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“Is that them?” Miss Knighton asked, pointing her attention toward the trio now oohing and aahing over a child-size brisé fan.

“It is,” he answered shortly.

“They are positively adorable,” Cathryn said. “Jenine will arrive in a fortnight. We shall have to have them to tea. I’m sure they’d get along famously with Bridgette and Matilda.” She pulled a face. “Not the boys, though. Robert and Edward are simply little terrors. Exact replicas of Henry at that age.”

Henry Knighton, now the Earl of Towler, had attended university with Ronan. He’d been two years ahead and had married Jenine shortly thereafter.

Mercy set the bolt atop the nearby table and made to slip past them. “Please excuse me. I really shouldn’t leave Lady Marissa to mind the girls for long.”

That drew everyone's attention to her.

“Forgive me, Miss Feathers,” Corinna apologized. “Cathryn, this is Miss Mercy Feathers, the girls’ governess. Miss Feathers, Lady Cathryn Knighton, sister to the Earl of Towler.”

Mercy dipped a shallow curtsy. “My lady.”

“Good heavens!” Miss Knighton gasped, her eyes widening comically. “How is it possible?”

She slid Corinna a dumbfounded look.

“Not now, Cathryn,” Corinna chided, dragging her friend away.

“But…” Miss Knighton protested, still gaping at Mercy’s pale-as-milk face.

“Shh.” Corinna shushed her, still towing her by the elbow. “It’s uncanny. I know.”

She stopped a few feet away and whispered furiously to her friend, who nodded, though her rapt attention continued to slide to Mercy every few seconds.

Mercy turned her confused gaze to Ronan.

“I don’t know,” he said honestly.

And he didn’t.

Nevertheless, he meant to get to the bottom of whatever this was. His mother had been remarkably closed mouth about Corinna’s outburst two weeks ago. He’d approached her regarding the matter thrice, and she’d neatly turned the conversation to avoid answering him.

Now Miss Knighton acted as if she’d seen a ghost.

Good God.

What if others reacted in the same manner?

Had others responded the same way?

Ronan had absolutely no idea how many outings Mercy had accompanied his mother on or if she’d been introduced to any callers.

Even as the thought entered his mind, his stepmother, looking somewhat piqued, emerged from behind the draperies, Mademoiselle tutting comfortingly behind her.

“Zee headache has afflicted Madame,” she offered in an imperfect French accent.

Mademoiselle De la Cour was as French as Ronan was Arabian, or the Prince Regent was a Corinthian or monogamous.

“Ronan, I fear I’ve developed the most dreadful megrim,” Mother said apologetically, the pinched look around her eyes and mouth revealing how much she suffered. “An outing to Gunter’s is out of the question.” Praise God. “And I even thought to use the landau so we might enjoy the weather,” she lamented.

“My lady, I would be happy to offer the use of my carriage,” Miss Knighton offered with genuine concern. “That way, you will be spared the sun’s glare, and Lord Ronan may take his charges for their promised ices.”

Evidently, upon seeing Mother, Corinna had deemed it safe to return with her not-so-subtle friend. By that time, Marissa and the girls had also joined them, and the discussion Miss Knighton had been so eager to initiate must wait.

“We’re not going to have ices?” Arabelle asked, her disappointment tangible.