The Lady Mercy Danforthe Flirts With Scandal (36 page)

He shook out his fingers, his powerfully muscled arms hanging at his sides, restless. “What else can a humble fellow do? My lady.”

***

He watched until she disappeared over the horizon, a bright spot like a dying sunset.

Would she come back?

Could he trust her to keep this promise? She’d broken his heart before, and he swore then that he’d never believe another word from her bossy lips.

But he loved her. There was no getting around it now.

So he would wait.

***

The horses trotted along at a smooth pace, carrying her away from the village and from Rafe. For several miles there was no conversation. Mercy, with Rafe’s parasol in her lap, was too full of ideas to speak, and Mrs. Hartley also seemed lost in thought.

Then, finally, Mercy forced herself to end the silence. “Mrs. Hartley, Sir William mentioned to me that you suggested he bring his sisters here to meet me.”

“Did I?” The lady laughed. “I do not remember. Perhaps I did mention you were staying in Morecroft.”

“Are they, in some way, connected with Viscount Grey?” She’d been thinking about Mrs. Kenton calling him Adolphus in such a familiar way, and of Isabella referring to his health.

Mrs. Hartley fumbled the reins. “My husband was most adamant that I not interfere. I promised him I would not.” She sighed. “I thought perhaps it would come up in natural conversation between you.”

Losing her patience, Mercy exclaimed, “Please do tell me, madam! I feel I have been kept in the dark about some matter that I should know. There is nothing worse than such a feeling!”

The other lady paused a moment, biting her lip.

“No one will know who told me,” Mercy added firmly. “I mean to find out the whole truth when I get to London, but you may as well tell me now as much as you can.”

Mrs. Hartley exhaled a heavy breath. “Very well. You do have a right to know, as I told James, but he thought things should take their natural course. Knowing how Mrs. Kenton chatters, we assumed she would—”

“Please, madam. Tell me what I should know.”

“Viscount Grey paid court to Isabella Milford last summer in Buckinghamshire.” As soon as she got the first words out, the others tumbled after, like pigeons newly freed from a cote. “I saw them together several times. She was with her sister, visiting friends at Hawcombe Prior, the village near Lark Hollow. Mrs. Kenton’s husband was once the parson there.”

“Yes, she told me.”

“Viscount Grey was in their company quite often. I suppose no one but the two people concerned truly know what happened, and it is wrong, as James says, to speculate on these matters. But they seemed very attached. Perhaps it was all on one side.”

Mercy stared at the road ahead, putting it all straight in her mind. “This then is the nobleman who broke Isabella’s heart.”

“I do not know that to be the truth.” Mrs. Hartley shrugged, trying to make it all seem far less ominous, despite the fact that she’d sat upon this secret for several weeks and evidently longed to tell it. “Isabella appears to be a lady who fastens herself quite speedily to…ideas of that nature. Look how she affixed herself to Rafe while she thought him in line for a fortune and Hartley House. And as far as I can see, he never gave her any encouragement beyond a few smiles. It could be that Isabella, prompted by her sister’s enthusiasm, was simply mistaken in Viscount Grey’s regard for her.”

It was no wonder then, Mercy thought grimly, that Mrs. Kenton had acted so strangely toward
her
and tried to give her advice. They must blame her for stealing Isabella’s great prospect away. “But you said yourself, madam,
they
seemed very much in love.”

“Oh, I am just a romantic.” She groaned. “My husband tells me I see love affairs blooming just because I wish for them to be.” And she tossed Mercy a sly glance. “I cannot help myself when I care about two young people.”

Mercy struggled to readjust her neat cupboards. Isabella’s many odd glances and gestures now made sense in a new way. She was not a meek, nervous creature, grateful for Mercy’s notice, overwhelmed by her friendship. She was an angry, hurt woman trying to forgive the lady who stole away another man’s affections. For the most part, trying to avoid her, in all likelihood.

Chagrined, she shook her head. Her pride had led her to assume too much, had blinded her to the facts that were right there to be found, had she only troubled herself to look or ask.

Now she had a mess to clean up at home, situations to confront and set right. Once that was done, she must prepare herself to take another hedge.

