Kendal

by Sasha Cottman

  The duke frowned. “I am surprised that the Marquess of Lowe is indulging his son in this musical madness. He and I discussed the matter of both you and he, taking on wives this year, but the damn fool is still letting Owen go and play these childish games. In my day, you would have been handed a bride and told to get on with it.”

  Kendal’s mother turned to her husband and laid a hand on his arm. “That’s because Lord Lowe has already secured a young lady for his son. They are due to marry at the end of the summer. Kendal here is yet to find love.”

  “Bah. Love. Kendal needs to get about the business of securing my bloody line. If he wants to marry for love, he needs to stop messing about with that namby-pamby piano and get his hands on some unmarried chit’s breasts. A girl needs to know that a chap is interested,” replied Lord Grant.

  Lady Grant gasped. Ophelia tilted her golden-haired head and tittered into her hand.

  I knew I shouldn’t have bothered to set my wine glass back down.

  A parade of footmen entered the dining room and a bowl of soup was placed in front of each of the seated family members. Kendal stifled a groan of disappointment. His father was apparently on another one of his diets, and everyone was being forced to eat Brussels sprout soup; it wasn’t even creamed. He shuddered at the sight.

  Phillip, the wily chap, lifted his hand and waved his bowl of soup away. “I am not hungry. Randolph and I are headed out shortly. I shall partake of a light supper later—something that doesn’t disturb my delicate stomach.” He rose from the table and put down his napkin.

  Kendal could have throttled his brother for staging yet another one of his timely departures. It wasn’t that he resented Phillip his social life, it was just that his leaving now left Kendal in the prime spot for yet another of their father’s long lectures about his need to find a wife. The topic already seemed set for this evening.

  After Phillip had left the room, Kendal sat for a time, swirling his spoon around the bowl. If he waited long enough, the soup would go cold and he wouldn’t have to eat it.

  “What about a ball or a garden party? I could arrange for a selection of young suitable ladies to attend and you could take your pick,” suggested Lady Grant.

  Kendal dropped his spoon into the bowl with a clatter. Some of the untouched soup splashed over the side. “Why don’t you just line them up along the Strand and I can ride by and shoot an arrow? I will marry the first one I hit; it would save me having to get off my horse.”

  “Don’t be a cheeky upstart; your mother’s suggestion has merit,” said Lord Grant.

  Kendal caught Ophelia’s gaze across the table; and she screwed up her face. At least his sister was in agreement with him when it came to the issue of marriage and how he should go about finding a wife.

  “Sorry, Mama, but I don’t wish to hold a ball or a garden party. I promise as soon as the summer is over, I shall put my heart and soul into the business of finding love,” replied Kendal.

  The look on his father’s face told him that it was not the right answer. Yet again, he was testing his father’s patience.

  “Yes, Kendal, that sounds like a plan. Perhaps you could get Phillip to come along with you and also find himself a wife. He is Papa’s heir, after all,” said Ophelia.

  Kendal picked up his spoon and scooped a small amount of the rapidly cooling soup into his mouth. The second it touched his tongue he turned up his nose. Urgh.

  Whomever he did eventually end up marrying, she better never, have any intention of serving Brussels sprout soup for supper.

  With supper finally over, the women of the family took their leave, retiring to the main drawing room. Kendal and his father headed out to the garden. The duke liked to sit outside on warm summer nights such as this, accompanied by his two sons. They often partook of cigars and brandy. This was the time of the evening Kendal usually enjoyed.

  “What a wonderful evening. I can even see some stars overhead,” said Lord Grant, stepping out onto the terrace. He walked toward a pair of overstuffed chairs and a small table which had been arranged on the stone floor. A bottle of brandy and some glasses completed the comfortable and inviting setting. Near to the door stood three footmen, dressed in the red and gold Banfield livery. Lord Grant always had servants close at hand, waiting for his instructions.

  Kendal looked up; a healthy breeze had cleared away some of the grey smoke which normally hung over London. With more than one million inhabitants, and the constant fires burning in the hearths of every household, the city’s air was rarely clean.

  “Yes, we get quite a good view from the balcony at the back of Follett House. Reid says he saw the evening star last week, but I wasn’t home in time to catch it,” replied Kendal.

  “Hmph. We have a fine position with which to study it right here.” His father sniffed. “Such a pity your brother Phillip isn’t with us.”

  As he took the chair to the right of his father, Kendal had a sudden thought. Over the past months, these weekly gatherings had gone from being the three of them to just him and the duke.

  Why isn’t Phillip here?

  For some unknown reason Phillip was stepping back from the family. It was a worrying realization.

  After the assembled footmen had supplied them both with full glasses of brandy and lit cigars, Lord Grant dismissed the servants. His father then sat for a time quietly sipping his drink but saying nothing. When Lord Grant finally stirred and set his glass on the table, Kendal sensed a shift in the mood.

  “Do you know why I am pressing you to marry?” asked Lord Grant.

  Kendal shrugged. “Because you are worried about Phillip’s health. That he may not live long enough to supply the Banfield title with an heir.”

