Page 82

to you as it is to me. I believed my daughter had died at birth. I was told

she had, you see. I’ve since learned she did not, in fact, die. My daughter was

taken to a foundling home, and you are her. My parents confirmed your identity

with absolute certainty just yesterday. It is a long and unpleasant story,

but I pray you will understand that I never stopped loving you.

~ The Countess of Amhurst to her daughter, Miss Mercy Feathers

Pelandale House gardens

An hour later

Holding the letter addressed to Mercy that had been delivered as Ronan arrived home a few minutes ago, he examined the green wax seal. He had no doubt who had sent it. Another lay on the hall table addressed to his parents.

Lady Amhurst had wasted no time in seeking an audience with Mercy.

He skewed his mouth to the side, uncertain whether to be relieved or irritated that she’d presumed Mercy was employed by the Trentholms.

“Where is Miss Feathers?” he asked Sturges.

“I believe she is yet in the gardens, Lord Ronan. While washing the library windows earlier, Penny saw Miss Feathers taking the air. I do not believe she has come indoors yet.”

“Thank you, Sturges. Please make sure water for tea is kept heated. We are expecting a guest today, though I am not positive when she will call.”

“Lady Amhurst, I presume?” Sturges asked without even the pretense of chagrin.

Of course, the servants knew. Nothing went on in the household they didn’t know.

“Yes,” Ronan said, nodding. Then promoted by some unnamed devil on his shoulder, he asked, “How did Mrs. Sturges like her cold bath? Did it help her sleep?”

Raising his prominent nose, Sturges sniffed. “She did not favor the immersion in cold water, and I was banished from our bedchamber for a week.”

Ronan had the good grace to feel abashed. “Sorry about that, old chap. Perhaps it’s only us men who find it beneficial.”

“Indeed,” the butler replied, his tone as dry as cold ash.

Waving Mercy’s letter, Ronan said, “I’ll just see that Miss Feathers receives this. I believe she might want to read it before Lady Amhurst’s arrival.”

Well pleased with himself, he grinned.

He’d made sure Mercy had no responsibilities today. She needed time to recover from her shock and yesterday’s upset.

The moment he stepped from the house onto the small terrace, Fluffer-Muffer dashed to his side. Spine arched and chirping little welcoming sounds, she wound herself around his feet.

“Not now, puss. I have another lady whose company I much prefer over yours.” Ronan set her inside and swiftly closed the door. Not, however, before she flicked her tail indignantly and leveled him a green-eyed feline glare that promised retaliation.

Hopefully, not another shredded bed pillow.

That cat really was a menace.

It didn’t take him long to find Mercy curled up and sound asleep on a garden bench. She hadn’t put her hair up today. The glossy golden tresses strewn with their ribbons of bronzes and reds trailed over the wrought-iron seat and onto the grass below. Her peach-tinted bowed lips were slightly parted, the faintest flush upon her smooth cheeks.

The sight of her in repose took Ronan’s breath away. He was falling into dizzying sensation, entirely under her spell. What was more, he rejoiced in it. Welcomed the onslaught.

In a heartbeat, an epiphany slammed into him with such might that he nearly staggered backward under the realization.