Chapter Fifteen
IN HER BEDCHAMBER, which overlooked the busy square, Mercy settled the pearl necklace with the diamond-studded cross against her décolletage while her mother did up the clasp at her nape. Reflected in the glass, she saw her mother’s face was flushed with pleasure. Despite the doubts that plagued her, Mercy had made her parents proud. For a moment, the thought banished her taut nerves.
Charity, graceful in her rose-pompadour colored gown, moved behind Mercy to rearrange the white satin bow at her waist. “I’m sure you and Grant will be very happy, dearest. He was very personable last night.” She was Mercy’s attendant.
“Your bridegroom fits very comfortably into our family,” Faith said smoothing her rose silk skirts. “He has a delightful sense of humor and he’s fond of children.”
Edging forward in her crimson gown, Honor’s serious brown eyes met Mercy’s in the mirror. “You look beautiful, dearest. Northcliffe is a lucky man. I’m sure he knows that.”
“Agreed,” they all said in unison.
Mercy knew they were all concerned for her. Their own wedding day had been so joyous because they married the men they loved. And she was still so unsure. She wanted desperately to give her heart to Grant. But love and trust were entwined, and he held himself away from her.
The four clustered together before the long mirror, like the roses Robin had once named them. In honor of this, Mercy’s bouquet was of pale pink damask roses and peonies. Pearls and silver embroidery decorated the stiffened hem and scooped neckline of her white satin gown. She smoothed the full gauze sleeves that she’d insisted the dressmaker make smaller. Holding up her skirts, she examined a white satin slipper. “I hope these seed pearls don’t fall off.”
“They are well sewn on.” Mama arranged the sheer, floating Mechlin lace veil attached to a diamond and pearl encrusted bandeau over Mercy’s shoulders. “I believe it’s time to go down and show the men how lovely you all look.”
In the drawing room with Edward and Vaughn standing beside him, Father waited in his dark clothes, a boutonniere in his lapel. With a smile, Robin came to claim Charity, murmuring to her.
Mama, in pale lilac, smiled as Father kissed her cheek. “Well what do you think of your daughters, Baxendale? Are they not beautiful?”
“Yes, and today, Mercy is the loveliest of all.”
With a murmur of agreement her sister’s husbands ushered their wives from the room to the waiting carriages.
Her father assisted Mercy into their carriage. He sat opposite her with his back to the horses. “I am very proud of you, daughter. You may not have wanted this marriage, but you’ve behaved bravely, unselfishly, and I believe, sensibly.”
Mercy put her hand on her stomach which twisted with apprehension. “Sensibly, Father?”
“A man of my years does become a good judge of character. Northcliffe impressed me from the first. Even if you do not today, in time you will come to agree with my assessment.” He smiled. “Your future is now assured, my dear. You are marrying into an old, noble family.” He leaned forward and squeezed her hand. “Northcliffe cares very much for you.”
Mercy gazed at her bouquet. “Does he?”
Father chuckled. “Men are not always so keen to tie the knot. Despite my making it clear that I was prepared to release him from any culpability, Northcliffe did the honorable thing by offering for your hand. I accepted him without question. The way he looks at you confirms that I did the right thing. The man adores you. Be kind to him.”
She, kind to him? “What do you mean, Father?”
“You have an independence of spirit; all my daughters do.” He sighed. “You needed to marry a strong man whom you would respect. And Northcliffe is a man of considerable strength. But give a little, Mercy.”
She closed her eyes and saw Grant’s face, his generous mouth, his eyes turning to warm honey when he was amused or pleased. She wanted to make him laugh and approve of her. Her heart galloped on the wings of hope. Mercy loved her father. She’d always looked up to him and considered him an astute man. She prayed now that he was right, that Grant did care for her.
Clouds like white puffs from a dragon’s breath raced across the pale blue sky, driven by a stiff breeze. Her arms prickled with gooseflesh, more from nerves than the cold. After winding through the narrow lanes, the carriage deposited them before the awe-inspiring Gothic western face of York Minster.
When Mercy took her father’s arm, they entered the enormous interior through the tall arched doors and made their way along the handsome mosaic marble floor. As strains of Handel’s Water Music swelled into the echoing space from the church organ, sunlight heralded their approach, turning the magnificent rose window into sparkling jewel colors.
Mercy felt small in this huge, grand cathedral. She would have preferred to have been married in the family church at Tunbridge Wells, as her sisters were, but her opinion on the matter had never been sought.
Grant watched from his position before the altar, elegant in his dark-blue tailcoat with a white camellia in his lapel, pale blue waistcoat, and buff trousers, his best man, Baron Sexton in gray, at his side.
Mercy tried to quell her shivering as she passed familiar and unfamiliar faces. She smiled at Grant’s father. The duke’s eyes twinkled encouragingly from his seat on the front pew with Arabella and Aunt Jane beside him. On the other side of the aisle her mother amongst her family, beamed with joy. When Mercy joined Grant, her father stepped away.
“Here you are,” Grant said with a wide smile.
At the warm approval and reassurance she found in his eyes, her nervousness slipped away. She turned to the minister who had begun to intone the words of the marriage ceremony.“Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God…”Straightening her shoulders, she faced headlong her future now resolutely entwined with this strong, dark-haired man beside her.
* * *
The minister’s words flowed over Grant, sealing a fate he’d initially dreaded, then came to accept, and now welcomed. He hadn’t spared much thought for the sort of woman he would one day marry. Such an occurrence seemed so far into the future. He expected to be older, more settled. Ready to be a steady husband and father. His wife would be eager to share his life and bear his children. She would love him as he did her. Someone quiet and sensible. This strong minded young lady standing so still beside him did not fit into his vague notion of a suitable wife. He feared he’d failed in some way to meet with her notion of an ideal husband.
