Nicholas cracked open one eye. “Give me a moment to think.”
Leaving would, perhaps, be the best answer. He could return to speak with Mercy and her parents tomorrow, without all the eyes of London on them. He had acted wrongly, but he was willing to do whatever her family asked to right that wrong. Marriage seemed the best choice, but if Mercy were willing to marry him, wouldn’t she have sought him out and worn the necklace? She wouldn’t have that look of dejection on her face.
Had the brashness of the moment overtaken her, and now she felt as though she no longer had a choice in the matter? She’d asked him not to propose to her. Was he so confident in himself that after a rejection, he thought she wouldwantto be kissed?
But she had . . . hadn’t she?
Nicholas shook his head. “I don’t want to leave. Not yet.”
“Would you like to dance my set with her?” Ottersby offered.
“No. I will ask her. If she doesn’t want to dance with me, I won’t force her.”
Patience had already asked several times what had happened between them, and he could see that she wanted to ask again.
The music slowed, and if he wanted a chance to speak with Mercy before her next dance, he needed to return to the ballroom. He stood and took a deep breath, forcing his shoulders back, as General Woodsworth had taught him. He had been trained for battle. Surely he could speak to a woman. “I’ll ask her now.”
Each step that brought him closer to Mercy hardened something inside him. He didn’t need to get married. He’d wanted to—it had seemed like a good plan—but plans must remain flexible. If Mercy didn’t want him, she didn’t want him. He would move on with his life and, in a few years, find a woman who would be grateful for all he had to offer. A wife might have helped him gain favor in the House of Lords, but had he really thought being married would suddenly make him influential enough to make a difference?
It had been a terrible plan, and he had executed it poorly.
He shook off Ottersby’s offer to hold his elbow again as something hot and angry took root in his chest. If he were going to choose a woman to court, he should have chosen one that had some interest in him.
The ballrooms were literally filled with them.
The moment he set foot in the room, his eyes found Mercy, but he was too late to speak to her. She was already on the arm of another man. Mr. Beauford, the best dancer in London, by her own admission. He turned to the first lovely face that brightened at his presence. Lady Marion. The woman had intrigued himonce. Nothing about her interested him now, but he’d made eye contact, and she was without a dance partner. He’d have to dance with her.
Lady Marion’s eyes brightened even further when he asked her to dance. This was the type of woman he should have pursued. It could have been so easy. Instead, he’d had to chase after a woman who didn’t want him, simply because she had interesting freckles and he’d seen her cry outside Donald’s funeral.
Lady Marion asked him a question, but he didn’t hear it. He leaned closer to her and asked her to repeat herself.
“Will you be spending time at Brushbend this Season? Or staying in London?”
Would he? He wasn’t certain. London was the place to be in order to find a bride, but if he had given up on that venture, he might as well return to Hampshire and see to the affairs of the estate. “That remains to be seen.”
“I’ve heard how lovely it is. It would be an amazing sight to see.”
“Perhaps I should host a house party later in the year.”
Lady Marion’s mouth split into a grin. “That is the most wonderful of ideas. I imagine it’s breathtaking in the spring.”
Brushbend was. In fact, he had been hoping to take Mercy. He gritted his teeth, banning the image of her smile from his mind. Lady Marion smiled easily. The smiles and teasing he had received only this afternoon from Mercy had been hard fought.
And useless. The lack of adornment around her neck was the final nail in his coffin.
“I will speak to my sister about the idea. It has been a long time since we had guests at Brushbend. I suppose a house party is long overdue.”
The dance finished, and he escorted Lady Marion back to her mother. Mercy’s family was on the other side of the ballroom. If he wanted a chance to speak with Mercy before the music startedagain, he would have to rush there. Lady Marion mentioned the idea of a house party to her mother, and he nodded politely before excusing himself and turning toward the closest door.
It had been a noble idea, to speak to Mercy, but he couldn’t, not here, with hundreds of eyes watching. He needed air.
He marched through the crowd, unaware of the people he passed. It wasn’t until his shoulder slammed into the side of a woman that he blinked and took in his surroundings.
“Your Grace!” the woman said. He blinked again. He knew her. Her hands went to his shoulders, and she looked him in the eye. “Are you all right?”
Lady Yolten.
In the short time he had known Lady Yolten, she had never seemed one to be overly concerned about propriety, and even less so now, as she kept her hands on him, then patted his side as if to make certain nothing was wrong.
