Hugh chuckled. “I can’t say I blame you. She is a fetching lady. Almost as pretty as Felicity Abbott.”
Grant followed his friend’s gaze to where Mercy, in a dainty white gown, stood amongst a group of people. He turned back to his friend. “So, you’ve decided upon one of the Abbott twins, Hugh.”
“Twins are not as alike as you might think,” Hugh said. “Felicity has a tiny mole at the side of her mouth, and when she smiles…”
Grant put a hand on Hugh’s shoulder, in commiseration for another fool in love, and left him. He made his way over to Mercy. The crowd parted to allow him through, to be greeted with more gasps and congratulations, especially from the women. Lord and Lady Baxendale received him warmly. Lady Baxendale’s brow was slightly furrowed, but she was gracious.
Mercy’s father expressed his eagerness to see Grant’s father and the duke once more. “Two men I hold in very high regard. I expect you’ve not heard yet from your father.”
“A missive arrived by special delivery this morning. Both my father and grandfather are delighted with my choice of bride. They are elated at the prospect of a wedding in York and expressed the same wish to see you again, my lord.”
Lord Baxendale smiled. “I wrote to them this morning. Might we meet tomorrow to discuss the settlement? Two o’clock?”
“Of course, sir.”
Mercy emerged from the center of a garrulous group, dressed in a charming gown decorated with flowers and satin ribbons. She was rather like a flower herself. A spring flower, Grant thought. A peony perhaps. Or a rose. The chandelier overhead turned her pale blonde curls to gold. Her grave blue eyes did not welcome him.
Grant bowed. “Lady Mercy. Will you take a turn around the room with me?”
Mercy sank into a graceful curtsey. “Certainly, my lord.”
They walked along the fringe of the dance floor. The musicians were tuning their instruments, for the dancing would soon begin.
Grant placed his hand over her gloved one resting lightly on his arm. While he agreed with her that the manner of their engagement was a shock, such arrangements were not unusual. After effusive response from his parent and grandfather, he’d resigned himself to the marriage, and considered a pretty wife tucked safely away in York awaiting his familial visits not to be such a bad thing, after all. His grandfather’s home was like a fortress; Mercy would be well protected. When this dangerous business was at an end, Grant would take a house in London for the Season, where she could enjoy some society. He breathed deeply. He might have a son. Pleased at the thought he smiled down at her. The only snag was Mercy. He wondered what he’d done to make her so leery of him. After all, he had rescued the ungrateful girl.
“You promised to help me find a way out of this engagement,” she murmured behind her pretty fan. She nodded and smiled at Lady Coe.
Grant bowed as they passed Liverpool, who stood in conversation with Wellington. “I did?”
“Surely you haven’t reneged on your promise,” Mercy whispered, gazing at him with a distraught expression. “You must want to end this as much as I do.”
“We do need to have that talk, Lady Mercy. I shall meet you on the terrace after the dance.”
The Master of Ceremonies had just called a quadrille and couples were forming squares on the dance floor. He and Mercy faced each other at the bottom of the line as the musicians struck up. The rapid skimming steps of the dance made talking difficult. Grant firmed his lips. He was in no mood to continue their conversation under duress and for the entertainment of the other dancers around them.
A half hour later, he joined Mercy on the terrace, her shawl draped over her elbows. “Allow me.” He arranged it on her shoulders. For a moment, his hands rested on her slight frame. “It’s cool tonight. I hope you’re not cold?”
When she shook her head, a golden ringlet swayed against her ear. He had a sudden compulsion to kiss that shell-like ear; sure, she would smell very sweet.
“I thought perhaps if I…” Mercy began, as he took her hand and pulled off her glove, finger by finger.
She gasped.
“It’s no good, Mercy.” He removed the box from his pocket which contained the handsome diamond ring, sent to him by special messenger. “We are to marry. It is done. There is nothing you, nor I, nor you and I together, can do to change that without bringing a lot of misfortune down upon our heads and upsetting our families.” He slipped it on her finger. “Ah it fits and requires no alteration.”
Mercy studied the winking diamond in the light from the ballroom. “It’s very pretty.”
“It was my mother’s.”
He handed her the glove. “Besides, I don’t wish to end it.”
She glanced up at him and blinked. “You don’t?”
“A man must marry some time.” He raised an eyebrow. “As must you, Mercy, either this Season or the next. You aren’t in love with anyone else, are you?” The thought suddenly struck him with alarm.
She fiddled with the glove. “No.”
“I shall require an heir at some point,” he added with some relief. “One day, in the distant future, I hope, I shall be duke and you will be my duchess.” He cocked his head. “Surely that isn’t such a bad thing?”
