Chapter 26

When Mercy looked back after leaving the drawing room, she had expected to see Nicholas untying the knots on his cravat and putting himself to rights, but instead he was still standing in the doorway, watching her as she walked away.

She clenched his necklace tightly in her left fist, blew him a kiss, and practically skipped up the stairs. The world would see her silver chain as not even coming close to comparing to Mama's emeralds. But Mama couldn't have felt more pleasure in her stones than Mercy did in the gift Nicholas had given her. He could have given her emeralds that she would never wear. Instead, he'd chosen something simple for her. Something she could put on tonight and never take off. She couldn't wait to show it to Kate and have her help her put it on, but first she needed to speak with Mama and Papa.

She knocked on Mama's door a moment later, and Mama beckoned for her to come in. The moment Mercy stepped in the room, her parents leaned forward expectantly. Mercy smiled. They would be very happy about the news. For two people who had always claimed to have no particular interests in ranks and positions, they certainly put a lot of hope in Mercy marrying a duke.

She was about to make them very, very happy.

But perhaps she could have a little fun first. Something about her encounter with Nicholas had left her insides bubbling like champagne. She hadn't felt this giddy since she was a young girl receiving her first pair of dancing slippers. "Are the two of you ready? Guests should be arriving any moment."

Mama's eyes narrowed. "You have no news for us?"

"What do you mean?"

"The duke . . ." Papa stepped forward. "Has he . . ."

Mercy blinked, eyes wide. "Has he what?"

"Devil take it, Mercy. You know better than to toy with us," Papa said, his eyes narrowed and his voice like a growl. The room went cold. Papa never cursed, at least not in front of Mercy or Mama. "You need to make him propose, and you need to accept. The sooner, the better."

"Joseph—" Mama started, but Papa waved her aside. First swearing, and now dismissing Mama like that? What was going on?

Mercy's stomach tightened and felt heavy, like she had eaten a whole loaf of hard, dry bread. She slowly slipped Nicholas's necklace into the small pocket on the inside of her belt. This conversation needed to come first. "Why?"

"We want you to be happ—" This time Mercy cut off Mama. Papa's mood was spreading.

"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 me sooner 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 by the 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."

Mercy couldn't respond. Rosalind was making no sense. In no version of her world did Rosalind and Richard not belong together.

"Oh." Rosalind patted Mercy's shoulder. "I've worried you. Don't fret. If you don't want to marry this duke, I can wait a while longer. Not too much longer, mind you. Richard is bound to start talking at some point, and I'm positively dying to get on the boat to Austria."

"Austria?" That wasn't even in the country, and already Rosalind's letters had been arriving less and less frequently. How would she survive with her sister so far away? "Rosalind, why are you going to Austria? It is so far away from us, and from Richard—"

"I need you to stop speaking of Richard." Rosalind's face had a hard edge she'd never seen before. But then it softened in to the dreamy-eyed sister she'd always loved. "I've fallen in love with someone else, and Mercy, it is as if the whole world was dull and now I see the brightest of colors. And not just colors, the sounds, oh, the beautiful sounds that follow me now." Rosalind grabbed Mercy by the shoulders. "If the duke doesn't make you feel as though you would burn the world for him, don't marry him. Especially not on my account."

Mercy was going to be sick. How could the world be full of light one minute and then fog the next? "Who is it?" Were the only words Mercy could muster.

Rosalind's smile widened. "That is the best part. You know him. Or rather, you know of him. If you could meet one composer, just one, in your whole lifetime, who would you pick?"

A composer? What in the world was Rosalind talking about? Mercy had never been as proficient at the pianoforte as Rosalind. But she did know which composer Rosalind would pick. "Dobler?"

Rosalind clapped her hands and then hugged herself. "Yes! Dobler, Martin Dobler."

"But . . . Dobler is married, isn't he?"

Rosalind waved a hand in the air. "He was, or rather he has been, a few times. But we don't care about that."

Mercy opened her mouth to ask another question, but the look in Rosalind's eyes told her she would not appreciate Mercy questioning her about the man's age. He had to be at least as old as Papa. Mercy stood. Her legs shook beneath her, but she had to leave. She couldn't sit with Rosalind while she had that look in her eye. "I need a minute. I need to speak with Mama and Papa, I need to..." She didn't know how to finish that sentence. There wasn't anything she could do to fix or even understand this situation, but she needed to try.

Rosalind pulled her face into a pout. "Oh, all right, but hurry back. I haven't seen you for ages."

Mercy ran back down the corridor. She must have misunderstood Rosalind. Or perhaps the whole business was some sort of sordid trick Rosalind was playing on her. Richard was everything to Rosalind. She wouldn't throw that away simply because some other man could string notes together.

Mercy threw open the door to Mama's room. Both of her parents were still there. "Papa, you must stop her. She loved Richard. I know she did."

Papa shook his head. "I tried. Mercy, you must believe me. I tried. I brought her here to try to speak sense to her and get her away from Dobler, but she screamed for the first half hour of our journey and assured me that she would scream all day while in our home and escape the first opportunity she had. She nearly jumped from the carriage multiple times. I did everything I could, save from drugging her or putting her into an institution. And it isn't like Dobler has no power. If I had put her in a home, he would have used his influence to get her out." Papa's head fell to his hands again. "I couldn't lock up my child. And she promised us she could be discrete until you were wed, as long as it did not take you too long."

