I WAS NOT BLIND to the way men looked at me. Sixteen years of age and fully an eligible woman in their eyes. They gazed on me with curiosity and wonder. I had exotic features and they couldn't quite place what it was about me that was so different. If they only knew the truth I wondered if they'd still look at me so adoringly.

I walked through the linen store with my mother and our seamstress. The seamstress kept holding up various expensive linens close to my face to match them to my appearance.

My mother—never having gotten much attention in the way of her appearance—lived her fantasies through me.

She wanted to host a dinner party to welcome me into the socialite world of the local elite. This required me to have a completely new wardrobe, and even our home had to be redecorated so as to make other nobles jealous.

"I think the fabric should be more pink. Much more pink. You see, pink always fared well on my skin, and my daughter has my skin, you see. When she meets a good suitor I want him to be taken with her pink face and her pink dress," my mother explained to the seamstress.

There were no pink undertones to my skin. Pale I might have been, but pink, I was not.

The seamstress pretended to know exactly what my mother was referring to and tried her best to be gentle with her difference in opinion. "Oh yes, pink is quite lovely my'lady. Quite lovely indeed, but you see this shade of light-blue is considered in style for this season. Blue has an angelic purity, and what husband doesn't want his wife to be the perfect image of purity?"

Mother looked between both the light-blue and the pink fabrics, touching both and finally made a decision. "We shall do both. Two dresses. One pink and one blue."

A very expensive decision. My mother's family had been amazingly wealthy. I was told my father had title, but no wealth, and that became his reason for marrying my mother.

The seamstresses eyes glowed with excitement. Two dresses meant twice the payment. "Yes my'lady, such a fine choice. A daughter as lovely as yours should have two dresses."

"Mercy, my dear, this is the most freedom you will experience. When you are of courting age, the men will come to you and you will wield the power. Take care and time to find the proper one, only death can undo marriage once it's done," she reminded me as she lifted up a few of the fabrics.

"Can you tell me of when you and father courted?" I asked with a low and polite tone. I'd been raised to be a proper lady, and a young woman near courting age had to always sound pleasant and polite.

"Well, I will tell you, your father had far lovelier options of Ladies to court. That much I knew. I knew I could not compete for a man as handsome as your father with fairness or a slender waist. So I adorned myself with the most expensive dress of imported refined threads. No woman of court could compete with how lavish I looked. I looked like high royalty. Your father was taken by it and in turn taken by me." My mother explained this with a high lifted chin and clear eyes.

I tried to deliver my mother a soft nod and gentle smile of agreement. I knew the truth though, it wasn't that my father was so impressed by how mother looked in her gown. When he saw her expensive threads he equated it to her wealth and status, two things he desperately needed.

She reached a hand to touch my cheek, admiring my face. "When you choose the suitor that you wish to marry, he must be of higher status than you. A strong nobleman who can take on your estate and add to your wealth. Since we lack a proper heir in our family, it is your responsibility to find a suitable one out of your fathers' selections."

Most of the eligible ladies would have the right to choose whomever they wanted to marry. In my case, however, my father had made deals with four powerful men in the county. According to my father's wishes, I would be free to choose between one of the four, and reject all other suitors.

The seamstress took my measurements repeatedly. I was told to starve myself of breads, candied fruits and cake, so a tighter corset could be laced for me to have the very thinnest waist. A woman's health was considered worth the sacrifice if it meant obtaining a better husband. I would be expected to smile, giggle, curtsy and court, all without breathing or eating.

Mother and I left the seamstress and rode by carriage to place an order on dishware for the dinner party.

"Lady Avery, what a pleasant surprise to see you this fine morning," bellowed a deep trilling voice.

It was Lady Charlotte Abbot. A rounded woman in her 40's who had married far too young in her day.

"Lady Abbot! Its been so long since we last spoke, do come by for tea one of these days. How are Samuel and Simon?" My mother prattled with Lady Abbott. A gifted moment where my mother could be completely distracted, and I free to explore things on my own.

I gazed through the store window across the street to watch the gathering of men. There was one in particular I tried to always look for.

Lord Humphrey Ashford.

