With one last look at her bed, Mercy sucked in a deep breath and headed for the door. She was feeling light-headed after the confrontation with Lord Grant. After slowly making her way downstairs, she stepped out into the street, then through the door of the Italian grocery emporium next door.
If I just have something to eat, I will feel better. Tonight, I shall tell Papa.
She lifted a hand and waved to Anthony behind the counter. He smiled back. His smile disappeared at the exact same time that Mercy dropped to the floor.
Chapter Thirty-Five
The whistling which came from within the ballroom the morning after Kendal returned from Owen and Amy’s wedding stopped him in his tracks. Mercy didn’t whistle.
“What the devil?” he muttered.
Inside the ballroom, he spotted Henry Wood seated at the piano. He had a cloth in his hand, and he was cleaning the keys. As soon as he saw Kendal, he immediately stopped what he was doing and got to his feet. He bowed low. “Good morning, Lord Hartley.”
Kendal did a half turn, expecting to see his brother standing behind him before remembering for the fiftieth time that he was now the Marquess of Hartley.
“Good morning, Mister Wood. What brings you to Follett House this fine day?” he replied.
Henry Wood waved a hand in the direction of the piano. “Tuning your piano, my lord, as per our agreement.”
“Mister Wood, you have not tuned or cleaned my piano in quite some time. Your daughter, Mercy, has been coming here every day. Has she recovered from her illness?”
The piano tuner looked decidedly uncomfortable with Kendal’s words. He folded the cloth in his hand, before slowly walking over to his instrument bag and placing it inside. “Mercy is in perfect health, my lord. Thank you for asking.”
He waited for further elaboration, but Henry Wood kept his head down and his gaze fixed on the contents of his bag.
Kendal was not so easily put off. “May I ask why Mercy has suddenly stopped coming to Follett House? Has something happened?”
Henry Wood lifted his head. Kendal’s heart missed a beat at the look of despair on his face. There were tears in his eyes as he shook his head. “She has other work to do.” He closed the bag and headed toward the exit.
Kendal caught up with him, taking a hold of the sleeve of his jacket. “Why can’t this be a priority for her?”
“No. My daughter has other matters to deal with. I am sorry, Lord Hartley, but it is not possible for Mercy to work for you anymore. She should never have come here in the first place. I blame myself for this whole mess.”
He yanked his arm free of Kendal’s grip and put his hand on the door handle, then stopped. Henry turned back to face Kendal, straightening his spine, and holding himself rigid.
“I have spoken to the butler, Mister Green, and explained that he will need to find a new piano tuner from tomorrow. This will be my last visit to Follett House.”
Both Mercy and her father were abandoning their work? Kendal blindly pulled some coins out of his jacket pocket and held his hand out.
Mister Wood shook his head. “Keep your money, Lord Hartley, and I shall keep my daughter.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Kendal closed his eyes as the door of the ballroom shut firmly behind Henry Wood. The bang echoed in the empty space.
Mercy had told her father about them. How much of their affair she had actually revealed, he dreaded to think; from the way Henry Wood spoke, he knew more than enough. Any sensible father would move to protect his daughter and keep her out of the way of lecherous nobles.
Of course, Mister Wood blamed himself for what had transpired between Mercy and the man whose piano she tuned. And he bloody well should. He had been the one who had sent her into the lion’s den alone. All for a pair of new boots.
“But it has become more than just ruddy coins and boots. We love each other. Fuck.”
It was like the gods had decided they were tired of torturing Owen and had shifted their attention to him.
It had been far too long since he had last seen Mercy, held her in his arms and kissed those sweet lips of hers. It had been even longer since they had made love.
Damn. She had got cold feet about them, panicked, and told her father. And by telling Henry Wood, she now had the best possible excuse to never have to return to Follett House. Only an ogre would do that to his daughter after having discovered the truth.
He shook his head. How many other dukes-in-waiting had been left in his predicament of trying to convince a woman far beneath his social status that he loved her and wanted her for his wife? It was likely a small number if it existed at all.
What was to be done? He could take her less-than-subtle hint and just forget about the whole thing. Forget about the wonderful time they had spent together. Push away all those memories of sitting side by side in front of the piano while they laughed, shared kisses, and created new music. Accept that he had made love to the woman he adored for the last time—never again was he fated to hear her soft cry when he brought her to completion.
The memory of Mercy as he held her in his arms roughly pulled Kendal to the point of breaking. Walk away from all that and the chance of a lifetime of it?
Not. A. Bloody. Chance.
Mercy was his, she knew it. There was no one else for him. He couldn’t even conceive of the notion of marrying someone else. If he couldn’t have her, he may as well get on a boat to Greece and join Phillip and Randolph in the sunshine.
“And end the Grant family bloodline.”
He could never do that to his father. What he had to do was to find Mercy, talk to her, and make her see sense. And if she still refused him, well, he would keep trying until she gave in. There was no other future worth living. He had to convince her that being his wife was her only future.
