The Duke of Banfield was indeed ensconced in his study. When Kendal stepped through the door, his father barely looked up from his papers. “So, you are back? I was wondering when you would darken my doorstep.”
The duke pointed to the seat where Kendal usually sat for their discussions, but Kendal remained standing. He clenched his fists, doing his best to overcome his splitting headache. His hangover was bad, but he was gripped with a fierce compulsion to have things sorted right here and now. He had to get Mercy to break her betrothal and it must be today.
“Have you come to a decision regarding Mercy and myself?”
There was no point bandying about the topic. He needed an answer and he needed it now. “Have you spoken to Miss Wood since your return?” replied his father.
Something about Ophelia’s words made him pause. Kendal studied his father’s face. His usual calm almost detached manner appeared to be missing.
He was good at reading people, sensing when they were hiding something of importance, or at least he once had been. The signs of Mercy’s pregnancy had been right in front of him, he just hadn’t recognized them.
Lord Grant, however, was more obvious. He had guilty as sin written all over his face. It was time to confront him. Kendal stepped forward and looked his father right in the eye. “What did you do while I was away? Did you go and see Mercy, try to frighten her off?”
Lord Grant shook his head. “No. I didn’t try to frighten her off. I . . .” He sighed. “Alright. I did visit her at home, but I didn’t make any threats. I just offered her money. And she took it. In fact, she haggled and got more money out of me. Is that the sort of woman you want for your future duchess?”
His rage rose to boiling point. His father had confronted Mercy, dangled money in front of her and she, being in the position he suspected she was in, had sensibly taken it. “Yes, I do want her for my duchess. Her and the child she is likely carrying. My child. Your bloody grandchild and possibly the future bloodline of this family. I can just imagine how it all went when you paid her a visit. You told her she wasn’t worthy, you gave her money, and she saw the writing on the wall. Because of you, she is going to marry Anthony Sperry—the bloody shopkeeper who lives downstairs.”
The door of his father’s study opened and the Duchess of Banfield and Lady Ophelia walked into the room. Lord Grant held out his hand and tried to shoo them away.
“Don’t bother trying to dismiss us. We are here to fight for Kendal and Mercy,” said Lady Grant.
The duke lay his head back and gave out a resigned huff. “She will never fit into London society. And are you prepared for the Banfield line to have the offspring of a piano tuner as the future holder of the title? This is impossible.”
The duchess put her hands on her hips and met her husband’s gaze. “You seem to forget that the thirteenth duke married his washer woman. And the fifteenth married a woman who had poisoned several of her previous husbands. We are not exactly from the most pristine of stock.”
Ophelia raised an eyebrow at her mother. “I didn’t know that.”
All three now turned and faced the duke. Lady Grant came to her husband, a determined look on her face. “Ophelia and I will do all we can to support Mercy. Don’t discount the fact that we are one of the wealthiest families in England. And you, my dearest husband, are a powerful man. If any family can overcome society and its small-minded fools, it is us.”
Lord Grant nodded. “I am not a wicked man; I did give Mercy enough money that she could have a comfortable life without you. I had no idea that she might be with child.”
Kendal put a hand on his father’s shoulder. “I know why you thought it was the right thing to do, and after everything that happened over Phillip, I can understand. But you were wrong in what you did. So, I need you to come with me and fix this, and you must come now. I can only pray that Mercy will be as understanding, because if she isn’t, you might be all out of heirs.”
Chapter Forty
“This is the right thing to do,” whispered Mercy. She had been saying that to herself for the better part of a week now. After her confrontation with Kendal the previous day, it was one of the few things which was keeping her from breaking into a thousand pieces.
She had to be strong. Her child was relying on her to secure its future, to give it a name and a father. Thank God for Anthony. If she hadn’t fainted that day in his shop, she had no idea what she would have done.
Anthony had taken the news of her pregnancy with more grace than most men, and immediately offered to marry her. She owed him a lifetime of gratitude. Of course, their marriage would not be anything like what she might have had with Kendal; it would be a sensible marriage, one where love didn’t have a place. Mercy would have this child and do her wifely duty and give Anthony his own children in the years to come. In return for giving her unborn baby a father and his name, Anthony would gain for himself an intelligent wife and a much-needed helping hand in the shop. They would be as they had always been—good friends.
She swallowed down the lump of emotion in her throat, telling herself that Kendal would be proud of her. And who knew? Some day she might pass him in the street and catching sight of her, he would stop to say hello. Being Kendal, he would greet the small child who held her hand and give a friendly smile. Perhaps even ruffle his or her fair hair.
The thought of such a momentous moment had her gripping the end of her bed and bowing her head. She couldn’t hold back the tears. There was nothing but grief over losing the love that had forever changed her life. That brief shining moment when she had known the joy of two souls destined to love one another for eternity.
“Ruddy hell. I am going to look a sight at the church if I keep this up. The priest will wonder what on earth is going on.”
She took a facecloth from the drawer and dipped it into the bowl of cool, clean water which sat on top of the nearby washstand. Laying the cloth over her face, she hoped it would take away some of the redness from her cheeks. Why did crying have to make your face so ugly?
