Arabella put her head close to Mercy’s. “Where did you go?”
“I was looking for you. I thought I saw you leave the Grove.”
“But I didn’t. I came right back after the dance.”
“You couldn’t have. I would have seen you.”
Arabella chewed her bottom lip. “Well, not right away, we walked around and talked for a while. He was most agreeable, although he was not someone of whom my brother would approve.” She frowned. “When Northcliffe returns, I shall confess that I danced with Mr. Downing and that you came to find me.”
“No, please don’t, Arabella. That will only get you into trouble.” Arabella may well have her Season curtailed, should her father learn of it. “I’m sure I can come up with an acceptable explanation.”
“But what about Lady Fountain…”
“Surely the whole thing will die down. It isn’t so very bad.”
Arabella’s gaze turned skeptical. “I do hope you’re right.”
Her father returned. “The carriage is waiting at the gate.”
Without speaking, her mother gathered together the shawls and reticules. Father picked Mercy up. Biting her lip, she waved to Arabella and Lady Jane as he carried her from the Grove.
Murmuring together, Lady Fountain’s party stood watching with disapproval writ large on their faces.
“We shall never be accepted in polite society again,” Mama cried.
“Hush, Laura. It will be dealt with,” Father snapped.
Chapter Seven
AT TWO O’CLOCK the next day, Grant was admitted to the Baxendale’s house in Portman Square. During the night, he’d considered his options. Of course, he knew he must do the right thing, although he was confident that Lord Baxendale would refuse his offer. Grant had no estate or property to recommend him, his only income came from his grandmother who bequeathed him money. His father topped it up now and again if he overspent, but he believed young men needed to manage money and respect it. Too many fell afoul of the gambling hells.
Grant hoped they might come up with some other way to banish the rumors already doing the rounds, judging by the slaps on his back and the chuckles of his friends when he’d eaten at his favorite pub. He’d refused to discuss it, but that hadn’t tamped down speculation. With Lady Fountain spilling fantastical stories, God only knew what would be said in drawing rooms and balls this evening.
The butler showed him into Lord Baxendale’s library where Mercy’s father greeted him with a sober expression. He shook Grant’s hand and indicated a chair with the sweep of his hand. “I’m aware of what took place, Northcliffe. Mercy explained how you came to her aid, for which I express my heartfelt thanks. I am indebted to you. It was foolish of her to wander off alone and, but for you, I hate to think what might have happened to her. An unfortunate business.”
“I feel responsible, my lord, because I had undertaken to squire the ladies for the evening. I should never have left them unattended.”
“Mercy’s mother regrets her role in this…”
“I want to make amends.” Grant sat forward in the tan leather armchair. “I wish to ask for Lady Mercy’s hand. But I must be honest, sir, as things stand right now I have little to offer.”
Lord Baxendale bowed his head and thoughtfully steepled his fingers.
“And it will be some years, God willing, before I am able to,” Grant added, keen to make his position clear.
“Yes, I understand, Northcliffe, however…”
Grant’s shoulders tightened. He sat forward on his chair. “Sir?”
“I don’t see it as a barrier. You have excellent prospects. And my daughter will have a handsome dowry.”
Grant held his breath as his future unraveled before him.
“I don’t see why an engagement cannot be announced immediately,” Baxendale continued with a smile. “Unless, you have some objection?”
Grant cleared his throat. “No, my lord. I consider myself most fortunate.”
“Good, good.” Mercy’s father pulled the bell rope. When a footman appeared, he gave an order for Mercy to come to the library. “A whiskey to celebrate? Or should we wait for champagne at dinner.” Baxendale turned from the drink’s table on which decanters and glasses stood. “I hope you will dine with us?”
