Kendal stared at his signet ring while he searched for words. “I am not trying to hurt you. Nor to add further fuel to the fire of rumors and gossip which currently surround this family. I take my role as your heir seriously. I have always had the best interests of the Grant and Banfield names at heart. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have agreed to offer up my firstborn son as the future duke when you told me Phillip had decided to never marry.”
He wasn’t going to plead or beg for his father’s permission, but on the carriage ride over from Windmill Street, Kendal had made the decision that he was going to be honest with his father—brutally if he thought it necessary.
Lord Grant closed his eyes and sighed. “How long has this been going on?”
“Some time. It dates to before Phillip’s departure. At that point I was holding onto the hope that since I wasn’t your heir that you might find a way to accept Mercy into our family. I know some things have changed, but as far as I am concerned, none of them should stop me from going ahead and offering to marry her.”
His father slowly shook his head. “I don’t know what to say. Apart from the fact that this will make me the laughingstock of London society. When the ton discovers that you intend to marry a girl of low birth, they will wet themselves with glee.”
“Other men of the ton have married women not of their social class. Thomas Coutts of Coutts & Co married Harriot Mellon last year and she was actress,” replied Kendal.
“Yes, but Thomas Coutts was not already having to deal with a shocking scandal when he married her. Besides Harriot Mellon knows her way around London society; she is a very popular woman. Your piano tuner is going to find herself with few friends,” said Lord Grant.
Kendal listened carefully to his father’s words. He had made some valid points, but what was more important was the fact that he had not given him a flat out no. To his way of thinking, that left an opportunity to secure the duke’s agreement. “What would it take for you to say yes? What can I offer you that would help you to make this decision in my favor?”
The Duke of Banfield had a reputation as a man able to negotiate and strike a hard bargain. He was fair but firm in his business dealings. “You could offer to look elsewhere for a wife; that would make things a lot easier for me,” replied Lord Grant.
Kendal nodded. “I know, but that is not going to happen. I want to marry Mercy.”
Lord Grant pointed to the low couch which sat against the wall of his study. “Have a seat; tell me about this girl. If I know a little more about her, then perhaps that will help to make up my mind.”
Though he would have preferred to remain standing, Kendal did as he was asked and sat on the couch. His father took a seat next to him.
“Her name is Mercy Wood. As I explained, she comes and tunes my piano every day.”
The duke scowled. “Why have you been getting the piano tuned every day? We normally have ours looked at every few weeks.”
The heat of a blush burned on his cheeks. He had behaved like a foolish lovestruck schoolboy when he’d first met Mercy. Getting the piano tuned so often had been the only way he could think of to ensure that he saw her again. Telling that to his father was deeply embarrassing.
“I wanted to see her. Papa, she is not just a beauty. Mercy has a gift when it comes to music. She has been helping me compose new harmonies. The Noble Lords played one of our pieces at the charity concert. This runs deeper than a mere infatuation,” he replied.
Kendal didn’t expect his father to recall any of the music from that evening, his mind being well and truly focused on the contents of the letter he had received from Phillip earlier that day.
The duke sat back and looked at him. Kendal could almost hear his mind whirling through the process of deciding what to do. He turned away from his father’s gaze, trying to compose the next part of his speech, to make it sound logical and not fully emotionally driven. He wasn’t thinking recklessly, nor was what he felt for Mercy based purely on lust.
He loved her.
“Is she with child?”
Alarmed at those words, his gaze shot back to his father. “No,” he replied.
“But you have bedded her?”
He wasn’t going to lie. “Yes, I have made her mine, but we have been careful. Or as careful as one can be using natural methods. If she was with child, I would expect her to tell me.”
Lord Grant held up his hand. They didn’t need to go too deeply into the details of his and Mercy’s sexual relationship. “But you have not yet offered her marriage?”
“No. I wanted to talk to you, then propose. But I have made my position clear to her. I even sent her a new pair of boots this morning.”
His father frowned at the mention of footwear. “I might be an old fogey, but even I know that’s not the most romantic thing to be sending a young woman,” replied Lord Grant.
Kendal nodded. He had to agree that boots were not a tiara or a silk gown, but they were what Mercy wanted and needed. He secretly hoped that she might try them on and, finding that they were comfortable, use them to walk all the way back to Follett House.
Come back to me. I need you.
Lord Grant raked his fingers through his short brown hair and sighed. Kendal waited and prayed.
When his father finally spoke, it was with the voice of someone who had been pushed to his limit. “What you are asking of me borders on the intolerable, but I am going to try and be fair. Give me the time while you are away at the wedding to think this over. I want to be able to give you a considered response. Because if my answer is yes, then we will be back on the front pages of the gossip rags, and to be brutally honest, this family could do with a break from being the topic of conversation at the breakfast tables of London society.”
His father didn’t make mention of what might happen if his answer was no. Phillip had defied him; there was a good chance that Kendal might well follow suit.
It wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t a no. Kendal would take the good with the bad and agree to his father’s terms. If his father said no, then he and Mercy would make the trip to the border with Scotland and get married at Gretna Green. He wanted to avoid that if possible. His family had already suffered enough.
All he wanted to do was to reach across the Mediterranean Sea and slap his brother. If Phillip had just waited a little while longer or even come and spoken to him, they could have found a way for them both to get what they wanted. Things could have been made easier and a great deal of the drama avoided.
But there was every chance that right this very minute, his brother and Randolph were busy sunning themselves on a nice warm beach in Greece and making every effort not to think about England. And as much as Kendal would like to hate them for what they had done, he simply couldn’t find it in his heart. Everyone deserved their own happiness. “Thank you. I know this is not an easy thing for you to hear, but I am determined to make Mercy my bride. If you give us your blessing, you will have my enduring gratitude.”
His father rose from his seat and Kendal did the same. Their gazes met.
“I want you to think long and hard about this, Kendal. If you marry this girl, it won’t be the same as Phillip taking off to the islands. While he has renounced his claim to the title and estate, he can at least always come back to England. There is no coming back from an ill-advised marriage.”
He wanted to tell his father that he had already thought about what marriage to Mercy would look like, and the obstacles that would be placed in their way but handing him that information would only serve to weaken his argument. There would be no illusions as to what the matrons of London society would make of a future duchess from the working-class streets.
He loved Mercy. He had a rich and powerful family behind him. Kendal was convinced that if any young couple could make a success of their union, it was them.
Now he just had to get Mercy to believe it.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Mercy pushed her small barrow the last few yards along
Church Lane. She stopped to let a cart pass her by before crossing Blackman Street and continuing on toward her building in Mint Street.
She was grateful that she did not have to attempt the trip across the river to Follett House. The long walk over to Windmill Street was becoming a strain and Mercy was not prepared to risk fainting in the middle of the street while she was alone and some distance from home.
At least her feet no longer hurt. The fine new leather boots that Kendal had sent her made her feel like she was walking on air.
Her father had left early for the day, so she was able to stay in bed and rest. It was late-morning before she finally rose and headed for the local market to buy meat and vegetables for the two of them. Fortunately, the market ran all day, so by the time she did venture out, the worst of the morning sickness had subsided.
As she reached the corner of the street nearest her home, her gaze fell on a large black travel coach. She peered at it. It was not the usual sort of conveyance that was to be seen in these streets.
“Shit. Kendal, you promised not to come here.”
He was supposed to still be out of town. She took a deep breath; there would be no way to avoid him.
What am I going to say?
When she got to the carriage, she noticed the Banfield crest on the side. It was a large coach, something which looked like it was built for travelling long distances, rather than just trundling around town.
She traced her finger over the rose pattern on the family crest, smiling as she recalled the same rose being a part of the tattoo on the top of Kendal’s right shoulder.
Mercy turned and headed for the entrance to her building. It was time that she and Kendal had a serious conversation about their relationship and their future.
She hurried up the stairs. At the top, she found a tall grey-haired figure in a greatcoat standing outside the door of her apartment. Fear gripped her; had something happened to Kendal?
The man turned as she set foot on the landing. His gaze immediately fell on the bag and basket in her hand. “Here let me help you with those,” he offered.
“Thanks, but there are only five more steps until I place them on the table. I have got them this far; I can manage the rest.” Mercy rummaged around in her coat pocket and withdrew her key, slipping it into the lock and opening the door. The stranger remained out on the landing as she stepped inside her home.
She placed her shopping onto the table, then turned back to him. It didn’t take a leap of her imagination to figure out who the man was; there were enough traces of Kendal for her to know. Her uncertainty began and ended with the question of why the Duke of Banfield was standing outside her apartment.
“Your grace, would you like to come in?” she offered.
With a mere stride or two, Lord Grant crossed the threshold, closing the door behind him. “Thank you. Since you have clearly deduced who I am, can I take it that you are Miss Wood?”
She nodded. “Yes, but please call me Mercy. Would you like me to take your coat?”
Lord Grant shook his head. “No, I don’t expect I will be staying that long. Could we sit and talk for a moment?” He pointed toward the table.
Mercy took a seat on the opposite side from the duke, lifting the basket and placing it out of the way on the floor.
Lord Grant reached into his greatcoat and produced a cloth bag, placing it on the table between them. From the sound it made as it landed, there was clearly some weight in it. Mercy glanced at the bag and swallowed deeply.
You always understood that this day might come. He knows about you and Kendal.
He took a deep breath, then met her gaze. Mercy steeled herself for what was about to be said.
“I love my son, and if circumstances were different, I may even have considered his request to marry you. But he is now my heir—the future of my family’s long bloodline. There has been a Duke of Banfield since the time of Edward the Third, which is getting close on to five hundred years.”
“Kendal has not yet made me a formal offer of marriage,” she replied.
