Engaging the Enemy (The Wild Randalls 1)

Mercy adjusted her seat so she could better see her sister’s face. “Blythe, you sho

uldn’t have sent for the seamstress without consulting me. I like the gowns I have now. The fabrics are so beautiful, and I can at least manage to furnish my own wardrobe. The gowns I wear most often are favorites of mine.”

A knock sounded on the door and they both turned. “Luncheon is served, Your Grace.”

Wilcox was a lifesaver. He’d moved luncheon forward to match her sister’s arrival. She’d have to thank him with another bottle of her husband’s best brandy when Blythe had gone for the day.

The butler crossed the room and set wide the doors to the terrace. The terrace was the perfect place to conduct an informal tête-à-tête. The gardens’ wild unkempt nature held lots to distract Blythe and, with the servant’s hovering, she was less likely to continue her lectures.

Hopeful that she had been forceful enough with her displeasure of Blythe’s actions concerning the gowns, Mercy chewed slowly, savoring the delicious luncheon fare served up for her pleasure in relative silence. At least that was one area she had not failed at.

She had managed to hire, and keep, a fabulous French cook who delighted in the challenge of feeding the palettes of a single woman and inquisitive boy. Edwin loved the surprising treats Cook sent to him daily. If it were possible, her son would spend his days in the kitchen as chief sampler for the whole household. But he had another future in store for him. The thought sent a shiver up her spine. She hoped she could prepare him adequately for his future as head of this estate.

While Mercy ate and engaged in polite conversations with her sister, she ran over the things she had to remember to do for her son. She’d had so little time with her husband and her father-in-law that she often feared she’d neglect something important from his education. However, with Leopold returned to the estate, she had an ally who might know more about raising a boy to become a duke, and a good man, than she did. At least, she hoped he did.

Mercy ran her fingers over the blue silk gently, thinking of Leopold’s arms curling hard around her.

“I know that look. Stop it.”

Mercy glanced guiltily at her sister, and then around the terrace to check for servants. They were alone again. Drat it. “I beg your pardon?”

Blythe pressed her napkin to her lips. “A lady should keep unrefined expressions off her face. You embarrass yourself and the family.”

Astonished by the hiss of anger in her sister’s voice, Mercy stood. “Who are you to tell me what I may or may not do? You are forgetting your position, countess.”

Blythe climbed to her feet, too. “No. You are forgetting yours. Is it necessary for you to behave like a bitch in heat because a man has visited your home? Look at you? The flush to your cheeks, the faraway gleam in your eye, you are thinking of matters best engaged in with a husband. Stop thinking of Lord Shaw that way.”

Mercy took a careful step back. She’d never seen Blythe so angry. Miserable, yes, but not so furious her eyes gleamed with a wholly unfamiliar light. “I was considering my son’s future actually; a task that occupies a great deal of my time. I do not think of Lord Shaw in those terms, or anybody else for that matter,” she lied.

It was lucky for Mercy that she’d never confided yesterdays kiss with Leopold to Blythe or else she’d be lashed by the sharp edge of her sister’s tongue.

Blythe blinked. “Do you deny he was here this morning?”

“Lord Shaw?” When Blythe gave a terse nod, Mercy took a deep breath. “He was here this morning, but the hour was too early for calls and I sent him away, just as you would have done. I have spent most of the morning with Leopold Randall.”

Blythe’s breath hissed out. “You think of that scoundrel, too, in a manner wholly inappropriate for a lady of your station?”

Mercy set her hands to her hips. “Leopold Randall is hardly the scoundrel you make him out to be. He has been nothing but respectful in our dealings.”

Blythe didn’t need to know the exact details of her interactions with Leopold. And she didn’t ever need to know about their kissing either. Keeping her sister in the dark about any amorous adventures would be absolutely necessary in the future if this was how she went on without cause for her suspicions.

“He is a threat to your son’s position and should be removed from the grounds once and for all before the worst comes to pass. I speak in the best interests of the duke.”

Mercy set her fists on her hips. “That could not be best for my son. I need Randall to remain here and, in fact, I have requested his assistance with estate matters. He has promised to help me engage a new steward, someone who will not desert his post in unseemly haste like the last, and I hope he will guide me on matters of management that I do not currently understand. You know I was woefully unprepared to manage the abbey upon my husband’s death. Edwin needs him here.”

Blythe folded her arms across her chest and hugged herself. “You shall bring scandal and shame down upon us all. Mark my words, young Edwin will be murdered in his bed late one night. A man like Randall would certainly make an attempt to claim all of this if given half the chance. He will take over everything, make you a slave in his bed, and throw you out when he’s had his fill of you. I doubt society will understand your foolishness, so do not come to me to provide a roof over your head when the worst happens.”

A chill raced up Mercy’s spine. That wild look was in her eyes again, frightening Mercy out of her wits. She took a step toward the morning room doors while her sister continued to glare. Surely Blythe didn’t mean to sound so cold and hostile.

“Excuse me, I need to get back to my son,” Mercy whispered. “Good day, Blythe.”

“Good day, Your Grace.”

Too stunned to think clearly, to try to resolve the disagreement before Blythe left, Mercy watched her sister depart, spine ramrod straight and proper. She kept an eye on Blythe until she reached the doors and when they closed behind her, Mercy shuddered. She had never feared her sister’s odd moods before now.

The shock forced her to grab the nearest chair and sit. Her knees were weak, her pulse fluttery, but in her heart she refused to believe Blythe could truly be a danger. Today’s outburst was simply an aberration, brought on by years of suffering and grief. Usually Blythe was as gentle as a lamb.

And all of this on top of the threats, and Lord Shaw’s ghastly visit this morning. The only bright point of her day had been securing Leopold’s acceptance to remain here with her and Edwin. Now, more than ever, she needed someone she could depend upon. Yet it seemed that a total stranger might be the only one among her longer acquaintances that could provide the support she craved.