Realm 05 - A Touch of Mercy (12 page)

The girl glanced to where her father assisted a matronly villager. “I could come, my Lord,” she said hesitantly. “That is if you hold no objections.”

Aidan’s eyebrow rose in curiosity. “You have knowledge of patterns and fittings?”

The girl eagerly nodded. “I make clothes for my family, even my father.”

Aidan searched Miss Purefoy’s countenance for her permission. A brief nod indicated the woman’s agreement. “Then you should come to Lexington Arms tomorrow for the measurements. Bring the cloth and whatever notions you require. Tell Mr. Chadwick I request your services for my family.”

The girl smiled brightly. “Thank you, Sir. It is an honor, my Lord.”

Aidan caught Miss Purefoy’s elbow. “I have a few items I wish to choose for my brother’s family.” He could not call the child by name: The word often choked him. He would send Lucifer to Rhodes’s estate with the gifts. “Mr. Hill has made choices for the tenants’ baskets. He thought you might examine the items and provide us with a woman’s opinion of their appropriateness.”

She said softly, “Certainly, my Lord.” Aidan watched her cross to where Lucifer conversed with one of the clerks. She was obviously displeased with his high handedness, but Miss Purefoy would change her mind when Miss Chadwick finished the first of the gowns. Oddly, he wondered if it would be so easy to make a woman in which he held a true interest happy.

*

Mercy waited for Mr. Hill to finish with his order before she motioned him to the side. “I wish to purchase a piece of linen to make His Lordship several handkerchiefs. Do you suppose you could conduct the purchase without Lord Lexford knowing? She pressed one of the pennies she had found during her stint as a maid into his palm.

Mr. Hill’s brow furrowed. “There is no need for you to pay me.”

“I insist.” Her back stiffened in defiance. “A linen is far from a fine gift for a gentleman, but whatever I present Lord Lexford will be from my purse. The man will not pay for his own gift.”

*

Aidan had chosen three wooden toys for a child he had seen but a half dozen times over the past few years. During his convalescence in Kent, Brantley Fowler had apprised Aidan of what the duke knew of Aidan’s interactions with the Rhodes family. Evidently, their relationship had deteriorated after Susan’s death. He had no personal memory of this supposed animosity, but the Duke of Thornhill had assured Aidan it was so. With a glance to where Miss Purefoy spoke privately with Mr. Hill, Aidan made another choice: an impetuous one, but one which pleased him. A small music box. One with a crystal dove upon its silver top. “Wrap it carefully,” he said softly, and Mr. Chadwick nodded his understanding. Deep in the pleasure of choosing a gift for a beautiful woman, Aidan had not heard the scuff of feet behind him until a throat cleared.

“My Lord.” Aidan turned to come face-to-face with Susan’s father, Jonathan Rhodes.
Speak of the Devil,
he thought. A tight smile spoke of the man’s contempt.

“Father Rhodes,” Aidan said as a purposeful manipulation of the situation. Strong emotions flooded his chest with an unsavory assault.

Rhodes’s expression hardened. “I was unaware you had returned to Lexington Arms, Aidan.”

He worked hard to unlock his scrunched fists. Aidan guarded his words: Something about Jonathan Rhodes had always made him uneasy. Automatically, Aidan’s jaw clenched in wariness. “I arrived late yesterday. I meant to send word of my return, but we have been quite busy this morning. Was there something of import of which you wished to speak to me?”

Susan’s father glanced to where Miss Purefoy selected ribbon for the house’s decorations. “I had heard guests had arrived during your absence.”

“My cousin,” Aidan said in explanation, but he knew the servant gossip line likely spoke of Miss Purefoy’s true relationship to the Kimbolt name.

Rhodes’s expression settled in those aristocratic lines, which Susan had perfected in mimicry. “We have business, my Lord,” the man said curtly. “I would call upon you the day after Christmas. I assume you plan to remain in Cheshire as part of your recovery.”

Aidan did not appreciate the man’s tone, nor did he approve of Rhodes’s presumptive maneuver. “If it is of your concern to know my business, I do,” he said autocratically.

