Page 3 of Mercy Fletcher Meets Her Match

The carriage rattled down the cobblestone road, and as the right front wheel hit a rut, all the occupants were jostled unceremoniously to one side, a crush which yanked Mercy straight from what had been a perfectly lovely daydream. Mercy stifled a sigh, but could not manage to stifle her wince as the sharp point of an elbow was introduced—violently—to her side. “Juliet, dear, your elbow is jabbing me in the ribs.”

“Oh, I’m so terribly sorry.”

There was a minute shifting, though the pressure was mostly unrelieved.

The sigh drifted free of Mercy’s lungs anyway. The carriage had not seemed quite so close at the start of their journey. Probably, if it had been only a short jaunt, it would have been bearable. But they’d been traveling for some time, and with five occupants to the carriage, any ride longer than an hour was bound to become uncomfortable.

It hadn’t helped that Thomas’ legs were altogether too long, and he was prone to stretching them out as if to relieve the stiffness from his muscles, taking up even more of the space that rightfully belonged to her. It also hadn’t helped that he’d developed an obnoxious habit of looking down his long nose at her, his gaze piercing and faintly judgmental through the lenses of his spectacles.

They sat upon the bridge of his nose unevenly, and that—that gave Mercy just the tiniest, pettiest bit of satisfaction. A small imperfection in his otherwise perfectly polished exterior, which she suspected must aggrieve him greatly, since she had not known him to show himself publicly with so much as a single dark hair out of place, or even the slightest smudge or faintest wrinkle marring his appearance.

She was half-convinced that no blemish would have dared inflict itself upon him. Perhaps if a wrinkle had had the poor taste to settle into the folds of his coat, he would have only to produce the merest fraction of the glower he habitually saved for her for it to pull itself free at once.

That glower he leveled at her now, his dark eyes narrowing behind his spectacles as if to hone it to a razor’s edge. “What could you possibly find amusing?”

Mercy felt her brows lift in surprise. “I beg your pardon?”

“You laughed.”

“I didn’t.”

“Er—you did, dear,”

the baroness said, her voice inflected with a faint confusion.

“Oh.”

Had she really, then? Well, then, it was Thomas’ fault, for stirring such fanciful notions. Perhaps if he did not so often behave in a manner which suggested he had got a rather large stick lodged firmly up his backside—

“You’ve just done it again!”

Thomas’ cheeks hollowed with offended dignity, and a muscle twitched beneath his eye. “What, pray tell, do you find so amusing about me that you must laugh when you look upon me?”

Mercy pinched her lips together against the words which wanted to spill out. “Nothing in particular,”

she said, pitching her voice to a haughty tone. “I was merely…thinking.”

“Of what.”

It was a flat, terse demand—an order, given by a man who expected unquestioning obedience.

Mercy had never been much accustomed to obeying, and had little enough interest in beginning now. “Nothing in particular,”

she said, and schooled her face into strict serenity whilst Thomas only grew more agitated.

Marina coughed into her fist, straining her voice to project levity. “We’ve made it all this way without succumbing to bickering,”

she said. “Surely we can hold out an additional—Mercy, what do you think? Ten minutes? Twenty?”

Momentarily diverted, Mercy glanced out the window to get her bearings, watching the streets of London flow past. “Five,”

she said. “On the outside. Our townhouse is just on the next street.”

Juliet blew out a breath in relief. “At last, I shall be able to breathe once again.”

Mercy supposed she was correct, though the efficacy of breathing in the thick of the coal smoke that tended to clog the city was debatable. “We’re nearly there,”

she said soothingly, patting Juliet’s hand. The carriage was already slowing, rounding a corner. “There will be room to spare within our townhouse, I promise you. It’s large enough that it’s unlikely we’ll encounter one another except at supper, perhaps, during those evenings you have no engagements.”

The baroness canted her head to the right, bracing herself as the carriage slowed further. “You speak as though you hadn’t planned to attend those engagements,”

she said, a note of befuddlement swimming within her voice.

“I hadn’t,”

Mercy said. “Really, I’ve just come up to London for some personal errands. Some new silk from Papa’s mill and such things. I’d have come on my own, but Papa insisted—”

“And he was right to do so,”

Thomas said, in that crisp, faintly censorious tone he so often inflicted upon her. Haughty, in a way a man scarcely had the right to be. Supercilious, as if he considered chastisement an essential part of educating her. “An unmarried woman of your age requires a chaperone. Your father wishes you to take part in the social Season.”

“I’m certain that was a misunderstanding,”

Mercy ground out. “And I haven’t anything suitable to wear, besides.”

“Ah,”

Marina said, understanding dawning in her blue eyes. “The trunk. I had wondered.”

“What do you mean?”

Thomas inquired.

