Mama said something under her breath, and Papa’s shoulders straightened as if he were already trying to impress the duke. They walked slowly toward the front door, taking in the well-manicured flowers and shrubbery, guessing at which gods adorned the roofline, and at last, admiring the marble steps leading up to the entrance.
Mercy had grown up with wealth, but other than royal palaces, this was unlike anything she had ever seen. The door opened for them, and they stepped into a wide-open entrance hall, covered in a different, lighter marble. A double staircase adorned the entry, along with one of the largest chandeliers she had ever seen. If this is what the entry of the duke’s home looked like, how would he furnish the ballroom? What could outshine this brilliance? And all of this for their home in London? What would the duke’s country estate look like?
Or estates. He most likely had multiple estates.
They followed a footman to the drawing room, and when he opened the door, she struggled to not bite her lip.
He was there, tall and statuesque, with his dark hair styled as neatly as a man with a bit of curl in his hair could tame it. His clothing was less formal than what he had worn to the ball but was just as impeccable. A perfectly tied cravat made his neck appear long, and his head tipped in the superior manner of a man who always knew he was the highest-ranking man in theroom. How had she missed that?
Perhaps he was only this stiff when there were other men around to outrank, and there hadn’t been any other men in the corridor. It had been just the two of them. Alone.
He was not alone now. Another man joined him, looking even sterner, but his hair was blond and his shoulders wide enough to make him intimidating. She’d seen the two of them speaking together at the ball.
One of them was the duke, but she still wasn’t certain which. She should’ve at least asked Papa about the color of his hair. Why hadn’t she asked someone at the ball to point him out? She had heard him spoken of several times but had wanted to remain disinterested. All she knew of him was that he was young, handsome, and looking for a wife. Both men could fit that description, although her man from the corridor was decidedly the more handsome of the two.
Whichever one he was, it looked as if the whole household had shown up for the introduction. Two beautiful women with dark auburn hair stood as they entered—mother and daughter, she assumed. The daughter stood next to the serious-looking blond man. Corridor-man stood near the heavily adorned fireplace. She had only seen him in a dim lighting and then later across the ballroom from each other. She remembered him to be handsome, with a full head of dark hair. But as their eyes met from across the room, his assessing—examining her clothing, her hair, and her face—she was struck by the fact that her memory had not done the man justice.
Double blast.
Mama curtsied, and Papa bowed his head not to the blond man but to Mercy’s dark-haired comrade.
The Duke of Harrington.
Mercy’s breathing shortened, but through sheer force of will, she kept her face neutral. The amount of effort she had to putinto keeping her face bland probably meant she had the frozen look of a taxidermized deer. Mercy had been harebrained at the ball, trying to listen at a wall for clues as to why her parents had started acting strangely and then discussing the seriousness of marriage with one of the most powerful men in all of England. Not her finest moment.
Much too late, Mercy hastily curtsied, then raised her head. The Duke of Harrington’s shoulders, stiff and straight like a soldier’s, were nearly as impressive as his home. His eyes flashed with interest, and something else. Amusement? He was enjoying himself. Perhaps she had been too rash in determining to dissuade his interest. She didn’tneeda large home, but in reality, would she truly get lost in it?
She almost raised a friendly eyebrow at him in response but paused the treacherous muscle mid-lift. The duke lived in a perfect house with perfect manners, and there was absolutely no circumstance in which Mercy could belong here. Not because of her station. As the daughter of an earl, she was in a better position to “catch” the duke than most of the women whom she had overheard discussing him at the ball. But her parents had raised her to marry for love, to choose her own path, and to live life free of the most restricting parts of Society.
The most restricting part of Society stood next to the mantle.
She had two choices. She could do as Mama would choose and be her most beguiling. She had caught the interest of a duke, but it would take an overabundance of smiling and laughing to reel him in. Shecoulddo that. It wasn’t that she didn’t like laughing and smiling; she simply resented the fact that her mother felt compelled to tell her she must do it.
Or she could become the opposite of the woman she had been at the ball and cause him to lose interest. That would be the easiest plan by far. After all, what were the chances that out of all the men in England,hewas her soulmate? If she encouragedhim, she would have no other chances. Her parents’ happiness about her catching the interest of a duke was as boundless as would be their disappointment if she rejected his advances.
She tried to picture the upright duke pulling her around a corner and kissing her just out of sight from a large picnic party. She had only two meetings to judge him by, but she couldn’t. The man had practically run away from her in the corridor after admonishing her for not being tied to her chaperone. How many times had Richard and Rosalind escaped chaperones? Easily over a hundred.
She needed a man capable of passion. Someone to make her feel like she was the only woman in the world. Someone who would let her know that he couldn’t live without her. And this man, with his ramrod-straight back and perfectly tied cravat, didn’t seem the type who would kiss her knuckles, let alone her mouth, unless her father and the Queen had given him permission.
She pulled her eyes away from him. She shouldn’t show interest. Not yet. Not until she had decided how to proceed. She was not ready to give up on having the type of mad devotion her sister had found with Richard, and she had no idea if the man in front of her was capable of such a thing. She pasted a bland smile on her face and walked forward.
Introductions were made. The red-haired women were, indeed, his mother and sister. The serious blond man was his brother-in-law, Lord Ottersby.
Everyone was so solemn and serious, her ears screamed for any sound other than the ticking of the mantel clock. The duchess motioned for them to sit at the tea table, and they all moved wordlessly to do so.
Tea was a tedious thing. Lady Ottersby started several conversations, and Mama and Papa tried to join them, but the two young men seemed unprepared to speak at all.
At one point, the duke leaned toward her and said, “This wouldn’t have been a very exciting conversation to hear from the corridor.”
She turned. He was looking at his cup as if it were the most interesting piece of ceramic in the world. She opened her mouth to say, “How could we compete with the thrill of a duke finally showing interest in marriage?” But then stopped herself. She couldn’t mention marriage to the duke. He might misinterpret her meaning. It was one thing to discuss the duke and his marriage prospects in the corridor with a man she thought was unrelated to the subject. But now? Impossible.
So, instead, she simply nodded her head. “True.”
The duke looked up, his eyebrows furrowed slightly, as if he were trying to decipher what kind of woman she was. Good luck to him. She didn’t even know that herself. It was the one and only time he addressed her personally throughout the visit.
* * *
Nicholas paced in front of his drawing room fireplace. Mother, Ottersby, and Patience sat silently at the card table near the door Lady Mercy and her family had exited just moments ago. Patience coughed, and Mother started to make soft humming noises. He had half a mind to storm out of the room and swear off this blasted idea of getting married. Instead, he stopped and put both of his feet together like he was standing at attention. “That was an unmitigated disaster.”
