“That is true,” Honor said, grudgingly. “But I’ve always suspected he had a hand in Charity’s marriage to Robin.”
Honor had not always got on well with her stepfather. They clashed often before she married Edward, who, at the time, did not measure up to Father’s expectations.
“What about your fiancé, whom I am yet to meet? Do you care for him?”
When Honor studied her carefully, Mercy knew she could hide little. “I fear he believes I trapped him into marriage. And Honor, he has a mistress.” Mercy explained it all, ending with a description of how the widow had accosted her at a ball, and that she saw Northcliffe with Lady Alethea, a few moments ago.
Honor narrowed her eyes. Thoughtfully, she patted her dark hair arranged in a stylish chignon. “Unmarried men are within their rights to take a mistress. And I’m afraid marriage seems no barrier to others.”
Mercy gasped. “Honor!”
“You don’t know if Northcliffe intends to continue in this affair after you marry. I most certainly hope that he does not. Lady Alethea’s indiscreet behavior is unforgivable. I would not like your marriage to begin with this lady still in the picture. I’d like to confront her and give her a piece of my mind. But that would be foolish. You have to outwit her.”
Mercy bent her head to hide her dismay, as visions of that woman inviting Grant into her bed flashed before her. “How can I do that?”
“This woman will not marry Northcliffe. You will. You have a distinct advantage over her, and she knows it. Perhaps that’s why she is taking such risks.”
“But after we wed, Northcliffe intends me to live in York with his grandfather. I image he’ll come to London to see her,” she said, biting her lip.
“When he leaves you, make sure that his mind is filled with lustful thoughts of you and not her.”
Mercy widened her eyes. “What do you mean, Honor!” She put her hands to her cheeks. “I am blushing!”
Honor laughed. “I mean exactly what you think I mean. Has Mama explained about that side of marriage?”
“Not yet.” She looked at her half-sister anxiously. “And you girls always shut me out of the room when you discussed married life.”
“Mama is always vague on the subject, anyway.”
Mercy glanced around. A man and woman had settled at the far end of the room, but they were not within earshot. “Tell me. Even though my ears will burn, I promise to listen.”
“And if this woman continues to confront you, you must face up to her! Men don’t admire wilting violets, Mercy. You are not one, and you must resist playing that role.”
“My goodness, Honor.” Mercy gave a nervous giggle. “What would Edward say should he hear this!”
“He would agree with me.” She put a gloved hand to Mercy’s hot cheek. “I am neither asking you to be devious, nor to abandon your scruples, but don’t hold him at arm’s length because of this woman. Give your heart to him, be open with him, be a generous, passionate wife.” She held up a hand. “But if he is a mean man and cruel to you, you must tell me and I shall get Edward to deal with him. And Vaughn too, who we know is very good with his fists.”
Mercy giggled nervously at the unwanted image of Vaughn and Northcliffe facing up to each other, fists clenched. “I don’t believe Northcliffe would ever be deliberately cruel to me. But tell me quickly, before Mama comes to find us.”
As Honor finished describing in embarrassing detail what took place in the bedchamber, a man entered the drawing room. Northcliffe, in his dark evening clothes. Spying her, he made his way across the crimson and blue carpet to where they sat on a dark-blue damask sofa.
With Mercy’s ears still hot from the information her sister imparted, she rose with Honor to greet him. She flushed when her gaze settled on his well-formed lips, and then she could hardly look him in the eye. She swallowed. “Honor, I should like you to introduce my fiancé, Lord Northcliffe. My lord, my half-sister, Lady Honor.”
“I am delighted to meet you at last,” Honor said. “Mercy has been singing your praises.”
He raised an amused eyebrow and glanced at Mercy. “I am pleased, and I must confess a little inquisitive to know which qualities of mine might have so inspired her.”
Honor laughed. “I don’t believe we will tell you, sir. I should like you to meet my husband. Shall we return to the card rooms?”
“Could you excuse us for just one moment, Lady Honor?”
“But of course.” With a smile, Honor left the room in a whisper of silk skirts.
