A Foolish Heart (Regency Shakespeare Book 1)

by Martha Keyes

  And what of Solomon? He was pursuing a couple in love. But he could hardly be aware of that. If he had no knowledge of the association between Deborah and Mr. Coburn—if his arrangement to marry Deborah and this strange but urgent note were the only pieces of information he had—then he was walking into a very humiliating situation indeed.

  More humiliation. More rejection. Another failed engagement.

  It made Mercy’s stomach churn and her heart ache. Solomon should not have to suffer because of Deborah’s stubborn cowardice. Mercy couldn’t stand by and watch Deborah make a fool of Solomon, nor could she allow Deborah to make such a foolish decision, alienating her father even further and setting him against Mr. Coburn for good.

  Mercy’s heart pummeled her chest. “Please have the coach readied immediately.”

  The footman bowed. “Shall I tell Mrs. Lanaway? Or perhaps you wish to tell her?”

  Mercy shook her head. “No. Do not disturb her.”

  She fully understood Patrick’s desire to thrust the responsibility onto her. Aunt Harriet rarely experienced her spasms and headaches anymore, but when she did, she was often laid low for a fortnight. Learning of Deborah’s course would certainly aggravate her condition, and Uncle Richard was very protective of his wife’s health since her last episode.

  Aunt Harriet could do nothing in her current state, so it would only do harm to inform her at this point—and that would only provoke Uncle Richard further.

  No, Mercy could fix this. She had to.

  “Very good, miss.” The footman bowed again and took himself off.

  Viola grabbed Mercy’s arm. “You are going after him?”

  The barely-disguised excitement and romantic lilt to Viola’s voice made Mercy hesitate to answer. “Them. I am going after all of them.”

  Viola’s hands came together. “A true adventure! And all in the name of love!” She straightened suddenly, letting her arms drop to her sides, as she announced solemnly, “I shall accompany you.”

  Mercy hesitated. The knowledge of just how romantic Viola perceived such an errand gave her great pause. But propriety urged her to agree to Viola’s proposition—it wouldn’t do to careen about the countryside alone. Going after Deborah would be little help if Mercy ruined her own reputation in the process.

  “Very well,” Mercy said.

  Propriety’s standards could not be breached, but perhaps Viola could be made to understand that this was not an attempt to win back Solomon. It was but a way to atone for her mistakes in some small degree by sparing him further pain.

  “‘A heart to love, and in that heart / Courage, to make love known.’ You have a very courageous heart, Mercy! And I am honored that I shall be a witness as you make your love known.”

  “For heaven’s sake, Viola,” said Mercy, “this is no time for romantics. I am not making my love known but am rather saving my cousin from her own foolishness and Mr. Kennett from humiliation. Come. We must gather a few things before we are off, and I must leave a note with Uncle Richard so that he doesn’t follow us, for nothing would set Deborah more decidedly upon this course than for him to try to force her compliance.”

  Viola tipped her head to the side and smiled sadly. “‘Fire that’s closest kept burns most of all.’”

  Mercy sighed and began climbing the stairs. It would be a long night.

  Chapter Eight

  Solomon’s head was beginning to ache from the fast-paced jolting of the carriage. The only thing keeping him on this wild goose chase was the knowledge that he was very near to closing the final gap between him and those he was pursuing—no thanks at all to the rambling equipage he had been forced behind for nearly three miles on a narrow stretch of road.

  The reports from The Wheel and Crown were confusing, though. The descriptions the innkeeper had provided—after the added incentive of a greased fist—left no doubt in Solomon’s mind that Miss Lanaway and her captor were twenty minutes before him. What left Solomon frowning, though, was the lack of any evidence that Miss Lanaway was distressed.

  Indeed, it was Miss Lanaway, not her captor, who had apparently insisted that they only stay to change horses rather than stepping inside for a morsel and a cup of tea. What Solomon was to glean from such secondhand information, he hardly knew. Perhaps Miss Lanaway was simply taking precautions for her reputation’s sake—trying to avoid being seen with whoever had taken her.

