Engaging the Enemy (3 page)

Anna’s brow rose as if she didn’t believe her. “We shall never agree on her character and I want no ill will between us. However, in order for my brother to court you, you must see that a trip to London will give you time to come to know him better. He cannot spoil you as he wishes if your sister is close by. Oh, when you come up to London, things will be easy. No more bothersome Blythe shooting daggers at our conversations. It is hard to imagine a woman of her reticence captured a husband at all, let alone Venables. They say he had an adventurous disposition while he lived.”

Mercy smiled, but the conversation was growing tiresome. She liked Anna, when they discussed other matters besides Blythe and Lord Shaw. Her visits turned Mercy’s mind from the danger facing her son. They had been close friends since her first season, but Anna’s obsession with Mercy’s love life, or lack of, was driving her to the brink of being rude. The snide comments against her sister were a problem, too. Blythe might be laced up tighter than necessary, but she had a good and generous heart under all her frowning.

As Blythe and Lord Shaw joined them, Mercy forced herself to smile and pretend all was right with her world.

“Ah, Your Grace, you do know how to please a man.” He looked about the garden with a proprietary smile. “Nothing could give me more pleasure than to remain at Romsey Abbey for the rest of my life. The quiet, the solitude, the breathtaking vistas. I do not wonder that you prefer this locale to anywhere else. I know I would remain here for all my years if given a chance.”

A scandalized expression crossed Blythe’s face. Mercy could feel a headache coming on. The very unsubtle suggestion that Shaw particularly liked Romsey Abbey would bring on yet another lecture from Blythe later. Danger or not, Mercy couldn’t wait for Anna and Shaw to go away so she could put Shaw’s behavior from her mind. She would have to assure Blythe, again, that she wanted nothing from him. “You are kind, my lord. But obligations must be met, despite the disappointment of our feelings. Please give my regards to your mother. I look forward to seeing her again one day soon.”

He took up Mercy’s gloved hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it. “I look forward to that day as well. My mother is very fond of you.”

The look Shaw directed to her was hot and heavy with suggestion. Mercy ignored it, recovered her hand and led Anna toward the waiting carriage.

She gave her friend a quick hug. “I am so glad you could stay overnight, Anna. All going well, I’ll see you again next week, as we arranged.”

Anna lips turned up into a devious smile and Mercy’s heart sank. “Sooner than that, I should imagine.”

Anna kissed her cheeks and climbed into Lord Shaw’s impressive new carriage.
One down, one to go.

Lord Shaw kissed the air above Blythe’s hand and then captured Mercy’s again in a firm grip. “Until we meet again, Your Grace.” When he squeezed her fingers, head dipping to kiss them too, Mercy tugged them back. The urge to remove her glove and throw it away grew at the smug smile curling his lip.

Insufferable bounder. Could he not take a hint that she wanted none of him?

He swept inside the carriage and raised his hand in salute as they started off.

As soon as the carriage was at a greater distance, Mercy turned to her sister. “Oh, thank heavens they are gone. I swear they visit every other day.”

“Lord Shaw does visit you too frequently.” Blythe scowled. “He is enamored of you.”

Mercy caught her sister’s arm and dragged her back toward the safety of the abbey. She did not like to be outside for long with so few people around her. The open spaces and dark woods beyond sent a chill racing up her spine. “I do not encourage that man. I enjoy Anna’s visits, but I do wish Shaw would take himself back to Town. He is forever gossiping and causing trouble between us. I do not like him at all.”

Blythe’s frown grew. “He is on good terms with many people. He is wanted everywhere. I cannot understand it.”

“Well, not by me.” Mercy shut the terrace doors quickly. “Come, let us take breakfast together. Cook wanted to try out a new dish. Hopefully, it has not been ruined by Anna’s tardy departure.”

Although Blythe moved along with her through the abbey, there was a stiffness to her posture that Mercy did not like. No doubt her feelings were still prickling over Shaw’s rather obvious intentions. She would be preparing yet more sternly worded lectures on the subject of a duchess’ responsibility to observe the utmost propriety. Mercy was all too aware of her responsibilities in that regard, and she was failing most of them quite deliberately.

