Realm 05 - A Touch of Mercy

by Regina Jeffers

  “I worked at an inn recently,” she protested weakly.

  “For how long?” he coaxed.

  Her eyes closed as if she was silently counting. “Five days.” She paused awkwardly. “The Pawleys fed me and gave me a warm place to sleep.”

  Lucifer wondered if he might have to resort to kidnapping the girl. She possessed no skills to survive a winter on the road, and Lucifer meant to see her well. “Five days of charity proves the Pawleys worth knowing, but five days after how many weeks?”

  The girl snarled her nose in remembrance. “Perhaps six.”

  Lucifer edged closer in anticipation of seizing the girl. “Would you not wish for more days of warmth and nourishment? I can promise you Mrs. Osborne makes the finest lemon tarts in all England.”

  The girl looked over her shoulder to the road behind her. “But Cheshire is the way I came. I cannot retrace my steps.”

  Lucifer dug into his pocket to retrieve his purse. Fishing several coins from the leather pouch, he extended them toward the girl. “Come to work at Lexington Arms. Stay, at least, through Twelfth Night, and if you do not care for the place, use these coins to purchase your passage to London or wherever else you wish to go.”

  “Why?” she asked skeptically. “Why do you insist on offering your assistance?” She looked off across the empty fields. “The last people I trusted stole all my money, as well as my mother’s locket. I have nothing of value remaining.”

  “I want nothing from you, gel. I have me a beautiful angel, who claims to love the likes of me. And I have a comfortable home and a generous employer. For a man who has not always walked on Heaven’s path, I hold many blessings. I think it is time I become the Good Samaritan.” He extended his hand to her. “Come, Girl,” he encouraged. “You require what I offer.”

  Although the rain had lessened, moisture dripped across her cheeks from her eyes’ corners. “Are you certain the viscount will not object?”

  Lucifer breathed easier: He would win this battle. With an ironic chuckle, he said, “His Lordship will likely not realize you were not always part of his staff.” Thoughts of the injury, which had robbed Lord Lexford of his memory, were never far from Hill’s mind. He meant to see the viscount well again.

  He caught her elbow and directed the girl toward the flat bed wagon he drove. Lucifer knew better than to give her time to change her mind. The girl had required a bit of encouragement and a good dose of coercion. “It might be best if you sit in the back,” he suggested. “You may place the blankets about you. It won’t be much drier, but perhaps a bit warmer. I will set your bag under the seat.” He pressed the coins into her gloved hand as he lifted the girl to the wagon. “Sit back,” he ordered as he gathered the damp blankets he had stashed in a wooden crate beneath the bench and tucked them about her. “We still have a piece to go so stay as dry as possible.”

  The girl nodded her gratitude. “May I…may I know the name of my benefactor?” She openly shivered from the cold.

  “Name is Mr. Hill. Henry Hill, but most people call me Lucifer.”

  She smiled at him, a smile that uncurled from her heart, and Hill thought she might be one of the prettiest girls of his acquaintance. The smile changed her face completely. “Lucifer? As in the Devil?”

  “My mother once remarked I be devilishly large for my age,” he said with a shrug. “The description stuck. I have been Lucifer ever since.”

  Through lips trembling from the cold, she said, “I am Mer…I am Mary,” she stammered. Lucifer heard untruths in her tone. “Mary…Mary Purefoy.”

  Obviously, she wanted no one to know her true identity, a fact that confirmed Lucifer’s assumption of her being a runaway. “You should rest, Miss. We will be in Cheshire soon. When we reach Lexington Arms, we will test your skills in making a proper bed for yourself.” Leaving her to snuggle deeper into the blankets, Lucifer climbed onto the bench seat. With a cluck of his tongue and a flick of his wrist, he set the team in motion.

