Chapter 6
M ercy stared in the mirror and did not know what to make of herself. She had always worn plain fabric and simple gowns. Elaborate affairs were not really popular amongst her set in New York City.
Oh, fashions from Paris would become popular now and then, but there was frowning upon overt ostentation. And she wasn’t from the best set.
Much of New York society was still greatly informed by the people who had run away from the gilded touch of England.
People in New York did like to at least appear prudent, even if they had more money than anyone could ever hope to have. She and Tobias were well off, but they did not have the great wealth of some of the most exclusive families in New York.
She had been quite pleased with her life until it had all started to go awry with that dratted man, Norris. And she did not know what to make of things now. She wished she could have a chat with Mr. Franklin. After all, Benjamin Franklin had had to insert himself into the French court and learn how to operate there.
Certainly, a man who could write so eruditely and so practically about things could give her good advice on how to navigate a society that was so absolutely full of frippery. Her gown was just the beginning. She wasn’t entirely certain how she had allowed the Briarwood women to dress her like a doll, but it had all come about rather quickly, and she didn’t want to be a bad sport.
And so she had allowed the beautiful pale-pink striped silk gown to be placed upon her frame.
It was a whisper of an affair. It was done in the French country style, which was breathy and beautiful and meant to look carefree, as opposed to more rigid fashions of a few years ago.
The bodice emphasized her bosom but was adorned with silk roses and silver embroidery. It hugged her waist, fluffing out at her hips before sweeping down to the floor. It was, apparently, the newest fashion out of Paris. The skirts were delicious, and she had to admit there was a certain freedom in the movement of the new style.
The fact that her hair was done in rich curls about her head and face, with a single curl draped over her bosom, filled her with relief. She was rather glad she had escaped the earlier formal fashion of court. She had seen drawings, and she had no desire to go about in a gown that was six feet wide. She only prayed that reason took hold and ladies were allowed to dress for freedom of movement.
Still, she eyed herself in the polished glass.
Candlelight shimmered about her. Crystals in the chandelier tossed rainbows about the room. She let out a sigh.
“Does Miss Miller dislike her appearance?” her lady’s maid asked cautiously.
“Gemma, of course I like it,” she returned quickly. The girl was new. She had been hired specifically to take care of Mercy, and Mercy was not about to put the young lady’s occupation into jeopardy. She might not like all of it, but she was no fool. She understood that if she made things difficult, Gemma could be let go, and she would never be able to live with herself for taking the wage of a hard-working young lady.
So she nodded and added, “Thank you. I can tell you’ve done wonders with me.”
“I didn’t have to work very hard to do it, miss,” Gemma said with a shy smile. “You’re quite the beauty. You’re going to take London by storm. Most of those ton ladies, well, they have to wear a great deal of pretty clothes and jewels for people to admire them, and they have ancestry that goes back to William the Conqueror.”
“William the who?” Mercy teased.
Gemma laughed. “I know you’re very well-read, miss, and you probably know English history better than I do.”
“I’m very fortunate in my opportunities,” she said. “Would you like to discuss history?”
“No, thank you, miss.” Gemma shook her head swiftly. “I’ve no desire to read of kings and queens. I’d rather read my penny novels,” she said.
“You like to read books?” Mercy asked, instantly intrigued.
“Of course, I do, miss.” Gemma’s cheek brightened with enthusiasm. “I absolutely love a good novel. The Sylph is my favorite. They read it out on certain days in the coffee shop, and I go there and listen.”
“ The Sylph ,” she echoed, musing. “I haven’t read that one.”
Gemma’s eyes flared. “You must, miss, you must! You’ll absolutely love it. The world needs more books like that one.”
And suddenly an idea struck Mercy. She had read several good novels in the last few days here. They were long and in three-volume form. But quite addicting! She was usually given to reading non-fiction or pamphlets or treatises. All her life, she’d limited herself to political writings—ideas about freedom or Plato in Greek, for instance. She was quite good at reading the ancients.
But suddenly, she thought, maybe Gemma was right. Maybe the world needed a great deal more delicious novels, and while she couldn’t write them herself, she did own a printing press.
Perhaps… She bit her lower lip. An idea began to form in her mind.
She turned to her new maid. “Gemma, would you tell me your favorite books and what you think makes them so beloved? Not right now. But could we sit down and you could share your thoughts.”
Gemma blinked. “I beg your pardon, miss. Me?”
She nodded. “Yes, you.”
Gemma beamed. “Yes. Of course.”
“Then I’ll bring it up again soon.”
Gemma seemed like the perfect audience to help her understand what readers wanted if her sudden idea was to take root.
What if the duke was right? What if she could have a bit of fun in life? What if she didn’t have to just print treatises and pamphlets and ideas? What if she could publish a bit of joy too? She could become, not just an editor of men’s works and works meant to edify, but works meant to delight and help people escape the drudgery of this world.
