He stood. “I am engaged with my fiancée for the first waltz. I’ll leave for Yorkshire on Monday.”
“When is the wedding to be?”
“I am to confirm the date with Lord and Lady Baxendale tomorrow.”
He entered the ballroom as Arabella hurried toward him. “Mercy said you are engaged! You might have told me yourself.”
“I planned to, tonight.”
“Are…are you happy about this, Grant?”
“But of course, why would I not be?”
She gave a worried frown. “Mercy did not seem over the moon about it.”
“The way it’s come about is not ideal. But I will make her a good husband, Bella.” He smiled fondly at his sister.
“You will?”
“Do you doubt me?”
“No.” She relaxed visibly. “You’re a good man, Grant. I know that. But women need a little reassurance. Men don’t always realize that.”
He grinned. “Perhaps I am remiss in this. Men are selfish creatures. I shall endeavor to improve. Will you grant me a dance later in the evening?”
“Yes. I should love to dance with you.”
“Ah, they’re calling a waltz. Please excuse me. I must join Mercy.”
* * *
Mercy stepped into Northcliffe’s arms as the strains of a Haydn waltz floated over the ballroom. She breathed in his musky masculine scent while gazing into his handsome face, smiling down at her. Whom had he just been to see? It was not the Lady Alethea Archer. She had remained talking to friends. If only Grant had confessed to having loved her, Mercy might feel better about giving up her plans and having her life ruled by a man who revealed little of his own hopes and dreams. Did he intend to keep his mistress? It was the worst kept secret in London and she burned thinking about it. The very thought of them together cast her spirits so low, she wished she was back in Tunbridge Wells with Wolf lying at her feet, while she worked on her experimentations. Even Northcliffe’s sister, Arabella, who’d sought to sing her brother’s praises some weeks ago, merely tried to placate her. She suspected Arabella felt guilty about that night in Vauxhall Gardens, even though Mercy had tried to reassure her that it had been her own fault, she’d gotten into trouble.
“Where shall we live after we marry?” she asked him.
“I believe it best we stay with my grandfather at Thornhill for a while.”
“That’s in Yorkshire?”
“Yes.”
Miles from anywhere, she imagined. “Is there much society there?”
“Grandfather doesn’t entertain much these days. Neither does my father. We shall attend the assembly dances and entertainments in York.”
“That would be nice,” she murmured. Tunbridge Wells was a lively place thetonvisited often, and balls were held regularly in the town. She was sure York would be more parochial.
“I shall be happy to take you when I’m there.”
“When you’re there?” she repeated, her shock making her sound stupid.
“I won’t always be at home, Mercy. But we shall spend part of the Season in London.”
“Where else would you be?” She narrowed her eyes. Not that she wanted him under foot, but he’d better not be planning to make hay with that mistress while she rusticated!
“I have…business interests which may take me away at times.”
“Business interests? May I know what they are?”
