Chapter 9

It had been two weeks since the tea, and although Lord Dowdle and Mr. Beauford had both called on Mercy's family, she had heard nothing from the Duke of Harrington. Her plan had worked decidedly well.

However, Lord and Lady Hafton were hosting a ball this evening, and the Duke of Harrington was a likely guest. If at any point during the ball Mercy forgot that fact, the weight of her enormous drop earrings would serve as heavy reminder. Mercy held the skirt of her forest-green gown and carefully navigated the stairs until she met Mama at the bottom. Mama took her hand immediately. "Remember, if His Grace is at this ball, you must smile at him. Promise me you will smile at him."

How many more promises would Mercy need to make to Mama this Season? She had half a mind to suggest retiring to the country, but Papa had not stopped speaking of what an opportunity this year was going to be for Mercy. She couldn't do it. "I will."

"And you won't act standoffish toward him as you did at his home?"

Mama had been horrified at how Mercy had behaved at tea, despite Mercy's professions of shyness and awe. And she had been awed—by his home, at least. But Mama hadn't forgiven her for not being more flirtatious with him.

He mustn't have been very serious about pursuing her if one dull afternoon had snuffed out any flames of interest.

"Mama, I hardly know him."

"And how will you get to know him if you don't at least try?"

Mama had a point. It wasn't as though there was anything wrong with the Duke of Harrington. It was simply that... "He is a duke."

Mama's eyes sparked, and her smile widened. "I know."

Mercy had never, not even once, thought Mama had fallen in love with Papa for his title, but for the first time in her life, doubt crept in. "A duke can marry anyone. There is no reason for him to fall madly in love with me."

"Why wouldn't he? You are a lady, the daughter of an earl. You would make a wonderful match for a duke. And his station would be a protection for you from any storm. A duke could weather anything."

Mercy laughed. "Do you plan on many storms heading our way?" It wasn't as though her family had needed protection. An earl wasn't a duke, but they were certainly free from troubles and had enough clout not to need to worry about the whispers of others behind their backs.

A shadow crossed Mama's face, and she shook her head. "Of course not, darling, but what parents wouldn't want a secure future for their children? You won't find anyone more secure than a duke."

Security had never been an issue before. Mama had no complaints about Rosalind marrying Richard, and he was not wealthy, nor was he socially popular because of his Irish heritage. "Perhaps a foreign prince?"

Mama shook her head and frowned. "A foreign prince would take you too far away from us." Mama stroked her cheek—her soft, delicate fingers cool on her skin. "The Duke of Harrington will have to do." Mama's smile completely erased the earlier shadow on her face. Perhaps there hadn't even been a shadow.

The moment Mercy set foot in the ballroom, the duke was impossible to miss. He stood in the middle of a group of young men, a few inches taller than the tallest of them. His eyebrow was arched at one of them as if asking the question, What could you possibly contribute to this conversation? For a moment, his eyes left those of his companions and searched the room. When they landed on her, his face froze for half a heartbeat, then his superiority disintegrated into a friendly smile.

Her breath hitched slightly. Just slightly, nothing to write Rosalind about, but have to do, was suddenly a massive understatement. The opulence of the duke's home had been eye-opening, but his person was equally as impressive and conspicuous. The noises of the ballroom faded as he continued to hold her gaze, and then suddenly his eyes were gone, looking elsewhere. Mama bumped her with her elbow and frowned. "What?" Mercy mouthed, and Mama tipped her head and gave Mercy an overexuberant, very fake smile.

Blast. After all her promises to Mama, she had forgotten to smile.

And Harrington hadn't waited long for her to remember. His eyes had moved on to others, just as he had moved on after her one invitation to his home.

This was what she wanted, wasn't it? Mercy tipped her head toward Mama. "What about Lord Dowdle and Mr. Beauford? At the last ball you wanted me to smile and encourage them. Should I continue to do that as well?"

Mama took a deep breath—almost a sigh. "Of course, Mercy, if you would like."

"But I should smile at His Grace whether I would like to or not?"

Mama frowned and turned her head to Mercy. "If you don't like the duke, just tell me. Of course, your father and I wouldn't force you to pursue someone you aren't interested in."

If she didn't like the duke? How could she be expected to know whether or not she liked him? The problem wasn't His Grace, not precisely. It was... the pressure of the rest of her life looming over her. She had always thought she would feel compelled and desperate to spend the rest of her life with a man before she gave him any sort of commitment. Everything about her interactions with the Duke of Harrington felt rushed and forced. She was forced to smile, forced to visit him, forced to consider him when she barely knew the man.