“I know. He intends to, which is why I wanted for you and me to have this talk and possibly come up with an alternate future for you. One which I am prepared to help make comfortable.”
She stared at the bag, sure that what lay inside was meant to smooth the way for her to that different life. One which would not include being any part of Kendal’s future. The Duke of Banfield was here to pay her off. “What if Kendal and I were determined to marry?”
The question was posed more for the sake of saving her pride than anything else—to buy her time to absorb the reality which she now faced. A life without Kendal.
“From what my son tells me you are an intelligent young woman. You even helped to compose one of the pieces of music that the Noble Lords played at the Sans Pareil and which they will be playing during the upcoming royal command tour.”
Mercy bit down on her bottom lip, doing her best to hold her temper in check. Lord Grant was trying to flatter her before making his offer to buy her out of his son’s life.
“And since I am in possession of a modicum of intelligence . . .” She paused when Lord Grant’s eyes widened at her use of such educated language.
Just because I am poor, does not mean I haven’t had access to books or learning.
“. . . you would know that I am aware that Kendal and I could marry if we so chose. And while you could try and stop us, he is more than capable of spiriting the pair of us over the border and into Scotland.”
The duke nodded. “Yes, but as I said, Mercy, you are not a fool. Which means that you know a marriage between the two of you would be another scandal for my family to endure. You would struggle to fit in with London society, and your presence in our family would make things difficult for my daughter, Ophelia, to find a suitable match.”
Mercy clasped her hands together. She hadn’t thought about what a marriage with Kendal would mean to the other members of his family. Kendal had a special regard for his sister, and he would never knowingly do anything to hurt her.
Lord Grant reached across the table and placed his large, gloved hand over hers. “I am not an evil man, Miss Wood, though you may think otherwise. What I am is a man trying to preserve his family and his heritage. You are probably a lovely young woman, which explains why my son would find you so interesting, but we are talking marriage here, not a sweet tendre. Society will never accept the union.”
And there it was—confirmation of her deepest fears. If she married Kendal, she would damage his family and in doing so, hurt him. London society would turn its back on them. She wasn’t and never would be good enough.
But there was a child about to come into the world who was owed a little more than just a handful of coins. If she and Kendal’s baby was going to be denied its birthright, then she had to fight for everything she could get. Here and now.
Mercy picked up the bag weighing it in her hands. It felt heavy. Then she met Lord Grant’s gaze and held it. “If you want me to go away, then you need to pay me more money.”
The kindness in the duke’s face disappeared, replaced by a knowing sneer. It was obvious what he was thinking; she was a money-grubbing little whore, nothing more. He put his hand into his coat pocket and pulled out a long black, leather wallet. In one quick motion, he grabbed a handful of pound notes, snatched the bag out of Mercy’s hands, and stuffed them into it before roughly pushing it back into her hands.
He got to his feet. “I think you should find the money inside the bag sufficient for your needs, and the final settlement of this matter. In return, you agree not to ever come back to Follett House and to cease all communications with my son. If Kendal does attempt to make contact with you, I expect you to refuse him.”
Mercy set the bag on the table. A bout of nausea threatened, and she didn’t want to stand for fear of swaying on her feet.
Lord Grant headed for the door. “I shall let myself out. Good day, Miss Wood.” He closed the door behind hi
m. Mercy sat staring at her hands, while the sound of heavy boots echoed in the narrow staircase as he made his way down to the street.
It was over. She and Kendal were done.
In time, he would marry someone else and become the next Duke of Banfield. She would be left a dim, pleasant memory of his younger years.
She sat at the table for a little while longer waiting for the morning sickness to die down once more. The bag of coins and notes lay on the table in front of her.
At least he didn’t just send a thug around to threaten me. And he did give me money.
Mercy pulled the bag toward her and opened it. Digging her hand inside, she pulled out the handful of bank notes. Then tipping the bag up, more coins than she had ever seen in the one place in her life quickly rained down on the table.
“Oh,” she murmured.
The Duke of Banfield had certainly meant it when he said he wanted to make her life comfortable. The bank notes alone were worth more than she and Henry would normally look to earn in five years. With careful budgeting, she wouldn’t have to work again until her child was old enough to come to work with her.
“Or if I am sensible, I could save enough to be able to send he or she somewhere to receive an education. To have the hope of a good life.”
Kendal would like that. He would never know about his son or daughter, but she still owed it to him and the time that the two of them had shared together to ensure his father’s money was used to give their child the best upbringing. Every penny of the Duke of Banfield’s bribe would be put to good use.
She scooped the money up and stuffed it back into the bag, then hid it well out of sight under the mattress on her bed. The very same mattress where she and Kendal had first made love.
The memory of that time, of him and that brief interlude of happiness, had hot tears stinging her eyes. She let them fall for a moment, allowing herself to grieve for a love she would never know again. Then she wiped them away with the back of her hand.
Kendal: Regency Rockstars Page 17
