Chapter Eighteen
“IF YOU MOVE your bishop there, I shall take your queen.” His Grace smiled sympathetically at her.
“I am sorry, Your Grace.” Mercy hastily moved the piece back. She studied the board and found a safer spot, knowing it was inevitable that he would beat her within the next few moves. Two long, lonely nights had passed since Grant left. The duke proved himself an entertaining companion, and she’d grown fond of him, but could not seek his company often during the long days, for fear she would tire him. That left her free to complete the final chapters of her book. She sat at the desk and watched the diligent gardeners as they dug the beds and raked the paths beneath her window. Always so focused on her work in the past, she now struggled to immerse herself. The details constantly slipped away from her.
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 sh
rugged. “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.
“They cannot hope to succeed,” Grant said.
Fury eyed him, the expression in his black eyes difficult to read. “I can’t imagine what they think they’ll achieve by it, can you?”
“No. But as I’ve bought shares in the company that have fallen sharply now, I have a vested interest in finding out.”
Fury raised his black eyebrows. “Ah, I see. Don’t have them myself. Prefer more solid, reliable companies, although these days….” He shrugged. “Did you wish to ride out and inspect the damage? I could escort you. The railway workers have almost finished the repairs. They will be fixed by tomorrow, but for how long…” He shrugged again.
“Then there doesn’t seem much point.” Grant stood. “Thank you for seeing me.”
“You have a fair ride ahead, if you are going to your family estate, which lies near York, does it not?”
Grant nodded. “Yes. But first I have business in Harrogate. I fear I may have to spend the night there. I’m unfamiliar with that town. You couldn’t recommend a good inn?”
“I know the landlord of The Rabbit and Fox. I stay there on occasion. It’s well run.”
“Would you be so kind as to furnish me with his name, and a rough map with the directions? I should be most grateful.”
Fury paused, then crossed to the door. He returned a few minutes later and handed Grant a piece of bond with a crude map and the information he requested.
“Kind of you,” Grant said. He bowed to Miss Fury, who had not uttered a word since her brother arrived. “Good day to you, Miss Fury. I am glad to see you feeling better.”
“Thank you, sir. I have completely recovered from the chill.” She dropped into a curtsey, hiding her face from Grant, but not before he caught a look of alarm in her gray eyes.
Fury cast him a sidelong glance but made no comment.
A groom was waiting with Ares when Grant quitted the house. He’d learnt nothing to please Black, but the back of his neck prickled. He’d found it a reliable sign in the past. Something was not right here.
When he’d ridden far enough away to be unseen from the house, he stopped and removed both the map and Haighton’s threatening letter from his pocket. Fury had been in London when Haighton was shot, but that did not discount his involvement. The rough outlines of the map and the proprietor’s name, William Hobbs at the Rabbit and Fox Inn, was not enough to be sure they were written by the same hand. Comparing the cursive sweep of the ‘W’, ‘H’ and ‘I’, he saw it was possible, but hardly conclusive. Grant tucked them back into the pocket of his greatcoat and rode on.
Chapter Nineteen
“SO, THIS IS your dog, Wolf?” His Grace asked, his eyebrows forming peaks. Wolf came to lick the duke’s hand. “What breed is he?”
“Wolf is a Tweed Water Spaniel. The breed originated from Northumberland where he comes from. My father had one as a boy.” Mercy swallowed. She was so nervous her mouth was dry.
“Not part wolf then? You’re an extraordinary lookin’ fellow,” His Grace said with a chuckle.
Panting furiously, Jasper and Julian left their baskets by the drawing room fire to investigate, wagging their tails and jumping up at the interesting visitor. Wolf took it in good part. “Sit Wolf,” Mercy commanded and the dog obeyed.
“He’s well-mannered at least.”
Mercy drew in a deep breath. “Wolf is only unrestrained when someone attacks me.”
“And does that happen often?” His Grace asked with the outrageous twinkle appearing in his eyes.
Mercy giggled. “No.”
“Sit down sweet girl, you look fit to explode. I like your dog,” the aged man said. “Shall we have a game of whist?”
“Oh yes. Shall I pour you a glass of burgundy first, Your Grace?”
He took up the cards. “Yes, you do it so prettily. My footman’s nose is quite out of joint.”
As he dealt he eyed her. “Perhaps we’ll see Grant home before nightfall.”
Mercy went to the drink’s table where a bottle of red wine had been left to breathe. Her stomach clenched. “I hope so.”
“You have been remarkably patient. I’m not sure my grandson deserves it.”
“I’m sure his reason for leaving was important.” She poured him a glass of crimson liquid.
“I believe so,” the duke said in an ambiguous fashion as he took the glass from her.
