“What has this to do with anything?” she asked impatiently.
“Ah, our tea.”
Mercy thought she was going to crawl out of her skin after she had poured the tea and was forced to watch Fancy prepare it. How could a spoon that moved that slowly stir up anything at all? She knew Fancy was being deliberately difficult. If she didn’t have so much to risk losing, she’d tell her to go to the devil.
Finally, at last, Fancy sat back and took a sip of tea. “Delightful.” She licked her lips. “I’ve been thinking about our situation.”
The words sent a frisson of unease through Mercy. “What situation?”
Fancy smiled benignly. “You have something that belongs to me.”
“John does not belong to you. You walked away from him.”
“But I was distraught after learning that his father had died. It broke my heart to look upon John and to see his father and to know he would never again be in my life.”
Somehow, Mercy prevented her eyes from rolling. “You think that tale will gain you sympathy?”
“More so than yours. You lied, deceived, and used a babe for your own gain.”
“No. You guessed right last night. I did wear my heart on my sleeve, and I loved Stephen then, and I love him now. We’re happy. The three of us. John, Stephen, and I. Why would you take that from us?”
“Is it fair to say that you’ve discovered that a night in Stephen’s bed is worth any price?”
“Is that the reason you’re here, that you’re making all these innuendoes and claims? For payment?”
“Oh, Mercy, you must understand my position.”
Fancy picked up a tiny cake and popped it into her mouth. Mercy prayed she would choke on it. She’d thought her beautiful when she first met her. How looks could deceive.
Fancy swallowed the cake, sipped her tea … continued to breathe. Pity.
“I never expected Stephen to do so well for himself, but he was fun. I had no desire to marry him. I wanted someone who could offer me … more. When I realized I was with child, sentiment and fear prevented me from ridding myself of it before it was born. Ambition prevented me from keeping it.”
“Him,” Mercy snapped. “He is a him. Not an it.”
“Spoken like a true mother. You do know that a marriage built on a foundation of secrets will surely crumble.”
“What the devil do you want?” Mercy demanded.
“My plan had always been to serve as some lord’s paramour, to be pampered and cared for, to warm his bed. Hence, Lord Dearbourne. Unfortunately, I failed to take into account that not all men are as talented in the bedchamber as your husband. Most are bumbling oafs.”
“Then leave Dearbourne and find another.”
“He is my third since my return from Paris. I am weary of the hunt, and I’m sure you are weary of waiting to learn why I am here.” Setting her cup aside, she leaned forward, determination and a hard glint in her eyes. “I’ve given a good deal of thought to our little secret, and I’m certain you wish it to remain between us. I want to live in luxury without requiring a man. Four thousand pounds a year should do it.”
Mercy dared not understand what she was hearing. The consequences were too dire. She fought to hold on to her confidence, not to give any hint that she suspected where this was leading, for surely, even this hoyden would not go there. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Why, my dear girl, you are naïve. I expect you to give it to me.”
“We were friends. I wiped your brow when you were nauseous. I helped to deliver …”
“My babe?” Fancy asked with an arched eyebrow.
How had she so badly misjudged this woman? She was a nurse. She’d gone to the Crimea. She’d attended the wounded and sick. Stephen had cared for her. How could he have cared for someone as vile as this? How could Mercy have befriended her?
“I don’t have that sort of money,” she said, her mouth suddenly so dry that she could barely form the words. “I had no dowry. My weekly allowance is a pittance.” It sufficed for her, she wished for no more. Her needs were few. But this request was beyond the pale.
“Surely you have a household allowance. Steal from that. Sell the silver. Pawn your jewelry. I don’t give a damn how you manage it, just make it happen.” She came to her feet in a rustle of silk and satin. “I don’t expect it all at once. You may make weekly payments. But make no mistake. I want it. I want it all. Or your husband will learn who the true mother of his son is.”
“I am the true mother of his son!”
The rebuttal had lodged in Mercy’s throat, to go unspoken.
She walked briskly through the garden, searching for answers. It was a gray day, which mirrored her mood. The dark clouds blocked out the sun. It somehow seemed significant, as though the light would no longer shine in her life.
What the devil was she to do? Four thousand a year. She was given fifteen pounds each week for her own pleasures and enjoyments. She could ask for twenty. She doubted Stephen would deny her. But she would still be far short of what Fancy demanded. Where was she to get it?
She supposed she could find bits of silver here and there in rooms seldom used. Knickknacks that wouldn’t be missed. She felt as though she was betraying Stephen, who had admitted that he loved her.
She’d never expected to truly own his heart, to hear those sweet words pass through his lips. His words, so earnestly spoken, had pushed away the last cobwebs of her nightmare. In it, she’d been crawling over a battlefield littered with dismembered limbs. John had been on the other side. She’d needed to get to him, to save him. Then Stephen had swept him up and begun to carry him away. She’d called after them. But they’d ignored her. Both of them. And she’d known once they disappeared into the blackness that hovered at the edge of the field, she’d never see them again.
Now she feared if she confessed the hell she’d plummeted into that Stephen would leave her in truth. And it would be far more painful than in a dream world. And he would take John with him. His son.
