Chapter 13

Mercy had told exactly no one of the courtship between her and the Duke of Harrington, and yet, the moment she set foot into the Bensons' ball, she knew word had spread. The room quieted as she entered, and while she and Mama walked toward a group of Mama's friends, crowds seemed to part to make way for them.

"Mama, who did you tell about the courtship?"

"Almost no one." Mama made a noise in her throat as if something was stuck there. "Mrs. Jenkins was over for tea, and I might have said something."

"Mrs. Jenkins? No wonder everyone is looking at us." What started as silence was becoming a low murmur of whispers. Anyone who hadn't heard the news was certainly being informed of it now. They reached Mrs. Benson and Lady Chatsworth. Typically, they would acknowledge Mama first, but both of them gave Mercy a quick nod and smile before turning to Mama.

"The duke and his family haven't arrived," Mrs. Benson said, "but we heard they were coming."

There was no need to be specific about which duke they were speaking of. Mama simply nodded, and the two women regaled her with questions.

After a few minutes without being addressed, Mercy let her eyes wander. Mr. Beauford was across the room already dancing, and she didn't manage to catch his eye. A few other men who typically asked for her to save them a dance stood about the room, but none of them looked her way. Not a single one of them.

This was not an accident.

Blast. The courtship was already taking effect. By now she would have already been engaged for several dances, but it looked like instead, she was to stand and speak to Mama and her friends while the rest of the room enjoyed themselves.

If no men would dance with her, she might as well find some of her own friends to speak to. Penelope had sent a card last night to say that she and her husband, Lord Yolten, had finally arrived back in Town and that they would be at the ball. Mercy searched the room, but she didn't see her either.

She spent the next half hour listening to Mama and the other women speak about lace patterns and speculate about what would be served for supper. She tried to catch Mr. Beauford's eye, but he never looked in her direction, a feat that could only have been accomplished on purpose. Mercy nearly asked Mrs. Benson to dance with her when a polka started playing but decided against it. Mrs. Benson wasn't the most graceful woman while walking; dancing with her might not have been much better than listening to her talk about which butcher had the best steaks.

At long last, Mercy spotted Penelope. She'd just finished dancing and was headed toward the punch table. Mercy asked permission to join her and excused herself from Mama and her friends.

As soon as Penelope saw Mercy, her eyes widened, and she stepped away from her husband, whispering, "I'll find you later." Penelope grabbed Mercy by the elbow and steered her to a quiet corner of the room.

"I'm in the country for three weeks and look what happens. What is this I hear about you and the Duke of Harrington?" Penelope was never one to mince words. "I didn't realize the two of you were acquainted. You've never once mentioned him to me."

"I haven't known him long."

"Long enough, apparently."

"No." Mercy tried not to grimace, but the combination of keeping her voice down and the need to make Penelope understand exactly how confused she was by the whole situation had her face scrunched like she'd eaten underripe persimmons. "I don't know him very well. Do you?"

"Not at all. I only know of him."

"He is courting me, yet that is how I feel about him as well. That I only know of him."

Penelope's face formed an adorable pout. "This isn't an exciting development, then? I was hoping a man had finally turned your head."

"More like barged into me while I was caught unaware."

"But he is a duke."

"Oh, trust me, that is the one thing I know for certain about him."

"And a handsome one at that."

"Yes, I am aware. But—"

"But what?"

"We aren't in love. Not even a little bit. I feel like he met me, decided I would be a suitable wife, then proceeded on a course to make me thus without even asking what I thought about the whole situation."

"How do you feel about the situation?"

"Only that it is very rushed. And I am not used to being rushed. I always thought my situation would be like my sister's, with all the time in the world to find a man who suited my liking. Suddenly that option has been ripped away from me, simply because he is a duke."

Penelope tipped her head, as if weighing whether or not this was a justifiable concern. Mercy rubbed her temples. If even her good friend considered his title enough to recommend him, she was doomed. How would she ever get out of this situation?

"Are you quite certain you don't like him?"

"I don't dislike him. But I am quite certain we feel almost nothing for each other. It feels so arranged. So... unlike me. And so very like him."

"And you feel lost?"

As soon as the words were out of Penelope's mouth, tears threatened in Mercy's eyes. Yes. She was lost. She had struggled to put a word to what was happening to her, but gone was the Mercy who made her own choices. Gone was the carefree woman who would happily wait as long as it took to find a man who made her feel adored. And gone was the daughter who had complete confidence in her parents' desire to always do what would make Mercy most happy. She didn't even have dance partners anymore. "Yes." The word came out strangled. "I feel very lost."

