His note was different from the others. The back was embossed in thick gold swirls with a coat of arms in the center. And he hadn’t written to request calling on her this afternoon. He’d instead asked for an introduction to her and invited them to his home.
“Did you speak to His Grace last night?” Papa asked. “Catch his eye?”
Mercy stepped back, the thickness of his card heavy in her hand. How could she have? The note was asking for an introduction. They didn’t know each other. So why would he send her flowers?
Curling dark hair, a clean-shaven face, and an impeccable coat highlighted only by the dim light of the corridor flashed into her mind. Certainly, he couldn’t be... no, he would have said something about it. The two of them had spoken of the duke for heaven’s sake. “Beyond his reputation, I don’t even know who he is.” Whatexactlyhad the man said about the Duke ofHarrington? She had asked if he were a friend of his, asked if the duke was serious about marriage, but his answer had been vague, and then he’d suddenly walked away. Even if he were the duke, she couldn’t have made a good impression on him, listening at the doorway.
Mama spun in her chair and craned her neck to look at Mercy. “IknewI was right to have you wear the emeralds.”
Papa tapped his fingers on the table as if he were considering. “There was talk last night that Harrington is finally looking for a bride.”
“Finally?” Mercy asked. She’d thought part of the excitement over him was his age. What was considered young for a duke? Forty? Was he contemplating a second marriage? “I thought the Duke of Harrington was a young man.”
“He is young. Quite young. But he was in mourning for his father for two years and hasn’t shown any particular interest in any woman for years after that. London has been holding their breath for this.” He glanced up at Mercy, his eyes shining. “This truly could be your ideal year.”
Papa reached for Mercy’s hand, and she didn’t have the courage to protest or pull away. Mercy had had two years of dancing, attending plays, and meeting with the people of thetonwithout having to worry about finding a match. That was more than most women were given. She should be grateful.
But instead, it felt as though she were a canary that had spent its life flying free, only to wake up one morning to find a cage, gilded and thick, slowly gliding toward her, ready to trap her and put her on display.
She had nothing against the Duke of Harrington, whoever he was. But the look in her parents’ eyes and the warmth of Papa’s hand covering hers...
There would be no escaping his interest. Just as she’d told the man in the corridor, one did not turn down the attentions of aduke.
She could ask Papa about Harrington’s looks and try to discover if she meted out that wise proclamation to the duke himself, but the last thing she wanted to do was appear to be more interested than she was. What a disaster.
Kate’s fourth knock was as soft as her others, but Mercy started at the sound of it. Kate walked in with a small bouquet of wildflowers. These were definitely from Mr. Beauford—none of them even bothered to read the card.
Chapter 8
Mercy had assumed the duke’sLondon residence would be in one of the most fashionable parts of Town, but she had been wrong. Apparently there wasn’t a brilliant enough neighborhood for the duke. Instead, he lived just outside of Town on an estate. The advantage of his residence being on the outskirts of London was that she had plenty of time to think through her plan for the afternoon.
Her first item of business was to discover whether the man from the corridor was, in fact, the duke or simply a friend of the duke.
It could be accomplished immediately upon their introduction.
And whether the man was the duke or simply the friend of the duke, she assumed the duke’s interest in her must have stemmed from that one interaction. Mama insisted that the emeralds were the reason he begged an introduction. While they had caught the man’s eye a time or two, Mercy remembered him dragging his eyes away from them, as if in disapproval or disgust. They had been too gaudy, if not for a duke, then at least for the duke’s friend. It wasn’t the jewels or even her figure that had caught his eye. He had barely glanced at her inthatway.
No, something else must have intrigued him, and the only possibility was her strange behavior. Who sneaked about, listening in to men’s conversations during a ball? Who had full conversations in hushed tones in corridors with men they hadn’t been introduced to? No one proper. Some men seemed attracted to women who didn’t behave as they should. She had the sneaking suspicion the Duke of Harrington was just that type.
The man’s eyes had sparked when she suggested listening at the wall, even though he had first refused. He definitely enjoyed teasing her about who the duke could be and what a duke would want. Which, in hindsight, made him almost interesting. After he left her, haughty and supposedly indifferent, she had caughthim glancing her way several times during the evening, his dark eyes following her as she danced with Lord Dowdle. She had thought he might even ask her to dance, but he left the ballroom after dancing with only a few women.
Mercy had been following Mama’s instructions by being her most vibrant while dancing with Lord Dowdle, laughing and listening intently to anything he had said. Once again, that wasn’t necessarily the behavior of a demure woman. If her behavior was what had attracted him, it would be easy enough to act the opposite after their introduction. She would be demure, perfectly behaved, timid, and unsure of herself.
And the duke would lose interest.
Mercy could return to her carefree self, and her parents would have one less reason to push her toward the altar before she had the chance to meet the man of her dreams. The carriage pulled to a stop, and Mercy tugged at the three strands of pearls at her neck. Mama had insisted she wear them, and Mercy didn’t protest. They wouldn’t make a difference.
The carriage was silent as they waited for the servants to announce their arrival at the duke’s estate. Mama hadn’t taken her eyes away from the window since they’d arrived, but Mercy forced herself not to look.
She wasn’t ready to marry, and no estate would change that fact.
A larger home would simply mean more work for her to oversee, and she would much rather dance, sing, or curl up on a sofa with a nice thick book. Those were all activities that could be done in any home.
The door opened. First Mama left the carriage, then Papa. She took a tentative step out and looked up. Her step faltered, and her traitorous breath caught in her throat.
Blast.
The home in front of her was not a home at all. It was a palace.Columns of white rose from the ground, topped with statues of Greek gods and goddesses near the roof line. The tall windows were crowned with arches and framed with the same white of the columns, but the rest of the home was painted in a pale yellow. There were no neighbors to be seen in any direction, and sweeping grounds fell away into a forested patch of land behind the home. Mercy swallowed. One would get lost in such a home. She could begin reading one night, get locked in by some unobservant maid, and never be seen again.
