Chapter 7

The sun was high in the sky before it managed to sneak between the drapes and wake Mercy. She stretched, her legs stiff from a night of dancing. Mama had asked her to be pleasant, and pleasant she was. The three men she had paid special consideration to had seemed delighted by her more marked attention. Even Mr. Beauford had seemed loathe to leave her side, a strange departure from their typical interactions.

It was rare that Mama asked anything of her, and despite the niggling worry that she could be entering into relationships without knowing whether she wanted them, at least she would be able to give Mama a good report at breakfast. She flung the bedcovers off, sat up, and rang the bell for Kate. She wouldn't worry about those men. Not at the moment. At the next ball, if given the same assignment, she would find three different men to charm. It might get her a reputation as a flirt, but better that than an unwanted and passionless marriage proposal.

When she entered the breakfast room, Mama and Papa were sitting at the table, their plates used, but empty. They stopped talking. Neither of them was smiling, and until two weeks ago, smiling at breakfast was typical. Mercy sat down and reached for some of the bread and cheese. "You didn't need to wait for me."

"We were anxious to hear more of your thoughts from the ball," Papa said with a smile that looked forced.

Mercy gave him a brilliant smile back. "The supper was excellent, and the quartet superb."

Mama shook her head, not even attempting a smile. "You know what your father means. The dancing and your partners—did you enjoy them as well?"

Mercy eyed Papa. Mama always shared everything with him, so he most likely knew about Mama's challenge. It was one of the things Mercy loved about their marriage. Still, it felt strange to speak of giving special attention to men with her father in the room. He had never been one to push her into marriage like the fathers she had overheard talking in the cardroom. He would never be a man to barter with his daughter's life for a better position in Society. He hadn't done so for himself, and he'd never regretted marrying Mama. "I always enjoy dancing."

Mama tapped a finger next to her plate. "You know what I mean. Which men did you enjoy dancing with? And which men enjoyed dancing with you?"

"I hope all the men I dance with enjoy it."

Papa gritted his teeth. "But were there any men in particular..." His words faded. He was not used to these types of conversations. None of them were, and frankly, she didn't know why they were having this one. She had been out for two years, and during those years, none of them had worried about her getting married. She had a hefty dowry, and Papa was an earl. There was no need for a rush to the altar for someone in her position.

Were her parents just finally ready to have the home to themselves?

She supposed she could be happy for them. No two people loved each other more than Mama and Papa, save for perhaps Rosalind and Richard.

She sighed. "Mr. Beauford is always pleasant to dance with, and I was very pleasant with him." Papa nodded, and Mama stopped her tapping. "Lord Dowdle and Lord Buckley also received more than their fair share of my attention last night and didn't seem to mind it."

Mama smiled and Papa sat back against the chair. "That is good. You are not only beautiful, but also... enjoyable to spend time with. I can't imagine any man minding your company." He reached over the table and covered her hand with his. "We have been very blessed and, frankly, selfish keeping you to ourselves these past years, but, Mercy, it is time you started looking more seriously at finding a man you would like to marry."

She was only twenty. Rosalind had been twenty when she married Richard, but the two of them were so in love. Mercy had grown weary of them taking advantage of being engaged by stealing kisses every chance they got. There was no man of her acquaintance she felt that strongly about. "Why now? I've never felt the need to look seriously before, not from you or Mama. What's happened?"

Papa shook his head. "Nothing has happened. However, there are ideal times for things, and there are less-than-ideal times for things. I've seen this throughout my life. Your mother and I have been talking, and this year—it is your ideal year. I feel it strongly."

Her ideal year? "But what if I don't find an ideal man?"

Papa tipped his head like he hadn't considered that. "Well, then, perhaps it won't be your ideal year. Of course, more important than the timing is the person you will marry. We are just asking you to be open to the thought of marriage. It seems to be something that hasn't been at the forefront of your mind. We don't want to rush you, but we also don't want you to lose out on opportunities that you may not have in the future."

Kate's soft knock sounded at the door, and she entered with a large bouquet of flowers. "Some flowers arrived for Lady Mercy." Kate's Irish accent made every word interesting, even in a small sentence like that. Mercy loved it best, though, when Kate got so involved in one of her stories while doing her hair that her voice grew animated and her accent become even more pronounced.

