The Prince of Wales proposal now added an extra and unwelcome amount of complexity to Kendal’s life. If the Noble Lords were to undertake a full concert tour, it would involve a lot more than just selecting some additional music.
The prince continued to smile. “That’s why I want you to audition the best talent who can sing, dance, and entertain the masses. That way, the people will know that their prince loves them. And make sure you pick some acts from other countries. With the war now over, it will look good if we have a smattering of foreigners.”
Kendal’s heart sank. He had been hoping that with the concert done and dusted, he could turn his attention to wooing and wedding Mercy. But there was no way of saying no to the prince. One didn’t refuse the future king.
I am just going to have to work harder to convince her that I am serious about us. And to secure Papa’s blessing. If we have to go on tour, I want my bride with me.
As soon as the Prince of Wales had gone, the Noble Lords headed back downstairs. Reid found Lavinia and told her the good news of the upcoming tour. While everyone gathered in the foyer of the theatre, Kendal continued to search the crowd. In the throng of concert patrons, it was a near-impossible task to locate Mercy.
She would not come looking for him; she had made her position regarding their social interaction clear and plain. Outside of Follett House, and even outside of the ballroom, they were to behave as distant acquaintances. There was to be no attempt to introduce her to any of his family.
“Come on, where are you?” he muttered.
Reid and Callum’s raised voices interrupted Kendal’s search of the crowd and he turned to them.
“I’m off,” said Callum.
“But we have the dinner tonight. Eliza has worked all week to organize it. You have to come,” replied Reid.
Callum started for the front door. “No. I told her I wasn’t coming. I have somewhere else to be this evening.”
Reid raced after him and the argument continued outside in the street. Through the glass doors of the theatre, Reid and Callum went nose to nose.
“Why can’t we have just one night without drama?” huffed Owen.
The words had barely left his lips, when Kendal’s father made a sudden appearance in their midst. The look on his face was the same as the one he had been wearing when he arrived earlier this evening: pure, black thunder.
Kendal immediately sensed that the drama level of the evening was about to escalate.
“Ah, Kendal. Come with me,” demanded the duke.
He shook his head. “I have plans. We are having a celebratory dinner at Follett House shortly. I can come home in the morning.”
“No. You will come now. My carriage is directly outside,” replied Lord Grant.
Kendal looked to Owen, who shrugged. Considering how deeply unpopular he was with his own sire, there was no chance of Owen stepping into Kendal’s fight.
“What could be so urgent at this time of the night?” asked Kendal.
Lord Grant took a handkerchief from out of his coat pocket and wiped his brow. He was more agitated than Kendal had ever seen him before; the set of his jaw was hard. His face twitched with barely suppressed . . . Kendal couldn’t quite decide what it was.
“It regards your brother, Phillip. His health has taken a turn,” said Lord Grant.
Bloody Phillip. Not only had he not bothered to make good on his promise and come to the concert, now he was throwing one of his regular ‘woe is me’ tantrums and expecting the rest of the family to flock to his bedside.
Phillip had had the last rites said over him more times than Kendal could remember. And each time, he had made a miraculous recovery within twenty-four hours, or within the arrival of a party invitation—whichever was the shortest.
“He got out of his last deathbed to go to a bloody horserace,” said Kendal.
“This is ridiculous. Could one of my sons do as I ask?” ground out the duke.
Kendal threw up his hands. “What is ridiculous is you expecting me to drop everything, yet again, and rush to my brother’s bedside. How many more times do we have to go through this domestic drama?”
His father’s demeanor turned grave. “Come with me now, Kendal. That is an order.”
They both knew Phillip wasn’t sick, so there must have been something else at play. If it wasn’t for the worrying look on his father’s face, Kendal would have defied him.
He turned to Reid and Owen. “I have to go with my father. I am sorry. I was really looking forward to the special dinner tonight. Please give Eliza my deepest apologies. I will make it up to her somehow.”
Kendal followed Lord Grant out of the theatre. As they walked through the crowd of concert patrons still milling about on the footpath, he searched for Mercy once more. He had to talk to her—let her know how much her coming to the theatre tonight had meant to him. Tomorrow would be too late for them to share that special moment. He touched his father’s arm, pulling on his coat sleeve.
“Can I meet you at home? There is someone I need to speak to,” he said.
Lord Grant shook his head. “No, son, I need you to come with me and now.”
His father was not an effusive man, but the look on his face said that it was taking all his self-control not to break down. Kendal had never him in such a highly agitated state.
Something was wrong, seriously wrong.
After a final fruitless glance around the vicinity for Mercy, Kendal climbed into the Banfield town carriage and closed the door behind him. Lord Grant, who had taken a seat on the bench opposite to Kendal, reached over and pulled down the blind. Taking that as his cue, Kendal did the same with the other window. He wasn’t game to ask why his mother and sister had already left the theatre.
He waited for his father to speak but got only silence. The journey back to Banfield House was not a particularly long one, but it seemed to last forever.
