The Rogue's Princess by Eve Edwards

Mercy have a big enough heart to come to accept him for who he was? Today suggested not. So did he care enough about her to try to be something else? Aye, that was the question.
    Before he took any drastic decisions, he would have to try once more to talk to her. After all, seeing him on stage without any warning must have disturbed his little Puritan greatly. Perhaps her aunt had dragged her away, believing him a man of low character? He had not considered that. He could forgive Mercy for leaving him waiting if she could forgive him not telling her the whole truth from the beginning.
    His thoughts were interrupted when Tobias turned over and fell off the bed, landing in a heap on the floor. With an exasperated sigh of affection for the idiot, Kit got up and threw a blanket over him. Tobias did not wake.
    At least that meant he’d have the bed to himself tonight. Today had not been a total disaster.
    Third in line, Mercy knelt at her father’s chair to receive his Sabbath blessing.
    ‘How fare you, child?’ her father asked kindly, framing her face with his large hands. He had green eyes like her own, while her brother and sister took after their mother – Mary Hart was said to have had blue eyes, though she had not lived long enough for Mercy to remember them. ‘I have hardly seen you since you stayed at Ann’s.’
    Mercy knew herself to be such a worthless creature. ‘I am well, Father.’
    ‘I did not realize you played the lute so skilfully. My friends in the City have nothing but praise for your abilities.’
    ‘Thank you, Father.’
    John Hart scratched the side of his nose, senses pricked by a vague threat to his family. ‘But I am not certain that it is something that you should indulge in too often, Mercy. There is danger you will be led into vanity.’ He studied her gravely.
    ‘I agree, Father. I did it to oblige Mistress Belknap, but in future I will try to avoid making a display of myself.’
    He nodded, well pleased with her answer. ‘You are a good girl, Mercy.’
    She hung her head. ‘No, I’m not, Father.’
    He chuckled. ‘Well, none of us is perfect. It is unholy to think so. But you do well enough. I was pleased with your thoughts on the play. I am glad you realized for yourself that the pretty packaging concealed traps for the foolish. The Devil makes use of such primrose-strewn paths to draw many to their ruin. I was right to let you go – now you will no longer be tempted by it.’
    ‘Aye, sir.’
    He placed his heavy hand on her head and said his usual prayer over her. He rose, drawing her to her feet. ‘Let us leave for church. The bell is already tolling.’
    Faith in arm with her father, Edwin escorting Mercy, the Hart family walked to their church, St Magnus, at the northern end of the bridge. Rose preferred to attend the service in St Mary Overie in Southwark where the priests wore the surplice and clerical cap and used the prayer book. The Hart church, a medieval building with arched windows filled with clear glass, was led by a severe follower of Calvin who rejected all such Romish signs, preferring to cut the liturgy to the minimum so he could expound the word at greater length, his words echoing off the bare walls. Privately, Mercy usually preferred the kindly old priest at St Mary’s, but today she vowed she wouldn’t let her mind drift during the hour-long sermon.
    Reverend John Field was in fine form this morning. He rattled through the confession and creed to spend a good ninety minutes castigating Londoners for their manifold failings, their lack of attention to the poor coupled with their spiritual poverty. By the time he had finished, Mercy was determined to make sure she gave the pennies she had saved to the first good cause she came across, giving up the treats for herself for six months.
    Mercy had almost reached the end of the service with no lapses of attention when she caught the Dodd sisters whispering behind her. They were holding up their shared prayer book