Chapter Six

The Reverend woke early, though in truth, he wasn't really sure he'd actually been asleep.

It wasn't often Augustus Shackleford questioned his own decisions. Introspection wasn't generally something he indulged in since it tended to bring on his gout. And for the most part, he believed that if a course of action came to him, it had been put there by the Almighty. For that reason, it was perfectly acceptable for him to go along with it – though, in fairness, there had been the odd occasion where he had to admit (mostly after the event) that he may just have slightly misconstrued His meaning.

This could well be one of those occasions.

If he was being entirely honest, he felt completely out of his depth. Despite his determined words the evening before, he wasn't entirely sure their footmen were capable of protecting them against what were essentially a bunch of murdering land pirates.

And at the end of the day, he had no real idea why this American was looking to abduct Mercedes. The man had implied that he'd only recently come to England from the Americas. It was a deuced long way to come simply to force a chit's hand in marriage to get his hands on her dowry. And how had he come to know about her anyway?

And lastly, the most important thing. The one that had been nagging him since he climbed into bed. Christian Stanhope, Earl of Cottesmore, had lived in America for several years before returning to England to claim his inheritance.

At the time of his leaving, he'd been living in New York City, but before that, Augustus Shackleford knew his son-in-law had spent several years in the very same place as Reinhardt.

Boston, Massachusetts.

***

Christian Stanhope watched Christopher, Olivia and Catherine - or Kit, Ollie and Kate as they were more commonly known - as they made the most of the unseasonal weather. Though the hour was still early, the twins were currently sat on top of their brother pummelling him with snow. The Earl winced, giving a rueful grin while wondering whether he should intervene.

The girls were entirely too much for his bookish son to fight off alone, though he suspected Kit would not appreciate his father's interference. In truth, when the twins were together, they were almost impossible for anyone to control. What was it about Shackleford women? He shook his head and chuckled to himself. He loved all his children fiercely, but he had to admit to having missed Mercedes this last month. The twins adored her, and whenever Mercy was in the house, they gravitated towards their half-sister, giving the rest of the household a little well-earned respite.

‘Have they suffocated him yet?' Christian turned at the sound of Chastity's voice and shook his head with a grin.

‘Kit is far too soft on them,' his wife continued, coming to stand at the window to watch the play fight. ‘They run rings round him I'm afraid.'

‘I'm sensing a common theme with the males in this family,' Christian retorted drily.

Chastity looked at him and winked. ‘We wouldn't want any of you to be bored,' she quipped, then laughed at his answering look. Have you heard from Mercy?' she asked, thinking it a good time to change the subject.

‘She sent a messenger to say they had left Tewkesbury and were hoping to arrive before dark today. He gestured to the white blanket in front of them. ‘Of course, that was before the snow arrived. They might be forced to stay an extra night in the Swan.'

‘Oh, I hope not,' Chastity exclaimed. ‘I've missed her dreadfully.' She shook her head, ‘Along with fearing that some Scottish laird might sweep her off her feet. I don't think I could bear it if she went so far away.'

‘Mostly because she's the only one who can control the twins,' Christian gibed.

‘That is absolutely not true,' Chastity protested a little too vehemently, before adding with a rueful grin, ‘well mayhap just a little… But you know I love her dearly.'

‘And she loves you,' Christian responded, taking his wife in his arms. ‘In truth, you've been the most wonderful mother to her, and I'll be forever grateful to you.'

‘I feel as though she's mine,' Chastity responded simply, leaning forward to kiss him.

‘Well, she's certainly got the Shackleford determination to go her own way as we recently discovered,' Christian chuckled. ‘I blame it on Prudence.'

‘Poor old Pru - being the youngest, she gets the blame for everything. But at least Mercy listens. Unlike our youngest two mischief-makers.'

‘Until she doesn't,' Christian grimaced. ‘I confess I've been more than a little concerned about her going so far in your father's company.'

Chastity gave an inelegant snort, ‘Whatever she may or may not have done will not have been due to his influence. My father's always been excellent at thinking about his own requirements whilst leaving the rest of us to do whatever we wanted.'

Christian raised his eyebrows. ‘But what about all his meddling and interference?'

Chastity shrugged. ‘I think he always thought of it as damage limitation. And his meddling was usually his way of trying to put things right after whatever disaster had occurred. He was never very good at thinking ahead.'

‘I never quite thought of it that way,' her husband admitted with a frown causing Chastity to shake her head and laugh.