They sat down in the morning room, a cozy space for just the two of them, and enjoyed cook’s decadent breakfast. The one thing Mercy whole heartedly enjoyed about being a duchess was how terribly spoiled her tastes had become. With a well supplied pantry, Mercy’s cook was a genius.

When no lecture was forthcoming immediately, Mercy thought it safe to resume conversation on another matter. “What are your plans for the day, dearest?” Mercy asked as she patted her napkin to her mouth, replete after a sumptuous feast.

Blythe shrugged and set her fork down after barely touching anything on her plate. “There is nothing at Walden Hall that requires my supervision today. I had not thought to return till the afternoon, unless I am in the way here.”

Mercy sighed in relief. She and Edwin wouldn’t be left alone just yet. “Then you will stay and, if I can convince you to remain tonight, I will be a very happy woman. It has been an age since we stayed up late as we did as girls. Remember how mama used to get so cross at our late night giggling?”

“We should have listened to her better. She meant the best for us and now we have the lines on our faces to reveal our age. If I had a dau—” Blythe’s words stuck in her throat suddenly. Her mouth sealed tight over her unfinished wishes.

Poor Blythe. She had been married the longest, and had nothing to show for her marriage now. She had lost her husband when she’d lost her son to a terrible fever that had swept the district. Even after these two years of widowhood, it was a subject that always changed her mood. Only Edwin’s company seemed to jolly her into a better frame of mind.

Blythe dragged in a shuddering breath. “What are your plans today?”

“Well,” Mercy stood and drew Blythe with her. “I thought we might visit the library, find a horrid novel each, and spend the day alternatively reading and playing with Edwin. Could we do that?”

The idea of lounging safely tucked away in her son’s playroom was vastly appealing. If Blythe could be convinced to remain idle in that room, and not fuss over Edwin too much, she might never think about her problems again today.

Blythe frowned. “We can do anything you wish, Your Grace. This is your house.”

“But you are my sister, so we will both decide on the entertainments of the day.” She carefully tucked a stray lock of her sister’s hair behind her ear. “I do not like to order people about, I most especially dislike that you think I should be bossy with you. What would you prefer to do, Blythe?”

Blythe smiled suddenly. “What you propose is perfect. I should like to spend time with Edwin very much. He is such a dear little lad.”

Mercy held in a sigh of relief. “Good. Let’s see what Hamilton & Gambrill Booksellers have sent to us. It was a very large crate that arrived yesterday, wasn’t it?”

Blythe smiled, too.

Yet, as Mercy sorted through the stacks of books arranged in the library for her perusal she could not help but wonder what thoughts swirled inside Blythe’s mind. Blythe had once been a daring, vivacious, and determined young woman. Out of all the Hunt girls—Mercy, Blythe, and their younger sister, Patience—Blythe had married first at just sixteen years of age. She had accepted a proposal of marriage from the darkly handsome widower, Lord Venables, a man seventeen years her senior. The match had set tongues wagging in decided shock. Despite all the whispers about the match, Mercy had liked Lord Venable because he had doted on his second wife quite sincerely. He had enjoyed a good laugh with their family, too. But Blythe did not laugh now and Mercy fervently hoped that the woman she once was still lurked beneath her grief.

Selections made and arms stacked with new entertainments, they retreated to Edwin’s playroom.

“Auntie Bly, Aunty Bly,” Edwin called as he ran across the room, all arms and wildly swinging legs. “Did you not go home today?”

Blythe dropped her books and scooped Edwin up into her arms. “There you are my little duke. How could I leave you for long?”

Edwin kissed her cheek noisily and then wriggled to get down. “Come see what I did. Wilcox said I was very clever and even helped me knock down the tower we built. He’s genius.”

Mercy rolled her eyes at her son’s language as he dragged Blythe away to the far side of the chamber to admire the messy corner of toys. He was growing up so fast that she could almost see him grow out of his clothes.