“Ah, there you are.”
She spun around to marvel at her husband striding toward her. The bleakness of the day could not dim her joy at seeing him. The wind tousled his hair. He must have left his hat inside. He looked young and carefree. Happy.
“How was your business in London?” she asked.
“Incredibly boring. Ainsley wanted to go over some accounts.” He snaked an arm around her and drew her up against him. “And all I wanted was to be in bed with my wife.”
He kissed her soundly. Passion immediately sparked. She loved the feel of her body pressed against his. She did not want to lose this. She did not want to lose him.
When he drew back, his blue eyes were sparkling brighter than any jewel. “And as I was in Town …” Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a small black box and held it toward her.
She hesitated.
“Come along. Open it. I certainly have no use for it.”
Taking it carefully, as though it were as delicate as an egg shell, she again hesitated. Slowly, she opened it to reveal a locket in the shape of a heart. On the back was inscribed, With love, Stephen and John.
Tears welled and a sob broke free.
“I had hoped it would please you,” he said, his voice laced with amusement, and she knew he took satisfaction in her reaction. That he had meant to touch her deeply, knew he had accomplished his goal.
“I am pleased. So pleased.” She wound her arms around his neck, held him close. “Nothing could have been more perfect.”
She would do anything to retain this perfection, this idyllic life that she’d sacrificed so much to obtain. This residence contained so many small things. Surely, surely, no one would miss a few tiny, insignificant items.
Chapter 21
Sir Stephen.”
Stephen glanced up to see Spencer standing there. The doors in this residence were so well oiled that he seldom heard them opening and closing. Spencer seemed to be able to glide around the mano
r without his feet ever touching the floor. His quietness was unnatural. “Spencer.”
“I hate to disturb you, sir—”
“Then don’t.” He was weary of seeing sheep in the fields. He wanted horses. Good, strong horses for the regiments. Talks were under way to end this damned slaughter going on in the East but there would always be wars, and soldiers needed dependable mounts. He and Ainsley had argued about it. “No need to change from what works,” Ainsley had said.
No need to have your brother sitting on his arse all day looking over ledgers.
Stephen wanted to map out a strategy that would show that his plan could work. He’d sold his commission. He had a good portion of the salary the army had paid him. It was a start, but he would still need to borrow some money in order to purchase his own land, his own place, his own horses. Make a go of it.
He remembered what the military had taught him until that afternoon he had tea with Claire. But what had he learned in battle? What had he learned during the campaign? If only he had that knowledge, then maybe he could be of some use, could remain a military man. But it was gone.
Horses, though, he’d always known horses. He could do something with those.
He glanced back up. Spencer was still there. “So although you hate to disturb me, you’re going to do it all the same. What the devil is it?”
“The silver, sir. Some of it has gone missing.”
“That’s a household matter. Discuss it with Lady Lyons.”
“I have, sir. She is of the opinion that information I have catalogued in ledgers is incorrect or that items have simply been misplaced.”
“If that is her opinion, then it must be so.” He returned to scrawling out his ideas. Horses, workers, trainers. With impatience, he looked at Spencer.
The man, slender as a reed, with a face dominated by a large, blade-like nose, was staring at a spot somewhere over Stephen’s head. His lips were pursed, his posture so stiff that he may as well be laid out in a coffin.
“Spit it out, Spencer.”
“With all due respect, Sir Stephen, I believe Lady Lyons is the culprit.”
Everything within Stephen stilled and a rash of fury shot through him. “You are accusing my wife of thievery?”
“I fear so, sir, yes.”
“She cannot steal what belongs to her.”
“With all due respect, sir, it belongs to the … duke.”
“Think very carefully before you speak. Why do you think it is her?”
“I can vouch for all the servants. Their loyalty. Their honesty. The newest member of the staff has still been here for three years. Nothing has gone missing until … very recently.”
Stephen leaned back, seething with anger that he wasn’t quite sure where to place. Through a hole in the wall perhaps. With his fist. Or perhaps against Spencer’s nose. “Perhaps the nurse, Jeanette, is the culprit.”
Spencer cleared his throat, blushed, studied the rug beneath his feet. Finally, he looked up and drew back his shoulders. “I know Miss Jeanette extremely well—extremely well if you catch my meaning—and I know it is not she.”
“And I know my wife extremely well, and it is not her. Even hint at so ludicrous a claim again and you’ll be sacked.”
“Yes, sir. Understood. What shall I do about the missing silver?”
“Find it. Replace it. I don’t care.”
“Very good, sir.”
He retreated on those damned silent, irritating feet. Stephen tossed his pen aside, pushed the papers beyond reach. It was not Mercy. He knew that, but his brother had entrusted all of his damned possessions to Stephen. Shoving his chair back, he stood and went in search of his wife. All of Ainsley’s ancestors glared down on him. Perhaps he should ask Westcliffe to loan him a portrait of their father. Something to make the residence a little more his. He supposed he could get one of his mother from Leo. The man had painted an ungodly number. Stephen was surprised how different each one looked, as though the artist saw a different facet to the duchess each time he painted her.