The flowers in Kate's hands were filled with peonies and roses. Mr. Beauford often sent flowers after they danced together, but he had never sent any quite so extravagant. Kate handed the flowers to Papa, and after Kate left, Papa read the note. "From Lord Dowdle." He smiled. "He's planning to call this afternoon."

Mama straightened in her chair with a grin. "That's excellent news."

Lord Dowdle was kind. A marriage to him would probably be a good one. She hadn't encouraged any men she didn't think she had at least some chance at happiness with. But he couldn't dance—not like Mr. Beauford could. Not that a marriage to Mr. Beauford would be a better choice.

Marriage.

How had that suddenly become so vital? How had she succumbed to thinking about the men around her as only future prospects? The last thing she wanted to do was assess what kind of husband Mr. Beauford or Lord Dowdle would be, but here she was, doing it. And why? She didn't even want to get married. She loved her life here. If she married, she would be a stranger in another person's home. The servants wouldn't know her, and she wouldn't know them. Everything would change.

She broke the bread in her hand into tiny pieces on her plate without eating them. Mama and Papa looked at each other but didn't say anything. If she married, she probably wouldn't be able to sit with her elbows on the table, sulking. She would have to sit straight and pretend everything was all right, even when it wasn't. Everything about the idea was about as appetizing as the drying breadcrumbs on her plate.

Kate knocked again and entered with another bouquet of flowers—white roses this time. Mama's eyebrows rose, and her grin grew into an outright smile.

Mercy sighed. "You did ask me to be agreeable to three men. I was, and it seemed to make them happy. I assume there will be another bouquet and note soon. Who are those from? Lord Buckley?"

Roses seemed like something Lord Buckley would send. They were a respectable choice, and the white color was non-threatening. Lord Buckley was a careful man—one who would tread softly in a courtship.

Of the three men she'd chosen, Lord Buckley was the least likely with whom she would progress to marriage. Careful was the last thing she wanted in a courtship.

Papa read the note. "Yes, they are from Lord Buckley." He raised his eyes from the page. "Well done, Mercy." She ground her teeth together. Papa was not one to hold back compliments. He had always been proud of her for the things she had done. But for some reason, having him use the same phrase for receiving a bouquet of flowers from a lord as he had for some of her earlier paintings and her better-performed pianoforte pieces simply felt wrong. "He will also be paying you a visit this afternoon."

Mercy started ripping the small pieces of bread on her plate into smaller ones. She took a bite of cheese, but it was dry, and the flavor was wrong. She swallowed it down but didn't enjoy it.

Papa slid both of the cards across the table to her so she could examine them. The messages were nearly identical, although the handwriting was not. Lord Buckley's letters were small and tightly packed together in neat lines, whereas Lord Buckley's lettering was elaborate, like he had taken pains to make certain each flourish was noted.

A few minutes later, a third soft knock sounded. Mr. Beauford's flowers must've arrived. He typically sent a small bundle of wildflowers, and although not as expensive as what the two lords had sent her, she preferred them for their delicate blossoms. She loved that they fit on the small side table near her bed.

Kate opened the door, but Mercy didn't bother to turn and look this time. Mama gasped, and Papa's eyes widened, then slid to hers. Mercy spun in her chair and made a similar sound to Mama's sharp intake of breath. Kate's face was completely hidden by a bouquet of flowers so large she couldn't hold it in her hands. Instead, her arms were wrapped around the base of it. There were wildflowers, but there were also lilies and dahlias and probably every other flower a shop could carry.

Mercy grabbed the side of the table, her mouth even dryer than it had been when she had forcibly swallowed her cheese.

Mr. Beauford had most definitely noticed the change in her last night.

And he had taken it to mean something he shouldn't have.

"Oh my!" Mama blinked. "Where in the world will we be able to place those?"

Not on Mercy's bedside table. That was for certain.

Instead of handing the bouquet to Papa, Kate bent over so he could reach the card tucked inside. "I'll take these to the kitchen. Perhaps Mrs. Brooksby can divide them into several vases."

"That is a good idea, Kate. Thank you." Papa opened the card, and his face went pale.