“Mercy, it’s time to leave,” said her father, knocking on her bedroom door.
“Give me a minute. I will be with you shortly,” she replied.
She glanced down at her feet and forced a smile. It was bittersweet that today of all days, she was wearing the pair of boots that Kendal had sent her. After all that had happened, she had ended up with more than just new boots.
She had decided to keep the existence of the money that the Duke of Banfield had given her a secret. She liked the idea of having a little financial independence for herself. Mercy was determined that neither she nor her child would ever have to go about in poorly fitted footwear.
Both she and Anthony would keep things from each other. Her new husband had made some of his own stipulations about their future domestic arrangements. She was not to ask where he went some evenings, and in return he would never make mention of Lord Kendal Grant.
Practical. Pragmatic. Predicable. That was the future she had laid out for her. It was as much as a woman in her world could expect or hope for.
She set the cloth back into the bowl and wiped her hands. With one last look in the mirror and a quick adjustment of her hat, Mercy headed for the door. It was time for her to get married.
The Banfield coach stopped out the front of the Italian grocery emporium and Kendal leapt out. A delivery cart blocked the road into Mint Street.
“Shall I wait for you here?” asked Lord Grant.
Kendal threw his father a withering glance and raced off toward Mercy’s building.
He took the stairs leading up to her apartment two at a time. Reaching the door, he banged loudly on it, wincing as the noise reverberated through his head.
“Mercy!”
He waited for a moment, then put his ear to the door. Silence. He knocked again.
“Where are you?”
There were a hundred places Mercy could be right now; it wasn’t as if she would be sitting at home waiting for hi
m to come banging on her door.
The sound of hurried footsteps on the stairs had him turning. The Duke of Banfield appeared on the landing, huffing, and puffing. “What was the name of the chap she was going to marry?”
Kendal screwed up his face. What the hell did that have to do with anything? “Anthony. He owns the shop downstairs. Why?”
The look which suddenly appeared on his father’s face told him he was not going to like the answer. “I figured you might be up here for a little time, so I got out to stretch my legs. The shop looked interesting and I went to have a look. It’s closed. There is a sign on the door saying that the owner is getting married today.”
Mercy hadn’t wasted any time in getting Anthony to the altar. Considering her lack of options, Kendal couldn’t blame her, but he was going to wring her neck when he got hold of her.
They headed back down the stairs and into the street. Lord Grant turned to him. “What are you going to do? There are probably a dozen churches in this parish.”
Kendal didn’t answer him. He was too busy dashing across the intersection of The Borough and Blackman Street. His destination was Saint George the Martyr church which lay directly across the road.
Racing up the steps, he could only pray that he had the right church and he was still in time to stop the service.
Coming out of the bright light and into the dark of the church, he was temporarily blinded, but he was still able to make out the forms of people gathered near the altar. As he opened his mouth to cry out, a loud bellow of “Stop!” echoed from behind him.
His father pushed past him and barreled on down to the front, arms waving madly.
“Stop this wedding!”
The entire wedding party did just that—they stopped as if frozen in time. Anthony, who held the marriage license application in his hand, looked up—the pen in his grip stopped a mere inch from the paper. Henry Wood stood openmouthed and simply stared.
Mercy broke free from her shock and looked with stunned surprise as Kendal and his father raced full pelt along the center aisle of the church.
When they reached the wedding party, the priest admonished them. “You can’t just come into my church screaming and waving your arms around like a madman.”
“I just did. Now stop this nonsense,” said Lord Grant.
The priest wasn’t having any of it and wagged a finger in his face. “Who . . . who are you? And what makes you think you can order me around in my own church? I will have you know we had the Bishop of London here to dine only last week.”
Lord Grant lay a hand on the man’s shoulder and drew in close. “I am the Duke of Banfield, and Hugh Radley dines at my home at least once a month. I think he will forgive me for interrupting this wedding.”
While this conversation was taking place, Kendal stepped around the end of the front pew and came to Mercy’s side. He nodded at Anthony and Henry. “Would you mind if I had a few moments alone with Mercy?”
Anthony met Mercy’s gaze. He frowned, then finally sighed. “Yes, of course.”
Henry remained openmouthed and didn’t reply.
The Duke of Banfield reached out and took the pen and license application from Anthony’s hand. “You won’t be needing these,” he said.
Mercy couldn’t make sense of what was happening.
Why is he here and trying to stop the wedding? I would have thought this was exactly what Lord Grant would have wanted.
Kendal held out his hand to her, and Mercy slipped hers into his. He led her away to a corner of the transept, out of earshot of the others. While he caught his breath, Mercy’s gaze roamed over Kendal’s short hair, quietly lamenting the loss of his long beautiful locks.
“Why didn’t you tell me about the baby?” he finally asked.
She shook her head, fighting back the tears. There had been so many times she had been close to telling him, that this moment now seemed almost surreal.
“How did you find out?”
“Lavinia and I spoke this morning. She suspected it and when she told me, it all made sense. I just don’t understand why you kept it from me. I love you. And as much as you want to convince yourself otherwise, you love me.”