Penelope immediately grabbed both of her shoulders and enveloped her in her arms. "I'm sorry." She rubbed Mercy's back. "We cannot lose you. You are one of the very best people in the whole of creation. If you want to fight it, we will fight it."

Mercy laughed. Fight? How did one fight against something that made everyone else in the world happy? Still, she was going to try. "I do have one idea, but it is, um... unusual."

"There is always a way. I got my Yolty, didn't I?"

"Yes, after a brief stint with Lord Bryant." Mercy had never understood how Penelope had fallen under the charming baron's spell.

Penelope jerked away from her. "Lord Bryant, of course, perhaps he could—" Then her face dropped, and her lips pursed together. "No, he is married now. And to Diana Barton, that lucky duck."

Mercy didn't know if Penelope was referring to Diana Barton or Lord Bryant when she made the comment, and she didn't dare press the issue. Lord Yolten and Penelope were one of her favorite couples. They had the kind of relationship that, like her parents' and sister's, gave her hope. Mercy had assumed her friend's brief time with Lord Bryant had been completely forgotten, but perhaps not.

"I don't see how Lord Bryant could have helped me with anything."

"Oh, no. He couldn't. I just—well... it doesn't matter now. We will think of something. Have you had any ideas of how you might extricate yourself from the situation? Could you simply tell him you aren't interested?"

"I could. I've thought about it. However, it isn't as though he has asked to marry me. And when I spoke to my parents about it, they rightly told me I hadn't given him much of a chance yet. But—"

"You want something more," Penelope finished. "And you should. I can't imagine my life with anyone else but Yolty." Penelope shuddered. "And if the duke isn't that for you, he isn't. You can't force it."

Couldn't imagine her life without him. Exactly like her parents. "I have a good family and a dowry large enough to tempt anyone. There is no reason I should settle, simply because the man is a duke."

Penelope smiled and then laughed. "We are quite the pair, you and I. What are we going to do?"

We. Such a small word, and yet suddenly her world was brighter. "I was thinking..."

Penelope leaned forward. "Yes?"

"Well, perhaps if he met someone else. He doesn't seem overly particular about who he marries. If we could push him in someone's direction... someone who wouldn't mind marriage being more of a transaction... then, if my parents could see his interest, I would be able to break the courtship without feeling like I have disappointed them."

"I didn't think your parents were the type to push you into a loveless marriage."

"They aren't. But, well, he is a duke."

Penelope nodded again. Mercy's life would be much simpler if she shared the same sentiment as most of London.

"So we need to find a match for the Duke of Harrington."

"Other than the woman having an influential position in Society, he isn't particular. He chose me without much of a thought."

Penelope looked at her as if she had said something ridiculous, but then shrugged. "What are his likes and dislikes?"

Mercy thought long and hard about the question. She had spent several afternoons and evenings with him; she should know something about him. "I think he dislikes singing and chess. He saw me crying once, years ago, and I think that may have left an impression on him. Mama thinks he is impressed by my jewelry, but I'm pretty sure that isn't the case."

"What do you mean?"

"The night I first met him, I was wearing the family emeralds. Mama thinks that is why he noticed me."

"Why do you disagree?"

"He's never mentioned my more elaborate necklaces or earrings. In fact, the only piece of jewelry he has ever commented on was Kate's silver bracelet." Mercy paused. "And Mama didn't know that he and I had had a conversation alone in the corridor that night."

Penelope's eyebrows rose.

"What were you doing alone in a corridor with a duke?"

"I didn't know he was a duke then. He was listening in at the cardroom, and I happened to come up behind him."

"What did you say to him?"

"Nothing of consequence. I didn't know who he was, and he didn't know who I was. The men inside the cardroom were talking about him finally looking for a bride. He turned and looked at me, and I suppose that was it. He needed a bride, and I walked into that corridor at exactly the wrong moment."

"Or the right one," Penelope murmured under her breath. Mercy narrowed one eye at her, and Penelope threw her hands up. "All right. I will ignore the obvious romance of that moment and help you with your quest."

"I thought, perhaps, getting him alone in a corridor with a different woman might work."

Penelope nodded. "Are you certain he has no interest in you personally?"

"Nothing that can be too enduring. He'll forget about me very quickly."

