Page 63
~ Miss Mercy Feathers during her first year as a governess in a letter to Miss Chasity Noble
Pelandale House Library
25 March 1818
Early afternoon
A woman’s soft, quite pleasant singing brought Ronan up short as he strode past the partially open library door. He’d just returned home and had a potentially unpleasant conversation to finish with Mercy.
Her reaction yesterday had haunted him all day. A former military man, he recognized fear when he saw it. And Mercy Feathers was unquestionably afraid.
But of what?
“Not the labor of my hands
“Can fulfill Thy law’s demands.”
Whoever she was, she was singing Rock of Ages. He recognized the hymn from church.
Assuredly it wasn’t either of Ronan’s sisters. Both admitted to a tin-ear they’d inherited from their father as had he and didn’t torture themselves or those around them by professing otherwise. Hence, the Brockmans never hosted musicals and seldom attended them either.
Small favor that.
Even though Ronan couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket himself, off-key singing had the same painful effect as talons scraping open the flesh along his spine when he was subjected to such unholy purgatory.
A servant then?
He cocked his head.
“Could my zeal no respite know
“Could my tears forever flow…”
No… Not a servant.
Mercy.
Hadn’t father mentioned Mrs. Shepherd was an extremely pious woman? Wouldn’t she have instilled such piety in her students as well? It was ironic that such a devout lady and a sister to a bishop had aided in concealing the identities of girls born outside the constraints of marriage—had done so for decades.
“Ballocks. Where is the dashed stupid thing?” Mercy muttered peevishly. “Surely it must be here.”
A silent chuckle shook Ronan’s chest.
Perhaps not so very pious after all.
Grinning and assuring himself no servant or family member loitered nearby, Ronan slipped closer. He hadn’t a qualm about eavesdropping. There was something about Mercy Feathers that didn’t quite add up. People who talked to themselves sometimes revealed secrets.
Besides, he still needed to speak with her. He had intended to finish their discussion after the girls’ morning lessons. Mercy and his wards typically took a break late morning for a spot of exercise and then biscuits and tea before music instruction.
He’d joined them once, demonstrating his skills on the pianoforte. Mercy hadn’t been able to disguise her surprise or a tell-tale blush when he began playing Greensleeves while giving her a highly inappropriate, smoldering look.
Instead, today before breaking his fast, Ronan had been summoned to the shipping office regarding an insurance matter that needed his prompt attention prior to The Arcturus weighing anchor on the evening tide. Back to America by way of the Caribbean and Cuba—without him.
This was the first voyage he would miss since investing in the ship. In truth, Ronan expected to be more troubled about that disruption than he was. He wasn’t positive his lack of distress was a good thing either.
His conscience might’ve been assuaged if his lack of angst could’ve been attributed solely to a wish to stay near Arabelle and Bellamy. However, their enigmatic governess proved as much an allure as his wards’ wellbeing did. More if he were perfectly candid, though he could not pinpoint exactly what it was about Mercy that held him in thrall.
Yes, she was lovely with those green, green eyes and that curtain of blonde hair with its ribbons of fire. Her womanly figure was everything a man might desire. Yet she never used her feminine attributes to manipulate. She possessed a shrewd, intelligent mind, a keen wit, and exercised discretion and self-control. Furthermore, Mercy was kind, honest, and patient.
