Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The following morning, when they gathered in the entryway in preparation to go to the shops with Honora, Mother, and Uncle Gooding, Colin was still reeling from the way he’d felt last night lying beside Mercy. Her dainty, cold hand, slowly warming until it became soft and pliable, had been a perfect fit. He had seen the evidence of her hand’s strength, softness, and the gentle calluses that lined her palm. Her hands were a testament to her hard work, determination, and sweetness all at once. His eyes darted down her arm where it hung by her side. He wanted to remove the supple leather glove, if for no other reason than to see if she was still warm from his ministrations.

Logic told him that was impossible, but it did not keep him from wondering anyway.

“Are we all here?” Uncle Gooding asked jovially, counting heads before giving a nod to his butler to open the door. “Very good. Very good.”

They filed down the front steps and onto the paving stones. Honora took Mercy by the arm and led with her before Colin could offer his arm. He walked behind them, scowling, toward the center of Bath.

“You’re frowning,” Mother said.

He arranged his face into a passive expression, embarrassed his mother had been walking at his side without his knowledge.

She gave him an assessing look. “You were staring so hard at the back of Mercy’s head, I wondered if you’d quarreled this morning. But I can see it is nothing like that.”

He glanced at her with suspicion. “How can you see anything of the sort?”

“Because you look more confused than angry, Colin.”

His neck heated, and he was grateful his cravat covered the skin.

They reached Milsom Street and stepped around a wagon bearing vegetables for sale, smelling of green stalks and earth. Evergreen wreaths garnished the shop doors, and red ribbons were tied around lamp posts. Bath had dressed up for the holiday.

Honora entered a milliner’s shop, elaborate hats and bonnets lining the window to draw in customers.

“I am going to pop ahead there,” Uncle Gooding said, pointing toward a store boasting tobacco. “We will meet for tea at the Pump Room?”

“Indeed,” Mother said.

They followed the women into the millinery, where Honora was admiring an overbearing poke bonnet with far too many pink roses. Mercy stood beside her, eyeing a simple confection with a wreath of greenery, snowdrops, and small red roses. It was perfect against the copper of her hair. For the first time in his life, Colin found a bonnet to be interesting, especially in regard to how it would look on his wife .

He left his mother’s side to approach Mercy. “You ought to try it on,” he said.

She laughed, shaking her head. “On my red hair? I would be a walking Christmas decoration.”

“You would look lovely,” he argued, then paused. “Though I understand what you mean. All the same, if you’d like it, I will happily purchase it for you.”

Mercy looked up, her green eyes darting over his face. “I could not stomach the expense, Colin.”

He lowered his voice. “We can certainly afford it.”

She shook her head. “That is not the point. I will never be one for unnecessary extravagance.” Mercy glanced at the bonnet again. “It is beautiful. I thank you, truly, but I am not interested.”

Colin felt like he had been rejected, though he had no notion why. As a general rule, he was a careful man. He budgeted thoughtfully and did not give himself to whims he could ill afford. It was how he’d been able to keep Winterbourne as long as he had. But Lady Edith’s inheritance had changed his circumstances. He hadn’t offered to buy every bonnet in the shop, but rather one small thing as a token of his growing appreciation for her.

He turned for the door, determined to wait outside for his family, when he caught his mother’s knowing, watchful eye. Blast. She had seen the entire interaction.

“I think you have a good wife, Colin,” she said with a measure of determination, watching Mercy move about the shop with Honora. “When I learned you had married one of Mr. Caldwell’s daughters, I will admit I was worried. He has always been too ridiculous by half. It appears Mercy has not inherited the unacceptable traits of her father.”

Discomfort slid down Colin’s spine, settling uncomfortably in his belly. While he had entertained similar thoughts periodically, he did not like hearing them from another—particularly not his mother.

“Mr. Caldwell is a good man who gives excellent sermons,” he said quietly, aware Mercy stood not very far away.