As soon as the carriage slowed to a halt in the rear mews, the duke opened the door and stepped out. The footman who had been standing by, carriage step in hand, was left with no choice but to hurriedly move out of the way.
Kendal jumped down after his father and followed him into the house. Lord Grant didn’t stop to hand his coat or hat to the butler; instead he headed straight upstairs to his study, Kendal hot on his heels.
“Close and lock the door,” said the duke.
Kendal did as he was instructed, then stood waiting. His father spent the next few minutes pacing back and forth from wall to wall, stopping every so often. When he did, he screwed his eyes shut and shook his head. This went on for an uncomfortable length of time, at the end of which the duke crossed the floor to his desk and retrieved a piece of paper. He handed it to Kendal. “Read it.”
Kendal read the note, then read it a second time. “Oh, sweet lord, no.”
With a shaking hand, his father pointed at the letter. “I cannot believe he has done this—abandoned his family and duty for Randolph. For some misshapen notion of love.”
Kendal did his best to ignore the remark about love. He was not greatly experienced in the emotion himself, but he was certain that love could exist between men. The pages of history backed him up.
Phillip Grant, the Marquess of Hartley, had renounced his claim to the Duchy of Banfield and fled to the continent with his lover. They were going to travel to Greece and set up a life together there. Neither intended to ever return to England.
“Can Phillip actually renounce his claim to the title and estate?” asked Kendal.
“Yes, he can. Kings and queens can abdicate; so, can future dukes. I was going to let that lay fallow for a time in the hope that he might eventually change his mind and give up this nonsense with Randolph and return to the fold. But the dirty rogue has already sent instructions to his solicitor to have it forwarded to the royal court. Prinny will have a bloody conniption over this—not to mention what the rest of the Court of Saint James will say.”
“Fuck.” He didn’t normally curse in
front of his parents, but tonight was not your average evening in the Grant family home. With Phillip gone, he was unsure as to where he stood, nor what he could do to help. “Do you want me to get on a boat and follow them, beg him to come home?”
Lord Grant let out a long, slow breath. His shoulders sagged. An overwhelming sense of pity filled Kendal. His father was a traditional man; Kendal suspected he lacked the emotional capacity to be able to truly understand the choice that his firstborn son had made. He was someone whose whole life had revolved around duty, never once shirking his responsibilities. That his heir would throw it all away and run off with his lover was not the sort of thing that would probably have ever crossed his mind.
A hard look appeared on his face. “There is no point in you going after them. Besides, I need you here in London. Someone has to help stem the blood which will flow once the truth of Phillip becomes public. This scandal will rock society. A marquess and one of the sons of England’s foremost banking families running off to the continent together will be bigger than Prinny attempting to free himself of his wife.”
Kendal spared a thought for Randolph’s parents and family. They too would have to deal with the crisis that their son had thrown them into. Randolph’s mother was a member of Child’s bank; this would cause all manner of problems for their business connections.
“What can I do?” asked Kendal.
“You can damn well get out there and find yourself a wife. The only way this bloody scandal is going to ever end is when you take a bride and she provides you and the Banfield duchy with a male child. You are now next in line for the title.”
“Me your heir? Oh.”
With Phillip renouncing his claim to the Banfield title, Kendal was now his father’s rightful heir. He was no longer just a second son. He wanted to tell his father about Mercy, of his plans to marry her.
Bloody Phillip. Why couldn’t you have waited?
He now faced a new and daunting task. While he had expected his father to have initially said no to the notion of his second son marrying a lowly, but beautiful piano tuner, Kendal had still held out some hope for success. It would have been a battle, but one which, in time, he was certain he could have won.
But that had been when he was just the spare to the Banfield title. Now with him having moved up to the front of the line of succession, that battle had transformed into a war he would almost certainly find impossible to win. His father would never agree to him marrying Mercy.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“How will the Noble Lords survive the loss of Sir Callum Sharp?” asked Mercy a week or so later as she and Kendal sat together, practicing at the piano. Kendal sighed. He was still heartsore over the departure of Callum from the group.
Marco Calvino, who having finally buried the hatchet with Reid and the Noble Lords, had been invited to step in and play his piccolo. Marco was supremely talented, but he still wasn’t Callum. Things were not the same.
“We have made a commitment to the Prince of Wales to play the royal charity shows both here in London, Manchester, and Liverpool. The Noble Lords, in whatever form they are, must go on,” he replied.
Over the past days, he had received a number of hard lessons in commitment and duty. As the new Marquess of Hartley, he was now having to juggle his time between his friends and the responsibilities of helping his father run the family estate. Unlike Phillip, he was not being spared the burden of work.
The time spent with Mercy was a rare and precious respite from his suddenly changed life and future. A future which he was still determined to share with her.
“I suppose the only good news to come from the break in the group is that Sir Callum and Lady Eliza have now told everyone that they are married. I like her—she has always been kind to me,” said Mercy.
He took a hold of her hand and raised it to his lips. Mercy was right; it was comforting to know that Callum and Eliza had found their way back to one another and were now wed. Not that Reid would agree. His friend had not taken the news of his sister’s secret wedding that well.