  The entire situation left Solomon sorely missing Jamaica. Certainly his bed there was not quite as comfortable, but what good was a well-stuffed bed in England when one was obliged to go hurtling all about the countryside, with the nearly certain prospect of spending the night in an unfamiliar inn with a lumpy bed and damp sheets to boot?

  It was certainly far from how he envisioned his visit to the Lanaways.

  There had been that moment back at Westwood Hall when he had considered doing nothing—letting things take their course. It could hardly be his responsibility to ride hell for leather in pursuit of a woman he was not yet formally engaged to.

  He was well aware, too, of the cruel irony that led to his thoughts being full of Mercy as he chased his future wife on the road to Gretna Green. It would have been laughable if it hadn’t been so maddening.

  And, truth be told, his encounter with Miss Lanaway earlier in the day, followed immediately by the one with Mercy, had provided the stark contrast he had never wanted.

  Between him and Miss Lanaway, there was nothing—unless perhaps one counted awkwardness as something. But there was no affection, no connection. He might as well have proposed to a stranger on the Strand in London.

  With Mercy Marcotte? There had been a current, a tension as undeniable as it was palpable. And even while he couldn’t say whether the current was one of love or hate, it tied them together, all the same.

  Two years hadn’t been sufficient to rid him of such a connection. What would be sufficient, then? For one thing was certain: Mercy Marcotte was his past. She could not be his present, and she could certainly not be his future. He would not open his heart again. Not to Mercy Marcotte. Not to anyone.

  The rumbling of the carriage seemed to intensify for a moment, until Solomon realized that it was the sound of an equipage coming up behind. Dusk was falling over the Worcester landscape, and he looked through the carriage window, relieved to see that they were coming upon the light of another inn. With any luck, he would catch up to Miss Lanaway and the rogue during the next stage of the journey.

  His driver pulled into the carriage yard, and the other equipage behind followed, coming to a stop beside his. If the occupants were continuing their journey as he was, he would have to hurry to ensure he wasn’t stuck behind them. He was determined to catch up with Miss Lanaway this evening. Her reputation and his future with her required it.

  He hurried down the coach steps and strode toward the door of the inn, where a wooden sign with a rooster and the words Le Coq d’Or creaked softly in the evening breeze. He could ask for news of his targets and swallow a pint of ale and a crust of bread before the other travelers had a chance to monopolize the innkeeper’s attention or beat him to the road.

  He put a hand on the door handle and pulled it open.

  “Solomon! Wait!”

  He whipped around.

  Mercy.

  Stepping down from a coach and followed by an unfamiliar young woman.

  It was Mercy who had been following behind his carriage for the last quarter mile?

  “Miss Marcotte,” he said, his hand dropping to his side as he stood on the threshold of the inn. Would he ever get used to addressing her that way? She was still using his Christian name, but he hardly needed the sense of intimacy returning the favor would create. “What are you doing here?” Was she going after Deborah as well?

  She came up to him, trailed by the stranger—was this her maid? No, she was too well-dressed for that.

  “I…I…” Mercy was slightly breathless—a strange circumstance, given that she must have just spent two h
ours in a carriage—and wringing her hands. “I need to speak with you. Privately.”

  What in the world could she have to say to him that would bring her to undertake the journey she had just made—as dark was falling, no less? She must have outpaced him in order to catch up to him, and he had certainly not been traveling at a leisurely pace. His horses were frothing out the mouths, their flanks slick with sweat. They were desperately in need of a change.

  Solomon glanced at the door to the inn. “Very well, but I cannot stay long, or I shall lose the progress I have made.” He gestured toward the inn.

  Mercy stepped across the threshold but stumbled, and he shot out his hand to grasp her arm.

  She looked up at him with an apologetic but grateful expression as her friend came up beside her.

  “Are you unwell, Mercy?” The young woman put a hand on Mercy’s shoulder.

  Mercy shook her head and attempted a smile. “No. Only unused to traveling at such a pace, and I am a little weak.”

  “Well, you haven’t eaten since breakfast, have you?”

