That tension had been present ever since Bede had arrived home. Mercy had done her best to shield her sister from it, but Grace was no fool. It had been difficult enough leaving for London with the lame explanation that she had to visit a sick relation Grace had never even heard of. It was the best excuse Mercy could come up with for her hasty departure, but Grace had looked skeptical.
Elsie entered the room then and eyed the bowls and platters arranged before them as she deposited a fresh basket of bread on the table. “Can I fetch anything else for anyone?”
“We are fine, thank you,” Mercy murmured, bestowing a bright smile on the girl.
They finished the rest of the meal with stilted conversation.
Grace perked up at one point to exclaim, “Oh, the Blankenships decided to throw a grand party to welcome the new Duke of Penning to Shropshire. The invitation came while you were gone, Mercy. How lucky are we?” She clapped her hands enthusedly.
Mercy winced. The last thing she felt in the mood for was a grand party in the village. Thanks to her brother, she was not in a social disposition, even if she did enjoy seeing her friend, Imogen.
“Are they now?” Bede replied with a modicum of interest. “I suppose that is something to do around here. The Blankenships always do things in grand style.”
Oh, would he give up on this notion of leaving then? At least for a spell? Mercy took a bite of potatoes and considered her brother. Perhaps some good would come of the Blankenship ball if it kept Bede here a little longer and not out in the world wreaking havoc.
“Indeed. That is something to look forward to. Especially as their annual ball is a good nine months away.” Mercy hoped she conveyed proper enthusiasm.
Grace hopped slightly in her seat. “Yes! Two balls in such a short period of time. It is unprecedented and quite thrilling.”
“God. You are so provincial, Grace.” Bede rolled his eyes and looked in reproach at Mercy. “You really should get her to London for a season.”
“Oh! I want to go to London!” Grace agreed and looked at Mercy with so much earnestness and hope that Mercy’s heart ached for her.
“That would be nice, but we cannot afford it, Bede,” she said between clenched teeth.
And well he knew it.
Grace’s shoulders slumped in defeat. Blast the man for getting the girl’s hopes up.
Bede merely shrugged, indifferent to Grace’s disappointment or Mercy’s frustration with him as he shoved another forkful of food into his mouth.
By the time dinner came to an end, Mercy felt as though she had just emerged from a skirmish with no clear victor. As her siblings headed off to bed, she expelled a great breath and took a bowl of scraps outside for the cats, clicking her tongue to gain their attention.
They came at her from every side, besieging her. She spread the food out, tossing it in far-flung directions so that they did not scrabble in one giant hissing mob. They scattered after the food, going in every direction.
She gazed out into the night, breathing the sweet country air, glad to be temporarily free of the house. The windows of the laborers’ house glowed with light, and she knew the men were likely finishing up their dinner, too. Otis was a wonderful cook. He was always baking bread and fabulous pies and sharing them with Mercy’s family.
Her gaze flitted to the conservatory where she grew her orange trees. Setting down the empty scrap bowl, she headed that way, eager to take refuge there. It was her special place. Uncultivated and overgrown with weeds and broken pottery after her mother’s death, she alone had worked to bring it to life again and make it into something for herself.
The door creaked, reminding her that she needed to oil the hinges. She closed it behind her, and sighed, feeling as though she were leaving the world behind her. Not a terrible thing. Indeed not. Sometimes one needed to escape.
She located the lantern situated on a small worktable by the door. She fumbled a little bit but managed to light the thing. A small yellow glow circled out softly from the lantern. Holding it aloft, she strolled down the rows of potted trees, all at various stages of development.
She walked directly to her newest oranges, the sweet Gargano. It was a new breed and she was keenly interested in its progress. She sent off for the seedlings a year ago. They had shipped all the way from Italy.
Stopping before the row of them, she set her lantern upon the floor and caressed one waxy green leaf, cooing to it like it was a baby. “How are you, my love?” She tested the soil in its pot for moisture. “Are you getting enough water?”
Suddenly the door creaked and thudded shut.
“Hello?” She turned around and stepped into the aisle that faced the door, the action taking her deeper into the shadows, away from her lantern.
Silence met her question.
“Hello?” she called out again, standing on her tiptoes, craning her neck in an attempt to see through the trees all around her, suspicious that there was someone else inside the conservatory with her, someone not revealing himself for whatever reason.
The same eerie sensation she had felt out walking the farm today beset her. Prickles raced up her neck. Her hands opened and flexed at her sides in readiness. For what, she did not know.
“Who is in here?”
No answer.
She swallowed nervously and stretched her fingers wide at her sides, bringing them in closer and wiping her suddenly moist palms against her skirts. She did not understand where her sense of anxiousness was coming from. A guilty conscience perhaps?
She shoved that notion away. No. She had done the only thing she could do to save her family home. She did not have a choice and she did not harbor any regret.
“Hello?” she called out again, disliking the tremor to her voice.
Several people lived on the farm. The orangery might be her refuge, but it was not forbidden to others. It was likely Grace playing a trick on her. Or Bede pulling a prank like when they were younger. He used to love to jump out and frighten her, delighting in making her cry out.
She started to relax in the continued silence. No one was there. It was merely her overwrought imagination. She nodded once. She must not have closed the door properly behind her. One of the cats probably pushed its way inside. They favored her. She was, after all, the one that fed them. They followed her all about the place. She would no doubt feel the little beast weaving at her ankles in a few moments.
Turning back around, a large shadow materialized before her.
She yelped, her hands flying to her mouth in alarm. She sucked in a breath, trying to slow her racing heart and telling herself that it was merely a family member or a member of the staff standing before her.
“You gave me a fright,” she blurted, still unsure who she was speaking to—a man, she decided, based on his looming size.
A man who deigned not to speak apparently.
She stared, straining her eyes to peer intently through the dark, trying to acclimate to the lack of light. She wished she stood closer to the lantern she had left near her Gargano trees. She turned to retrieve it.
Even as she told herself it was obviously Bede, her heart hammered a violent drumbeat in her chest. She located the light where she had left it and spun around, lifting it high, ready to deliver a blistering tongue-lashing to her wretched brother for terrorizing her.
He might be unhappy with his current circumstances, but it was not her fault and he need not be a bully about it.