He had not discounted the idea of taking a mistress himself, should his marriage be unfulfilling. But it was likely, with the work he did, that he’d die before his wife. For Mercy to remember him this way made him cringe, and he knew in that moment, whatever the state of their marriage, he would resist living in such a manner. It made him determined to win Mercy’s respect, at least, if not her love.
* * *
The ball was a terrible crush. Mercy faced the mirror in the ladies’ withdrawing room, which had emptied when the next dance was called. She did not wish to dance the mazurka. Her spirits were rather low tonight. She wondered again where her wayward fiancé had gone. She hadn’t seen him for the better part of a week. Even her father had commented on his absence at breakfast.
A dark haired over-perfumed lady entered and stood beside her at the mirror. Her pretty face was spoiled by a sour expression. “Your fiancé seems less than desirous of your company, Lady Mercy. I heard the marriage will be one of convenience.”
Mercy swung around to face Northcliffe’s mistress. “Then your sources are wrong!”
Lady Alethea raised her dark eyebrows. “Northcliffe is obviously not as passionate about you as he is about me,” she said in a conversational tone. “He could never have left me for a week.” She glanced at the door. “He desires me too much. Northcliffe can’t live without pleasure.”
“Indeed!” Mercy said coolly, although her heart pounded and she saw her eyes darken in her reflection. “I heard that he grew bored with you.” She’d heard nothing of the kind, but she was glad when the lady’s eyes flashed and her mouth pulled down in an ugly moue.
As two ladies entered the room, Mercy gathered up her shawl and reticule, and left, wishing her sisters were here to support her.
Her anger at her absent fiancé grew to boiling point. When Lord Bellamy came to ask her to dance, she readily accepted.
“I must say I was shocked to learn of your engagement, Lady Mercy. So very sudden, it left many of us fellows flat-footed and consigned to mourn what might have been.”
Lord Bellamy’s overblown rhetoric had begun to lose its charm. Mercy shook her head. “Lord Bellamy, I can never believe a word you say.”
“I protest! I am a truthful fellow.” Bellamy’s green eyes sparkled when they came together in the dance. “You underestimate your charms, my lady. It is true then? You are engaged?”
“Yes, Lord Bellamy.” She twirled away.
“I shall not give up hope until you and Northcliffe have visited the altar,” he said, when he again had a chance to speak. “By the way, where is the fellow? If I were he I should be on my knees before you, kissing the hem of your gown.”
She felt her cheeks heat. “Business has taken him out of town.”
He looked over her head in the direction of the door. “A brief visit, regrettably.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Northcliffe has just walked in.”
Mercy turned and saw Northcliffe moving through the crowd. Her heart gave a strange flutter, before she scowled. How indifferent he was to her. They were to marry in a matter of weeks. Her days had been filled with dressmaking appointments and shopping for her trousseau. He wished for their engagement to be a brief one. But clearly not because he couldn’t wait to make her his. One might think he would employ the time left to them before they became man and wife to spend in her company. But he felt no such compulsion. Had he and Lady Alethea been together during the week? The lady seemed so certain of his affections.
Tall and darkly handsome, he stood at the edge of the dance floor, his brooding gaze on them as they performed the final steps. When the music ended, Mercy refused to look at him. She laughed and tucked her hand into the crook of Lord Bellamy’s arm as he led her from the floor. Bellamy lowered his head and murmured a droll comment about her fiancé’s thunderous expression. An apt description!
She giggled nervously. “You are quite outrageous, sir.”
On reaching Northcliffe, she removed her hand from Bellamy’s arm.
Bellamy bowed. “Northcliffe.” He turned to Mercy. “Thank you for your delightful company. I do hope we may dance again.”
“I shall look forward to it, Lord Bellamy.”
“One can’t have you sitting out dance after dance,” Bellamy continued. “Pretty women look so charming performing the steps. Do you not agree, Northcliffe?”
Northcliffe bowed his head, dismissively, his gold-flecked gaze on Mercy.