‘Don't worry about Mercy, darling. She's more than capable of making her own decisions, and at the end of the day, I'm certain she'd never do anything that might cause you to worry…'

***

‘She's gone!' The Reverend burst into his wife's bedchamber without knocking, resulting in Agnes only narrowly avoiding shoving her morning tonic up her nose.

‘What do you mean? Who's gone where?' the matron demanded, hurriedly putting the bottle down.

‘Mercedes,' he roared. ‘She's not in her room.' He waved a scrap of paper around. ‘She left this.' He sounded on the verge of tears, and Agnes frowned, wondering if he was about to have an apoplexy. She'd never seen her husband so up in the boughs.

‘Let me see,' she ordered, holding out her hand for the note. Seconds later, she gave a small moan and fumbled around for her salts.

‘Stanhope will never forgive us,' the Reverend groaned. ‘I knew I should have taken that fellow's offer of help last eve.'

‘She says she's gone with him to ensure our safety,' Agnes countered firmly. ‘Surely our best recourse is to get to Cottesmore as soon as possible. If this blackguard is watching us as Mr. Harding suggested, then he'll know Mercy's not in the carriage and will leave us be.'

‘Unless he drags us out of the coach and tortures us until we tell him where she is,' the Reverend muttered darkly.

‘I hardly think he will go to such great lengths, Augustus,' Agnes declared, though her conviction appeared to be wavering slightly. ‘We will warn the footmen and coach drivers, so they'll be on their guard for any attack.'

Slightly mollified, Reverend Shackleford nodded. ‘I'll speak with them now. Be ready to leave within the hour.' He shoved the note in his cassock pocket and started towards the door, only to pause and turn back. ‘You do think Mercy will be safe with Harding? I mean, he's not likely to … well…'

‘Flossy thought so,' Agnes declared stoutly, echoing Mercy's opinion, ‘and that's good enough for me.'

‘So, you don't think the fellow intends to … to … well, you know … err in the way of his breeches?'

Agnes stared at him for a second. ‘You mean is he likely to force her into his bed and ravish her?'

The Reverend stared back. ‘Have you been reading those deuced periodicals again, Agnes?' The matron went an uncommon shade of pink, but fortunately she was saved from replying by a knock on the door.

‘Stay back, Agnes,' the clergyman ordered in the tone of voice he usually reserved for one of Percy's fire and brimstone sermons.

‘Here, take this,' Agnes breathed, lifting the large poker from next to the fire and handing it to him.

Grasping the makeshift weapon, Reverend Shackleford tiptoed to the door. ‘Who's there?' he demanded, lifting the poker for good measure before dramatically flinging open the door.

The maid on the other side, screamed and nearly dropped her tray. ‘I was just bringin' the missus ‘er chocolate,' she babbled, backing away. ‘I swears it, Sir.'

The Reverend put down the poker, feeling four ways a fool. ‘I … er … there was a bit of a disturbance last night...' It was true, there was – just because he didn't actually hear Mercy doing a runner, didn't make it a plumper.

‘My wife and I didn't sleep well…' Half-truth perhaps – he certainly didn't sleep well. In his experience, Agnes usually slept like the dead, and he didn't think the events of last night would be any exception.

‘No matter, Sir,' the maid responded cheerfully, stepping past him into the room. ‘I know just how noisy the inn can be when it's busy – people coming and going at all hours.'

‘Did anyone leave last night?'

‘I don't rightly know, Sir. I ain't bin told so.' The maid placed the hot chocolate onto the table and gave a small curtsy. ‘Will you be wantin' breakfast?'

Before Agnes could order her customary five course meal as she generally did when someone else was footing the bill, the Reverend shook his head. ‘We're leaving as soon as possible. If you could supply us with some bread and cold meats to take with us, that would be most appreciated.'

‘With a spot of piccalilli,' Agnes added as the young woman went through the door.' The maid nodded and hurried away.

‘Thunder an' turf, if Reinhardt asks around, he's sure to find out Harding left last night,' the Reverend groaned. ‘It won't be long before he puts two and two together once he realises Mercy's missing.'

‘But why on earth would he link Harding with Mercy?' Agnes scoffed. ‘I think you're beginning to believe your own Banbury stories, Augustus Shackleford.'

‘That as may be, but we can't discount the possibility. We need to get to the Earl as soon as possible. I'll go and tell the coachmen not to spare the horses.'

***

Mercy woke with a start, and for a few seconds couldn't imagine where she was, then it all came flooding back. Heart sinking, she stared up at the moth-eaten canopy above the bed she was lying in and thought back to the events that had brought her here.

