Dancing the Night Away, (( mercyanne, darling ))

[Aubrey Hartwell]

Ah, it was good to have the threat of influenza past -- and just in time to welcome Captain Blackwood home from his travels! Mr. Fletcher was up and moving around, although it was certainly too early to be doing so, in the Lord's opinion, so the Hartwell family had no reason to stay home from the ball that was to be held in the Captain's honor. It had been so very long since they had had a ball in Middleton, and Aubrey found himself quite looking forward to the prospect tonight.

So, it was with a spring in his step and his typical half-smile on his lips that he escorted Cecily into the assembly room. He planned on having a sip or two of punch and then dancing with as many ladies as would have him for a partner. Being generally known and knowing generally everyone in the small country town certainly came with a price, but it was usually not as great as the benefits. His sister and brother quickly disappeared to find their respective friends and he nearly forgot about Mr. Fletcher for a few minutes. After feeling badly that he had left the man at the entrance without knowing a soul, he headed back to find him when he saw his sister do the same. Completely oblivious to their walk in the gardens of Leighton, he smiled, very pleased with himself. With his guest occupied now, he felt free to carry out his plans for the evening.

Heading to the punch table for a drink, he cast his gaze about the room to see who was in attendance. That was when he saw her – Mrs. MercyAnne Fairchild. Hart’s cornflower blue eyes lit up and he forsook his punch in order to cross the room to speak to her. She looked quite lonely and in need of a dancing partner… or at least someone to keep her company. He had last seen her at the Valentine's Day Ball at the Crown -- a time that seemed ages ago. They had not danced then, but they had shared a bit of friendly conversation. He hoped his request would not be unwanted.

Of course, him being a man, Aubrey was not entirely sensitive to a woman’s mood. What looked to him to be loneliness on the face of his friend’s widow was probably merely introspection, or even retrospection. He still did not know that little Anthony had had a bout with influenza. Had he, Lord Devoreaux would have probably thought twice about approaching her for a dance, although he still might have sought out her company, if only to talk about her son's illness. He found her quiet maturity to be quite refreshing when compared to the other young women her age.

“Ah, Mrs. Fairchild. How are you this evening?” Hart greeted her jovially with a friendly bow. He was in far too good a mood to be his usual subdued self. A round of good-natured matchmaking (first with his friend Lorry and then with his sister) could do strange things to a man. After the polite inquiries after her health and her son, he came right out and asked for a dance. “I must admit that my purpose in coming over here was quite selfish. I was wondering if I might request your hand in a few dances this evening?”

A few? Where had that come from? Oh well, the widow was quite lovely, and Aubrey was sure he would not mind dancing with her twice.

[MercyAnne Fairchild]

Mercy had decided prior to arriving that evening that she was not going to dance. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy it, and it wasn't that she wished to be rude...it was just that she was quite fatigued. She'd spent the past several weeks agonizing over her son's health, and doing her best to ensure that he recovered, and this had worn the widow out. She wouldn't have come at all, but she always found it difficult to refuse invitations, fearing those inviting her may think she was snubbing them. Indeed, she had trouble refusing anyone anything, for the most part. What she wanted least in the world was to displease others.

So she had come, but she would not dance. No, she would stay comfortably by the sidelines, content to watch the couples turning round the dance floor, and chatting with anyone who cared to speak with her. At least, that's what she'd intended to do, until she heard her name spoken and looked up, her gaze meeting Aubrey Hartwell's bright blue eyes. She couldn't help but smile. Hart was such an old friend, and was always so kind to Anthony...how could she not be glad to see him?

"Good evening, Lord Devoreaux," she greeted him with a courtsie and his formal title. "I am doing very well, thank you. I hope that you and your family are also well?" She inquired in turn. The usual civilities exchanged, Hart got to his real reason for approaching her - asking her to dance. Not just once, not even twice, but a few times. Mercy felt the fair skin of her cheeks heat up in a pleased blush, and, although she wouldn't admit it and didn't quite realize it, she felt something she hadn't felt in a long time - butterflies. All her promises to herself not to dance flew out the window. She smiled widely and shyly dropped her eyes to the ground. "Why, I would find that most pleasant, thank you, Hart."

