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“As much as I wish to spend time with you, I cannot leave Bellamy and Arabelle.” Mercy hurriedly explained the reason they were in London to begin with. “I feel responsible for them.”

“Lady Amhurst.” Ronan placed his arm about Mercy’s waist. “Just today, Mercy agreed to be my wife.”

Adelhied was silent for several extended seconds, her attention flitting back and forth between Ronan and Mercy. Her expression softened. “I see. Well, then we’ll just make other arrangements.”

“Thank you for understanding,” Mercy said as they walked together toward the door.

“Of course, darling. We will take things slowly.” She kissed Mercy on the cheek. “I’m just so grateful to have found you. Your brothers will be overjoyed as well.”

“Brothers?” Mercy had brothers?

“Did I forget to mention them? How could I have done?” Adelhied puzzled her brow as Sturges assisted her into her emerald redingote, then handed her the matching bonnet. “Yes, well. There are three, you see. Walter is two-and-twenty, Ronald is twenty, and Godwin is nineteen. They shall adore you, Mercy.”

Ronan chuckled behind them. “Mercy, in short order, you will have acquired five brothers and two sisters.”

After bidding her mother farewell with a kiss to her cheek, Mercy and Ronan made their way to the nursery. Exhausted from their all-day outing, Arabelle and Bellamy were nearly asleep. A simple kiss upon the forehead followed by “Sweet dreams” sufficed tonight.

A lightness Mercy hadn’t ever recalled feeling before engulfed her.

As she stood outside her chamber door, she smiled up into Ronan’s face.

He braced one hand upon the door frame and leaned down to sweep his lips across hers.

“I’d prefer a short betrothal if you are of the same mind, my darling.”

Standing on her toes, she wrapped her arms around his neck. In an instant, he pulled her tight against him and nuzzled her neck.

The slight bristles of his beard tickled and abraded at the same time.

“I believe,” she said, “a short betrothal is an excellent idea indeed.”

Balderbrook’s Institution for Genteel Ladies has hired a new music and dance instructor.

Mr. Terramier comes three days a week, and I must tell you, it is not a good thing.

Mr. Terramier is Viscount Woolbury’s rapscallion grandson, and he has brought

disfavor upon the school with his rebellious antics. I honestly believe he only took to

teaching to spite his grandfather. The viscount has threatened to have the school closed.

~ Miss Chasity Noble in a letter to Miss Purity Mayfield

Kelvingrove Park

Bristol, England

August 1818

Late afternoon

Ronan leaned a shoulder against an oak, waiting for Corinna to hit her ball through the wicket. The orange ball went flying, smacking into Walter Tyndal, Earl of Amhurst’s, black ball, sending it pelting down the hillside. It stopped just short of the lake. Well, more of a large pond currently occupied by a half dozen ducks.

Benjamin released a long whistle and saluted Corinna. “Outstanding shot.”

Mercy, Isadora, and Miss Knighton clapped in delight.

“Well done, Corinna,” Mercy called, grinning.