Page 83 of To Wed an Heiress
She glanced at Irene. In the past few hours Mercy had ceased to be a friend, or even an amusing visitor from New York. Now she was the enemy.
“It was easier,” she said, giving the older woman the truth. She hadn’t wanted to say goodbye to Lennox. She’d never come back here. She’d never see him again. She had wanted to spare herself a little pain.
The older woman merely glanced at her and then away, her gaze fixed on the wet path before them.
“That grandmother of yours is a harridan,” Irene said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she banishes you.”
“It doesn’t matter. One way or another I’m leaving today.”
“No doubt the Macrorys would loan you a carriage. They have three of them.”
She exchanged a glance with Irene. “You think that’s what I should’ve done last night.”
“No one would have gone anywhere last night with that storm.”
Mercy remained silent.
“They can put two and two together at the house just like I did,” Irene continued. “But I’ll not have the judgment come down on Lennox’s head. You’re the one responsible. You’re the one who showed up at the castle. He didn’t come after you.”
Irene’s mouth was thin with anger and there was a look in her eyes that said she wouldn’t believe anything Mercy said.
“I’ll make sure they don’t blame him.”
“Now that would be impossible. You know they’re going to regardless.”
“They shouldn’t.”
Irene sent her a glance that ridiculed her comment. “What do you feel for my earl?”
Mercy didn’t say anything for a moment. It wasn’t that she was trying to find the right words to speak. She didn’t know the answer to Irene’s question. She didn’t feel the same around Lennox. She felt different, special, better. She liked herself more in his company. He made her want to be a better person, kinder, more thoughtful, and understanding.
She felt like smiling around him and regardless of the weather, it always felt like a sunny day.
Yet she knew that every ounce of emotion she felt for Lennox Caitheart was going to demand a pound of grief. She could almost envision herself in New York, thinking back to this time. If given the same opportunity again, she would do exactly what she’d done last night. She would love Lennox regardless of the consequences. Even if it was unwise. Even if she did pay a price.
“Well?” Irene asked. “Were you playing him for a fool? You’re not the first Macrory woman to stay the night and that didn’t end well, either.”
She stopped in the middle of the path and stared at the older woman. The look Irene returned was one of acute dislike, no doubt born out of her loyalty to Lennox.
The question wasn’t unfair. Nor was the look.
“No,” she said. “I wasn’t. Nor was he treating me badly. It simply happened.”
She felt her face flame; the embarrassment was practice for what she was about to endure at Macrory House.
Irene folded her arms and studied her. “Things like that happen when people feel a certain way about each other.”
“Thank you for the loan of the boots,” Mercy said. “I’ll leave them with Jean.” She walked away from the older woman, unwilling to get into a discussion of her feelings. There was only one thing to do—continue as she’d planned and endure everything that she’d brought upon herself with courage.
She prayed she had enough.
“What do you mean, she’s gone?” Lennox said, staring at Irene.
“Exactly that. She’s left. Gone back to Macrory House.”
He’d been checking on the damage the storm had caused to the chapel and the stable. The stable was in better condition than the chapel; it looked like the storm had melted another section of the roof. He would need to remove the rest of the pews and bring them into the Clan Hall to protect them.
“Why?”
