“Truly.”
“You’ll be employing half of Ireland if word gets out you are taking more servants than you need.”
“Kate, I just told you we doneeda scullery maid. And if your cousin is anything like you, well, then, we can’t afford to pass her up.”
After Kate left, Mercy lay on her bed and stared up at the ceiling. Everything seemed out of her control. Ireland, Mama and Papa, and now she had a duke to worry about. She wanted nothing more than to write to Rosalind. No, she wanted nothing more than for her sister to come and visit. She loved her brother-in-law, Richard, but he did have one extreme flaw: he lived in Northampton. And he couldn’t live without Rosalind. Though not being able to live without Rosalind wasn’t a flaw; their devotion to each other was a beacon of hope. Proof that somewhere out there Mercy had a Richard waiting for her.
She had never once thought that perhaps her Richard would be a duke. His visit had all of the whirlwind and excitement of Rosalind and Richard’s romance, but none of the actual romance. If Mercy were going to fall madly in love with the man, shouldn’t she feel a bit more... well, shouldn’t she justfeela bit more of...anything?
Mercy sighed, pushed herself up with both hands, and went to her writing desk to start a letter. But before she could even begin to explain her situation to Rosalind, a knock sounded at the front door downstairs. Her pen wavered. She bit her lip and forced herself to continue. The duke wanted to speak with Papa first. Not her.
How long would their meeting take? And what in heaven’s name would they be talking about? Papa would probably ask him to sit, and he would choose the large, leather chair across from Papa’s desk. How many times had Mercy sat at that same chair and listened to Papa speak of his plans for the day or the month or the year? Now he would be discussing plans with one of the most powerful men of England, and those plans might include her.
No, not might. They did. The Duke of Harrington had plans for her. For them.
A blot of ink dropped onto her forgotten letter. She rubbed her forehead, then slowly and carefully put away her writing utensils. She couldn’t write with the duke in her house. Her room was suddenly stuffy. She needed to escape, but she had no reason to rush downstairs.
But she also didn’t have a pressing need to remain in her room. This was her home, after all. She could go where she wanted. Mercy tucked her unfinished letter into her desk and quietly padded across the room. The doorknob was cold in her hand, which made her pause. So many things could happen before she returned to this room. The conversation happening downstairs could change the course of her life forever. When she finally stopped studying the wood grain in front of her and yanked the door open, the knob had warmed to her body temperature.
Papa’s study was at the bottom of the stairs on the left, but as soon as her foot touched the landing, she turned right. It wasn’t ladylike to listen at doors. She would simply sit and wait in the drawing room.
She opened the door, but her thoughts and feet skidded to a halt just as she was about to step in. Hadn’t she first met the Duke of Harrington outside of a door? He’d been listening to the conversation happening in the cardroom before she’d arrived. If the mighty Duke of Harrington could listen at doors, then whycouldn’t she?
She placed her hand against the door casing and eyed the thick, dark wood door to Papa’s study. She shouldn’t eavesdrop. She wouldn’t. With a door like that, even if she wanted to listen in, she would be lucky to catch anything more than a murmur. But since that was the case, it wouldn’t hurt to simply stand nearby. If she happened to overhear a word or two, well, then, it would be an accident.
Besides, the drawing room wasn’t much better than her room. Either way, she would be stuck waiting. She stepped toward the study, but just as she did, the door cracked open. Mercy jumped backward and dashed inside the drawing room. She shook her head and took a deep breath as her heart pounded in her ears. Calm... she must be calm. This was her home. She could be wherever she wanted to be. She scurried over to the small chess table that sat on one side of the fireplace and stood behind one of the chairs. A moment later, the door opened, and Mrs. Brooksby led in the Duke of Harrington.
Mrs. Brooksby made a small noise at the sight of Mercy. The duke furrowed his brows in confusion.
Mercy raised her eyebrows in what was certain to be a terrible impression of surprise. “Oh, hello,” she said in a voice that was anything but convincing. “I was... here... um... in-inspecting the table.” She made an equally bad impression of someone running a finger on top of a table to search for dust. Never, in all of Mercy’s lifetime had she critiqued the staff’s work. Still, the Duke of Harrington didn’t know that.
Mrs. Brooksby did, but she had already packed away her surprise, and Mercy’s strange behavior went blessedly ignored. “Shall I have His Grace wait in the small parlor?”
“No, no.” Mercy made a show of rubbing her finger and thumb together as if she might feel dust between them, then she strode straight toward the door. “I will go fetch Mama and return in amoment.”
The only problem with leaving the room was that the Duke of Harrington still stood just outside the doorway. She would have to pass within a few inches of him. Mercy kept her head down and marched forward, but when she stepped through the doorway, her eyes shot up to his for the briefest of moments. His eyes roamed her face, asking questions she didn’t have the answers to; she didn’t even know what the questions were. She paused her death march and gave him a quick bob, which he answered with a slow bow of his head. He was so proper, so commanding and rigid but—also—so blasted good-looking. Michelangelo should carve this man and call the resulting pieceUntouchable.
He looked away first and followed Mrs. Brooksby’s outstretched arm into the drawing room. Mrs. Brooksby shut the door behind him and raised an eyebrow at Mercy. What? Mercy wasn’t allowed to inspect the table in the drawing room? Simply because she had never done so before? Mercy grimaced. Itwasstrange. But then again,noneof them were used to a duke coming to visit. Mrs. Brooksby couldn’t possibly feel as calm and collected as she seemed. Mercy threw a smile and a shrug at Mrs. Brooksby before dashing up the stairs to find Mama.
Mercy muttered to herself as she walked down the corridor to Mama’s room. What had she been thinking? Why hadn’t she simply stayed in her room? And why the drawing room? Of all the places she could have gone, that was the worst. The look on His Grace’s face was unreadable. It wasn’t as though she had garnered any more information by snooping around downstairs. She knocked halfheartedly on Mama’s door, then opened it without waiting for an answer. Mama stood in front of the mirror, and Papa sat on the bed. He jumped up when she walked in the room.
“Where were you?” Papa asked.
“I was downstairs.”
“The duke is here.” Papa’s hands were clenched together, his eyes wide.
“I know.” She didn’t mention that she had seen him. “What does he want?”
Papa leaned forward, his mouth almost a smile, but a cautious one, as if he wasn’t certain what Mercy would think of his answer. “He asked to court you.” Caution lost its battle to excitement, and Papa grinned. “The Duke of Harrington has come here to court you.”
Courtship.
Of course he was here to ask about courting. Why hadn’t she thought of that? Her mind had jumped immediately to marriage, but of course he would court her first. It would be preposterous to ask for her hand in marriage so soon. But his determination in their few meetings had her skipping logical steps. Still... being courted by a duke would change everything. Would her regular dance partners dare to ask her to dance? Would other high-ranking men she had no interest in, whom she had managed to avoid thus far, seek her out? That was what had happened to Penelope when Lord Bryant had started showing marked attention in her. “What did you say to him?”
Papa schooled his features, his smile lines receding back into his face. “I said I would ask you.”
Mercy closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Mama and Papa hadn’t planned her whole life without her, then. They were still the kind of parents who had allowed Rosalind to marry the man she had found most desirable, and they would do the same for her. Despite feeling as though her life was spiraling out of control since her conversation with the Duke of Harrington outside the cardroom, she would still have a choice in the matter.