  Phillip might well be a pain in the rump, but he was still Kendal’s big brother and he loved him dearly. The story of Phillip being ill was a regular one circulating within the ton; it was usually met with a polite nod and then not discussed any further. Kendal was content to let society think they knew the real story when it came to the Marquess of Hartley.

  His father sighed. “At times I think that him actually being sick might be the lesser of two evils. I know that sounds absolutely terrible, and I would never say it in front of your mother or sister, but it’s the truth.”

  “So, he is not sick?” replied Kendal. Well, what a surprise. I thought he had you all fooled.

  “No. As far as I am aware, Phillip is in fine health. And I think you know that too. The problem is Randolph. Or, to be more honest, Phillip’s relationship with Randolph. I have my thoughts on the subject.”

  Kendal’s stomach dropped. Randolph and Phillip had been close for many years, right from the time they were at Eton together, but until recently he had not thought that their bond was anything other than that of long-time friends.

  Kendal had been a unique operative in the army; he specialized in discovering information, in revealing secrets. He possessed knowledge of a great many things that others in London society thought they had well hidden. His father’s dismissal of the servants from their presence now made sense. “I must confess that I have not thought that Phillip was ill, rather just lazy. And as to the matter of Randolph, yes, I am beginning to have my own suspicions too.”

  He chose his words carefully, not wishing to overstep the mark. Words spoken, could not be unsaid.

  His father fixed him with a long stare. “I think we are beyond mere suspicions. I know for a fact.”

  He and the other Noble Lords had all served in the military where it was not unheard of for close friendships between soldiers to transform into something else. Something that would see a man sent to the gallows if proven in a court of law. “Have you discussed this with Phillip?”

  “I have not broached the subject directly with him, but he has made it clear to me that he does not intend to ever take on a wife. I have done everything to make him give up Randolph, but the rows between us became so violent that your mother begged me to stop.”

  Kendal
nodded. Of course. It made sense as to why the pressure to marry had now been transferred from firstborn to second son. If Phillip never intended to provide the Banfield title with a future duke, it would fall to Kendal to do the job.

  The idea stung his pride sharp and deep. Unless Phillip predeceased him, it would be Kendal’s son, not Kendal himself, who would one day inherit. Always second violin, but never first—destined to spend his life just off center stage.

  After picking up his cigar, he drew back on it, suddenly wishing it was one of Callum’s hashish-infused ones. His father and his forebears were relying on him to take up the mantle and do his duty, to set aside much of his own life plans in order to see the Grant family bloodline continue.

  “I know . . .”

  Kendal held up his hand, stopping his father’s words. “Just give me a minute please. I need to think.” He rose from his chair and slowly wandered out into the dark of the garden, away from the light of the wall torches. The weight of family expectations sat heavily on his shoulders.

  His father’s fears were real. If the knowledge that Phillip was involved in a relationship with another man ever became public, the scandal would hurt the Grants. His own marriage prospects and those of Ophelia, would likely be damaged. Not to mention what would happen to both Phillip and Randolph.

  He screwed his eyes shut, fighting the near-overwhelming temptation to go and punch something.

  Little wonder his parents had maintained the lie about Phillip’s health. A sickly son was socially acceptable; a homosexual one was not. But no matter what society or the law thought of the matter, as far as the Grant family were concerned, both Phillip and Randolph had to be shielded from the repercussions of their relationship. Their families had to be protected.

  And it fell on him to do everything in his power to ensure all stayed safe. Kendal loved his brother and he would do everything to protect Phillip.

  His decision made, he turned and headed back to his father. “I get to choose my bride. That is not negotiable. I don’t want either you or Mama trying to fix me up with someone. If I am going to have to live with and support this lie, then I want it to be with a woman I at least care for. I need a wife whom I can bind my heart to with this secret, someone I can trust.”

  Lord Grant nodded. “Agreed. But I still need you to be married as soon as possible, preferably by summer’s end. My biggest concern is that at some point, someone is going to make a mistake, and all this will come to light. The Banfield line must be secured before then.”

  Kendal resumed his seat and downed a large gulp of brandy. He slowly shook his head. “And here was me worried that you were about to announce Brussels sprout soup as a permanent part of the household menu.”

  Lord Grant snorted. He reached out and placed a fatherly hand on Kendal’s shoulder. “I know you and I have not been close through the years. Your mother indulged you as a child. She said Phillip was mine to mold, but you were hers. Now I am claiming you as my heir in all but name. The Banfield line must continue; we owe it to our forebears. I promise to give you enough money and property over time to have you living the life as if you were my heir. Of course, if Phillip does die before you, then you will get your chance to be duke. But the main thing is that we must make certain you give the title a legitimate heir.”

  “You give me this summer with the Noble Lords, and I will give you reason to hold a wedding ball. But and I mean but, you have to let me stay at Follett House and have this time with my friends. If I am going to have to give up much of what I had planned for my own life in order to serve my family, it is only fair you allow me this.”

  Rehearsing and playing music during one last summer filled with hedonistic mischief was exactly what Kendal’s jaded soul needed. His muse might have deserted him since his return from war, but while he waited and prayed for his musical spark to return, he was going to drink and make merry.