[Aubrey Hartwell]

Aubrey was pleased when Mrs. Fairchild smiled in response to his greeting. She had such a lovely smile -- not flirtatious or bold like the smiles of other women. It was deeper, more demure and delicate... and, in Hart's opinion, much more feminine. When she returned his greeting with his formal title, his own grin softened. "Hart, if you please," he gently reminded her. Fairchild had been too close a friend to require his widow to use such formality when conversing with the Lord. Usually a stickler for such decorum, Devoreaux found his resolve yielding in the face of MercyAnne Fairchild's soft blue eyes. He could not even bring himself to ask her son to address him properly. Anthony Fairchild, who looked so much like his mother, could melt him with one "Mr. Earl," although he tried not to let the weakness show. The boy needed a firm hand, a father figure. And Aubrey intended to fill that place in the boy's life until Mrs. Fairchild remarried.

His stomach clenched a bit at the thought of Mrs. Fairchild marrying. He felt such a keen protection over her that it would be difficult to give her up when she found another man. After George Fairchild's death, he had promised himself that he would see to the widow's needs until his services were no longer needed. He had not counted on developing a friendship with both the lady and the son that would make any change in the arrangement somewhat painful. Ah, well. He did not need to think of such things at this moment. As far as he knew, Mrs. Fairchild had not met anyone who had caught her eye. In fact, she seemed very hesitant to do so. What she and Fairchild had shared had been very special.

"My family is doing well, thank you, Mrs. Fairchild." Aubrey nodded when she asked after them. "I am afraid Thomas had a small bout with influenza," his mouth curved wryly as he remembered the circumstances of his brother's sickness. After tending Mr. Fletcher for a week, Thomas had succumbed to the illness himself. Fortunately, he was a strong, healthy man, and had only suffered for a couple of days. He had contracted a very mild case, but that did not diminish the blame Thomas cast upon his elder brother for insisting that he be the one to care for Mr. Fletcher. It was all highly amusing... as was the fact that Cecily and Mr. Fletcher were now... dancing? Hart's blue eyes widened as they twirled past him, too surprised to feel justified or pleased. Finally he smiled and shook his head. Who said Lady Cecily Hartwell was the only successful matchmaker residing at Leighton Park?

Devoreaux smiled down at Mrs. Fairchild when she finally agreed to dance with him. The blush on her cheeks and the uncharacteristically wide smile on her mouth rendered her more attractive than ever. His own smile broadened when she used his nickname and he found that he quite liked the way it sounded in her soft voice. He held his hand out to her and the two entered the dance. The feel of Mrs. Fairchild in his arms momentarily distracted Aubrey from conversation; such a sensation had truly never happened to him before. He had shared many dances with many women, and even a few with the widow herself, but he had never felt this distraction or confusion. He cleared his throat suddenly, frowned slightly, and then forced his brow to smooth. It would not do to give the widow the wrong impression. Especially when that would be... quite opposite from his current feelings.

"When can we expect you and little Anthony at Leighton next?" The Lord, rarely at a loss for words, blurted the first thing that came to his mind.

[MercyAnne Fairchild]

"Hart, if you please," the Earl prodded her gently, after she had referred to him with his proper title. Mercy couldn't help but smile wider. The earl was one of the kindest persons she had ever encountered, and every time she met him he seemed to grow even kinder. Ever since George had died, he always seemed to be taking care of her and Anthony in one way or another. She was deeply grateful, and had found herself looking on him more and more not just as George's old friend, but her friend as well. Her dearest friend, at that. "Hart, then," she amended quite happily.

Well. If she had to dance with anyone, she was glad that it was he. She could not think of a single gentleman she would rather be partnered with, and felt all the honor of him asking her, when he could have asked scores of other eager young ladies. In addition to his standing as the Earl of Devoreaux and his excellent manners, he was quite handsome - she could not imagine he lacked for partners. As a matter of fact, he was probably the most handsome gentleman present, at least in her opinion. He looked nothing like George - George had had dark hair, and had been built on different lines. But there was no denying that Aubrey, with his fair hair, cornflower blue eyes, and gentle smile, was extremely handsome as well.

Not that she knew why she was comparing them in the first place. It was not as though she felt for them in the same manner after all! ...Was it?

Blinking at the very thought of it, she only half attended to his response to her inquiries about his family. In fact, it took her a moment, during which her cheeks had flushed quite noticeably pink and her face took on a look of half-alarmed confusion, to even realize he had spoken at all! "Hmm? ...Oh, oh yes...p-poor Thomas!" She stammered out, shaking her head in an attempt to clear it. Taking a breath, she composed herself before continuing. "I hope that he is well now? Anthony had quite a shocking case," she admitted, frowning anxiously at the memory. "I was quite worried about him. Now, of course, he is as well as ever, and back to his regular tricks." Thank heavens.

