As though he cared about her home, about her family, about her.
He motioned to the door. “Shall we?”
She nodded. “Yes. I should locate Grace and make certain she is not near Amos Blankenship again.” She winced, her confidence of that was not very high. In her present mood, Grace might do that very thing simply to thwart Mercy.
Silas followed her inside the crowded house. No one gave her a second glance, but she noticed plenty of people looking past her to Silas Masters.
Silas stayed close as she navigated the ballroom. Eventually she found Grace standing with some girls her age, the baroness’s young daughter among them. Annis and Grace had their heads close together in conversation.
Mercy stopped searching at the sight of her, some of the tension easing from her.
“She’s not with him,” Silas murmured beside her. “There is that at least.”
She nodded as she watched her sister. Grace’s gaze landed on her then across the distance. Mercy’s stomach rolled over at the sudden expression of animosity on her face. It was immediate and vicious. She did not even resemble the Grace she knew in that moment.
“Oh, my.” She breathed heavily. “She is not happy with me.”
“She will forget and forgive,” Silas reassured her.
Mercy appreciated him saying that and she hoped he was right, but as she stared at her sister’s face she was not so certain. She feared that her relationship with her sister might never be repaired. At least it felt that way.
Hopefully, she was wrong. Only time would tell.
Chapter Sixteen
The ride back home was a quiet affair. They traveled in two conveyances, Otis driving the carriage Mercy, Grace, Bede and Silas occupied while Gladys, Elsie and the other farm workers followed in the wagon.
Mercy studied her sister discreetly in the shadowed interior. Grace stared out the window into the dark night with a sullen air, ignoring everyone inside the carriage.
The hour was late. They could not reach the house soon enough. The sentiment was not expressly stated, but it felt shared by everyone.
As soon as they stopped, Grace was flying out the door. She did not wait for anyone to help her down. She vanished in a flurry of pale pink inside the house.
Mercy met Silas’s gaze and felt a little comforted at the empathy there. It was nice to feel like she had an ally in the world. Usually she was on her own coping with her sister. Not that she and her sister had ever been this at odds before.
Once inside the small foyer, Bede yawned. Mercy covered her nose with her gloved hand. The whiff of spirits from him was strong.
“Well, good night, everyone.” He scratched his stomach through his vibrant yellow and purple waistcoat. “I will see you all in the morning.”
More like afternoon, she suspected. She did not expect him to rise early, especially not after their late night. Mercy watched her brother ascend the stairs, his tread heavy on the steps.
Silas lingered at the bottom of the steps with her. He nodded up to the second floor. “I am certain things will be better in the morning.”
He, of course, meant things with her sister.
She nodded brusquely. “I am sure you are right. Thank you. For tonight. You were really . . . a good friend.”
He blinked as though surprised by her words. A small part of her felt that same surprise resonate within her.
She had never thought to see Silas Masters again after she left him in London. She had resigned herself to that. She certainly had not thought to consider him a friend at any point in the future. And yet she did. He was. He had become her friend.
He recovered from his obvious surprise and held her gaze steadily, peering at her with those much too keen eyes of his, dark and intense and impossibly deep. “Of course,” he murmured.
She glanced around the small space, marveling that it felt smaller than ever before. Almost as though the walls were closing in around the two of them, trapping them, pushing them together.
“Good night, Silas.”
She moved past him up the steps and into her own chamber. Closing the door, she leaned against it for a moment with a heavy exhalation.
She was coming to enjoy his presence here in her home, in her life, far too much. With him here, she did not feel so alone, and apparently that was a condition in her life she suddenly found less than pleasing. She had not realized that about herself. Until now.
She had not realized companionship of a romantic nature was something she might even want for herself. It was getting more difficult to maintain her equanimity when she wanted to pounce on him—to be with him as she had been before. To taste passion again.
It would be over soon. She would have the proof to send him on his way. But she feared it would not be soon enough for her heart.
She should not become so attached. She should not rely on him. That was foolish of her. He would be gone in a matter of days, if her calculations were correct, and she was rarely wrong. Her courses always arrived in a prompt and predictable manner.
Then she would be alone again.
Shoving that less than exciting notion aside, she changed out of her gown and into her nightgown—a modest confection of wool that buttoned up to her neck.
She knew she should probably climb into her bed. After the long day, she should sleep the night away. And yet going to bed so at odds with her sister didn’t feel right. Not without at least saying good-night.
She departed her room and knocked softly on her sister’s bedchamber door. After a few moments of no response, Mercy pushed open the door and entered the room.
Grace was sitting at her dressing table, her back to Mercy, but her reflection was visible in the mirror and it was instantly apparent that she was crying. She wiped roughly at her splotchy cheeks.
“Grace?” The sight of her sister in such a state immediately brought forth a pang in her heart.
“What are you doing in here? I didn’t say to enter.”
“I thought—”
“No,” she broke in, her voice shaky with emotion. “Have I lost all rights to privacy in this house? I don’t want you in here. Go away.”
“Please, let me—”
“No! I hate you.”
The words were flung out like a wet rag hitting the ground with a hard splat. Mercy fought back a flinch. She was proud of that. Proud that she did not show a reaction. She was the adult here. The responsible person. Essentially, the parent. She had to be above hurt feelings. Unbreakable. Strong. Immune to barbed words.
Still, it was difficult maintaining her composure and calm facade when her sister stared at her like a stranger. There was no regret in her face or eyes over her harsh words. She looked cold, and that was frightening. Grace had never looked like that . . . never so far away from Mercy. As though Mercy could not reach her no matter what was said or done.
She looked like she meant those cruel words and that scared the devil out of Mercy. Who was this girl who could loathe her so much? It made Mercy feel like she had lost her forever.
The pain of that prospect was intense, but she held herself steady in the face of it.
If she lost her poise and reacted dramatically it really would be all over.
She had never forgotten her mother’s words. They had been the last ever spoken to Mercy, uttered on her deathbed, hours before she took her final breath.
It’s all on you, Mercy. You have to be brave. You have to be everything to everyone now. The family needs you.