Realm 05 - A Touch of Mercy (35 page)

“When Sophia approached me with the possible joining, I allowed my own aspirations for my daughter to override my good sense. Sophia and I came quickly to the conclusion that Arlen could live for many years yet, and who was to say Andrew might not predecease his father?” Rhodes laughed ironically. “It was as if we predicted the fall of the Kimbolts with our ambitions. Sophia and I planned to outmaneuver Beatrice and make Susan a viscountess much earlier by marrying her to Arlen instead of Andrew. Therefore, we placed Susan in Arlen Kimbolt’s way so our daughter might claim her place as the viscount’s new wife.” Aidan’s stomach rolled, and the bile returned. He physically forced the bitter taste from his mouth. God! He could not imagine such twisted plotting! How would he have ever tolerated seeing Susan with his father? Aidan would have been perpetually estranged from his home.

“Sophia arranged for Lexford to dine regularly with us, and each time we would leave Arlen and Susan alone. By that point, you were away, and Susan had no one but her mother and me, and we had turned our hearts from sensibility. We reasoned if Susan wed Lexford and bore him a son–a true heir–the viscount would send Andrew away, which would provide you assistance, as well.”

“Did no one consider my presence?” Aidan said in bewilderment.

“Susan did. My daughter objected, but we convinced her that she was righting a wrong by permitting Arlen’s attentions. But as for Sophia and me, we knew otherwise,” Rhodes admitted honestly. “You were in war. It was conceivable you would never return.”

Aidan countered, “If you were aware my father had willed me the bulk of his fortune, why not permit Susan and me to marry? Your daughter would have known a wealthy life and great connections.”

“But not the title, and Sophia was as adamant as her sister in wanting someone in the family to claim a role in the aristocracy.”

The extremes to which these people had gone to claim a part of the viscountcy amazed Aidan. He had fought some of the most devious wrongdoers upon the Continent, but none could compare with the Poley family.

“Sophia met a man at one of Lexford’s gatherings who knew a great deal about an opiate, which rendered those who took it unable to judge right from wrong. When next we hosted Lexford, my wife arranged a rendezvous between the viscount and Susan. She added a bit of the drug to several of their dishes. Between the opiate and the wine, neither the viscount nor Susan understood what overcame them. Sophia’s barely veiled suggestions became a reality. Arlen Kimbolt succumbed to his baser instincts. He took our daughter over and over again during a two-day period and in this very room.”

Aidan’s hand came to his mouth, and he searched for a bit of air to clear his head. Poor Susan. Her mother had constructed a plan to make Susan a viscountess, and her father had permitted a man to abuse her womanhood. How often had the pair walked by the closed doors to this sitting room and looked the other way? Aidan’s mind drew up an image of Susan’s young body and his father’s elderly one. The image sent his mind searching for a different reality, but none existed.

“It is not a pretty story, and I am not pleased with my role in it,” Rhodes declared baldly. Aidan caught the chair arm to keep from beating Rhodes to within an inch of his life. “We thought Arlen would do right by Susan, but the viscount’s heart remained with his late wife. He had long since abandoned Beatrice to being no more than his housekeeper. Arlen let it be known far and wide how Lady Cassandra had brought honor to the viscountship–an honor Beatrice Babcock could never achieve. My sister in marriage became the bitter woman you know today, but Bea’s hopes sprang to life again when Arlen agreed to permit Andrew to marry Susan in his father’s stead.”

Oh, God
! Aidan thought.
Could the tale be more twisted
? “A quick marriage occurred. Andrew lodged only a few objections upon your part, Kimbolt.” Aidan stifled the groan of despair resting on his lips. What could he say that was not a curse against all involved? “I managed a sizeable dowry to assure my daughter would be the future viscountess, but the marriage was in immediate disarray. Andrew claimed his husbandly rights, and, naturally, was not pleased to discover Susan impure. He accused my daughter of having lost her innocence to you, my Lord. Before the household, Andrew announced he would have no part of his younger brother’s leavings.”

Aidan could sit no longer. He bolted toward the patio door and pulled the drape aside. He looked out upon the winter sun and wondered why the world appeared to have gone on without him. “Continue,” he said grudgingly, but he kept his back to the room.

Rhodes’s tale was coming to an end; his voice held his weariness. “Shortly after Andrew’s exit, Susan discovered she was with child. Our daughter begged to return to her childhood home, but the viscount would have none of it. Lexford claimed Susan’s desertion would play poorly against his family’s name. Little did it matter that Andrew had left his wife to live in the house with his father, a man she feared and despised.” Aidan’s hands fisted and unfisted at his side.

