Traces of Mercy (17 page)

He stared at her. “Does all that mean you’re saying yes?”

She smiled at the tremble of emotion in his voice. “Yes, Rand. I would love to marry you.”

He leaned forward and tenderly touched his lips to hers. When the kiss ended, he cupped her cheek and gazed intently into her eyes.

“I promise you won’t regret marrying me, Mercy.”

“I know I won’t.”

She held up her hand to watch the sun glint off the ruby in the ring. “I only hope Ruby approves,” she said. “And that someday
you
don’t regret it.”

“Never.”

She looked at Rand, watching the way he turned the boat around and headed it back toward shore—and Ruby’s Cottage. She gave in to the happiness that consumed her. She was young and in love, and in a few months she was going to marry a wonderful man. Then something dawned on her.

“Rand? You know what this means?”

“What?”

“I’m finally going to get a last name.”

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY

It is nearly Christmas. There are beautiful decorations at the cottage and at the Prescott mansion. Lovely greenery that fills the house with the smell of pine. Twenty-foot trees brought in and decorated with candles, bows, and expensive glass ornaments that shimmer against the branches. Rand has told me stories of his childhood Christmases, and they sound wonderful. I am excited that next year I will be able to look back at this Christmas and remember it.

Charles and Ilene are hosting an engagement party for us. Ilene told me that only Missouri’s finest citizens are on the guest list. I asked if she invited the sisters from the convent, but she told me that wouldn’t be appropriate. I don’t know why—but I’ve learned it’s best not to argue with my future mother-in-law. As long as I see things the way she does, we get along just fine. She has made it her mission to turn me into someone who is socially acceptable. Even my past—or lack of one—has become a nonissue, thanks to an article that appeared on the society page of the St. Louis Daily Press. The editor of the paper is a good friend of Charles and Ilene, which is why, I suppose, the reporter was able to write a story that glossed over my amnesia and focused instead on how Rand Prescott fell in love with a lovely young woman who was working alongside the nuns at the Little Sisters of Hope Convent. His glowing article went on to list my many charitable contributions to the community, the impressive list of classics I’ve read, my remarkable skill with a paintbrush, and my fondness for writing poetry. None of it is true, of course, but I quite liked the young woman in the piece. She was very interesting—and doesn’t seem to need a past at all. Her present is quite compelling.

Mercy stood in the guest suite of the Prescott mansion and tried to be still as Sally, one of the housemaids, fluffed out the skirt of her dress. Ilene entered the room and stopped to smile at the picture Mercy made.

“I was right,” she said. “That dress is perfect on you.”

Mercy smiled. “Thank you.”

Sally moved around the dress, fussing, pulling, smoothing it perfectly over the hoop. Mercy looked at her future mother-in-law. “You look beautiful, Ilene.”

Ilene glanced at herself in the cheval glass, touching a hand to the back of her upswept hair. “I had a new girl do my hair tonight. I think I’ll keep her on.”

Sally stepped back from Mercy and looked at Ilene. “There be anything else, Mrs. Prescott?”

“Not here, Sally. Check to see what Ellis may need help with,” Ilene said.

Sally slipped out of the room, and Ilene crossed to Mercy. “Just a reminder, my dear. Not only will our closest friends be here this evening, but some of Missouri’s elected officials. I don’t think I’ve made a secret of the fact that Charles is an influential man in this state, Mercy, and I hope you will always remember to act with the decorum that’s appropriate for this family.”

“Of course, Ilene,” Mercy said. “I have nothing but the highest admiration for you and Charles and for Rand. I would never do anything to embarrass you.”

“I know that. It just needed to be said,” Ilene said. “And it’s something that Rand has heard since he was a little boy—it’s only fitting his future wife hears it too.”

Ilene ran a finger under a pearl choker at her neck, prompting a comment from Mercy.

“The choker is lovely,” she said.

Ilene smiled absently. “An early Christmas gift from Charles,” she said, then touched the pearls hanging from her ears. “These too.”

