“Her accent is improving, and she works hard. Best of all, the hollows in her cheeks are starting to fill in.”
“She hasn’t written to all of her relations to tell them to come work for you?”
“No, but if she does, you know I will help them find positions.”
“Oh, I know—most likely in my home. Soon enough, none of my servants will speak proper English either.”
“Then we both can pick up Irish.”
“That will make us quite popular among theton. It is bad enough that I come from manufacturing stock. What will Yolty do with me?”
“The same as he has always done. Love you for those things.”
Penelope smiled and raised her teacup to her mouth. This was a woman completely content in her home life. A life that used to give Mercy hope for her future. Instead of comforting her, though, a niggle of resentment stirred deep inside her gut, making her sickeningly sweet tea taste bitter again.
What was happening to her? Mercy wasn’t a spiteful person. She’d always been happy for other people’s joy. This whole situation with the duke was poisoning every aspect of her world.
Mrs. Brooksby knocked and announced Lady Ottersby had arrived for a morning visit. Lady Ottersby? The duke’s sister?
Penelope put her cup down and sat up straighter. “I’ve heard lovely things about Lady Ottersby. If nothing else, this duke fiasco has you meeting with some of the best people in London. And I don’t mean because of their titles.”
Lady Ottersby swept into the room like spring had arrivedin the Driarwood home. She immediately rushed to Mercy and kissed her cheek with undisguised affection. Were the two siblings actually related? For certain?
But then, the memory of his mussed hair and ruined cravat flashed through her mind. She needed to stop thinking of him as staid. He was obviously not. He simply wasn’t interested in being anything else around Mercy.
“Lady Mercy, it is lovely to see you. I hope you don’t mind me coming without notice?”
“Of course not,” Mercy answered. Lady Ottersby’s auburn hair was styled in curls lifted up and away from her face. The color was not the same as her brother’s, but it reminded her of the way his had formed loose waves when unleashed at the Zoological Garden. “It is a pleasure. You will have to excuse my mother; she was up late with preparations for our upcoming ball and is still resting.”
Lady Ottersby nodded as if the pleasantries were already over. “Nicholas told me Miss Morgan accompanied you to the gardens yesterday.”
“Yes.”
“Are you, indeed, great friends with Miss Morgan?”
Mercy didn’t know how to answer. She barely knew either of these women. If she were going to continue to support Miss Morgan and the duke’s relationship, then she needed to claim at least some intimate friendship with her. However, something about Lady Ottersby’s open and honest face made it hard to lie to her.
“I am,” Penelope spoke up before Mercy could answer. “She is a dear friend of mine.” Apparently Penelope had no such qualms about lying.
“Oh,” said Lady Ottersby.
Mercy motioned for Lady Ottersby to sit down. “Why do you ask?” Was she here to warn Mercy that Miss Morgan could be athreat to their courtship? Well, she knew that. In fact, she was counting on it.
Lady Ottersby dropped into her seat as if she had no one watching. “I have some history with Miss Morgan. My husband courted her for two years.”
“Two years?” Penelope sputtered. She had only just taken a sip of tea, and she had to swallow it down hard. “That is quite the courtship.”
“Yes, well, my husband was not titled at the time. I assure you, had he been, they would have been married in weeks.”
“What are you saying?” Penelope asked.
“Only that I am surprised that, if she is such a dear friend, you didn’t know about it. Their courtship only ended a little over two years ago.”
Penelope tipped her head up. “We have become friends recently.”
“How recently? As recently as last month?”
Penelope and Lady Ottersby stared at each other, neither willing to concede that the other was correct.
