Eastman looked askance.
“You volunteered to accompany me to war, Eastman,” Griffin said. “That more than entitles you to voice your opinion in my presence, whatever the occasion.”
Eastman took a deep breath. “I question the wisdom of using Apollo as your mode of transportation. He is, after all, a breeding stallion and not the sort of mount a gentleman usually rides when paying a call upon his intended.”
“I’m not paying a call upon my intended,” Griff said. “I’m paying a call upon her father in order to ask for his daughter’s hand in marriage so that she may become my intended.” He flashed a self-deprecating grin. “I’m hoping Apollo will provide added incentive in convincing her father.”
“I don’t understand the necessity, my lord,” Eastman admitted.
“The lady I intend to marry is one of the Incomparable Beauties of the season.”
“Congratulations, my lord.” Eastman grinned. Lord Abernathy had been quite closemouthed about the young lady. Until this moment, he had yet to offer any hint as to her identity. Of course, that was the proper thing to do. A gentleman did not presume or bandy a young lady’s name about until the negotiations were concluded and the wedding notice appeared in the morning paper.
Griffin continued, “Her father is an earl, and the young lady has a plethora of suitors from which to choose—including the Duke of Sussex. Her family may not see the advantages of having their daughter marry me. I am only a viscount.”
“A young, handsome viscount. A viscount with an ancient title. A viscount who is wealthy in his own right and heir to the Earl of Weymouth,” Eastman listed Griff’s attributes.
Griff laughed. “Still a lowly viscount. But one whose father happens to possess one of the finest stables and breeding kennels in England.”
Eastman looked puzzled.
“The father of the young lady in question is quite a keen admirer of both.”
“I see.” And although Eastman was no judge of horseflesh, he knew Apollo was clearly superior to the horses other gentlemen rode. “I don’t see how the young lady’s father could fail to be impressed by Apollo—or by his rider.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Griffin agreed.
“Still,” Eastman mused, “it seems a shame to have to forgo a carriage ride around the park with your betrothed.”
“She isn’t my betrothed.”
“She will be,” Eastman predicted. “Once her pater is dazzled by the splendor of Viscount Abernathy on horseback.”
* * *
A half hour later, Griffin crossed Hyde Park and rode through the gates of Number Three Grosvenor Square. He dismounted, handed Apollo’s reins to a groom, then bounded up the front steps and knocked on the front door.
“Lord Abernathy to see Lord Tressingham,” Griffin announced as the butler answered his knock.
“His lordship is in his study.” The butler stepped back to allow Griffin entrance. He closed the front door behind him, then reached for Griff’s hat and gloves. “If you’ll follow me, sir.”
Griff obeyed, following the butler across a polished marble floor, past the curved banisters of the central staircase, down the hall to a pair of intricately carved oak doors.
The butler knocked on the door and announced him. “Lord Abernathy to see you, sir.”
Griff waited quietly, glancing around the study, taking note of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on two walls and the numerous oil paintings adorning the burled wood paneling on the remaining walls. Griff noticed that the paintings, all skillfully executed, were of horses and hounds. Even the massive oil painting hanging above the fireplace was of a tricolored foxhound.
Griff smiled and offered his hand in greeting as the butler withdrew from the room.
The Earl of Tressingham folded his morning paper and stood up. A jovial and good-looking man who stood a foot or so shorter than Griff, Johnny Tressingham more than made up for his lack of height with a prominent display of brawn. The earl came around his desk, right hand outstretched.
The two men shook hands, and Tressingham offered Griff a seat. “Come in, Lord Abernathy. Sit down and tell me, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
Griffin remained standing, frowning in concentration at the earl’s question. “Your daughter, sir.”
It was Tressingham’s turn to frown. “Which one? I’ve nothing but gels. Four of them, you know.”
Griff hadn’t known. Or hadn’t remembered. He had been a confirmed bachelor until a few days ago, and there had been no need for him to concern himself with keeping track of which families had marriageable daughters.