Page 5 of Mercy Fletcher Meets Her Match
He must mean Marina. She was three and twenty, out in society for her fourth Season. Followed by Juliet, on her first. “Papa, you can’t mean to suggest what I think you are suggesting.”
“I can,” he said pleasantly. “And I do.”
“I’m seven and twenty, and common as dirt besides. No one will expect me to behave as a girl newly out in society. I can manage my own social calendar.”
“I’m certain you can, but Lady Armitage can gain you entrée to homes we’d never be welcome in otherwise. It will be some weeks until I can spare the time to join you, but Lady Armitagewill see you well settled until then.” A footman whisked away the salad before him, replacing it with a fresh plate adorned with tiny medallions of duck breast slathered in a rich cream sauce. “This year will be a better one for you, mark my words. And besides, you’ve grown up alongside the girls. You’re practically sisters.”
Practically, Mercy thought as she brushed the folded letter in her pocket once again with the tips of her fingers. But practically was not the same as factually.
∞∞∞
There’s been a change in plans.
The words hovered there just at the tip of Thomas’ tongue between sips of wine, but with each moment that passed they seemed to grow heavier. Unless he let them out quickly, they might well land straight upon the dinner table with an ominousthudinstead of the light, nonchalant delivery he would otherwise have intended.
Mother patted at the corner of her mouth with the edge of her napkin, her dark brows pinching together as she directed her gaze his way at last. “Thomas, dear, is there something on your mind?”
There’s been a change in plans.He could say those words now, of course, and just have done with it. There would be questions, no doubt, ones which he could not anticipate nor reliably answer even if he could. “Nothing much, no.” Another sip of wine and the words grew heavier still. He would have to say them eventually. If not now, then damnedsoon.
“It’s just that you’ve been unusually quiet this evening,”Mother said as she waved away her plate, and a servant stepped toward the table to remove it. She had to have noticed by now that there were fewer than there once had been, that their table was attended now by only two instead of the four that generally waited upon them.
Perhaps she’d simply reasoned it away. Perhaps she would continue to do so until the situation had become too dire to ignore. A body could explain away all manner of things—for a time.
Luckily, the servants knew who it was who paid their salaries. Even the ones that had left would not have taken their complaints to Mother.
“Well, I have got a great deal upon my mind, Mama,” Juliet interjected, and Thomas could have sighed with relief to have Mother’s attention diverted to her youngest daughter. “We’ll be just the very last to London for the Season at this rate. Are we not meant to be leaving soon?”
They should have left already, and by the quizzical glance Mother slanted him, she well knew it. Probably she could not imagine what had delayed them so late this year.
“Well, we cannot leave without proper wardrobes,” Marina said. “And they’ve yet to be delivered. I have half a mind to write a properly scathing letter—”
Ah, hell. If she did, she’d swiftly receive an equally-scathing letter in return first demanding payment for the garments that had been ordered. “They’ll be delivered to us in London,” Thomas blurted out.
Mother’s head swiveled, her gaze sharpening. “They will?”
Fucking hell. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. “I thought it expedient,” he said. “Since we need not wait upon your wardrobes to be delivered to us here, we need be delayed only a few more days.” Now. It had to be now, to change the course of the conversation. “There’s been a change of plans. Miss Fletcherwill be joining us for the Season.”
“Miss Fletcher? Do you mean to sayMercy?” Juliet’s eyes widened. “But I’ve never seen her in London. I can scarcely imagine it.”
Nor could Thomas. “Of course it is a dreadful imposition—”
“Oh, never say so,” Mother chided. “Mercy is a lovely girl. Of course we shall be delighted to have her company for the Season.”
“She’s not agirl, Mother. She’s seven and twenty at least.” On the shelf, by any standard. Another drink, his tongue now blessedly unburdened by those dreadful words. “Even her father understands the imposition—which is why he’s offered us the use of his carriage and his London house for the Season.” God willing, no one who mattered would notice the state of disrepair their own carriage was in, when it would be used only to bring up those things to London that the family could not do without.
“His townhouse?” Marina inquired, with a curious cant of her head. “But we’ve room enough in ours, haven’t we?”
“Of course.” Though he’d not managed to confirm whether or not they even had the let of it presently, so it hardly mattered. “But Mr. Fletcher insisted, and it’s quite a fashionable address. We’d be foolish to decline so generous an offer.” And would be a grander home by far, owing to the fortune Mr. Fletcher had made in the textile industry.
“That is generous indeed,” Mother said, though the pinch of her brows only grew more pronounced. “Though I wonder at your acceptance. To my knowledge, you have never been particularly fond of dear Mercy.”
Dear Mercy. Thomas hid a wince behind the rim of his wine glass.
“He thinks she’s too flighty,” Juliet confided as she popped a bite of chicken into her mouth.
“I don’t think she’s too flighty,” Thomas protested. It hadn’ta thing to do with his perception of her; she simplywastoo flighty. Sometimes quite literally—in a hot air balloon, for example. “I think she’s…” Reckless. Uncontrollable. Mystifying. Too damned opinionated for her own good. “Eccentric,” he concluded weakly.
“Eccentric,” Mother murmured. “Hmm.” That sharp gaze slid over his face as if she might spot secrets lurking within the lines of it. “And you are aware, are you not, Thomas, that eccentricityis rarely limited to the countryside?”
