Understanding Mercy Read online

  She let out a soft groan of mortification. He’d caught her staring at him. How humiliating. She considered looking away, pretending she hadn’t seen him. But that would look pathetic. So she squared her shoulders and gave him a confident smile, even though she felt anything but certainty.

  The corners of his lips curved into a slow smile, and she felt her pulse begin to race until she could hear it pounding in her ears. They continued to stare at one another, neither able to look away.

  What was wrong with her that she would let such a horrible man have this type of effect on her? She was practically engaged to someone else. She really was immoral. Noah would be so ashamed. Forcing herself to look away, she glanced at Able.

  “Mercy, do you know Mr. Berkeley?” Able asked, with curious eyes.

  “We met a couple times,” she offered casually. But she could tell Able thought there was something more to the story. “Just twice,” she added. “Briefly.”

  George Washington and the Marquis de Lafayette stood in deep conversation in the corner. Both glanced over and saw Mr. Berkeley standing in the doorway. They walked toward him with welcoming smiles.

  After watching the three men exchange greetings, Able leaned over and whispered, “I have heard about Mr. Berkeley.”

  “What have you heard?”

  He started to say something but paused. “Oh, I had better not say yet.” He took a sip of lemonade and then asked, “Mercy, have you ever heard of the Philadelphia Abolition Society?”

  “No. What is it?”

  “They are a group of concerned citizens doing what they can to make slavery illegal. They have been around for about nine years. I just got back from New York where they are forming their own Abolitionist Society. Massachusetts is the forerunner of abolition. Did you hear ours was the first state to end slavery with a judicial decree last year?”

  “Yes, I knew that. My parents rejoiced.”

  “Yes, many rejoiced.” He leaned in a bit and said, “I would like to invite you to our first meeting tomorrow. Someone heard I wanted to get these meetings started and just sent me a large sum of money. This was the push I needed.”

  “How wonderful. Who was it?”

  “The donor was anonymous, but I think I know who he is. Anyway, I understand this is last minute, but I would really like you to be a part of our society, and I would like you to start tomorrow if you can.”

  A look of concern covered her face. “Are you sure females are invited?”

  “Yes, I don’t think we should discriminate against people for race or gender. You are smart, kind and helpful, and I think you would be a wonderful addition. Also, if word gets out that you are a part of our society young men from all over Boston will race to join!”

  With a giggle she asked, “So you want to use me as encouragement?”

  “Something like that. I’m a devious man.”

  She giggled again. “You are hardly a devious man since a devious man would not be so upfront about his true intentions. If my father will let me come to your meetings, then I will be there. I think it’s horrible to treat people differently because the color of their skin is darker. Just horrible.”

  Before Able could answer her, a few of his friends joined them. After introductions, they flattered Mercy endlessly. She tried to pay attention, but her eyes wandered around the room until they landed on Mr. Berkeley again.

  Mr. Berkeley talked lively with his two important friends. Governor Hancock joined them. All three men laughed heartily after Mr. Berkeley said something.

  Some men joined them and pulled the Governor away. More approached, pulling Mr. Berkeley’s companions away and leaving him alone. After leaning his hip against the wall for a moment, he pushed off and walked to the refreshment table.

  Mercy noticed men watched Mr. Berkeley with a wary admiration while women gazed at him in utter fascination. As if he was an exotic and dangerous jungle cat meant to be admired from a distance.

  Cordelia stared at him in open admiration. She walked over and tried the smiling-over-the-fan trick which had worked so well for Priscilla on Luke Ainsworth. Mr. Berkeley gave her a polite smile and nod, then looked away and kept walking.

  Cordelia’s mouth pinched, anger evident on her face as she retreated to her mother’s side. Momentarily, the two bustled over to Mercy’s side.

  Mrs. Turner leaned over and whispered in a condescending tone, “The nerve of that Mr. Berkeley coming here to this ball. I wonder how he managed to get invited.”

  Mercy replied, “I think he is good friends with the Governor.”

  “Bah. Good friends. I cannot imagine the governor being friends with him. I heard Mr. Berkeley refer to General George Washington as Washington and Governor Hancock as simply Hancock. The man is truly presumptuous to take such liberties. But arrogant men usually are.”

  “But those men didn’t seem to mind,” Mercy countered. “They appear to truly like Mr. Berkeley.”

  Cordelia’s mother continued, apparently unmoved by Mercy’s comment. “Can you believe he isn’t wearing a wig?”

  “No, but he did powder his hair. And George Washington isn’t wearing a wig either.”

  Cordelia sniffed. “The man is so arrogant. He hasn’t even asked anyone here to dance. You can tell he thinks he is too good for all the ladies here.”

  Mercy felt the need to defend. “Well, he just got here. And actually, Mr. Berkeley isn’t dancing because he does not know how. He has been too busy to learn. But he said he’d like to learn someday.”

  Cordelia’s mother glared at her. “And how do you know that?”

  “He told me.”

