Page 100 of To Wed an Heiress
Unfortunately, her grandmother wasn’t one of those people she would miss and wasn’t that a shame? Aunt Elizabeth was, but she’d been a ghost recently. Understandable, given her grief about her fiancé. Mercy didn’t know how Elizabeth bore the pain of each day.
Together they descended the steps of the chapel and walked in silence to a door in the curtain wall. Surprisingly, it led to the courtyard where Lennox’s airship was located.
She smiled at Connor who was sanding a piece of wood. No doubt it was for the tail assembly, since that had been damaged in the landing. Lennox had also taken part of it and used it as a weapon against Gregory.
“How do you get your airship into the courtyard?” she asked.
“There’s a larger door,” Lennox said, “but we do have to disassemble the wings in order to move it inside.”
“Do you have work to do today? If you do, could you use an apprentice?”
She moved to stand in front of the airship. It hadn’t been stripped of its wires or sails and she could see how complicated it was. Lennox was right; it wasn’t a lumbering beast after all, but a sleek machine.
“I have accounts to do,” he said, smiling. “Hideous accounts. I hate doing them, but they must be done.”
“Then I’ll take myself off,” she said, determined not to be a bother. She’d ask Irene if there was anything she needed help with, an errand that she could perform or a task that needed doing. Perhaps she could learn to cook something else. Anything to take her mind off what she was feeling for a while.
If nothing else, she’d retire to her room. Perhaps she could rehearse her speech to her mother. Or the explanation she would give to her father.
Or the final words she would say to Lennox.
Lennox remained where he was, debating whether he should follow Mercy and say to hell with his plans to go over the accounts. He’d rather spend the time with her, especially since their relationship would end as soon as her father got to Scotland.
Relationship. That was the word, wasn’t it? Was it what they had? No, relationship didn’t define what was between Mercy and himself. He didn’t know what to call it, only that it confused him, threw him into chaos, and made his life miserable.
Yet he’d never felt more alive since the day she appeared on the road from Inverness.
He could still remember the moment he’d seen her in the ruined carriage, glaring up at him with her beautiful brown eyes. Eyes that looked as if they were smoldering with rage. What had she called him? Insane, that was it, and his airship had been a dragon. Well, she was right about one thing: he was daft about her.
He’d been a hermit before she’d arrived. Now? The notion of returning to his solitary life was repugnant. He wanted a brighter future, one to be shared with someone. No, not with anyone. He wanted a future with Mercy.
She was an heiress. He had nothing to offer her. A title and a castle might seem impressive on paper, but the title didn’t garner him anything and the castle was ruinously expensive to maintain. He wasn’t doing a good enough job of it. Look at the chapel alone. Then there were two other wings that had been allowed—grudgingly, due to the lack of funds—to fall into ruin.
The responsibility of Duddingston hung over his head every day.
He was close to perfecting his formula for flight—weight, lift, drag, and thrust—and if he could sell his airship he would be in a position to offer a woman a future with him. But that day was at least a year or so away. He couldn’t ask Mercy to remain here until he became solvent.
Will you marry me? He could still recall how she looked that night, drenched and stubborn, her eyes begging him not to reject her. His pride demanded that he do no less. A damnable thing, the Caitheart pride. Other men might sell their title for a fortune, but he couldn’t.
Irene thought he was a fool.
“It’s evident she feels something for you, Your Lordship,” she’d said a few days ago. “And I’d say you’re the same. She’s heaven sent, the answer to a prayer. A girl with a fortune, and a pretty girl at that.”
“She’s beautiful,” he said. She wasn’t just pretty. There was something different, unique, special about Mercy.
Irene smiled at him. “Then tuck your pride into the privy and tell the girl how you feel. And no more of this humiliating her in front of her family.”
“You know about that?” He’d felt himself warm with shame.
“The world knows of that. Whatever were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t,” he said.
“Your feelings were hurt, then.” She shook her head. “Men and their feelings. More damage has been done in this world because men didn’t want to talk about their feelings.”
She finished up their conversation by telling him that he was a stubborn, obstinate fool. She was probably right about her assessment. The problem was he didn’t know how to correct the situation.
Mercy had forgiven him for what he said, though, even if she had taken a swipe at him by calling him stupid. At least he’d told her the truth. He’d felt used. That damnable pride again.