And now they were dancing. She, too, was aware of his arms around her in a way that she'd never been before. Always one to wear her heart on her sleeve, it was a struggle for her to conceal her inner turmoil from him. What was this? She couldn't possibly be falling for...for Hart! No, the very idea was laughable. Not because of him, of course. There was nothing wrong with him. Nothing at all. It was just that... Oh, this was all so troublesome. She was merely being silly, that's all.

She determined to put the thought quite out of her head, and just enjoy the dance (or dances, if he collected on her promise to dance a few with him), and then retreat back to her spot along the wall. He was only being kind, as usual, by asking her to dance - very likely he just did not wish for her to feel left out of the festivities.

"When can we expect you and little Anthony at Leighton next?" He inquired, and Mercy once more lifted her gaze to meet his, more shyly than ever now. "Oh, well, I...I don't know, exactly," she replied. "When would you like us to visit?"

[Aubrey Hartwell]

Aubrey was a bit concerned that Mrs. Fairchild seemed flustered. Her cheeks turned a deeper pink and she looked momentarily confused. About to ask if she was alright, the lady shook her head and appeared to recover. Although the man remained unconvinced, he decided not to say anything just yet. "Oh, yes, he is quite recovered now," he replied slowly, keeping a worried eye on the widow's face. Ah, there it was. She had been worried about her son.

"Oh, I am so sorry, Mrs. Fairchild, I had no idea!" Concern was etched upon his own face. "You should have sent a note, I could have let our doctor have a look at him." When she informed him that Anthony was back to his old tricks, the Lord could not help but let out a deep chuckle. He worked hard to keep such emotions inside around the boy, as laughter would only encourage his behavior; but as Anthony was not present, Hart felt that a little expressed amusement would not be unwelcome. "And you are relieved, I am sure." He smiled, laughter still dancing in his blue eyes.

The dance was proving to be a bit much. He was having trouble concentrating on anything but holding George Fairchild's widow. He cleared his throat again, wondering why someone did not go and open a few window. It was entirely too hot in this room for proper dancing. Someone was going to get ill. When Mrs. Fairchild shyly met his eyes with her own pale blue ones, it was Aubrey's turn to be flustered. He could not, for the life of him, remember what question he had asked of the woman.

He remembered just in time to keep from making a fool of himself. "You know that you are always welcome, Mrs. Fairchild," he had to bite his tongue from calling her 'my dear.' Where had that come from? "I know that my sister would love to see Anthony." Yes, he was pushing his desire for the two to visit off on his sister. But was there any harm in that? Surely the lady was more likely to come to visit his sister than to visit himself.

[MercyAnne Fairchild]

"I was too busy worrying to think of writing to you, or anyone else for that matter," she admitted, as they continued to dance. She almost wished she had thought to do so - with Aubrey to rely on, she might not have felt the strain of it all quite so much. She did not handle those she loved being ill with ease, hadn't ever since George had died. The slightest cold in her son made the widow go all to pieces. "And I wouldn't wish to trouble you," Mercy added, continuing in an apologetic tone, "We always seem to be troubling you."

The one thing that Mercy wished at all costs to avoid was to be thought of as a burden to anyone, particularly Hart. Yet somehow she found herself always relying on him for both help and advice. Perhaps it was because he offered it so patiently and kindly. She'd never yet met a person more giving than the Earl of Devoreaux, or someone who dealt better with her young son. Anthony adored him, which would have been enough to win him a favorable opinion with the boy's mother, if he had not already done so.

It was funny, but she couldn't remember the last time dancing with someone had felt so easy and natural. The thought that she was perhaps becoming more fond of the earl than she had thought possible continued to intrude into her mind, no matter how hard she tried to force it out. It was a ridiculous notion, and one that she was sure bordered on betrayal to her husband's memory. She'd loved George so much, and he'd loved her. What would he think if he knew she was entertaining thoughts of someone else?

Logically speaking, she knew he would want her to be happy, probably even want her to remarry. He wouldn't want her to be alone. But convincing herself to believe that he would not mind if she fell in love again, now that he was gone, was quite another matter. Of course, if she had to go and fall in love, she was offered some solace by the fact that he would have preferred it to be someone like Aubrey, who had been his very good friend.

