Sydney Dovedale [3] Lady Mercy Danforthe Flirts With Scandal

by Jayne Fresina

  “Yes,” Sophia replied, covering the stain on her knee with one hand. “My eldest two boys are at boarding school.”

  “Gracious! And you with another on the way.” She cast her disapproving gaze upon Rafe’s uncle. “Dreadful.”

  “Mrs. Pyke and her children are enjoying their stay,” said Mercy brightly. “They seem comfortable with you.” She and Mrs. Kenton had formed a wary but civil pact while working together on the improvement of Mrs. Abby Pyke, and Mercy was making every effort to be useful without controlling. It was not easy, but she was determined.

  “She likes the dinner we provide,” agreed Mrs. Kenton, “although the place is a little too damp for her, she says.”

  For a woman born in Pillory Lane, Mrs. Pyke was peculiarly fussy about her surroundings. But she certainly knew how to get her own way. Mrs. Kenton had provided her with a full new wardrobe from her own castoffs, although Mrs. Pyke had been heard to suggest they were less than fashionable and the material not likely to wear well.

  “Her children are not far removed from savages,” Isabella offered quietly. Silent and apparently uncomfortable for most of their brief visit, she finally found the will to speak on that subject. “I hope Mr. Pyke shall soon return.”

  “I believe a great many folk feel the same,” said Mercy with a smile.

  Isabella had nothing else to say. She did not have her sister’s talent of always finding a subject, no matter where she was or with whom, and even if no one cared to hear it. Whenever Mercy caught her eye, Isabella looked away, as if she was caught doing something she ought not. The entire tenor of their friendship felt changed. When Mercy walked them to the gate, Isabella expressed a mild sort of admiration for her act of “charity” in helping the Kanes. But the admiration was mixed with blatant disgust for the farm surroundings.

  “These folk live in squalor,” Isabella murmured, looking around the yard with fearful eyes as if she expected wild beasts to pounce upon her at any moment. “I had not realized Mr. Rafe Hartley’s family were so…so…vulgar.”

  Mercy did not know whether to be appalled or amused. “This is hardly squalor, Miss Milford.” Evidently, just like Julia Gibson, this lady knew nothing—or very little—about life beyond her comfortable world. She would never have survived life as Rafe Hartley’s wife. “This is how many people live. It is not a luxurious standard of living, to be sure, and they work hard to maintain what they have, but that is the way of it for many.”

  Isabella skirted a puddle, almost leaving her skin behind when the goat across the yard abruptly let out a loud “maah.” Eventually she spoke again, but changed the subject, asking Mercy whether she’d heard lately from her fiancé, whether he was back yet from Italy. Mercy replied that she’d had no letter informing her of his return.

  “The drier, warmer weather there must greatly improve his health,” Isabella remarked, waiting for Mercy to open the gate.

  Her sister came up behind them and must have heard Isabella’s last comment, for she added, “Adolphus is a martyr to his health. But then men are babies in general.” She glanced over her shoulder with a last disapproving frown at the Kanes’ crowded farmhouse. “When they are not being babies, they are making them.”

  It was much the same thought Mercy had about the male species, but she was not about to admit that to Mrs. Kenton.

  “We are planning our departure in a few days and returning to London,” the lady added. “Isabella has found the country very trying on her nerves. Only yesterday, she had an attack of panic when a flock of cows chased her as she passed a field.”

  “A herd of cows, Mrs. Kenton. Sheep and birds come in flocks.”

  “In any case, the beasts terrified her almost out of her wits. She is certain they were after her new straw bonnet. Therefore, we are returning soon to Town. If you would care to travel with us, Lady Mercy, you are most welcome. My brother’s barouche box can fit four quite comfortably.”

  Mercy thought of going home. It must be faced, of course. “What of Mrs. Pyke?”

  “She means to stay at the fortress. She is welcome to have the run of the place.” Mrs. Kenton shuddered. “Once summer is over, it will be quite untenable, but it is up to her where she goes next. We will keep some staff here until September. If she chooses to stay on and keep house for us, I daresay William would agree. Although a feather duster is as much as I’ve ever seen her use. She thinks herself above it.”

  So much for making Mrs. Pyke into a new woman, thought Mercy. How quickly interest was lost in that lady’s plight. Rafe was right, she realized: charity with no true understanding behind it was worth little. Perhaps she could take Mrs. Pyke back to London with her, train her as a lady’s maid now that Molly had other plans.

  “Isabella will enjoy your company, if you travel with us,” Mrs. Kenton added.

  “I will give it some thought, madam. I have not yet made any plans for travel.”

  “Do, by all means.” The lady paused, and after a brief check to see that Isabella had gone through the gate already and started up the lane, she continued in a lower voice, “I must apologize for Isabella’s sullen mood. My dear sister has had a very difficult time of it. A broken heart is slow to heal. I had hoped she might find something new here in the country…a change of scenery, meeting new people, etcetera. But alas not.”

  “I am sorry, madam. I did not know of her broken heart.”

  “She was insistent that I should not tell you.”

