The Lady Mercy Danforthe Flirts With Scandal (38 page)

Somehow he’d get that woman to admit she loved him, despite the class difference and every other obstacle she tried to lay between them. Women! Never could say what they wanted and be done with it. A man had to guess, and if they guessed wrong, it was their fault.

She must be using her entire fortune, he realized, just to buy that old ruin and keep him on his feet, but she would never have done that without her brother’s blessing. Did that mean the past was finally behind them?

Only one way to ensure that. Bury it once and for all, and all the grudges with it. Start fresh. That went for him too.

***

Disguising herself again was the only way Mercy knew to make him accept her help. If she went to him as herself, he would have laughed scornfully and thrown the money back in her face. Besides, she left Sydney Dovedale under such a bower of suspicion and scandal that returning as Lady Mercy, she felt, would not be wise. As Edward Hobbs pointed out, she could not hide away behind a wig and widow’s weeds forever, but she replied that she would get away with it for as long as she could. At least until Rafe was back on his feet and flourishing. His happiness was all that mattered.

Now he insisted, in some quirk of foolishness, that she attend the assembly-room dances. If she did not, he would not accept the post she offered. Stubborn ox! He would never change.

On the other hand, she wasn’t sure she wanted him to change. Not too much, in any case. He was really quite perfect as he was.

The next evening, she refused to sit around waiting. He would probably be late.

But to her surprise, he was prompt. Even a little early.

She’d expected only a minute attempt to dress up on his part, yet he wore a completely new set of clothes—black tailcoat, ivory neckcloth, emerald-green waistcoat, finely embroidered. The only remaining sign of old Rafe were his boots. He refused to wear shoes for dancing. Since he’d made such an effort with everything else, Mercy didn’t feel it right to complain.

“I thought we were taking my carriage,” she warbled uncertainly, when he offered her his arm to walk outside.

“I borrowed my father’s, your ladyship. I hope you approve.”

It was polished and shining, the horses stomping proudly in gleaming harness. Even Edward Hobbs, who was never impressed, managed to look less grieved by the idea of a night out. He held the carriage door open while Rafe helped her up. She’d brought her cane, thinking to keep him at a distance with it, if need be. He noted it, clearly, a vague smile playing over his lips. Mercy thought she still had him tricked with her masquerade, but occasionally there were glimmers of doubt. He was altogether too cunning.

Edward took the seat beside her, and Rafe sat opposite, smiling deviously. “You are comfortable, your ladyship?”

“Quite so, young man.”

“Excellent.” His smile widened until it became quite wicked, and she had an awful pounding in her heart. She felt Edward glance at her, but she kept her face turned to look through the carriage window. Being summer, it was still light out, fortunately, and there was much to see, much to focus on. “I had hoped you might put aside your widow’s weeds tonight, your ladyship.”

“I never wear anything else, young man,” she replied in subtle outrage at the suggestion.

If he had guessed her identity, why did he not say? No, he must not have realized, she decided. He was simply being Rafe, arrogant and getting his own way. He really did want her to meet his father. She would have to be very diligent to save herself from exposure. If Rafe knew she was behind this, he would never stay, never accept the position of working for her. Rather than let her help him, he would go back to the law and be desperately unhappy, cutting off his nose to spite his face. He might even go back to fighting for a living. She couldn’t bear to think of that.

“You have been very good to me, your ladyship,” he said suddenly. “I cannot imagine what would have become of me without your advice and friendship during those dark days in London. You have helped so many people with no thought for your own gain.”

She hesitated, fingers clasped around the head of her cane. “It was my pleasure, young man, to have you as a friend.”

“And it was my pleasure,” he grinned slowly, “to have you.”

Mercy thought her heart would stop, but somehow it kept beating out a strong rhythm.

***

The assembly rooms were packed on this warm summer evening, but he located his parents and quickly steered his guests through the mob. He kept his hand under her elbow, because he had the distinct impression she might try to run off at some point in the evening. But this woman wasn’t going anywhere again without him.

