Realm 06 - A Touch of Love

by Regina Jeffers

  Carter thought of the slums and the palaces he had seen. Both held a country’s most devious men. He chose to speak more candidly than usual, “Of course, Father would know remorse at losing control of Law’s every thought. His remaining children have known no such care.”

  His mother’s expression tightened with disapproval. “Your father cares deeply for each of his children, and Niall Lowery would walk through fire for you and your siblings.” Her lips were taut with emotion. “I cannot deny the baron has been singular in his need to direct Lawrence’s steps.”

  “The baron’s compulsion to control Lawrence…” he began.

  The baroness stopped suddenly. Her eyes darkened in condemnation. “Carter Stephan Lowery,” she said in the way of all mothers when they call their children by their full names. “I shall not hear you speak poorly of your father. You hold no knowledge of why the baron acts upon his compunctions, and, therefore, have no right to criticize.”

  Carter held her hand over his heart. “Then explain it to me,” he pleaded. “I am disposed to know the truth of your narrative.”

  “It is not my tale to share,” the baroness said softly. She caressed his cheek. “Why can you not turn your head to the baron’s stubbornness? Your sisters have learned to accept your father’s ways. Niall’s singularity has caused no real harm.”

  Carter said incredulously. “Father,” he hissed, “meant to make a match between Law and Miss Dryburgh! The baron would have loved Lawrence enough to see his eldest son miserable.”

  His mother protested, “I would have put a stop to the baron’s maneuverings.”

  “Possibly. That is if you had returned to Blake Run’s in time to know of Lawrence’s dilemma,” Carter corrected. “If you recall, you were in Staffordshire for Marie’s lying in. By the time you had heard of the match, Law would have been pledged to Miss Dryburgh, and Lawrence would not honorably call off the nuptials. Father would never have tolerated such shame on the family name.”

  “Perhaps,” the baroness said enigmatically. “I would like to think Lawrence would have stood his ground.”

  Carter held both his doubts and his words. “I am pleased Lawrence and Arabella have found each other. I pray my new sister gives Law many sons to secure the future baron’s peace.”

  The baroness whispered, “And I pray the present baron sees those children and knows his efforts to assure the barony’s future has come to fruition.” Carter could not imagine Blake’s Run under anyone but Niall Lowery’s care; although he knew his father had not assumed his reign until Carter was well into leading strings; there had been great ceremony when Nigel Lowery passed on, and his only son became Baron Blakehell.

  They looked up to observe the baron’s approach. His father had personally seen to the loading of their luggage aboard ship. “The ship is sound,” the baron announced. Carter wished to remind his father, he had already sent men on board to examine the ship’s reliability, but he bit back his protest. Despite their often-contentious nature, Carter would never permit his parents to know danger. His position as “Shepherd’s” assistant permitted Carter access to the ship and beyond.

  “Captain Orson has an excellent record,” Carter assured. “Your journey to France will be a short one. I have sent word ahead. Several of my associates will greet you and escort you to the villa I have procured for your use. You will have access to a chaise and four, as well.”

  His mother squeezed Carter’s arm. “Your diligence on our behalf is duly noted, is it not, Niall?”

  The baron’s cheeks flushed with color. From anger or embarrassment? Carter wondered. “Of course, it is noted,” his father said brusquely. “Yet, it is no more than what should be expected from a dutiful son.”

  Dutiful is crossing each “t,” Carter considered. I have known nothing but duty all my life, but never the much-desired praise for a minor son. He dutifully said, “Then I am pleased to have been of service.”

  “Come along, Fernalia,” his father said. “I would prefer to be one of the first aboard. Less riff raff in the small boats.” The baron extended his hand to his wife.

  She nodded her agreement before turning to Carter. “You will see to your sisters’ cares. They have capable husbands, but I trust no one but you to know what is best for the family. You are my rock–my anchor,” she said seriously.

  It had always been so. He and the baroness had held a relationship different from all the others. “I will make a nuisance with each,” he said with an easy grin. “And I will show Baby Harry a sketch of his grandmother so the boy does not forget his ‘Nana’ in your absence.”

  Tears misted the baroness’s eyes. “Do not say as such, or I shall press the baron into returning to Field Hall to spend more time with Maria and Sheffield.”

  Carter placed his mother’s hand into the baron’s. She wrapped her fingers about her husband’s arm. “Enjoy your journey, Mother. You have many years to spoil Baby Harry. It is important to hold no regrets. See part of the world beyond England’s shores and know your family adores you.” He extended his hand to his father. “Be safe, Sir.”

  The baron reached into his inside pocket. Removing a thick folded document, he handed it to Carter. “Give this to Lawrence, if, Heaven forbid, an accident occurs. My will addresses the estate and its holdings.”

  Carter placed the paper inside his jacket. “And this?” he asked curiously.

