Page 75 of No Lady for the Lord

So overcome by all that had transpired in the last few moments, Mercy couldn't summon a blush or chagrin for either woman’s reaction to Ronan’s forwardness.

My mother might be alive.

A peculiar whirring in her ears and a fuzzy sensation in her head made concentrating hard. She wasn’t sure whether to rejoice that she might have a mother or weep for fear of the scandal that would taint this household if it were true. Or what that disgrace might do to Bellamy and Arabelle.

Snorting, the Earl of Renshaw threw his hands in the air. “Could any more dishonor befall our family? Now the governess is a baseborn too?”

He spoke about Mercy as if she were a blemished potato or a stool with a broken leg.

“Yes, it could,” snapped his father, a hint of irritation and steel in his voice Mercy had never heard before. “Two people who love each other eloping and a young woman reunited with her mother are not the end of the world. The joy of both of those events outweighs any scandal or disgrace. Stop thinking of only your pride for a change, Sanford.”

At her father’s vehement pronouncement, Corinna grinned and winked at Mercy again.

Mercy truly did adore Corinna.

Ronan gripped her shoulder again.

“Fine,” the earl said, stiff with affront. Everything about the man was rigid and uncompromising and prickly pride. “Apparently, as I’m the only Brockman to care a jot about our family’s reputation, I shall take my leave.”

“You do that,” Ronan said. “And while you’re at it, I’d suggest counting your many, many blessings instead of focusing on petty matters only you perceive as dire.”

“Stow it. I don’t need a lecture from you,” the Earl of Renshaw bit out. He stomped from the room, slamming the door afterward.

The reverberation of the banged door and the steady ticking of the longcase clock punctuated the awkward silence.

“I indulged him when his mother died,” muttered the marquess, rubbing his third and fourth fingers across his forehead. “I should’ve taken him down several pegs when he was a lad.”

“You’ve been a good father, Arthur,” his wife consoled. “You are not to blame.”

The humming in Mercy’s ears grew louder. Swallowing, she blinked several times, attempting to dispel the myriad of tiny black spots dancing before her eyes.

“I beg your pardon,” she mumbled, gaining her feet with considerable effort. “I am not feeling at all well.”

Swaying, she reached out blindly.

“Ronan, she’s going to swoon,” Corinna cried.

“I’m sorry…” And then Mercy was falling. Just before she lost consciousness, ironlike arms caught her to a muscular chest.