“Father, I’d like you to meet the lady who has purchased Sir William’s property and lands. She and I became acquainted in London. Lady Blunt, my father, Mr. James Hartley.”

His father curiously eyed the little woman in the excess of black taffeta and lace. “Honored to meet you, your ladyship.”

“And I you,” the figure whimpered behind her lace.

He tightened his hand around her arm. “This is my stepmother, Mrs. Hartley, and my great-grandmama, Lady Ursula.”

Both women looked intrigued but also rather relieved that this acquaintance was an improvement on Mrs. Pyke. Rafe had mischievously told them nothing about his guest that evening, other than the fact that she’d offered him a post and he was considering it. They were all happy to hear that he might stay in Sydney Dovedale and find employment there. Even Lady Ursula managed to agree that the country was a healthier place and that she would like to see him succeed there.

“Lady Blunt,” she exclaimed in her loud voice, “you must sit with me here out of the rabble. My grandson will fetch us some cake.”

“Forgive me, Great-grandmama, but I have asked Lady Blunt to dance.”

They all looked taken aback at the idea of a young man dancing with such an elderly lady bedecked in widow’s weeds. The disguised troublemaker at his side attempted to pull away, but he took her cane and gave it to Edward, who was too surprised to argue. If she wished to continue the charade—which she clearly did—she would have to rely on him to hold her up. Before she could take the cane back from the other man, Rafe drew her rapidly into the dancing crowd.

Faces turned to watch in morbid curiosity as he hauled the supposed old lady about in a waltz. He almost stepped on her feet.

“Have you taken leave of your senses?” she gasped.

“I fear so, your ladyship. More so than ever. I put them into the hands of a meddling young woman, and she ran off with them. Along with my heart.”

“You are intent on murdering me, you young blackguard. Put me down at once. I am an aged cripple. Am I not due some respect? To be treated thus—”

“Be silent, woman. You give me a headache again.”

That quieted her squawking. She stared up at him through her veil, and he spun her around in the dance while everyone watched, wondering what on earth reckless Rafe Hartley—he with the ever-curious taste in dancing partners—would do next.

They were about to find out.

***

“I wanted this to be a very public declaration, my lady,” he said softly, one arm stealing around her waist, holding her close, “because I am weary of secrets, of veils and hiding. I am weary of pretense and charades and keeping up a front to please others.”

She couldn’t breathe. He held her too tightly. Everyone was watching.

“As you once said to me: ‘Facing your problems is the answer. Running away from them is not.’”

“Young man, I—”

He bent his head closer. Even the musicians watched so intently that they began to miss notes. “I love you,” he whispered. “You are going to marry me, and that, madam, is all there is to it. With all the scandal you’ve caused, who else would have you but a reckless rogue?” He lifted her veil and kissed her full on the lips.

The music stopped. The kiss did not.

Mercy had no will to fight it. She had missed him intolerably, and the relief of being in his arms outweighed the scandal they were causing there and then.

Someone cried out in shock. There was a sudden cacophony of something falling to the floor. A fainting, perhaps. At least they knew it wasn’t his great-grandmama, because Lady Ursula’s voice could be heard clear as a bell in the awestruck room as she bellowed, “Well, it seems it’s never too late after all for a little romance. Which of you vigorous, young fellows wishes to dance with this old curmudgeon and sweep me off my feet in the same manner?”

And thus, on that warm summer’s evening, the Morecroft assembly rooms bore witness to a number of formerly inconceivable phenomena. Lady Ursula Hartley would hobble through her very first “indecent” waltz, Mr. and Mrs. Hodson lasted an entire set without arguing or threatening to beat each other about the head, Edward Hobbs was actually observed smiling, and Lady Mercy Danforthe was seen to pass several untidy chairs without once stopping to straighten them. But most remarkable of all, two hotheaded, stubborn young people finally found words to declare their love for each other, and the roof did not cave in.

