Page 45
“Hatchards?” Mercy did that cute thing of scrunching her brows together, which meant she was either thinking or confused.
“It’s a bookstore. Temple of the Muses is another rather impressive bookstore. Naturally, Arabelle and Bellamy must visit Gunter’s Tea Shop for ices.” He slung his ankle over his knee and began tapping his fingertips on his thigh. “I’m positive my mother and sisters will have several outings planned in short order.”
A smile bent her rose-bud mouth upward, and curiosity danced in her eyes, the color of plane tree leaves at the moment. “How many sisters have you, my lord?”
“Two half-sisters.” He held up two buff-colored gloved fingers. “Corrina and Marissa, both younger than I. Marissa is sixteen, and Corrina is two-and-twenty going on forty. She’s quite droll and doesn’t much care for decorum.”
Her smile widened at his description. “She sounds fascinating.”
“Yes, well. In truth, Corrina is frequently quite shocking. My mother despairs of her ever behaving like a proper lady.”
What would Miss Mercy Feathers make of his hellion of a sister?
“Are they your only siblings?” Mercy asked.
“No.” Ronan shook his head as the unmistakable sounds of purring emanated from the basket. Naturally, after seven hours, the temperamental creature had finally decided to settle down.
“I also have two brothers. One three years older and another two years younger.” He chuckled. “Sanford and Benjamin couldn’t be any more different than night and day. Sanford, the next marquess, is terribly solemn and serious while Benjamin thinks life is a lark.”
Except for that business about meeting someone special that Benjamin had mentioned last week. Before Ronan could ask him to elucidate on the matter, Sanford had interrupted them enjoying a brandy in the library.
With a silent warning, more of a pleading with his eyes for Ronan to discontinue the discussion, Ben had abruptly changed the subject to an upcoming horse race.
Mercy cocked her head, that ugly bonnet giving her the faintest look of a curious little black hen. “And who are you most like?”
Grinning, Ronan winked. “Why, Miss Feathers, I am the perfect balance of both brothers, their unpleasant traits aside, that is.”
She raised a skeptical eyebrow but didn’t contest his appraisal of himself. Probably because servants couldn’t speak freely. Corrina would’ve told him to sod off or go bugger himself. Both vulgar expressions would’ve sent their mother into a swoon.
“Have you any sisters or brothers?” Ronan asked amiably, the silence inside the coach of the past few hours having grown tedious.
Mercy's countenance closed as assuredly as if she’d slammed a window shut and then slid the bar home to block any possible intruders.
“My story is not edifying nor uncommon. I have no family, my lord.”
Her tone and the immediate presentation of her profile clearly indicated the conversation was at an end. Only Ronan wasn’t ready to let it go. Some devil on his shoulder prodded him onward.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured. His family might drive him to distraction, but they were a loving lot. Ronan couldn’t imagine being alone in the world.
“Orphaned then?” he persisted, aware he crossed the mark into impoliteness.
“Something like that,” she said after an interminable pause, her expression inscrutable.
Either Mercy Feathers was an orphan, or she was not. There was no in-between. However, her obvious reserve made him bite his tongue. That discussion could wait for another time.
“We should arrive within a few more minutes,” he tried again conversationally. “I’m famished. Mother is certain to have hot baths at the ready for all of us, and I’ll wager something delectable to eat.”
“Lord Ronan. I highly doubt the marchioness will think it necessary to have a bath and meal prepared for a governess.” Her tone held neither reprimand nor disrespect. She was simply reminding him of her station…neither part of the family nor a domestic servant. Governesses occupied an awful place between both, which meant they were never really included or embraced by either.
It must be a wholly lonely existence.
Before Ronan finished his troubling musings, the coach lumbered to a stop before Pelandale House. At once, a footman in spotless crimson and black livery opened the door and set a step stool before the coach.
Ronan climbed down as Mercy woke the girls.
Blinking sleepily, Arabelle and Bellamy permitted him to assist them from the equipage. Mercy stepped from the vehicle before he could turn back to hand her down.
Had she assumed she should disembark on her own? She acted as if governesses were secondary citizens, for pity’s sake. He’d treat her with the same respect that he would any female.
