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“Ah.” A frown snapped his lordship’s hawkish eyebrows together. He rubbed his jaw as he stared past her. “I shall see to it that Mrs. Stanley and Mr. Norman are pensioned off, if that is what they desire. If not, I’m sure one of my father’s many houses could use loyal servants such as them.”
She stared at him in shock as a warm feeling fluttered in the vicinity of her chest.
Could Ronan Brockman really be kind and handsome?
Perhaps, he wasn’t quite the ogre she’d imagined him to be in her mind.
Wait.
Did he have his own funds, or would he impose upon his father’s coffers? If so, would the marquess be as generous as his son? It was far easier to spend someone else’s money than one’s own. And to make promises that he might not be in a position of keeping.
However, Mercy couldn’t very well demand to know if he was independently wealthy.
“That would be very benevolent, and I have no doubt they would appreciate your generosity.” At least she needn’t fret about Mrs. Stanley or Norman any longer. If Lord Ronan made good on his promise.
“I should like to return to London the day after tomorrow, Miss Feathers. Does that give you sufficient time to pack Bellamy’s and Arabelle’s personal possessions?”
He still hadn’t mentioned her continued employment.
Angling her head, Mercy gave a succinct nod. “Yes. That is plenty of time.”
How would she tell them they’d never set foot in their home again?
She wouldn’t.
Not yet, anyway. It would serve absolutely no purpose other than to upset the girls.
Mercy’s attention shifted to Lord Ronan tapping the fingers of his right hand upon the desk. He scrutinized her with a thoroughness and concentration that made her want to squirm in her chair.
What did he seek?
Why did she feel like she was on trial?
His gaze turbulent and mouth grim, he abruptly stopped drumming the desktop. Leaning forward, he asked with a directness that stole the breath from her lungs, “Were you Masterson’s mistress?”
Dorthea, please do come for tea Thursday the week after next.
Ronan will have returned to town, and his wards ought to be settled by then.
Bring your darling granddaughters, if you would be so kind. I intend to introduce Arabelle
and Bellamy to a few children near their own ages to make them feel more welcome in London.
~ The Marchioness of Trentholm in a letter to the Countess of Hurtley
Still the study of Masterson’s residence
Thirty monstrously awkward seconds later
What? What?
Did he just ask…
No. Of course not.
The charged silence in the room fairly sparked with electricity and accusation.
Squinting in confusion, Mercy shook her head as if to clear her ears. She hadn’t heard him correctly. No honorable man would ask a woman something so offensive. It was beyond the pale. Especially a man she’d met just over an hour ago.
