Chapter 13
M ercy charged into Heron House, barely refraining from doing murder.
No one here deserved to be killed.
So, in truth, the frothing rage was pointless. Gemma followed closely behind as they headed up the steps. She was rather glad that the carriage ride from Fleet Street to Heron House was significant because it had given her an opportunity to reflect on exactly what she wanted to do and how she wished to do it.
Still, she could not quite set her spirit at rest. She had never been talked to so condescendingly before. Of course, she’d had men say incredibly degrading things to her. She’d been surrounded by foot soldiers, after all. And of course, there had been that incident with Norris in New York, but somehow this had made her feel demoralized and infuriated and determined in a way she never had before.
“Goodness, you do look like death,” called out Lady Juliet, her soon-to-be sister-in-law.
“Do I?” Mercy asked, scowling. “There’s a reason for it. London is most fortunate that it is not a sea of dead, infuriating male bodies.”
Juliet’s eyes widened with delight. “Do tell. I love a story like that.”
“Story?” called the duchess from the top of the stairs. “What story? I do love stories as well. Come, come. We are about to have tea.”
Mercy took off her gloves. Gemma took her things and was about to depart when she turned to Gemma and instructed, “You must go down to Cook and ask for a bit of cake. You were wonderful.”
“So were you, miss!” Gemma beamed, gave a quick curtsy, and rushed away.
The duchess and Lady Juliet exchanged a quick, pleased look. Then as one, they headed down one of the halls which led off the large foyer.
Mercy followed Lady Juliet and the duchess into a frothy salon of pink silk walls and elegant furnishings. There was nothing like it in the United States. Things were not quite so gilded, but she found herself actually quite admiring the joyfulness of the colors. She rather imagined that England was a terribly dreary place in the winter, and New York itself could get quite cold and awful. The joy of bright things could lift the spirits. She rather liked that. Mercy loved the paintings on the walls, even the gold gilding, because there was a love of pretty things and art in this house that she could not deny herself.
“Now who are we killing?” the duchess asked. “It does sound as if someone deserves to die.”
Mercy gazed at the woman who could potentially be her mother-in-law one day and found herself smiling. Her fury channeled into amusement that the duchess’s response was not to bear it, not take it on the chin or do her duty as, once upon a time, her mother would have advised. No, the duchess’s response was to want to know who they were going to go and find and shake, and then bury.
She liked it. She liked it very much indeed. How could she not?
“A certain publisher on Fleet Street,” admitted Mercy.
“Oh, my dear, Fleet Street is a terrible place,” the duchess stated before she flounced herself down on a beautifully pink-striped silk chair and began passing out tea things. She lifted up the silver pot and poured its contents into a beautifully painted blue cup. She stirred in sugar and then passed a cup to Mercy.
Mercy took the delicate offering and stared at the dark liquid, savoring the scent wafting upwards from the steam.
It did wonders to soothe her, that scent.
And then she drank a good bit. She needed the fortifying substance within, and it did the trick.
The duchess then poured out a cup for Lady Juliet.
“Things are going apace, my dears!” the duchess exclaimed with delight. “I do love it when things begin to unfold as they should. Juliet is getting married. Hermia has already married. And, of course”—the duchess’s gaze sparkled as it landed upon Mercy—“you’re going to marry my son any day now, aren’t you?”
Mercy let out a plaintive note before she spluttered her tea. The truth was the duchess might not be wrong! “Are you so very certain, Your Grace?”
“I am.” The duchess brought her hand to her bosom. “Am I mistaken? I feel like you’ve had a turn in resolve, but I could be wrong, of course.”
“I take it you are almost never wrong, Your Grace,” said Mercy. “Is that true?”
The duchess waggled her silvery blonde brows and grinned. “You are very wise, my dear, and it will be wonderful to have a wise daughter-in-law. When’s the wedding?”
Mercy clutched her teacup, lest she throw up her hands, and tried to understand how she had come to be here. Though the truth was it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. “I have not spoken to the duke yet. He may not wish to marry me any longer and, quite frankly, there’s some things I need to sort out first.”
The duchess gave her a knowing look over her teacup. “Oh, like the publisher. We can let my son sort him out for you, or I can. Which do you prefer?”
She gazed at the duchess, touched that the lady was so willing to take her side. “Well, I suppose you and I. That would be most marvelous,” she said. “Are you truly willing?”
