The Virgin Bride of Northcliffe Hall - Catherine Coulter Page 0,1

and ancient, thankfully unloaded, dueling pistols. A rocking horse set on three wheels stood in a corner. It was a little boys’ nursery, nary a doll or a ruffle to be seen.

There were four doors off the main room, each opening into a small bedchamber. He walked to Pip’s door, quietly opened it, and cupped the candle flame with his hand so not to awaken him. Pip lay on his back on the small bed, his arms over his head, needful, he’d told his father, to protect him from fire-breathing dragons that came at night. A fine solution, Grayson had said. He looked down at this precious being, always marveling, then he quietly left his room to check on Barnaby. Barnaby’s hands were crossed over his chest, making him look quite dead. Where had that pose come from?

Grayson looked in on P.C. too. She was smiling in her sleep. Dreaming about Barnaby? Would he be her stepfather perhaps this year? Next year? One of her hands was closed around a small wooden pistol her grandfather, known as the Great, had given her for her last birthday. If the young Sherbrooke twins, Douglas and Everett, were here—instead of being in London with their parents, James and Corrie—he knew they wouldn’t dare torment her. She’d show no mercy and clout them without hesitation. P.C. looked more like her mother, beautiful Miranda, every day, her hair the same rich honey color, her eyes as blue as a Sherbrooke’s. He didn’t doubt she’d break hearts when she grew up, and wasn’t that a thought. Time, he was realizing, kept moving forward, sweeping away youth, making a father into a grandfather at breakneck speed. He thought of the earl, his uncle Douglas, still tall, straight, hair thick and white as snow. Grayson couldn’t imagine him ever leaving this earth. Had he stood in the nursery years ago just as Grayson was doing, watching his own sons, Jason and James, sleeping?

When Grayson finally fell asleep, he dreamed the magnificent black stallion was standing silent, watching him. With recognition, wearing that ancient silver bridle. What was that red stone? He wasn’t surprised in his dream when the stallion walked to him, nodded, blew into his hand, and Grayson swung himself up on his back. He rode the stallion until he awoke with a start as the stallion jumped an impossibly high fence. He realized his heart was beating fast with excitement. He felt quite well rested—wonderful, in fact. He also realized he missed Miranda and wished she hadn’t had to remain at Wolffe Hall to tend her sick mother-in-law. At least he’d brought P.C. and Barnaby with him, a treat for the children as well as for him since their antics never ceased to amaze and amuse him.

CHAPTER TWO

The next morning

Grayson’s aunt Alex, the Countess of Northcliffe, smiled at him across the breakfast table the next morning. The sun pouring in through the long window made her red hair gleam like the most brilliant ruby, and any white hairs were discreetly tucked under the vivid red. She whispered as she handed him the muffin basket, “Cook made nutty buns to welcome you, Grayson. Your uncle Douglas will be back from the stables any minute, and he will try to nab them. Quickly, take two. Hide one under your napkin. Hurry.” Alex took her own advice and grabbed two nutty buns out of the basket, hid one and bit into the other, and chewed. She looked ready to fall unconscious with pleasure. After one bite, Grayson was in a near swoon himself.

He said, “I got an icebox.”

Alex stopped her chewing. “Does the ice melt and leak all over the floor?”

“Yes, but not so much as Mr. Moore’s earlier ones, so I’m told. This one was made by a Mr. Hubalto Custer of York, sawdust stuffed in the sides to keep it cold. It’s a marvel, Aunt Alex. My cook complains about slipping in the puddles and breaking her leg, but her food stays cold, so she shakes her head and says, ‘The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away.’”

Grayson’s uncle Douglas, the Earl of Northcliff, said from the breakfast room doorway, “Cook informed me she won’t have one of those ugly heathen boxes in her kitchen.”

Grayson said without pause, “The champagne stays perfectly chilled.”

Douglas grinned. “Perhaps another conversation with Cook is in order.” He grabbed the basket, sat down, and ate a nutty bun in two bites. Alex deftly pulled the basket in front of her. The breakfast