Again, Penelope gave her that look, as if she were saying something improbable. But Penelope didn't know the duke like she did. His feelings didn't run deep. He felt the need to get married, and she was a convenient match. There was nothing more to it than that. They simply needed to find him either a more convenient woman or, perhaps even better, someone for him to actually fall in love with.

"All right." Penelope nodded and looked toward the crowded ballroom. "For tonight, we shall simply keep our eyes open. Look for someone who catches his eye more than anyone else. We need to make a list of possible candidates and work through them to find the best match for him. Then you will be free, and you can go back to waiting for your Prince Charming."

"I'm not waiting around for a prince."

"Maybe not." Penelope laughed. "But if a duke wasn't good enough for you, who else is there?"

"A good man who loves me. That is all I have ever wanted. It is that or nothing at all."

"Good for you." Penelope winked at her. "Now let's get to work."

Mercy spotted Mama near a window with another group of her friends. "I should return to Mama."

Penelope nodded. "I'll talk to Yolty. He is certain to have some ideas." Mercy had no doubt that Penelope would tell her husband at least a portion of their plans, and as foolhardy as those plans may be, he wouldn't stop them. Mercy had seen him go along with much worse for his wife's sake. Penelope gave her a quick embrace, and they parted ways.

Halfway to Mama, Lady Bryant stepped out of a group of gruff-looking men and reached for her arm. "Are you a friend of Lady Yolten's?"

Mercy stopped dead in her tracks. Lady Bryant's dark hair and impeccable dress alone would be enough to make her stand out in a ballroom, but the fact that she owned a railway company truly set her apart.

That and the fact that she had been interesting enough to make Lord Bryant finally tie the knot. But Lord Bryant had had a short, but almost scandalous, flirtation with Penelope before either of them were married. Was she about to see a darker side of the beauty in front of her?

Still, she wouldn't deny knowing her best friend. "Yes, she is a dear friend."

Lady Bryant gave her a broad smile. "She is lovely, isn't she?"

Mercy fought the urge to rub her eyes in disbelief. It appeared that Lady Bryant was a kinder woman than Mercy would ever be.

Lord Bryant came up behind his wife. "Did you finally get rid of all the stodgy businessmen so you can pay some attention to me?" he said with a pout. Most of those businessmen were right behind him, and well within earshot. "And were you speaking of Lady Yolten? She is one of my favorite women of the ton. Top fifteen, easily." He gave Mercy a wink.

Heavens. Top fifteen? Did he rank every woman in London?

Lady Bryant shook her head and clicked her tongue. "Everton, stop. You will scare poor Lady Mercy away." Lady Bryant turned toward Mercy with a smile. "And I would like to get to know her better."

Lord Bryant glanced about the room. "It seems most of London is hoping to get to know her better." He smiled at her, and there was no flirtation behind it. The genuine camaraderie seemed foreign to his face and yet also very authentic. "I hope you are well prepared to be the most envied woman in London."

Because of a stiff duke's attentions? She would rather not be envied for that. "Thus far, all I have gained is a sad lack of dance partners."

Lord Bryant leaned toward his wife and whispered into her ear. She gave him a quick nod. Lord Bryant stepped forward. "I'm certain the last thing Harrington would want is for you to feel neglected. Would you dance this set with me?"

Mercy glanced between Lord Bryant and his wife. Since when did a seasoned philanderer ask his wife's permission to dance with another woman? Then again, she hadn't truly seen him act scandalously. The quartet was playing a polka, and her feet had been itching to dance ever since they set foot in the room. "I would be honored. Thank you, Lord Bryant."

Lord Bryant dropped the slightest of kisses on his wife's cheek and held his arm out to Mercy. Lady Bryant smiled at him the way Mama and Papa smiled at each other when they thought no one was looking.

The dance had already started, so as soon as Mercy and Lord Bryant reached the outskirts of the dancers, he pulled her into position, and they were off.

Lord Bryant was an excellent dancer, almost as proficient as Mr. Beauford. How had she never danced with him before he married? He had seemed to dance with nearly everyone. Actually, that wasn't true. He had danced with many women, but usually one or two more often than others.

He didn't bother with talking, either, and held her at what even the most prudish of mothers would call an appropriate distance. When the polka ended, they were both slightly out of breath. Lord Bryant smiled down at her—the genuine smile, not the flirtatious one—again. "I'm certain the news of your courtship won't keep you from dance partners forever. A woman who enjoys dancing as much as you do should never find partners in short supply."

Mercy smiled back. "I hope so. If I had known that was the result of a courtship with the duke, I'm afraid I wouldn't have agreed to it."

