Mr. Hinton snatched up his coat. Grace and Mercy scooted back, eager to avoid contact with the unsavory man—who was to be Mercy’s husband. The bile was back—accompanied by a healthy dose of despair.
The man was almost through the door when he abruptly stopped and turned around, pointing a bent finger at Mercy. “Tomorrow we will work out all the details. I hope you are not partial to a large and extravagant wedding. As I mentioned, this is not my first. I would prefer something small and something soon.” He looked her up and down again, a lascivious glint entering his eyes. “I look forward to getting to know you better . . . and my house needs a proper mistress to put it into order. I have all these children that need managing, too. They run wild, keep chasing off the governesses I hire.” That said, he followed her brother from the room whistling a merry tune.
They were alone only a few moments before Grace started to weep.
“There, there,” Mercy soothed, “you will be fine. You will have Gladys and everyone else here to help you about the place. You won’t be alone.”
Grace looked up, her expression horrified. “I am not crying for myself! I am crying for you, Mercy. Don’t you know that? You just agreed to marry that horrid man!”
“I didn’t have any other choice.”
“There has to be a way. There has to be another, better way.”
She had hoped so, too, but perhaps that had been wishful thinking. A hope to cling to as she watched her life slipping beyond her control.
“No,” she said in a flat, hard voice. “Sometimes there is only one way. Sometimes life doesn’t offer options. Presently, this is the only choice I have.”
“Blast Bede!”
“You’re getting overwrought, Gracie. Let us get you to your bedchamber.” She took her sister’s arm to guide her upstairs, but Mercy yanked her arm free.
“No! I am overwrought just as you should be!” Grace stormed from the parlor in a temper. Mercy let her go.
She let her go and then slumped against the inside wall of the parlor, rattling a framed painting behind her. Alone, with no eyes on her, no sister around for whom she needed to feign strength, she surrendered to tears. She lifted her hands to her face, and let her despair flow freely and unchecked.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The house was dark when Silas arrived, the Blankenship business thankfully well behind him.
It had not taken too much persuading to convince Amos Blankenship to keep his mouth shut. It appeared the young man was already nervous about his actions and the inevitable wrath to come if his father learned of his dastardly deeds. The bastard had gone weak at the knees when Silas threatened to use his connections to blackball him from every gaming hell and pleasure house in London lest he keep his escapade with Grace Kittinger under wraps. The lad would be carrying no tales.
Silas eased in through the front door, closing it quietly behind him. He took the stairs, mindful of his tread and the creaking steps. He did not wish to wake the household with his arrival. In fact, he was already contemplating rising early in the morning and departing before anybody else even awoke.
Cowardly of him perhaps, but he could not stomach an awkward farewell. It was for the best if he didn’t have to see Mercy again. A clean cut. Less pain that way. Less chance for festering and infection.
He reached the second landing and did not make it two steps before he was unceremoniously summoned.
Glancing about, he noticed young Grace sticking her head out into the hallway from her bedchamber. “Mr. Masters! Over here. Come, come. Over here.” She waved him wildly over to her door, her long plait of dark hair bouncing over her shoulder with her movements.
He advanced, assuming she wanted reassurances that everything went well with Blankenship and she was still in possession of her good name. He opened his mouth, ready to give those reassurances to her when she blurted out with: “You must stop her! She has gone mad. She thinks she can actually marry the man!” She motioned to her brother’s bedchamber door.
“Whoa.” He held up both hands in a pacifying manner. Nothing the girl said made sense. “What are you talking about? Who are you talking about? She who?”
She blew out an exasperated breath. “Mercy. Mercy is going to marry this dreadful man. Apparently our fool brother promised one of us to him in a marriage contract . . . He put one of us up as the prize in a game of cards.” She waved her hand wildly about again. “And he lost. Of course!” She rolled her eyes in disgust.
“When did this happen?” Silas had not been gone very long. How had this happened?
“This all happened while you were attending to Blankenship. The gentleman is here to claim his bride. He’s asleep in Bede’s room. A Mr. Hinton—”
“Otto Hinton?” he demanded in outrage.
She shook her head. “I don’t know his first name. He is old.” She wrinkled her nose. “Very old.”
Silas nodded grimly. “It is he.” Otto Hinton was a seasoned gambler, and the man was certainly old. He had a history of collecting wives that never seemed to survive beyond a few years. The notion of Mercy married to such a man was unfathomable. How could her brother have offered either one of his sisters to him?
“Well, he came to claim his prize—either his bride or twelve thousand pounds, the amount Mr. Hinton had offered up in the pool.”
Silas closed his eyes in a weary blink and dragged his hand over his face. “That idiot.”
Grace knew instantly whom he meant. “How could Bede have done this to us? He is a menace. He should be locked away where he can cause us no more harm.”
Harsh words, but Silas did not disagree. Something had to be done about the man. Kittinger needed to be stopped. He would only continue to jeopardize his sisters. As long as he was their guardian, they would forever be at risk from all the dangerously stupid things he did.
But first . . . there were more pressing matters to address. Namely, saving Mercy from her own damn nobility. The lass would sacrifice herself on a burning pyre if she thought it would save her family.
Well. He would put a stop to that.
He nodded reassuringly to Grace. “Don’t worry about any of this. She is not going to marry Hinton. I will see to that.”
“But what about—”
“I will take care of it. Go to bed. Rest easy.”
Without even registering a response from Grace, he turned away.
But he did not move toward his bedchamber. Indeed not. He turned for Mercy’s room.
The knock on her door sent a bolt of alarm through Mercy. She was not asleep. Of course not. Sleep was impossible. Sleep was for people at peace, and there was no peace in her life. She might very well never sleep again.
Another knock came.
“Who is there?” she asked warily, envisioning Mr. Hinton’s face on the other side. If he thought he would sample his conjugal rights early, he was mistaken. She snatched up the iron poker, ready to use it to defend herself.
“It’s me. Open the door.”
She did not need further elaboration. She knew that deep voice instantly.
With a careful breath, she set the poker aside and opened the door to Silas, hoping he did not take one look at her puffy face and know that she had been crying.