Not that she was falling in love with him, however. The fluttering sensation in her stomach was not butterflies, it was merely indigestion. The safety and comfort she felt with his arms about her had nothing to do with romance - it was merely that he was such an old friend, and she trusted him. As for the way she found her heart skipping about when their eyes met...well, she couldn't quite explain that away, but she was certain it was nothing to be worried about.


"You know that you are always welcome, Mrs. Fairchild," Aubrey replied, when she had asked when they should visit. "I know that my sister would love to see Anthony."

"Oh, he would be so happy to see her, as well!" She told him, smiling at the thought. Anthony was of the opinion that Lady Cecily was the prettiest, most interesting lady in the world. It helped, too, that she was so fun. The girl was not at all prim, and had no objection to playing pirates with the boy. This was enough to cement her place in his heart. "We shall have to visit soon, then. He has been complaining that being at home is so dull, now that he is well again."

"And Hart?" She found herself adding, before she could help herself. "I...I would like it if you would call me MercyAnne." She was blushing a bright pink now, and hardly dared to meet his eyes. What had compelled her to say that? "It...it only makes sense, you know. If I am to call you Hart, you cannot forever be calling me Mrs. Fairchild. It makes things terribly unbalanced."

[Aubrey Hartwell]

Aubrey smiled slightly when Mrs. Fairchild admitted to being too busy to write. It was very understandable, considering the circumstances to which she lost her husband. However, when the widow added her wish not to be a bother, the earl felt he needed to correct her. "It is no trouble, Mrs. Fairchild," he insisted. Would she never believe him? He supposed not; it was one of the many traits that made her so lovely. He would persist in contradicting her, though, in hopes that one day she might believe the truth: that he and his sister both delighted in helping the Fairchilds.

Aubrey's own heart was skittering on in the strangest of fashions whenever their eyes chanced to meet (which was not often, as Mrs. Fairchild seemed to be intent upon avoiding his glance). His immediate thought was to call the doctor; he was not a young man and one could never be too prepared for heart trouble. However, as it only happened when he found himself looking into the lady's eyes, the truth presented itself to him suddenly.

He was falling in love with Mrs. George Fairchild.

For a brief moment, the Lord panicked. He had not the slightest idea that Mrs. Fairchild felt the same way. Even if she did, however, he knew not the first step to take. It was true that he had been looking to marry soon, but now that he recognized his growing (and yes, probably long-time) feelings for the beautiful woman in his arms, he realized he had no idea how to proceed. For the first time in a very long while, Aubrey wished his father were still alive for advice. He had no one else to advise him. Few of his friends were married, and those that were had not married for love.

"Oh, he would be so happy to see her, as well! We shall have to visit soon, then. He has been complaining that being at home is so dull, now that he is well again." Aubrey glanced at her face and could only nod, a faint smile on his own visage. Her smile was brilliant and it seemed to light up the room. How could he not have seen this before? He must have been falling for her for a very long time now; love did not happen overnight, and he felt that he was in too deep already for it to be just beginning.

"And Hart?" Aubrey's eyes flew to the lady's face in expectancy. "I...I would like it if you would call me MercyAnne. It...it only makes sense, you know. If I am to call you Hart, you cannot forever be calling me Mrs. Fairchild. It makes things terribly unbalanced." Devoreaux grinned then, deciding he could not and would not fight this growing attraction for the widow. And, although he felt it highly improper to be calling her by her Christian name, he would not have refused her for the world. The blush that overcame her face at that moment caused him a sharp intake of breath and he realized that he had not spoken for quite some time.

"I would be very glad to do so, MercyAnne," he nearly whispered, forming the foreign name softly as if it were a caress. "But you will forgive me if I continue to call you properly in public." She did not need to be told to be mindful of wagging tongues. However, that would not stop him from thinking it.

[MercyAnne Fairchild]

Mercy couldn't help but laugh a little at Hart's reassurance that it was no trouble. "Of course you would say that," she told him, blue eyes dancing up at him. "It is what you always say. You are too good to me - to us," she amended, a nervous giggle accompanying her correction. Fabulous - now she was beginning to sound like an idiot. She cleared her throat and tried to maintain a more normal attitude. "But I do not wish to impose upon you," the widow added sincerely. "The last thing I want is to become a trouble."

If Aubrey and his sister ever grew tired of her and Anthony relying upon them for moral support and friendship, to be honest MercyAnne didn't know what she would do. She had other friends, of course, but none so close as the Hartwell family. Becoming a burden to them of all people was to be avoided whatever the cost. Her existence was a trifle lonely, to be honest, but if she could keep Aubrey (and his sister - Aubrey and his sister) in it...it wasn't so hard to bear, really.