Taking the steps two at a time, Stephen went upstairs to the nursery. Mercy was sitting on the floor. Not the ideal place for a lady, but it seemed to suit the part of her that was a mother. She moved a wooden block beyond John’s reach. The boy crawled to it on his belly and just as he reached for it, she placed it a bit further beyond his grasp.
“Are you tormenting my son?” he asked.
Looking up, she smiled. “He’s learning to crawl. I’m simply encouraging him to try harder.”
The nurse was sitting in a chair busy with a bit of needlework. “Jeanette, perhaps you should go have a spot of tea.”
“Yes, sir.” She popped up and hastily rushed out.
Mercy studied him questioningly. “Is something amiss?”
Stephen sat on the floor, snatched up the block, and placed it within John’s reach. The boy closed his pudgy fingers around it, then rolled over, and began to gnaw on it.
“Is he hungry?”
“No, he just likes to chew on things,” she told him, but her voice was laced with wariness.
“Did you know that Jeanette and Spencer … ?” He rubbed behind his ear.
She studied him for a moment and then her eyes widened. “No. Is he courting her?”
“I don’t know how much courting is involved, but I suspect there’s a great deal of mischief.”
“Is that allowed between servants?”
“Probably not, but who are we to point fingers?”
Her cheeks flushed red. “Quite right.”
He took her hand, turned it over, and trailed his fingers over the rough spots that still remained, no doubt from all the scrubbing she’d done in the Crimea. “Spencer thought I should know that some silver is missing.”
She pursed her lips. “I told him not to bother you with it. I’ve never seen the pieces he is concerned about. They may have been gone forever. This house has so many useless items, it’s like a little shop of trinkets. So something went missing—”
“Something silver.”
“Do you think it important?”
“I think Ainsley will not be pleased to know things have gone missing.”
“What are we to do if they were gone before we even arrived?”
“Keep a closer watch on the servants, will you?”
“Yes, of course. Do you think everything in this house is catalogued?”
“Knowing Ainsley, probably. Although I’m sure there are a few things here and there that were overlooked. You are correct. There is an inordinate number of things to collect dust. He could probably let half his servants go if he’d get rid of some of this stuff.”
The block suddenly landed on his chin. “Oh, aren’t you a strong fellow! Wanting some attention, are you?”
He lifted him up, held him high, studying the features that he thought resembled him not at all. Although he did have his father’s smile. “I think his eyes are changing their shade.”
“No, I’m certain it’s just the way the light is coming in through the windows.”
“Perhaps. I’m thinking of getting him a horse.”
“Now?”
“Soon. A small one. A pony. When do you think he’ll be ready to ride?”
She laughed. He so enjoyed her laughter. “Not for a good long while yet.”
“What of his mother? Will she go for a ride with me?”
Her answer came with an impish smile and a promise for flirtation once they were away from the residence. It amazed him that as much as they were together, he still anticipated each moment of being alone with her.
It was two weeks later when Ainsley came to call. Stephen had never seen his brother look so somber.
“What’s troubling you? Is it Mother?” he asked as he got up from his desk and poured his brother a glass of whiskey.
“No.” He downed the drink. “Best pour yourself one. You’re not going to like what I have to say.”
And he knew, damn it. He knew. “Spencer no
tified you of the missing silver.”
“I am the one who pays for his services.”
“I’ll have him gone by morning.”
“I suggest you wait until I’ve had my say.”
The coach wheels whirred through the moonless night as Stephen and Ainsley traveled to London. Stephen had told Mercy that Ainsley had a problem with which he needed assistance. Her eyes held a combination of suspicion and curiosity. Without words he’d told her that all would be well.
He could only hope it would be so as the streetlamps of London came into view.
“Today it was two silver candlesticks, an urn, and an assortment of smaller items. From one of the seldom-used guestrooms. How your wife learned where to fence my property is beyond me.”
“What is beyond me is why you have me managing your estate when you don’t trust me with it. You have damned servants spying on us.”
“Spencer reported to Mercy that the silver went amissing and she had no interest in pursuing the matter. He went to you, and you also failed to understand the implications. So, of course, he wrote me with his concerns.”
“And then you had my wife followed?”
“Be grateful that is all I did. I could have had her arrested.”
“For stealing candlesticks?”
“They have hung men for less.”
Stephen was seething. He should have simply confronted Mercy with his brother’s accusation at the residence. He was certain there was a logical explanation. If she needed more money, why did she not simply tell him? He would have arranged it. It might have galled to go to either of his brothers, but they were both wealthy men. They could have accommodated a request.
“After she gets her blunt,” Ainsley continued, “she meets Fancy in Cremorne Gardens and passes the money on to her.”
“I think you see trouble where there is none,” Stephen said, trying to keep his voice even, to give the appearance that he wasn’t bothered. But he was. It was shortly after he was knighted that Mercy had begun going into London every Tuesday to shop. Once he’d offered to join her, but she’d insisted that she needed a little time alone.
Pleasures of a Notorious Gentleman Page 26