Northcliffe dropped down beside Mercy. He faced her resting an arm on the back of the sofa. “Are you enjoying the card party?”
“Now that my half-sister has come.” She fiddled with her gloves. His physicality and male scent always affected her. Would he mention the episode in the corridor?
“I wished to tell you that Arabella has confessed to me about what happened at Vauxhall Gardens.”
Surprised, Mercy stared at him. “It was unnecessary. I hope you weren’t too harsh with her.”
He leaned back, studying her. “I was not. You think me domineering?”
“No. Of course not.” She smiled. “I am pleased that you know the truth. It has worried me that you would think uncharitably about me.”
Interest sparked in his tawny eyes. “Why would I do that?”
“You might have thought that I…” she stumbled over the words… “planned to snare you.”
“Mercy.” He took her hand in a firm clasp. “Never for one moment did I think that. You are far too beautiful to have to resort to such tactics.”
Was he trying to appease her after being caught with his mistress? She tilted her head. “You were furious with me at the time.”
“Yes, because I thought you had placed yourself in grave danger.”
“You thought me irresponsible, a silly young woman.”
He laughed and tightened her hand in his. “I didn’t know you then. Mercy, please let’s not quarrel. I told you this because I hoped to improve matters between us.”
A warm glow flowed through her, despite her misgivings. Heaven! Why was she so susceptible to his charm? She seemed to long for every crumb he tossed her. “Then I’m glad.”
“In less than a month we shall be married. If it isn’t love we feel, at least let there be some affection between us.”
Her heart turned over with disappointment. She withdrew her hand. “That seems…sensible.”
“Good.” He stood and offered her his arm. “Let’s join the others. I like your half-sister very much, and I’m eager to meet Lord Edward.”
Chapter Fourteen
MERCY’S FATHER HAD leased a manor house for the family’s stay in York. Three stories of brick in the style of the last century, the building faced a wide, cobble-stoned square in the very heart of the city. Every respectable inn and hotel was booked with guests attending the Saturday morning ceremony. The family began to arrive a week beforehand along with a large retinue of staff from London. The house was a hubbub of activity with preparations underway for the wedding breakfast.
Mercy’s older sister, Faith, and her husband, Vaughn, with their twins, arrived on the same afternoon as Honor and Edward, who brought their dark-haired little whirligig son, Lucas. Their nannies and servants took up the entire attic floor. Father’s sister, Aunt Christabel from Northumberland came with Robin and Charity, along with several servants, which required a lot of hurried rearranging by her mother and the housekeeper.
Mama expressed concern that Robin might be offended by the modest bedchamber allotted to him. But he was at pains to put her fears to rest, stating how much he preferred the family atmosphere to a hotel.
A dinner party was arranged for Grant to meet the rest of the family. His father attended with Arabella, who was home for the wedding. The Earl of Montrose, tall and broad-shouldered like his son, did not appear robust. He had impeccable manners as one would expect, but Mercy found him rather stiff and formal. She couldn’t imagine hersel
f hugging him spontaneously, the way she did her father, but perhaps she would when they grew more familiar with each other. She wanted her new family to like her, she would be so alone when Grant was away, as he’d warned her he would be at times.
He’d made no mention of where these trips would take him, and the subject of her accompanying him hadn’t arisen. She tried not to suspect that Lady Alethea was the reason behind them, but as he refused to explain otherwise, her imagination took over, which was most troubling.
After dinner, while her father and the earl drank port and discussed politics in the dining room, Robin and Vaughn had them all falling about laughing during a game of charades in the drawing room. Afterward, Arabella was forced to defend herself from several light-hearted accusations of cheating at Spillikins.
Finishing their game of whist, Northcliffe sat beside Mercy on the sofa. They talked quietly while a game of rhymes caused a hullabaloo around them. “I would have loved to grow up with many more brothers and sisters,” Grant said. “I’m quite taken with your family.”
“Your father seems a quiet, serious man.”
“I believe ill-health has made him so. He was a Corinthian when he was young. Excelled at sport and did the London to Brighton race in four hours. Hence the nickname, Lord Dashalong.”