  Solomon’s own stomach was grumbling, despite his having stopped at an inn near midday for something to sustain him on his drive to Westwood. He needed to ensure that Mercy received some food and drink—and returned to Westwood Hall without delay. It must be nigh on 8 o’clock, and she would have a two-hour journey ahead of her. The desire to ensure she received the care she needed warred with his curiosity at her presence and his impatience to get back on the road. He hadn’t come this far or this close for nothing.

  The innkeeper approached them, and Solomon asked for tea and something solid and reviving to be brought for Mercy.

  “You said you wished to speak with me?” He let his hand drop from her arm when he became conscious that it was still there.

  She nodded, and the anxious light in her eyes made him frown. “It is about this journey you have undertaken,” she said.

  “Very well.” He wondered whether the young woman next to Mercy would join them in their conversation. If she was not a maid, they could hardly leave her to herself in the inn. “I shall ask that a private parlor be prepared. That way, even after we are done speaking, you may stay and eat to contentment with Miss…” He looked a question at the young woman.

  “Miss Pawnce,” the young woman said with a curtsy.

  “How thoughtless of me,” Mercy said. “This is my cousin Viola Pawnce. She is living with us now and has been for a year or so.”

  Solomon bowed, then got the attention of a passing servant. “A private parlor, please.”

  The servant clenched his teeth and glanced at the nearby door, which was closed. He was clearly reluctant to naysay Solomon. “I am afraid that the private parlor is already in use, sir.”

  The door in question opened, and Deborah appeared, looking over her shoulder and saying, “Just one more stage for the night, if you can possibly bear it, my dear!”

  She turned her head and, at the sight of Solomon and the others, froze.

  Solomon blinked. “Miss Lanaway!” He couldn’t possibly have overtaken them already. Not unless they had spent a fair amount of time at Le Coq d’Or already.

  But, more confounding than that were Miss Lanaway’s words. My dear? Either she was a very good actress indeed or...

  “Deborah,” Mercy said in a flat voice. She looked up at Solomon, her teeth clenched. Why did she look at him so?

  Miss Lanaway’s eyes were wide with horror, and she looked between Mercy, Viola, and Solomon. “What in heaven’s name are you all doing here?”

  Solomon laughed hollowly. “What am I doing here? You sent a note, asking for help!”

  Miss Lanaway’s brows snapped together. “I did nothing of the sort!”

  “You did not?”

  Deborah shook her head decisively. “Where is this note? Do you have it with you?”

  Solomon shook his head.

  Deborah’s eyes traveled to Mercy. “You! You did this, didn’t you?”

  Mercy shook her head gravely. “No, Deborah.”

  “I don’t believe you!” Deborah cried, looking at Mercy with betrayal as rage-filled tears brimmed in her eyes.

  “And yet, it is true despite that. I had no idea of your intentions, though I shan’t deny that I would have stopped you if I had known.”

  Deborah shook her head quickly and pointed an accusing finger at Mercy. “I spoke to you of my desire to elope on more than one occasion.”

  “Yes, but not in earnestness! It was always said in jest.” Mercy lifted her shoulders, then let them drop back down. “Or so I believed. And certainly any suspicion on my part was laid to rest after you assured Solomon only today that”—she shook her head and put up a hand. “I did not write the note, Deb. But I saw it and have come to reason with you.”

  Mercy walked to Deborah and reached for her hands, which Deborah clasped behind her back. Mercy’s hands stayed suspended in the air for a moment before dropping to her sides.

  “This is not a wise course, Deb. You must see that.”

  “It is the only course.” Deborah straightened and held her chin up.

  Solomon’s head was spinning, and he stepped forward. “Forgive me, but I must know—Miss Lanaway, you are not an unwilling party to this elopement, then?”

  Miss Lanaway drew back. “No! Nor is there an unwilling party. We are both determined, and nothing you can say”—she looked at Mercy challengingly— “will stop us.”

  Solomon rubbed at his forehead, keenly aware of Mercy’s eyes, trained on him. What situation had he got himself into?

