I BLAMED EVERYTHING ON ANNE. Ever since I discovered that my real name was Anne, any time I did anything against who Mercy was supposed to be, I called them "Anne Moments".

I regretted giving power to Anne when I invited Oliver to my debut. The reality of it finally caught up with me, and I felt reminded of all the reasons why I'd made a horrible mistake. Maybe Oliver wasn't a man at all, he could have been some sort of magical creature who only looked like a man and used his powers against me.

I considered these things as I sat with Gwyneth at the dinner table across from both my mother and father. The table was set with hot roast alongside pudding and bread; a special preparation we only enjoyed when guests were visiting.  These added dishes were meant to impress my aunt more than Gwyneth herself. My mother knew that Gwyneth would write home to my aunt and speak about how pleasant or unpleasant her stay had been and brag about the roast.

Gwyneth held a sort of beauty meant for paintings and poetry. Long wavy locks of blonde hair, rounded pink cheeks and a small up-turned nose. Her features were not classically the sort we saw much of in Britain, she was much more suited for being a French lady than a British one.

"I know that it was impetuous of me to simply arrive without word, but I couldn't miss Mercy's dinner. She is my favorite cousin after-all." Gwyneth explained while she looked towards me affectionately.

She reached out her hand to pat over mine. "After your dinner party you really should come to London it's becoming quite modern there now. So many wonders to see and experience! Did you know we now have exhibits with exotic beasts of the far reaches? Mermaid skeletons and dried dragons, all sorts of things."

"London is becoming ungodly," My mother said under her breath. She ate her food carefully, like the roast might come back alive again. "And it is by the grace of God that our Mercy is even alive today."

Gwyneth disguised a roll of her eyes and humored my mother with a few words of agreement before she cast me a secretive smile. "Then at the very least, she should come to London to learn more than a simple small town girls knowledge. How is her French? I can't imagine she gets to use it very often here."

I wanted very much to see London, but I feared it. I knew how to pretend in our small town around people who knew me and believed the lie, but in London I'd be surrounded by people much craftier than myself. If one were to point out to my Aunt how I might appear to be of mixed blood my world would unravel.

"She should go," my father suddenly said. His words were so unexpected none of us knew what to say.

He polished off the last of his roast and looked between the three of us to see if we'd really listened to what he'd said. "To London, she should go. After her debut, I will take her. I have some business to attend to there, Mercy can join me. Being exposed to other cultures will be good for her."

How could my father possibly think me going would be a good idea? He knew who I really was, why would he even suggest this?

"What about mother? She isn't well, she can't travel, someone has to be here for her," I said, trying not to sound too pleading.

"I am sure your mother can manage a few weeks without you. You must travel to London for the Balls and to introduce yourself to aristocracy there as well. Wouldn't you agree, my love?"

I knew from the moment my father said "my love" that my mother would be unable to dispute his request. She felt like she barely had a grasp on him as it was, so anything that would appease him she was more than eager to do.

"Of course dear." My mother complied with a sugar-laced smile that hid all her real feelings behind it.

After supper, Gwyneth and I retired to my bedroom. We had a perfectly nice guest room, but Gwyn and I had the habit of sharing a room since we were small. Despite being grown, it was a habit that we agreed to not let go of until she was married.

"I'm so jealous of your hair, it's so curly without you even trying." She complimented me while braiding her own hair as she stood in an ivory nightgown.

"It's not that curly." I said quickly and stuffed my hair into a sleeping bonnet. I didn't like people staring too much at my hair that I worked so hard to control.

Her hands reached out to gently touch my arm. "Yes it is, and you should embrace it dear cousin. It is in difference that there is beauty."

I shook while feeling half-flattered and half-embarrassed. "I do not want difference, I want sameness."

She sighed tiredly. "This is exactly why you must come to London. This world isn't the world of our parents. We have discovered new lands and new ways of thinking. We're pioneers on the brink of change."

"You sound just like Mister Moore." His name slipped from my lips before I could catch it.

"Who?" She asked with wide eyes and a growing smile.

I tried to look busy with readying myself for bed. "Oh, he's a gentlemen who works at the shop we buy our dinnerware from."

"Sounds almost as if this Mister Moore has caught your eye." Gwyneth said as she tossed her braid over her shoulder and leaned against the post of my canopy bed. "Tell me, is he handsome? Dashing perhaps?"

"Even if I were in some sort of way fond of Mister Moore, I am spoken for. Father's already selected four suitors for me and I have to choose between the four. Really, I'm already decided on which of the four. I have a preference for Lord Humphrey Ashford."

She looked appalled. "What? Little Lord Humphrey, really? He was always such a dainty, weak little boy. He'd always whine and cry and blame everything on everyone except himself, what on earth could possess you to choose him?"

There was one sole reason why I became fond of Lord Humphrey. When we were twelve, he accompanied his father into town and happened to see a young girl with brown-skin like my birth mother had. I remember him calling her "pretty" and his father quickly trying to silence him.

I knew somewhere inside him that if he could find that girl pretty, he could accept me and my truth.

"He comes from a very good family and he is a good man."

She laughs at me mirthfully. "You mean he comes from good money. In the end that's all either of our parents truly care for; estates and money. It's all so perfectly dull, isn't it?"

I turn down the bedding and busied my hands with fluffing a pillow. "Would you rather be a beggar then? I think boredom is a luxury of those who are too spoiled. I am fortunate to have the option to be with Lord Humphrey."

"But if you could choose another—rather if money were of no consideration—would you prefer the company of Mister Moore, or Lord Humphrey?" she asks with mischief in her voice.

"I. . . don't know. I invited Mister Moore to my debut."

"Really? Well, now I'm definitely glad that I came into town for it. Your mother will be positively pink with anger."

"I don't take pleasure in angering my mother, Gwyn."

"And that, dear cousin is where we differ again. One would almost think we weren't blood related at all. . ."