Rhodes took a step backward as if Aidan’s attitude had surprised the man. “I meant no disrespect, my Lord,” Susan’s father said automatically and without true emotion. “Your health is of great importance to the Rhodes’s family. I simply meant your staying at Lexington Arms is for the best,” he announced with a bit more feeling. “I will call on the twenty-sixth, and I will bring the child with me. It is time the boy came to know his Uncle Aidan or is Aaron to call you ‘Father’?”

The day would have been perfect if not for the specter of Jonathan Rhodes’s visit hanging over Aidan’s head like the sword of Damocles. Over the past fortnight, both he and his staff had taken on lighter hearts with the addition of the greenery and the lovely ribbon, which Miss Purefoy had chosen. Each anticipated the Christmas pudding and the goose Mrs. Osborne had promised to one and all. Life had crept into Lexington Arms on a pair of well-worn boots: Miss Purefoy seemed to fill the air with her enthusiasm.

Earlier in the day, he and his sister had written notes of gratitude to his household and grounds staff. Tomorrow, Aidan would present each of his servants a gold coin along with the personalized note. “You do have an excellent hand,” he had complimented Miss Purefoy as she toiled over one of the last of the messages. He had watched with amusement as the lady had gone about her ritual: a sharpening of her pen, setting of the paper at a precise angle so as not to smudge the ink with the knuckle of the smallest finger of her right hand, the tapping of the pen three times against the lip of the well to remove the excess ink, and the gentle biting of her bottom lip in concentration. Aidan found Miss Purefoy’s mannerisms adorably addictive.

She finished the line before looking up. Her smile widened. “I told you I would be of use, my Lord.”

“I never doubted it, my Dear.” He popped another apple tart into his mouth. Between the two of them, they had devoured more than they should have. As well as the next man, Aidan enjoyed a sweet cake with his tea, but it was not the sweets he found unusual. The odd thing was for the past two weeks, he had not consumed more than a single glass of wine at supper. Instead, he had enjoyed tea with Miss Purefoy.
Enjoyed
was the key word. He had enjoyed the tea, the cakes, and the lady, more so than the finest wines he had known in royal palaces and in the best homes on the European continent.

For the Christmas Eve services, Miss Purefoy had joined him in the family pew, which was followed by a sharing of a hearty brew by the villagers and several solemn carols by the children. “An excellent evening,” he murmured to the night’s stillness. It was, at least, two of the clock, and Aidan remained from his bed.
The nightmares
, he thought. Although Aidan had to admit not all of the dreams of late held frightening events, even those of pleasant times possessed a sense of foreboding. As if they held a certainty he preferred not to recognize. And that was where the true horror waited.

*

Mercy tossed and turned in bed late into the night. The debacle she had left behind in Lancashire weighed heavy upon her mind. It was not as if Mercy regretted leaving Geoffrey’s household. Far from it. Despite all the hardships she had encountered on the road, Mercy had enjoyed her newfound freedom, and she had admired the tenacity she had displayed. She thought it spoke well of the woman she had become. She had survived. Mr. Hill’s kindness had arrived as a balm for her battered soul, but Mercy realized even if she had not made Lucifer Hill’s acquaintance, she would have known success. On the road, she had discovered independence. At Lexington Arms, Mercy had found security and acceptance. It was a giddy realization for a girl who had known a vile, however sequestered, existence.

Her only true regret in the matter rested in her foisting on the viscount the lie of a familial connection. It had been so difficult earlier today when they had shared his study to write notes of appreciation. Not difficult to look upon the man’s countenance. Never that. Mercy could feast upon his fine features all day and never tire of them. Yet, it was not the man’s most excellent appearance she most admired. With the viscount, Mercy felt complete. Felt as if she belonged. Not necessarily in a romantic sense, although she would never reject any overtures of affection Lord Lexford wished to bestow upon her. Being with His Lordship was different from anything she had ever known: The man spoke to her with respect. He sought her opinions. His presence had changed everything for Mercy. She knew she would never be able to accept anything less from another man, which likely meant she would spend her life as a spinster.