Bellamy, with an amused glance at her, left them.
Northcliffe raised his brows. “You seem to have little trouble filling in the time during my absence.”
Her chest swelled with indignation. “What would you have me do? Sit at home and embroider, night after night? Oh,” she tapped her chin with her fan. “Isn’t that what you do have in mind for me, whilst locked away in the country, my lord?”
He took her arm and they crossed the floor toward where her mother sat with his Aunt Jane. “Perhaps you prefer Lord Bellamy’s company. I should not like to keep you from him.”
Mercy shot him a withering glance. “Lord Bellamy is a friend of long standing. Am I not permitted to dance with him?”
“Of course, but I dislike my fiancée flirting openly while I’m away. Such behavior draws attention.”
Mercy flushed. She tugged her hand from his arm. “You are most ungenerous.”
Northcliffe frowned. “Mercy, I…”
She thought he looked weary before she turned away. She pushed her way through the crush, confident he would not follow. Not with a hundred interested gazes on them. And heaven knew they’d already caused enough scandal. She firmed her lips afraid she would cry.
She found Arabella in the ladies’ withdrawing room.
“Goodness, what has occurred? You look fit to explode,” Arabella said.
“Your brother is not in good humor.” Mercy gazed into the mirror and dismayed, took out her handkerchief to stem the flow of tears.
“My dear! What has Grant done? I didn’t even know he was here tonight.”
“He arrived a short time ago. And was not entirely happy to see me.”
“Surely he wasn’t rude. That is so unlike him. Shall I speak to him?”
Mercy took a deep breath, and sniffed, remorseful that she’d mentioned it. “Please don’t. Merely a slight disagreement. It will blow over.”
Arabella smiled but her expression was clouded with doubt. “Pre-wedding nerves, I imagine.”
“Yes, of course.” Mercy’s gaze blurred in the mirror.
Chapter Eleven
GRANT WAS NOT ordinarily so easily provoked. What was wrong with him? Ladies liked to flirt. Something that had never bothered him before. But he’d never been engaged before. A muscle jumped in his jaw.
Riding back from York, he’d ignored the wiser option to break his journey for one night at an inn, and by the time he’d reached the small farms and market gardens on the outskirts of London he was exhausted and praying for a second wind. He wasn’t used to his body refusing to do as he bid, and would not give in now. At his rooms, he quickly bathed then rushed to the ballroom to honor his obligations.
It was the urge to see Mercy that drove him, he had to admit, as it had been a week since he left London. She’d filled his thoughts as he traveled back to the city, after dealing with Jenny Haighton’s distress, followed by the concern for his father’s health. And he was keen to improve matters between them.
But then he’d done precisely the opposite, exhibiting a charmless, humorless façade, which wasn’t like him. It wasn’t that he’d been jealous. It was no excuse that he was dog-tired, and had yet to see Black at his club to inform him of the scant knowledge he’d gained. Dash it all! He’d wanted to draw closer to Mercy, not farther away.
Now things were worse between them. He must find her and smooth things over. As he went in search of Mercy, Arabella hurried up to him. “Grant, Mercy is upset. What did you say to her?”
He cursed
silently. “Is she? I am sorry for it, Bella. I’ll talk to her. Put it right.”
She placed a hand on his arm. “You are happy to marry Mercy, aren’t you, Grant?”
“I am. I’m just a little saddle weary, having ridden from York. Father and Grandfather send their love.”
She smiled. “Are they both well?”
His concern for his father nagged at him, but he quickly buried it. “Yes, quite well.”
Arabella fidgeted with her fan. “I have something I must confess to you.”
Grant’s gaze roamed the ballroom. He must put things to rights, but he couldn’t locate Mercy in her primrose gown.
When the word ‘confess’ filtered into his mind, he tensed. “A confession?” He eyed Bella, worried and slightly guilty. He’d been too preoccupied of late to take care of her.
“I have not been as helpful to you in your Come Out as I promised, sweetheart. I am sorry. There have been other matters. Although they’re not as important as you are to me, they have demanded my time. You’re not in some sort of trouble?”