Rhodes now rested his head in his hands. He spoke to the floor. “Before we could right our daughter’s world, Andrew met his Maker in a duel over a woman not half the lady our Susan had become.” Aidan thought it more than ironic Rhodes had turned his daughter into a whore, and yet Susan’s parents termed her a lady. “Your father ordered your return, but before you could save Susan, the viscount suffered from a weak heart. Just think if the viscount had married Susan, all would have been well. She would have been the dowager viscountess and could have married where she wanted. Andrew, too, could have known happiness. It was all Arlen’s fault for not meeting his responsibilities to our daughter. Poor Susan was made to accept a man she had once cherish, but knew herself no longer worthy of calling ‘husband.’”

Aidan turned at the sound of Swenton’s baritone voice. “Susan Kimbolt took her own life because of the shame she carried, and your wife searches the halls of Lexington Arms for a daughter she lost long before the fire.”

Rhodes nodded his agreement. “I give Mrs. Rhodes laudanum so she might rest, but often her mind drives her from her bed.”

Aidan caught the window frame as reality invaded. “If Andrew claimed his husbandly privileges but once, then you are saying Aaron…” He broke off, unable to verbalize the truth of the child’s birth.

Rhodes cautiously met Aidan’s eyes. “I had thought the child would provide Sophia comfort. The boy is the last remnant we have of our daughter, but the boy’s features are those of his father’s. Every time Sophia looked upon the child, my wife was reminded of how she had failed Susan.”

Aidan’s mouth had gone dry, but his lips managed to form the words he could never have thought to speak. “Aaron is not my nephew–not Andrew’s son. The boy is my brother.”

By mid afternoon of the third day, Mercy guided the let horse into the circle before Crandale Hall, Sir Lesley’s seat. As they had been since the trio had departed the posting inn, the Baloch and Trent rode on either side of her. Exhausted from a lack of sleep, Mercy wearily slid to the ground when a groom caught the horse’s reins.

They had spent two nights upon the road, but unlike the six weeks she had traveled alone, Mercy had known real danger and real fear while in the company of Trent. Mathias had eyed her as if she were a thoroughbred whose spirits he had meant to break. Surprisingly, Mercy had found an ally of sorts in the one known as Jamot.

Trent had stopped for the first evening at a seedy inn on a country road. The future baronet had let a room for her on the top floor. It held nothing more than a small bed and table, but Mercy had been thankful to be free of the ill-fitting sidesaddle Trent had purchased for her. Every muscle in her body ached from the strain of the ride and of the tautness of the unknown. She had managed to dress for bed before a tap at her window brought her spinning around in fright. The Baloch stood precariously on a perch just below the window’s sill.

“Permit me to enter,” he said against the closed pane.

Mercy wrapped her robe closer about her. She shooed the man away. “Leave me be,” she had hissed.

Jamot gave her a secretive smile. “It is not as it appears.”

Mercy rushed to the window to make certain it was locked. “If you do not leave, I shall scream for the innkeeper,” she had threatened.

“Who will open the door to Trent and the others,” the Baloch insisted. “Now hurry before it is too late.”

Mercy hesitated, but a heavy tread on the stairs told her Jamot was the least of her threats. She released the latch and shoved open the sash. “Someone approaches,” she whispered.

Jamot nodded before he lifted his weight through the opening and landed on silent feet. With a finger to his lips to indicate her silence, the Baloch moved across the floor to listen at the door.

Mercy’s ears strained to hear what Jamot could hear. He caught the room’s single chair and wedged it against the door at the same time as the wood rattled from a fist upon it. Mercy jumped when the pounding broke the silence. “I brought your meal,” Mathias Trent called from the other side. “Open the door.”

Jamot whispered close to her ear. “Stall him.”

When the pounding began again, Jamot quickly shut and locked the window and drew the drape. Meanwhile, Mercy called, “I am preparing for night. Please leave the tray outside. I will retrieve it shortly.” She was surprised by how calm her voice sounded.

“The food is hot now,” Trent insisted. Mercy jumped again when Mathias jiggled the latch. Thankfully, the chair did not permit the bolt to turn.

Mercy swallowed hard, but she countered, “I shall be thankful nonetheless for your kindness.”

Mathias hit the door with his fist again. “The innkeeper will be displeased.”

Mercy pressed her weight against the door to slow Mathias’s entry while Jamot rolled one of the towels from the table to stuff it under the bottom. He said in a voice barely above a whisper, “The cloth will preclude Trent from reading your shadow under the door and will prevent the wood from sliding easily if the future baronet manages to free the latch.”

