Realm 05 - A Touch of Mercy

by Regina Jeffers

  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?

  When Aidan had first heard of the lie his mother had permitted, he had known anger and disgust, but upon thinking of how little rights a woman possessed in British society, he understood his mother’s actions. He had not approved of what Lady Cassandra had done, but he had made peace with her situation. And once he had read how his mother had set her sights on restoring him to his rightful place, Aidan had known real admiration for the woman he called “Mother.” Unlike most women, Lady Cassandra Lexford had taken the initiative to change her life. Very much like another young lady he had come to admire of late.

  Hill shook his head in denial. “You do not believe the words you utter.” He picked up the clothes Aidan had discarded last evening and draped them over the back of a chair. “I will ask Mr. Payne to recommend one of the footmen to become
your new valet.” Squire Holton had taken Poley into custody, along with Sophia Rhodes. The magistrate continued his investigation, but rumor and innuendo had already spread through the neighborhood. People spoke of how Mrs. Rhodes had purposely poisoned the Kimbolts’ long-serving housekeeper. Aidan prayed nothing more incriminating than Sophia Rhodes’s mental state would be listed as the cause. The prior connection between the Rhodeses and the Kimbolts could not be denied, and it would take more than just a bit of aristocratic arrogance to shush the gossip.

  Aidan said, “Do as you please. That is what I plan to do. I plan to quit being the responsible one and to think of my own pleasures for a change. Perhaps I will ride with Swenton to London and engage myself a mistress.”

  “Riding to London makes sense,” Hill said thoughtfully. “But not to find a mistress.”

  Aidan closed his eyes to the pain. Yesterday’s events had ripped him raw. “For what would you have me look?”

  Hill folded his arms across his chest. “For a wife. For Miss Nelson.”

  Aidan sighed deeply. He admitted, “No one will wish to claim the connections I bring to the table. I cannot turn Aaron into my father’s by blow. There are too many secrets for a woman of Society to keep.”

  Hill scowled deeply. “That statement is the biggest wagon full of cow manure I have ever smelt. First, Miss Nelson is not like other Society women, and you know as well as I the lady would protect you with her last breath. And more importantly, you are in love with the woman.”

  Aidan insisted, “I do not know what love is.”

  Hill sat on the arm of one of the chairs. “Do you recall the night you sent Lady Eleanor and Hannah out into the night to escape Louis Levering?”

  Aidan remembered it well. It was the first time he had felt the expectation of a future. “Absolutely.”

  “In the dark, I assisted Lady Eleanor and her maid into that small hidden box under the wagon, but even though the night hid Hannah’s sweet countenance, I fell in love with the girl. My lady wrapped my old callused hands between her two small ones, and she kissed my fingertips in gratitude. One of her tears fell upon the back of my hand, and I knew instantly I was meant to protect Hannah Tolliver from the world’s evils. Tell me you do not feel the same for Miss Nelson. Tell me you do not grieve for her absence. Convince me your house could be a home again without the lady under your roof.”

  Aidan spoke his fears. “What if Miss Nelson does not feel the same?”

  Hill dug into his inside pocket. “Read the lady’s note and decide for yourself.”

  *

  A quarter hour later, Aidan strode into the morning room. “Mr. Payne, I will require a horse. I mean to ride into London with the baron.”

  The butler looked up from the plate he was preparing for Aidan. “I believe, Sir, Mr. Hill has previously seen to your horse and a small bag for traveling.”

  Aidan rolled his eyes in exasperation. He sometimes wished Lucifer Hill did not anticipate each of his decisions, and Aidan most definitely wished the man were not always so bloody correct. Upon Hill’s earlier exit, Aidan had broken the seal on Miss Nelson’s letter and had cautiously read the lady’s words. Not so surprisingly, she confessed everything–her name, her reasons for leaving Lancashire, and her meeting of Jamot in the tunnel. But it was the poem from William Blake at the letter’s end, which had driven Aidan to take action.

  Never seek to tell thy love,

  Love that never can be;

  For the gentle wind doth move

  Silently, invisibly.

  I told my love, I told my love,

  I told her all my heart,

  Trembling, cold, in ghastly fears.

  Ah! she did depart!

  Soon after she was gone from me,

  A traveler came by,

  Silently, invisibly:

  He took her with a sigh.

  With the poem, the lady had spoken of freedom. First, of her freedom from her brother’s rule–freedom to choose her own life. But more importantly, she meant to release him to know another. She would remain silent and invisible. Like the lady in the poem, Miss Nelson would turn to another, one she thought lesser than he.

  The poem had given Aidan promise. He had reasoned only a woman in love would deny her own feelings in order for the man for whom she cared to know contentment. Then Miss Nelson had signed the letter with the closing, “I claim this title once only–Your Mercy.” It was an exhilarating moment.

  Hill appeared at the morning room door. “The baron and I await you in the main corridor, my Lord.”

  “I will finish my breakfast first, Mr. Hill.” Although he had no appetite, Aidan meant to make certain his friends waited. They had manipulated him enough of late. With a smile, he took a large bite of the ham upon his plate.