“No, Grant. It’s about what happened on the night we went to Vauxhall Gardens.”
He smiled with relief. “Yes?”
“Mercy asked me not to tell you, but I feel I must. Even though it’s too late to…”
He gave her an encouraging smile and took her hand guiding her to a chair. He sat beside her. “Tell me what happened, Bella.”
“Mercy hadn’t gone to see the Chinese Emporium, as she said. Don’t blame her for the falsehood, Grant. She was looking for me.”
He knew Mercy hadn’t been at the Emporium for he’d just come from there when he found her being attacked. He’d believed at the time that she was pursuing a flirtation that turned dangerous. “Why? Where were you?”
“I had accepted a gentleman’s invitation to dance. Afterwards we promenaded in the Grove. It was rash of me, because we’d never been introduced. Perhaps he was not the sort of man you’d approve of, although he was most respectful and…”
He tugged at her gloved hand. “And?”
“It was just that she worried for my safety. When she couldn’t see me on the dance floor, she thought I’d left the Grove. She followed a group of people out onto the avenue. That was when she was accosted.”
So, that was it. He felt inordinately glad to hear it, although he’d already concluded that Mercy was not the foolish green girl he’d first thought her. She often exhibited a good deal of commonsense and wisdom for someone so young. Which was lacking perhaps in his sister. “Your confession pleases me, Bella. I hope you’ve learned a lesson from the experience. It’s a dangerous world you must now negotiate, and you must always tell Aunt Jane the truth. No clandestine meetings with some beau behind her back. Men can be excessively charming when they want something. And a pretty girl like you with a handsome dowry will attract them. Promise me?”
She lowered her lashes and nodded. “I promise, Grant.”
“This incident doesn’t change anything, so we’d best forget it.”
“But if I’d confessed earlier, perhaps you and Mercy would not have….”
He chucked her under the chin. “Sweetheart, hasn’t it occurred to you that something wonderful could come from this?” Grant wished he could feel as confident as he managed to sound.
Her worried face cleared. “Oh, I do hope so.”
Bella was young. It was her first Season. She should be happy, enjoying herself. He rose from the chair, took her arm and walked with her. “Have you met a gentleman who takes your fancy?”
“Well there’s Lord Graham, but I feel Father would not approve of him because he lacks fortune. And there’s Mr. Kingsley…”
Grant only half listened after discerning that she was not in imminent danger of falling in love with a rake. He must be more observant and not leave it all to Aunt Jane. He would never forgive himself if his sister’s Come Out was ruined because he’d been careless. “They are calling a country dance; do you have a partner?”
“Oh, yes,” she glanced around and Grant spied a gentleman making his determined way toward them. He greeted the Honorable Mr. Fairview, a decent enough fellow. And watched as they went onto the dance floor.
He scanned the dancers gathering on the floor, searching for a familiar slim figure in a pale-yellow dress. Where was she?
* * *
Laughter and chatter seemed to increase in tempo and the chandelier burned hotly overhead. Mercy put a hand to her brow. “Mama, I have a headache. Can we leave soon?”
Her mother drew her down onto the seat beside her. “We can, my dear. Your fiancé is still away so we need not have come tonight.”
“Northcliffe is here. I saw him earlier when I was dancing with Lord Bellamy.”
“He is?” Mama glanced around. “Oh yes, there he is on his way to us. Surely you’d like to spend some time with him before we go?”
Mercy had no such desire. “Yes, Mama.”
Her mother gave her a careful glance. “You are happy to marry him? I know I’ve asked you several times, and you’ve always seemed quite sure, but I do worry about how it all came about.” She sighed. “This arrangement was not of your choosing, my dear, and although Baxendale is very pleased with the outcome, it is you who should be happy above all else.”
Northcliffe had been detained for a moment with a friend. It was on the tip of Mercy’s tongue to ask for her mother’s help to end the engagement. What was the worst that could happen? Her father, should he agree, would be furious, and the ton, no doubt, would take great delight in it. But she was already in the scandal sheets, and one more indiscretion added to the list could scarcely matter.
