Chapter Twelve

By the following morning, Mercy had come up with a workable plan. Of course, like any plan, it depended very much on the people executing it, and since her plan involved Viscount Carlingford pretending an attachment to her in order to provide an escort while she was in London, well … in truth, it was still a work in progress.

Would he even consider being party to a fake engagement in order to keep her safe?

Certainly, his presence would provide her with the additional protection she needed whilst ensuring she could peruse the current crop of young men on offer without feeling as if she was a prize heifer taken to market. It would also go a considerable way to providing the penniless Viscount funds needed to continue with the repairs to Carlingford.

Which led her back to her original question – would he do it? After all, he'd spent over fifteen years hiding away from the world - mostly because of his awful scar. But, while his face might well provoke considerable speculation, Mercy was persuaded that most women would see past it to the honourable man underneath. So, not only would she benefit, but there was every possibility that he would find himself a rich wife. ‘ Like me ,' a small voice whispered in her ear.

Naturally, she ignored such a preposterous idea.

She dressed carefully for breakfast, having been told by Felicity Mackenzie - the Duchess of Blackmore's oldest friend and mentor to all of them – that one should always regard clothing as a weapon to be wielded with careful precision. Today she needed to appear older than her years – both sober and sensible.

Muttering the words like a mantra, she made her way downstairs to the breakfast room where her three half siblings were already enjoying their breakfast.

‘Has somebody died?' Kate asked, eying her admittedly sombre attire. Mercy looked down at herself with a slight grimace. Had she done it a little too brown?

‘No one's kicked the bucket,' Ollie scoffed. ‘If they had, Mama would be wearing black and she has her green dress on today.'

‘You shouldn't say kick the bucket, ' Kate retorted. ‘Papa will put you over his knee.'

‘Grandpapa says it all the time - and he's a vicar, so God must have told him it's not rude.'

‘He says Tare an' hounds too,' Kit piped up and Mama says we shouldn't say it because it has to do with…' he paused and looked around before whispering, ‘ Gambling .'

‘What's gambling?' Kate asked.

‘You're too young to know about such things,' Kit declared loftily, earning him a kick under the table. ‘Ouch,' he yelled.

Mercedes sighed, seating herself at the table. ‘Where are Mama and Papa?' she asked, taking a piece of toast.

‘Papa's in his study. He said to tell you and Grandpapa to meet him there once you've finished breakfast.

‘Tare an' hounds, I feel like I've been run over by a deuced coach and four.' As their grandfather stomped in, Kit threw a smug look at his sisters earning him another kick.

‘You've travelled a long way, Grandfather, I'm not surprised you're a little out of sorts,' Mercy sympathised with a warning glare at her three arguing siblings. ‘How is Grandmother feeling this morning?'

‘She's taken to her bed,' the Reverend muttered, helping himself to some bacon. ‘When I last saw her, she was eating a soft-boiled egg. If we're fortunate, she won't get up before Tuesday,'

‘Do you think she'd like me to visit, Grandpapa?' Kit asked solemnly. ‘I could read to her.'

‘I'm certain she'd be delighted,' the clergyman responded with a small chuckle.

‘We'll come with you, won't we Ollie?' Kate declared, pushing her chair away from the table.

Seconds later, they were gone. ‘That wasn't very charitable of you, Grandfather,' Mercy reprimanded him when her siblings were out of earshot.

Reverend Shackleford sighed and crossed himself. ‘You're undoubtedly right, my girl, but I don't believe even the Almighty would begrudge me a little amusement in return for putting up with Agnes for more than a quarter of a century. In truth, I'm fortunate to still be here the number of times the woman's tried to poison me.'

‘Oh, I'm sure that's not true,' protested Mercy vehemently before adding, ‘not intentionally, anyway.'

‘So, tell me about this fellow Harding, then, the Reverend demanded, changing the subject as he tucked into his bacon. ‘I take it he didn't get up to any mischief?'

‘Grandfather!' Mercedes gasped. ‘I can assure you, the Viscount was at all times the perfect gentleman.'

‘Oh, the Viscount ,' is it now?' Reverend Shackleford looked up and raised his eyebrows.

‘I'm simply using his correct title.' Mercy gave a small, self-conscious cough and determinedly pushed back her chair. ‘I'll take Flossy out to do her business whilst you finish your breakfast. Father wishes us to join him in his study.'

‘Do you think he wishes to talk about the Viscount ,' the Reverend quizzed to her back. Mercy stiffened her back as she heard him chortle. He might be a man of the cloth, but he could be such a child at times.