“Perhaps, but that is not what I recall of him. His attitude is not becoming of a vicar, Colin. It is detestable to make light of everything as he does, and I worried you had been left alone for far too long when I received your letter. But as I said, I have found myself relieved. I am glad you brought Mercy to Bath.”

He moved to leave again, but her words tugged on his mind, highlighting a point of confusion. “If you knew I was married when you wrote to me, why did you invite only me to meet you in Bath and not my wife as well?”

Mother blinked, then patted her dark hair and fiddled with her bonnet ribbons.

Colin shifted to his other foot, growing more aware by the second he was not going to like the answer she was attempting to form.

“Mother,” he said, more sharply than he intended.

Her eyes snapped to him, the lines fanning from them wrinkling in suspicion. “I only invited you because I had hoped to speak to you alone. It is no secret I dislike Mr. Caldwell’s methods. I have always thought Mercy to be a good girl, but I couldn’t know if she had grown into a good woman or not. I needed to ascertain your feelings.”

He stiffened, hurt she and Honora had only come to Bath to satisfy their concerns and not for any interest in seeing him or formally meeting Mercy.

“Why didn’t you come to Winterbourne if your sole purpose was to see me?” he asked, doing his best to remain neutral and not betray the hurt edging into his body.

“Do you not like Bath?” she asked, smiling. A diversion in the topic, he assumed. “I thought it would be nice to enjoy the assemblies here together.”

He had the sense his mother wasn’t being entirely honest. He straightened, smiling to soften his words. “Winterbourne is nice this time of year, as well. There is snow dusting the garden.”

Mother’s face went tight. “I’m certain it is lovely.”

Honora approached them with a hat box in her arms, Mercy at her side.

“You’ve chosen one?” Mother asked.

Honora grinned. “Mr. Chadwick will love it.”

Colin was certain his brother-in-law would not notice the difference in this bonnet from any other Honora wore, but he kept that to himself. His sister was likely being facetious.

“I’m famished,” Honora said. “Shall we adjourn to the Pump Room?”

Colin looked at Mercy, wanting to reiterate his sentiments about the bonnet, but she was avoiding his eye.

Strange.

“Uncle Gooding intends to meet us there soon. We should be on our way.” Mother stepped outside, holding the door for Honora and Mercy before Colin regained his wits and hurried to catch up. Whatever had happened, Mercy didn’t seem pleased.

The longer their outing lasted, the more confident he felt that something had most definitely upset his wife. She was only speaking when spoken to—which wasn’t often with Honora nearby—and had hardly touched her tea in the thirty minutes it had been sitting before her. She was certain not to drink it now that the cup was likely as cold as the weather outside.

Colin attempted to garner her attention, but failed. She refused to look at him. When Mother asked after the state of Mercy’s sisters, she gave a bland reply and returned her attention to her cold tea, which she still did not drink.

Something was most certainly wrong.

“Mercy?” he asked. “Would you care to take a turn about the room?”

“Oh yes!” Honora agreed, including herself in the invitation. “Shall we promenade?”

“That would be agreeable.” Mercy took her proffered arm.

Colin frowned. That had gotten out of hand.

“I will remain here,” Mother said. “You can join them.”

Uncle Gooding sipped at his third cup of tea, looking very much like he had no inclination to promenade.

Colin joined his wife and sister, clasping his hands behind his back and doing his best to appear nonchalant, though he could not stop thinking about Mercy’s soft hands or what the devil could have possibly upset her. She hadn’t heard his mother speaking in the milliner’s shop, surely. They had been whispering and Mercy had been distracted by Honora’s chatter.

“Oh, there’s that dreadful Miss Dearden,” Honora whispered to Mercy. “Mama tried to warn her last night that Colin is married now, but she wouldn’t hear it. Insisted on speaking to him.”

“We know,” Colin said dryly. “She briefly spoke to us as well.”

“She hardly greeted you,” Mercy said, then turned back to Honora. “The woman was upset to find him married. It was quite uncomfortable.”

Colin peered at her. “Why should it bother you?”

