Free The Lady Mercy Danforthe Flirts With Scandal by Jayne Fresina Page B

wanted,” he replied crossly. “As a wise lady told me recently in London, a man can never be content if he spends his life pleasing others. This is my choice.”
    The hint of an odd, relieved smile seemed poised to claim her lips and soften them, but she quelled it and gave a brisk nod instead. “Very well.”
    Accustomed to folk questioning his choices, he was unprepared for that simple reply. “I suppose you think I should wear a starched shirt every day and work for my father’s business.”
    She answered very certainly, very calmly. “I think you should do what makes you happiest.”
    “Do you give yourself the same advice?”
    “Always.”
    But he knew her to be a proponent of “duty first.” If he questioned her further, she would probably say that duty made her happy, and thus they would descend into another quarrel.
    Finally Rafe got to his feet. He scratched his rumpled head, glanced through the window, and saw his father’s curricle by the gate. She must be staying at Hartley House then. Did her wretched ladyship have nothing else to get back to? Or no one else? He’d spent more time than he should, on dark, cold, lonely nights, wondering what this annoying pixie was up to and who she was with. He couldn’t ask Molly, and she volunteered very little, assuming he didn’t care to hear about her mistress—the woman he made no secret of despising.
    When he looked over his shoulder, she was bent before the fireplace, getting soot on her fine frock, her pert posterior high in the air.
    “Do you know how to tend a fire?” he grumbled, slightly breathless as he watched her hips sway. “Don’t you have servants to do that?” She probably had one to tend every fireplace in her house.
    “Worry not,” she muttered distractedly as she examined the tinderbox with a wary eye. “I have it all under control.”
    Rafe was glad someone did. He often felt as if he’d never get his life settled and straight. The harder he tried, the more tangled it became. As he paused in the doorway, he thought about going to help her with the fire, but since she insisted she knew what to do, he decided to leave her to it. She already had a dot of soot on the end of her prim nose, a sight that cheered his spirits more than might be expected under his current circumstances. In fact, it was suddenly expedient that he get outside quickly or else risk bursting into laughter and thus alert her to the presence of that smudge.
    It was truly astonishing how quickly the quarrelsome creature’s company lifted him out of his doldrums.
    ***
     
    When at home in London, Mercy considered herself in charge of her brother and ran his household with a firm hand, but Carver tolerated her attempts to manage him because he was the lazy sort. The same could not be said of Rafe. He accused her of being there only to “pry” into his “things,” not being specific about what they were. She briskly ignored his muttered complaints and sent him into the scullery to wash his face and hands before he ate.
    There was great satisfaction to be had in seeing his small house put back together, a good fire in the hearth, food on the table, floor swept with a damp mop, window ledge dusted. Now if only the man himself could be so tamed, but there seemed little chance of that now Molly Robbins had left him, taking her calm, steadying influence with her. He would doubtless use that excuse as long as possible to vindicate any bad behavior in which he felt inclined to indulge.
    Mercy hoped the exertion of cleaning his house hadn’t flattened her curls or made her face too pink, which would clash horribly with her “Mystery of the Orient” frock. Finding a shard of mirror resting on the dresser, Mercy took a moment to check her reflection. A fingertip-sized black blob darkened the end of her nose. Hastily, she licked her handkerchief and rubbed at the offending mark.
    On the shelf beside the mirror fragment, there rested a burgundy velvet money purse. The rich