“It’s just a pity that Reid has not been able to find a way to accept the situation. Callum being out of the group at the moment is hard on us all, but I think it would be more difficult if he and Reid had to play alongside one another. Hopefully, in time, Lavinia will be able to talk her husband around to seeing things differently,” he replied.
Reid had spent years trying to keep Eliza and Callum apart, fearing that his sister would suffer the same unhappy life their mother had led with an alcoholic husband.
Kendal was torn between the two friends. He had been the only one to vote to keep Callum in the group but could also see things from Reid’s perspective.
“It has to be hard when you marry into a family and the union is not accepted.” Mercy withdrew her hand, her posture stiff while she tinkered with the piano keys. Kendal sensed a change in the air.
They had not talked about their relationship in the days since his becoming the Marquess of Hartley and he blamed himself. He was struggling with the amount of changes happening daily in his life; even getting used to hearing people call him Lord Hartley did not come easily.
To think I spent all those years quietly resenting my role as a second son. I should have been more careful with what I wished for.
What he wished for now was a way forward with Mercy.
“Not every relationship is of equals in the eyes of society. It doesn’t mean that they cannot be a success,” he offered. Kendal touched Mercy on the shoulder when she continued to stare at the piano.
She turned and the fragile smile which was on her face stuck a spear in his heart. “Society has certain things it will tolerate. It will turn a blind eye to private, secret liaisons, but those that are conducted in public receive far more scrutiny. If I was your mistress and kept out of the way, then perhaps people wouldn’t say anything. Common law wives are a normal part of the world where I come from,” she said.
“I love you, Mercy. I would never ask that of you.”
Her timid smile turned tight and Mercy shook her head. “I love you too. With my whole heart. But Kendal, you are going to be the Duke of Banfield someday. You were born into this life; I am just someone who lives on the edges of it. One of many who serve the rich and titled. A girl like me can have dreams of a better life, but they stop a long way short of elegant society. I have a father who is still angry over me giving up the chance to marry a shopkeeper.”
“You love me?”
He had heard the rest of Mercy’s speech, but his mind was concentrated on those three little words. He brushed a kiss on her lips, grateful to finally hear them.
“You love me. You really do. Oh, Mercy, you have no idea how happy it makes me to hear you say those words.”
She leaned in and kissed him back.
“Yes, Kendal. I love you. No matter what happens in the future, I always will.”
He slipped a hand around her waist and pulled her close to him, placing a kiss on the top of her sable locks. “And I promise that I shall try all that I can for us to remain together.”
Mercy was right. Society would not welcome her with open arms, but he was now the Marquess of Hartley—surely that counted for something. His father might well have pressed upon him the need for duty, but he would be damned if he wasn’t going to do everything in his power to claim his rights.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Mercy wiped the tears from her eyes and took a deep breath. Three mornings in a row she had woken and had to rush downstairs and into the yard to throw up. This morning, she had barely made it to the privy in time. She sat back on her haunches and stared at the toilet seat, grateful that the night cart man had been earlier.
She felt like death warmed up.
At least being out in the rear yard she was afforded some semblance of privacy. Casting up her accounts inside the small apartment she shared with her father would raise questions. Questions she was not in any position or condition to answe
r right this minute.
She got to her feet and, laying her head back against the stone wall of the privy, she quietly swore. “Fuck. Double fuck.”
There was little doubt as to the reason for her feeling this way. Her courses were six days late.
I am never late.
She was pregnant—carrying Kendal’s child.
The word child kept rolling around in her head. A baby. His baby was now growing inside her.
A fresh tear snaked its way down her cheek. She had been a fool to think that what they had been doing over the past weeks would not come back to haunt her. The withdrawal method of conception was not infallible—they both knew it. Yet she had been so in love with Kendal that she had dared to risk it all just to be with him.
“You are a stupid girl. A stupid girl who is in the family way,” she muttered.
What was she to do? Kendal wasn’t some local shopkeeper; he was the son of the Duke of Banfield. A second son, yes, but still a nobleman. And everyone knew that noblemen did not marry girls from South London. She had even told him as much.
But he is no longer just the second son. He is now the heir.
A bang on the door of the privy startled her from her thoughts.
“Are you going to be long?” said a voice.
She smoothed her skirts, checking that everything was tucked in and neat, then opened the door. One of the other female tenants of the building was standing outside, a large and from the smell of it, full chamber pot in hand.
The woman stepped past her and poured the contents of the pot into the toilet. Mercy put a hand over her mouth as a bout of nausea assailed her.
A hand was placed on her shoulder. “Are you alright, love? You look as green as a pea.”
She nodded. “Yes, something I ate last night obviously did not agree with my constitution.” Mercy went to walk away, but the woman’s grip on her shoulder tightened. She turned back and looked at her.
“I’ve seen you race out here for the past three mornings. It’s not something you have eaten, my dear; it’s something you and a lad have done.”
Kendal Page 14