  The woman’s mouth opened wide in astonishment. “You spoke with the man?”

  With a sneer, Cordelia added, “Yes, and she allowed him to stroke her wrist. For quite awhile I might add. Apparently, he fancies her.”

  Mercy saw Mrs. Turner’s eyes darken. For all her constant insults against Mr. Berkeley, Mercy knew the woman would change her tune if the man showed Cordelia even an ounce of attention. Mrs. Turner was mad for money, and Mr. Berkeley had plenty of it, even if it was new money. But new was better than none.

  Mrs. Turner’s pretty face pinched tight. “You know better than to allow a man to touch you.”

  If the woman thought Mr. Berkeley touching Mercy’s wrist was bad, what would she think of the way she let Ian hold and kiss her? The haughty woman would faint dead away.

  Mercy wondered what Mrs. Turner would think if she knew her husband had carried on with a slave while she was pregnant? She’d not hold her head quite so high looking down her nose at everyone else.

  Mrs. Turner asked louder, “Did you hear me?”

  Mercy nodded. “Oh, yes, I heard you. I know.” The room had become still and oppressive. She needed some air. “Excuse me.” She walked to an open window and closed her eyes while breathing in the honeysuckle scented air.

  She sensed someone near and instinctively knew who it was. When Mercy lifted her gaze to meet Mr. Berkeley’s icy blue eyes, she again felt her heart racing in his presence as it always did—like a timid little rabbit in the presence of a dangerous wolf. The other women in the room might think him an exotic jungle cat, but she knew he was just a common wolf.

  His deep, voice held amusement as he said, “The open window seemed a good idea, so I decided to copy you. I can hardly breathe.”

  She nodded and tried to think of what to say.

  Before she spoke, he added, “The honeysuckle smells wonderful. Of all the floral scents, I think I like honeysuckle the best. Well, maybe after roses.”

  “Roses and honeysuckle are my favorite scents too.”

  He gazed at her with his penetrating eyes.

  She mumbled nervously, “Anyone who likes roses and honeysuckle is all right in my book.” She gave him an appreciative, but shaky smile.

  He lifted a dark eyebrow. “You have a book? I think I should like to read it, since I’m sure it’s fascinating. Do you know where I can get a cop
y?” He chuckled. “I thought you didn’t like me, and I wracked my brain trying to think of a way I could redeem myself in your opinion. Now I find all I had to do was like the scent of two particular flowers. I’m glad I’m all right in this book of yours.” He reached out the window and snapped off a sprig of honeysuckle and handed it to her with a slight smile.

  She mumbled, “Thank-you,” while trying to avoid his gaze. Being around him made her head feel fuzzy. Why did this dangerous wolf always have to be so kind? It confused her. People were much easier when you could compartmentalize them into good and bad. But which was he? She’d made up her mind that he was bad, but maybe she was wrong. Attempting polite conversation, she asked, “Are you having a nice time?”

  “I would rate it barely above the time I had a knife wound sewn up. A nasty knife wound.”

  “What?” She stared. “Why would you say that?”

  His broad shoulders heaved with a silent sigh. “Miss Creed, we both know I don’t fit in here. I feel ridiculous in this costume. I can tell everyone is gossiping about me and wondering why I am here. I’m surprised someone hasn’t come and whisked you away from me yet. Truly, I just want to go home, but I don’t want to offend Hancock. He absolutely insisted I come tonight.”

  “You shouldn’t worry what other people think.”

  “That’s easy for you to say. Everyone likes you.” He shrugged.

  “People like you, too. I could tell both George Washington and the Marquis de Lafayette truly consider you a friend. Their faces lit up when you walked in the room, and it’s obvious they find you amusing with the way you had them laughing.”

  His lips curved in a slow smile which flustered her.

  She asked with hesitation, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “I suppose I’m flattered you were watching me. And before you knew I liked honeysuckle and roses.”

  She quickly turned away in embarrassment and looked down at the toe of her shoe as she traced a few slow circles on the ground.

  He chuckled softly as he leaned closer and whispered, “Don’t turn away. I like it when you blush. Your pretty cheeks get even prettier.”

  She didn’t want to sound prudish, but she felt the need to reprimand him. Looking up, she scolded softly, “Mr. Berkeley, you shouldn’t say such things.”

  He gave her a reluctant nod. “You’re right. I probably shouldn’t. Does that mean I’ve been demoted from all right to scoundrel in your book?”

  She stifled a smile. “You are incorrigible.”

  “Thank you. I’d rather be incorrigible than dull.”

  “You, Mr. Berkeley, could never be dull.”

  “Well, you, Miss Creed, could never be dull either, and I mean that as a compliment—in my book.” With a boyish grin, he added, “I’ve decided to start a book too, since it seems to be the thing to do.” He glanced around the room uneasily. “I suppose I should leave before people start talking about us and your reputation is ruined. But before I leave, I want to tell you that you look beautiful tonight. The dress is stunning. The prettiest in the room.”