  Purposely, he did turn his head again to look at her. He suspected the girl would watch him warily until she recognized he meant her no harm. Instead, Lucifer concentrated on maneuvering the wagon along the rough road and the problem of what to do with the girl he had just rescued. After some twenty minutes of pure silence, he secreted a glance in the girl’s direction. Finding her curled in a tight ball and fast asleep, he chuckled. The girl’s countenance spoke of her exhaustion. He knew what it meant to be hungry. Knew also of the hopelessness of those who traversed English roads in the wake of what some were calling the “year without summer.” As an innocent, less scrupulous travelers had robbed the girl of her few belongings, but she had not high footed it from where she had come. The girl had spirit. Her actions spoke of both her desperation and her determination. Those qualities had increased Hill’s respect for his passenger.

  Yet, he worried for her safety. Despite her earlier encounter with disaster, Miss Purefoy had accepted his tale after only minor encouragement. Her bravado aside, the girl had not learned her lesson; and his leaving her to her own devices would have been a mistake. She had trusted him not to defile her. Although not born to the role, Lucifer considered himself a gentleman, but most traveling English roads these days would not come close to that description. Before she reached London, some man would have the girl’s virginity by seduction or by force. Even now, she slept soundly in a steady rain in a rocking wagon. If not for his honor, he could claim the girl before she could put up a fight.

  “The aristocracy,” he murmured in amusement. “The so-called ruling class.” Until he had met the members of the Realm, Hill had always disparaged the ignorance he had found among those of rank, but he quickly discovered Lord Lexford’s acquaintances were the exceptions to the rule. He turned his head to study the girl more closely. She was nothing like the women His Lordship usually chose; yet, even on such a short acquaintance, Lucifer had hatched a plan of sorts. “Lord Lexford has always preferred his women dark of hair and soft of nature. Exactly like Miss Satiné and Lady Susan,” he thought aloud. “However, I think Lord Lexford requires a snow princess. A fiery blonde wood sprite instead of a dark fairy. One full of innocence and a bit of sauciness.” Lucifer smiled with the possibilities. “If Lord Lexford could discover happiness, then I would have no worries for my honor, and mayhap the viscount would hold no objections to my claiming my own contentment.”

  Lucifer reached under the seat to retrieve the girl’s small bag. “Let me view what you think to be important in your life, Miss Purefoy.” He glanced again to where the girl’s head rested on a half-full seed sack. Removing his glove to lift the bag’s latch, Lucifer dug his right hand into the bag’s contents. His fingers traced their way through layers of silk and wool. Finally, he touched upon a stack of papers, and he closed his fist about the pages. Using his coat to shield the paper from the peppering rain, Lucifer lifted them high enough to where he might read them without removing his eyes from the road. “Letters,” he said under his breath. “With the directions to Mercy Nelson of Foresthill Hall in Lancashire.”

  Before the girl could discover his deviousness, Lucifer returned the pages to her bag and replaced the satchel under the seat. “Mercy Nelson,” he whispered, rolling the name about his tongue. “Mercy. A much better name for a genteel lady than Mary Purefoy.” He chuckled with his next thoughts. “And exactly what His Lordship requires,” Hill said with assurance. “A touch of mercy.”

  Chapter 3

  The rain against the pane woke Aidan from a troubled sleep. He rolled to his side to stare at the droplets streaming along the glass. “How many nights?” he wondered aloud. How many nights had he lain awake with images of Susan’s sweet countenance playing across his mind? “On the battlefields,” he whispered. “At the safe house in Bombay.” Why could he not shake the feeling that if he could simply remember one fact…one particular fact…his world would right itself, and he could place all his foolish dreams of a woman who had never loved him behind?

  He re
mained perfectly still for Aidan had learned over the past few months that if he did not so much as blink an eye small bits of memory returned. It was in a moment such as those that he had recalled his first sight of Cashémere Aldridge in this very house. He had arrived for the prenuptial celebration of James Kerrington and Eleanor Fowler. Aidan had played a key role in rescuing Lady Eleanor from Sir Louis Levering. He had required no one to remind him of the events at Gavin Bradley’s hunting lodge. Aidan had observed the situation in his dreams. Had recognized how vulnerable Lady Eleanor had been, but he had also observed the lady’s strengths. Levering had made an attempt to embarrass and to abuse her. To place Lady Eleanor Fowler in an untenable situation, while wreaking havoc on the Duke of Thornhill’s life. The lady’s vulnerability had driven Aidan’s actions; he had risked exposing the Realm’s plan to destroy Levering in order to bargain for the woman his Captain wished to make his wife.