“Of course, of course.” The duchess gave a dangerously merry smile. “I love to eat such men for breakfast. I have been surrounded by fellows like that all my life.” The duchess took a silver spoon and stirred her tea. Then she delicately put the spoon down, leaned forward, and then asked, as if it was the most delicious thing in the world, “What did he say? Tell me all of it.”
Mercy gathered herself to keep from becoming incandescent with fury again. “He suggested that I was no better than a breeding organism.”
The duchess frowned. “Oh, well, ladies of the ton are generally expected…”
“No, no, it was worse than that,” Mercy rushed in. “There was no sort of understanding that I had value as a person or that I could have interests, aside from embroidery and changing my clothes. And I will say that while ladies of the ton, to my observation, are meant to bear heirs, they are also allowed to be people and have interests and do things.”
The duchess blinked. “He said this to you? Someone of your intelligence?”
Mercy narrowed her gaze. “He said worse.”
The duchess stilled. “Well, then we shall have to go down to his shop. Perhaps we can purchase his shop. You know, when you are a duke or a duchess, such things are possible.”
Mercy let out a laugh. “I admire you, Duchess, for wishing to charge into the world and right wrongs.”
“What should I do?” the duchess asked matter-of-factly. “I have the power. Why not use it?”
Juliet beamed. “Mama is forever charging about, making sure that wrongs are righted. You’ve come to the right place and the right family, and I’m quite excited to have you for my sister-in-law as well.”
Mercy let out another laugh. “You two assume so much without the facts.”
“Oh, no, no.” Juliet shook her head, causing her blonde curls to dance before she took up a small slice of ginger cake, which looked positively delightful. “We never assume. We can tell. We can tell you’re going to surrender at any moment. If my brother walked in at this moment, you’d say yes, would you not?”
Mercy let out a flustered sound. “The advantages of being married to someone like that has now come to my attention more than once.”
“Oh dear,” the duchess soothed, taking up her own slice of ginger cake. “Don’t say it like that. He’s a marvelous human being too, don’t you now. And I think he will worship the very ground you walk on.”
Mercy cleared her throat, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. “Love is not part of the picture.”
“I did not say that it was,” the duchess said before she took a good bite of cake, somehow managing not to spill a crumb. “Besides, love can grow… Though, I do actually believe in love at first sight.”
“You do not,” Mercy gasped. “And I have not fallen in love with him at first sight.”
The duchess titled her head to the side, causing her jeweled earbobs to tease her neck. “I didn’t mention you, my dear.”
Mercy nearly dropped her cup. Then she gulped. “You think that your son fell in love with me at first sight?”
The duchess grinned. “Oh, as best as someone like he can.”
“What exactly does that mean?” Mercy challenged, no longer certain if she wished for a slice of cake. She felt a bit… Out of sorts.
The duchess shrugged her elegant shoulders as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Well, my son is like a god.”
“No, he’s not,” Mercy countered.
“Yes, he is,” the duchess insisted simply, easily handling her tea and cake as if the conversation was not based on the entire future of her son’s and Mercy’s lives. “At least to the mere mortals of the world. The kind of power that he has? The influence? The attention that he’s had since he was a child? It makes him set apart. Different. And it can be quite lonely.”
Suddenly, the duchess’s expression changed from carefree to one of decided hope. “He’ll need companionship in that, my dear. A good friend. Do you think you can be capable of that?”
“I don’t even know what that would be like,” Mercy confessed, “if I’m honest.”
“Marry him,” the duchess said firmly. “Your life will change, and you need never worry again.”
Mercy tensed. “Now that sounds too good to be true.”
The duchess paused, her demeanor becoming more serious. “Of course there will be hardships, my dear. I cannot promise you that there won’t be. The world is a difficult and strange place, but it is also marvelous and glorious. Don’t you think? And it is good to go through it with a partner who can support you.”
Mercy nodded. “You are not wrong, of course.”
The duchess gave her a kind smile. “There. Do you feel better?”
Mercy laughed. “I still want to go to Fleet Street and murder him,” she said.
“Murder is a bit tricky,” the duchess began. “But we could get away with murder quite literally if we wanted to. However, in general…”
There was a noise at the door. Hector strolled in with Ajax and Zephyr.
“Murder?” Zephyr queried, clapping his hands together. “My favorite topic.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, boys,” their mother chastened, though her face shone with joy at their entrance. “Do come in. Do come in.”
Ajax, Hector, and Zephyr all strode forward and plopped themselves down as if they were one entity on the beautifully embroidered divan and chairs opposite their mother.
All three stared hopefully at the tea service.
The duchess tsked. “Now, don’t scare Miss Miller away. She was about to admit that she was going to marry your eldest brother.”
