A castle could be seen from the shore, and Clio set out for it with Triton stomping morosely behind. The first land man they met apparently thought that Clio would make a good wife, but Triton changed his mind by punching him in the stomach. He had to dissuade four other potential suitors before they made the castle, but then they had a bit of luck: the prince was on his horse in front of the castle gates.…
—From The Curious Mermaid
Late the next morning Mary took a deep breath and reaffirmed her determination not only to learn to dance but also to refrain from doing bodily harm to Mr. Pierre Lafitte, the dancing master.
“Again!” Mr. Lafitte cried in a horrible French accent that Mary was beginning to have grave doubts about. He slammed the long cane he used to keep time on the floor.
Mr. Lafitte’s assistant, an elderly man with a full-bottomed white wig, started awake at his place at the harpsichord and hastily began playing.
Lord Blackwell, her unfortunate practice dance partner, bowed, a small smile playing about his mouth.
The mouth she’d dreamed about last night. In her dreams he’d kissed her again, and it had been every bit as exciting as the kiss in the garden.
Would a second kiss in reality live up to that first one?
She curtsied, trying to will down her embarrassment. It was simply excruciating learning to dance in front of her fiancé. She felt a clumsy fool.
“Lower!” snapped Mr. Lafitte. He was a short little man with an extravagantly curled white wig, and he held himself as importantly as a king.
Mary felt heat climb her cheeks at the reprimand, but she obediently sank lower.
Lord Blackwell held out his hand, and Mary placed her fingers in his palm as they slowly paced around each other.
“Buck up,” he whispered. “You’re already a better dancer than half of the ladies I escort onto the dance floor.”
Mary gave him a small smile even as Mr. Lafitte called out more instructions.
“There you are,” he whispered as they stood side by side, arms raised, hands linked, and carefully paced forward. “The gentlemen will be lining up to dance with you. I shall be overcome by jealousy and have to call them all out.”
She sent him a chiding glance as they separated and paced back down the room, an invisible line of dancers between them. When they met again, she murmured, “Don’t be ridiculous.”
He cocked his head at her as they moved through the steps of the dance. “It’s hardly ridiculous to defend your honor from the men who will want you.” He looked more somber as they paced around each other. “And there will be men who want you.”
“Do you?” she asked before she could think better of it. “Want me?”
“Oh yes.” His gaze was entirely serious now, and something seemed to burn behind his blue eyes. “I think of you at night when I’m in bed and I wish you were there so I could—”
“Enough!” Mr. Lafitte cried suddenly, making his assistant strike a discordant note. “We will attempt the dance once more, this time without discussion.”
Mary wanted to cry at the interruption. What had Lord Blackwell been about to say?
Mr. Lafitte lifted his stick again, presumably to slam it back to the floor, but before he could, the viscount spoke.
“I’m terribly sorry to bring the lesson to an end,” he said, not sounding sorry at all, “but I think it time I take my fiancée on a turn about Hyde Park.”
Mary shot a smile at him in relief.
Mr. Lafitte scowled. “Lady Cecilia’s dancing will suffer, I think, if you do this, my lord.”
“Nonetheless.” Lord Blackwell addressed Mary as he bowed over her hand. “Even the most dedicated of dancers must refresh themselves now and again.”
“A-hem.” The marchioness cleared her throat from the doorway. “What’s this?”
“My lady.” Lord Blackwell bowed to the elderly lady. “I’m about to take Lady Cecilia for a ride around the park.”
“The gel needs her lessons,” the marchioness said, scowling.
“Of course,” the viscount replied smoothly. “And she also needs to be seen in my company so that society knows that I’m pleased with this match. A jaunt in the park does just that.”
Mary held her breath, glancing between Lord Blackwell and the marchioness.
The old lady nodded abruptly. “I’m glad to see that you’re not just a pretty face, my lord. Take my granddaughter out to be seen, then. I shall send for her maid to accompany you.”
Lord Blackwell grinned. “I thank you most kindly, my lady.”
He led Mary past the marchioness, who humphed as they went by.
“Thank you,” Mary said as they made the outer hall and she was sure they were no longer in the marchioness’s hearing. “I think my head must be spinning from all that pacing around and around.”
“You mean you didn’t enjoy dancing with me?” the viscount asked as he led her downstairs. He made a comically scandalized face.
Mary bit back a smile. The thing was, she had enjoyed being with him, if not the dancing itself. Strange to think that only days ago she’d judged this man by his handsome face.
She shook her head, musing. “It seems quite silly that dancing is so important to be a lady.”
“Is it?” he asked as they made the lower floor. “I think my sisters enjoy dancing—though perhaps mostly as an opportunity to flirt with gentlemen.”
Mary looked at him curiously. “You haven’t told me very much about your sisters.”
