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“Benjamin’s married?” This from Corinna.

Ronan’s “Why would Lady Amhurst want to meet Mercy?” was nearly drowned out by Lord Renshaw’s “By God, everything’s gone to Hades in a soup tureen!”

Lord Trentholm’s mouth sagged wide open as he gaped, utterly flummoxed. “God’s blood. What’s this?”

His lordship had cursed in front of ladies. A first, for certain.

He speared Mercy a baffled look. “Lady Amhurst? Miss Feathers?”

Despite the severity of the situation, Mercy felt her lips twitch.

If ever there was a comedy of errors, this was it.

“Come sit down, Mama.” Corinna put a supporting arm around her mother and guided her to the sofa Ronan and Mercy had occupied just a few short minutes ago.

A lifetime ago.

She could not regret their kiss, even as she knew it must never happen again.

All solicitousness, the marquess followed his wife and daughter. Once her ladyship had flopped—not sank daintily, but actually plopped down upon the cushion—he took her hand in his and patted it.

“Benjamin eloped?” she repeated, tears pooling in her eyes.

“Yes, to Gretna Green, my dear,” he consoled. “He sent a letter. The deed is done. Benjamin is married.”

Unmistakable sorrow roughened the last few words.

Because his son had felt he couldn’t introduce the woman he loved to his family and had denied them the pleasure of a wedding? Or because the marquess grieved his son’s choice of a bride?”

Mayhap both.

“Oh, Benjamin. Why?” whispered her ladyship. She fished around inside her silk reticule, finally pulling forth a lacy scrap of cloth. Sniffling, she dabbed her eyes.

This was one of the times Mercy was grateful servants were invisible. She felt a voyeur, watching a private family moment.

As if he’d spoken her name, she sensed Ronan looking at her. She met his gaze for a fraction. He needed to stop staring at her, or someone would notice.

“Why would he elope?” her ladyship asked the room at large. “The first of my children to marry, and his family wasn’t there.”

“Because he knew deuced well that we would disapprove. And rightly so,” Lord Renshaw put in nastily. “He shackled himself to a lowborn actress.”

“There are far worse things than marrying the woman you love, Sanford.” Arms folded, Ronan regarded his brother coldly.

“Good for him.” Corinna grinned broadly at her infuriated eldest brother.

His brows crashed together at her taunting, and Ronan smothered a chuckle.

“I knew Benjamin had a backbone,” Corinna said. She waved a finger at Lord Renshaw. “And you do not speak for me, Sanford. I most heartily approve. Brava for him. I, for one, cannot wait to meet her. She must be something extraordinary to have captured Benjamin’s heart.”

She earned a black glower from the earl, and Mercy was positive he gnashed his teeth.

Then and there, Mercy decided she did not like Sanford Brockman, Earl of Renshaw, and future Marquess of Trentholm. He was an arrogant, closed-minded, pompous prig. She’d ask God to forgive her for her unkind thoughts later.

Mercy hovered near the doorway, still holding the three volumes of Debrett’s Peerage, Baronetage, and Knightage, Revised by the Nobility. Perhaps it would’ve been wiser to leave them here and collect them later. If anyone should see the titles, there might be questions asked she’d just as soon not answer.

“What is this about Lady Amhurst?” Lord Trentholm asked, remembering his wife’s exclamation. “And what has it to do with our Miss Feathers?”

Mercy’s ears perked up despite herself.