The Lady Mercy Danforthe Flirts With Scandal (35 page)

“Yes,” she murmured doubtfully, thinking of the pain and the mess to be endured. Not only with the birth itself, but for the rest of the child’s life.

“Do you have much memory of your own mother? She died when you were young, did she not?”

Startled, Mercy quickly began gathering balls of spilled wool back into a basket. One of the little ones must have emptied it out again, as they liked to do. “She was killed in a riding accident, when I was five. My memories of her are scarce. I wish they were more.” People did not ask about her mother. They were afraid to. Even Carver did not talk about their mother, and she often wished he would, because he must have many more memories than she had. Happier memories.

“Forgive me, my terrible curiosity, Lady Mercy. I should not ask about something so painful and private.” There was a lengthy pause while Mercy continued searching for wool under the settle. Finally Sophie lightened her tone and said, “You must look forward to the return of your fiancé.”

“Indeed,” Mercy muttered.

“Are you in love with him?”

Shocked again, faced by another question so brusquely and unapologetically set before her, Mercy clambered to her feet and stood with her hands full of wool balls, some unraveling, long threads falling to the flagged floor.

“Because to marry without love is a grievous mistake,” continued Sophie. “I have seen it many times, and it brings no joy to anyone involved.”

Her heart hammered away, her gaze fixed on the fluttering white sheets through the window. She was aware that one curly lock of hair now tumbled down the side of her face. “Viscount Grey is entirely suitable for me. I knew it the moment I met him.”

Sophie’s voice was gentle, full of concern. “How did you know?”

How
did
she
know?
Because he had not interrupted her when she spoke. He was quiet, unobtrusive, unchallenging. None of which was romantic. Mercy always thought she was too levelheaded for romance in her own life. She just liked to plan it for other people. That way she could remain detached, watch from a good distance, and never be touched by too much emotion herself.

“I did not mean to be overcurious,” Sophie muttered. “Forgive me again. Goodness, my tongue does run away with me these days. That’s what happens when I have too much time to sit about idle. My mind simmers away with questions I have no right to ask.”

“Please, think nothing of it.” In a way, she thought, it was nice to know someone cared. When she told her brother about the engagement, he had not asked her a single question about Adolphus or her feelings for the man. Edward Hobbs always went along with anything she wanted. There was no one else to show interest in her plans. No one to try and talk her out of them.

She had so few friends. Again the realization—already felt to some degree at the Morecroft dance—struck her hard, pummeling her already wounded spirits with brutal force. She had acquaintances who, in all likelihood, put up with her because of her title. Or they were afraid of her. She had Molly who, as she recently discovered, kept secrets from her and, as Carver pointed out, was really an employee hired to like her.

Rafe had been the truest friend she ever had. Even when he was her enemy.

“I am grateful to you, Lady Mercy,” said his aunt quietly. “You have been such a ray of light.”

Suddenly Mercy felt the need to sit. Still clutching a ball of wool, she lowered herself to the settle across the hearth. “I’m glad you’re taking more rest. My mother had a miscarriage, you know, when she fell down the stairs once.”

“How awful!”

“Yes.” She wound the ball of wool tighter in her hands. “I had left a toy out on the landing by accident. She tripped on it. That’s how she fell.” She had never said those words aloud to anyone. It seemed as if they echoed.

There was a pause. Sophie sat up and reached across to take her hand. “And all this time, no doubt, you have fretted over it.”

She looked up. “It was all my fault. When she recovered, my mother went hunting, and a horse threw her as she took a tall hedge. That’s how she was killed. If she had not miscarried, she would never have gone out on a horse that day. Because of my carelessness,” she added, “everything changed. Everything was ruined.”

Sophie was silent for a moment, her fingers still laid over the back of Mercy’s hand. Then she said, “Do you see this scar on my face, Lady Mercy?”

It was a thin mark across the lady’s cheek. Molly had told her it was the result of a fall, but no one seemed to have more details than that.

