The Lady Mercy Danforthe Flirts With Scandal by Jayne Fresina Page A

all these young men need to travel about like gypsies these days? To be sure, there is nothing in those wretched foreign places that cannot be seen at home, if they open their eyes more often.”
    Mercy sighed, heaving her shoulders. “My sentiment exactly.”
    Once again, Lady Ursula looked surprised to have an ally. Mercy suspected the old lady was usually disagreed with in that house.
    “Oh, we are acquainted with Viscount Grey and his father,” exclaimed Mrs. Hartley. She looked at her husband. “You must remember, James, when we were at Lark Hollow last summer, they visited friends nearby and came to our garden party.”
    Mr. Hartley’s face showed no expression one way or the other. “If you say so, my dear.” Evidently, Mercy’s fiancé had made no impression upon him. No surprise. Carver called the viscount “The Grey Shadow,” which actually made her fiancé sound exciting and mysterious, so she never complained.
    “Yes,” Mrs. Hartley continued, “I remember he has property in Surrey, does he not?”
    Mercy agreed that he did.
    “Surrey is a pleasant enough place,” pronounced Lady Ursula. “But I much prefer Norfolk and always shall.”
    “You never go to London, Lady Ursula?”
    “Indeed no. I favor the country. In London, one is more likely to meet foreigners. I have quite had my fill of foreigners.” As she said this, she glanced at her grandson’s wife, whose greatest sin was being half-American. In Lady Ursula’s mind, she might as well have been a cannibal from the jungles of Brazil.
    “I have a fondness for the countryside,” agreed Mercy. “And Norfolk in particular is one of my very favorite places.”
    Now that she’d found a like-minded companion at the table for once, Lady Ursula threw out a little attempt at flattery. “I must say, I never did care much for red hair, but it is quite becoming in your case, my dear. I can look at it and not feel the glare too harshly.”
    “Thank you, Lady Ursula.”
    Mrs. Hartley added her kindly opinion. “Perhaps with the light of the fire behind you it has shades of red, but I think it is more autumn wheat now than red.”
    Mercy smiled. “I have never seen anyone with hair even remotely the same shade, and I would be most upset to lose this fiery tint completely.” After a slight pause in the conversation, she added casually, “I think I shall pay a visit to your son tomorrow. May I borrow that smart little curricle I saw today?”
    The Hartleys exchanged anxious glances.
    “Perhaps it might be better to let sleeping dogs lie,” Mrs. Hartley ventured.
    “Nonsense. Dogs who sleep too much get fat,” Mercy replied. “They need exercise.”
    Down the table, Lady Ursula heartily agreed, adding that she knew a good deal about dogs, having kept a great many.
    “My point being,” explained Mrs. Hartley, “that dogs, while sleeping, are quiet. When woken, they make a vast deal of noise.”
    “Oh, I knew what you meant.” Mercy smiled. “But Rafe’s noise has never frightened me. That is why I was commissioned to give him the bad news, is it not?”
    “I must apologize for that, Lady Mercy.” Mr. James Hartley looked at his wife, who was suddenly very interested in her roast beef and horseradish. “Had I been conferred with in the matter,” he said emphatically, watching his wife stab her cutlet with gusto, “I would certainly never have sent you into the fray.”
    “Mr. Hartley, I was happy to be of service. Think nothing of it. Sometimes, after all, a woman’s touch is best.” She paused, reaching for her wineglass. “Especially when the touch is that of a flat palm wielded with speed and force against a saucy cheek.”
    His wife looked up and laughed openly, while even Lady Ursula appeared to suppress a chuckle.
    Mr. Hartley, however, remained somber. “If you must visit my son, I would suggest waiting a day or so. Poor Rafe was in a very difficult temper today. At such a time, he might not take kindly to—”
    “What