  Aidan had drugged the others involved in Levering’s perfidy. Then he had claimed Lady Eleanor as his partner. He had lain with her in his arms. Had felt her warmth along his length. Had heard her sobs of relief when she discovered who he was. Had tasted her lips and had felt the stir in his body’s loins. It was the day everything had changed for him. The day he had experienced humanity after years of deprivation.

  When he had managed his escape from the hunting lodge, Aidan had made a promise to live his life without regret, and he had arrived at Linton Park to discover Miss Cashémere Aldridge in residence with her family. The girl was Lady Eleanor’s cousin, and to him, Miss Cashé had seemed so perfect in every way. Lucifer had claimed after the fact that Aidan’s attraction to the girl had been the lady’s darker coloring. “Perhaps, Hill speaks the truth,” he whispered. “Perhaps, I seek a replacement for Susan so when I close my eyes I will no longer be haunted by the mistake I made in making the woman my wife.”

  Concentrating all his thoughts on a dark mark along a table’s edge, Aidan stared into his past. She was there–his wife, but not his wife. He could see it plainly. It had been after the boy’s birth, and he had encountered a pale-faced Susan in one of the upper passageways. Seeing her so weak and decimated, Aidan had automatically taken her into his arms, a move he had long ago abandoned. “We will see this through,” he had assured her.

  Susan had clung to him. Her tears returning and soaking his shirt, but still he held her. “I am sorry, my Lord,” she had sobbed over and over again. “You deserve better than I.”

  Unable to withstand the compassion he held for her, Aidan had lifted her chin with his fingers, where he might look upon her countenance. Hers was the face, which had haunted his days and his nights. “I pledge we will find a means to make a life together.” He had brushed his lips across her forehead: It was the first and only gesture of tenderness she had accepted from him since his return from the East, and Aidan’s hopes had risen quickly.

  “I cannot live at Lexington Arms,” she whispered. Her warm breath caressed Aidan’s neck. “Permit me to go elsewhere,” she pleaded softly.

  Aidan had stiffened. He held responsibilities to the estate and could not simply leave it behind, and he certainly could not entertain the idea of losing Susan again. Theirs was not an ideal situation, but she was his wife, and Aidan meant to protect her. “You wish to return to Rhodes End?” he had asked cautiously.

  “No!” she had said adamantly. Susan had shoved against his chest for release. “Never there! Promise you shall never return me to my father’s home!”

  The memory slipped away as quickly as it had come. “Why was my wife so opposed to seeking comfort from her parents?” he reasoned aloud. “How had she come to dislike her own mother and father?” He closed his eyes in hopes he might recall how the conversation had ended, but Aidan could not will the memory’s return.

  Finally, he released the grip he had on the wool blanket covering him. He rolled to his back. The room felt familiar. Although he held no personal knowledge of the fact, Lord Worthing had assured him it was the room Aidan preferred when he tarried at Linton Park. It was odd how so many minor details escaped him. “Minor details and two and twenty months of my life,” he grumbled.

  Tossing the blanket from his form, Aidan swung his legs over the bed’s edge. He donned a robe before stoking the fire and adding more coal. Restless, he made his way to the heavily draped windows. Aidan wondered if Lucifer had arrived safely in Cheshire. The cold rain had started some three hours after his man had departed Linton Park. “Hill should have been close to the border when the rain began here,” Aidan reasoned aloud. “That is assuming Mr. Hill did not ride into the storm.”

  Aidan watched the rain a bit longer before forcing himself to return to the bed. “Home,” he said as he squeezed his eyes shut. “Home with all its devils and ghosts.” His plans to return to Lexington Arms to recapture his memory and his life suddenly appeared quite daunting. “Will I even recognize my staff? Surely those who have served the estate for years will be familiar. And what of my quarters? Perhaps this room holds more familiarity than my own chambers.” The possibility caused the knot, which had held his stomach hostage since the day he had awakened in a strange bedchamber at Chesterfield Manor, to tighten. “God! Please permit this madness to end?”

