Page 12 of To Wed an Heiress
Chapter Six
Mercy sat there for a few minutes, trying to figure out what had just happened. Evidently, Lennox knew of her mother’s family and didn’t approve of them.
Very well, the faster she left the castle and was about her journey, the better. She stood, a little too quickly because she was suddenly dizzy. Grabbing on to the table she waited until the room steadied.
The door opened and she turned, prepared to question Lennox about his aversion to the Macrorys. Instead, Connor stood there with Ruthie.
“If you’re looking for Lennox,” Mercy said, “I’ve no idea where he’s gone. He seemed to take affront when he realized our destination.”
“Macrory House,” he said, glancing at Ruthie then back at her. “I knew the minute I heard that he wouldn’t be pleased.”
“What on earth have the Macrorys ever done to him?”
“His older brother fell in love with one of the Macrory women. They eloped and were killed in a carriage accident.”
“Both of them?”
He nodded. “Either way, the families haven’t spoken to each other since then.”
What a sad tale.
“By being related to the Macrorys, even distantly, I guess I’m unwelcome at Duddingston Castle.”
“He doesn’t mean to be that way, miss. It’s just that Robert was his older brother and he raised Lennox after their parents died.”
She didn’t answer Connor. There was nothing she could say, after all.
The sun had done Ruthie some good, because she didn’t look as pale as she had earlier.
“Are you going to be all right?” Mercy asked. “Do you feel up to a carriage ride?”
“You haven’t far to go,” Connor said. “You’re almost on Macrory land.”
“Truly?”
“You could easily walk it on another day,” he said, glancing at Ruthie again. “Not today, of course, not with you injured.”
Ruthie didn’t say anything, merely gazed up at Connor with worship in her eyes, her cheeks pink with emotion.
At another time Mercy would have cautioned Ruthie about revealing her emotions so readily. It was never a good idea to be vulnerable, especially in such a strange place. Besides, nothing could come of any relationship with Connor. He was a Scot. Ruthie was an American.
Yet who was she to give advice about love to anyone?
She had gotten carried away by the madness surrounding the start of the Civil War. She’d watched as Gregory went off with his regiment, his blue uniform pristine, his vow to protect the Union still ringing in her ears. She’d been determined to wait for Gregory, to be one of innumerable women who monitored the newspapers for information about a loved one’s regiment, made bandages, knitted socks, and prayed for their soldier to come home safely. After a while, however, the heady excitement of the potential for war had faded to the reality and horror of it. Then, as it had continued to drag on for four long years, she realized she’d made a terrible mistake.
She didn’t love Gregory. She wasn’t even certain she liked him. Yet she couldn’t reject a suitor who was fighting for the Union. Nor would it have pleased her father if she’d done so.
Once the war was over, however, all their differences came to the forefront. He’d come home, expecting that they would wed shortly without any type of courtship. She was a fait accompli, a mission he’d already accomplished. Why should he continue to pay her any attention when it was certain she was going to be his wife?
He hated the South, yet her mother had been born and reared in North Carolina. He was obsequious to her father, which made her wonder if he was marrying her for her or because of who she was, the only daughter of James Gramercy Rutherford. He was not affectionate with his own family, claiming that his mother was too interested in his life and that his sisters were occupied with foolish pursuits. Having met them, Mercy found Gregory’s family—including his father whom he rarely mentioned—to be lovely people. The fact that Gregory didn’t feel the same was concerning.
Gregory was ambitious, witness all the times he met with her father to discuss plans for one or another of her father’s companies. He knew there wasn’t an heir who could step into her father’s shoes and he’d already decided that he would be that person by virtue of marrying Rutherford’s daughter.
She might have gone along with the marriage had it not been for something Gregory had said, a simple statement that was an indication of her future and made her reconsider everything.
She’d come down to greet him one evening and he’d frowned at her.
“I prefer the blue dress, Mercy. I don’t like the one you’re wearing. Have you changed your hairstyle? It isn’t flattering.”