“I jumped from a balcony,” Sophie explained, “into the dark. Foolishly. My face hit a rusty nail protruding from a ladder. That’s how I got my scar. Mr. Kane, you see, was an undergardener at that house, and he had left the ladder out by accident. When he heard what happened, he came to look for me, to make amends.” She chuckled. “That’s how he came here to Sydney Dovedale. It was fate, I believe. Not an accident at all. None of us know what fate has in store.”

Was this meant to cheer her up? she wondered darkly. Oh, but it was a horrid thought. How could she control her world if fate could change it without her having a say?

“Mr. Kane thought it was all his fault, and he blamed himself for my scar. But how could he know I would jump? It was the one thing that brought us together. If not for that fateful night, we would never have met, never have fallen in love.”

“But you jumped by choice,” Mercy replied. “My mother tumbled over the ball I left out.”

Sophie nodded. “Whether we jump or tumble, it is in fate’s hands. Same with love.”

Since moving into the farm and observing his aunt and uncle together, she’d seen how they loved and laughed. As Mrs. Hartley had said, no part of their life was too hard, because they lived it together. Mercy realized now that Rafe’s stepmother had encouraged her to come and help Sophie, not only for the practical reasons, but for her own good too.

Rafe had offered to teach his little cousins to fish, and he took them all down to the shallow stream that meandered through a meadow on the border of his uncle’s property. There, Mercy sat on the bank among the buttercups and watched as he patiently instructed the five children with rods and nets. She had forgotten to bring a blanket to sit upon. As Rafe drily pointed out to her, she would have to brave the ground insects and the possibility of a grass stain. For once, she did.

“Let me worry about the grass and my gown,” she said crisply. “You worry about the fish. And don’t let anyone drown.”

It was the sort of place where accidents could happen, and with all those little children to watch over in close proximity to water, she felt more than an ounce of panic to be sure. But Rafe handled it calmly, self-assured as always, periodically scooping an overenthused child out of the stream. Unfortunately, there was altogether too much screaming, shouting, and falling in for much fish to be caught for dinner, but the children enjoyed the day immensely.

So did Mercy. A few weeks ago she would have felt lazy, sitting in the sun, doing nothing. She would certainly never have imagined it might be fun to watch five noisy little children getting their clothes wet and their feet muddy. The scene she observed was absolute chaos, and yet she’d never been more content, never felt such quiet pleasure in her heart.

At one point, as she moved to sit in the shade of an ancient willow, Rafe padded across the grass and retrieved a parcel from behind the tree trunk.

“It’s for you,” he mumbled uncertainly, tossing it at her lap.

Bemused, she untied the string, unwrapped the paper, and found inside a very pretty parasol.

“For the sun,” he clarified unnecessarily. “So you don’t get freckles.”

She was moved. It was the first gift a man had given her that she did not pick out and wrap for herself. “It must have been expensive! Why would you waste your money on such an item?”

“I’ve plenty o’ coin,” he replied, chin up, eyes narrowed against the glare of the sun.

“But this is a fancification—the sort of thing for which you have no time.”

“Do you want it or not?” he snapped grumpily.

“Of course I want it.” She jumped up and gave him a kiss directly on the lips. It had to be the sunny day, she mused. This madness buzzing through her veins must be due to the heat on her head.

None of the children were watching, and she and Rafe were quite hidden under the bower of yellowy-green leaves that drifted in a gentle breeze. He had never looked more handsome as he did in his breeches and plain white shirt, and never had a kiss been so impatiently anticipated, at least by her. But when she kissed him today, he did not put his hands on her. His eyes remained open, watching her.

“Thank you for my gift, Mr. Hartley.”

“Every time you use it, you’ll think of me.”

She nodded, her heart pinching.

“Marry me,” he said suddenly.

Again he was asking her to take a risk. It was so easy for him.

“I have my own savings now,” he added proudly. “And the farm is doing well. I know it’s not so grand as—”

“Rafe.” She placed a finger to his lips. “Best watch the children,” she whispered.

“I won’t ask you again, woman.” He towered over her, hands on his hips. “And you’ll get no more kisses from me until you make me an honest man.”