  Mercy moved toward him. “I came to tell you,” she said softly, sympathy in her eyes, “for I knew Deborah and Mr. Coburn to be in love.” She looked at Deborah, and her eyes hardened as she shook her head. “Deborah should have told you.”

  “Perhaps I should have.” Deborah’s voice was defensive rather than penitent. “But you must see that I couldn’t risk Father finding out. He will never agree to Frederick and me marrying—not unless he is forced to.”

  Mercy shook her head rapidly. “No, Deborah. You have underestimated your father—in more ways than one.”

  “Perhaps we should carry this discussion into the parlor,” Viola said to Mercy, indicating with a tilt of her head the customer who was coming down the stairs, his eyes on them.

  “Yes.” Mercy waited for Deborah to open the door.

  Deborah pursed her lips together and hesitated. “There is no more to be said, Mercy. Frederick and I are set upon this course.”

  “Despite that,” Mercy said, “I should like to talk to him.”

  “He is…indisposed,” Deborah said in an uncommunicative manner.

  Mercy narrowed her eyes. “Are you simply being difficult, Deb, or is he truly unwell?”

  “If you must know, our carriage met with an accident.”

  Mercy’s jaw dropped open, and she pushed past Deborah, opening the door to the private parlor.

  Mr. Coburn—as Solomon had gathered was his name—was lying on a chaise longue, his head lolled back, and his forehead wrinkled in pain.

  Viola followed Mercy into the room, and Deborah too.

  Solomon suddenly felt very much de trop and uncomfortably aware of the fact that he had been chasing after a couple who was eloping—despite what the note had implied—quite willingly to Gretna Green.

  Whatever Mercy and Miss Lanaway had to say to one another, Solomon’s presence was entirely unnecessary.

  He hesitated in the corridor. Might he slip out unnoticed?

  And then what? He would have to either return to Westwood for his belongings or have them sent to him…but where? He knew the area, of course. He had spent time at his aunt’s nearby estate on more than one occasion. Perhaps she would take him in for the night.

  But the matter of how to handle things with Mr. Lanaway was awkward in the extreme. What would he say to the man? That he had chased after his eloping daughter but decided to let her continue on after all?

  No,
it was ridiculous.

  But to stay here made no sense, either, to say nothing of the embarrassing nature of his position. He couldn’t have looked more foolish if he had tried.

  What did Mercy think of him? He shut his eyes in consternation. It was mortifying.

  “Solomon.” Mercy approached him, and he shifted his weight, wishing for a moment that he could disappear rather than cut such a pathetic figure in front of her.

  It was a cruel twist of fate that he was obliged to face the woman who had first jilted him while, for all intents and purposes, he was jilted by a second woman.

  There was no pity in her eyes, though, only worry. “I think Mr. Coburn should be seen by a doctor,” she said softly as she came up to him. “He seems to have broken his arm, or perhaps his wrist, and he has a head injury, as well. I realize that this is far from your concern, and I am terribly sorry that you have been pulled into such a situation, but I am at a loss, I confess, for what to do. I think I can convince Deborah that an elopement is not the wisest course of action, but it will take time—time we do not have. She cannot spend the night in this inn. I must ensure that her reputation is safeguarded, and she has already been spectacularly foolish.”

  Solomon grimaced. How it had come to be Mercy’s responsibility to manage her cousin, he didn’t know. But it was clear that she did consider Miss Lanaway her responsibility.

  He didn’t know what to think. The anxious concern of the woman before him was a far cry from the Mercy he had known before. Back then, she had thought primarily of herself—innocently so, in the way of a young person who has yet to discover the world is bigger than their own wants and wishes. He had fully anticipated that, like he had, she would grow out of such a youthful mindset.

  Until she had made the decision to end their engagement. It had seemed to him then that perhaps the selfishness was a more central part of her character than he had allowed himself to believe.

  But now? He turned his mind to the matters at hand.

  “I do not pretend to be acquainted with all the particulars of the situation.” Solomon glanced at Miss Lanaway hovering over Mr. Coburn. “But may I ask why your cousin feels that an elopement is necessary?”