  *

  They had ridden hard and long for three days, and Aidan had more than just a few sore muscles; but in another sixty miles, he would arrive in London. He meant to call immediately upon the boarding houses Hill had recommended to Miss Nelson. It had been more than a sennight since he had last seen her, and Aidan ached to hold the lady in his arms again.

  They reined in before a small posting inn outside of Bedford to change horses. Aidan slid stiffly from the saddle. “I will ascertain whether Miss Nelson boarded the London coach safely.” From Warwick, they had traced the mail route, the one leading toward Nottingham and beyond from London. From a coaching agent some twenty miles north, they had learned Miss Nelson would have changed coaches at this particular inn. He did not look to his friends for affirmation; Aidan realized they both sported knowing smirks.

  Straightening his shoulders, he entered the darkened room. It smelt of stale ale and tobacco. “Yes, Sir, may I be of assistance?”

  Aidan’s eyes slowly adjusted to the lack of light. “I am asking after information on a young woman traveling alone, some three days prior.”

  The innkeeper bowed a second time. “Of course, my Lord. If’n you’d describe the lady I’d be pleased to be of service.”

  “Reddish blonde of head. Shoulder height. Dressed plainly. Fair of countenance.”

  The innkeeper nodded readily. “Aye, Sir. I remember her. The lady had to wait some three hours for the coach from the North.”

  Aidan breathed easier. Miss Nelson could still have experienced difficulties, but he looked upon this information as a good sign. “Then the lady continued her journey toward London?”

  The innkeeper looked uncomfortably about the room. “I fear not, my Lord.”

  Aidan blustered, “Why ever not?”

  “Lexford?” Aidan turned at the sound of his name. “Lexford, is that you?” Striding toward him with hand extended was Adam Lawrence, Lord Stafford, the future Earl of Greenwall. The viscount held similar acquaintances as Aidan, and he and Stafford had shared more than one drink at White’s. Godown had no use for the man for Stafford rivaled Godown in looks, and they often had vied for the attentions of the same women, but Aidan had always enjoyed the man’s company. Stafford was intelligent and genial and always benevolent in his actions.

  “Stafford, what brings you to this inn?” Aidan willingly accepted the man’s hand. “Surely you have not taken to riding the mail routes.” He and the viscount often bid on the same horses at Tattersall’s. It was something else Aidan admired in the man: Stafford had an excellent eye for horseflesh.

  “Monroe, Whitmore, Hetzer, and I meet every few months or so for a lengthy game of cards. Winner takes all. I mean to supplement the pitiful allowance Greenwall sees fit to give me.”

  Aidan was well aware of the ongoing feud between Stafford and his father. The earl meant to bring his son under control, but the viscount had other ideas. “What if you lose?” Aidan asked with a wry grin.

  Stafford looked over his shoulder to where Monroe downed another glass of ale. “It will never happen.”

  “How long have you been here?” Aidan asked from curiosity.

  Stafford rotated his neck to loosen the muscles. “Nea
rly five days.”

  The innkeeper interrupted. “His Lordship is looking for the girl. You know the one, my Lord. The one Mr. Monroe took a liking to.”

  Aidan’s heart slammed to a halt. “He did what?” he said incredulously and shoved past Stafford, but the viscount caught Aidan’s arm.

  “Monroe never touched the girl,” Stafford hissed. “I made certain she was safe.”

  Aidan’s muscles remained tight, but he presented the viscount a sharp nod of gratitude. “Did you see the lady board the coach? The innkeeper says she did not.”

  Stafford gestured Aidan toward a recessed area for privacy. “The innkeeper speaks the truth. The girl left on horseback with two men.”

  Aidan’s throat had gone dry. “Two men? What can you tell me of them?”

  “The taller of the two was a foreigner. Dark of skin and hair. Dangerous looking.”

  “Jamot!” Aidan’s mind screamed. He thought his knees might buckle under him. He should have given pursuit the night of the fire. Of course, the Baloch would attempt to strike back at him by hurting Miss Nelson. “Was the other a young gentleman with coal black hair?”

  Stafford nodded his affirmation. “I thought it odd that the girl had waited so patiently for the coach and then left in the opposite direction, but she did not indicate she required my assistance. Trent held her arm while the dark one arranged for fresh horses.”

  “Trent?” It was a name with which he was familiar. Swenton had spoken of Miss Nelson’s betrothed.

  Stafford confirmed, “Yes, Mathias Trent. The heir to Sir Lesley Trent. I have only seen the future baronet a few times, but I have no high opinion of him. I thought to interfere, but I heard the lady call him ‘Mathias,’ and I knew they held a prior acquaintance.”

  Aidan sucked in a deep steadying breath. “Thank you, Stafford. I should hurry,” he said shakily. “My friends await.”

  Stafford’s mouth set in a tight line. “Do you require my assistance?”

  Aidan shook his head. “No. I must decide what I should do next.”

  The viscount whispered, “The girl? She was someone special in your life?”