  *

  “Mr. Hill!” the Lexington Arms cook called when Lucifer entered the warm kitchen. “You have returned at last!”

  Lucifer smiled easily at the woman. “Aye, Mrs. Osborne. His Lordship will arrive by mid-week. I came ahead to prepare the house.”

  Mrs. Osborne looked up with instant tears in her eyes. “Master Aidan has had the worst of it. I pray his return will bring him peace.”

  Lucifer nodded a similar sentiment. “We each pray for Lord Lexford’s full recovery.” He stepped aside to permit Mercy to slip into the kitchen’s warm glow. “I brought someone with me,” he said by way of introduction.

  Mrs. Osborne’s eyes lit with happiness. “Would this be your Hannah, Mr. Hill?”

  Lucifer flushed with embarrassment. He raised his hand to ward off the woman’s next comment. “This is Mary…Mary Purefoy. She will be joining us.”

  The cook looked off anxiously toward the service entrance. “Does Mrs. Babcock know of Mary’s arrival?” Lucifer understood immediately. The Lexington Arms housekeeper had served the estate for some thirty years, and the lady did so with a fist of stone. He would be doing Mercy no favors by placing the girl under Mrs. Babcock’s supervision; yet, he saw no other means to keep the girl safe and in a position where he might maneuver Mercy Nelson into Lord Lexford’s path.

  “Mary’s mother was a favorite of the former viscount.” It was a bald lie, and he refused to look at the shocked countenance of the girl. “The late Lord Lexford had promised Mary a position in his household when she came of age. I was to retrieve the girl in October, but with the current master’s injury, those plans were placed aside. The Master recently recalled his father’s promise and sent me for the girl.”

  Mrs. Osborne’s countenance lightened with hope. “Then the young Master has recovered his memory?”

  Lucifer shook his head in the negative. “Only bits and pieces, I fear, but Lord Lexford has recovered his physical vigor. His memory will be returning soon enough.” He noted the look of confusion, which crossed Mercy’s countenance. He said softly, “I will explain later.” To the cook, he said, “If you could dish up something warm, I am certain both Mary and I would appreciate it.” He hung his hat on a peg by the door and motioned Mary to remove her rain soaked cloak. “If you would keep an eye on Mary, Ma’am, I will call on Mrs. Babcock to inquire on quarters for our newest arrival.”

  “Come over by the fire, Girl.” Mrs. Osborne motioned Mary forward. “You will catch your death with them wet clothes.”

  Lucifer smiled encouragingly. Mrs. Osborne was one of the better servants under Lord Lexford’s roof. With a sigh of resignation, he squared his shoulders before seeking the estate’s housekeeper. He would must remain firm with Mrs. Babcock. The lad
y would not appreciate his interference with “her” household.

  *

  “And this was Lord Lexford’s wish?” Mrs. Babcock asked suspiciously. “I did not think the Young Master would hold an allegiance to the late Viscount’s ‘external’ affairs.” The venom in the woman’s tone was worrisome. “How do we know what this girl’s mother says is true? The story plays quite odd. By all who speak of it, the late viscount loved Lady Lexford.”

  Again, Hill heard the woman’s incredulity. He had never cared for Lexford’s housekeeper, whose gross ignorance, meanness of opinions, and very distressing vulgarity of manner always rubbed Lucifer raw. He could not imagine the woman ever being anything more than a common fishwife. “It is not of our realm to judge our betters,” he cautioned.

  When he had concocted a tale, which implied that Mercy Nelson could be the former viscount’s by blow, he could not have anticipated Mrs. Babcock’s reaction. It was more disapproval than genuine regard for the current Lord Lexford’s supposed benevolence. With all emotion removed from his countenance, Lucifer said, “Beware, Ma’am. The girl was raised as a genteel lady. Miss Purefoy desires nothing better than a post of honorable representation. She was promised a position as governess to Lord Andrew’s child. As the Rhodeses have taken custody of Master Aaron, I knew not what position to assign the girl.” Hill realized the housekeeper would not disparage any guest of the current viscount’s by assigning Miss Nelson household duties. He suggested, “If Lord Lexford would choose to take another wife…”