“Honestly, I don’t know why half of them exist, but I suppose in this case, yes, they should allow Lady Mercy a protection from gossip and the like.”
“And from me.”
Ottersby laughed. “From you? No one needs protection from you. If you are this careful about protecting her, you may lose her.” Ottersby stood up and strode around his desk. He took Nicholas by both shoulders. “Lady Mercy reminds me a bit of Patience, and if I had courted her like you are courting Lady Mercy, I don’t think she would have given me the time of day.”
“No one courts the way you and Patience did. Lady Mercy will not be applying to be a maid in my household anytime soon. And I don’t know that it would have mattered with you and Patience. You should have seen how she went crazy over your long, detailed lists.” Nicholas shook his head. Chess was a delight in comparison. “I simply know myself well, Ottersby. And the things that come to my mind sometimes...” The splash of freckles along the top of Lady Mercy’s collarbone, the way her thin bracelet draped across the flesh of her wrist when she pushed it up to move a chess piece. The curve of her neck as it melted into a shoulder. “I don’t want to lose control.”
Ottersby’s eyes flashed to his desk, and a half smile arose on his lips. Nicholas did not want to know what he was thinking. He had trusted Ottersby had been a perfect gentleman while Patience had lived with Nicholas. He didn’t want to start doubting him now. It was too late, anyway. They were happily married.
“Passion can be a beautiful thing, Harrington. It is just as much a part of a relationship as respect and admiration.”
“I’m not a complete dunce. I know that.” He wanted that, but not until he and Mercy were engaged, at least, and she knew he was not taking advantage of her. If, at the end of all this, she decided to walk away, he wouldn’t have anything tarnishing her name.
“Then perhaps at the Bensons’ ball you could show her—at least a little bit—that you struggle to keep your hands off her.”
“I don’t struggle—” Nicholas started, but at the sight of Ottersby’s raised eyebrow, he stopped. He did, and they both knew it.
Patience dashed into the room, a flurry of smiles and breathless excitement. “Shall we?”
Ottersby stood, and in a show of supreme superiority, or perhaps simply habit, he took his wife’s arm in his and kissed her temple. “We shall.”
Chapter 13
Mercy had told exactly noone of the courtship between her and the Duke of Harrington, and yet, the moment she set foot into the Bensons’ ball, she knew word had spread. The room quieted as she entered, and while she and Mama walked toward a group of Mama’s friends, crowds seemed to part to make way for them.
“Mama, who did you tell about the courtship?”
“Almost no one.” Mama made a noise in her throat as if something was stuck there. “Mrs. Jenkins was over for tea, and I might have said something.”
“Mrs. Jenkins? No wonder everyone is looking at us.” What started as silence was becoming a low murmur of whispers. Anyone who hadn’t heard the news was certainly being informed of it now. They reached Mrs. Benson and Lady Chatsworth. Typically, they would acknowledge Mama first, but both of them gave Mercy a quick nod and smile before turning to Mama.
“The duke and his family haven’t arrived,” Mrs. Benson said, “but we heard they were coming.”
There was no need to be specific about which duke they were speaking of. Mama simply nodded, and the two women regaled her with questions.
After a few minutes without being addressed, Mercy let her eyes wander. Mr. Beauford was across the room already dancing, and she didn’t manage to catch his eye. A few other men who typically asked for her to save them a dance stood about the room, but none of them looked her way. Not a single one of them.
This was not an accident.
Blast. The courtship was already taking effect. By now she would have already been engaged for several dances, but it looked like instead, she was to stand and speak to Mama and her friends while the rest of the room enjoyed themselves.
If no men would dance with her, she might as well find some ofher own friends to speak to. Penelope had sent a card last night to say that she and her husband, Lord Yolten, had finally arrived back in Town and that they would be at the ball. Mercy searched the room, but she didn’t see her either.
She spent the next half hour listening to Mama and the other women speak about lace patterns and speculate about what would be served for supper. She tried to catch Mr. Beauford’s eye, but he never looked in her direction, a feat that could only have been accomplished on purpose. Mercy nearly asked Mrs. Benson to dance with her when a polka started playing but decided against it. Mrs. Benson wasn’t the most graceful woman while walking; dancing with her might not have been much better than listening to her talk about which butcher had the best steaks.
At long last, Mercy spotted Penelope. She’d just finished dancing and was headed toward the punch table. Mercy asked permission to join her and excused herself from Mama and her friends.
As soon as Penelope saw Mercy, her eyes widened, and she stepped away from her husband, whispering, “I’ll find you later.” Penelope grabbed Mercy by the elbow and steered her to a quiet corner of the room.
“I’m in the country for three weeks and look what happens. What is this I hear about you and the Duke of Harrington?” Penelope was never one to mince words. “I didn’t realize the two of you were acquainted. You’ve never once mentioned him to me.”
“I haven’t known him long.”
“Long enough, apparently.”
“No.” Mercy tried not to grimace, but the combination of keeping her voice down and the need to make Penelope understand exactly how confused she was by the whole situation had her face scrunched like she’d eaten underripe persimmons.“I don’t know him very well. Do you?”
“Not at all. I only knowofhim.”
