Now, as Aidan turned Valí into Lexington Arms’ main gate, he looked up in anticipation. It was the end of February. Soon, his tenants would be in the fields, and spring would bring new life to the land. For the first time since his youth, Aidan meant to spend time working beside his people. Perhaps then, he could erase any memory of his father’s reign as viscount. Although Arlen Kimbolt had served the estate well as a financial steward, Aidan knew his father’s obsession with securing the Kimbolt line had draped the title in rumors and innuendos. Andrew’s duel. Susan’s early widowhood. His speedy courtship of his brother’s wife. All had been a result of his father’s manipulations. It was time for Aidan to rule his estate as he chose, not as Arlen Kimbolt would have it done.
“You have made judicious changes within the house,” he told himself. “For once since waking with a black void in my memory, I have begun to think my lack of recall a blessing. I have fewer restrictions on my conscience.” The thought brought an ironic chuckle to his lips. Reining in Valí before the main entrance, Aidan was barely from the saddle before the door opened to reveal Miss Purefoy with Aaron in her arms. It was a scene of pure bliss, and Aidan could not hide his smile of approval.
“Wunkle Waden!” the boy called and squirmed to be free of the lady’s embrace. Finally, Miss Purefoy placed the boy on his feet, and the child scrambled to reach him. Aidan scooped the boy up and tossed him gently in the air; delightful squeals followed.
Aidan caught the child close to him and held Aaron tightly. “Have you minded Miss Hanson in my absence?” The child nodded readily, and Aidan’s smile grew wider. “I am very proud of you, Lad.” He ruffled the child’s hair.
“Welcome home, my Lord,” Miss Purefoy said sweetly. “You were sorely missed, Lord Lexford,” she whispered as she slid her hands about Aidan’s proffered arm. Instinctively, Aidan flexed his muscle so the lady might know something of his strength.
“I am pleased to return to Lexington Arms’ warmth,” he said for the benefit of the staff lingering nearby. When he had departed less than a week prior, Aidan had not been satisfied with the lady’s explanation for the kiss they had shared. Now, Miss Purefoy’s genuine expression of happiness at seeing him brought him a feeling of giddiness. No one but his mother had ever shown such joy with his appearance. In that moment, he wished his staff to oblivion so he might catch the woman to him and bury himself in Miss Purefoy’s sweetness. Somehow, he thought the woman might actually welcome him.
He handed the boy to one of the footmen. “After your nap, I will show you the new pony,” he told Aaron.
“Pomise?” the boy said with excitement.
“Only if you take a proper nap. I will ask Miss Hanson for a report,” he warned as sternly as his good humor would allow. “Now, off with you.” For a second time, he fluffed the boy’s hair. Only a few short weeks prior, the child’s resemblance to Andrew would have pricked Aidan’s pride. But with the boy’s return to Lexington Arms, all he saw was Aaron, not his brother’s betrayal. Aidan knew those changes were a direct result of Miss Purefoy’s presence under his roof.
“I should leave you to your business,” the lady said softly from beside him.
Aidan caught her hand. “I insist you join me for tea,” he said to deflect any criticism of her earlier boldness. “I have spent my time with Lord and Lady Yardley, the barons Swenton and Ashton, and Sir Carter Lowery. We should add Baron Ashton to the guest list for my house party.” Aidan was certain he had never seen a more enchanting sight as the flush of color kissing her cheeks.
She dropped her eyes before saying, “As you wish, my Lord.”
Aidan did not like the lady in a subservient pose; he preferred Miss Purefoy with a spark of devilment in her eyes. “Exactly. And I wish your company.” He tightened his grip upon her hand and tugged the woman along behind him toward the yellow drawing room. Once inside, Aidan closed the door behind him before turning to her. Lifting Miss Purefoy’s chin, he spoke earnestly. “You must never again act the role of my underling. Not before my staff. Never before my neighbors or friends. Until I choose to take a wife, you are the mistress of this house.” Miss Purefoy’s eyes searched his countenance. “Do you understand my wishes?”