“Aidan,” she whispered to the darkness. Until this very night, Mercy had refused the intimacy of his name. “Better I keep it at
my Lord
,” she had warned her foolish heart. “I wish we were truly family so I might see to Lord Lexford’s household, and he could manage my safety. That would be lovely. It would be enough to have a real family.”

Restless, Mercy rolled to the bed’s side to rise. Catching her sensible robe, she slid it around her shoulders and tied it closed with a ribbon. Retrieving her slippers, Mercy looked about for the book she had finished earlier in the day. She would return it to the library and choose another. Perhaps, reading would assist her to sleep. “I must set my mind to rearranging the disorder found in the library,” she reminded herself. “With too much happiness, I have enjoyed the prospects of decorating the house and preparing His Lordship’s home for Christmastide. Now, I must see to the practical aspects of serving the viscount.”

With a cupped flame upon the candle and the book tucked tightly against her body under her arm, Mercy slipped quietly down the stairs. She easily recalled how, as children, she and Grace would sneak through the manor to discover what their parents had placed before the hearth for their children on Christmas Day and on birthdays. Mercy had loved the excitement of their sisterly adventures as much as she had loved the simple, but heartfelt, presents. Thomas and Louisa Nelson had taken great pride in treating their modest staff and their children with generosity.

Mercy paused as a draft from below caught the flame to send it dancing with the house’s shadows. “If only,” she whispered to the darkened house.
If only
her parents had not died.
If only
Geoffrey had not succumbed to the temptations of youth.
If only
Grace had not fled alone into the night.
If only
her relationship with Viscount Lexford was based in truth.

With a shrug of her slender shoulders, Mercy continued her descent. Her only option was to play the cards she and Mr. Hill had dealt. By proving herself worthy of his kindness, she would see that the viscount never knew regret for extending his benevolence to her.

Reaching the library, she eased open the tall door and slipped inside. With her small candle, she lit a brace sitting on a nearby table before snuffing out the light she had brought with her. A sigh of approval escaped as Mercy looked upon the shelves lined with books of all sorts. “If only I could live in such a room,” she said softly.

“Could you really remain within these walls?” Mercy spun around to find the viscount slouched in an overstuffed chair before the hearth.

“My Lord!” she gasped. “You gave me quite a fright.” Immediately, Mercy thought of the inappropriateness of their meeting so late and thusly dressed. “I…I should go,” she murmured. Her hands fumbled with the single candle.

*

When the door had opened, Aidan had expected Mr. Hill. For the past few years, other than when Aidan had tarried with the Fowlers, Lucifer had made it his mission to ensure that Aidan found his bed. His man of all means was one of the few who knew how Aidan had suffered with the forced marriage and the tragedy, which had beset Lexington Arms. Instead of Hill, his lovely “sister” had slid into the room.

On this evening, Aidan had brought his misery to this particular room because the library had always been his mother’s pride and joy. As he had nestled in one of the chairs before the fire, he chastised himself for not having put more effort into bringing the room to order, if for no other reason than to honor his mother’s memory.

He wondered if he had made a mistake by returning home. Despite the pleasant hours spent with Miss Purefoy, he could not shake the feeling his house was sucking the life from his lungs. He supposed he could remain in his London townhouse, where the ghosts were not so prevalent. His memory loss was like a demon he could not face down. He gasped for air as if he could not breathe–as if he said a prayer for God to release him from the voices in his head, and suddenly the door had opened to his Christmas angel.

In silence, Aidan had watched the girl. Part of him wished to push her away. To drive Miss Purefoy from his life. His senses said she was not what she appeared to be. But a more basic need simply wished to enjoy her company while he may. After all, if Mary Purefoy meant to play him, she had made no move to demand outrageous sums of money. His purse had known only the cost of a few notions and cloth.

“My Lord! You gave me quite a fright!” she had gasped when she became aware of his presence. Aidan had enjoyed looking upon Miss Purefoy’s slender form. The drab gowns she wore during the day did an excellent job of disguising the woman’s femininity. In sharp contrast, the thin nightrail and robe displayed curves the woman had hidden until this moment. Especially with the light behind her, which outlined strong legs and luscious hips.

