Her heart turned over with disappointment. She withdrew her hand. “That seems…sensible.”
“Good.” He stood and offered her his arm. “Let’s join the others. I like your half-sister very much, and I’m eager to meet Lord Edward.”
Chapter Fourteen
MERCY’S FATHER HAD leased a manor house for the family’s stay in York. Three stories of brick in the style of the last century, the building faced a wide, cobble-stoned square in the very heart of the city. Every respectable inn and hotel was booked with guests attending the Saturday morning ceremony. The family began to arrive a week beforehand along with a large retinue of staff from London. The house was a hubbub of activity with preparations underway for the wedding breakfast.
Mercy’s older sister, Faith, and her husband, Vaughn, with their twins, arrived on the same afternoon as Honor and Edward, who brought their dark-haired little whirligig son, Lucas. Their nannies and servants took up the entire attic floor. Father’s sister, Aunt Christabel from Northumberland came with Robin and Charity, along with several servants, which required a lot of hurried rearranging by her mother and the housekeeper.
Mama expressed concern that Robin might be offended by the modest bedchamber allotted to him. But he was at pains to put her fears to rest, stating how much he preferred the family atmosphere to a hotel.
A dinner party was arranged for Grant to meet the rest of the family. His father attended with Arabella, who was home for the wedding. The Earl of Montrose, tall and broad-shouldered like his son, did not appear robust. He had impeccable manners as one would expect, but Mercy found him rather stiff and formal. She couldn’t imagine herself hugging him spontaneously, the way she did her father, but perhaps she would when they grew more familiar with each other. She wanted her new family to like her, she would be so alone when Grant was away, as he’d warned her he would be at times.
He’d made no mention of where these trips would take him, and the subject of her accompanying him hadn’t arisen. She tried not to suspect that Lady Alethea was the reason behind them, but as he refused to explain otherwise, her imagination took over, which was most troubling.
After dinner, while her father and the earl drank port and discussed politics in the dining room, Robin and Vaughn had them all falling about laughing during a game of charades in the drawing room. Afterward, Arabella was forced to defend herself from several light-hearted accusations of cheating at Spillikins.
Finishing their game of whist, Northcliffe sat beside Mercy on the sofa. They talked quietly while a game of rhymes caused a hullabaloo around them. “I would have loved to grow up with many more brothers and sisters,” Grant said. “I’m quite taken with your family.”
“Your father seems a quiet, serious man.”
“I believe ill-health has made him so. He was a Corinthian when he was young. Excelled at sport and did the London to Brighton race in four hours. Hence the nickname, Lord Dashalong.”
She raised her eyebrows, a smile tugging at her lips. “Like his son?”
Grant quirked his eyebrow. “You think me so?”
“I do.”
His mouth twisted wryly. “I am not driven by those desires anymore, Mercy.”
Then if he wasn’t, why did she think it? Such a difficult man to understand. He was like one of her father’s slippery fish he’d had her net for him at the river. “You’re sure to like my absent sister, Hope and her husband, Daniel.” She’d changed the subject before she was tempted to prod him with questions. Now was hardly the time. “They are on our minds as they await the arrival of their firstborn in France.”
“A difficult time for your mother, particularly.” He stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I see Lady Faith awaits. We are off to the nursery to view the twins while they’re asleep in their cots. Then I must take my leave as Father grows tired.”
She smiled. “I’ll come up with you. I love to see her babies tucked in all rosy and angelic. When Thomas is awake, the impression soon vanishes, but Grace is a sweet, quiet child.”
Was Grant so fond of children that he’d made the request? It was more likely that the invitation had come from her proud sister, who believed everyone would find her offspring endlessly fascinating.
Later, when Mercy lay in bed and went over the evening in her mind, she had to admit that tonight, Grant had been everything a girl would wish for in a fiancé. He’d charmed her mother, pleased her father, and got on extremely well with everyone else. It was as if he’d always been a part of the family. She pummeled her pillow with a sigh and admitted that she’d been wistful to see him leave. Then she gasped when Honor’s description of that which took place between husband and wife entered her thoughts. Now she would never get to sleep!
The next morning, Mercy rose early. She was to meet Grant’s grandfather, the Duke of Rotherham, at Thornhill, her soon-to-be home with Grant. Wishing to make the best impression, she chose one of her new day dresses, a white striped muslin with a printed floral pattern in pastel pink and pale gray. She particularly liked the gathered skirt with the frilled and ruched decoration at the hem. As the day was cool, she added her dull-red, wool cloth cloak, and a bonnet trimmed with a matching red bow. Mercy thought she looked well enough, which gave her the confidence she needed. She had yet to broach the matter of Wolf. The dog was languishing in Tunbridge Wells without her. And of course, she needed to explain to Grant that she wished to finish her manuscript and make up her lotions. She stiffened at the thought, fearing he would be dismissive of her plans.
After the morning mist drifted away through the trees, the sky cleared to azure blue. Grant tooled the phaeton and four along a country lane bordered by flowering hedgerows, the air sweetly perfumed. “Yorkshire is beautiful in spring,” she remarked, admiring his expertise with the reins.
“I roamed the dales when I was a boy. Saw it as a great place for adventure. Only now do I value its true beauty.”
“Wordsworth’s poetry encapsulates it perfectly.”
He smiled. “Are you going to entertain me with a poem?”
She giggled. “I am not.”
“You look very nice in red. Unmarried ladies tend to dress in pale colors. As a wife, you may wear whatever you wish.” He glanced at her. “That must appeal.”
“One must still adhere to fashion, or face harsh criticism. I’m not sure I like the fuller sleeves that are becoming popular. They look a good deal better on Charity than me.”
“You have your own charms, Mercy.” His gaze roamed over her again as that day in Hyde Park, with the heavy-eyed look which fluttered her heart. “Of infinite variety,” he added with gentle emphasis.
