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

I have to say must be said, whether he wishes to hear it or not,” Mercy interrupted. “Forgive me for speaking plainly, sir, but I will not go away again while he holds me responsible for what happened.” Of course he blamed her, because the upper classes, in Rafe’s eyes, were the root of all evil. He had yet to reconcile himself with the discovery of his own father being a gentleman of wealth and consequence. Sometimes Mercy suspected he would have preferred that his sire turn out to be a chimney sweep. It would certainly have made his life choices easier. “Soon Molly will return to him,” she continued. “I will put everything back in order. You’ll see.”
    Mercy was determined. Rafe’s father, seeing this and having some familiarity with her stubborn character, eventually agreed that she may use the curricle, but he wanted her to take an escort.
    “Why?” she replied, half laughing but as politely as possible. “I travel almost everywhere by myself. I am accustomed to it.” Her brother had been a lax guardian, to put it mildly. A procession of nannies and governesses had come and gone, making little impact, and the most constant companion she’d had for years was Molly Robbins. Eyebrows might be raised, but the idea of taking a chaperone with her to Rafe’s house was, in her mind, patently ridiculous. “What’s he going to do to me? Eat me? No, no, I am quite capable of going there alone.”
    Mercy had known Rafe since he was twelve, and she’d watched his relatives try to compensate for everything—his birth out of wedlock, a motherless childhood spent in poverty, and then the sudden revelation of his father’s identity. As a result, there were a lot of allowances made for Rafe, and he was cocky enough and wily enough to make the most of it. Since he’d returned to heal the breach with his father, everyone was on their best behavior, keeping the fragile state of peace. No one wanted to cross swords with Rafe or give him any cause to run off again. Even his father, with whom he had fought the most often, was apparently reined in.
    Poor Rafe indeed! He worked on his family’s sympathy, but underneath it all he was just what her brother called him—a street-toughened ragamuffin with no need for anyone to stand up for him. Only to stand up to him, perhaps.
    “Please do not fret. You’ll see. I shall put everything back to rights. Before we know it, Molly will come to her senses, realize she’s in danger of losing a wonderful man, and then she’ll return posthaste. And we shall have that wedding after all.” She set down her glass and picked up her knife.
    Mrs. Hartley was looking at her in a very odd fashion.
    “What is it now?” Mercy asked.
    Mr. Hartley remarked quietly, “It seems you have it all under control then, Lady Mercy.”
    She detected a faint wry tone, which she chose to ignore. It was hardly the first time anyone doubted her organizational abilities. But she’d show them all. Let them sit around waiting for that overgrown boy to finish throwing a temper tantrum. She had an orderly plan to keep and no time for tiptoeing around, waiting for Rafe Hartley to apologize to her.
    “I remember the first time we met, Lady Mercy,” said Mr. Hartley suddenly, his eyes so like Rafe’s but assessing her with greater warmth. “You were on the back of a galloping pony, racing across Hyde Park, and I followed, thinking you in need of rescue.” He chortled. “How wrong I was.”
    Mercy remembered that day in London too, when handsome rakehell, James Hartley, became the hero of her childish romantic dreams. She’d embarked upon a campaign of love letters immediately, fastening herself to him like a piece of sticky goosegrass. Eventually she’d run away, chasing after him into the country, and that was the first time she came to Sydney Dovedale, met Molly Robbins and Rafe. It all felt like a very long time ago, which, indeed, it was.
    Although James Hartley assumed she had never really