“Oh, Kendal, I wanted to—I really did. You have to believe me when I tell you I never sought to keep your child from you. But then your father came to see me, and he made me finally accept that the reality of our different worlds was too much for us to ever overcome,” she replied.
“And so, you convinced Anthony to marry you?”
“I told him the truth of things and we came to an agreement. We would marry, and in return I would turn a blind eye to any other women in his life.”
Kendal glared at Anthony before turning back and meeting her gaze. “Am I too late? Have you given up on us?”
“I didn’t give up on us, Kendal. I love you. I was just trying to do all I could to protect our child. To give it some kind of a chance in life. For he or she to be more than just the offspring of a piano tuner.”
“You were and are more than just a piano tuner. You are the love of my life. And I will never let you go.”
“But your father, what happened to change his mind?” she asked.
He smiled at her, then leaned in and kissed her softly on the lips. “He knows about the baby. Our family had a wee chat and they have all agreed to support us. My mother and sister will work to get you properly established in society. My father will do whatever it takes to ensure that his grandchild has everything due to their birthright. And I shall stand beside you as your husband.”
Before she had a chance to come up with any other reason to refuse him, Kendal went down on bended knee.
“I should have done this weeks ago. I was a fool to let other people try and tell me what to do. Mercy Wood, you are the love of my life and I want to spend every day from now on with you by my side. Will you do me the greatest honor and be my wife?”
She glanced over at where Kendal’s father and the rest of the small gathering stood, Anthony gave an encouraging nod in her direction.
The Duke of Banfield put his hand into his pocket and handed something, she assumed it was money, to the minister.
“Please, Mercy. Can you give me an answer? This floor is hard and my head hurts,” said Kendal.
She put a hand to her mouth and laughed. “Sorry, I forgot you were down there. Yes. Yes, I will marry you.”
He struggled to his feet, then closed his eyes and sighed. “Finally.”
“You poor thing. You look and sound like you have had a hard day. Try dealing with morning sickness and then I might muster up some sympathy,” she replied.
Kendal pulled her into his arms and held her close. “I polished off one and a half bottles of whisky yesterday afternoon. That’s more than I normally drink in a month.”
Mercy smiled at him, brushing her hand over his cheek. “And you cut all your hair off. I can’t believe your magnificent mane is gone. Was that also because of me?”
He slowly nodded. “You are my life—without you, none of it matters. Not even my hair.”
She laughed, even as tears filled her eyes. “I love you so much, Kendal Grant, but you are never allowed to pick up a pair of scissors ever again. Do you hear me?”
“I love you too. And I solemnly promise that my days of cutting paper and hair are done.”
Chapter Forty-One
Now was not the time to tell Mercy about the manuscripts and what he had done to them. They were still in a church and he didn’t want to further incur the wrath of the priest by having his newly minted fiancée box his ears.
He pulled his signet ring from his finger and slipped it on Mercy’s hand. It looked odd and bulky, but he had plans to replace it as soon as he could get her to choose one from the extensive Banfield jewelry collection.
“I want to kiss you and not in a polite church-like way, but I think we might be stretching things with the minister if I take you in my arms right here and now,” said Kendal.
M
ercy reached up and after removing the pin from her hat, slipped it off her head. She held it front of them, hiding their faces from the view of everyone else. “Kiss me, Kendal Grant, then let’s get out of here.”
He gave Mercy the most tender, not quite chaste kiss he could get away with in church, then taking her by the hand, they walked back to where everyone else was waiting. It was time to set things straight with Anthony.
“Mister Sperry. I must apologize for disrupting your wedding, but I am claiming your bride for myself. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your selfless offer to marry Mercy, but it is my child she is carrying, and I am determined it shall have my name.”
To his surprise, a smiling Anthony reached out and offered Kendal his hand. “It is you who I should be thanking. Mercy and I were about to do something which I think we would both live to regret.”
The priest held his hands together in a prayerlike fashion. “Just so I have this clear. Anthony and Mercy are no longer getting the marriage license. And the bride-to-be has decided that she is to be betrothed to the Marquess of Hartley?”
“Yes, and yes. This wedding is off, and Mercy Wood and I are now engaged,” said Kendal.
Still holding Mercy’s hand, Kendal led her out of the church, followed by Anthony and Henry.
The Duke of Banfield eventually joined them on the front steps of the church. “The cheeky devil pressed me for a contribution to the church building repair fund,” grumbled Lord Grant.
Kendal chuckled. “I hope you gave him a generous donation, but not too lavish. You have a Grant family wedding to underwrite.”
The duke grinned. “After what I have put the two of you through, you deserve to have the finest wedding that London has seen in a long time. I am sorry Mercy; I was wrong to treat you the way I did. I see now that you love one another deeply. And who am I to stand in the way of love?”
He put his hand into his pocket and took out some coins. He roughly counted them, then announced. “I think we have enough for a few pints and some pork pies. Mister Wood, would you please show me the way to the nearest ale house? You and I need to go and have a drink or three. We are about to become family.”
Kendal: Regency Rockstars Page 20