“Yet, the innkeeper shall be thrilled for the business,” she answered Trent. Mercy was extremely thankful for the Baloch’s cunning.

Mathias grumbled, “I will return for the tray.”

She and Jamot leaned heavily against the door, ears plastered to the wood. Thankfully, Mathias placed the tray pointedly on the floor and retreated.

Jamot said softly, “Trent will return. He has earned his courage this evening. The future baronet has sampled some of his own wares.”

Mercy asked, “The opiates?” During their long ride, she had searched every memory she held of Mathias’s interactions with Geoffrey, and she had decided Mathias was more than a bungling heir to the baronetcy. The younger Trent was the mastermind behind the opium ring of which Mr. Hill had spoken honestly. She wished she had known the truth before she had departed Lexington Arms.

Jamot nodded curtly. “Do not judge, Miss Nelson. If you do, you will estimate me also, and, at the moment, I am your salvation.”

Mercy blushed thoroughly. “I only meant to know the truth,” she confessed.

Jamot had said no more on the subject. He released the chair and the bolt. Quietly, he eased the door from its casement and retrieved the tray. Handing it to Mercy, the Baloch quickly closed the door again. “We must do something to secure the opening. A chair will not be enough when Trent returns.” The Baloch was a conundrum. One minute he spoke as if he meant to have his way with her, and the next, he stood between her and Trent.

Mercy glanced about the small room. “There is nothing but the bed,” she reasoned.

The Baloch shrugged. “Then we use the bed.” He strode to the dark wood piece and flipped the mattress from the frame. Then he placed his back to the wooden rectangle and shoved it across the floor to rest solidly against the door. The draping hung crookedly against the wall.

Mercy retrieved the blanket from the floor. “What should we do with the bed linens?”

Jamot nodded to the poorly stuffed mattress. “Make yourself a place before the hearth. We will wait for Trent’s return.”

Mercy gasped, “You mean to sleep in my room?”

The Baloch smirked. “I could permit Trent to breach the opening.” Jamot withdrew a knife from a pouch at his side and placed it on the table. “If you wish me to leave, you must simply say the word.”

“Why?” The word slipped out before she could stifle it. “Why are you protecting me?” She was confused by his sudden empathy. After all, it had been Jamot who had suggested to Mathias that Mr. Hill likely aided in her escape.

Jamot shrugged noncommittally. “I am not of the nature to believe a man proves himself by overpowering those below him. If you ask if I will assist you in an escape from Sir Lesley, I will not. Despite his advanced years, the baronet will treat you kindly; yet, I will protect you from a man who means to make you his conquest.”

And so he had. The Baloch had slept on the floor under the bed frame and before the door while Mercy had wrapped herself in a blanket to rest before the fire. Between Trent’s three attempts to enter her room and her nervousness at having Jamot in the same room, she had slept but a few minutes. Now that she was at Crandale Hall, all for which Mercy could hope was her brother’s interference, but that possibility was highly unlikely.

On the second day, their pace had slowed so Trent could recover from his night of debauchery, but the man’s many threats had kept Mercy from enjoying the less punishing ride. Without her asking, the Baloch had come to her room again on the second night, and despite a lack of attempts by Trent, Mercy again had lain awake waiting for the pounding to begin.

Appearing quickly beside her. Mathias caught Mercy’s elbow and directed her steps toward the house. “You will treat my father well,” he warned close to her ear. “I want the baronet busy with satisfying his new wife.”

“And if I refuse?” Mercy ventured.

Trent tightened his grip on her arm. Likely, she would have marks where his fingers dug into her skin. “If you refuse my father, then you will deal with me, and no bed before the door will keep me from your room.”

Mercy swallowed the encroaching fear choking her throat. Trent had known the bed had kept him from acting upon his impulses. Did he know the Baloch had championed her safety? If he did, Jamot should be warned. It was the least she could do to repay the foreigner’s kindness.

“Mathias!” Sir Lesley called when he appeared on the stairs. “I am pleased to see you…” The baronet halted his descent. “Miss Nelson?” he said in dismay. “We thought you in Nottingham.” Sir Lesley’s voice trembled.

She did not understand the reference to Nottingham, and so she waited for the scene to unfold. Mercy shifted her shoulders to stand taller. “It has been a long time, Sir Lesley. In my absence, I have known the kindness of strangers.” Without looking at Mathias, she said, “Mr. Trent has graciously seen to my return to Lancashire. Now, if you will have someone escort me to Foresthill Hall, I will expect your call in the morning.”

The baronet nodded his agreement. “Of course, my Dear.”