“Well, there’s just the one,”

Marina said. “You could hardly expect Mercy to fit a whole wardrobe in a single trunk, Thomas. I daresay we packed more trunks, and that’s just the simple things—hats, stockings, stays, and such.”

“What have you brought, then?”

Thomas inquired, his head veering back toward her.

Taken aback, Mercy pressed her spine to the seat. “Practical things. Day dresses and such.”

Nondescript and bland, the sort fashioned for purpose, not frivolity. The sort of garment that would not draw much notice. “I don’t think I even own a proper gown that isn’t years out of style.”

“That will have to be rectified,”

Thomas said. “You can hardly be expected to attend a ball in a day dress.”

She could hardly be expected to attend a ball at all. It wasn’t what she had come to London for. She opened her mouth to argue—

“Mother will no doubt be delighted to take you to the modiste to requisition a suitable wardrobe,”

Thomas added.

“Oh, of course.”

The baroness reached across the carriage to place one gloved hand over her own. “I do so love choosing new gowns. We’ll have a grand time of it, all of us girls.”

Mercy managed, through sheer dint of will, to produce a smile that she was fairly certain would at least paint a passing approximation of sincerity. It really would not have been fair of her to give the sharp side of her tongue to the baroness, who had always been so very kind to her.

Especially not when it was Thomas who deserved the whole of it.

“Thank you, my lady,”

Mercy said, almost sweetly. “You’re too kind.”

Thomas produced some scathing sort of sound at the back of his throat, coarse and inelegant, as if he had sensed the sour irritation lingering beneath the contrived saccharinity of her voice. That cold, disinterested gaze flicked over her head to toe in an instant, and the faint curl of his lip suggested a wholesale disapproval of her attire. “I’ll remind you, Miss Fletcher,”

he said. “We do dress for dinner.”

Mercy widened her eyes in mock innocence. “Had you expected me to arrive at the table naked?”

Juliet and Marina tittered. The baroness coughed into her fist, though a small smile tugged at the very corners of her lips.

And Thomas, naturally, glowered.

∞∞∞

Thomas adjusted his spectacles upon his nose, which availed him precisely nothing as the earpiece was still crooked, and stared at the gentleman seated across from him in Mr. Fletcher’s study. “I’m sorry. Did you say—”

“Carte blanche,”

the man—Mr. Sumner, Fletcher’s man of business within London, who had come to call upon him only an hour or so after they had arrived—repeated, though he had the good grace to look a bit abashed about it. “Mr. Fletcher’s words, you understand.”

“I see.”

The phrasing might have been indelicate, given that they made a body feel rather like a mistress given free rein to spend of her protector’s funds as she would, but he supposed that they were just as apt. And necessary. “So if I were to ask you for the sum of five hundred pounds immediately…”

“I would, of course, issue a bank draft.”

Mr. Sumner said. “Mr. Fletcher was very clear in his instructions, my lord. Perhaps somewhat less genteel than one might expect, but clear nonetheless. If Miss Fletcher requires anything—or, indeed, if you or your family require anything—I have been instructed to make the necessary arrangements.”

There was no measure of judgment or recrimination within the man’s steady voice, and yet the back of Thomas’ neck burned with mortification regardless. “There are…a few outstanding bills that must be paid,”

he said. “I trust that won’t be a problem?”

Mr. Sumner did not so much as blink at the careful phrasing. “In the drawer at your right, you will find fresh paper and ink,”

he said. “If you would be so good as to write out a list of outstanding debts to be paid, I will see them attended to at once. I will also provide you with a list of shops at which Mr. Fletcher keeps accounts open, for simplicity’s sake.”

Thomas felt his jaw unclench just slightly. “That would be ideal,”

he said as he busied himself laying out a sheet of paper, and collected a pen and an inkwell to draw up the list Sumner had requested. “Although my sisters may favor different shops than those at which Mr. Fletcher has accounts.”

It was odd to be pawing through another man’s desk. Like a violation of privacy. Though he doubted Mr. Fletcher kept anything particularly sensitive within it, still he felt uncomfortably like a pretender, an intruder.

“That won’t present a problem,”

Mr. Sumner said as he rifled through the folio he’d brought with him and withdrew a sheet of paper, upon which the names and addresses of a great number of shops were neatly printed. “Simply have the bills sent round to me, and I will see that they are promptly paid.”

He coughed into his cupped hand. “I have been informed, my lord, that your man of business has taken an impromptu holiday.”

Hell. Fletcher had been a little too thorough in his explanation. Thomas’ grip tightened upon the pen in his hand until his knuckles turned white. “Th—th—that—”

Damn. Once again, his tongue felt thick—tied—in his mouth, his throat tight and lodged with some obstruction he could not force the words through. Calm down. The man had clearly meant no offense.

Mr. Sumner pressed onward, oblivious to Thomas’ struggle. “At the risk of sounding presumptuous, might I offer my services until the conclusion of the Season?”