She'd been frightened that perhaps her request that he call her MercyAnne had been too forward, and that he would be offended, or shocked. Indeed, after she had made her request, she'd immediately bit her lip as her stomach clenched in apprehension. Hart, however, did not seem at all negatively affected by this. Instead he grinned, making the widow's heart start skipping about again. The agitation on her face gave way to an expression of relief and pleasure.

"I would be very glad to do so, MercyAnne," he told her, the way he gently spoke her name sending a thrill down her spine. She found herself involuntarily stepping closer to him, and felt a little like she was melting. "But you will forgive me if I continue to call you properly in public."

"Of course," she replied, blushing all the more brightly because of this exchange. This, she realized, was serious. She must be in love with him, at least a little. Nothing else would explain the way just meeting his eyes made her heart beat faster, or the way that it was becoming increasingly difficult to remember that there were others in the room than just the two of them. How this had happened without her even realizing it, she didn't know. She didn't know what she should do about it either. Keeping it quiet, she felt, was the best option. No one needed to know, particularly Hart. It was not likely that he would return her affections, and the last thing she wished was for things to become strained between them. They were old friends, that was all. And that was all they would ever be. That would be enough for her. She'd already had one love - she wouldn't be greedy and wish for another. Besides, the earl deserved so much better than she had to offer. A stronger woman, who wouldn't always be running to him for help.

Despite her best efforts to be sensible and think about all this objectively, these reflections had the effect of depressing her slightly, and she couldn't help but sigh a little. She would never voice a complaint about it, and she wanted very much to accept her place in life with contentment, but sometimes she found the thought of being a widow forever to be quite lowering. Recovering after a moment, however, she tried very much to conceal this from her dance partner. Raising her head, she stood up a little straighter and concentrated very hard on being quite casual. "It is a very fine night for dancing, is it not?" What a stupid thing to say! However, it was better than nothing. That would have to content her.

[Aubrey Hartwell]

Aubrey smiled into her blue eyes kindly. "I assure you, madam. You could never be a trouble." He did not know how to further communicate the fact that he wanted her to continue relying on him (and Cecily) for friendship and support without explicitly stating his feelings. Obviously, he was not prepared to do so quite yet; furthermore, he did not wish to scare the poor woman away. So, he settled with allowing all of those feelings to flicker across his face, allowing her to read them there if she so desired.

Aubrey was rewarded with a look of pleasure when he agreed to acquiesce Mrs. Fairchild's request. He doubted it would even take getting used to, for he found himself thinking of her on the dearest terms already. Rather, the trouble would be refraining from calling her by her Christian name in public or around someone (namely his sister or Lorry) who would jump all over the slip. He was not willing to admit his feelings to any other person until he had confessed to the widow herself. Now he understood Lorry's predicament... and oh, how he repented for badgering his friend so!

Oh, the Earl noticed that MercyAnne stepped closer into his embrace when he whispered her name. He briefly contemplated holding her there before she could retreat; however, she straightened before he could do so and he found himself quite disappointed. He wondered if he might be able to get her to do it again. A smile played at the corners of his mouth. This would be quite fun. "It is a very fine night, MercyAnne," he whispered the name again, as if it was their own little secret. "Perhaps the finest... although I must say that it is a tad bit stuffy. Would you care for some air when this dance is over?"

And it almost was.

[MercyAnne Fairchild]

"I...oh," was all the widow could manage to say, her eyes transfixed on his face and the expression she found there. She almost couldn't remember what they had been speaking of but a moment before. The look on his face swept everything else out of her mind and made her breath catch in her throat as her cheeks flushed a darker shade of pink. Even had she wished to continue denying it, she knew there was no turning back now.

She was in love with Aubrey Hartwell.

How she had failed to realize this before Mercy had no idea. She hadn't thought it possible that she could fall in love again, after what she'd had with George. But she was discovering that her feelings for the earl were strong enough that even this excuse was wearing thin. It was like finding yourself floating in the middle of a pond, without even having realized you'd waded in - utterly ridiculous.

He whispered her name again, and MercyAnne found that it had quite the same effect as before. Her heart skittered about as though it were a young rabbit, and she blushed once more. The way he said it...it was like something private, and wonderful, between just the two of them. She suddenly became quite clumsy, tripping over her own feet and stumbling forward. She managed to remain upright by falling into Hart, one hand pressed against his chest.

