“I mean to say that as with any scandal, there are social repercussions. And they will not reflect only upon the two of us, but upon all of you. So I am asking you to decide for yourselves what you are willing to bear. Whether we weather it together and accept what judgment society sees fit to bestow, or whether Mercy and I retire to the countryside and let ourselves fall out of society altogether.” Mercy would like that, he thought. She was most herself out in the countryside, happiest when she was tromping through fields. “An imperfect solution at best, but so long as theTondoesn’t see us, they can’t cut us. Provided we do not give them cause to call us to mind, it is likely that you will be somewhat insulated from consequences. I will not lie to you,” he said to Juliet. “There is every possibility that the scandal, should one arise, will harm your matrimonial prospects. When and if you judge yourself ready to find a husband in earnest, you may find your choices…somewhat more limited than they might otherwise have been.”
For a moment there was only silence as the three women considered the possibility he had laid out before them, the consequences they might well face from a situation not of their doing.
At last, Mother said in a small voice, “I have had to confront some unpleasant truths this Season already. That the people I thought I knew were significantly less kind than I had imagined, more judgmental than I had thought, more given to snobbery and conceit than I would have believed. If we are to find ourselves cut by those people whom I have so misjudged, then I will count it no great loss.”
She had, Thomas recalled, been furious and hurt and baffled at Mercy’s initial snubbing. And there would likely be more of it. Probably, he thought, it had bothered Mother far more than it had bothered Mercy, who had not been hurt so much asembarrassed that her exclusion had been made so obvious. Mercy would not miss the Season. Neither would Marina, who had a gentleman waiting in the wings for her. But Juliet…
“And you?” he asked of her.
With a quizzical pleat etched into her brow, she said, “You are asking whether I would prefer for you to remain in the countryside during the Season?”
“It would be easier for you,” he said. “Of course, Mother will join you in London. And if Marina is to marry her bookseller, she will likely be in London throughout the year. Naturally, I will maintain a London residence for you. You’ll have a proper wardrobe and all that goes along with the Season.”
“But you wouldn’t be here,” she said pensively. “And neither would Mercy.”
“No. But Mercy prefers the countryside, besides. Mother is perfectly capable of guiding you through the Season on her own. You will not suffer for our absence, I promise you. It is your decision.”
“Oh,” she said. And then, as if the proposition he had put before her had required no more than a cursory examination, she said, “I choose you and Mercy, then.”
Thomas stilled. Cleared his throat. Tried again to impress upon her the severity of such a decision. “Juliet, this matter should not be taken lightly. Do consider—”
“I have,” she said, with a serenity and unflinching resolve well beyond her years. “Thomas, marriage is still years away for me. What could ever make you think that I would choose some nameless, faceless gentleman I do not yet know over you and Mercy, whom I do? When I am ready to marry, I intend to choose someone I will love. I could never love someone who would snub either of you.”
Hell. Thomas swiped one hand across his face and blinked back the odd burn of grateful tears that stung his eyes. “Juliet,”he said gruffly, his voice gone hoarse and tight—not with the advent of a stammer, but rather with a surfeit of unexpected emotion, “At times like these, I think you might be the best of all of us.” Certainly the kindest. Perhaps even the wisest.
A canny glint came into Juliet’s eyes. “Of course, once Mercy is my sister-in-law, I’ll be permitted to take a ride in her hot air balloon—”
Thomas gave a snort. “Absolutely not.”
“Oh, but Thomas—”
“Not until I have ascertained that it is sufficiently safe, at least,” he amended. And then he heaved a sigh, some terrible knot of tension in his chest beginning to untangle itself at last. “Thank you,” he said. “All of you.”
But he realized he hadn’thadto thank them. Mercy had always been their family, too.
∞∞∞
“No,” Charity said as she idly flipped through the pages of a newspaper, her voice pitched to an irritating sing-song inflection.
Mercy ground her teeth together, struggling to rein in her inconvenient bout of temper enough to keep a civil tongue in her head. “I was not asking,” she said. “I was, in fact,tellingyou that I would be leaving immediately.”
“And I am telling you,” Charity said, evincing no reaction other than the minutest arch of an elegant brow, “that to do so would be so ill-advised, so foolish, that I will not allow it. One does not avoid one scandal by starting another. And besides, I have had a letter from your baron, and he has instructed me tokeep you here.”
“Instructed!” Mercy huffed, in tones of increasing fury. “Instructed! By whose authority does he instruct you, then?”
“Do you know,” Charity said, turning a reflective glance toward the ceiling. “I rather think he believes it to be his own. But in fact it is mine.” Another flick of the page. “Give it up, dearest. I do agree with him, in point of fact. The sun is only now beginning to set. You cannot be seen to be wandering Cheapside unaccompanied at such an hour. Most especially not leaving my home. You would be…” She paused, pursed her lips in consideration. “Whatever it is that is worse than ruined.”
Mercy flounced down upon the couch in a dramatic snit. “You are the most disloyal of sisters,” she accused.
“And how would you know?” Charity inquired tartly. “We’ve been sisters for all of half a year!”
“We’ve been sisters my entire life and most of yours, you miserable shrew!”
“Shrew!” Charity cast aside the paper, which landed with a sharpthwackupon the table beside her elbow. “Say that again. I’ve won a fair few scraps in my time; I’ll not pull my punches on account of shared blood.”
Mercy’s mouth dropped open in shock. “Why, you vicious little—” A snort disrupted her diatribe, and she attempted to smother it with her fingers. And she might have succeeded, if not for the chuckle that followed swiftly upon its heels. But another followed that, and then she was laughing in earnest.
With a caustic sound, Charity snatched her newspaper up from the table once more. “What could possibly be so amusing?” she inquired.
