Realm 05 - A Touch of Mercy

by Regina Jeffers

  Aidan chuckled. “I think not.” He turned to assist the approaching Miss Purefoy into his small coach. “It is but a short ride into the village,” he explained to his companion as Hill climbed into the seat. “Once there, if you think of anything else we might require for the celebration, do not hesitate to purchase it. As I explained earlier, it has been nearly two decades since anyone has thought to mark the Festive Days at Lexington Arms. My memory of those days is as vague as that of the past two years.” Although he said the words as an apology for his shortcomings, Aidan was not certain he spoke the truth. Since accepting Miss Purefoy’s suggestion to decorate his house for the Festive Days, in snatches of colorful images, he had enjoyed the vivid memories of those early years of his life.

  Miss Purefoy kept her eyes on the scenery outside the coach. Since entering the carriage, she had not looked upon him. He knew that observation to be the truth for Aidan had watched her exclusively. “This is very kind of you, my Lord. Kind of you to honor a poor relative’s whim.” In hesitation, she bit her bottom lip. “Like you, it has been many years since Christmastide knew a home under my brother’s roof.”

  Aidan asked, “Did not your mother insist on bringing the Festive Days into her son’s home?”

  The girl blushed thoroughly. She stammered, “My…my brother is not easily swayed.”

  He was not certain Miss Purefoy spoke the complete honesty. Aidan had the strong suspicion she had forgotten the ruse she practiced, but he also could not shake the idea he had seen the “real” girl within. “Then we will form our own family tradition,” he had said patiently.

  *

  Mercy swallowed hard. She had come close to betraying her true devastation to Lord Lexford. The man was so not what she had expected. When her sister Grace had spoken of having the acquaintance of the viscount in London, Grace had also confided that the gentleman had developed an affection for Cashémere Aldridge. Mercy had met the girl but once in the five years Grace had served as a governess in Samuel Aldridge’s household. At the time, Mercy had found the girl highly opinionated, and not in a good way. Cashémere Aldridge spouted religion as if she were an Evangelical preacher. Mercy could not imagine any man would desire a shrewish woman for a wife, and especially a man of Lord Lexford’s ilk.

  The viscount was perfect in every way. Handsome beyond reason. By far the most handsome man Mercy had ever encountered. Yet, underneath his fine features, His Lordship possessed a cold intelligence, which defined him, and even deeper, there was a sadness, which could destroy him. Destroy her, too, she feared, for she was already very attached to the man.

  “We have arrived,” Lord Lexford announced as the carriage rolled to a halt before a colorful mercantile. “Did you consider other purchases we should make?”

  Mercy raised her eyes to meet his. “We should see to some form of gratitude for your cottagers, my Lord.”

  “You are correct again,” His Lordship conceded. “This has been a difficult year for those on the land.”

  “More so than last?” she inquired. “I understood last year beyond the pale.”

  “True,” he acknowledged, but he did not act as if he held a remembrance of what she spoke. Instead, he spoke from instinct. Mercy wondered how she might assist the viscount in discovering the missing pieces of his life. It would be her hope that in doing so, the man would finally know peace. “I will ask Mr. Hill to anticipate our needs in this matter. Thank you for reminding me of my duty to the estate. Your empathy is duly noted.” He slid across the seat to reach for the door handle.

  Her hand stayed his arm. “Before the people who depend upon your estate for their livelihood, may I not be your cousin?” Mercy asked softly. She dreaded facing strangers who had heard rumors of her supposed parentage.

  The viscount smiled easily. “I should have considered the possibility previously. I have struggled with how to reconcile what I know of my father’s history with our relationship and without causing you pain. From this day forward, you are Miss Mary Purefoy, my cousin from…”

  “York,” she supplied.

  “My cousin from York.” The viscount kissed the back of Mercy’s gloved hand before debarking. He first gave Mr. Hill instructions and then reached for her. “Come along, my Dear.” Despite her plain clothing, Mercy had never felt so special. Viscount Lexford made her feel as elegantly dressed as a princess in a gossamer gown. When His Lordship was near, Mercy found herself continually a kilter. “What first?” he whispered close to her ear.

  “Ribbons first, my Lord,” she said with a full smile.

  *

  Aidan was uncertain of why the woman brought him a sense of purpose, but she did. Contrary to his normally sensible nature, he had accepted a complete stranger into a place of honor within his home, and worse, he strove to make the woman happy. In less than four and twenty hours, Miss Purefoy had solidly wormed her way into his life, and Aidan would have it no other way. However, he could not totally dismiss her choice of “York” as her home shire. He wondered if the lady had forgotten her earlier tale of Staffordshire or whether she meant to mislead others into thinking her more rightly distanced from Cheshire. It was a fact Aidan would include in his letter to Pennington.

  He escorted her into the small mercantile. Instantly, Mr. Chadwick, the proprietor was before him. “My Lord, may I be of assistance?”

  “My cousin, Miss Purefoy, has convinced me it is time for Lexington Arms to shed its mourning ribbons. We plan to begin with a small family Christmastide celebration. As such, Miss Purefoy says we must have red ribbon and plenty of it.”

  “Absolutely, my Lord.” The man bowed again for good measure. “Is there anything else you desire?”

  Aidan shot a glance to where Miss Purefoy thumbed fine muslins. “Please ask one of your daughters to assist my cousin with the purchase of whatever cloth the lady might desire. I wish to speak to Mr. Hill regarding proper supplies for my cottagers; then I mean to choose several personal items.”

  The shopkeeper rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “As you wish, my Lord.”

  Although he did not remove his eyes from Miss Purefoy, for a quarter hour Aidan and Hill decided upon what would be appropriate for the estate’s tenants. Lucifer thought it a good idea to open Lexington Arms to the cottagers on the day following Christmas. “It will provide the staff time to organize a basket of staples for each family.”

  “I agree,” Aidan said.

  Hill’s eyes followed Aidan’s gaze. “Ask the lady’s opinion of what we have chosen and what else should be included.”

  Aidan scowled. “You readily bow to Miss Purefoy’s opinions. Do you have an ulterior motive, my Friend?”

  Hill chuckled. “Only that I like the man I see when you think no one watches you watching the lady.”

  It was very frustrating to be so transparent. Aidan said defiantly, “You must be daft,” but he strolled toward where Miss Purefoy shoved away the hands of what must be Mr. Chadwick’s daughter. “Give it here,” he demanded as he caught the dark blue cloth. He held the material close to Miss Purefoy’s cheek. “An excellent choice,” he declared. “Now the dark green.”

  “My Lord…” Miss Purefoy pleaded.

  “None of your protests, my Dear,” he replied. “I mean to see my cousin dressed for her station.” He turned toward the girl. “Miss Chadwick, I presume.”

  The girl stammered, “Yes…yes, my Lord. Serena, Sir.” A quick curtsy followed.

  “Miss Chadwick, my cousin requires five new dresses.”

  “Three,” Miss Purefoy corrected.

  “Five.” Aidan swiftly dismissed her protest. He winked at Miss Chadwick. “And a riding habit.” He looked again upon the pale countenance of Miss Purefoy. He said in sympathy, “Yet, I will not embarrass my cousin by asking her to submit to a fitting today. Instead, we will place the choice of fabrics in your expert hands.” The young girl blushed thoroughly. “Perhaps you might also recommend a competent dressmaker who would call upon the manor to com
plete the work.”

  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’?”

  Chapter 6

  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.