Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 126850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 634(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 634(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
“You worried us when you left without letting us know where you were going,” the man said—presumably his grandfather. He fiddled with the sleeves of his shirt before focusing on William with a firm look.
“I did put a note on the fridge, Grandpa,” Will said. “And told both Craig and Shirley that I was going to Inverness to get Grace from the airport.”
“Evidently the message didn’t get passed on,” his grandfather responded. “A direct message would be appreciated next time.”
“Understood, Grandpa.”
The Duchess of Glenroch cleared her throat and looked pointedly at William and then me in the way that said she expected an introduction to be undertaken five minutes ago.
I swallowed my smile.
William sniffed, coughed, and stepped towards me. “Grandpa, this is Grace…” He trailed off because of course, I’d never told him my surname. Recovering quickly, he laid a hand on my back and motioned his other between us. “Grace, this is my grandfather, Angus. The Duke of Glenroch.”
The duke stared at me for a moment, and all the things Will had said about him in the brief few minutes before we’d arrived flashed through my mind, and so did my childhood of being surrounded by aristocrats of various rankings.
“Your Grace,” I said softly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
The only hint of surprise was in the twitch of his eyebrows. “And you, Grace. I hear you’re studying for your PhD at Cambridge University.”
“Yes, sir. I’m a history graduate there.”
“Fascinating. I’m an Oxford man myself, as is William, but I’m a fellow history graduate. I’d like to hear about your area of study for your PhD.”
My cheeks pinkened slightly. “I’d be happy to discuss it with you.”
“This is my wife, Morag.” Angus ushered her forwards. “The Duchess of Glenroch.”
Morag’s demeanour was far gentler than her husband’s, and her smile made her eyes twinkle with something that was a lot more playful than I’d expected from a couple that seemed so formal. “Grace,” she said warmly, taking my hands in hers. “It’s so lovely to meet you.”
I couldn’t help but smile at her. “The pleasure is mine, Your Grace.”
“Oh, please, call me Morag,” she replied, squeezing my hands. “Why, you’re practically family.”
I was?
That was news to me.
Morag released my hands, and I shot William a look. He looked as alarmed as I felt, and his grandfather turned around to face the house.
Apparently, it was news to him, too.
That didn’t inspire a lot of confidence.
“Then I suppose you should call me Angus, or I’ll never hear the end of it,” Angus said with a withering sigh.
Morag winked at me, and I fought back a smile, although it didn’t kill the fizzle of nervousness that was balled in the pit of my belly.
What did she mean, I was practically family?
I barely knew William, never mind anyone else!
William grabbed my cases from the boot and carried them across the gravel.
“Craig would have gotten those,” Angus said over his shoulder as we followed him towards the gorgeous entryway of the castle.
The door was slightly set in from the stone steps, and one of the two thick, wooden doors with gorgeous Gothic-style carvings was propped open, giving a peek at a black-and-white collie sitting and panting on the inside.
“I know, but Grace had an early start this morning, so she should get settled sooner rather than later,” he replied.
“Indeed.”
Morag smiled at me. “It is awfully early, but we do so appreciate you coming for the wedding. Everyone is terribly excited to meet you.”
They were? That was also news to me.
“I’m looking forward to it,” I said quietly.
Spoiler alert: I was not.
“Bruce, get inside,” Angus said. “Git.”
The dog—who I assumed was Bruce—did nothing of the sort, and instead stayed blocking the door, tail wagging against the wooden floors with his great long tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth.
I tried not to laugh at the blatant disobedience.
“Bruce. Bed,” Angus ordered.
Bruce ignored him.
Morag cleared her throat. “Bruce, to your bed.”
Bruce moved somewhere inside the castle, and Angus looked darkly at his wife. “I can’t stand that dog.”
“Yes. I know. That’s why you have freeze-dried chicken in your pockets,” Morag replied briefly.
“That’s not for Bruce.”
“Who is it for then, dear? The cockatiel?”
There was a cockatiel?
Good grief. What had I walked into?
Angus mimicked his wife’s actions a moment ago with a hefty clearing of his throat and stood aside to let Morag and I walk into the castle first.
“Thank you,” I said, skirting past him inside.
And holy wow.
The hallway—a gross understatement if ever there was one—was huge, with tall ceilings, carved stone walls, and the kind of flooring that showed hundreds of years of lives lived within these walls.
“Why don’t you get settled?” Morag asked me after a second. “It’s only us here for now, and you do look like you could use a nap, my dear.”
Lovely.
“William, show her to the room, would you?”