"Oh, I do beg your pardon!" She told him, acutely embarrassed. She should have been paying more attention to what her feet were doing, but it had been impossible to do so at that moment. She'd been far too busy focusing on Hart. "How stupid of me."

[Aubrey Hartwell]

The moment they shared passed far too quickly, especially considering that Hart realized he could easily get lost in her soft eyes. The blush on her cheeks deepened causing the Earl's opinion of her beauty to rise from beautiful to breathtaking. The tinge of red on her cheeks only added to the charm of her porcelain-looking skin. And there was also the way it brought out the sparkle in her eyes. Such a quiet and simple beauty... he did not know how he could not have seen it before. Of course, he had always found MercyAnne to be a very attractive woman; but he had not ever thought of her in that way. Now he wondered why ever not.

Suddenly, the blonde woman in his arms was stumbling. Aubrey tightened his hold on her to keep her from falling and the next moment, one of her hands was on his chest for support. He could get used to that. "Are you alright?" He questioned anxiously, hoping her ankle had not been sprained. He placed one of his own hands atop hers on his chest and squeezed it just a little. "Do you require some air?" He bent his head to look into her face. Mercifully, the music stopped, signaling the end of the dance. Devoreaux continued to hold her hand as he placed his other hand under her elbow to guide her off of the dance floor. She seemed to be walking fine, he noted with relief.

Still, it was rather hard to breathe in here.

[MercyAnne Fairchild]

"Are you all right?" Hart inquired, placing a hand over hers and giving it a squeeze. Mercy could only nod as she looked up at him. She found that her mouth had gone strangely dry. Being this close to Aubrey, his large hand enveloping her small one...it was a very nice place to be, and one that she found herself reluctant to leave. She stayed that way, leaning against him with her hand on his chest, two or three moments longer than she probably should have.

Then the music ended, bringing her back into reality. "Oh, yes," she told him, nodding. "A bit of air is just what I need." Perhaps that would help regulate her breathing - it was becoming increasingly difficult to do so properly, particularly whenever she happened to meet his soft blue eyes. She blushed all the more as he kept hold of her hand, placing his other under her elbow, and lead her off the floor. To be honest, she would have gone wherever he lead, so long as he continued to hold onto her in this manner.

He lead her outside, and now MercyAnne felt she in earnest that she was in some kind of fairy tale. Dancing the night away with a handsome prince (well, earl - but it was close enough, really)? It was all very romantic. The effect was only enhanced by the many twinkly stars hanging in the sky, and the soft light provided by the moon. The widow felt suddenly shy, and a little nervous. She ducked her head a little, looking up at Hart through her lashes. She'd never, she realized, been alone with him before. "Thank you," she told him quietly. "It...it was so hot inside, was it not? And so many people! This is much better."

[Aubrey Hartwell]

Another moment that passed all too quickly, Aubrey thought regretfully. However, when MercyAnne agreed that she needed some air, he led her outside in hopes that they might have a few more 'moments.' Staring into her blue eyes was really all he could think about right now. Perhaps if he did so long enough, all of his feelings would be communicated. That was silly, really. He could not expect that such cowardice would be rewarded. No, if he really wanted to court and marry MercyAnne-- which he did, ever so much-- he was going to have to confess his love. It was the only way to do it, even though he worried that she may not return those emotions. He also worried that he had no idea how to best accomplish that feat.

Devoreaux released her elbow once they were safely outside. He could not, however, bring himself to let go of her hand. He searched her face, hoping to see that she did not mind. But he was a man... what could he be expected to find in the face of a woman apart from exceptional beauty? He could not read minds. The Earl supposed the only way he would know if Mrs. Fairchild wished him to release her hand was if she pulled it away. If she continued to allow him to hold it, he would believe that she wished him to continue. Was being in love always so complicated? Oh, how he wished his father were still alive.

"Thank you," MercyAnne told him quietly. "It... it was so hot inside, was it not? And so many people! This is much better." Hart smiled gently and nodded. "It is," he commented simply, not knowing what else to say. This was really the first time he had been alone with Mrs. Fairchild. Of course, he had called on her before at her own home, but Anthony or a servant had always been around. And at Leighton, there was Cecily and Mrs. Mallory (who really loved MercyAnne and her son). But here... now... they were isolated from all of their mutual friends. They were truly alone. And suddenly, Aubrey did not know what to do with himself.