Autumn 1835

The baby screwed up its tiny face, howling loud enough to bring down the church walls. Gathered around the font, his proud parents, Sophie and Lazarus Kane, looked on happily as the parson held the baby and dripped water on that furious, wrinkled brow. Standing nearby, the godmother tapped her foot and glanced surreptitiously, once again, at the watch face on the slender pink ribbon she wore.

Suddenly they heard footsteps, and everyone turned to see Rafe running down the aisle in a stained shirt.

“You’re late,” Mercy exclaimed under her breath.

“I am aware of it, woman.”

She began to think he’d be late for his own funeral. Work always came first for him and always would. But he took her hand, hastily assuming his role as god-father to his uncle’s youngest child, and the ceremony continued without a hitch. With his hand in hers, she no longer cared about the time. Indeed, it was difficult to concentrate on a solitary task when he squeezed her fingers gently and she felt his warmth and vitality at her side.

Afterwards, as they all left the church and emerged into a crisp November day, golden leaves and pine needles crunching at their feet, he whispered a dare in her ear.

“Last one home’s a lackwit.”

She took him up on it, of course. How could she not accept a challenge? He rode home on his plow horse, and she raced him on her new stallion, delighting in the fresh bite of air on her cheeks. He beat her—somehow he cheated, she had no doubt. When she got to the gate, he was waiting, and he was barely out of breath.

“I was thinking,” he said as he watched her dismount.

“Oh dear, not again.”

“It’s about time we had one of our own, Mrs. Hartley.”

She patted the horse and handed her reins to the groom. “I assume you mean children.”

“A strapping son.”

“I cannot guarantee the sex of the child.”

“Why not?” He followed her into the Great Hall, and his long stride almost caught her up. “I thought you could control everything.”

She whirled around and held her riding quirt to his chest. “If I had control, I would most certainly have a girl.”

“What use would she be?” He screwed up his face and held out his arms. “There’s more than enough women about already. No, no, you’ll give me a son, and that’s an end to it.”

“Men! You can do nothing without us. A man without a woman is like a candle without a wick.”

He grabbed the end of her quirt and tossed it aside. “I’ll show you my wick, wench.”

“Or a…a door without a latch.”

“Here’s my latch, Bossy-Drawers.”

She turned and ran up the stairs. He chased after.

“A woman without a man,” he shouted, “is like a flower without a bee.”

Mercy slammed the bedchamber door and held it shut. “A girl is best. A daughter is always superior.”

“A son is actually useful. A daughter is merely decorative. A boy earns his weight in gold. A girl”—she opened the door suddenly, so that he tripped forward, since he was leaning on it with all his strength—“spends it.”

“Of course another girl to adore you would be too much, I suppose,” she muttered, hands on her waist.

He closed the door and turned the key in the lock. “Now that’s a point. I suppose she would look up to me. And I’d have the very great pleasure of turning every lad away from our door when he comes to pay court.”

“And if we had a son, I would have a chance to raise at least one young man with a proper appreciation of the female gender.”

Slowly, Rafe grinned and advanced toward her warily, as if she might bolt again. “So we are decided then.”

“Yes.” She beckoned him closer. “Twins.”

“Twins, Mrs. Hartley?”

“Twins.”

He squinted, pretending to consider, so she slid her arms around his neck and drew him down for a kiss. “If you can manage it,” she whispered.

His blue eyes flared with the challenge. “Best get to work at once.”

As they tipped sideways onto the bed, she murmured, “Rafe, darling?”

“Hmm?”

“Do mind my gown. It’s very fine silk.”

With a low growl, he rolled over and silenced her with another kiss. Before too long, that very fine silk was discarded on the floor in any case, and soon assaulted by his rough cord breeches, his torn shirt, and his muddy boots. The silk gown bore this indignity with remarkable aplomb and, unlike its mistress, came out of the encounter quite unscathed.

 

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