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It hadn’t escaped Ronan’s notice that she hadn’t explained why she wanted the volumes of Debrette’s peerages.
One hand clasped to his nape and the other resting on his hip, he glanced around, having no idea where such a book as Robinson Crusoe might be. “I can ask Sturges if the library contains Robinson Crusoe. He might know.”
“Thank you.” The smile bending Mercy’s mouth was self-conscious.
“Where are Arabelle and Bellamy?” Ronan asked, mindful to keep his tone casual and not accusing.
“Lady Trentholm took them and your sisters to the Countess of Hurtley’s for tea this afternoon. I believe the countess has granddaughters near in age to the girls.” Another smile tipped Mercy’s mouth upward, and happiness made her eyes shine. “They are already making friends. Both have been invited to numerous homes.”
“Excellent,” Ronan said with a swift glance to the ormolu and green marble mantel clock. Mother and the girls wouldn’t be home for at least an hour. He and Mercy could finish their discussion from yesterday. Or rather, make a decision about what to do regarding her elusive origins.
In the hours since they left Gunter’s, Ronan had thought long and hard about what Mercy had said.
“Our parents’ sins must cast a shadow of shame upon us and smudge our reputations, making us less deserving? Less worthy?”
He’d been an unmitigated boor, a pompous prig no better than the judgmental toffs who turned their noses up at those of a lower station.
Who were they to judge?
Who was he?
Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.
Ronan had no idea what fusty recess of his mind that line had come from. He’d never memorized scripture nor called upon the Lord regularly. Besides, Mercy had not sinned. Perhaps her parents had, but she was undeserving of society’s censure.
“Mercy, please have a seat.” Ronan indicated the blue-striped mahogany scroll-end sofa situated before the unlit fireplace. “I have something to discuss with you.”
She glanced up at him questioningly, then veered her attention to the open door.
“Just a moment.” It only took Ronan a few seconds to shut the door. “I think it better to ensure no one overhears us.”
Giving another stiff nod, she gingerly sank onto the sofa.
Ronan took a seat a few inches away. He looked pointedly at the books she placed on the side table before she sat down. “Are you trying to discover who your family is?”
She darted her tongue out and wet her lower lip.
He envied that tongue for the privilege of tasting her sweet mouth.
“I…” Pink blossomed across Mercy’s cheeks, and she cleared her throat. “That is, your sister mentioned Lady Amhurst and that her ladyship was related to a duke. I thought perhaps, given the resemblance Lady Corinna suggested I have to Lady Amhurst…” She bit her lower lip. “I know it’s presumptuous of me and far-reaching.” She sighed and wilted a little. “I don’t know what I’m thinking.”
Ronan knew full well. She wanted to discover if she had any family.
And it wasn’t so far-reaching considering Adelhied Tyndal, Lady Amhurst, was the Duke of Featherstone’s daughter. Mother had revealed that tidbit last evening. It was highly improbable that Mercy’s surname, Feathers, was eerily close to the duke’s title.
Mrs. Hester Shepherd hadn’t been quite as diligent as she professed.
Of a sudden, Ronan remembered Lady Amhurst clearly. It had been at the Rothingham’s ball three years ago. She’d arrived with two of her sons. Nice chaps, if a bit wet behind the ears.
Her husband had died the previous year, and she’d just come out of mourning.
“I will help you find your family if you like,” he said, emotion making the words oddly thick upon his tongue.
Mercy’s mouth parted, and her gaze collided with his. “You will?”
Breathless. Astonished. Full of hope.
“But you must know they won’t likely acknowledge you,” Ronan said, unwilling to lead her on and cause her more hurt.
