Page 88 of One Night with a Rake

“Wouldn’t be surprised,” Lord Gobberd said. “Word is Lady Georgette is spearheading a misguided effort to save soiled doves, you know. Stands to reason her maid is one of her ‘successes.’ See how she seems to dote upon her.”

Roger followed the women’s progress down the street. They did seem more like friends than employer and employee, heads together conspiratorially as they ducked into a milliner’s shop. Perhaps that unnatural attachment between them was something he could use.

A plan began to take shape in his gin-soaked brain. It was brilliant in its audacity. He’d exercise control over a woman who’d snubbed him and a man who thought he was beholden to him. Roger would even tweak the nose of the royal duke by denying him a bride in the process.

Now that was power.

Roger rose so hastily, his chair toppled over behind him.

“Where are you haring off to, Fishwick?”

“I just remembered some…some matters of my estate to which I must attend.” He dashed out of White’s. There was so much to do.

Of course, if he managed to pull it off, no one could ever know it was his work.

But he’d know.

And that would be enough.

***

“Oh, milady, it’s the finest thing I ever had in all me livin’ life.” Mercy clutched the hatbox to her chest as they walked back to the waiting Yorkingham carriage. “And no one’s ever worn it before me. Meanin’ no disrespect, I’m sure. I’m tickled to pieces to be wearing that old gown o’ yours this evening. But to think I’d ever have a brand new bonnet to go with it…”

She teared up and couldn’t finish her thought.

“It’s all right, Mercy. You don’t have to take on so. I know it pleases you,” Lady Georgette said.

Suddenly serious, Mercy cut a glance at her employer. “I wish ye knew what pleases yerself.”

“How do you mean?”

Mercy sighed. She’d broached this subject with milady any number of times with no success whatsoever.

Well, in for a penny…

“This Duke of Cambridge fellow—”

“I believe you’d ought to refer to him as ‘His Royal Highness,’” Lady Georgette corrected.

“Yes, o’ course, ah…him. Ye know next to nothing about His Royal Highness yet ye’re set to become ’is bride. It don’t seem right, do it? Ye’re as smart a noble lady as ever I’ve met.” Mercy thought that might be damning Lady Georgette with faint praise since she’d observed no real sense in any of the wellborn women she’d crossed paths with, but she couldn’t very well say that. “This turn of events can’t be pleasing to ye. Not really.”

Lady Georgette’s lips compressed in a crooked line. “I know I’ve encouraged you to speak your mind, but this time you’re out of line, Mercy.”

“Maybe. But ye’re about out of time. I know ye fancy Lord Nathaniel. I dares ye to tell me different.”

Milady looked away. “You can’t possibly know what’s in another person’s heart.”

“Sure ye can. People are far easier to read than books. Everything they think or feel or think about feelin’ shows on their faces. Some more than others, to be sure, but it shows all the same,” Mercy said. “If ye’re not far gone on Lord Nate and have been for some time now, why…I’ll eat this cunning little bonnet you just bought me!”

Lady Georgette laughed. “Since it goes so well with your gown, you’d better not.” Then all traces of mirth left her features and she lifted her chin. “Whatever I may or may not feel for Lord Nathaniel makes no difference. Sometimes, we aren’t able to please ourselves, however much we may wish it.”

“But—”

“There is no but. Trust me when I say this is the way things are and the way they’ll stay.” Lady Georgette’s lips tightened in a hard line, and the chin she’d just jutted upward quivered for a moment. “In any case, the question is moot. Lord Nathaniel has left Yorkingham House.” Her voice trailed away to a wisp of sound. “He has left…me.”

Mercy could have kicked herself. In her excitement over her own ball and the special evening she was planning with Reuben, she’d completely missed the fact that she hadn’t seen Lord Nathaniel at the house that morning.

“Well, then, the man’s a bigger fool than Mr. Darling ever thought about being, and that’s saying something.” Mercy linked arms with her employer and put her head down into the stiff wind. “Come, milady. Let’s forget about men for a bit. Lord knows they forget about us often enough. We needs to get ye home and into a nice hot tub for a long soak. And I don’t want ye out of the water till ye’re good and pruney!”