  Mercy wondered why, if that was the case, the lady now chose to go against her sister’s wishes. But Mrs. Kenton had more to say and was hedging her way toward it. She nervously checked again that Isabella was out of hearing, then she took a breath. “Young Mr. Hartley seemed a fine prospect for Isabella, but now that has fallen by the wayside. Any attentions he paid to my sister have markedly declined. But then, his fortune is not what we were led to believe, and Mrs. Pyke has told me of the shocking manner in which he earned his coin in London.” She lowered her voice, looking scandalized. “With his fists! Not only that, but I had not realized his former fiancée was nothing more than a lady’s maid!”

  “Yes, Molly Robbins was my maid. And an excellent one. I was very sorry to lose her.”

  “I declare myself duly shocked.” She pressed a hand to her ample bosom. “There I was thinking him a young gentleman of prospects and ambition. We were greatly misled by Mrs. Hartley. Imagine how very near my poor sister came to aligning herself with a man whose previous fiancée was a servant.”

  It was no surprise that Isabella hoped for a wealthy husband. Most marriages were conducted for financial or property gain, but Mercy did not think the lady could afford to be so circumspect as to turn her nose up at Rafe. Thank goodness, however, that she had.

  Rafe deserved so much better.

  The gate swung open with a rusty moan, and Mrs. Kenton passed through into the lane.

  “My dear Lady Mercy”—she lowered her voice to a patronizingly hushed tone, her face grave—“I did not wish to raise the subject before his aunt and uncle, but I feel it incumbent upon me—as a member of your social mores and a woman of several years’ more experience—to advise you, most strongly, against further dalliance with Mr. Rafe Hartley. People have begun to talk in a most unpleasant manner and to speculate upon your relationship with that young man. I heard from a good lady in the village that you were seen exiting his bachelor cottage unchaperoned and at very odd hours. While I know there must be a perfectly reasonable explanation, it is still unwise to flaunt convention and let anyone suspect the worst of you.”

  Mercy was shocked—not by the rumors, but that this woman thought it her place to lecture. “There is nothing untoward occurring between Mr. Rafe Hartley and myself. Not that it is any business of yours, Mrs. Kenton.”

  The other woman raised her head from its condescending tilt. “I am certain the rumors are false, of course. You are an engaged woman. However, talk can be dangerous if it reaches the wrong ears. I cannot allow my sister to be seen
socially with a woman who has indulged in scandalous deeds, so I do hope this can be nipped in the bud. Even the hint of such reprehensible behavior can be detrimental to any young lady’s reputation.”

  “I’ll bear that in mind.”

  “I understand you were raised without a mother, and your brother has not perhaps been as diligent as he should.” She smiled without showing her teeth. “It is not too late, however, to correct the error.”

  She caught her breath at the woman’s audacity, and for that moment, words failed her.

  “I mean only to advise,” Mrs. Kenton added, the smile packed away.

  “Naturally. Good day.” She said it more firmly this time and then closed the gate.

  Her opinion of both ladies was not improved by this visit. In the case of Miss Isabella Milford, she was distinctly disappointed. She’d hoped to find not just another project, but a new friend. That was a less attractive prospect now. As Rafe had said when she told him of Sir William’s plans to sell: Good riddance.

  It was not until much later, as she read to the children by the fire and readied them for bed, that she remembered Mrs. Kenton calling Grey by his given name, Adolphus. That was very odd indeed. She did not think the lady was acquainted with him at all; she’d acted as if the name meant nothing to her before. Mercy knew she’d never mentioned his Christian name in Mrs. Kenton’s hearing. Perhaps Mrs. Hartley or Lady Ursula had told them, she reasoned. That would be a plausible excuse.

  But she went to bed that evening with a nagging doubt in her head, for both Mrs. Kenton and her sister had mentioned his health, as if they had some familiarity with it after all.

  ***

  The next day bloomed bright and breezy—perfect for drying the laundry, not quite so perfect for struggling with the damp linens she suspended over the line that stretched the width of the yard. By the time all the wet clothes and sheets were pegged in place, Mercy felt as battered and windblown as a ship in a storm. Fortunately, there was no time to daydream about Rafe. She’d done too much of that lately.

  Empty basket under her arm, she walked back into the farmhouse, made certain the youngest children were gainfully occupied with painting labels for their mother’s pickles and preserves, and then checked on the lady herself.

  A makeshift bed had been made out of an old settle, and this was where Aunt Sophie rested, on one side of the great inglenook hearth, a patched woolen blanket tucked around her, and a pile of books at her side.

  “The baby kicks today!” Sophie exclaimed, one hand to her belly. “He gets less rest than I do now.” She seemed thrilled by the imminent arrival of yet another handful. Mercy smiled politely and laid her hand on the woolen blanket as Sophie directed. The sudden jab of a forceful little punch took her by surprise, and she raised her hand again quickly. “One day you will know the sheer joy of holding your own babe in your arms, Lady Mercy.”

  “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 he
r 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.

  Chapter 21

  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.