Mercy's head would not stop shaking. She couldn't believe it. Not any of it. None of this could be true.

Mama made a strangled noise in her throat. "This is all our fault. Your father and I have been so happy in marriage. We wanted the same for our children. We always encouraged you to use your hearts, but we should have encouraged you to use your heads as well."

"No, Mama." Mercy shook her head harder. "That's not true."

But flashes of her time alone with Nicholas only a moment ago made her breath catch. She had received the attentions of an upstanding young gentleman. A man any woman in London would be happy to marry, and not only for his position in Society, but for his looks and character as well. And she had nearly let him go because she hadn't felt properly pursued. What if a man like Dobler had entered her life first? Charming and smooth, with stolen kisses expected, not warded against.

She'd been ripe for the taking. It wouldn't have taken much persuading for a man to convince her she was hopelessly in love with him.

The fact that Nicholas had been such a gentleman with her, when she had encouraged him to be otherwise... She started pacing back and forth. Her feet would not be still. It was as if everything she'd ever believed in was crashing down around her.

And Nicholas. What must he think of her?

She shook her head. No. It was all right. They were engaged. Or practically engaged. Other than some breathtaking kisses, they hadn't done anything truly wrong. Luckily one of them had made certain of that.

Papa brushed a stray tendril of hair off her face. "I didn't want to tell you, but I don't know how much longer Rosalind will be able to keep her double life a secret. Richard has already left the country, she is alone, and I have heard that Dobler has taken up residence near her. It would be best if you were safely married before her scandal becomes public knowledge. Scandal won't bother your mother and I. Our hearts are broken by your sister's choices, and we cannot fathom her new path leading to the type of happiness we had always hoped for her. But it isn't too late for you. Harrington will protect you. His name can absorb a multitude of sins without facing the consequences that any other husband might face."

"What?" Mercy's legs stopped their frantic movements.

Mama smoothed down her hair. "The duke is perfect for you. Don't you see? No one will dare spurn you. There will be talk. There is always talk. But as a duke, he can be surrounded by scandal without it really affecting him."

Mercy's hands started shaking, and moisture started pooling in her eyes. Scandal would most definitely affect Nicholas. Just not in the way Mama thought. He'd spent the past three years building an impeccable reputation. He counted on it, and even though he'd shown her how thoroughly attracted he was to her, it was her name and title that had first put her in his path.

He wanted to marry in order to solidify his upstanding reputation.

Mercy would destroy it.

He would be forced to do the one thing he hated more than anything in the world—use his title as a shelter for indiscretions.

"I'm not engaged to the Duke of Harrington."

"Not yet," Mama said. "But I think he may ask you tonight."

"No, Mama." She shook her head. "I don't think he will."

Papa frowned. "What do you mean, you don't think he will?" Papa met her eyes, and she did her best to remain emotionless. His eyes widened. "He's already asked you, hasn't he?" Papa stood and pointed to the door. "Go downstairs and tell him you've changed your mind."

"No, Papa, he didn't ask me. We spoke and—" Her voice broke. She couldn't tell them that although he hadn't asked her to marry him, he had told her he was planning to ask her father for permission to do so. "He isn't in love with me. He told me he wasn't in love with me."

"He came here early in order to tell you he wasn't in love with you?"

"No, that isn't why he stopped in. But he said it, nonetheless." He'd also made it very clear he was nearly in love with her. All he needed was for her to love him back. But her parents couldn't ever know that.

"Stopped in? Has he left already?"

Mercy couldn't tell them he was still downstairs. They would speak to him, and the first thing Nicholas would do would be to ask for her hand in marriage. For some reason, she couldn't bring herself to verbally lie to Papa, but she did give him a short nod. A nod could mean anything. Perhaps she had nodded as a simple goodbye. Mercy jumped from the bed and put a hand to her forehead. "I need to prepare for the ball." She needed out of the room. She needed the silence and quiet of her own room to process what she had learned. Rosalind running off with another man? Richard letting her slip from his grasp? How had any of it happened?

Apparently love couldn't be measured by lingering touches and pounding hearts. Her own sister had proven that.

What was she going to do about Nicholas? He was going to feel obligated to marry her because they'd kissed. She wouldn't be the reason his family line became tainted again.

She rushed down the corridor to her room. She couldn't go back to the drawing room. He would take one look at her face and know something was wrong. And she didn't trust herself to not give in and marry him, scandal and all. Rosalind must've gone to her old room, because Mercy's was blessedly empty.

Nicholas would find his way into the ballroom eventually, and with enough people around for her not to be tempted to cry or fall into his arms, she would inform him of her decision not to marry him.

Or, even better, she could write him a letter. Then she wouldn't have to speak to him face-to-face. After he read it, she could simply refuse his calls until after the scandal with Rosalind broke out, at which time he would stop calling on her and find a more suitable woman to court.

And if he wanted to call on her after the scandal broke?

No. She wouldn't allow herself the luxury of hope. He'd been clear about what he needed in a wife, and she no longer fit his requirements. She carefully pulled Nicholas's necklace from her pocket, walked over to her jewelry box, lifted the lid, and lowered the chain slowly, watching the delicate silver pool into a circle at the back of a compartment. After looking at it for far too long, she pulled a piece of paper out of her writing desk. Writing to him was hardly proper, seeing as they weren't engaged, but after what had transpired in the drawing room, a note was the least of her concerns.