In truth, Augustus Shackleford was dreading having to tell the Earl of Cottesmore that he’d mislaid his daughter. The fact that it had been Mercy herself who’d decided to abscond with a perfect stranger in the middle of the night was not going to hold water, no matter which way he looked at it.
He’d spent the better part of the last hour thinking of ways he could make the story a little more palatable, but so far, he’d come up with precisely nothing. And then of course, there was the added worry that Mercyhad actuallyabscondedwith a perfect stranger in the middle of the night. Was she safe? What the devil would Stanhope do when he finally tracked Mercy down. Would he call Harding out? Force him to marry the chit? Had that been the scoundrel's plan all along? Had the whole kidnap story been a complete Canterbury tale?
The Reverend’s thoughts were in danger of running away with him – indeed he’d actually been contemplating throwing himself out of the carriage - until he remembered his own conversation with Reinhardt and his conviction from the start that the fellow was involved in some havey cavey business.
No, whatever Harding was, he was honourable. The Reverend would stake his life on it. In truth, he might have to once the Earl got hold of him…
Chapter Eight
On waking, Mercy had felt horribly grimy but had been unable to do anything about it since the bedchamber didn’t contain a washing bowl. Neither was there a mirror. In fact, the bed was the only piece of furniture in the room. There was, however, an old chamber pot situated under the bed for which she was particularly grateful, though she was uncomfortable at the thought of emptying it. She doubted the house contained a proper water closet, but wondered if there might be a privy of sorts. But then, given the age of the pot, she thought it unlikely.
In the end, once she’d seen to her needs, she’d pushed the pot back under the bed, straightened her hair using her fingers, brushed down her dress and finally stepped out into the shadowy hall.
She stood listening for a few seconds but could hear nothing - in fact, the silence was so absolute, it was unnerving. Suddenly disorientated, she walked slowly down the corridor towards a light which she hoped indicated the stairs. There were no pictures of any kind, and the wallcovering was so faded, she was unable to make out either the colour or the pattern.
After a few moments, she came to the top of the stairs and stared downwards, an unexpected sadness engulfing her. Clearly, the entrance hall had once been light and airy, but now the windows either side of the imposing front door were so grimy it was impossible to see anything through them. The chandelier hanging from the ominously sagging ceiling was cracked and coated in dust. Mercy shook her head as she picked her way carefully down the stairs. While she understood that Nate Harding hadn’t got sixpence to scratch with, she was nevertheless surprised at the total lack of even the most basic repairs. The house was literally falling down around his ears, and he appeared to be doing nothing at all to stop it.
And yet the stable was in excellent repair.
On reaching the bottom, she hesitated. Should she retrace their steps from yesterday? There was still no sound of anyone else in the building, and if Ruby at least had been in the vicinity, Mercy had no doubt the dog would have heard her by now.
As she stood, Mercy abruptly became aware of the enormity of what she’d done. She was in a ramshackle old house with a complete stranger she knew absolutely nothing about – apart from the fact that he apparently had a title – which looking around her now, seemed more like a Banbury story.
Had she entirely overreacted? Spur of the moment actions were not Mercedes at all. Blunt, matter of fact, not given to wit and whimsy. That’s how she’d be described by all who knew her. And yet she’d put herself in the hands of someone who could well turn out to be a madman – because of a storyhe’dtold her.
She clenched her hands in sudden fear. Should she just collect her things and leave? Indecision engulfed her. She’d gone as far as taking a step back towards the stairs, when suddenly, the doorto her left opened. Gasping in fright, she picked up her skirts to flee, just as the subject of her thoughts stepped through the door. He stopped on seeing her and they stared silently at each other.
‘I made up the fire,’ he growled, indicating behind him. ‘The chimney’s relatively clean, so it shouldn’t smoke too much.’
Mercy looked past him into the room he’d just vacated. Aside from a cheerful fire burning in the hearth, the only furniture she could see were two winged chairs either side of the fireplace.
‘It’s not much, but it’s more comfortable than the kitchen,’ he added gruffly as the silence lengthened. Mercy’s gaze came back from the room to focus on him. After a moment, she nodded without moving. He seemed to understand her hesitation and his lips twisted as he stated, ‘You were planning to run.’
He hadn’t phrased it as a question, but his stance indicated he wouldn’t make any attempt to stop her.
Taking a deep breath, she shook her head and stepped towards the door. ‘I was merely wondering which way I should go.’ Walking past him into the room, she stared around her in surprise. It was a small sitting room, and unlike everything she’d seen of the house so far, this room was in good repair. The walls had been whitewashed and the floor polished to a high shine. It was possible to actually see through the window, and thick brocade curtains hung either side. While the two fireside chairs were clearly old, the leather had been carefully repaired and the cushions restuffed.
Glancing back, Mercy realised he hadn’t moved, but was standing watching her. ‘You spend a lot of time in this room,’ was all she could think of to say.
He shrugged. ‘Make yourself comfortable, I’ll fetch you some tea. At her look of surprise, he gave a sudden grin which totally transformed his face. ‘I’m not a complete philistine.’ Mercy didn’t answer -couldn’tanswer. She was completely transfixed by the unexpected difference in his features. Dear God, he must have been handsome before the scar.
Before she managed to find a reply, he was gone, shutting the door softly behind him. Mercy’s heart thudded erratically. She didn’t feel at all like herself as she sat down on one of the chairs. Her whole body tingled. What the deuce was wrong with her?
She twisted her hands in her lap, trying to focus her mind on the problem at hand. She would be here no more than another day at the most. Her pocket watch told her it was early afternoon. Provided no more snow had fallen while she’d slept, her grandparents would be well on the way to Cottesmore by now, and once her father had been informed, she knew he would move heaven and earth to find her. Indeed, he might even arrive in the early hours. Unexpectedly, she was assailed by an absurd disappointment that this might be her only day here.
Mercy gritted her teeth. Carlingford Hall was entirely devoid of any comforts for pity’s sake. Why on earth would she want to spend any more time in such a place? Nibbling on her fingernails, she tried to examine her feelings. She realised that for some absurd reason, she felt connected to Nathaniel Harding. Why, she couldn’t even begin to say. His face was enough to provoke nightmares in any sensitive child, and perhaps because of that, he appeared to care for nothing and no one aside from his two four-legged companions.
But if what he’d told them last eve was true, he’d saved her from a fate worse than death. He could simply have left her to her fate, but instead, he’d warned her and offered his help. And despiteher earlier fear that he’d made the whole story up, she didn’t really believe that.
Her reverie was interrupted as the door reopened, this time, to admit Ruby who ran over in delighted abandon, rolling immediately on her back at Mercy’s feet.
Laughing, Mercy bent down to stroke the wiry fur on the dog’s belly.
‘She has no finesse, I’m afraid.’ At Nate’s deep tones, Mercy’s head snapped up. In his hands, he carried a small tray with a dish of tea and a plate of … something – she couldn’t quite see what from this angle. She remembered the lack of cooking facilities in the kitchen and wondered how the devil he’d managed to make tea. He placed the tray down on the top of the mantel and handed her a dish. ‘Be careful, it’s hot,’ he warned.
She frowned, taking the tea out of his hands and laying it on her lap, warming her fingers around the dish. ‘How did you manage to make the tea? I don’t remember seeing a fireplace in the kitchen.’
‘It’s in the scullery,’ he answered, handing her a thick slice of bread liberally spread with honey. ‘Don’t ask me why.’