She knew what was on the other side of it now, and she was no longer afraid to face it. Or him.

London, May 1835

Mercy’s first mission was a visit to Molly Robbins, who was already moved into lodgings above the small shop she’d leased. Her former lady’s maid looked disgustingly happy and flourishing in her new surroundings.

“Did you not, at the very least, think to answer Rafe’s letter?” Mercy demanded.

Molly frowned. “How was it to be answered, my lady?”

“Pen and ink,” she replied curtly, losing her patience.

“But, my lady, since it was a list of provisions he required from the market in Morecroft, I did not see any way to answer it.”

Mercy stared. “It was
what
?”

“It was a list of items.” Molly went to her dresser drawer and took out the small folded square. “I kept it, in case he needed it back.” She passed it to Mercy, who held it a moment, completely nonplussed, before she unfolded the missive and read it.

Sure enough, it was a list of shopping.

He had never written a letter to Molly, urging her home to him. As she crumpled the paper in her hand, she remembered how he tried to take it from her when she found it on his mantel. She’d assumed it was for Molly. He’d tried to stop her taking it, but then gave up.

It must have amused him to no end. He did love his jokes.

“Wretched man!” she exclaimed under her breath. No wonder Molly had never answered it. All this time she’d thought her old friend callous and unfeeling for not answering Rafe’s letter. “It seems I was wrong about so much.”

“But you’re never wrong, my lady.”

Rather than respond to that, she strode to the window and looked out on the busy street below. “You are content here, Molly? You have all that you need?”

“Oh yes, my lady.”

“My brother has agreed to finance your enterprise, has he not?” Unable to get a straight, sensible answer out of Carver, she now went directly to the source. “The truth, if you please.”

Molly flushed. “He has, my lady. But I will repay him. Every penny.”

She groaned. “I hope you know what you’re doing.” For once she was not going to give any advice. Let them figure it out for themselves. “And for pity’s sake, after twelve years of friendship, I think we can safely dispense with the formality of my title. Can you not call me by my name?”

The other woman pondered this for a moment. “I don’t know that I can, my lady.” She pressed her hands together nervously.

“You are not my maid anymore, Miss Robbins.”

“True.”

“Then I think you might address me as
Mercy
.”

Molly’s eyes grew wide and full. “But—”

“I’m sure you’ve called me worse than that, when I couldn’t hear, Molly Robbins.”

“Indeed I never have!”

Abruptly Mercy began to laugh. It rolled out of her until she thought the stitches of her corset might snap. “Come”—she held out her arms—“embrace me, Molly, for I have a very hard task ahead of me. You are my oldest and dearest friend and, prepare yourself for a shock of severe magnitude, but I think perhaps I should ask
your
advice for once.”

“Mine?”

“I’m going to be married.”

“I know. To Viscount Grey.”

Mercy became serious now. “To Rafe Hartley. If he’ll have me.”

***

“Lady Mercy, it was no easy thing to hear speculation and report of that nature, almost the very moment I set foot in England again.”

She nodded slowly. “I am sorry you heard it and had any cause to be saddened on your return.” Mercy made no attempt to deny the rumors. She sensed Adolphus came there that day because his father sent him. He generally avoided confrontation.

Eventually he managed a smile, sat forward, and reached for her clenched hand, planting a friendly pat upon it. “But we are back together again now. I am willing to overlook the scandal, although it has offended my father to a great degree. Perhaps we can put this unfortunate incident behind us. And I see you looking so well, Lady Mercy, it quite lightens my heart.”

How quickly he was willing to forgive her indiscretion, not even demanding to know anything about it, when she’d expected he might at least want her to tell him there was no truth in it. “The country air did wonders for me, sir. As Italy did for you, I think.”

“Indeed.” He set down the cup and saucer he’d held in his other hand. “Our time apart has now ended, and we can look forward to wedding arrangements. You must tell me, my dear, what you desire from me.” He waited complacently to hear what she wanted, expecting direction. She could not see her face reflected in his eyes, only her fortune.

How very different from Rafe, she mused.

“Adolphus, have you ever met Sir William Milford and his sisters?”

