The Lady Mercy Danforthe Flirts With Scandal by Jayne Fresina

Elizabeth—called Lilibet—was very much a hoyden, apparently having found that naughty behavior was the only way to get attention when one’s sister was already labeled “the pretty one.” Their bedchamber and nursery were across the hall from Mercy’s guest room, and after she had shown them the contents of her trunk, they insisted on showing her all their toys and dolls. Lilibet’s, she noted in amusement, were all separated from their heads. Several of her sister’s dolls had been served likewise, although Lilibet claimed to have no knowledge of how it happened.
    On that first evening, before the girls were put to bed, Mercy played three games of fox-and-geese, exhausted herself in a lively and rather noisy round of hide-and-seek, lost abysmally at charades, and posed for a silhouette. By the time the girls were sent up to their supper in the nursery, she felt as if she’d been trampled by a coach-and-four, but it was very pleasant to be part of a larger family, even temporarily.
    She sat down to dine with Mr. James Hartley, his wife, and his ancient grandmother, Lady Ursula Hartley, who lived in her own quarters on the third floor of the house and, Mercy was told, deigned to join the family for dinner only if there were guests in whom she took an interest. It would have been a subdued meal if not for the old lady, who apparently neither knew nor cared about the day’s events, her own curiosity and needs far outweighing anyone else’s. Mercy estimated her age to be nearing ninety, perhaps more.
    Lady Ursula was hard of hearing yet too vain to bother with an ear trumpet. “So you’re Everscham’s little gell,” she bellowed down the length of the table at Mercy as the first course was served. “How is your father?” Giving Mercy no chance to reply that her father had been dead thirteen years, the old lady continued at a brisk pace. “I remember when he was a wild young rascal, always getting himself into trouble. I hope you don’t take after him.”
    “Indeed, no, Lady Ursula. I’ve always been most sensible,” she replied so sternly that no one had any choice but to believe her. “Although I’m afraid the same cannot be said for my brother. He is very like our father, so people say.”
    “What’s that?”
    “My brother—Carver.”
    While the old lady frowned quizzically at her, Mr. Hartley explained, “Lady Mercy’s elder brother is the current Earl of Everscham, Grandmama.”
    “Eh?”
    “You met him once or twice, Lady Ursula”—Mercy raised her voice—“I believe he attended a ball here once at Hartley House.”
    The old lady shook her head. “You’ve got your mother’s coloring, however. Your father is very dark, as I recall.”
    “Yes, my brother takes after our father in looks, as well as character.”
    “And how old are you, gell?”
    There was a brief, startled silence following this brusque question, but Mercy was amused rather than offended. It made a refreshing change to be asked outright instead of having the question nibbled around like a piece of cheese in a mousetrap. She was, of course, a great believer in brevity and getting to the point.
    “I am two and twenty, Lady Ursula.”
    “What’s that?”
    “Two and twenty.”
    “Gracious! It’s time you were married, gell.”
    She smiled. “I shall be soon, Lady Ursula. I am engaged to Viscount Grey.”
    “To a what?”
    She spoke louder still, fearing she might dislodge the footmen’s wigs. “Viscount Grey. The Earl of Westmoreland’s son.”
    “Ah, good. He’ll keep you on the straight and narrow, I daresay. Every young gell needs a husband, and the sooner the better. Marriage is the only obstacle to sin.”
    Even further amused, Mercy smiled wider. “Oh, I quite agree.”
    Lady Ursula seemed very pleased to have her statement concurred with so eagerly. “And where is your beau now?”
    “In Italy, Lady Ursula. I expect him back soon. By the end of the month.”
    “Italy? Indeed! And why, pray tell, do