I wonder if bride-kidnapping is still an offence.
Mercy had not been back from the market that long when there was a knock at the apartment door. She had been hoping to go and have a short nap, so the idea of entertaining visitors right now was not high on her list of wishes. With any luck it would just be one of the other building residents looking to borrow some washing soap or an onion.
She opened the door and stilled. Kendal stood on the threshold, a large spray of lilies of the valley in his arms. He greeted her with a smile and went to take a step forward. Mercy held up her hand. “You cannot be here, Kendal. You must leave.”
The door was half closed before his hand appeared around the stile and he pulled it back open. “We have to talk,” he demanded.
She shook her head. The words she had practiced over the past days came to her lips. “No, we don’t. That is why my father attended Follett House this morning and not me. I am relieved of the task of tuning your piano, and therefore our business arrangement is at an end. Lord Hartley, I ask that you do not come to my home ever again.”
Tears threatened. While Kendal had been away in the countryside, she had rehearsed this speech countless times, promising herself that she would not under any circumstances cry. Her love for him and their baby growing inside her clearly had other ideas.
With a huff, Kendal stepped across the threshold and pressed the flowers into Mercy’s hands. Lilies. He had brought her favorite flowers.
“I would have been here earlier, but it took some time to find some fresh blooms at the market, then the driver of the hack got lost. I only got back to London late last night, but now that I am here, we can get things sorted,” he announced.
How very typical of Kendal—the solid self-assurance that he had everything under control. Her brain stuck on the part about the hack.
“Why did you come in a hack? Where is your carriage?” she asked.
His face turned serious. “I came in a hack because I was worried that if you or your father saw a Banfield or Follett carriage parked out the front of your house, you might not let me in. My time in the military taught me that surprise always works.”
Mercy placed the
flowers on the table and sighed. She had been a fool to think Kendal was going to make this anything other than difficult. “You were right. If I had known it was you at the door, I wouldn’t have answered it,” she replied wearily.
“Why?”
Mercy looked away as tears began to roll down her cheeks. “Because this thing between us, it is impossible. And it has to be at an end.”
“I don’t understand,” he said.
She lifted her skirts and showed him the new boots. “I am sure that when you marry, your wife will not stand for you to be sending me lavish gifts or coming to my home. Thank you for these, they are perfect, but they must be the last thing you give me. Kendal, you and I are finished.”
He moved quickly to her, placing his hands on her face, and wiping away tears. Then his lips followed. Kendal covered her face with soft, tender kisses, each one more heartbreaking than the last. “We are not done. I love you. And I know you love me. Nothing is impossible. I spoke to my father before I went away, and I am going to see him this morning to get his final blessing for our marriage.”
Mercy swallowed down tears as she now understood what had prompted Lord Grant to pay her a visit. He had wanted to get things sorted with her while Kendal was out of London. Kendal’s father had succeeded, now she had to honor her side of the agreement.
“Please don’t do that. I cannot marry you.”
Just looking at Kendal had her wanting to throw caution to the wind and beg him to elope with her to Scotland. If they married, there would be nothing his family could do about it.
Other than do what the Earl of Bray did to Lavinia and refuse to have anything to do with you ever again. And make your children pay for it all their lives. Come now, Mercy, you have to do this.
She drew back from him and hurried to her bedroom, returning with the pile of finished manuscript papers she had organized the day before. They were neatly tied up with string and she offered them to him. “Please take these. I have no use for them.”
“What about our music? You and I are brilliant together. Everything we have written is wonderful. Even the pieces I have composed by myself have been guided by your hand. Mercy, you are my muse. How do I go on if you are not in my life?”
The pain on his face echoed in her heart. This was more than just the end of a brief, but passionate romance. This man had shown her the true heart of the music. He was a genius whose melodies would outlive them both, and she had been graced with his magic.
Kendal, you have no idea how hard this is, how much breaking your heart will cost me. I will never be whole again.
“Our time together was special, something which I shall always treasure. Kendal, you made me a better pianist. And I know of no other woman on this side of the Thames whose music has been played in front of a prince. I have you to thank for all that.”
When he speared his fingers through his long fair hair, she almost broke. What she would give to touch his beautiful crowning glory one last time.
“But I don’t understand. Why are you doing this?” he said.
Mercy glanced down at her trembling hands and took in a long, slow breath. She had rehearsed this part of the speech countless times but had never once got through it without breaking. If she had been braver, she would have looked him in the eye as she spoke. Instead she settled her gaze on a patch of wall just an inch to the right of his face. “I am doing this because it is the right thing to do. I do not belong in your world. I am the daughter of piano tuner, and always will be.”
Her voice faltered and she stopped to scrub away more tears. After taking a second deep breath, she pressed on. “Some things occurred while you were out of town, and because of them I am no longer in a position to continue our relationship. You and I have no future.”
“What do you mean?” he replied. The crack in Kendal’s voice would haunt her for the rest of her days.
