She opened her eyes to find Mama standing directly in front ofher, her hands fidgeting with the large opal ring on her finger. “You said you wanted to get to know His Grace better. Courtship is the perfect opportunity to do so.”
Mercy was slow to answer. “I suppose that’s true.”
“Of course it is true,” Papa answered. “And he was extremely respectful when I spoke to him. If it were only his title recommending him, we might not be quite so hopeful. But it isn’t only his title. He is an upstanding young man, and I’m certain I haven’t met his equal.”
He was upstanding. That was the problem with being courted by such a perfect suitor. She could find no fault in him, and neither could her parents. But she hadn’t ever imagined marrying someone simply because there wasn’t a better candidate. He was untouchable, and it just so happened that Mercy very much wanted to feel free to touch the man she would marry.
“I hate to leave His Grace waiting downstairs. I’m certain he would like to hear your answer sooner rather than later.” Papa stepped toward the door. “Do you have an answer for him?”
Mercy swallowed. It was just courtship. She had been pursued by several men in the past; none of those experiences had amounted to anything serious. She had always been a distracted companion. Never willing to give only one man the attention he craved. But courtship with a duke would be different—other men would step aside. For the first time since her coming-out, she could be facing a decided lack of dance partners.
But her parents’ eyes said everything. They’d given her a choice, but they weren’t impartial in the matter. The duke was an opportunity not to take lightly. Why couldn’t Rosalind be here? Perhaps the duke could be exciting, and perhaps she could fall in love with him. Stranger things had happened. He was extremely good-looking, better looking even than Richard. But his eyes didn’t spark like Richard’s. Harrington’s eyes were shuttered, asif he didn’t actually want Mercy to come to know him. Still, her parents were right about courtship. Mercy wouldn’t be able to get to know the man behind those shuttered eyes unless the two of them spent more time together.
Mercy allowed herself one long steady breath, and then she met Papa’s eyes. “My answer will be yes.”
The relief on her parents’ faces almost made up for the unrest in her stomach.
Mercy followed her parents downstairs and into the drawing room. The Duke of Harrington was standing in front of the fireplace, and he turned as they entered. His eyes went to her parents for the briefest moment, and then to her. For the first time since she met him, he seemed unsure. He stepped forward, then stopped, put his hands behind his back, and stilled. The room felt heavy, as if everyone was waiting on word from her. She waited as well. Waited for him to turn to look back at Papa for his approval, but he didn’t. Harrington looked only at her. And he looked... worried.
He was the most eligible man in London, but he wasn’t certain of her answer. And that uncertainty seemed to be burning him from the inside. “Did your father explain why I came?” His voice was quiet and hesitant. Not assuming and bold. He could have been assuming—most people in his position would be.
Mercy nodded. “Yes.”
The Duke of Harrington tipped his head to one side and looked as though he would like to step forward again but didn’t. “Yes, he told you? Or yes...” He paused as if hesitant how to finish the sentence.
She smiled. This was a side of the duke she hadn’t seen before. He might not quite be touchable, but with that look on his face, he was, at the very least, approachable. It was a start. “Yes, to both.”
The Duke of Harrington’s shoulders relaxed, and a slow,boyish grin arose on his face. “Thank you.”
The Duke of Harrington with a grin was very different from the Duke of Harrington without one. Whatever heaviness was in the room lifted. He was blazing with that grin, actually. How had she even thought to compare his looks to Richard’s? It was unfair on an epic scale. She blinked slowly and wished for a chair to lean against. What exactly had she gotten herself into?
Mama stepped toward Harrington and motioned to the chess table Mercy had been pretending to inspect earlier. “Would you like to stay and play cards or chess with Mercy? Lord Driarwood and I have some reading to do, but we could keep you company.”
His grin was still there, distracting her. Making her feel like all he had to do was smile at her and she would be the one pulling him around corners. He nodded. “I should like that very much.”
The duke pulled out one of the chairs for Mercy, and she sat, his arm just missing her shoulder. He waited for Mama to take a seat in one of the club chairs near the bookshelf on the opposite side of the room, and then he came around to the other side of the table and sat across from Mercy.
It was silent for a moment, and Papa coughed. An obvious hint to Mercy to start some kind of conversation. But Mercy was still processing the strange sensations fluttering through her. One little smile shouldn’t change everything. She needed to keep her wits about her. And she needed to think of something to say, or this courtship would be over before it even started. “Thank goodness I inspected this table earlier...” She pursed her lips together. That was not at all the right way to start a conversation. The duke simply tipped his head to one side in curiosity. She shook her head and tried again. “What type of cards do you prefer?” she finally asked. “Piquet?” The dark and light inlaid squares on the table inspired her. “Or we could play chess.”
Brilliant speech. They would be married in no time at all. He wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off such a conversationalist.
But the duke didn’t seem to mind her uninspired suggestions. “Something tells me you would beat me at both.”
She raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Unless you are quite inept, you’re wrong.”
“You aren’t skilled at games?”
“I play, but in general, I would rather be moving about. My sister was always so much better at cards and chess than I was. I gave up on them quite early.”
Harrington leaned forward, as if he had a secret. “Because you like to win?”
“Because I hate to lose.”
He laughed, and his laugh was not helping Mercy remember why she wasn’t at all certain about this courtship. His laugh made his grin look amateur. “Well, we have that in common. Although, I’m not certain I’ve ever met a person who liked to lose.”
Mercy leaned forward. “So, our commonalities can be categorized by things that are extremely ordinary. Do you prefer a cold room or a comfortable one?”
“A comfortable one.”
