Betraying Mercy. Amber Lin
“Don’t you grieve him?”
“You were just trying to protect my sister.”
It had been true. He had protected her sister, not just that night but every night hereafter. She had entertained her own thoughts of vengeance, in the dark of night and under the weight of evil. It was not moral superiority that had stayed her hand, but fear.
Rochford had been strong enough to carry out the act. That was enough reason to give herself to him. For that debt, she owed him everything, and this was all she had.
A young maidservant shyly thrust a dress into the room, which Mercy accepted gratefully. Her fingers fumbled on the ties, but she slipped it on then stepped back into the enveloping warmth of the kitchen.
Cookie was gone, but a man was there, one Mercy recognized. Nathaniel Jones wore footman’s livery, though he slouched at the table with a steaming mug. He cast a long, slow look from her head to exposed toes. His eyes lit with a wicked intent she recognized too well.
“Little Mercy.” He smirked. “Not so high-and-mighty anymore, are we?”
Humiliation, thick and lumpy, slid through her. “I was never high-and-mighty, just because I didn’t want to go behind the church with you.”
“You’ll do a lot more than that now. Yes, and when the gent’s done with you, I’ll have my turn.”
Her skin crawled at the thought. “Never.”
He laughed. “Whores can’t be choosy, can they? Heard all about your pa. When you’re sleeping out in the barn of the tavern with no money or man to warm you, you’ll be grateful to service me.”
Her nostrils flared, but she said nothing. She very much feared he might be correct.
Cookie came back into the kitchen. “Let’s go, then. What’re you waiting for?”
Eager to be away from Nathaniel’s knowing leer, Mercy followed her down a plain hall, through a door, and into another world. Slick marble floors topped with white statues. Ceilings taller than trees with a crystal chandelier hanging like flowered boughs.
Jennie had described it all to her, but it was a different thing seeing it for herself. Mercy would have been out of place in her best clothes. Wearing a borrowed dress with no petticoats or shoes was blasphemous. She crossed her arms tight over her chest.
The butler appeared, his approach silent. He said not a word to her, but Cookie nudged her to follow him. Where below stairs teemed, busy as a beehive, the upper rooms were beautiful but unnaturally still, like a naturalist’s bug display case.
At the top of the stairs, he stopped and nodded to the side. “Third door on your right.”
The hallway wavered before her eyes, but she forced the ugly pictures from her mind and continued on. Maybe God would strike her dead for her sins; then she would not have to go through with it. Or then again, maybe this was all she deserved.
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