She raised her eyebrows, a smile tugging at her lips. “Like his son?”
Grant quirked his eyebrow. “You think me so?”
“I do.”
His mouth twisted wryly. “I am not driven by those desires anymore, Mercy.”
Then if he wasn’t, why did she think it? Such a difficult man to understand. He was like one of her father’s slippery fish he’d had her net for him at the river. “You’re sure to like my absent sister, Hope and her husband, Daniel.” She’d changed the subject before she was tempted to prod him with questions. Now was hardly the time. “They are on our minds as they await the arrival of their firstborn in France.”
“A difficult time for your mother, particularly.” He stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I see Lady Faith awaits. We are off to the nursery to view the twins while they’re asleep in their cots. Then I must take my leave as Father grows tired.”
She smiled. “I’ll come up with you. I love to see her babies tucked in all rosy and angelic. When Thomas is awake, the impression soon vanishes, but Grace is a sweet, quiet child.”
Was Grant so fond of children that he’d made the request? It was more likely that the invitation had come from her proud sister, who believed everyone would find her offspring endlessly fascinating.
Later, when Mercy lay in bed and went over the evening in her mind, she had to admit that tonight, Grant had been everything a girl would wish for in a fiancé. He’d charmed her mother, pleased her father, and got on extremely well with everyone else. It was as if he’d always been a part of the family. She pummeled her pillow with a sigh and admitted that she’d been wistful to see him leave. Then she gasped when Honor’s description of that which took place between husband and wife entered her thoughts. Now she would never get to sleep!
The next morning, Mercy rose early. She was to meet Grant’s grandfather, the Duke of Rotherham, at Thornhill, her soon-to-be home with Grant. Wishing to make the best impression, she chose one of her new day dresses, a white striped muslin with a printed floral pattern in pastel pink and pale gray. She particularly liked the gathered skirt with the frilled and ruched decoration at the hem. As the day was cool, she added her dull-red, wool cloth cloak, and a bonnet trimmed with a matching red bow. Mercy thought she looked well enough, which gave her the confidence she needed. She had yet to broach the matter of Wolf. The dog was languishing in Tunbridge Wells without her. And of course, she needed to explain to Grant that she wished to finish her manuscript and make up her lotions. She stiffened at the thought, fearing he would be dismissive of her plans.
After the morning mist drifted away through the trees, the sky cleared to azure blue. Grant tooled the phaeton and four along a country lane bordered by flowering hedgerows, the air sweetly perfumed. “Yorkshire is beautiful in spring,” she remarked, admiring his expertise with the reins.
“I roamed the dales when I was a boy. Saw it as a great place for adventure. Only now do I value its true beauty.”
“Wordsworth’s poetry encapsulates it perfectly.”
He smiled. “Are you going to entertain me with a poem?”
She giggled. “I am not.”
“You look very nice in red. Unmarried ladies tend to dress in pale colors. As a wife, you may wear whatever you wish.” He glanced at her. “That must appeal.”
“One must still adhere to fashion, or face harsh criticism. I’m not sure I like the fuller sleeves that are becoming popular. They look a good deal better on Charity than me.”
“You have your own charms, Mercy.” His gaze roamed over her again as that day in Hyde Park, with the heavy-eyed look which fluttered her heart. “Of infinite variety,” he added with gentle emphasis.
She eyed him carefully. He was so devilishly handsome with an air of self-confidence that made it difficult to broach the subject of Wolf. But she was determined to lay all her concerns on the table today. The last day they had together before becoming man and wife.
She cleared her throat. “Northcliffe, you have yet to meet my dog. I shall send for Wolf after the wedding.”
He tightened the reins as the carriage approached a sharp corner. “I prefer you call me by my given name when we’re alone.”
“Very well. But you haven’t said whether you object to my dog.”
Grant raised his brows. “I’m fond of dogs. Had a few as a boy. Toby was the last of them, a first rate rabbiter, died of old age. Grandfather has King Charles spaniels and Father a greyhound, Rufus.”
“Then perhaps your grandfather won’t mind Wolf. He prefers to live in the house.”
