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.
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.
Chapter 22
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.”
Sydney Dovedale [3] Lady Mercy Danforthe Flirts With Scandal Page 28