sir.”
He turned and saw Mercy beaming at him from the large overstuffed chair in the corner where she had curled up and watched the whole exchange. “I’ve always wanted a brother,” she said happily. A sudden thought occurred to her. “When you marry my sister, you will invite the Duke of Blackthorne to the wedding, won’t you?”
Bingham shook a finger at his youngest daughter while Trevor laughed at her audacity. Mercy looked undaunted. “Well, it doesn’t hurt to ask,” she muttered to nobody in particular.
Trevor felt the texture of the road change, smoothing out as they neared the more frequently traveled and well-maintained streets of London. He sat up straighter, smiling to himself at Mercy’s marital plans for Sebastian. He would have to warn his friend to watch out, for he had a feeling young Mercy usually managed to get what she wanted, oneway or another. A quality that appeared, he thought with an inner smile, to run in the family.
The carriage began to slow with the increased traffic on the cobbled streets. Courting Grace would definitely prove a tricky business. He fully intended to win her over first, to let her think she had fallen in love with him of her own accord. He would take things slowly and patiently. Somehow he had to make her fall for him, while still managing to keep the upper hand. It would never do for Grace to think she had command of the situation, because he knew that if she did, she would take the bit in her teeth and run like an untried colt.
Once he had won her over, they would hold the ceremony in church, with all the beauty, pomp, and celebration she deserved, for he knew she would be the most breathtaking bride London had ever seen. Trevor imagined her walking down the aisle, smiling radiantly at him, her face aglow with love, and his hands itched to hold her again as he had held her beneath the oak tree in the glade. After the wedding they would hold a lavish reception at the Willows. The Ackerly home was much too small to host such a grand event. Besides, when they retired for the night, he wanted it to be in his bed and in his home that Grace finally became his.
The coach pulled up and stopped before No. 7, Upper Brook Street. Trevor leaped out of the carriage and vaulted up the steps of the immense town house before a footman had even attempted to reach the coach door to open it for him. Wilson managed to get the front door open, but only because he had just arrived himself and stood near the door.
Trevor swept inside, his cape swirling around him. He issued instructions as he went, the beleaguered servants rushing to do his bidding before they had even had achance to unpack. “Wilson, have my town carriage ready in fifteen minutes. I’ll be going out for the evening. Has Avery arrived? I’ll need him to lay out evening wear.” Trevor stopped, thought for a moment, then continued. “Never mind, I’ll tell him myself. Also, have the cook send up a tray of whatever he can find. I’m famished.” He put one Hessian-clad foot on the oak stairs, then turned and added, “I’ll also need flowers. Roses, I think, and . . . umm . . . daisies.” He turned and took the steps two at a time, already bellowing his valet’s name as he ascended.
Wilson watched Trevor disappear into the upper reaches of the house before he turned and directed a waiting footman to have the carriage readied. If the butler felt any trace of annoyance at the instruction to uproot his staff and head back to London after a stay in the country of only two days, he hid it well. Certainly, though, he must have wondered at the unusual actions of the normally predictable earl. Privately, when he received the summons to go to the Willows, he had felt a woman must lie at the bottom of it. Now, with Trevor’s last instruction, he was convinced. High time, too. In his opinion, the earl had been alone for far too long. He stopped a maid and sent her to find one of the footmen who had traveled with the
He turned and saw Mercy beaming at him from the large overstuffed chair in the corner where she had curled up and watched the whole exchange. “I’ve always wanted a brother,” she said happily. A sudden thought occurred to her. “When you marry my sister, you will invite the Duke of Blackthorne to the wedding, won’t you?”
Bingham shook a finger at his youngest daughter while Trevor laughed at her audacity. Mercy looked undaunted. “Well, it doesn’t hurt to ask,” she muttered to nobody in particular.
Trevor felt the texture of the road change, smoothing out as they neared the more frequently traveled and well-maintained streets of London. He sat up straighter, smiling to himself at Mercy’s marital plans for Sebastian. He would have to warn his friend to watch out, for he had a feeling young Mercy usually managed to get what she wanted, oneway or another. A quality that appeared, he thought with an inner smile, to run in the family.
The carriage began to slow with the increased traffic on the cobbled streets. Courting Grace would definitely prove a tricky business. He fully intended to win her over first, to let her think she had fallen in love with him of her own accord. He would take things slowly and patiently. Somehow he had to make her fall for him, while still managing to keep the upper hand. It would never do for Grace to think she had command of the situation, because he knew that if she did, she would take the bit in her teeth and run like an untried colt.
Once he had won her over, they would hold the ceremony in church, with all the beauty, pomp, and celebration she deserved, for he knew she would be the most breathtaking bride London had ever seen. Trevor imagined her walking down the aisle, smiling radiantly at him, her face aglow with love, and his hands itched to hold her again as he had held her beneath the oak tree in the glade. After the wedding they would hold a lavish reception at the Willows. The Ackerly home was much too small to host such a grand event. Besides, when they retired for the night, he wanted it to be in his bed and in his home that Grace finally became his.
The coach pulled up and stopped before No. 7, Upper Brook Street. Trevor leaped out of the carriage and vaulted up the steps of the immense town house before a footman had even attempted to reach the coach door to open it for him. Wilson managed to get the front door open, but only because he had just arrived himself and stood near the door.
Trevor swept inside, his cape swirling around him. He issued instructions as he went, the beleaguered servants rushing to do his bidding before they had even had achance to unpack. “Wilson, have my town carriage ready in fifteen minutes. I’ll be going out for the evening. Has Avery arrived? I’ll need him to lay out evening wear.” Trevor stopped, thought for a moment, then continued. “Never mind, I’ll tell him myself. Also, have the cook send up a tray of whatever he can find. I’m famished.” He put one Hessian-clad foot on the oak stairs, then turned and added, “I’ll also need flowers. Roses, I think, and . . . umm . . . daisies.” He turned and took the steps two at a time, already bellowing his valet’s name as he ascended.
Wilson watched Trevor disappear into the upper reaches of the house before he turned and directed a waiting footman to have the carriage readied. If the butler felt any trace of annoyance at the instruction to uproot his staff and head back to London after a stay in the country of only two days, he hid it well. Certainly, though, he must have wondered at the unusual actions of the normally predictable earl. Privately, when he received the summons to go to the Willows, he had felt a woman must lie at the bottom of it. Now, with Trevor’s last instruction, he was convinced. High time, too. In his opinion, the earl had been alone for far too long. He stopped a maid and sent her to find one of the footmen who had traveled with the
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