Now that was a problem. Because she did want more of his kisses. Very much.

Head on one side, she peered up at him from under the fringe of her new parasol as it danced merrily. “So it’s bribery, is it, Hartley?”

“That’s right, Brat. You say ‘yes,’ and you get another kiss.”

“I could just take one.” She stepped closer, tipping her parasol back. “Try and stop me.”

He kept his lips firm, as if to deny her the kiss she wanted. But Mercy knew he would not resist, and she pressed her mouth gently to his. Hands on her arms, he set her back a few inches, his touch once again kindling the fire inside her.

Mercy looked over to check on the children and pointed. “It looks as if you caught something.”

His cousins were shouting in excitement, wanting him to see what they had in their net, so he trotted back to the stream, sunlight shimmering over the shoulders of his white shirt. Mercy stood in the sun and spun her new parasol, prouder of that accessory than she was of anything she’d ever carried. Each time Rafe looked her way, she gave it a little twirl, and the fringe shimmied, just like the lusty faeries living in her belly.

***

When she returned to the Kanes’ farmhouse, she was met at the gate by Mrs. Hartley, who came to deliver a letter that arrived for Mercy that day with the mail coach. She took it to the window seat, where she read in the light of the afternoon sun, away from the sticky fingers of her young charges.

Sister,

Grey drifted foggily into port yesterday and caught wind of unfortunate rumors regarding you and a certain farmer. It was all over White’s last week, and Boodle’s this. They are running a wager that your wedding will be called off. I have a fifty-to-one stake. Do come home and sort it all out, before your reputation is thoroughly trounced and I have wagered the family fortune to save your honor.

C

P.S. Do not wish to alarm, but Grey’s old papa informed Hobbs in the early hours of this ante meridiem of intent to bring suit against us for breach of promise, and your farmer boy for some form of theft. Firstly, he suggested Grey settle the score with fists or pistols, but since I informed him of said farmer boy’s skill at both, he changed his mind to an attack upon the pockets.

It was time to go home and face whatever awaited her there. She refolded the note, her mind suddenly numb. All this time she had fretted about scandal, and now it was a reality that slapped her hard in the face. Yet she felt…calm.

“Mrs. Hartley, I think I must travel back to Morecroft with you this afternoon,” she said quietly. “My brother requires me at home, and I must pack my things. I shall leave for London with Sir William and his sisters.”

She remained as cheerful as possible in saying her good-byes to the Kanes and thanking them sincerely for putting up with her. To her astonishment, even Rafe’s uncle seemed sorry to see her go and gave her a warm embrace before she left.

“You’ll say good-bye to Rafe?” he said.

“I’m not sure there is time,” she replied, feeling a sob caught halfway up her throat. She could not face him to say good-bye. Mercy knew she might weep, and that would make everything even harder. “I will try,” she added when she saw the man’s frown.

Mrs. Hartley drove the curricle out of the village. “We can stop by Rafe’s fields. I’m sure he will be out there.”

“I don’t want to disturb him while he’s working.”

“Nonsense. You cannot leave without a word.”

And so, with the afternoon sun beating down upon her, heart racing painfully, she was forced to say good-bye to Rafe by a plowed field with other men working around them and his stepmother right beside her.

He must have suspected something was amiss when he saw them at the hedge, waving. By the time he reached her side, he’d seen her trunk fixed to the back of the curricle too.

“I had a letter,” she said, squinting against the sun. “I stayed too long.”

Rafe ground his jaw and looked away from her. “Your brother calls you home, o’ course.”

They could not say everything they wanted to, with his stepmother listening and watching.

“I will return,” she said suddenly.

He looked doubtful.

Mercy took a deep breath. “I promise,” she added.

His eyes widened and then narrowed again. Of course, he’d accused her before of not keeping her promises, but this time she would not run away from her problems. She would face this scandal bravely, for she was a woman now, not a child or a silly girl afraid of shadows from the past. Afraid to let herself live.

“Will you wait for me, Rafe?” she whispered.