  That had been the plan. Now, he had to put his mind to the problem of finding a girl to fall in love with—a girl who would love him in return and whom he could trust to keep his family secret safe—all in the matter of a few months.

  Was that even possible?

  Kendal sat back in his chair and lifted his brandy glass to his lips. Marrying soon and even playing second fiddle to his own son was not the worst of things that could happen to him. Giving up on his lifelong dream of finding a wife who shared his passion for music was going to break his heart. As he sat and stared out into the dark, a wild idea came to him.

  His father had not stipulated the sort of woman he was to marry, nor her background. His wife would likely never be a duchess, and he certainly didn’t need to do as Owen was doing and marry for money. The Grants were one of the wealthiest families in England.

  An image of Mercy Wood slipped into his mind.

  Now there’s a thought.

  Through a stroke of sheer luck, had the right girl just walked into his life? She certainly filled a lot of his criteria: stunningly beautiful, in possession of a feisty personality and wit. But it was the way that she played the piano which had him thinking longer about her than he rightly should. Mercy could hold her own at the keyboard.

  He would bet ten guineas that he could walk into any crowded ballroom in London and ask every woman present if she had any clue that Antonio Salieri had composed two piano concertos and he would come up short. He wouldn’t even bother to ask those who did know if they could play one; it was impossible.

  Yet a piano tuner’s daughter from South London could. A young woman who Kendal found almost impossible to get out of his mind; he had tried for most of the afternoon, but there was just something about Mercy Wood that had him captivated.

  “You go and have your fun this summer, Kendal, but I want to see your wedding banns posted up at St. Paul’s cathedral before the first snow. If you put your mind to it, you should be able to find a pleasant young woman in London society who makes your cock hard enough to make you want to marry her. A big, fat dowry would, of course, be a nice bonus if you could land a chit with one, but it is not a deal breaker. How about Reid’s sister, Eliza? She would do the job,” said Lord Grant.

  Kendal’s brows furrowed. He and Eliza were good enough chums, but the thought of the two of them marrying had him reaching for another sip of his brandy. “No, Eliza and I are friends, nothing more. Besides, I think her heart is already spoken for.”

  He went back to his brandy, content to sit out in the garden and quietly contemplate a certain dark-haired young woman. Like Eliza, there was a chance that she too already had a beau, someone who held her heart. He would have to put his mind to finding out the truth, to know if there was any chance of his catching her eye or securing her love.

  And the only way to find that out is to get to know Mercy a little better—to keep trying to strike up a friendship and then see where that leads.

  He was the son of a duke; he had a lot to offer a girl like Mercy. But what did she want? Money and a fine home were on everyone’s wish list. It was only after you got those things that people then revealed their true desires. What was it that Mercy Wood craved deep down in her soul? And what if he was the man who could realize her dreams?

  Was the daughter of a piano tuner his destiny?

  Chapter Nine

  “You are a little out of sorts this evening, Mercy. Are you alright?” asked Ann.

  Mercy glanced up from where she had been studying her feet and shrugged at the plump, fair-haired barmaid. She and Ann had left the Tipsy Toad a short while earlier, but instead of heading home they had gone down to the Thames riverside and purchased a piece of freshly fried fish.

  They were seated, legs dangling over the side of a stone wall, watching the drunken parade of sailors wandering back to their respective ships. One such seaman went to put his foot on the gangplank of his ship, missed it completely, and then fell face-first onto the rough stone walkway. His more able-bodied friends lifted him up and carried him away.

  Mercy winced at the sigh
t. That was going to hurt in the morning.

  “I’m not sayin’ you look sick. You just seemed to be somewhere else tonight. You know what I mean?” added Ann.

  Mercy nodded. Ann was right. She had been distracted all day. Right from the moment she’d left Follett House, her mind had been in a haze. On the way home, she had narrowly avoided being run over by a horse as she crossed the street at Temple Place, getting a mouthful of abuse from the rider for her trouble.

  There was an obvious cause for her muddled mind. It was one tall, fair-haired piano-playing lord. They had only met a handful of times, but Kendal Grant seemed to wield some kind of power over her. Whenever she was near him, her capacity for sensible thought disappeared. Her rational self, fled.

  Even her piano-playing abilities seemed to abandon her when he was in the room. That concerto by Salieri was a prime example. Mercy had rehearsed it countless times and had thought she had that tricky part nailed. But the minute Kendal had stopped to listen to her play, the beads of sweat had started to roll down her back. Her fingers had become stiff. And she’d known beyond a doubt she was going to trip up at that point in the music.

  “I’m just a little tired, Ann. Papa has me traipsing all the way over to Windmill Street each morning to tune a piano, then I have to come back here and get the rest of my work and chores done. And, of course, there is the tavern in the evening.”

  Ann gave a whistle. “That’s a long list, I am glad it’s not me having to do all that work. I love me sleep.”

  Mercy broke off a piece of her fried fish and stuffed it into her mouth. Was there nothing better than a spot of cod in batter? She thought not. Battered fish was simple fare, hot and delicious. What she was going to do about Kendal, the other delectable thing in her life, she had no idea. He both intrigued and frightened her. She felt drawn to him, like a moth to a flame. What had he said about her?