***

As Mercy sat and listened to her father's discourse on how he intended to manage her season without telling anyone or putting her at risk, she gave every indication that she was listening intently. Inside, however, she was simply biding her time until the opportunity arose for her to put forward her intricately devised plan. However, when the Earl finally paused for breath, and just as she was about to speak, her grandfather got in first.

‘There's no cause for concern, my lord. It's all sorted, I've been in touch with Percy…'

‘Already? Which part of, I'd rather you didn't tell anyone, didn't you comprehend, Augustus?'

The Reverend frowned, truly nonplussed. ‘Well, it wasn't just anyone. It was Percy.'

Christian sighed and waved the clergyman to continue.

‘We will accompany you and Mercedes to London,' the Reverend declared in the same tone he might have said, ‘I'll give you the Crown Jewels.' He paused and stared at his son-in-law expectantly.

‘Why?' To be fair, the Earl's response was relatively mild considering the sudden grip of panic that caused his stomach to roil most unpleasantly.

‘Why, to chaperone Mercy, of course,' Reverend Shackleford retorted, wondering why the Earl looked as queer as Dick's hatband. ‘I mean, who else is going to accompany her while she's purchasing fripperies or out for an afternoon stroll? We'll even accompany her to balls and whatnot. You'll have no cause for worry, lad. Percy and I will simply blend into the shadows. We'll…' He stopped, suddenly realising his audience were staring at him in what might have seemed like horror to a less sensitive individual. But then, it was rather dark in here. He gave a satisfied nod before adding, ‘Naturally, Agnes will return to Blackmore.'

‘Well, we can be thankful for that small mercy at least,' Christian muttered drily.

‘I'm certain such a jaunt will be entirely too much for you, Grandpapa,' Mercy declared, her speech unaccountably shrill, ‘though I'm exceedingly humbled that you would be so kind as to offer your services, of course.' She turned to her father, her voice taking on a desperate tone. ‘It will be entirely too strenuous, don't you agree, Father?'

‘Unquestionably,' the Earl commented between gritted teeth. The mere thought of having to keep an eye on his father-in-law as well as his daughter had him tempted to throw himself out of the window and be done with it.

The impervious clergyman waved their protests away, and Christian suddenly realised that the Reverend actually wanted to accompany them to London. He wasn't simply assuaging his guilt for allowing Mercy to run off on her own. Staring at his father-in-law's heroically sincere face, the Earl opened his mouth to declare he might as well have Mercy delivered to Reinhardt on a silver platter, when fortunately, or unfortunately, his wife chose that moment to enter the room.

‘Am I interrupting something?' she asked into the deafening silence.

‘Grandfather was offering to continue his services as a chaperone, but I told him it would be far too much for him,' Mercy told her in a tone that left Chastity in no doubt as to her daughter's opinion on the matter.

‘I'll have Percy,' the Reverend reminded her with a beatific smile. Naturally, the clergyman had omitted the part where he and Percy intended to root out Reinhardt and bring the blackguard to justice…

‘Well, in truth, I can't see that it would do any harm,' Chastity responded. Ignoring her husband's and stepdaughter's glares, she took a seat. ‘If Mercedes is to have her season, as I see it, the more people surrounding her, the better. You won't be able to accompany her wherever she goes, darling, and if Father is willing…'

‘I have a proposal,' Mercy declared loudly in nothing like the reasonable tone she'd practised in front of the mirror earlier. As three sets of eyes looked at her enquiringly. She took a deep breath and explained…

***

Nate silently watched the Earl's man taking notes while shaking his head at the state of the ceiling and looking pointedly at the bucket placed strategically on the floor. Without speaking, the man then started up the stairs, testing every tread with his foot. An ominous creaking sound accompanied more than one step, and Nate had to fight the urge to show the smug little toad out using the end of his foot.

Instead, the Viscount gritted his teeth and followed, half hoping the man would disappear through a convenient hole in the staircase.

When the Earl's inspector had first arrived, Nate hadn't known what to think. He'd half believed Cottesmore would get to the end of the overgrown drive and wash his hands of the whole affair.

But to his surprise, the very next day, a Mr. Jamison had arrived, offering him the worst thing possible - hope.

Since she'd left the day before, and despite repeatedly telling himself, he was completely addled, Nate had been unable to get Mercedes Stanhope out of his mind. All the common sense in the world couldn't smother his desperate urge to see her again, and he found himself concocting all kinds of increasingly outlandish scenarios where he and Duchess would ride to her rescue, sweep her up in his arms, and… Well, that's where the fantasy got stuck. The most he could hope for was her friendship. But he told himself it was enough.