It had taken them just over an hour to reach the house, and though frightened out of her wits, she'd been heartened to watch her would-be rescuer's concern for his horse, even slowing their pace for the mare's comfort. They spoke very little throughout the trek, and already exhausted from her long journey, Mercy had concentrated on putting one foot in front of another. Surprisingly, it hadn't been particularly cold, and she suspected a thaw was already setting in.

In the note she left for her grandfather, Mercy had advised that they continue on to Cottesmore with all speed. She hoped the Reverend had either kept the note with him or put it onto the fire as soon as he'd read it. If Reinhardt got hold of it, he might not know where she'd gone, but at the very least he'd suspect they were on to him.

Then of course, she couldn't help wondering whether the whole business had been blown out of all proportion, or whether Mr. Harding had even been telling the truth. But what could he have hoped to gain? Did he want money? Mayhap he hoped her father would pay for her safe return – but then, he hadn't even known who her father was until she told him in the stable.

Her thoughts had gone round and round as she'd trudged alongside the horse. Strangely enough, the one thing she hadn't felt was fear of her companion.

Dawn was well underway by the time they got to their destination. They'd come upon the house with no warning, stepping out of the trees and onto an overgrown path fronting a large Tudor style manor house. At the sight of it, she'd stopped in surprise.

‘Did you think I lived in a hovel?' Nate commented drily.

‘I … well, no, but I confess, I wasn't expecting it to be quite so large.'

He laughed harshly. ‘It might be large, but in truth, hovel is a good description.'

She looked over at him. ‘Is it yours?' she asked carefully.

He gave a dark grin and nodded. ‘Though I wish to God it wasn't.'

As they got closer, Mercy realised the house was in dire need of renovation. Even in the early morning half-light, she could see that the roof was sagging and some of the windows were boarded up. The area directly around the house had been cleared, but the rest of what had probably been formal gardens had been left to grow wild. The melting snow revealed glimpses of a carpet of wild bluebells.

She glanced over at him. ‘Welcome to Carlingford Hall,' he murmured with a mocking bow.

She looked back at the mellow red brick wondering how it had come to be in such a sorry condition – clearly Nate Harding did not have the funds to do the necessary repairs. While she studied it, the sagging roof and missing windows became even more evident as the sun began to peep through the trees as it started above the horizon. It was beautiful, but sad.

‘The stable's this way,' he growled, leading Duchess to the left and leaving Mercy to follow. As they walked, a sudden noise in the undergrowth preceded the arrival of his small dog. She'd been missing for the last half a mile and with the blood around her muzzle, it looked as though she'd been off catching her breakfast.

‘What your dog's name?' she asked, running to catch up.

‘Ruby,' he answered shortly.

‘Have you had her long?' Mercy persisted, walking beside him.

‘Since she was a pup.' His answer was brusque, and she realised he didn't want her questions. Too bad. If he'd not wanted her to know anything about him, he shouldn't have offered his help. Still, she subsided for now. Even if everything went according to their admittedly vague plan, it would likely be a couple of days before her father turned up. There was plenty of time, and she had to admit to being extremely curious about her gruff champion.

The stable appeared in much better repair than the house, giving another indication of the man's concern for the welfare of his animals. Indeed, it was another half an hour before he had the mare bedded down to his satisfaction while Mercy sat on the floor and watched. He hadn't suggested she went into the house without him, and she began to wonder just how bad it might be inside.

At length, he slung the panniers over his shoulder and picked up her bag before turning to towards her with a muttered, ‘Follow me.' Without answering, Mercy climbed wearily to her feet and followed him as he retraced their steps back to the front of the house. Rounding the corner, she saw the house clearly for the first time. Despite its shabby appearance, the house exuded a sense of peace, the like of which she'd never experienced before. Without thinking, she stopped and stared. Not realising she was no longer behind him, Nate continued on to the large front door, putting the bag down and pulling the key out of his pocket.

After pushing the door open, he finally turned, only to see she was still a distance away. Entirely mistaking the reason she'd stopped, he frowned. ‘You have nothing to fear,' he stated flatly. ‘You have my word that you will come to no harm in my house.'

Mercy blinked and started towards him. ‘I know,' was all she said when she finally reached the door. For long seconds, they stared at each other, and Mercy's heart began thudding erratically. She abruptly realised that she no longer even noticed his scar. Indeed, her only thought at that moment was what would happen if he kissed her.