“He has good taste,” Mercy said.

“He’s been trained well all these years,” Ilene said with a smile. “You must do the same with Rand. Then maybe he will get you a more … suitable piece of jewelry to wear around your neck.”

Mercy’s hand went to the medallion. The décolletage of her dress was just low enough to showcase the medal against her ivory skin. “He knows I always wear this,” she said. “I have no need of other jewelry.”

Mercy watched Ilene’s smile freeze in place, as it always did when any mention of Mercy’s past—or more to the point, lack of a past—was brought up. But then her smile softened.

“I understand your attachment to your necklace. I have similar pieces that I am attached to, but not wearing them doesn’t diminish their sentimental value.”

Mercy frowned. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“If you take the medallion off this evening, it won’t lessen what it means to you, Mercy,” Ilene said.

In the past few weeks, she had gotten used to Ilene’s strong opinions about everything from politics to social graces and, for the most part, always felt as if the life instruction she was receiving from her future mother-in-law was to her benefit. She couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t deferred to the older woman, and because of that she felt as if Ilene had grown to not only tolerate her but like her. The medallion, though, was another thing altogether.

“I don’t see what possible difference it makes to anyone but me if I wear it or not,” Mercy said.

“You know I’ve missed having a daughter all these years,” Ilene said. “Rand and his father and all that maleness around my house, and now you come into our lives, and I get to speak to you as a mother.”

“And I appreciate that more than I can say,” Mercy told her, “especially since I don’t remember my mother. But I still don’t understand …”

“The dress is simply better without any jewelry at all,” Ilene said. “The deep neckline that draws the eye to the delicate lace over the bosom; the silver sash that gives your waist an impossibly small appearance. Those are the details that we want to appear in the article on the society page of the paper tomorrow. Not that the look was spoiled by a medallion that had no place in your ensemble.”

Ilene softened the speech with a smile and tilted her head to the side. “It really is the only thing that is keeping you from being a perfect picture. That dark green is divine on you—and Sally dressed your hair to perfection. I love the little sprigs of holly she’s tucked into the curls. Very festive, yet elegant.”

Mercy hesitated. Her hand went to close around the medallion. Ilene waited, but then added, “It’s only advice, dear. As with everything else I tell you, it’s entirely up to you whether or not you adhere.”

Slowly and carefully, so as not to muss her hair, Mercy drew the chain of the medallion up and over her head. “If not for you, I wouldn’t be standing here looking like this,” she said.

Ilene smiled her approval. “The trappings that you’re wearing may have come from me, my dear, but the beauty is all yours. You should carry yourself proudly—as the woman who will become the wife of Rand Prescott, heir to a railroad empire.”

Mercy nodded. “I know this hasn’t been easy for you. Our engagement, I mean.”

“I’ll admit I had my reservations in the beginning about you and Rand,” Ilene said, “but as time has gone on, I can see how much he loves you—and you him. As long as your past stays in the past, I think the two of you can be very happy together.”

Mercy smiled. “I think so too.”

“Now. An engagement party can’t start without the bride-to-be. There are over a hundred guests downstairs waiting to get their first glimpse of the future Mrs. Rand Prescott.”

Mercy and Rand stood next to Charles and Ilene just inside the arched doorway of the drawing room. A fire burned cheerily in a massive hearth, and a string quartet tucked away in a corner played Christmas carols. The room was decked out with wreaths and evergreen boughs, and Mercy had counted no less than five servants circulating with trays of hors d’oeuvres and cocktails. The line for introductions snaked back through the foyer to the front door and was moving so slowly, she wondered if the entire evening would consist of polite nods and banal chitchat. Her cheeks ached from the constant smile she wore as she greeted one person after another.

“Mercy, may I present Mr. and Mrs. Andrews,” Ilene said.

“I’m pleased to meet you,” Mercy said to the next couple in line.

“It’s our pleasure,” Mrs. Andrews said.

“You wear love’s glow like a candle in the window,” Mr. Andrews said to Mercy.

