Jayne Fresina | Rules, Rebels and A Rollicking Scandal

For Lady Mercy Danforthe, my heroine, a "good" marriage would have been one that adhered not only to the strict rules of society, but to the law. Personal choice would not come into it, unless by some lucky chance she happened to fall in love where she was supposed to. And how many romance heroines do that?

In the Regency era, the daughter of an earl would be expected to know her duty and marry within her class. Marriages among the upper crust were arranged to amass fortunes and lands. Unions were made to save properties and continue aristocratic bloodlines.  A love affair between the classes, therefore, was very bad news and young ladies were carefully guarded against wicked influences that might lead them astray.

Ahem! Did someone say wicked influences? Enter, Rafe Hartley.

To prevent clandestine weddings, the Marriage Act of 1753 (The Hardwicke Act) stated that a union could only take place after the "banns" were read publicly in church for three consecutive Sundays prior to the wedding. If under the age of 21, the couple had to have parental permission. The wedding must be recorded in the Marriage Register with the signatures of both parties, witnesses, and the minister, and it must occur before an authorized clergyman. Alternatively, one could purchase a special license from the Archbishop of Canterbury in London, which allowed a marriage to take place at any time, in any place, but this was far too expensive for most (five pounds sterling in 1811!) and certainly would have been beyond Rafe's pockets when he was only nineteen.

The provisions of the Hardwicke Act were, of course, supposed to prevent fortune hunters running off with wealthy young heiresses. They were meant to  exert control over wayward youngsters like Rafe Hartley, but he is not one for rules. As he later tells a bemused, would-be matchmaker in LADY MERCY DANFORTHE FLIRTS WITH SCANDAL,

"I am not a great one for rules of any kind. Especially since I am never applied to in their making, they are generally never to my advantage, and I am always forced"—he winked at the lady—"to break them."

So a little thing like a law didn't stop him from persuading seventeen-year old Mercy Danforthe from eloping with him.

But even Rafe can't sidestep the rules forever, or avoid the wrath of her furious brother, the Earl of Everscham. Neither can he get Mercy to stay with him once her brother catches up with them. Mercy has grown up with those rules and she's got some important reasons to cling to them still. As long as she knows things are in their place, there can be no accidents. No tragedies, such as those that led to the deaths of both her parents when she was very young.  As she likes to say,

"When things—and people—are in their proper places, life is predictable and calm."

So the marriage is easily annulled and they are both supposed to forget it ever happened.

Five years later, thrown together by mischievous fate yet again, they must try to keep the secret of their scandalous three-hour marriage from ruining Lady Mercy's reputation and wrecking Rafe's plans for a settled future. After all, they've both grown up since then and got on with their lives. That elopement was just a youthful mistake, a temporary madness.

Surely they both know better this time around.

Lady Mercy decided, long ago, that her life had to be kept neat, clean and tidy. Unfortunately, Rafe Hartley just keeps trying to make it messy. And get her dirty!

In LADY MERCY DANFORTHE FLIRTS WITH SCANDAL there is a tug of war taking place. Can these two very different people risk being "just" friends now that five years have passed since their abandoned wedding night, or should they keep the fire burning under their eternal quarrelling? In a battle between duty and desire something is bound to be broken. Will it be hearts or will it be the rules?

Here is an excerpt. Hope you enjoy!

"Well?" Rafe Hartley demanded impatiently, eyes narrowed as he stared at her, elbows on his knees, reins slack between his fingers. "We both know what we want. We knew it when we were on my bed together and you put your ladylike hands on my—"

"Never mention that lapse again. Yes, I do know what I want, and it is not you. I will take the gate, not risk my life over a hedge when I can't see what's on the other side."

He blinked at her in a confused manner.

"Never mind," she exclaimed. "Now please drive on."

He dropped the reins, shifted closer on the wooden seat, and clasped her face between his large, warm palms. "First, I'll take my fee for giving you a ride."

Mercy grabbed his thick wrists and tried to pull his hands away, but he was too strong and determined. His lips found hers, forced them apart. She weakened. It horrified her to find this softened center beneath her cultivated barriers, but there it was. He knew it was there and teased it out of her, remorseless, ruthless. His tongue swept hers, curled around it, drank her startled moan. Thank God no one was in the lane at that moment, she thought. It might not matter to him if she was painted a scarlet hussy, but it did to her. As soon as his lips set hers free, she demanded that he remove his hands from her person.

"Are you intent on scandal?"

"If there's to be rumor in any case, may as well make it worth our while."

"Rafe Hartley, that is the wickedest thing you've ever said." It was also not far removed from what she'd thought the morning after their escapade, when seated at her mirror and still suffering the fluttering ache of want.

"So you just used me when you had a fancy for a bit o' rumpy-pumpy that night, my lady." His voice was getting louder.

"I must ask you to stop compromising me at every opportunity. I am not here to be your plaything." Mercy climbed down from the cart. "I can walk the rest of the way. Thank you, Mr. Hartley. Good day." Lifting her petticoats out of the mud, she marched onward, heading for the farmhouse gates. It was suddenly very difficult to catch her breath, but she would not stop and look back at him. She could not.