Taken aback, Thomas blinked. His tongue untied itself. That damned tightness of his throat dissolved. “I beg your pardon?”

“I assure you, my references are impeccable,”

Mr. Sumner said, his chin notching just a hair higher. “I’ve managed the financial interests of several gentlemen of some renown. Not titled, you understand, but gentlemen nonetheless. But with your patronage—”

Ah. Mr. Sumner thought to expand his clientele into the aristocracy; an echelon of society he had not yet managed to penetrate. “I see,”

Thomas said, and pitched his voice lower, just in the event that someone might be passing outside in the hall. “Did Mr. Fletcher not give you a thorough accounting of my present situation?”

“The broad strokes of it, my lord,”

Mr. Sumner said. “I understand that your previous man of business…shall we say, neglected his obligations to you and your family. Mr. Fletcher seemed properly convinced that this state was to be a temporary one.”

God willing, it would be. “Can I be assured that what I say to you does not leave this room?”

Mr. Sumner managed to look credibly offended, his thin lips pursing as if he’d bitten into something sour. “My lord, I have yet to betray the confidence of a client.”

Good. And he had to be trustworthy, did he not, if Fletcher had let him have the handling of his finances? “I have nothing,”

Thomas said. “Nothing at all. My bank accounts have been emptied, my investments dissolved—if indeed they were ever properly made in accordance with my wishes to begin with. I have no money with which to pay you for your services, and I won’t have unless and until I can find the miserable son of a bitch who robbed my family blind.”

Mr. Sumner’s brows drew together in a brief display of sympathy. “My condolences,”

he said. “Unfortunately, it is hardly the first time I have heard of unscrupulous men taking advantage of their positions. However, I would be remiss if I did not inform you that when one is in such a business as I am, one makes a goodly number of contacts necessary to protect the families in one’s care. As safeguards, you understand, against unprincipled parties who might find themselves moved to unsavory acts.”

“Unsavory acts?”

“In indelicate terms,”

Mr. Sumner said, “acts such as blackmail, extortion, coercion. When one is in a position of power and influence, one occasionally becomes the target of such schemes. On a number of occasions, I have been called upon to engage investigators to track down the villains responsible. Naturally, I maintain relationships with those that aid me in better serving my clients—”

“Do you mean to tell me,”

Thomas said, laying down his pen, “that you can engage an investigator to aid me in hunting down my missing man of business?”

“I count several former Runners amongst my connections,”

Mr. Sumner said. “Good men, all. Trustworthy, competent, and best of all, discreet. If they are not otherwise engaged, I could employ as many as ten.”

Ten? Hell, even one would be one more than Thomas would have preferred to have to make use of—even if he was the most discreet man in the damned country. So many men making inquiries, even subtle ones, were bound to be noticed by someone. Rumors were quick to spread and difficult to quell. Perhaps there had already been whispers, and he could hardly afford more. He swiped one palm across his jaw, feeling the raspy burn of a new growth of beard. “Just one,”

he said. “Whomever you deem most capable.”

Sumner’s jaw worked in incredulity as he searched for the words that would convince Thomas to reconsider. “One? My lord, I must—”

“One.”

Thomas pulled back his shoulders and lifted his chin in an affectation of the sort of arrogance a peer was meant to embody, to use to his advantage. “I cannot stress enough, Mr. Sumner, how imperative it is to keep my name off of the wagging tongues of the gossips who pervade the Ton. My family’s reputation depends upon it. I don’t want half a dozen men combing London and beyond, no matter how discreet they might be. There is no surety that those to whom they might speak will prove equally discreet. One fellow poking about might be easily overlooked, but several? That is likely to draw attention. Too many cooks spoil the broth, so to speak.”

“I see.”

Mr. Sumner said, though he plainly disagreed. “Of course, I shall defer to your better judgment in this matter.”

“Just the one, then. Your best,”

Thomas said, and he passed the sheet of paper across the desk to Mr. Sumner. “These are the debts that must be handled immediately. Today, if at all possible.”

“With all haste, naturally.”

Mr. Sumner tucked the paper into the leather-bound folio upon his lap. “I’ll have my man call upon you at his earliest convenience.”

“I’d rather you didn’t,”

Thomas said. “In fact, I’m going to have to insist upon it—discretion, you understand. He must report his findings to you, and you may pass them along to me to handle as I see fit. There is nothing worthy of gossip in a man corresponding with his solicitor.”

But an investigator? That would be noteworthy indeed, and might well invite speculation.

Mr. Sumner rose to his feet, no doubt competent enough to understand that his interview was swiftly drawing to a close. “My lord, do I understand you correctly?”

“The job is yours, Mr. Sumner,”

Thomas said as he rose. “Or it will be, once I’ve the funds to pay you the salary you deserve.”

And that, he thought, would be all the motivation the man would require.