What in heaven's name had Mr. Beauford written? He wouldn't have proposed with a note in a bouquet of flowers, would he?

Of course, he wouldn't. She and Mr. Beauford were friendly, but there had been no courtship, no time together other than consistent dancing at any ball they both attended. It would take more than a few extra smiles to make Mr. Beauford propose.

But those flowers . . .

They must have cost a fortune.

She swallowed and eyed Kate trudging out of the room with her large burden. Mercy hadn't even had the time to examine it properly. Not that it mattered. She wouldn't agree to marry Mr. Beauford simply because he had sent her a table full of flowers. She ignored her sudden desire to rush out of the door behind Kate to take in the bouquet as a whole before it was divided. It truly was magnificent. But the last thing she wanted to do was make Mama and Papa think she was sentimentally attached to Mr. Beauford's flowers.

She turned to Papa, who was still examining the card, turning it over and back as if he didn't believe what was in his hand. She closed her eyes. This is what listening to Mama had done. She shouldn't have done it. "What does Mr. Beauford write?"

Papa tipped his head slightly. "It isn't from Mr. Beauford."

Not from Mr. Beauford? She had thought . . . but there were wildflowers . . .

Mama leaned toward Papa and read the card over his shoulder. She gasped, grabbed the card from his hand, and flipped it over just as Papa had done. Mama's eyes scanned down the words written on the card for a second time before turning to Papa. "The Duke of Harrington?"

Mama and Papa locked eyes.

Who? Mercy jumped from her seat and strode around the table. She snatched the card from Mama's hand. It was true. The Duke of Harrington had sent her that massive bouquet. But why? She didn't even know the man.

His note was different from the others. The back was embossed in thick gold swirls with a coat of arms in the center. And he hadn't written to request calling on her this afternoon. He'd instead asked for an introduction to her and invited them to his home.

"Did you speak to His Grace last night?" Papa asked. "Catch his eye?"

Mercy stepped back, the thickness of his card heavy in her hand. How could she have? The note was asking for an introduction. They didn't know each other. So why would he send her flowers?

Curling dark hair, a clean-shaven face, and an impeccable coat highlighted only by the dim light of the corridor flashed into her mind. Certainly, he couldn't be... no, he would have said something about it. The two of them had spoken of the duke for heaven's sake. "Beyond his reputation, I don't even know who he is." What exactly had the man said about the Duke of Harrington? She had asked if he were a friend of his, asked if the duke was serious about marriage, but his answer had been vague, and then he'd suddenly walked away. Even if he were the duke, she couldn't have made a good impression on him, listening at the doorway.

Mama spun in her chair and craned her neck to look at Mercy. "I knew I was right to have you wear the emeralds."

Papa tapped his fingers on the table as if he were considering. "There was talk last night that Harrington is finally looking for a bride."

"Finally?" Mercy asked. She'd thought part of the excitement over him was his age. What was considered young for a duke? Forty? Was he contemplating a second marriage? "I thought the Duke of Harrington was a young man."

"He is young. Quite young. But he was in mourning for his father for two years and hasn't shown any particular interest in any woman for years after that. London has been holding their breath for this." He glanced up at Mercy, his eyes shining. "This truly could be your ideal year."

Papa reached for Mercy's hand, and she didn't have the courage to protest or pull away. Mercy had had two years of dancing, attending plays, and meeting with the people of the ton without having to worry about finding a match. That was more than most women were given. She should be grateful.

But instead, it felt as though she were a canary that had spent its life flying free, only to wake up one morning to find a cage, gilded and thick, slowly gliding toward her, ready to trap her and put her on display.

She had nothing against the Duke of Harrington, whoever he was. But the look in her parents' eyes and the warmth of Papa's hand covering hers...

There would be no escaping his interest. Just as she'd told the man in the corridor, one did not turn down the attentions of a duke.

She could ask Papa about Harrington's looks and try to discover if she meted out that wise proclamation to the duke himself, but the last thing she wanted to do was appear to be more interested than she was. What a disaster.

Kate's fourth knock was as soft as her others, but Mercy started at the sound of it. Kate walked in with a small bouquet of wildflowers. These were definitely from Mr. Beauford—none of them even bothered to read the card.