The lady nodded weakly. Aidan would have preferred a more definitive response, but he would not insist too strongly. If she were to claim Lexington Arms as her home, it must be on Miss Purefoy’s own terms. Aidan’s thumb stroked her cheek. He thought to kiss her again–to know her warmth, but he knew the folly of acting upon impulse. A letter from Pennington had found him in Manchester. It was a simple message: Realm agents had discovered a Mary Purefoy working as a maid in an inn in Derbyshire, a place near where Lucifer had reportedly come across “Miss Purefoy.” When Aidan had first read the carefully worded note, he had felt the instant emptiness of loss. If Pennington’s words were accurate, and Aidan held no doubt they were, Miss Purefoy had lied to him.
At first, he was angry. Angry at the charade, but he knew this woman, perhaps better than he had known any female in his life. Miss Purefoy had lied to become a member of his household. The question to her motives remained unanswered. In the meantime, she had offered him honest work to repay his kindness.
On the day of the letter, he had vowed to discover the truth of her ruse, as well as what had driven Miss Purefoy from her home. In addition, he meant to uncover how the lady had persuaded Mr. Hill to join in her deceit. The deciding factor regarding the woman had been the realization that if Miss Purefoy was not his sister, then the feelings, which had kept his emotions a kilter since the day she had walked into his life, were not taboo, after all. That particular knowledge had sped Aidan’s journey home. He meant to see whether the lady felt the same or whether her few flirtations were part of an act. He would confide his suspicions to no one, not even Lucifer Hill.
He tilted her chin up for a closer inspection. His fingers trailed a line down her neck. “As long as we understand each other, Mary, we will write our own rules.”
*
Mercy had not known what to expect with Lord Lexford’s return, and the viscount had certainly surprised her. She had fretted all evening and most of the night regarding her encounter with a man she knew to be an enemy to Lord Lexford and his associates. That fact ate away at her conscience. To think she protected a man, who given the opportunity would easily take His Lordship’s life, increased her anxiety. How could she live with herself if her silence brought disaster to Lord Lexford’s door?
“What am I to do?” She stared out the window at the rolling lawns, still brown from winter’s touch, but with blades of green peppering the groomed areas with the promise of spring. Her finger traced a figure of a man and a woman in the moist mist covering the pane. In her mind, she imagined the happy couple caught in a waltz, like the caricatures she had once seen on a flyer for a grand assembly hall she had held no hope of attending. “Set the work to order,” Mercy said with a catch in her voice. “Set the work and then leave. Your presence in this house places Lord Lexford in danger.” Tears streamed down her cheeks as the moist droplets ruined the crude picture she had created. “Set the work to right; gather your belongings, and leave behind the only man you will ever love.”
*
“What say we go into the village later?” His Lordship asked as he seated her at his breakfast table. She had missed this simple act during his time in Manchester. “I must speak to my solicitor regarding funds for Aaron’s education and care. Mr. Taylor has contracted with others to draw up the proper papers. I thought you might wish to call in at Mr. Chadwick’s to choose more samples. We might have tea at the inn if you have a care.”
Yesterday, Mercy had had a good cry. Today, she planned to enjoy every moment remaining of her time at Lexington Arms. “That would be most delightful, my Lord. Perhaps before we go, I might show you the completed work and discuss what I have planned for the other suites. I wish your approval for the renovations.”
“I am certain whatever you have chosen is
tastefully done, but I would enjoy a tour of the rooms. Let us have our breakfast and then plan our day.”
*
Aidan could not recall a more pleasant time. Although Miss Purefoy had refused his offer of placing a desk for her in his study, he had managed to convince the lady to spread her samples upon a table near the large windows in the room. As he assisted her in bringing the samples from her small sitting room to his private study, all Aidan could think upon was Wellston’s description of Lady Yardley. He wondered if Miss Purefoy possessed any mannerisms, which would entrance him in the same means as Wellston had described.
Now, he followed her into the rose toned guest rooms. “My Goodness!” he exclaimed. “I cannot envision this space being the same chambers as before.”
“Have I displeased you, my Lord?” Miss Purefoy asked tentatively.
Aidan caught her hand and brought the back of it to his lips. Brushing a kiss across the lady’s knuckles, he said, “On the contrary, I find it as exquisite as I do you.” Aidan purposely lingered before releasing her hand, and she rewarded him with a quick intake of air. It was very satisfying to know what he had suspected about their connection had proved true.
Something deep flashed in her eyes, but her tone spoke of censure. “You should not speak thusly, my Lord.” The color rose to her cheeks.