A slight tremor disturbed the tranquility in his countenance, like tiny ripples on a lake surface. “Milford? The name has some familiarity.” He hesitated. “Why?”

She slid her hand from under his. “I had the good fortune to become acquainted with Miss Isabella Milford in the country. Her widowed sister too.”

“Oh?” He tried on another smile, but it was too tight for his face. Picking up his cup again, he took a few sips of tea.

“It was explained to me that Isabella had suffered a disappointment in love, that she once thought she would be engaged, but that her lover changed his mind.”

Adolphus swallowed. “Sometimes people do change their minds,” he muttered.

“But he set her aside because he had found a bigger fish—or rather”—she laughed—“a bigger fisherman, for I was the one who set the hook for you, was I not? I made up my mind that you would do very well, and that was that.” She’d never given him a chance. Once Mercy Danforthe made up her mind on some matter, there was no refusing her.

He looked at her oddly, probably wondering what she found to laugh about.

“You should have told me there was someone else,” she said.

For a long moment, he did not reply. Finally he set his cup and saucer aside again, wiped his fingers on a napkin, and took a deep breath. “Would you have paid heed to me, if I did tell you?”

“Of course. I would never poach from another woman.”

“But you are very—forgive me—but you are very self-assured, my dear. I was rather afraid to contradict you on any point. Once you set your mind upon marriage, I could not find a way to stop you.”

She was not angry with him. Indeed, how could she be? She pitied Isabella Milford and was annoyed with herself for being so blind. It wouldn’t be the first time her enthusiasm for the practicalities of an idea ran away with any other, more emotional considerations and made her disregard the feelings of another person.

“My father was most eager that I choose you over Miss Milford, for obvious reasons.”

Those reasons being her wealth and position, naturally. She thought about this for a moment and then said, “My dear Adolphus, there is more to life than money. Is that all you people think it’s about?”

He drew back, his bushy brows lifted in high arcs.

“Forgive me, Adolphus, but I find myself disinclined to marry you.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “I thought you might, my dear.”

“We have so little in common.”

“And I am considerably older.” He was beginning to look relieved the more it sank in.

“So I think your father might be persuaded not to sue anyone.”

He agreed fervently.

When he got up to leave, she almost pointed out that it looked like rain, but stopped herself. The man had eyes in his head, did he not?

A few days later, even his father was no doubt glad of the canceled engagement, for when Lady Mercy Danforthe refused to deny the rumors of her scandalous behavior in the country, the finer doors in London were no longer open to her. Hostesses who previously trampled one another to secure her attendance at parties and balls now gave her the cut. Her reputation, she was told by one matronly lady who dared visit, was in tatters.

And the cause of her great scandal? She’d been seen buying a watch and then
shaking
the
man’s hand
in a street! Someone hinted that Lady Mercy was also seen, unchaperoned, riding with a man on his cart, but this was so heinous a suggestion that most people assumed it was rumor running away with itself.

“In time, Sister,” Carver exclaimed jovially, “I daresay the general horror will die down, and you might show your face in public again.”

Much to his surprise—and hers—she declared herself not particularly perturbed by the prospect of eternal expulsion. There was, after all, a great deal more to life.

Sitting at her writing desk, she composed a letter to Sir William Milford, inviting him, while he was in London, to join her for tea. If he could withstand the scandal of sitting down with a notorious hussy.

Then she penned another letter to Miss Julia Gibson, inviting her to tea on the same day.

There, almost all her obligations were now taken care of. Edward Hobbs had located the slippery Mr. Pyke, who was soon to be reunited with his wife and family in Sydney Dovedale, but the Pykes, apparently, would not remain there long. They were striking out boldly for the new world in America.

Hopefully, Mrs. Pyke would find that to her taste.

***

One morning shortly after, while reading the engagement notices in the
Times
, Mercy was pleased to see a small announcement of Miss Isabella Milford’s betrothal to Viscount Grey. But her joy was short-lived, for in that same issue she learned of several bank failures—an occurrence that was sadly not a rarity. This one caught her eye, when she read the name of the bank at fault, and her heart stalled. She knew Rafe was a shareholder there and had invested much of his coin.