Just to see her again, talk to her and watch her animated face. That he was a fool, Nate had no doubt. A man didn't fall in love with a woman after only two days, even if she represented everything he'd ever wanted.

A timely reminder of who and what he was, came from the top of the stairs. ‘Are you aware my lord, that you currently have a brace of pigeons nesting in your master bedchamber?'

No, he didn't bloody know that, since the last time he'd stepped foot in the master bedchamber had been the day he received the key.

Grimacing, Nate forced the treacherous thoughts out of his head and went to have a look.

***

As Mercy finally stuttered to a halt, her audience was ominously silent, until at length, her father commented evenly that he hadn't known she was possessed of such an imagination, or indeed inclined to such flights of fancy.

Her grandfather simply snorted and told her she was dicked in the nob to even consider enlisting the help of a man whose idea of etiquette was likely using a fork instead of his fingers. ‘And besides, who the devil is going to believe it.'

‘Since when has a pretty face been a prerequisite for an engagement?' Chastity commented thoughtfully, echoing her husband's earlier comments. ‘We know that Viscount Carlingford is purse pinched, but since he's never appeared in public, no one else does. I'm certain the ton could be persuaded with very little effort that he is as rich as Croesus and has simply been reclusive due to his terrible injury heroically received during the Battle of Waterloo.'

‘And how do you think Harding will take such a proposal,' Christian quizzed her. ‘At the very least he will be making himself the subject of gossip.'

‘That as may be, but he will also benefit. If his house is as bad as you say, he'll likely be without a roof over his head within the next couple of winters. This way, he has a chance to find a wealthy wife.'

‘I thought we were spreading the rumour of his vast wealth,' her husband reminded her drily.

Chastity shrugged. ‘At the end of the day, he has a title.'

‘I think it's a huge assumption to suppose Harding actually wants any assistance in finding a wife. We know nothing about him except that before he overheard the supposed plot to abduct Mercy, he was living his life and minding his own business. Now you're looking to turn his life upside down. He'd be perfectly within his rights to accuse us of making a May game of him.'

Christian's voice was hard and after a moment, Chastity nodded. ‘You're right. I'm speaking of him as though he's a child in need of guidance.'

Mercy bit her lip, knowing her father was right. It was all very well to decide that the Viscount could not help but benefit from his association with them, but he'd shunned the world of the ton for many years. Why on earth would he consider putting himself in a position where he would most likely be ridiculed at the very least? Of course, her father was overlooking one simple factor.

In her heart of hearts, Mercy knew Nathaniel Harding would do it for her. She thought back to his face as he'd stared at her outside the sitting room. He was hers for the taking - she knew it right down to her very toes.

But did she want him? Could she risk trampling all over his heart, only to discover that the connection she thought was there didn't exist back in the real world? And how would her father react if he knew what she was really thinking?

She became aware that her grandfather was speaking again. ‘Well, much as it pains me to admit it, if the fellow fought at Waterloo, he'd likely be useful in a fight.'

‘What about you, Mercedes?' It was a second before Mercy realised her father was speaking to her. She looked at him silently, trying hard to suppress an inevitable blush. ‘Why are you so willing to put your life into a stranger's hands?'

How could she say that the Viscount intrigued her more than any other man she'd ever met? That she wanted the opportunity to get to know him better, and this was the only way she could think of to do it? It was a mutton-headed plan at best. And completely selfish.

She opened her mouth to tell him to discard her idea - that she was being extremely foolish - but what came out instead was, ‘I trust him.' And it was true, she did – she hadn't hesitated to trust him with her life.

There was a silence, then Chastity sighed and gripped Mercy's hand while addressing her next words to her husband. ‘All this conjecture is getting us nowhere. If you think the idea of enlisting Viscount Carlingford's help has any merit at all, perhaps we should simply go ahead and ask him. It's not as if he is unaware of the threat Reinhardt presents.'

The Earl steepled his hands, pondering her words. ‘So, let's assume Carlingford agrees for a moment. For the ton to accept his ongoing presence as Mercy's escort, he would have to play the part of a devoted fiancé convincingly. And Reinhardt himself needs to believe it real. The dual purpose of the charade would be to keep Mercy safe and force Reinhardt into acting rashly, - hopefully revealing himself in the process.' He paused before directing his next words to Mercedes.

‘Once the danger has passed, how do you propose to end your engagement to the Viscount? I seem to remember being told of your Aunt Patience playing a similarly dangerous game with Max during her come out. That whole smoky business had a happy ending, but I think it unlikely that history will repeat itself.' He shook his head doubtfully. ‘I feel as though we may well be trying to use a sledgehammer to drive in a nail…'