Aidan lifted her chin with his fingertips. “I speak the truth.” He traced a line from her chin to the base of Miss Purefoy’s neck.
She asked through trembling lips, “What brought on these changes, my Lord?”
“No changes,” Aidan insisted. He closely surveyed her delicate features. “I simply spent the past several days observing my best friend and the woman I had once thought to claim as my own, working at making a life together. I have returned to Lexington Arms with a renewal of my resolve to do the same.”
Miss Purefoy said uncertainly, “Yet you have no wife.” Again, the lady blushed, and Aidan understood to where her thoughts had traveled. Her words made him bolder. He peered deeply into her wide, chocolate colored eyes.
Aidan smiled easily. “I have no wife. `Tis true. But I have family. You and Aaron. You have said so yourself. I can grab a bit of happiness, can I not?” He paused for emphasis. “You mean to remain by my side, do you not? Tell me you hold no plans to leave Lexington Arms.”
The fact Miss Purefoy hesitated worked negatively upon Aidan’s confidence. “We have known since my arrival, I would one day take my leave of your kindness.” Again, the lady’s lips trembled.
“Why?” Aidan asked honestly. “Why must you leave me?”
“Because one day you will choose a wife. You said as much only moments ago. You shall know the tenderness of a wife and the joy of a family.” Her gaze met his. “Please promise me when you welcome your own children, you will not neglect Aaron. The young master holds a great capacity for love.”
Aidan studied the lady’s sincerity. He could not understand the contrasts. From Pennington’s message, Aidan held no doubt Miss Purefoy practiced some form of deceit, but when she spoke of his nephew, Aidan knew the lady spoke without artifice. “Of course Aaron will feel my affection. Until I produce an heir, my nephew is my second; and even after I have a son, Aaron remains in the line of inheritance. Today, I mean legally to remove all claims the Rhodeses may have to the boy, as well as to dictate funds for Aaron’s care if something would happen to me.” He led her farther into the room. “Do you not wish to know the joy of family also?”
Miss Purefoy looked off, but tears teased her eyes. Her lips twisted with what appeared to be long-suppressed emotions. “Every woman wishes for a husband and children. In our society, family defines a woman’s worth; yet, I am likely to spin my years in isolation. I hold no hope of knowing a husband.”
Her words bothered Aidan more than he would admit. He could not imagine her as a spinster. He desired the woman, but Aidan was not prepared to make her a marriage offer. A twinge of guilt shot through him. Perhaps he should rethink a possible seduction. If the lady could not trust him enough to confide in him, especially after all this time and all they had seen together, Aidan would never know peace. Susan had led him to believe she would wait for him to earn his fortune; instead, she had accepted Andrew’s overtures. And the Aldridge twins had schemed against him, as well. Aidan would not have another woman who manipulated the truth. The corundum remained. What should he do with the fictional Mary Purefoy? “Explain your vision for this room,” he said to redirect the conversation.
*
Several hours later, His Lordship had escorted her into the village. Their earlier exchange had remained with Mercy. She had purposely asked Miss Chadwick to accompany them. The girl appeared happy to visit with her family while Mercy shopped. It was the perfect solution to her avoiding His Lordship’s attentions. “I will call for you in an hour.” Viscount Lexford had said as he assisted her and Serena from the carriage. He held the door to the shop for them before disappearing into a building several doors away. Finally, Mercy could breathe.
From the moment of the viscount’s return, Mercy’s emotions had rolled in the way of a stormy sea. “I mean to go upstairs unless you require my assistance,” Serena stated.
“Certainly not,” Mercy assured. “Enjoy your brothers and sisters.” As Serena moved away, Mercy nodded to Mr. Chadwick before drifting off toward the fabric samples. She had plans for three more rooms before she would leave Lexington Arms. It was all so bittersweet. Mercy had never been so alive in her life, and yet so dead. With the viscount’s encouragement, she had discovered new facets of her personality, which Mercy had once admired in others. It was a heady feeling to recognize her growing maturity. Yet, she despised the untruth lying between her and Lord Lexford.
