Page 14 of To Wed an Heiress
Less than an hour later—the time no doubt expedited by Lennox’s wishes—they were on their way. The coach was more luxurious than she’d expected, the springs such that Ruthie didn’t suffer any jarring movement. Still, Mercy had taken advantage of Connor’s offer and propped a pillow beneath Ruthie’s arm.
Mr. McAdams’s horses followed, their reins tied to the back of the carriage, an act that necessitated the vehicle’s slow speed. Even so, less than a half hour later Connor looked out the window and announced that they had arrived.
They truly were close to Duddingston Castle, neighbors in this isolated part of the Highlands. The carriage pulled into a graveled drive and Mercy looked out the window.
For the next few moments she stared, incapable of speech.
Macrory House was built of red brick in the shape of an E, with the circular drive facing the middle part of the letter. She’d never seen such an ill-named structure in her life. It wasn’t a house. Instead, it was a series of buildings linked together by porticos and extensions. The whole of the complex was easily the size of a city block.
At least two dozen chimneys topped the sloping roofs and at least that many white-framed windows faced the approach.
She truly hadn’t considered that her mother’s family might be wealthy enough to build the palace that was Macrory House.
“Is that it?” Ruthie asked, her voice faint.
Mercy glanced at Connor for confirmation.
“That it is,” he said.
When they stopped in front of the impressive two-door entrance framed by carved white stone, two servants emerged from the house, one to hold the horses and the other to open the carriage door. Each was dressed in identical green shirts with black trousers.
She hadn’t expected livery, either, but she had a feeling that she should be open to anything from this point forward. Nothing had been as she’d anticipated from the moment they left Inverness this morning.
Connor left the carriage first, holding out his hand for Mercy and then Ruthie. It wasn’t at all proper for Connor to grip Ruthie’s waist in an effort to assist her down the steps, but that was another comment Mercy wasn’t going to make.
“Welcome to Macrory House.”
She turned to find that they were being greeted by a white-haired man standing at the top of the steps. He was attired in a black coat, green waistcoat, and cravat. His somewhat amenable expression immediately faded as he stared at the carriage.
“Does that belong to Caitheart?”
Connor answered. “It does, McNaughton, and I’ll be moving it as soon as I can.”
The older man, whom she assumed was the butler, turned his attention to her. His mouth thinned, his bushy white eyebrows lifted, and his hazel eyes hardened. All because of Lennox’s carriage. Evidently, the antipathy between the families was equally shared.
“I’m McNaughton, miss,” he said in a voice as cold as ice. “How can I be of service?”
The inference being, of course, that he couldn’t possibly help anyone who’d arrived in a Caitheart carriage.
Mercy had given a great deal of thought on how to announce herself to her relatives, except that she’d never considered that she would have to do so through a servant. She’d envisioned a tearful reunion with her grandmother and her aunt. Then, they would introduce her to her great-uncle and other relatives.
That vision had been turned on its ear.
“I’m Mercy Rutherford,” she said. “I’ve come to visit my grandmother.”
McNaughton tilted his head slightly, but before he could ask, Mercy said, “Mrs. Ailsa Macrory Burns.”
If the butler was surprised, he didn’t show it. Instead, he nodded and stepped aside.
“If you’ll follow me, miss,” he said, his tone still icy.
She only nodded before turning back to Connor and the coachman.
“I’m so sorry about everything, Mr. McAdams,” she said. “I quite enjoyed the journey before the accident.”
He nodded and pulled on his hat, bowing a little.
“Thank you for your help,” she said to Connor. “You’ve been very kind.”