“Good Lord, I haven’t?” he said. “Let me rectify my lapse at once. I have two sisters, both younger: Kate and Becca. You’ll meet them when you come for tea, along with my mother and father.”
“Oh,” she said, rather daunted.
He seemed to sense her distress, for he tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. “But you needn’t worry about sisters and meeting new people right now. I aim to spirit you away to enjoy the rest of the day, and that’s what I’m going to do. You need only sit and compliment me on my skillful driving.”
“But what if it isn’t?” she asked with grave interest.
It was his turn to arch an eyebrow. “Believe me, sweetheart, that won’t be a problem. I’m quite experienced in handling spirited mares.”
“Indeed?” She fought to keep from laughing. “I do hope that wasn’t a rather clumsy double entendre.”
“Clumsy?” He winced comically. “No, no, not at all.”
Mary was giggling softly when they made the entry hall. Lane was waiting for them, a shawl over her shoulders and a bonnet on her head.
Of course. Mary was a lady now and couldn’t venture out alone with a man. Which was rather ironic, she reflected as she donned her own bonnet with Lane’s help. She’d spent all her life walking the streets of London alone with no one caring. She’d been only a maidservant, after all. But now suddenly all proprieties must be observed.
“Shall we?” Lord Blackwell held open the door. “I’ve a new team of horses and I’m inordinately proud of them, I’m afraid.”
It was a sunny autumn day. She inhaled the slightly brisk air and turned to smile at him as he helped her into his open carriage. They sat side by side in front, and Lane sat behind, facing backward.
“I think it’s your turn now to ask a question,” Mary said as he chirruped to the horses. The animals were very beautiful—a perfectly matched bay pair.
The reins were threaded through his gloved fingers, and he did handle the two horses very well.
“Hmm.” He kept his eyes on the horses as he spoke. “Well, then, did you have a pet as a girl?”
“A lapdog, d’you mean?” she asked, amused.
He cast a swift glance at her. “Yes.”
“No.” She shook her head and said gently, “I grew up in an orphanage, remember. We didn’t have our own pets. There was a cat who lived there and caught the mice—his name was Soot. Just before I left the home a young girl came who had a little white dog that was her companion. The dog’s name was Dodo. An exception was made for her, but Dodo wasn’t mine. And of course I wasn’t allowed a pet as a maidservant.”
He nodded, his brows drawn together. “I should’ve realized.”
She glanced at him. “Why? You’ve never been a servant.”
“But they’re all around me—us. It’s not as if I haven’t had cause to see what a maidservant’s life is like.”
“Maybe you didn’t look,” she said. “Most don’t, I think—not only the aristocracy, but servants and shopkeepers and all manner of people as well. We don’t think about how it is that others live. Perhaps it’s the nature of humans.”
“You may be right,” he replied gravely, “but that doesn’t mean that I shouldn’t strive for something better.”
She looked at him, at his near-perfect profile and his competent, strong hands. “If you do, then you’ll be unlike most people.”
He merely smiled at her, his lips sensuously curved, and she felt warmth invade her chest at his look. She was conscious suddenly of how close they sat. His arm brushed against hers when he moved, and as the carriage turned a corner she gently rocked against his shoulder.
She inhaled. “And you? Did you have a pet as a child?”
“Yes, several,” he replied. “Dogs and cats. Now I’ve got two hounds—Mole and Timberline.”
“Mole?”
“His ears are very soft,” he said a tad defensively.
“Oh.” She fought not to laugh. “I should like to meet them both.”
“And you shall,” he said.
“Good.” She inhaled. “And now I think it’s my turn for a question. Did you ever kiss my sister?”
Henry wanted to look at Mary at her question, but the London street had become crowded, and he dared not glance away from their course.
He frowned. He could lie, but that wouldn’t be the best way to start a marriage.
Besides, he didn’t want to lie to her.
“Yes, I kissed Lady Joanna,” he said.
There was a short silence from her, and he fought not to fill it with excuses: He’d been engaged to be married to Lady Joanna for over two decades. It was ridiculous to never even test what it would be like to embrace his future wife.
But in the end he simply said, “It wasn’t the same as when I kissed you.”
She knit her brow at that. “What do you mean?”
“I’m quite fond of Lady Joanna,” he said slowly. “I grew up with her, after all. But my regard for her is brotherly. When I kissed her I felt the same as if I’d kissed Becca or Kate: affectionate. Not passionate.”
Out of the corner of his eye he could see her clench her hands together in her lap. “And that’s not what you feel for me?”
“No.” He shook his head. “What I feel for you is very far from brotherly.”
He could’ve gone on to tell her that he wanted to kiss her again. To take her mouth with his and feel her heat rise. To find out if her breasts were as lush as they looked under her stays. To dip his head to her neck and inhale her scent until it seeped into his bones, a memory never to be forgotten.
But her lady’s maid rode just behind them in the carriage. The maid was probably discreet, but when he told Mary all those things, he wanted to be alone with her with no one to overhear.