By the time she reached the gate, his horses were following her.

She lifted the rusty latch, and the gate squealed open. Finally she felt composed enough to face him again. "Was I not clear enough?"

His expression was faintly amused. "Clear as crystal."

"Then I would thank you not to trail after me."

"I come to visit my aunt and uncle, ma'am, not to trail after you."

"Oh." She swallowed. "Very well." She could hardly stop him from paying a visit to his family, could she? "As long as you don't get any more of your silly ideas," she added as she held the gate open to let him through.

He rode by at a brisk clip and laughed down at her. "Best make haste and find me a bride, woman, or I might take matters into my own hands, eh? Get her for myself."

It was increasingly difficult to catch her breath and focus her mind. She kept seeing a looming hedge full of thorny brambles directly in her path as fast hooves carried her toward it. A loud rushing sound filled her ears, as though the wind tore at her. Why didn't her mother take the gate?

Rafe was still talking, chattering away. "Might decide to take the wife I want by any means, whatever she has to say about it." He leapt down from his cart.

Mercy gathered a breath at last, and forced the vision away. "Then I suggest you invest in a stout pair of manacles and a scold's bridle if you hope to keep her." Quarreling with Rafe was safe territory, familiar. It kept her from dwelling on those dark, unhappy thoughts. Strangely, she always felt better after a good fight with Rafe.

"I was thinking that very thing. Should have had them for my first wife," he said.

"Be still my heart. That medieval view of romance certainly aligns with your thick-headed male chest-thumping."

"Romance? I've no time for that."

"Evidently."

He scratched his head. "I need a woman to feed me, clothe me—"

"Why don't you appeal for a housekeeper?"

"—and provide comfort on long, cold winter nights."

"I would advise a woolen nightshift and a bed warmer."

He grinned. "A bed warmer. Just what I had in mind."

Rolling her eyes, she skirted him quickly to walk on into the house. "Do excuse me. I must get away from your irritating presence. I have surely put up with it long enough today." And she felt the danger of it all too deeply. His mischievous company had certain addictive qualities.

Suddenly he caught her fingers. "Let's call a truce."

"A truce?"

"If you don't plan to be here long, let's not be at war the whole time."

Wary, she studied his countenance, and for once she could not immediately read his intentions. "I've played enough games of chess with my brother to know that men give up only when they know they can't win. Calling a draw is one way to save face."

"But who'd want to save this one?" He laughed easily, pretending he didn't know how handsome he was. "I promise not to try kissing you again. I'll be sensible from now on. Friends?"

Mercy looked at his hand and thought of it on her waist earlier, gently guiding her up into his cart, rescuing her from Mrs. Flick.

"Very well then," she muttered. "A truce." No doubt she'd discover, soon enough, what he was up to.

"Now we are friends, we needn't die alone and miserable," he chirped. "I'll visit you and make you laugh. We'll have tea and scones together."

Amused by the picture, she chuckled softly. "If we have teeth left with which to eat scones."

He considered it, head on one side. "I'll make you some wooden ones."

"Lovely. And I'll knit you some hair, because I daresay you will have lost all yours."

"Splendid. See, we can be friends." He gave her his arm, and after a brief hesitation, she took it.

Thank you for reading!

Jayne Fresina    

LADY MERCY DANFORTHE FLIRTS WITH SCANDAL BY JAYNE FRESINA – IN STORES JUNE 2013

When a Perfectly Proper Lady...

Lady Mercy Danforthe always has a plan. It's what makes her such a successful matchmaker, and why she's obligated to spend a great deal of time generously organizing the lives of her friends and family. But there's one man beyond her help. One man whose recklessness she can't rein in; whose chaos she can't contain. Her ex-husband, Rafe Hartley. Her one—and only!—mistake.

Flirts with a Reckless Rogue...

Rafe has never forgiven Mercy for running out on him. Their hastily annulled marriage may have one lasted three hours, but that doesn't mean he needs her help finding a proper wife. Someone needs to teach little Miss Know-It-All a lesson about keeping her adorably freckled nose out of other people's business. And it just so happens that Mercy "Silky Drawers" Danforthe still owes him a wedding night...

A Scandal's Never Far Behind!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jayne Fresina sprouted up in England, the youngest in a family of four girls.  Entertained by her father's colorful tales of growing up in the countryside, and surrounded by opinionated sisters— all with far more exciting lives than hers— she's always had inspiration for her beleaguered heroes and unstoppable heroines. Look for the fourth book in the Sydney Dovedale Series, Miss Molly Robbins Designs a Seduction in March 2014. For more information, please visit www.jaynefresina.com.

To purchase LADY DANFORTHE FLIRTS WITH SCANDAL: : Amazon | Barnes and Noble | Books-A-Million | IndieBound | Chapters/Indigo | Discover a New Love | Sourcebooks

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