“What type of books to you prefer?” Miss Morgan said in a voice loud enough that it would carry to the rest of their party, still taking tea.
“That depends a lot on my mood.” Mercy dragged a finger along the row of books. They both knew they hadn’t come here to speak of them. She lowered her voice. It was time to test a theory. “How did you enjoy your time at the gardens?”
Miss Morgan let out a long, drawn-out sigh. “It was positively delightful. I knew that all the duke and I needed was a moment alone for us to rekindle our—” A pretty blush touched her cheeks, not unlike the ones she had at the garden after they had all rejoined each other. Could the woman blush on demand?
“I wasn’t certain our plan had worked. The story His Grace told me hadn’t sounded very romantic. I wondered if perhaps all our efforts were for naught.”
Miss Morgan froze, one finger on the title of a book. “He must still want to keep what happened a secret. If I know him, he probably made up some story of me falling into him, or something nonsensical. He used to do that all the time. When will he finally admit his feelings?”
The laughter she had heard and the low voice that followed... Could that have been because Miss Morganhadfallen into him? That could also explain his ruffled appearance. The duke had shown almost no interest in Miss Morgan for the rest of the day. When he’d reached Mercy, he had seemed more upset than anything. “But he had a very clever explanation for why his face was swollen. I am inclined to believe him.”
“Let me guess. He said I scraped his face with my hand as I fell? He’s used that excuse several times before.”
Mercy nodded, as if what Miss Morgan said calmed her suspicions. Someone in this room was lying, and at least withMiss Morgan, the truth was easy to sort out. If Miss Morgan and the duke had actually fallen back in together, she would no longer need Mercy’s help. “Well then, it seems our work is done. I assume now that you have rekindled your relationship with His Grace, you won’t need my help anymore.”
Miss Morgan’s jaw flexed, but she didn’t look up. Instead, she pulled a book from the shelf and flipped through its pages. “Have you broken the courtship?”
“I’ll wait for him to broach that subject. I’m certain he will, based on what you’ve told me.”
Miss Morgan snapped the book closed. “But that’s the woman’s responsibility. You must see that.”
Blast. She had a point. “True.” Mercy tipped her head to one side. “I suppose I will think about it.”
“And while you are thinking about it, could we arrange another meeting with the duke? If he comes to see me at my home, I’m afraid Mama’s hopes will soar, and I would rather not put her through that again before we are certain.”
Mercy kept her smile in check, but Miss Morgan had just shown her hand. The little conniver. “How could I possibly do that?” Mercy shook her head. “If I am to break off the courtship, I won’t have any reason to meet with him again.”
Miss Morgan opened her mouth to say something but then closed it. Opened it again and shook her head. “I suppose you’re correct.”
“Shall we return to tea, then?”
Miss Morgan and her daughter were determined to stay longer than Lady Ottersby, and Lady Ottersby seemed to also want more time to speak with Mercy alone, but after five cups of tea and Mama joining them, Lady Ottersby finally gave up and left. She embraced both Mercy and Penelope, then with a squeeze of Mercy’s hand, she was gone.
A few minutes later, the Morgans left as well.
Poor Penelope had stayed through all of it. Mama excused herself, and once the door clicked closed, Mercy turned to Penelope. “We are done putting Miss Morgan in the duke’s path. I’m afraid Lady Ottersby was right about her.”
“You are certain?”
“Very.” She was nothing like the girl she had been the first time they met, and her story about falling on the duke made a lot more sense than the two of them kissing in the gardens. “I think I owe the duke an apology.”
“But you can’t tell him.”
“No, I can’t. It would be highly embarrassing.”
“So, we are through with our plotting. And I can finally tell you what Yolty said about the duke. It turns out he just hired a team of agriculturists to go to Ireland and work on ways to combat the blight. He wants Parliament to vote for more aid, but he is also taking the matter into his own hands.”
Mercy closed her eyes. Of course he was.
Count on the Duke of Harrington to be a saint. As if liking her freckles didn’t make him saint enough. Mercy sighed. “I have no doubts about his goodness, at least as far as the welfare of others is concerned. No one in England takes duty as seriously as he does. But it isn’t his steadfastness I’m worried about—it is my place in his heart.”
“Mercy.” Penelope took her hand. “I think he may like you.”
“Perhaps. But you heard what Lady Ottersby said about how unhappy he has been the past few years. I happen to know that happiness was lost when his father ended his relationship with Lady Plymton.”
“Mercy . . .” Penelope frowned. “You cannot be serious.”
Mercy stood. She was serious. “You haven’t seen the way he jumps away from me whenever we get close. It is like he is trying to convince himself that he can be happy with me, but it never works. He looks miserable after every interaction. I cannot livemy life that way.”