“Because I’m the wretch who made you ineligible.”

Oh. So no sense of jealousy plagued her. That was not the comfort he felt it ought to be.

“Shall we walk the other direction?” Honora asked, her eyes bright. She had always loved good gossip.

Mercy shook her head. “Whatever you’d like.”

“I’d like to return to Uncle Gooding’s house and play bullet pudding, but Colin refuses to allow me any fun.”

He refrained from rolling his eyes, but only just. “You have two children, Honora. Play it with them.”

“It’s far less fun to watch them root around a pile of flour than it is you, Colin. My children hardly mind at all if they dirty their clothes. In fact, they make a regular sport of it. You, on the other hand, abhor it.”

“I do,” he agreed.

“Which is what makes it so entertaining.”

“You are being ridiculous,” he muttered, but he couldn’t help noticing that Mercy watched him with interest. “Do you wish to play?” he asked his wife.

She was unable to reply to this query as they were immediately approached by Miss Dearden, who was holding the arm of a tall gentleman with golden curls and red, wind-burned cheeks. “Good morning, Mr. Birchall. Mrs. Chadwick.”

She ignored Mercy, a slight Colin could not tolerate.

“You’ve met my wife, Mrs. Birchall,” he emphasized as Miss Dearden turned to continue walking.

She stopped, tugged on the arm by the blond gentleman. “Of course. Forgive me, Mrs. Birchall. In this light, you did not appear the same as you had at the ball. Different.” She lingered on the word like she meant to cut with it.

Mercy appeared stunned by this maneuver, but quickly drew a plain mask over her expression. She smiled, picking at her skirt. “I will agree a ballgown is much more becoming than this drab thing. You cannot be blamed for the confusion.”

She could be blamed. Very much so. The more Mercy attempted to brush the slight under a rug, the worse Colin’s temper became. Miss Dearden had no claim on him and no subsequent right to this irritation at finding him married. He’d hardly come to Bath in recent months, and the few times he’d danced with her were no declaration. He had danced equally with other young ladies.

Miss Dearden returned a smile that did not meet her eyes.

Colin reached around his sister for Mercy’s hand and tugged it, pulling her close to his side. She came willingly, if not with confusion. He curved her hand around his arm, resting his atop it. “If you’ll excuse us, it is high time we were heading home.” He glanced down at his wife. “If that is agreeable to you, my love.”

Mercy flinched, but the motion was so subtle he nearly missed it. Blackness bubbled in his chest, falling lower until he felt ill.

“Yes, of course,” she said, her voice small. There was no triumph in it.

He rallied, tugging on Mercy’s arm. He offered Miss Dearden and her companion the barest of nods before turning toward the door. “Tell Mother we have gone home to ready our carriage. I’ve grown tired of Bath. ”

“But Colin,” Honora whined. “What of our game of bullet pudding?”

He had participated in nothing but games since he had set out for Bath. His very presence here was a result of machinations and deceit in order to obtain information and set him to rights, was it not? Mother could have avoided introducing Mercy to Miss Dearden had she truly wanted to—only a few short words would have kept the girl away. He knew this because the moment she had learned he was married, she’d run away.

Honora was no better. The worst of it was that neither his mother nor his sister could stomach returning to Winterbourne, which was why they had forced him to travel to Bath. It wasn’t so great a distance, but it was enough to put him out.

Christmas was only a week away. Colin ought to be home, ensuring the house was improving and the servants Mr. Caldwell hired were acceptable, not gallivanting about ridiculous shops and the Pump Room, chatting with an old flame and trying to prove his marriage had been properly thought out.

He hadn’t even mentioned Lady Edith or her will, but he would take those details to his grave. Honora was unlikely to look kindly upon the situation when she was just as much Edith’s niece as Colin was her nephew.

Colin was tired—he hadn’t slept well knowing Mercy was inches away the entire night—and weary.

He looked his sister squarely in the face, pulled Mercy closer to his side, and said, “I’ve had enough of games. We are going home.”