“Oh, dear God. He’s going to be that lucky, is he?” Ajax said.
Mercy blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
Zephyr leaned back. “Well, you’re quite the catch, you know.”
“I am not,” she retorted. “Not by ton standards.”
Hector cocked his head to the side, his dark hair fluttering about his handsome face. “We are not really interested in the standards of the ton, Miss Miller. We’re interested in the standards of a person,” he said. “It’s why our family always has such good marriages.”
She blinked. “All of you want good marriages?”
Zephyr and Ajax turned to each other and then Hector, and they all nodded.
“Of course,” Zephyr stated. “Don’t you?”
She gaped at them. “It has never really entered my mind.”
All of them gasped, their eyes growing wide.
“You have never thought about the importance of marriage?”
She cleared her throat, then took a sip of tea. “Well, no, not really. I planned on spending my life as a spinster.”
“What a waste,” Hector drawled.
“Now, Hector,” the duchess said, “you mustn’t say such a thing to your future sister-in-law.”
“I don’t want her for myself, Mother,” Hector replied, horrified. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m merely stating that she would be excellent as a wife, especially for our oldest brother.”
“You, sir,” the duchess said, “need to settle down very soon and find a lady of your own. You’ve done enough gadding about town with the ladies. It is time for the rake to retire.”
Hector grinned. “Not now, Mama. I’m having far too much fun as it is. I don’t need to settle down for ages, especially if our brother dear gets married to this one here, and they can start popping out heirs right and left.”
“I beg your pardon?” Mercy managed, realizing just what would have to occur for said heirs, and it was not something she wished to think of in front of his family.
For she liked the idea. Very much.
“Cease, my boy, or I shall throw cake at you,” the duchess said. “Once again, you shall cause a great deal of difficulty. She has just been told by a certain publisher that her only purpose in life is to bear babies.”
Hector gagged on his tea. “I beg your pardon?”
Ajax leaned forward. “Are we going to murder him? I have already suggested to Mercy that we go to New York and take care of that Norris bloke.” Ajax turned to Mercy and said sincerely, “I would be happy to lead the fray on your difficulty in London. London is our domain, after all. We nearly crushed your brother under a printing press, and if the fellow who needs murdering is in Fleet Street, there’ll be several printing presses to hand.”
Hector drawled, “Or we could throw him out a window. People do fall. It is summer. It’s hot. Windows are left open.”
She laughed, nearly overwhelmed by the way they were lifting her spirits. “Dear God, the lot of you are absolutely too much.”
“Too much in just the right way,” Zephyr said, taking a cup of tea from his mother. “More sugar, please.”
His mother tsked. “No, you do not need more sugar.”
Zephyr was not a boy. Zephyr had to have been twenty-five years old, and yet he looked quite chastened by his Mama and nodded.
The three gentlemen were big, strong, clearly capable, and clearly rakes, the lot of them. Adored by women, and yet it was clear they loved their family and their mother without apology.
“What are you thinking?” Zephyr asked, narrowing his eyes for a moment.
“How remarkable it is, your relationship with your mother,” she admitted.
“Well, she loves us and we love her,” Hector stated simply.
Ajax’s brow furrowed. “And if you did not have that, I’m terribly sorry for you and Tobias,” he said.
Mercy licked her lips, suddenly feeling how wonderful it was, the way they loved each other. And for the first time in years, she felt the loss of having parents who’d only seemed to love each other. “We did not have that. Our parents did not have much love for us at all.”
“Horrible,” Ajax said. “Horrible.”
Hector nodded. “I hate to say it, but those kinds of parents are common.”
“But,” Zephyr pointed out, “we are not common.”
The duchess lifted her teacup. “No, we are not. Point of fact, my sister’s coming over for dinner later.”
“Oh, God. I don’t mind that she brings a different lover every month,” Hector groaned. “You know I adore my aunt, but the last one couldn’t stop exclaiming over how marvelous my aunt’s—”
“Now, Hector,” the duchess rushed in. “Don’t be a hypocrite, dear boy. I know half the women that you have taken to bed.”
Hector let out a terrible bleat of noise. “Mama.”
“What?” his mother demanded, refusing to be daunted. “We are not children. I don’t think that you came in a basket from the sky, and I don’t think that you…”
Hector looked quite put in his place but not hurt. “Yes, Mama. Yes, I understand.”
And with that, Mercy began to laugh. Laugh as she had never laughed before, and she realized just then how serious her life had been and how joyful it could perhaps be.