“Ah, thank you,” Mercy uttered as Mr. Andrews shook Rand’s hand and said, “Congratulations, Rand.”

Rand waited until the couple was barely out of earshot to lean toward Mercy. “He fancies himself a poet, though he’s never been published, and she will have had one too many glasses of champagne and will glow like a candle by evening’s end.”

Mercy pressed her lips together to keep from laughing and heard Ilene greeting the next guest in line.

“Francis,” Ilene said. “How good of you to come. May I present my future daughter-in-law. Mercy, this is Francis Fontaine, one of the elected officials here in St. Louis.”

“You are marrying into a fine family, young lady. One of the finest in St. Louis,” Fontaine said.

“I feel very fortunate,” Mercy said humbly.

“Rand, I’ll admit I’m shocked you’re settling down,” Fontaine continued, pumping Rand’s hand.

“I was just waiting for the right woman, Francis,” Rand said with a stiff smile that dropped as soon as Fontaine made his way toward another group of guests. “Surprised he still has a job,” he said into Mercy’s ear. “Rumor has it he’s a Copperhead.”

“What’s a Copperhead?”

But Ilene interrupted Rand’s explanation with a touch to Mercy’s arm. “Mercy, may I introduce our very good friends John and Mary Henderson.” John was tall and distinguished with just a touch of gray at the temples; Mary was more handsome than beautiful, but striking in her own way. “John is a superb congressman and represents the interests of the great state of Missouri.”

John Henderson laughed. “Maybe I should have you write my next speech, Ilene.” He bowed slightly to Mercy. “It’s a pleasure, Mercy.”

“Your dress is stunning,” Mary said. “Simply perfect on you.”

Mercy flushed with pleasure. “Thank you. The credit goes to Ilene, of course. She helped me choose it.”

“And speaking of choices,” John said to Rand, “it seems you have chosen well, Rand.”

“Thank you, John. I think so,” Rand said.

Mercy was aware of a man in a military uniform immediately to Mary’s left. He seemed to hang back just a little—as if not wanting to intrude on the Hendersons’ introduction, but then Mary reached over and tugged on his arm.

“Mercy, Rand … I’d like to introduce our good friend Captain Elijah Hale of the former army of the Potomac,” Mary said. “Captain Hale is staying with us while he awaits his next assignment.”

Captain Hale moved a few steps to stop in front of Mercy. Though his shoulders were squared and he looked every inch a military man, his eyes were sad, and she had the fleeting thought that he would rather be anywhere else than in a room filled with people.

“I hope you enjoy your stay in St. Louis, Captain Hale,” Mercy said politely.

“I’m sure I will,” he said, studying her intently with a distracted frown. “John and Mary are perfect hosts.”

“How long have you known the Hendersons?” Rand asked Captain Hale. But the captain seemed unaware of the question. He continued to stare at Mercy while John Henderson jumped in to field Rand’s question.

“It’s been ten years or more, am I right, Elijah?” John said, deferring to the captain. But the question went unanswered. Mercy was aware that Rand had moved a few inches closer to her so that their shoulders were touching.

Mercy wanted the captain to move on, but he hadn’t moved a muscle. She felt scrutinized to the point that she smiled uncomfortably.

“Well, it was a pleasure to meet—” Mercy started to say, hoping he would take the hint, but he interrupted her with a single sentence that sent her heart racing.

“I’m sorry,” Captain Hale said, “but have we met before?”

“What?” Rand’s voice sounded strained.

“Elijah, remember I told you Mercy has amnesia?” Mary said in a stilted voice.

Ilene and Charles were both looking their way. For a stunned moment, Mercy just stared at him, her mouth open. After what seemed like an eternity, but in reality was mere seconds, she felt the world tilt as she took a step toward him. “Are you saying you
know
me?”

Captain Hale continued to look at her as if he’d seen a ghost, but then, abruptly, it seemed as though the ghost disappeared. “No. I mean, I don’t think so. My apologies if I upset you.”