After she parted from the duke, having lost another game, she went to her bedchamber. She paced the carpet wrestling with an outrageous notion.No.She shouldn’t! She sat down again. Perhaps she could spend the time creating a new shampoo that she could test on Wolf. Giving in with a sigh, she entered her boudoir, then opened the connecting door and walked through the small sitting room and into Grant’s bedchamber.
Grant’s valet, Briggs, was sorting through a pile of cravats. He leapt up with a look of surprise and bowed. “My lady.”
“Briggs. My husband expressed the view that you should take some time for yourself while he is away.”
“His lordship did mention it, my lady.” He looked uncertain.
“I saw you chatting to that pretty maid, Alice, in the rose garden yesterday. She was just down there again, talking to one of the gardeners.”
Briggs’ eyes widened. “I believe I will get some fresh air, my lady,” he said in a strained voice.
After his hurried exit, she turned her attention to the chest of drawers and then the wardrobe. The coats smelled of him and tugged at her senses. It was a disgraceful thing to snoop on her husband, and she should feel guilty. Perhaps she would, later. But now, she needed to know just what urgent business took him away from home.
Twenty minutes later, after failing to find anything of interest, her gaze settled on his portmanteau. Opening the bag, she found the interior filled with papers. Mercy carried it to her bedchamber where she could search through it undetected, and see if it gave up any secrets.
As her disappointment grew she piled the bills for Westons, Grant’s tailor, George Hoby’s account for a pair of top-boots, and others for linens, drawers and other unmentionables onto the table, most of which were marked as paid. There was a letter from Colonel Black offering his congratulations, which she almost put down, but as she read through it, her heart began to thumped madly. The last words made her jump up from her chair.And of course, there’s Scullen’s death—my men will give you the details.
Mercy gathered up all the papers and returned the portmanteau to Grant’s room. She roamed about her chamber, then paused to rearrange her silver-back brushes on her dressing table. In the mirror her eyes were wide and dark. What did this mean? It must be the reason for Grant’s mysterious trips away. Even that night at Vauxhall Gardens he’d gone off to meet someone. What should she do? It was not in her nature to keep this from him, but if he knew that she’d spied on him, he would rightly be very angry with her. She could face his anger, but would it be wise to tell him?
Mercy sank onto a chair and stared into the empty grate, wishing she could consult Honor or Charity. She chewed her lips. Well, she couldn’t, and must handle this herself. Her husband was involved in some manner of dangerous business with Colonel Black. How difficult it must have been for him to try to keep this from her. Their marriage made it even more so. She recalled her father saying in the carriage on the way to the church that he’d offered Grant the opportunity to walk away. But Grant had told him how much he wanted to marry her. And he had, despite matrimony being the last thing Grant would have wished for. Her heart swelled with emotion.
The next day, Wolf arrived. With a howl of joy, the dog leapt from the wagon that had brought him from Tunbridge Wells, and loped to Mercy’s side, his huge dusty paws on her chest pushing her backward, his golden feathery tail waving frantically.
“Wolf.” Mercy patted the dog’s handsome head and rubbed his satiny ears. Her eyes filled with tears. “Come boy and meet the family.” She took a deep breath. She must have the dog settled in before Grant returned. There was much they had to say to one another.
* * *
Grant came upon the railway line where workers bolted in new fishplates, the metal pieces that linked the rails together, while a guard rode by on horseback. How futile to attempt to keep watch over miles of railway line when some were intent on destroying it.
He hailed the workmen, and turned his horse onto an overgrown lane that led to Fury’s front gates. Grant hoped to find the man at home, and would forgive an impromptu visit. Grant had yet to ride to Harrogate. He groaned. It would be several days before he would be able to return to Mercy.
Fury was heir to a barony, but Grant had discerned that he’d been estranged from his father for some years. His home was smaller and less impressive than Haighton Park, a three-storied building of stone, the paint peeling on the woodwork. He could be short of funds, having sold off some of his land to the railway. As a rule, gentlemen resisted selling parts of their estates, although Haighton had done the same. Did it link the men in some way? Or was it just expedient, to get the railroad through and benefit from the shares?
After Grant gave the butler his card, he was shown into a simply furnished drawing room. Miss Fury entered wearing a pastel blue printed dress which made her look even pastier than the last time he’d seen her.
“Lord Northcliffe, how nice to see you again. My brother is out riding with his steward. I expect him home shortly, if you’d care to wait?” She sat near the fire.
Grant took a chair opposite her. “I’m glad to see you in better health, Miss Fury.”
The statement seemed to distress her. Her hand went to her wispy blonde hair and she jumped up from the chair. “Please forgive my bad manners. I’ll ring for tea.”
They’d finished their tea and exhausted the subject of the King’s health, the weather, the deplorable state of the country, and the recent influx of important personages to the York assemblies. Her nerves became more frayed by the minute, as she picked at the fringe on her shawl with trembling fingers.
“You appeared not to have been well at Lady Millburn’s ball,” Grant said, aware she’d evaded the subject earlier. He hoped it would make her become more open with him.
“No, I had caught a chill. My brother thought it best I come home.” She settled the shawl more closely over her shoulders despite the glowing coal fire in the grate. “I don’t much care for London society, so I didn’t mind. I only agreed to visit Town because Ambrose wished it.”
The door opened and a dark-haired heavy-set man of middling height walked in. From the way he held himself, he had the look of an ex-army man. The sharp planes of his face made him appear harsh, but that might have been misleading. His expression certainly softened when he gazed at his delicate sister.
Grant rose. “Forgive me for calling without notice, Mr. Fury, but I have just visited Lady Haighton. She happened to mention that you sold some of your land to the Stockton and Darlington Company for the railroad, and sections of the line have been damaged. I would like your opinion on the matter.”
Fury motioned for Grant to sit again, while he took the wingchair opposite. “Another attack, regrettably. These miscreants are not about to let matters lie. It distresses me to see such backward thinking. I like to encourage advances in industry wherever I can.”
“My thoughts exactly. The idea of rail travel is an exciting one is it not?” Grant frowned. “And it distresses me that some react violently to stop it. Do you have any idea who’s behind this destruction?”
“I don’t I’m afraid. In fact, I’ve just returned from viewing the damage.” Fury shrugged. “Such a futile act. There’s no halting progress. We have endured enough violence against industries in the north, the mills, and so forth. None of it has done a damn bit of good.” He cast a glance at his sister. “Sorry for the bad language, my dear.”
His sister nodded mutely.