Mr. Beauford strode through the ballroom and came to her side. He was not as striking as the duke, but he was handsome in his own boyish manner. His black hair was never completely tamed, and he never held back his smile. He was lean and lithe, which made him quick on his feet. Immediately, he asked her to dance. Mercy pushed away any thoughts of the duke. Balls were her absolute favorite form of entertainment. Dancing always brought her a rush of pleasure. Within the first few strains of the quick, bounding notes from the quartet, the duke was forgotten. Mama was forgotten. There was only music and dancing. Something about dancing centered Mercy. It always had. She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath but was pulled out of her quiet space when Mr. Beauford pushed her gracefully away from him with his right hand, swinging away from her with a dance variation he had never used before. Her smile grew, and she copied his lively motions. When she had only just perfected the motion, he spun her and pulled her back to him.

"I've been working on that," he said.

"I can see."

"Should I add it to our repertoire?"

She laughed. "We have a repertoire?"

"Of course we do. After nearly two years of dancing together, we could hardly not have one."

Mr. Beauford's pale-blue eyes gleamed with mischief and familiarity. Mr. Beauford knew her. He knew her likes and her dislikes. He knew she was completely uninterested in developing a serious relationship at this time in her life, and he had never pushed for more than what she gave him—one set of dances at any ball they attended together.

Perhaps she should rethink her resolve to see him as merely a dance partner and never anything more. At least she knew Mr. Beauford. "Yes, add it to the repertoire. I will practice it at home so the next time we execute it, I will be proficient."

"You were proficient today with no practice at all. At the next ball, you will be magnificent."

She laughed, and Mr. Beauford's eyes brightened once again. "I would hardly call my dancing magnificent, but I look forward to it all the same."

The strains of the music slowed slightly as the dance came to an end. She gave Mr. Beauford a curtsy, and he held out his arm to escort her back to Mama on the other side of the room. They turned together, and the Duke of Harrington stepped out from the crowd, cutting them off.

She was still slightly out of breath, and her blood coursed through her veins in a beat that matched her earlier steps. The room was bright and full of possibilities. She smiled broadly at the duke without even remembering her promise to Mama.

The duke's head tipped slightly to one side, as if he were surprised by her open friendliness. He probably was. She had acted distant at his home, and here in a ballroom after her first dance, her fears seemed foolish. Mama and Papa would never force her to marry someone she didn't know, and the duke had only wished to become acquainted. It would do neither of them any harm if she were friendly toward him. She'd been friendly with Mr. Beauford for over two years, and nothing had come of that relationship.

Perhaps her friendship with His Grace could be similar.

The Duke of Harrington gave a serious nod to Mr. Beauford, which Mr. Beauford returned just as seriously. Seriousness was an expression she was not used to seeing on Mr. Beauford, and she pulled her lips tightly together in order to avoid a laugh. The duke then met her eyes. "Lady Mercy, if you are not yet engaged for the next set, would you care to dance with me?"

His eyes were much darker than Mr. Beauford's—not a color she could name. They reminded her of a forest, filled with deep- green leaves and rough, dark tree bark. They were unfamiliar, and she couldn't tell what he was thinking. "My next set is taken," she replied, and the dark eyes changed from leaves and bark to moss and stone. His shoulders stiffened, and he gave her a nod, even more serious than Mr. Beauford's. She stepped forward but stopped before placing her hand upon his arm. Something told her the duke wouldn't appreciate any form of contact without permission. "But the set before supper is still unclaimed."

One edge of his mouth quirked slightly, as if he wanted to smile but thought better of it. His eyes came alive though, returning to their brighter forest version. "Until the supper set, then." He bowed to both of them, turned on his heel like a soldier, and strode through the crush, which opened up to make room for him.

Mr. Beauford stood for a moment, then must have remembered his task of returning her to Mama, for he started forward. "That was the Duke of Harrington."

"Yes." Mercy kept her voice unaffected, as if dukes asked her to dance every Wednesday and twice on Saturdays.

"Have you known him long?"

"Not long at all. We have only just been introduced." She said the words lightly, and she hoped Mr. Beauford took them that way. But she had offered him the supper set, which meant they would not only dance, but dine together as well. She had several other sets still free. Why had she offered him that one?

Because of Mama? Because of Mercy's atrocious behavior in his home? It had happened so quickly—she hadn't truly thought of either of those things. Although her behavior to him might have played a role in her quick decision. That, coupled with the way his forest eyes had darkened in disappointment. Dancing and supper would be her penance. Mercy wasn't a serious person, while the duke's whole persona was seriousness. Yet she wasn't normally cruel, and a small pit in her stomach had told her she had been cruel to the man while at his home. Despite his title, he was, in fact, a person. She may have forgotten that during their afternoon together, but she wouldn't forget now. It wasn't as though he was asking her to marry him. He was simply asking her for a dance.