“I…I should go,” she said with a flush of color. The girl turned to leave, but Aidan made short business of the distance between them.

“Do not depart on my behalf.” He caught her hand, and a tingle of excitement shot up his arm. Aidan shoved away the awareness. “Permit me to assist you in finding a book.”

The girl’s eyebrow arched sharply. “I likely know the shelves better than you, my Lord. I have studied them daily for the past few weeks.”

Aidan chuckled. “No doubt, my Dear, but indulge me a moment. I am in sad need of company.” He meant to take shameless advantage of the lady’s good nature to satisfy his self-possessed mood.

A look of concern crossed Miss Purefoy’s countenance. “How so, my Lord?”

Aidan silently debated on whether to confide in the woman. After all, he knew so little of Miss Purefoy, but in the deep recesses of his mind, Aidan could hear his mother’s voice telling his late Aunt Janelle that one simply had to listen at a ball or a social to learn all the latest gossip. “People will tell complete strangers their most intimate details. Every ache. Every sordid mistake they have made. Perhaps it is the anonymity. Perhaps it is cathartic simply to say the words aloud,” his mother had said when she had shared a picnic lunch on the lawn with her children. It was so like the former Lady Lexford to pull her children from the nursery to permit them time to be boisterous and childlike.

“We could simply converse, my Lord,” Miss Purefoy suggested.

“I would have thought we were quite out of words,” he said lamely, but Aidan escorted the lady to a nearby settee. He politely placed a lap rug across her legs to minimize any temptation. He settled across from her. “Should I ring for some tea?”

The lady protested. “Oh, my, no. Please leave the servants to their sleep. They have worked steadily to set the house aright for the Festive Days.”

Aidan appreciated Miss Purefoy consideration for his employees. “Then may I interest you in a glass of sherry?”

“That would be delightful,” she said with a bright smile.

Aidan filled a glass for them both. Returning to his seat, he stretched out his long legs before him. “We have managed to extend our informal silence to some five minutes,” he said with a chuckle. “Would you care to suggest a subject for our discourse, my Dear?”

Miss Purefoy’s lips twisted in a tight frown as she searched for a topic. “I know,” she said with bright revelation. “Tell me what you thought of Mr. Roberts’s Christmas sermon.”

Aidan had expected her to bring up the latest London fashions, but he was slow to learn Miss Purefoy was not like other young women. He had gotten caught up in her eyes and had not immediately responded. Finally, he admitted, “I am not certain I understood the man’s emphasis on what the three kings found in Bethlehem.”

She sat forward in excitement. “Did you not? I thought the whole idea that God might have stopped time while the world decided what course to take very enlightening. I mean, I have often stared into the Heavens and wondered if I would have had the tenacity to follow a star in search of a king.”

Aidan held no doubt she would not only have followed God’s star, the lady would have hitched her coach to it to permit the celestial being to tug her along behind it. In truth, he thought her the most remarkable woman of his acquaintance. Her assumption reminded him of one he and Kerrington and Wellston had had on one of those less than chilly December nights in Persia. They had assumed the role of guardians along a dangerous pass through the mountains.

“Do you miss December snow?” Kerrington has asked as he eyed the narrow opening for movement.

Wellston chuckled, “Cold has its benefits. In northern Northumberland, snow can begin as early as October and last well into April.”

Aidan had always been wistfully tied to home, but this particular incident had occurred long before he had received the news of Andrew’s proposal to Susan. “Do you suppose those in England are gazing upon the same stars as are we?” he had asked the silence, which rested heavy between him and his friends. “And what if we followed the stars? Would we find our way home?”

Kerrington had scowled deeply. “I have no reason to follow any trail, which will return my feet to England.”

“Nor I,” Wellston had concurred.

Their adamant declarations had brought on Aidan’s scowl. At the time, he had thought he possessed a reason to return: A woman for whom he held a tender regard. Perhaps if he had arrived in Cheshire earlier than he did, things would have been different. Mayhap the condition of his heart would not be one ripped to shreds. “Decisions,” he said to the lady. “Decisions are only clear in hindsight.”