Ahead of them three ladies emerged from the Grove.
As Northcliffe strode past them, Lady Fountain turned and followed. “My goodness, has Lady Mercy been hurt?”
Mercy bit her lip. Now she’d be the next entry in the lady’s scandal sheet.
“Mercy!”
Northcliffe swung around with Mercy in his arms.
Her father strode toward them. “What the devil is this?”
She gripped Northcliffe’s lapel. “Father! I fell and hurt my ankle,” she said her voice wobbling. “And Lord Northcliffe was kind enough to—”
“Where is your mother?”
“The ladies have a box in the Grove, Lord Baxendale,” Northcliffe said. “I am returning your daughter to her mother.”
“How thoughtful, sir,” Father said with a scowl. “Perhaps you’d also like to explain why you and my daughter were gallivanting about unaccompanied?”
“I was not out here with Lord Northcliffe, Father,” Mercy said over the gentleman’s shoulder as he continued walking. “He merely rescued me.”
“Did he indeed? From what or whom did he rescue you? And why was it necessary?”
“I shall explain when we reach the box.” She might think more clearly when she was no longer pressed against Northcliffe’s silk waistcoat, beneath which his wide chest rose and fell with obvious annoyance. She would have to find an explanation, but for the moment, her imagination had deserted her.
“Lord Baxendale, if there’s anything I can do to assist?” Lady Fountain asked, catching up with them again.
“A slight accident, Lady Fountain. My daughter slipped over and hurt her ankle. Nothing to concern you, but thank you,” Father said through tight lips.
“Baxendale!” Her mother rushed over as Northcliffe deposited Mercy in a chair. “Mercy, what happened? Where have you been? We’ve been frantic.” She rushed to place her shawl over Mercy’s shoulders.
Arabella sat beside her aunt in the box, her eyes wide. “My goodness, Mercy, are you hurt?”
Mercy detected a pleading look in Arabella’s eyes. “I was impatient to see the Chinese Pavilion. I’m afraid I got lost.”
Her father harrumphed. “What foolishness! You do know that Lady Fountain will be busy spreading this about. Your reputation will suffer, Mercy, when the Season has barely begun.”
Lord Northcliffe bowed. “I shall call on you tomorrow, Lord Baxendale.”
Her father responded with a stiff bow of his own. “Thank you, sir.”
Mercy looked at Arabella who studied her gloves. She turned back to her father.
“This has nothing to do with Lord Northcliffe, he…”
“Later,” her father said. “The evening’s entertainment is at an end.”
The two men went to order the coachmen to drive the carriages to the gate.
“Why on earth did you wander off, Mercy?” her mother asked with a puzzled expression. “I should have known better than to leave you, even for a moment.”
Mercy held together the torn bits of her bodice. “I didn’t do anything wrong, Mama.”
“But what happened to your dress?”
“The lace tore when I fell.”
“If only I hadn’t left you.” Shaking her head, her mother retreated to the other side of the box to talk in a low tone to Lady Jane.