He was one of the four suitors my father allowed me to chose from, but even if he wasn't my father's choice he remained my choice.

I found him to be the definition of perfection; incredibly thin, with graceful moves like a hummingbird. Humphrey has charm and beauty even without wigs or powder. Though I'd not said more than a few words to him I felt sure he could be gentle and kind. He definitely would understand my situation if we were to marry and I disclosed to him who I really was.

I'd watched him ever since I was twelve and fantasized about a life with him, a life as Lady Ashford.

"Careful, you are about to knock over that teapot, my'lady." A male voice scared me immediately.

I turned quickly and caused the very result the male had intended to avoid. I braced myself and prepared for the sounds of expensive porcelains shattering against dark wood surfacing.

The sound never came.

My eyes lowered enough to see a hand had caught the teapot. The hand belonged to a young and attractive male that was my age. He wasn't beautiful in the way of Lord Humphrey, but he was tall and did look more broad shouldered.

His clothing gave away his status; he did not come from money.

"So sorry, my'lady. I did not mean to frighten you," he apologized.

"There is nothing to forgive, the error was mine," I said with embarrassment.

He smiled handsomely with bright eyes. "I am to understand that you and your mother are in need of new dishware?" 

He had to work there.

"Yes, my mother wishes to throw a dinner party for me," I said while avoiding his eyes.

I had to be polite without being too much so. Being the proper lady required a touch of this and a dash of that. No gestures could be over done, no smiles could be over given and no stares could last longer than fleeting moments.

Too much attention to a man and you were a harlot, too little and you were frigid. Both labels led to a woman becoming an unwed spinster.

The man didn't lose his smile. His strong fingers delicately placed the teapot back onto it's resting place. I could see a faint line against his skin that showed where the sun had gently kissed a hint of tan shading against him.

He then turned and with a fluid bow he introduced himself. "My name is Oliver Moore, I am working under Mister Hammond. He is away on urgent business in London. If there is anything I can do to assist your mother or yourself, I am your most obedient servant."

It was strange; he moved and spoke like he came from a higher and more educated station, but the sun-lines and lack of title told otherwise. Our town was of a modest size, I knew most of the people who were worth knowing in it, but I'd never heard of an Oliver Moore.

I found myself forcing out more pleasantries. "A pleasure to meet you, Sir. I am Lady Mercy Avery, daughter of Lord Henry Avery and Lady Clara Avery."

Oliver reformed his charming smile. "Yes, my'lady. I have heard your name spoken of very fondly and in the best of company, of course. There are a great deal of people in town highly anticipating your debut into society."

That really wasn't a surprise. It was a very wise thing for workers to memorize the local who's-who if they were expected to get ahead in business.

"Please do not think it overly presumptuous of me, but based on the hopes of you coming here today I felt it best to have a set ready for you. It's something most special," Oliver continued.

He stepped behind the desk and on-top of it rested a large wooden box. He lifted the lid to reveal an assortment of gorgeous porcelain dishware.

"These are hand-painted from the far-east, very exotic and very rare. A once in a life-time sort of set intended for a very special individual," he said without taking his mysterious eyes off me.

It felt a little tinge of heat rise to my face. The way he spoke and looked at me felt different from what I usually experienced from the noble men.

Oliver seemed like a puzzle; so many things about him were peculiar. In a society where men and women strive to be as pale as possible, Oliver was sun-kissed and proudly so. Everything with him was a contradiction to normalcy.

"Where do you originate from Mister Moore?" The question left my lips before I could catch it. My curiosity got the best of me.

Oliver opened his mouth to answer, but the voice I heard was my mother's not his.

"Magnificent! Please wrap them up for us now, would you?" My mother's voice practically sung with approval.

Just like that our conversation was over. Oliver continued to attend to my mother's needs and occasionally he offered me the polite smile or glance.

I was trying my best to become the real Mercy, to truly embody everything she may have been. Pretending to be different from who I was became a sort of skill for me, but it'd also made me very good at detecting when others were doing it too.

I couldn't quite understand why, but a part of me felt that when it came to the matter of Oliver Moore, perhaps he too was pretending.