“While you were at Owen and Amelia’s wedding, Anthony Sperry asked me to marry him and I accepted.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Somehow Kendal managed to get out of the apartment, hail a hack, and make it back to Follett House in one piece. He was tempted to ask the driver to stop in the middle of Westminster Bridge so he could throw himself over. The one thing that kept him from doing so was the thought of how disappointed his father would be with him, and also the resulting scandal.
He walked up the stairs, too numb to feel anything, and staggered into his room. It was only as he plopped onto the side of his bed that he saw the papers in his hand. Puzzled, Kendal frowned at them, unsure how they had come to be in his possession.
I have no use for them. That was what she had said. Mercy had given these to him, and in doing so, had severed the last link between them.
Setting the papers next to him on the bed, he hung his head, the blackness of despair a crushing weight in his chest. He couldn’t even begin to process the reality of what had just happened. His heart and soul were still reeling from the shock.
The questions would no doubt eventually come as his mind sought to put the pieces of his scattered thoughts into some semblance of order. Right now, it was all he could do just to sit upright and breathe.
It was several hours before Kendal finally stirred from his coma of disbelief. He looked toward the window; the afternoon sun shone dull behind a veil of misty rain.
Was this what grief felt like? What poor Callum had been going through every day after the recent loss of his father? At least Callum and Eliza were back at Follett House, where their friends and family could now support them.
He couldn’t imagine how anyone functioned when their emotions were so utterly scrambled, and their heart ached so much that their chest hurt.
He had been so certain of Mercy’s love. He hadn’t doubted that they would end up living together under one roof, making beautiful music every day. Finally, the first painful question came to him.
“How could I have got it all so wrong?”
As the numbness began to fade, a stab of utter despair pierced his heart. Reid had said that the death of his parents had given him months of physical pain; Kendal had never understood how the mind could make the body feel such a thing. Now he did.
He had once been shot during one of his foolish duels; it had only been a flesh wound but it had hurt like the devil. He was certain that if he looked closely enough, he would find the entry wound of a bullet on his skin, such was the agony he was in.
His mind couldn’t focus on anything for more than a minute, and every time he tried to make sense of it, Mercy’s bitter words came back to haunt him.
You and I have no future.
She was going to marry someone else. Her nights would be spent in his bed. Kisses that had once belonged to him would be claimed by another man.
No. This is not happening.
He climbed off the bed, taking the papers with him. He could see why Callum would look for relief at the bottom of a bottle of gin. “I need a drink.”
In the dining room, he found two large bottles of whisky on the sideboard. They were meant to last the houseguests for the whole week, but his current state of mind challenged that notion. After picking up both bottles, he headed to the ballroom, to his place of refuge.
He intended to down a couple of drinks, play some music, and try to get something, anything, straight in his head. He was by nature a problem solver, organized to the point of being too controlling. To his mind, there did not exist a situation where he couldn’t find a way to make things better. That had been his experience, until now.
I must find some logic in all this madness. Something that makes a lick of sense.
Pushing the door of the ballroom open with his hip, he stepped into the room and froze on the spot. The sight of his beloved Cristofori piano sitting still and untouched tore his plans to shreds.
Never again would he and Mercy sit side by side on the piano stool and play music together. Gone were those precious moments of laughter and stolen kisses. Everything the
y had shared was shattered.
He let go of the papers, not caring as they slipped through his fingers. He didn’t bother to take a seat at the piano; his heart wouldn’t let him play. After setting the bottles of whisky on the floor, Kendal dropped down beside them.
He reached out and touched one of the highly polished legs of the piano, fighting back tears as he remembered watching Mercy lovingly apply the wax polish. He sucked in a jagged breath at the memory of her playfully stroking the wooden leg while making silly, suggestive remarks.
The bottle of whisky was in his hand and he had the cork removed within seconds. The first gulp of the fiery spirit had him choking, but he forced himself to keep drinking.
By the time he pulled the bottle from his lips, he had downed a good third of it. When the whisky hit his empty stomach, it burned. Whisky had never been his favorite tipple—he preferred brandy or wine. But it would do the job faster and more efficiently than the others. Getting numb was all that mattered.
His gaze fell on the last pile of manuscript papers which lay under the piano. On the top of them were the large pair of scissors he used to cut up his failures. He reached out and his fingers connected with the cold, hard metal.
He set them on the floor next to him. He stared at the gold, shiny scissors. How many times had he used them to cut his music into tiny pieces before throwing the remains into the fire? Another long deep swig of the whisky settled the matter. If he couldn’t deal with his pain, he would cut it out.
The first snip saw a long blond lock of hair floating to the floor. He frowned at it. For as long as he could remember, his beautiful mane had been his pride and joy. No matter how many times his father had ordered him to cut it, he had refused. Kendal’s only concession to letting his hair run wild and free was the deep blue velvet ribbon he wore when playing concerts with the Noble Lords. A precious token from Mercy.
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