Mercy had given much thought to confessing to Grant that she’d found Black’s letter. She decided against it, fearing it would be dangerous to distract him from whatever he was doing.
In the afternoon, she and Wolf walked through the home wood to the river. The pungent smells of moss and reedy water greeted them. While Wolf investigated some woodland creature’s burrow, Mercy leaned back against a gnarled oak. The river rushed by them, sparkling in the sunlight. She closed her eyes and pictured Grant. Would he be home soon?
Footsteps thudded softly over the woodland floor stirring the rotting leaf mounds below the trees. Her eyes flew open.
“Grant!” Her heart leapt at the sight of her handsome husband. Despite his demanding work, he appeared relaxed and fit. She waited for him to castigate her for wandering about alone. Instead he smiled broadly.
“Elliston told me you’d be here.”
She wanted to throw herself into his arms, but Wolf bounded over the ground to place himself between her and the interloper.
“It’s all right, Wolf, it’s just Grant. He’s an excellent guard dog,” Mercy explained. She didn’t want Grant to be concerned for her safety.
“This is Wolf?” When Grant squatted, Wolf came to him. He stroked the dog’s back, and scratched him behind his ear. “I know this breed. He’s very handsome.” Wolf showed his approval by licking Grant’s face and almost pushing him off his feet. Grant moved out of reach with a laugh of protest.
Dogs are such good judges of character, Mercy thought.
“I imagined some silly lap dog, like so many women seem to favor.” Grant straightened. “You constantly surprise me.”
She trembled under the warmth of his gaze. “I hope your trip was successful.”
“Mm.” He frowned and she regretted asking. She hadn’t expected him to tell her anything.
He slipped one hand around her waist, took her chin in his hand and kissed her. “Have you missed me?”
She coiled her arms around his neck and gazed into his searching brown eyes. “Yes,” she said on a long breath. “Did you miss me?”
He laughed, and tightened his hold. “Every minute.”
She smiled, her hand roaming the cream silk waistcoat on his broad chest, and shook her head.
“I see I shall have to convince you. I intend to make up for my neglect of you, sweetheart.”
She freed herself and gazed up at him. She wanted to hear him say he loved her. She wanted it so much, her chest hurt.
He lightly touched the dimple at the corner of her mouth, making her tremble even more. “There’s a full moon on Saturday evening. A special spring dance will be held at the York Assembly. Would you waltz with me?”
“Of course, I should love to.”
“I don’t like to see those shadows beneath your eyes.”
She knew she wasn’t looking her best. “I haven’t been sleeping well.” She rested her head against his chest breathing in his familiar masculine smell, and her heart began to beat in rhythm with his. How complete she felt when in his arms.
“I shall endeavor to make sure you sleep tonight.” His husky voice rumbled in her ears, his words thrilling her. She wanted it to always be like this between them, but she feared the future.
He took her hand. They walked back through the woods, their feet releasing pungent earthy sme
lls into the air. Wolf dived under a moss-covered log and emerged on the other side, tongue lolling.
“How is Grandfather?”
“He seems well. He has been teaching me the finer points of chess.”
Grant smiled. “That doesn’t surprise me.”
“I shall never know enough to challenge him.”
They approached the house, entered, and found Grant’s grandfather in his favorite chair in the drawing room. “Grant! Good to have you home!”
“How are you, Grandfather?”
“Fair to middling.” He smiled at Mercy. “I have enjoyed excellent company in your absence.”
The footman had cleaned Wolf’s muddy feet and released him into the drawing room. Wolf rushed to rouse the two spaniels from their baskets and the three danced across the carpet.
“Would you like your shawl, Your Grace?” Mercy asked. “The day grows cool.”
“Thank you my dear.”
She picked up the cashmere throw and placed it over his shoulders.
He patted her hand. “A glass of that burgundy Charles has decanted.”
As she went to the table, the duke turned to Grant. “You will note that I have been dreadfully spoilt.”
Grant laughed. “So I see.”
Mercy returned with a crystal glass of wine. “I’ll take the dogs to the kitchen for their dinner.”
Half an hour later, she hesitated at the drawing room door, not liking to interrupt an intense conversation between Grant and the duke.
“So, you learned nothing new in Harrogate?” His Grace asked.
“A waste of my time. Haighton’s secretary wasn’t there. However, I am still suspicious of Ambrose Fury. Something’s amiss in that household, which may or may not be connected to Haighton. What do you make of these?” She heard a rustle of paper. “Could they be written by the same hand?”
“Mm. Certainly possible. But I doubt a neighbor’s dispute over land would end in cold-blooded murder.”
“I agree…” Grant began. “Grandfather, there’s something else I must ask of you…” He turned as Mercy, disliking to eavesdrop, entered the room.
The Scandalous Lady Mercy: The Baxendale Sisters Page 14