“I know you want me to be happy. My whole life you have made that abundantly clear. But why must I convince the Duke of Harrington to marry mesooner than later, Papa?”
Mama went to Papa’s side and took a hold of his elbow. She shook her head at him. “Don’t.”
“No, I’ve held back long enough. She needs to know.”
“Know what?” Mercy asked.
Papa pulled his arm out of Mama’s grasp. “It is imperative that we see you settled as soon as possible. If not with the duke, then with someone else. Although it seems to me that he is the obvious choice. He is a good man, and he is quite taken with you.”
How had her father been able to see what had taken Mercy so very long to uncover? Nicholas did care for her. She simply hadn’t see it through all his propriety. But now was not the time to question that particular revelation. “What’s wrong?”
Mama stepped forward and took Mercy’s hand. “Nothing. Nothing is wrong. At least nothing that concerns you.”
“But it will concern her.” Papa sat on Mama’s bed and put his head in his hands. “Your sister—”
“Rosalind? What has happened? Is she all right?”
Mama tugged Mercy toward the doorway. “She is. Now, come downstairs.”
“No.” Mercy tore her hand out of Mama’s grip. “Not until I understand what is going on.”
“We have to tell her,” Papa said. “Whether she marries the duke or not, we have to tell her. Warn her.” Papa turned to me. “We were wrong. Your mother and I. We indulged both you and Rosalind, and we are all paying for it now.”
“We can talk of this later. Is the duke still here?” Mama’s voice quivered.
Papa lifted his head, and grief poured from his eyes. “It is too late. She’s in Mercy’s room, Edith. We can’t continue to shelter her.”
“Who is in my room?” Mercy asked, her heart racing. “Rosalind? She’s home? Are she and Richard here for the ball?”
“No, Rosalind will not be attending the ball,” Papa said.
“Whatever do you mean? What’s happened to Rosalind?”
Mama pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and covered her nose with a sniff. “Nothing has happened—”
But Mercy didn’t wait for Mama to finish. She dashed out of the door and down the corridor and then threw open her bedroom door. Rosalind lay on the bed, her head turned toward the window.
Rosaland head whipped around, and she rose with a burst. “Mercy!” she cried. Then she strode to the door and threw her arms around Mercy. Rosalind looked healthy; her arms were strong, and she dashed out of the bed without any sort of complaint.
Mercy pulled back, put both on her hands on Rosalind’s shoulders and inspected her. Nothing looked wrong. “When did you arrive? I’ve been dying to talk to you this past month.”
“And I you. Mama and Papa tell me you are being courted bythe Duke of Harrington. How in the world did that happen?”
“I wrote to you about it,” Mercy responded.
“Yes, but I want to hear it from you. See your face as you speak of him. Make certain you aren’t making a mistake.”
“A mistake by marrying him, or by not?” she asked Rosalind.
“I’ll know when I hear you speak of him.” She took both of Mercy’s hands and led her back to the bed. They both sat. “Tell me all about it.”
Rosalind’s face was glowing, she looked as happy as ever. What in the world had Mama and Papa been worried about, and why wouldn’t she be attending the ball? “Well, I must admit our courtship has been very different from yours and Richard’s—”
Rosalind grimaced and made a strange sound in the back of her throat. “Ugh... Richard. He’s such an oaf.”
Whatever comfort she’d had at the sight of Rosalind vanished. “What?”
“Mama and Papa haven’t told you? I’ve left Richard. And I won’t be in London long, but I had to see you before I left. Even if Papa won’t let me show my face or speak to anyone until you are properly married off.”