Mercy removed her notes from her reticule and set to work making choices. A half hour later, she had made selections from Mr. Chadwick’s limited stock and had instructed the shopkeeper on what he should secure from London. With the time remaining, Mercy looked about the store. It would be exquisitely pleasurable to be able to purchase many of the items on display: a finely polished chain that would have looked lovely with her missing locket, a lace-trimmed handkerchief, and a pair of kid gloves.
“Miss?” A small dirty-faced boy tugged on Mercy cloak. “A man told me to give ye this.” He shoved a folded note into Mercy’s hand.
Immediately, she wondered if Lord Lexford would be detained. Looking up to study the street beyond the shop window, she asked, “What man?”
“Fine gentleman, Miss. Gave me two pence to be certain you git his note personally,” the child said in self-importance.
“Thank you,” Mercy said with a smile for the boy. Inside, her stomach rolled with dread. With a quick glance to make certain no one had observed the exchange, Mercy strolled toward a deserted corner of the shop. Unfolding the paper, she turned her back to the store’s interior. Bringing the note to the light, she read, “You thought I would not discover your whereabouts, but you have erred.”
No signature, but Mercy knew it was either from Geoffrey or Sir Lesley. No one else would have a care for her absence from Foresthill Hall. Oh, why had she tarried so long in Cheshire? Because you are in love with the viscount, her foolish heart answered.
Mercy caught at the windowsill. Her legs meant to buckle, but she willed herself to remain erect. Instead, her eyes searched the street for any sign of either her brother or the baronet, but only the usual villagers went about their business.
Mercy read the note again. It said nothing of how the person had found her. Likely, the one known as Jamot had betrayed her. She had been a fool to think he would not. The note also did not indicate when “he” would come for her. How long did she have? A day? A week? A few hours?
If the mystery writer was Geoffrey, her brother would likely demand a payment from Viscount Lexford to keep her identity secret, or worst yet, demand His Lordship marry Mercy. Geoffrey would desire the connections, but as much as Mercy wished to be Lord Lexford’s wife, she wo
uld not permit his alliance with the likes of Baron Geoffrey Nelson. Her conscience pricked her like the devil.
And if the author of the note were Sir Lesley Trent, the baronet would ruin Lord Lexford’s reputation. She possessed no doubt Sir Lesley would find a means to bring gossip to the viscount’s door. When she considered the scandal of Andrew Kimbolt’s duel and the secrets hidden in Lady Cassandra’s diary, Mercy knew she could not permit the chaos to follow him.
A shiver of dread ran down Mercy’s spine. Her only choice appeared to be a return to Lancashire. She would never see Lord Lexford again. The viscount would be glad to see her go, and all she had done for him would be a reminder of her lies.
“Why are you hiding in this corner?” A familiar voice asked close to Mercy’s ear, and she looked up to see Lord Lexford’s beloved countenance. “My Goodness! You are not well,” he said in concern as he caught Mercy’s elbow to support her. “You are too pale.” She must really be distraught if Lord Lexford had taken note. “You should have sent word for my speedy return.”
“It is nothing,” Mercy said as he braced her stance. “I simply have one of my headaches.” For once, Mercy’s headache had a true source. Her whisper of a voice spoke of her distress.
Viscount Lexford whispered in reprimand, “I will not have you suffer.” He placed Mercy’s hand on his arm. Mercy allowed Lord Lexford to direct her steps toward the door. She could not think clearly. “Chadwick, I mean to see Miss Purefoy home. The lady is not well. I will send the carriage back for Miss Chadwick.”
“That is not necessary, my Lord,” Chadwick assured. “Serena is healthy enough for a good walk.”
“Nonsense,” Lord Lexford insisted. “Your daughter is part of my household. The carriage will return shortly. Please be so kind as to inform Millie. She awaits her mistress at the inn.”
“Aye, Sir.”
Mercy knew the note’s author likely observed how the viscount cared for her. Lord Lexford was the kindest man of Mercy’s acquaintance, and the manner in which His Lordship saw to the comfort of a simple shopkeeper’s daughter spoke volumes of the man’s character. Despite his training as an agent of the British government, Lord Lexford was a vulnerable target for those with unprincipled manipulations–those such as her brother, who would sell his sister to a distasteful old man, in order to recover part of his debts. Mercy must find a means to protect the viscount from a connection not worthy of him.
Realm 05 - A Touch of Mercy Page 26