Lord Bryant's eyebrows furrowed slightly. "You wouldn't have?"

"No. If a courtship with Lady Bryant would have meant you could never again flirt with other women, would you have agreed to it?"

"First of all, I never agreed to a courtship with my wife. She manipulated me into it. And second, a thousand times yes. Despite my habits of spreading cheer with my charming smile." He sent her his devilish grin, and yes, it did spark something in her. Not desire—but the warmth that comes from having been noticed and singled out by a man who was arguably one of the most handsome in England.

The Duke of Harrington didn't smile at her like that, nor did he smile at her like Lord Bryant smiled at his wife. His smiles were not about appreciation or giving her joy. They were... she didn't know exactly what they were. She enjoyed his smile, especially when he'd smiled at her after she agreed to allow him to court her. But she didn't see it often. She got the feeling that the Duke of Harrington was as surprised by his smiles as everyone else was. As if he hadn't meant to smile; it had simply happened. They weren't given, like Lord Bryant's. They had to be teased out.

The strains to a slower dance started, and once again, the two of them fell into a comfortable dance pattern. The dance was an easy one, and she needed no concentration to speak. "What do you mean, your wife manipulated you into courting her?"

"I mean just that. I hadn't planned on it. I was involved with another young woman at the time..." He trailed off, and Mercy was left to try to piece together the two images of Lord Bryant. On the one hand, a devoted husband, but on the other, by his own admission, someone who had been pursuing many women before he settled down. "Sometimes," Lord Bryant said with a wink, "we can be a bit obtuse to what is standing right in front of us. I resisted Diana as long as I could." He tipped his head. "But that didn't actually turn out to be very long."

They finished the rest of the dance in silence, and Lord Bryant led her back to Mama. Lady Bryant still stood with the three women, laughing. Four other figures had joined them during their dance.

Mercy's shoulders automatically straightened, and she put another inch or two of distance between herself and Lord Bryant. The Duke of Harrington, his mother, and Lord and Lady Ottersby were waiting for their return. A muscle in His Grace's jaw tightened as he watched Mercy walk toward them with her arm around Lord Bryant's. That small movement was the most notable reaction she had seen from the duke since he'd laughed during their first game of chess.

His Grace might not be overly affected by her, but he was certainly affected by her dancing with Lord Bryant.

Men.

"Well, Harrington," Lord Bryant said once they were in earshot. "This lovely lady has been bored to tears without you."

"I have not." Mercy took back all the good thoughts she'd had about Lord Bryant.

Lord Bryant tsked. "I suppose not after I showed up. Still, ask her to dance, for heaven's sake, before she becomes a wallflower."

Harrington's eyes shot daggers in the baron's direction. "Lady Mercy would never become a wallflower."

"Tonight she nearly has been," Mama chimed in. "She hasn't danced with anyone except Lord Bryant."

Harrington turned to Mercy, and for the first time, their eyes met. "I'm sorry. I know how much you enjoy dancing."

He was sorry? She didn't know how to process his comment. "It's no trouble." But it was. Truly, it was. If this courtship ruined dancing for her, she would never forgive him.

The Duke of Harrington looked apologetic. "Is your next set free?"

"Yes."

"Would you be so kind as to dance with me?"

Mama looked like she was about to faint with happiness. Mercy nodded at him.

Mama clapped her hands. "Wonderful. The two of you dance so beautifully together. I shall look forward to seeing it often this Season. What are your favorite dances, Your Grace? Our annual ball is fast approaching, and I'd like your opinion on the music."

Every year Mama got excited about their annual ball, but this year felt different. She was sparing no expense and wanted to make certain everything would go according to her plan.

It was safe to say that Mercy dancing with the Duke of Harrington was high on Mama's list of priorities for the ball.

"I'm certain I'll be happy with whatever dances Lady Mercy chooses. After all, she is the expert." The duke held his arm out, and she took it. If the only men willing to dance with her were Lord Bryant and the Duke of Harrington, she had better take the chance while she had it.

Besides, it would be a good opportunity to spy on his reactions to the women around them.

Harrington still danced perfectly, but with an edge of stiffness that seemed to convey that he was worried he would somehow make a mistake.

"You dance perfectly," she said, hoping to relax him.

His eyes met hers suspiciously. "Somehow, that doesn't sound like a compliment."

"It is."

He pushed his lips together into a tight line. "Who is the best dancer partner in this room?"

"Mr. Beauford," she said, without thinking. He was. "Lord Bryant is a close second."