Mathias stepped between her and his father. “I thought, Sir, it might be better if Miss Nelson remained under our roof while I make new arrangements for your joining. Unfortunately, Baron Nelson has been to Dorset, and we cannot have our Mercy staying at Foresthill without a proper staff to see to her needs. We will have the ceremony at week’s beginning.”

“So soon?” Mercy said before she could stop the words. She noted the twinge of disappointment upon Sir Lesley’s countenance, and Mercy felt guilty at causing the baronet additional pain, but she needed to stall for time to plan an escape.

Mathias turned a triumphant smile upon her. “Next week is not too soon; my father has waited long enough to claim you as his wife.”

Mercy said baldly, “You are assuming Sir Lesley still wishes the connection. After all, I have been absent from Lancashire for over four months.” She thought quickly, “And as to a speedy joining, we must wait for the banns to be called. I certainly cannot remain in my betrothed’s house for three weeks. It would be unseemly.”

Mathias caught her hand in his tight grip. To hide the pressure he put on Mercy’s fingers–enough so to make her wince–he patted the back of her hand. “Another calling of the banns will not be necessary.”

“Another calling?” Mercy asked suspiciously.

Sir Lesley continued his descent. “Yes, my Dear,” he said patiently. “It was always understood we would marry. After your departure, for several weeks, Baron Nelson neglected to inform me of your absence from his home. Only after the second call did I learn of your visiting a sick cousin in Nottingham.” So Geoffrey had stalled the Trents in expectation of her return to Foresthill Hall. Likely her brother owed the baronet a hefty sum for the marriage settlements. “I saw no reason to ask Wheaton not to speak the third call.” He stood before Mercy to claim her other hand.

“But it has been more than three months for the ordinary license,” she protested weakly. Mercy’s chances of escaping Crandale Hall grew weaker by the moment.

Mathias suggested to his father. “Surely as Wheaton’s living comes from your benevolence, something can be done. It is not as if the whole neighborhood does not know of your intention to marry Miss Nelson.” Again, the man smiled warmly at Mercy, but she easily recognized the evil lurking behind the genial gaze.

Sir Lesley frowned. “I would not wish to ask Mr. Wheaton to bend the church’s tenets. Yet, for now, I am pleased to have you remain under my roof. Mathias, perhaps I could prevail upon you to see Miss Nelson to a room. Meanwhile, I will address a note to Foresthill to inform the baron of Mercy’s unexpected return. Hopefully, Baron Nelson will return in time for the nuptials.”

Mathias said jovially, “I will ferry the note to Foresthill Hall. I mean to examine a horse the baron plans to sell.”

Sir Lesley good-naturedly chastised, “Your stable is overflowing now, Mathias.”

“True, Father. But it will not hurt to have a look at what Nelson has to offer.” Mathias placed Mercy’s hand upon his arm. “Allow me to give you a tour of your new home. So as to avoid scandal, I will place a maid in your room at all times.” Mercy recognized the ruse: The maid would guard against any attempt Mercy would make to leave. In addition, a maid would keep her from pleading with Jamot to extend his benevolence. She truly was on her own.

Sir Lesley called from where he watched them climb the stairs. “Yours is an excellent idea, Mathias. I want nothing to stain my future wife’s reputation.”

Mercy thought,
No Scandal
.
Nothing such as sleeping in a barn
.
Or working as a maid
.
Or eating near-rotten vegetables from an open field
.
Or living with Aidan Kimbolt
. The thought of the viscount brought a profound sadness. Mercy would never see Lord Lexford again, and her heart clenched from the pain of a world tilted sideways.

*

“You plan to hide in your quarters all day?” Hill asked as he strode into Aidan’s chambers after nothing more than a sharp knock, which Aidan had ignored. “Swenton is preparing to leave for London, and he wishes to say a proper farewell.”

Aidan shrugged unrevealingly. “The baron knows which is my door.”

“Do not act as such,” Hill cautioned.

“Behave how?” Aidan declared indignantly. “You mean, I pretend to be someone I am not? Something I am not?” He had no idea why he was acting so petulantly. Perhaps it was because he had spent most of yesterday having his backside properly kicked by his past, and now it was his turn to do the kicking. After returning to Lexington Arms, Aidan had retreated to his chambers to lick his wounds. His whole life had been a farce.

While he was listening to Rhodes’s tale of horror, Hill had placed Lady Cassandra’s diary upon Aidan’s pillow; and he had read and reread each entry. Read of his mother’s successes and failures and fears. He vividly recalled the pleasure of his mother’s delight at his tutor bragging on Aidan’s translations of Greek and Latin. On that day, he had sworn to keep the smile upon his mother’s lips. Would Lady Cassandra have been proud of the man he had become?