Page 7 of No Lady for the Lord

Her younger sister nodded eagerly, sending her dark ringlets pirouetting. “Oh, yes, please, Miss Mercy.”

“I think that can be arranged,” Mercy said with a smile. The first genuine smile in weeks, and her cheek muscles ached from non-use.

Neither girl had demonstrated much appetite since their father’s passing, and if they hungered for a treat before dinner, Mercy wasn’t going to squelch the desire.

After accompanying them to the kitchen and making the request for milk and biscuits from the ruddy-cheeked cook, Mrs. Stanley, Mercy gave each girl a warm hug.

“Go along with you now. I’ll be up as soon as I’ve finished my correspondence, and we can read Gulliver’s Travels together. I’ve asked for toasted cheese and soup for our supper. I think we’ll don our nightwear and eat before the fire, picnic style.”

Mercy leaned back and examined each of their dear faces. “Does that sound like fun?”

“Yes,” they responded in unison, both carefully balancing a plate of biscuits and a cup of milk.

Even as she promised to return soon and strode to the study, Mercy’s mind had moved on to composing the letter. Would it be too forward or presumptuous to ask when Lord Ronan Brockman intended to meet the girls before he sent for them or if he required a governess?

What could it hurt to ask?

She might get sacked for impertinence.

Honestly, she might get sacked regardless. Better to know the lay of that land as swiftly as possible too.

Giving a slight lift of her shoulder, Mercy settled into the oversized leather chair behind Lieutenant Masterson’s desk. She pulled the documents, left there that blustery January day six weeks ago, across the slightly dusty surface.

With the slightest hesitation, prudence still niggling that she overstepped the mark, Mercy examined the tidy rows of script crossing the vellum. Not finding what she sought on the top page, she continued perusing each crisp page until she located the one with the information she wanted.

Aha. Success.

“Lord Ronan Brockman,” she muttered beneath her breath as she copied his direction in neat, even letters. A dashed lord and quite possibly a rapscallion. Nevertheless, it was unfair to judge a man she’d never met. “I do hope you are a man of good character and have a benevolent heart.”

Patience and a sense of humor wouldn’t be amiss either.

The letter took a surprisingly short amount of time to complete. After rereading each line carefully, Mercy blew on the damp ink. Lips pressed together, she took a deep breath as she sprinkled sand across the foolscap.

“Why pray tell, Lord Rogue, haven’t you had the common decency to reach out to your grieving wards yet, you bounder?”

I know I have thrust an unexpected and inconvenient burden upon you.

I beg your forgiveness even as I implore you to accept the appointment. I didn’t