  Without thinking, she replied quickly, “You too. You look stunning too. Your suit is amazing.”

  With a twinkle in his eye, he said, “Hmm. Stunning? I suppose that is a step up from all right .” He gave her a nod and muttered, “Good night, Miss Creed.” And as swift as he’d appeared, he was gone.

  Mercy didn’t talk to him again the rest of the evening. He spent quite a bit of time laughing and talking with Luke Ainsworth and Priscilla. Mercy tried not to feel left out. She danced almost every dance and did her absolute best to keep occupied.

  Later that night, she fell into her comfortable feather bed, thoroughly exhausted from all the dancing, smiling, talking, and the horribly difficult task of trying not to stare at Mr. Berkeley.

  She hated her fascination of him, and needed to stay away from his magnetic looks and personality.

  The scent of honeysuckle drifted in the window. Mercy smothered her face in her pillow with a groan. Now she’d not be able to smell honeysuckle without thinking of him. Incorrigible man.

  Understanding Mercy

  Understanding Mercy

  Chapter Five

  An annoying bee buzzed around Mercy’s head as she clipped off some fragrant red roses to bring into the house. After last night’s ball she still felt a little jumpy for some reason. The irritating bee buzzed around her face and seemed determined to be a nuisance. “Go away, you pest,” she muttered as she swatted at the air.

  A laughing voice called out, “I hope you aren’t talking to me. Last night I was considered stunning. I’d hate to think I’ve fallen to the level of pest so quickly.”

  She glanced up at Mr. Berkeley and reluctantly laughed, wishing he wasn’t so funny. “A bee won’t leave me alone.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  “You’re glad to hear a bee won’t leave me alone?”

  “I’m glad to hear I’m not the one being called a pest. Imagine my relief.”

  She laughed again. “What are you doing here?”

  “Just walking by. I’m your new neighbor now. I live a few houses up the street.”

  Oh, great. How could she avoid the man now? Attempting polite conversation, she asked, “Where are you going?”

  “To my office for a bit, then I have a meeting.”

  “Why are you walking? Where is your horse?”

  “Lancelot? The black one?”

  “You have more than one?”

  “I have a few. I bought a new mare. Lancelot is sweet on her, so I hate to take him away from her. Therefore, I decided to walk.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yes. I’m hoping for a baby horse, so the more time Lancelot and Lily spend together, the greater that outcome might be. I think she is falling for him, so his chances of being a father look pretty good. He is quite charming. Poor girl doesn’t stand a chance.”

  She laughed again. She didn’t want to, but she couldn’t help it. “Is she a thoroughbred too?”

  “No, actually she is one of George Washington’s famous white Arabians. I’m not surprised Lancelot is besotted with her. She is absolutely…stunning.”

  She knew he wanted to tease her so she deftly changed the subject. “How do you like your new home?”

  “It’s nice. But I should hire you as a gardener. I heard you’re the one responsible for this garden that is the pride of the neighborhood.”

  “I enjoy gardening. I think it is quite rewarding to take a simple patch of dirt and turn it into something that brings beauty and joy to the world and others. My mother says the earth laughs in flowers . I like that.”

  “I like that too. Well, your garden brings joy to me. I like getting to see the pretty flowers when I walk by.” Reaching over, he snapped off a white rose and handed it to her.

  She twirled it above her head and proclaimed, “Then I will rise aloft the milk white rose, with whose sweet smell, the air shall be perfumed.”

  He stared at her quizzically.

  She chuckled. “That’s Shakespeare. You don’t know that one?”

  “No, sorry. Missed that one.”

  “I always wished someone would give me a white rose so I could do that.”

  “Well, I’m glad I could fulfill your wish.” He winked at her and then walked over to some honeysuckle growing on an arbor. He snapped of a portion, put some in his pocket and then brought the rest to her. “Did you know the French have a sweet name for honeysuckle? Chère flamme It means ‘dear flame,’ since in France, honeysuckle is known as the flower of ardent and passionate love.”

  The sound of his velvety voice saying such words caused her to quiver, and she could feel her cheeks heating. How embarrassing. Not knowing what else to say, she asked, “You speak French?”

  “When I was growing up, many of the sailors and passengers on the Pale Moon were French. Now I trade with France, so I had to learn.”

  Holding the stem of honeysuckle u
p to her, he insisted, “Take it. I picked it for you.”

  Somehow it felt wrong taking flowers from him. She knew Ian wouldn’t like it. Slowly, she reached out and took it from him and put both the rose and the honeysuckle in her pocket. She mumbled, “Thank you, Mr. Berkeley.”

  He gave her a charming smile, as he tipped his hat. “Well, I will leave you to your gardening. Good day, Miss Creed.”

  “Good day, Mr. Berkeley,” she called.

  He turned and smiled again, then kept walking.

  She hated those appealing smiles. Despised them, in fact. His effect on her was downright maddening. She reached over to pick one last rose and let out a yelp.