“Does he indeed,” he cocked a brow. “A house dog named Wolf?”
Mercy grinned and shrugged. What would Grant make of Wolf? Did he assume the dog was a small breed? She twisted her fingers together. The wedding would be called off if he refused this one wish of hers. She didn’t care what Father said. “You really don’t mind, then?”
“Not if he’s house trained. And doesn’t sleep in the bedchamber. I draw the line at that.”
Would they share a bedchamber? In a stately mansion, it seemed unlikely. It was not the usual practice amongst the ton. Her mother and father had their own chambers, as did Charity and Robin, although they were so in love that she doubted they slept apart. Mercy spent several minutes dwelling on the subject whilst studying Grant’s hands on the reins. She took a deep breath. “Wolf is well trained. A bed near the kitchen fire will do.” She sank back on the seat relieved to have got that off her chest.
He laughed. “Does Wolf like cats? There are several mousers living below stairs.”
“Wolf is very sociable with the cats at home.” The same couldn’t be said for birds of any description or squirrels, although they seemed always to outwit the dog. Mercy thought it prudent to leave that unsaid. Wolf enjoyed company and she wondered if he would be permitted to join them in the parlor. Tempted as she was to have a promise from Grant, she knew it would be dishonest, for he had yet to see her dog. Instead, she smiled, remembering Honor’s advice, although she did dislike having to ask permission for every little thing. And she wasn’t confident she could manage to always be so obliging.
“Thank you, Grant.”
Grant’s golden brown eyes warmed. “I like to hear my name on your lips.” His grin flashed dazzling against olive skin. “Here we are.” When he pulled the horses up before a big set of gates, the gatekeeper rushed from the gatehouse to open them. He smiled and bowed as Grant drove through them.
The mansion seemed to stretch for over a mile. A pair of burley footmen in green and gold livery came forward at their approach. Grant greeted each of them by name, tossed the reins to one and took her arm. They crossed the mosaic-floored porch beneath
a pedimented portico supported by six massive columns. The butler waited at the doors beneath a semi-circular window. In his black attire, he reminded Mercy of a fearsome crow, until the glimmer of a welcoming smile softened the harsh lines of his face when Grant introduced them.
Ellison bowed. “How do you do, my lady. My lord, your grandfather is in the drawing room.”
The long drawing room enveloped Mercy with scents from potted flowers, beeswax, smoke, aged wool and damp dog. Her senses overwhelmed, she moved forward attempting to take it all in, crowded as it was with memorabilia and huge, gilt-framed family portraits. She spotted what might be a Van Dyke amongst them. Charity would enjoy viewing them. Mercy could spend hours in this chamber, which had an Adam’s fireplace on each far wall, examining every interesting detail.
“Grandfather, I am pleased to present my fiancée, Lady Mercy.”
She was so taken with the chamber, she started when a craggy faced gentleman rose, and with one hand on his cane, made her a courtly bow.
She hurried over to him and sank into a deep curtsey before his frail legs gave way. “I am honored to make your acquaintance, Your Grace.”
He took her hand and raised it to his lips. His faded brown eyes held a surprisingly youthful sparkle. “So, this is your fiancée, m’boy. Welcome, my dear, to Thornhill. I did not expect to have the pleasure of welcoming my grandson’s wife to this house.” He turned to Grant, looping an arm around his shoulders. “Good news indeed.”
Grant hugged his grandfather, the affection and respect he held for him obvious. A side of Grant she had not seen before. He’d been just as respectful, but more coolly circumspect with his father.
“Sit down, sit down,” the duke urged, easing himself back into the wing chair and tucking his stick beside him. “Well, Grant, you’ve chosen well, I must say.” His eyes settled on her with a twinkle. “Your father and I are old friends, Lady Mercy, although I’ve not set eyes on him for some years. Used to play an excellent game of chess when we belonged to the same London club. He has yet to beat me. I must remind him of it.” He chuckled. “Do you play chess, my dear?”
The Scandalous Lady Mercy: The Baxendale Sisters Page 10