Gemma thrust a fan at her. “You’re ready,” she said. And with that, Gemma also handed her a wrap of gossamer silk. “It gets cold sometimes out in the gardens. And don’t go down any paths, Miss Miller. You are too pretty for that. You will no doubt get swept into a dark shadow…” At this, she lowered her voice and whispered, “And be ravished.”
“Thank you for the warning,” she said with all seriousness, quite touched by the maid’s care. “And if a gentleman tries to ravish me, I shall stick him with one of the beautifully long hairpins you’ve put in my hair.”
“Very wise, miss, very wise,” Gemma replied, nodding vigorously. With that, Gemma circled one more time, inspecting the gown.
Then the door suddenly opened and in swept the duchess.
“My, my,” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “I am exceedingly grateful that I do not have a daughter on the marriage market at this particular moment. You would steal all of the attention away, and then I should have to go and comfort myself with a glass of wine in the corner and commiserate with all the other mamas. Something that I have sworn never to do. I don’t ever feel sorry for myself, you know.”
Mercy could not stop herself from smiling at the duchess. There was something about the woman that was positively marvelous. She made everyone about her feel good . As if anything was possible and dark shadows could somehow be avoided.
But the truth was that dark shadows could not be avoided.
Mercy knew this better than anyone. After all that she’d seen and been through, having been abandoned by her mother and father and rejected? She would not be so foolish as to once again risk having her heart ripped to ribbons by the very people who were supposed to love her.
“Thank you, Duchess,” she said politely, smiling in turn. “I appreciate your comments. This is not at all my milieu, but I have decided to treat it as a research project.”
“Have you?” the duchess said.
“Yes. I shall be studying members of the ton in their natural habitat.”
The duchess applauded again, causing the jewels on her hands to wink. “How absolutely clever of you, my dear. You sound like an actor.”
“An actor?” Mercy said, stunned. “I cannot even imagine going upon the stage.”
The duchess winked. “That’s quite all right. You don’t need to. We have enough actors in this family already. But you do know our family tradition? You shall be reciting to us soon in the salon!”
Mercy swallowed. “Oh, dear. I have read aloud before.”
“Have you? How wonderful.” The duchess beamed. “Now, let me have a look at you. Take a turn.”
She did, even though she didn’t like it. It made her feel as if she was a horse at market. But she understood that it was the duchess’s responsibility to make certain that all the young ladies in her care were turned out appropriately, and also that Gemma had done a good job.
“Gemma has been absolutely wonderful,” Mercy piped, as if to make certain that Gemma did receive praise.
“Oh, I can tell. I can tell,” the duchess agreed, beaming at the young maid. “We shall be singing your praises all over town, Gemma, and someone will wish to steal you away.”
“Oh, no, I like it here, Your Grace,” Gemma said quickly, her soft brown eyes lighting up with pleasure at the praise.
“Good. We shall have to increase your wages.” The duchess smoothed the lace at her own sleeves. “You are far better than I had been led to believe. I thought we were going to have to do a bit of training, but you have come fully prepared.”
“My mother is French. I do not have an accent because my father was so rigorous in his English teachings,” Gemma explained before growing rather serious. “My mother and father escaped last year.”
“Escaped?” the duchess asked tightly.
“Oh, yes.” Gemma’s eyes rounded. “When everything began to go a bit funny, they sensed that the air was turning and said coming to England was a good idea.”
The duchess nodded. “How very wise of them. I wish my own son would come back.”
Mercy stilled. She could not imagine how frighting it might feel to have a child in a country that was on the verge of exploding.
But then again, she and Tobias had lived through tumultuous times. So, perhaps she could understand.
Gemma gave a swift curtsy. “I’m sure he will return very soon.”
“Yes, very soon,” the duchess breathed before gesturing for Mercy to join her. “Now come along, my dear. Let us go out to the ball. Everyone shall be thrilled to see you. And we shall be announcing the engagement of my daughter and your brother at this affair.”
“They won’t mind?” she said, surprised.
“Certainly not,” exclaimed the duchess. “They will adore it! I am not good friends with everyone in the ton, of course, but this is a cousin, and they are quite excited to be talked about so fervently. It shall be a delicious bit of gossip and a high moment of the Season. The American printer and the daughter of a duke.”
The duchess waggled her brows. “How exciting, no?”
The duchess headed for the hallway then, all but sailing out of the room.
“You best go then,” Gemma whispered, waving her hand at her.
“Thank you,” Mercy replied, going up to Gemma, taking her hand and squeezing it, “for preparing me for battle.”
Gemma blushed. “If anything, you’re going to win. I put my money on you.”
“Of course, I’m going to win,” Mercy teased. “I’m a terribly troublesome American.”
Without another word, she followed the duchess into the hall, down the stairs and out into the night, wondering if she was going to have fun at all or if the whole evening was going to be a boring slog.
But there was one thing… The Duke of Westleigh was sure to be there and that? That would make the night very interesting indeed.