Blythe set her hands on her hips, foot tapping. “
That
is a mess. Clean it up, Your Grace.”

Edwin’s eyes widened but then he stomped his foot. “No. I’m still playing.”

“Now, Your Grace. You cannot expect others to clean up everything after you.” Blythe gestured to the toy strewn floor. “You can play without making a mess. Be good for your mother.”

Edwin peered at Mercy from around his aunt. “I
am
being good, mama.”

Mercy grinned. “I can see that. But you will tidy them up later, won’t you, and not rely on Wilcox to do it? The butler has other work than cleaning up after one messy boy.”

Wilcox was indispensable. But Edwin was coming to rely on him too much. Her son shuffled uncomfortably. “Do I have to?”

Mercy nodded. “Later.”

Edwin reluctantly nodded and then dropped to the floor to return to his play.

Blythe crossed the chamber, picked up her books, and chose one. “You spoil him.”

Mercy settled on the chaise and lifted her feet to the cushions so she could stretch out comfortably. “He is my child to spoil. I will be the one to decide what needs to be done, and when, Blythe. Which book are you going to read?”

“I picked up
Fabulous Histories
by Miss Sarah Trimmer. I want to see if it will be suitable for Edwin’s studies,” Blythe murmured. “I think he needs educating rather than spoiling and allowing him to make a mess from such a young age is setting us all up for trouble. One day you will see that I am correct.”

One day, with luck, Blythe would have her own family to fuss over again. That day could not come soon enough for Mercy.

Chapter Three

Leopold did his best to settle his nerves as he set off for the abbey alone. This time he would not be denied the information he sought. This time he would argue until he received exactly what he had come here for. He followed the road until he reached the entrance to Romsey, pausing as a grand carriage rattled through the vast gates. The occupants scowled at him, but Leopold was used to the ill mannered guests of the Duke of Romsey and put them from his mind easily.

As he resumed his ride, a hundred memories assailed him. He held his mount to a walk as he rode along the tree-lined drive. So many memories. Good, bad, and wavering in-between. The stream where he’d fished as a boy with his brothers, defying the old duke’s wishes, was choked with reeds. He gritted his teeth. Of all the old duke’s many edicts, presenting a formidable image to society at large was high on his list of expectations. Did the duchess have no sense of duty?

He broke from the trees and pulled up sharply. Before him, the abbey rose like a sinister beast, glowing golden now in full sunlight with the imitation of purity. Leopold knew better. The home of the Dukes of Romsey was nothing short of evil.

At least the forecourt was presentable to travelers. He rode up to the building and swung down from the saddle. His mount, no doubt frustrated by the less than energetic ride, pawed at the gravel drive until Leopold laid his gloved hand over his nose. “Steady. We’ll be free and run against the wind as soon as we’re done here.”

When no groom arrived to take his horse, Leopold dropped the reins, stalked up the short flight of steps to pound upon the wide doors, and then returned to his horse to wait. The doors creaked open and he turned only his head to pin the butler with a stare designed to show his displeasure.

The old man blinked. “Master Leopold?”

“Wilcox.”

Leopold continued to stroke his horse until the startled butler summoned grooms. Their mode of dress, when they finally arrived, fell so far below the expected standard of formality that he scowled at them.

Although he could rebuke them aloud, he saved his breath. His silence would have a greater effect than voicing his displeasure. That was the only useful trait he had adopted from the Duke of Romsey. Word of his presence would spread like fire on dry parchment until every servant knew that a Randall had returned. One who, while known for his even temper, would expect the same standards as the past Dukes of Romsey themselves.

As they led his horse away, Leopold turned to Wilcox. At least here was a man who held to familiar standards. And although the loss of Wilcox’s hairpiece was a departure from previous tradition, Leopold couldn’t be sorry for it. As boys, he and his brother, Oliver, had debated whether Wilcox had hair beneath his powdered wig. It was good to see Oliver’s obsessive calculations about hair loss in grown men had been proved wrong in this instance. Wilcox still had a good head of iron grey hair on display. Oliver had calculated that Wilcox had been bald.