She tilted her head. “But you believe there will be another attempt.”
“I have no way of knowing, but to be honest. I think it’s likely.”
“Sir Ewan tells me that the ’change has gone into a panic.” She twined her fingers together. “The situation has never been more alarming. He has likened it to the 17th century tulip mania in the Netherlands when the market collapsed with disastrous results. He says that although the promise of a new and faster mode of travel has caused great excitement in many quarters, there are those who believe it to be an abomination. They wish to actively put a stop to it by any means.”
Grant considered Snowden to be extremely unhelpful. “We must not lose hope that this will all be resolved quickly and the railway will go ahead,” he said gently, alarmed for her well-being. The dark half-moons under her eyes told of her anxiety and lack of sleep. “We shall find the culprits and bring this to an end, I promise you. In the meantime, you should try to rest.”
“Yes…yes.” She sighed and wiped a hand over her brow. “I haven’t even been able to bear visiting the place where Nathaniel died. But I know I must.”
He raised his brows. “Who might have gone there today?”
“No one. Why?”
He hesitated, wondering if he should mention the flowers, then considered that it might be important. “A small wreath of flowers has been left there, quite fresh.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Flowers? I know no one who would….” She shook her head. “Will you take me there, Lord Northcliffe…Grant?”
He eyed her carefully, wondering what effect it might have on her delicate constitution. Then he decided it couldn’t add much more to what she’d already suffered. He could tell by the rigid set of her shoulders that she was determined, and he didn’t like the idea of her riding there unescorted. “Yes, of course.”
She rose. “I shall only take a minute to change.”
An hour later, Grant stood beside her in her dark purple habit, as she stared down at the bunch of flowers on the ground, wilting in the sunlight. She didn’t speak again until they rode back to the house. “I have no idea who put that wreath there.”
They were not wild flowers or poppies, although the fields were covered in them. More like hot house blooms, although he couldn’t confess to any great knowledge on the subject. Usually, he gave an order to a shop to deliver a nosegay to a lady.
Only a lady would have left those flowers. Grant didn’t want to believe Nat had a mistress, but married men were not expected to be faithful. He glanced up and identified a kestrel by its long, pointed wings, hovering above them in the hazy blue sky. The bird appeared to defy gravity for a long moment, before it dived out of sight.
He had not discounted the idea of taking a mistress himself, should his marriage be unfulfilling. But it was likely, with the work he did, that he’d die before his wife. For Mercy to remember him this way made him cringe, and he knew in that moment, whatever the state of their marriage, he would resist living in such a manner. It made him determined to win Mercy’s respect, at least, if not her love.
* * *
The ball was a terrible crush. Mercy faced the mirror in the ladies’ withdrawing room, which had emptied when the next dance was called. She did not wish to dance the mazurka. Her spirits were rather low tonight. She wondered again where her wayward fiancé had gone. She hadn’t seen him for the better part of a week. Even her father had commented on his absence at breakfast.
A dark haired over-perfumed lady entered and stood beside her at the mirror. Her pretty face was spoiled by a sour expression. “Your fiancé seems less than desirous of your company, Lady Mercy. I heard the marriage will be one of convenience.”
Mercy swung around to face Northcliffe’s mistress. “Then your sources are wrong!”
Lady Alethea raised her dark eyebrows. “Northcliffe is obviously not as passionate about you as he is about me,” she said in a conversational tone. “He could never have left me for a week.” She glanced at the door. “He desires me too much. Northcliffe can’t live without pleasure.”
“Indeed!” Mercy said coolly, although her heart pounded and she saw her eyes darken in her reflection. “I heard that he grew bored with you.” She’d heard nothing of the kind, but she was glad when the lady’s eyes flashed and her mouth pulled down in an ugly moue.
As two ladies entered the room, Mercy gathered up her shawl and reticule, and left, wishing her sisters were here to support her.
Her anger at her absent fiancé grew to boiling point. When Lord Bellamy came to ask her to dance, she readily accepted.
“I must say I was shocked to learn of your engagement, Lady Mercy. So very sudden, it left many of us fellows flat-footed and consigned to mourn what might have been.”
Lord Bellamy’s overblown rhetoric had begun to lose its charm. Mercy shook her head. “Lord Bellamy, I can never believe a word you say.”
“I protest! I am a truthful fellow.” Bellamy’s green eyes sparkled when they came together in the dance. “You underestimate your charms, my lady. It is true then? You are engaged?”
“Yes, Lord Bellamy.” She twirled away.
“I shall not give up hope until you and Northcliffe have visited the altar,” he said, when he again had a chance to speak. “By the way, where is the fellow? If I were he I should be on my knees before you, kissing the hem of your gown.”
She felt her cheeks heat. “Business has taken him out of town.”
He looked over her head in the direction of the door. “A brief visit, regrettably.”