"And what makes them stand out above the rest?"

That was easy. "They don't think about the fact that they are dancing. They simply dance."

The duke nodded. "I think a lot about dancing when I am dancing."

"And therefore, you dance perfectly."

"But not well."

She laughed. "I don't mind dancing with you."

"If I forgot I was dancing, you might like it better. Though, the last time I did that, I closed my eyes and almost caused a collision."

"That was what you were doing?"

"I was trying to enjoy dancing as much as you do."

"And did you?"

"I don't think anyone can enjoy dancing as much as you do, but yes, I did enjoy it more. Until I realized I was about to crash into three different dancing pairs."

"What if we try it again, only this time with your eyes open?"

"How would I do that?"

"For starters, loosen your arms slightly. It feels as if you are trying to keep me an arm's length away."

After the debacle of a chess match where he pulled his hand away from hers, she half expected him to resist, but he didn't. His elbow fell slightly, resulting in her moving inches closer to him. His chest was directly in front of hers, and they spun about the room more smoothly, less controlled and more in tune with the music. "Much better."

He smiled and relaxed even more, so only his fingers at her back were left solid and unforgiving. They pressed her closer to him, and she allowed herself to comply. Only when her head was within inches of his did he soften his fingers as well.

"Much better, indeed." His voice was near her ear, and after days of sterile games of chess, the low melodic tones of his whisper sent a jolt of energy through her. Dancing with Mr. Beauford had never done that.

Still... there was no reason to get excited. Soon enough he would revert back to his steady, not at all exciting, self. She nodded, suddenly unable to find her voice.

"If our courtship has caused you to lose out on dance partners, the least I can do is make your dances with me more enjoyable."

Her fingers played with the fabric of his jacket on his shoulder. This dance was certainly enjoyable. Despite calling her chess games with the duke dull to Penelope, she supposed she had been able to get to know the duke better because of them. If nothing else, she knew the way he was holding her now meant something. More than it would mean if any other man held her in the same way. " Mile buiochas ," Mercy replied without thinking. The new scullery maid, Bridget, barely spoke any English, and Kate had taught Mercy a few phrases.

The duke lifted his eyebrows. "What was that?"

" Mile buiochas . It is Irish. It means—"

"A thousand thanks," the duke finished for her.

"Yes, my lady's maid is teaching me some Irish phrases so I can speak to our new scullery maid."

"They are both Irish?"

Richard's mother's family originally hailed from Ireland, and Mama's great-grandmother was from there. It was not coincidence that so many of their servants were Irish. "Yes."

"It is a beautiful land. I spent some of my army time there, but that was before the blight."

Mercy relaxed. "I would love to go there. Richard has some family still there, and a branch of my mother's family used to live in Limerick."

"I never got to Limerick, unfortunately."

For the briefest moment, she had the idea to tell him they should go together sometime. It was ridiculous. What was she thinking?

"I hope you know, Lady Mercy—" His voice stopped mid-sentence, his eyes trained on something behind her. His arms stiffened, and the distance between them doubled. He went completely rigid, barely making the steps land as they should. If she had thought his jaw had clenched when he had seen her with Lord Bryant, now his teeth were crushed together with terrible force, making even the veins at the top of his neck stand out. His eyes darkened, and she followed his penetrating gaze.

A woman had just entered the ballroom. No, entered was the wrong word. Invaded perhaps described the way she stood looking over the masses as if they were a people to be conquered. She was stunning in a sleek and polished way Mercy would never be. Her dark hair was severe and pulled back tightly, without any curls to soften it. Her dress had a plunging neckline that exposed her shoulders. It was a deep, emerald green, with dark purple lace that looked almost black. She surveyed the room with one eyebrow lifted, as if she were assessing the worthiness of the company she would find.

"Who is that?" Mercy asked.

She thought he might feign ignorance or pretend he had not just been staring at another woman, but he did not. "Lady Plymton, the widow of Lord Plymton. It seems she has returned to London a month earlier than planned."

A month earlier than planned? Who was this Lady Plymton, and why did Harrington know her schedule?

He blinked and led her with his careful, perfect steps toward the opposite side of the room as far from Lacy Plymton as possible. Good or bad, this Lady Plymton had elicited an intense reaction from the Duke of Harrington.

Which meant two things. First, Harrington was indeed capable of fierce emotions; he simply hadn't felt them toward Mercy. And second, Mercy had found her first possible candidate for her plan to pawn her suitor off on someone else.