She looked up from smoothing her long white gloves. Northcliffe bowed before them in his evening attire, and his compelling gaze held her still. In her opinion, even faintly weary, he was the most attractive man here tonight. A complex man it was true, with secrets, some of which she hardly wished to learn, especially if they concerned a certain lady. But an undeniably exciting man too. Could they overcome their differences and come to care for one another? She gave herself a mental shake. She was not a Baxendale girl if she didn’t at least try.
“Lord Northcliffe. How good to see you,” Mama said, when he bowed over her hand. “I trust your trip was successful?”
“It was, thank you. But I regret being away for so long.” His tawny gaze settled on Mercy. “I hoped to partner Lady Mercy in the waltz.”
“The exercise might clear your head, my dear,” Mama said in an undertone. “If not, we shall go home directly after the dance.”
Northcliffe swept Mercy out onto the floor as soon as the first strains of a waltz sounded. “I apologize for my bad temper. My only excuse is fatigue.” He tilted his head. “Perhaps I should not have come, but I hoped to see you. And now that I have you in my arms, my tiredness has vanished. Your loveliness is a panacea for all ills, Lady Mercy.”
“Prettily said, my lord. I am sorry that you’ve had such a tiring journey.” She glanced up for a sign that he meant it, focusing on his square jaw and firm lips. Was he really intent on mending things between them? “You haven’t mentioned the reason you were called away.”
“No, it was the business venture I’m engaged in.”
Gentlemen were not often in business. As he had no estates to take up his time, she couldn’t help wondering what took him north. If it were his family, surely, he would explain. She opened her mouth to query him, but his warm hand firmed at her back and made her catch her breath. “I’m sorry the journey kept me away for so many days,” he said in a husky tone as he led her into the rotation. “May I hope you missed me?”
Mercy raised her eyes to his. “I did a little,” she was surprised into admitting. London had been a bore without him to spar with.
A smiled pulled at the corners of his mouth. “A little? That’s an improvement on indifference at least.”
He could be so very appealing when he chose. She’d been so furiously angry and
upset with him only moments ago. Did he assume he could just smile and apologize and make everything that was said between them fade into nothing? And was she such a flibbertigibbet that he could assert that sort of power over her? She firmed her lips and tried to dismiss from her mind the widow’s confident assertion that she and Northcliffe enjoyed an intense, passionate relationship. But his elegance and grace, and his familiar scent as they danced, made her want to push those thoughts away. Later, soon as her head settled on the pillow, she knew the fact that he didn’t love her, had been forced to marry her, and blamed her for it, would plague her. That he may even be in love with Lady Alethea. But for now, Mercy just wanted to enjoy the moment. It was more about the waltz, an exhilarating dance, than him, she told herself.
“To be honest, sir, I have never been indifferent to you,” she said, when she could gain her breath after a fast turn.
He chuckled. “Perhaps that is something to build on?”
“I do hope so,” she admitted, with a reluctant smile.
“I don’t plan to leave London again before we leave for Yorkshire. I hope we can spend the time together.”
“I’d like that.”
“Tomorrow then, a carriage ride to Hyde Park? If the weather permits.”
“That sounds most pleasant.”
“Excellent.” He reversed them neatly amidst the other dancers. “I’ll call at five o’clock.”
Perhaps a moment might arise when she could calm her suspicions, although her mother had warned her never to inquire about mistresses. “I pray it will never be the case with you, my dear. But if so, it’s something a wife must accept with grace,” she had said when Mercy began to tentatively put the question to her. Mercy realized that she couldn’t tell Mama about Lady Alethea’s spiteful attack. The world had changed since her mother was young. She hoped Father had never been unfaithful. Her sisters were obviously in love. She doubted they would take such a betrayal lightly. And neither would she.
The Scandalous Lady Mercy: The Baxendale Sisters Page 8
