Mercy’s mouth dried. “You don’t care for writers?” she blurted, forgetting her intention for a subtle approach.
He widened his eyes at the force behind her question. “I do. That is, the best of them, Shakespeare, Byron, Tennyson, for example.” He spun her around and recited in his deep voice:
Below the thunders of the upper deep,
Far, far beneath in the abysmal sea,
His ancient, dreamless, uninvaded sleep
The Kraken sleepeth faintest sunlights flee
About his shadowy sides…”
Breathless, Mercy was pleased to have kept her feet on the floor. It wouldn’t do to be pronounced fast at her first ball.
The shadow that had darkened his eyes, faded, and he appealed to her with a sudden, charming smile that drew her gaze to his white teeth and sculptured lips. “But heaven preserve us, London is crammed with poets and novelists who should never put pen to paper.”
Initially charmed by the resonance of his deep voice, she took herself to task. He was belittling everyone’s right to freely express themselves. And he dismissed a women’s role as little more than being an adjunct to men.
“Jane Austen’s novels are extremely well written,” she said having read them all twice. “She was a favorite of King George.”
“I have not read them, but I stand corrected.”
She wished his smile wasn’t quite so appealing. Before she could challenge him further, the music slowed. When the dance ended, he smiled down at her as he escorted her from the floor. “An interesting topic. I trust we can discuss this at another time.”
Still smarting from his disdain, she had little desire to do so. “I wouldn’t wish to bore you, my lord.”
“I doubt you could.” He bestowed another of his charming grins as he led her back to her mother.
Mercy resisted returning his smile. She still bridled at his arrogant dismissal of untried poets. One must begin somewhere after all.
Moments later, Charity came to join her. “Are you enjoying your first ball? Is it everything you hoped for?”
“It is…” Mercy glanced around to see where Northcliffe had gone.
Charity’s gray-blue eyes studied her. “But?”
“Lord Northcliffe just partnered me for the waltz.”
“Surely he didn’t upset you?”
“Not exactly, but he was disparaging.”
Charity glared into the throng. “What did he say?”
“He was scathing about new writers and poets.”
Her sister shook her head with a slight smile. “Then you must not dance with him again.”
“I very much doubt he’ll ask me. Anyway, he would not be a supportive husband. Not like your dear Robin.”
“I have every hope you’ll meet a wonderful man like Robin, but don’t be in too much of a hurry, dearest. The Season has just begun.”
Mercy frowned and fiddled with her fan. “Northcliffe must think me young.”
Charity laughed. “Well you’re not exactly in your dotage, are you?”
“I wished to appear sophisticated, like…some ladies here.” Mercy chewed her lip thinking of the lady who’d gone out on the terrace with Lord Northcliffe.
