I should have said how do you do. I wish I’d spent more time on the plane quizzing Ryder rather than reading or napping.
“His Grace needs to rest,” Mrs. MacBee said from behind us.
His Grace? Shit, what was that about? Was that how I should have greeted him?
“I’ll show you to your rooms,” Mrs. MacBee said. “I’ve put Scarlett in the East Wing, and you have your old room.”
“Nonsense! This is a new millennium,” Ryder’s grandfather said. “Ryder and Scarlett will share his room.”
I was more than fine to have separate rooms. It would allow me some privacy, somewhere I could escape to. Ryder and I were still getting to know each other—trapping us in the confines of one room didn’t seem like the ideal scenario.
Mrs. MacBee scowled. “Before the wedding, I—”
“I may be old and tired, but I’m still the duke around here,” Ryder’s grandfather snapped.
What did he say?
“Very good, Your Grace,” she replied.
I turned to Ryder, wanting to ask him about the odd exchange between Mrs. MacBee and Ryder’s grandfather, but he took my hand and squeezed. “They’ve been bickering like this my whole life.” Ryder’s grandfather grabbed onto the wooden balustrade with his free hand. “Can I help you upstairs, Grandfather?” Ryder asked.
“No, no, no. I’m just leaning and then I can manage to get to the library. You two get settled in and I shall see you for dinner. Seven sharp. Some of the family insisted on inviting themselves so it will be in the dining room.”
Ryder groaned. “Some of the family?”
“It couldn’t be helped. Frederick and Victoria want to meet the lovely Scarlett.” Ryder’s grandfather fixed Ryder with a serious look. “You knew that they’d doubt you. This is the gauntlet you have to run.” He released his hand, turned and began to make his way left through a doorway. He held up his stick. “But run it you will. And you’ll come out stronger in the end.”
I almost jumped out of my skin when Mrs. MacBee said, “Mr. Merriman has been shooting. So it will be pheasant for dinner.” I’d forgotten she was still there. “Let me know if I can get you anything to make you more comfortable.” She turned on her heel and clipped off down the hall, leaving Ryder and me standing in the oak-paneled hallway.
“This place, Ryder. You should have told me.” Portraits of very stern-looking men and women lined the walls.
He shrugged. “It’s just home to me. Come,” he said, holding out his hand for me. “Let me show you where we’ll be sleeping.” I slid my palm against his and we started to climb the oak stairs. Brass stair rods held in place worn, moss-green carpet. It looked older than me. Why hadn’t they replaced it?
I ran my hand over the oak of the banister. It was so wide I could splay my hand and neither finger found the edge. “How old is this place?” I asked.
“Mainly late seventeenth century. Different parts were built at different times. This entrance hall is gothic, and one of my favorite parts of the house. Do you like this period of architecture?”
I shrugged. “I guess.” I had no idea about English architecture—or anything else about who Ryder was, it seemed. We were relative strangers, but over the last few weeks, it had felt as if we’d gotten to know each other. Being here with him, I realized I didn’t know him at all. It was like there was a Manhattan version of him and an English version of him.
Midway up the staircase, we came to a split, and Ryder guided us left. “Mrs. MacBee called your grandfather ‘Your Grace.’ What was that about?”
“Oh, she’s just formal like that.”
I glanced over at him.