“Oh, I needed mine as well. But reputations aren’t what we should be worried about damaging. It’s the people behind the reputations who need to be protected.”
Now the man was talking gibberish. Wasn’t that the same thing? How could Nicholas protect a person without protectingtheir reputation? He should have put more than his gloves down on the chair to dissuade anyone from sitting near him. “Are you insinuating that I might take advantage of Lady Mercy’s person?”
Lord Bryant scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous, Your Grace. I’m insinuating that you will ignore her person completely in order to pay homage to her reputation.”
“Trust me. No part of Lady Mercy is at risk of being ignored. On the contrary. Which is why I must always be diligent in protecting her reputation. If I am not, I fear a repeat of the mistakes of my youth could damage both her personandher reputation. Not that it is any concern of yours.”
“I do tend to concern myself a bit too much with matters of the heart. My wife would tell me to leave you in peace.”
“I’ve always known your wife was an intelligent woman. Her only lack of judgment was marrying you.”
“Now, that is something we can unequivocally agree on.”
Chapter 11
The Duke of Harrington sentflowers to Mercy the next morning, but this time, instead of an enormous bouquet, he sent only three delicate white roses with a note. Kate brought them to the breakfast table. After Papa read the duke’s note, he smiled and handed it to her. Her eyes were still blurry from the late night of dancing, but the Duke of Harrington’s script was clear and easy to read:I may have overdone the flowers last time. My instinct tells me Lady Mercy will enjoy this simple bouquet more than the first. Or, at the very least, that she would appreciate both.
His first bouquet had been stunning. She hadn’t minded the mountain of flowers at all, and she adored the wildflowers in it. However, the three white roses were perfection, as if he had stood in the florist shop and handled each and every rose until he found only the most perfect ones.
She scoffed at the thought of a duke agonizing over his choice in a flower shop and handed the note to Mama. She’d been hovering closer and closer to her, in obvious hopes of getting a glimpse of His Grace’s words. Mama snatched the note and read it like she’d never had any correspondence before.
Mercy ignored Mama’s reaction to the note, instead inspecting the long stems and tightly coiled buds of the roses. The duke wouldn’t have visited a florist, especially so early in the morning after a late night. More than likely, the florist always made certain a duke’s roses were perfect. Still, for a duke, one would think the florist would send the largest and most impressive flowers. These were not only modest in size, but their blooms were still curled tightly together—rosebuds, waiting to bloom.
Was the Duke of Harrington being romantic?
For the first time since she had come out two Seasons ago, Mercy had no callers after the ball. And the duke’s flowers were the only ones to arrive. It was as if the world had noticed His Grace’s attentions, and now everyone, including some of herclosest male friends, were waiting to see exactly what would happen.
Three days of quiet later, she woke to three roses blooming on her bedside table. The sight of them made her pull her coverlet up to her chest and sigh. They were just as beautiful as she had imagined they would be. When she joined Mama and Papa at breakfast, a note arrived from the duke.
He would be calling this afternoon.
First on her father and then her.
Mercy didn’t get to examine his neat handwriting, as Papa had simply read it aloud. Mama made a sound not unlike a squealing pig, and Mercy snorted. “I’m sure it is nothing, Mama.”
Papa tapped his fingers on the table, something he did when deep in thought. “It could be a proposal.”
“Certainly not.” The words were out of Mercy’s mouth before Mama’s second squeal ended. Since when did Mama squeal? “We have had almost no chance to speak or get to know each other. Why, it has been barely over two weeks since we were introduced.”
“Sometimes that is how these things work,” Mama said.
Any pleasant thoughts she had had about the Duke of Harrington when she saw those blossoming roses flew out the window. “Not with me, they don’t.”
“But perhaps with the Duke of Harrington they do.” Papa met her gaze. “I believe his father’s courtship of his mother was, indeed, short. And if I know anything about the duke, he respects and tries to live up to who his father was.”
Mercy groaned. Papa wouldn’t understand. He wasn’t the kind of man who needed excitement in his life. Mercy turned her attention to Mama. “The man dances perfectly, not a step out of place, not a single movement missed.”
Papa’s forehead furrowed. “I should think that would recommend him.”
“No.” Mercy threw her hands above her head. “He makes no mistakes, but he has no soul for it. How can I marry a man who treats dancing like a formula to be memorized and mastered?”
“That would make him a better dancer than me.”
“No, Papa, it doesn’t, for at least you can enjoy dancing. There is no room for enjoyment in perfection.” Papa didn’t seem convinced. Rosalind would understand, but she wasn’t here. Mercy tried to think of something, anything else, to say. Neither of her parents seemed appalled by the idea that a man she hardly knew might be coming to ask for her hand in marriage. And while his roses were beautiful, that did not make up for the fact that he knew nothing about her. “I cannot marry a man I have only spoken to a few times, no matter what his father did. Do you know if that marriage was even a happy one?”
Papa paused at that. “I do not.”
Mercy raised her chin. “I won’t settle for a marriage I’m notcertainwill be happy. And I definitely won’t settle for a man who proposes without being in love with me.”