So he cleared his throat instead. “And have you kissed any other man but me?”
“No,” she said. “But a few have tried to kiss me.”
If the road hadn’t been so crowded, he’d have whipped his head around to stare at her.
“A…few.” His fingers tightened on the reins. “How many is a few?”
Her voice sounded amused when she answered, “Well, Mr. Makepeace kissed me on the cheek when I left the home, but I don’t think that’s exactly what you mean.”
He began to relax.
“And when I was sixteen the fishmonger’s boy tried to corner me by the back door.”
That made him stiffen.
“Actually he tried again on two more occasions,” she said thoughtfully—and to his growing alarm. “But then he quit coming around. When I was nineteen there was a very brash footman. Tall and blond and with green eyes. His name was Sam and he used to give me posies and hair ribbons, though I didn’t encourage him. I think he would’ve courted me as well, but I’m afraid I found him rather…simple.” She sounded apologetic. “I couldn’t bear the thought of marrying a man who had never read a book and looked at me in awe when I asked him his views on the prime minister.” She sighed. “He eventually married one of the scullery maids and went to another situation where he could be the butler. I never regretted turning him away.”
He glanced at her quickly as a belated thought occurred. “Then you weren’t walking out with any man when I found you at Adams and Sons?”
“Would it matter?”
“Yes, it would,” he said as they turned into Hyde Park. “I shouldn’t like the thought that I’d taken you from a man you were interested in.”
“And yet you would anyway?” she asked quietly.
He frowned. “The marriage contract says I must marry you whatever your feelings.”
“What about your feelings?” she asked intently. “What would you feel if you’d known I was walking out with a footman or butcher’s boy?”
“I’d take you as wife in any case,” he said flatly, hoping his blunt answer didn’t horrify her. “I wouldn’t like causing you sorrow, but I wouldn’t revoke my claim to you—even if you’d had a prior romance.”
“I see,” she murmured, and for the life of him he couldn’t tell what she thought.
He turned the horses toward Rotten Row, passing under the canopy of several mature oak trees.
“Have you—?” he had begun when a bang! exploded nearby.
Henry just had time to think gunshot, and then his team bolted.
“Hold on!” Henry grappled with the reins, the leather sawing into his gloved fingers as he struggled to keep hold of them. If he lost the reins he’d never get the horses back under control.
The right mare swerved, taking them off the packed earth track and into the grass. The left carriage wheels hit something, and the whole contraption tipped to the right. For a moment Henry thought it was all over.
Then the carriage righted itself with a jolt. They were headed straight toward one of the new ornamental ponds.
Henry pulled on the reins, carefully and with constant pressure, urging the horses to run to the right of the pond.
The pond flashed by. The horses slowed.
Henry brought them to a shuddering halt.
He set the brake on the carriage and tied off the reins before turning to Mary. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.” Her eyes were wide, and she still clutched the carriage side and seat, but she was remarkably composed.
A gentleman on horseback came cantering over, followed by another. The first man, who was wearing riding boots and a red jacket, leaned over and caught the bridle of Henry’s right horse. “I say, that was quite a trip you took there. Everyone satisfactory?”
“I think so, thank you, sir,” Henry replied. “Mr. Coplin, isn’t it?”
“Indeed, my lord,” Coplin replied.
“My lady.” The lady’s maid’s voice was shaking.
Henry turned to reassure the girl and saw that her left arm was soaked in blood.
“Lane!” Mary scrambled to her knees on the carriage seat. She pulled off the fichu she had around her neck and pressed the flimsy cloth to the maid’s arm.
Lane sucked in her breath, her face white.
“Good Lord.” The gentleman behind Coplin—Henry thought his name was Berkley—nudged his horse around back of the carriage and leaned over to look at Lane. He frowned. “Girl’s been shot.”
“What bloody fool shot a gun in Hyde Park?” Coplin’s voice was outraged. “Could’ve hit either you or the lady, Blackwell. Your maid’s lucky the shot didn’t hit her head or heart.”
Henry fought to keep his face neutral as he passed his handkerchief back to Berkley. “Indeed, sir, I concur.”
Berkley tied the handkerchief around the maid’s arm, making Lane moan in pain.
“Thank you,” Henry said to the man before turning to Coplin. “Thank you both.”
Coplin shook his head. “I’m only sorry we had to help you, Blackwell.” He bowed and tipped his hat to Mary. “Glad the lady is unhurt.”
Henry nodded to the gentlemen. “Indeed. I thank you again, and now I’ll be off. I need to bring Lane and my lady home and call the doctor for the poor girl.”
He clucked to his horses, tired now from their mad gallop, and turned toward the road leading out of Hyde Park.
He kept watch as he did so, though.
One near miss with a gunshot was plausible.
Two suggested an assassination attempt.
Someone was trying to kill his Mary.