“How did you miss her on your list?”
Ottersby’s habit of pulling on his sleeves reared its head; he tugged on each one making certain his appearance was impeccable. Nicholas had insulted his list-making capacities... a grave offense. “Driarwood...” Ottersby rubbed a hand down his face. “I remember the family, but she hadn’t been presentedto Society when I made my list. I would have liked to add her because her family hadn’t seemed particular about titles and positions. Her parents are the product of a very well-known love match, and her older sister married an untitled gentleman—”
“Richard Young,” Nicholas finished for him.
Ottersby blinked. “Yes, actually. How did you... ?” Ottersby waved a hand. “It doesn’t matter.” He glanced back toward the ballroom, and even though it was most certainly Nicholas’s imagination, he could make out the sound of Lady Mercy’s laughter over all the other noises coming from the room. Ottersby smiled and turned back to Nicholas. “Shall I find her address?”
Nicholas didn’t bother answering. They both knew if Ottersby didn’t, Patience would.
And on the slight chance that Patience didn’t?
Nicholas would do it himself.
Chapter 7
The sun was high inthe sky before it managed to sneak between the drapes and wake Mercy. She stretched, her legs stiff from a night of dancing. Mama had asked her to be pleasant, and pleasant she was. The three men she had paid special consideration to had seemed delighted by her more marked attention. Even Mr. Beauford had seemed loathe to leave her side, a strange departure from their typical interactions.
It was rare that Mama asked anything of her, and despite the niggling worry that she could be entering into relationships without knowing whether she wanted them, at least she would be able to give Mama a good report at breakfast. She flung the bedcovers off, sat up, and rang the bell for Kate. She wouldn’t worry about those men. Not at the moment. At the next ball, if given the same assignment, she would find three different men to charm. It might get her a reputation as a flirt, but better that than an unwanted and passionless marriage proposal.
When she entered the breakfast room, Mama and Papa were sitting at the table, their plates used, but empty. They stopped talking. Neither of them was smiling, and until two weeks ago, smiling at breakfast was typical. Mercy sat down and reached for some of the bread and cheese. “You didn’t need to wait for me.”
“We were anxious to hear more of your thoughts from the ball,” Papa said with a smile that looked forced.
Mercy gave him a brilliant smile back. “The supper was excellent, and the quartet superb.”
Mama shook her head, not even attempting a smile. “You know what your father means. The dancing and your partners—did you enjoy them as well?”
Mercy eyed Papa. Mama always shared everything with him, so he most likely knew about Mama’s challenge. It was one of the things Mercy loved about their marriage. Still, it felt strange to speak of giving special attention to men with her father in theroom. He had never been one to push her into marriage like the fathers she had overheard talking in the cardroom. He would never be a man to barter with his daughter’s life for a better position in Society. He hadn’t done so for himself, and he’d never regretted marrying Mama. “I always enjoy dancing.”
Mama tapped a finger next to her plate. “You know what I mean. Which men did you enjoy dancing with? And which men enjoyed dancing with you?”
“I hope all the men I dance with enjoy it.”
Papa gritted his teeth. “But were there any men in particular...” His words faded. He wasnotused to these types of conversations. None of them were, and frankly, she didn’t know why they were having this one. She had been out for two years, and during those years, none of them had worried about her getting married. She had a hefty dowry, and Papa was an earl. There was no need for a rush to the altar for someone in her position.
Were her parents just finally ready to have the home to themselves?
She supposed she could be happy for them. No two people loved each other more than Mama and Papa, save for perhaps Rosalind and Richard.
She sighed. “Mr. Beauford is always pleasant to dance with, and I was very pleasant with him.” Papa nodded, and Mama stopped her tapping. “Lord Dowdle and Lord Buckley also received more than their fair share of my attention last night and didn’t seem to mind it.”
Mama smiled and Papa sat back against the chair. “That is good. You are not only beautiful, but also... enjoyable to spend time with. I can’t imagine any man minding your company.” He reached over the table and covered her hand with his. “We have been very blessed and, frankly, selfish keeping you to ourselves these past years, but, Mercy, it is time you started looking moreseriously at finding a man you would like to marry.”
She was only twenty. Rosalind had been twenty when she married Richard, but the two of them were so in love. Mercy had grown weary of them taking advantage of being engaged by stealing kisses every chance they got. There was no man of her acquaintance she felt that strongly about. “Why now? I’ve never felt the need to look seriously before, not from you or Mama. What’s happened?”
Papa shook his head. “Nothing has happened. However, there are ideal times for things, and there are less-than-ideal times for things. I’ve seen this throughout my life. Your mother and I have been talking, and this year—it is your ideal year. I feel it strongly.”
Her ideal year? “But what if I don’t find an ideal man?”
Papa tipped his head like he hadn’t considered that. “Well, then, perhaps it won’t be your ideal year. Of course, more important than the timing is the person you will marry. We are just asking you to be open to the thought of marriage. It seems to be something that hasn’t been at the forefront of your mind. We don’t want to rush you, but we also don’t want you to lose out on opportunities that you may not have in the future.”
Kate’s soft knock sounded at the door, and she entered with a large bouquet of flowers. “Some flowers arrived for Lady Mercy.” Kate’s Irish accent made every word interesting, even in a small sentence like that. Mercy loved it best, though, when Kate got so involved in one of her stories while doing her hair that her voice grew animated and her accent become even more pronounced.
The flowers in Kate’s hands were filled with peonies and roses. Mr. Beauford often sent flowers after they danced together, but he had never sent any quite so extravagant. Kate handed the flowers to Papa, and after Kate left, Papa read the note. “From Lord Dowdle.” He smiled. “He’s planning to call this afternoon.”
Mama straightened in her chair with a grin. “That’s excellentnews.”
Lord Dowdle was kind. A marriage to him would probably be a good one. She hadn’t encouraged any men she didn’t think she had at least some chance at happiness with. But he couldn’t dance—not like Mr. Beauford could. Not that a marriage to Mr. Beauford would be a better choice.