  The baron shrugged away the question. “There is no need unless the unspeakable occurs. I trust you to keep the document in a safe place.”

  Carter nodded his agreement. “Inform me of your return. If it is available, I will send the yacht.”

  His mother kissed his cheek one last time before walking away with the baron. Carter was tempted to read his father’s words. He possessed the skill to remove the sealing wax and later replace it without anyone knowing of his duplicity, but he could not be so callous as to break his father’s trust.

  He was nearing his waiting coach when he heard his name called. Carter turned to greet Symington Henderson, one of the Realm’s post war recruits. “You sought me out?” he asked as the third son of Lord George Henderson, the Earl of Johnseine, approached.

  The man bowed in respect. “Shepherd wished me to locate you. I called in at Kent, and the duke spoke of your escorting your family to Dover.”

  “What is Shepherd’s pleasure?” Carter said sarcastically as he accepted the written instructions from Henderson.

  “Something of a suspicious Chinese ship in Liverpool. I am to assist you. Monroe has ridden north to retrieve Baron Swenton,” Henderson explained as Carter read Shepherd’s missive.

  He slid the note into his pocket. “Have you secured horses?”

  “Aye, Sir.”

  “Permit me to give my coachman instructions, and then we will depart.”

  Henderson nodded his agreement before striding away in the direction of the public stables.

  Carter secured his father’s papers in a large case under the coach’s seat. “Tell Merriweather to send clothing on to Liverpool and to secure these papers in my private safe,” he told his trusted footman Bines. “I have no idea how long I will be in the port city. I will send word for you and Merriweather to follow when I know the details.”

  “Aye, Sir.”

  “Be of good speed,” he instructed. “I prefer not to be long without Merriweather’s care.”

  “Mr. Merriweather will not fail you, Sir.”

  Carter nodded his farewell and quickly followed in Henderson’s footsteps. The man was waiting by the gate with two geldings. Carter accepted the reins of the gray and brown one. He hated to know a saddle so soon; in reality, he had another week of his holiday remaining. He had thought to hire a housekeeper for Huntingborne Abbey while time permitted and to set his small staff to several tasks before returning to his position in London. “So much for well placed plans,” he grumbled as he adjusted the saddle’s stirrups.

  “Mr. Shepherd is quite thorough in his instructions,” H
enderson ventured.

  “Shepherd demands no more of me than I do of myself.” Carter declared as he set his foot into the stirrup. Catching the horn, Carter lifted his weight to sit upon the seat, but as he shoved off the unfamiliar horse pranced in place; and Carter released the horn as his foot pulled free. At that same moment, a bullet whizzed over his head.

  He spun around to find cover behind a large rain barrel. Henderson was pressed close behind him. Carter scanned the area, but saw nothing unusual.

  “My God, Sir!” Henderson said on a thready exhale. “If the horse had not pulled free of your grasp, the bullet would have hit you square in the heart.”

  Lucinda wiped at the moisture accumulating on the inside of the thin windowpane. For nearly two months, she had explored every resource at her disposal in determining what she might do to survive her nightmare. “It would have proved more profitable if I could have explained why I wished to know more of Mr. Warren’s service in Spain,” she grumbled under her breath. She wore several layers to keep warm. Coal cost more than Lucinda could afford, and she and the boy had come to wear much of their respective wardrobes to ward off the chill and the dampness. Turning to the child, she announced, “The rain has stopped. We should see to our errands and a bit of air while we might.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.” The boy obediently retrieved his jacket. It was already too small for the lad. She wondered how she was to provide for the child. Of course, Lucinda could always turn Simon over to the authorities, but the thought of the sensitive, frail boy in one of the orphanages fortified her resolve to find a means to save him. She had considered swallowing her pride and begging her uncle for assistance, but Lucinda doubted the Earl of Charleton would take kindly to her asking for funds to raise a Jewish child belonging to her late husband. No, Lucinda would avoid the rumor of ruin awaiting her on the earl’s steps for as long as she could.

  Thirty minutes saw her approaching the small park she and the boy frequented when the weather permitted. Mrs. Peterman had presented Simon with a small ball, and the boy enjoyed working it up and down a low hill with intricate footwork. Lucinda brushed off a bench with a handkerchief. “You must stay where I may see you,” she cautioned. She always worried on how other children might treat the child. “I shall rest here while you enjoy yourself.”

  Simon smiled largely. The boy’s spontaneity surprised her. He was usually so serious-faced. The gesture made him more childlike. “Thank you, Ma’am.”

  Lucinda watched him go. The well-worn ball twirling through the brown grass. There were days she cursed the boy’s appearance in her life, but she had never cursed the child. It was no fault on Simon’s part for what had occurred. “Likely someone would have discovered Captain Warren’s perfidy before long,” she murmured. Lucinda had taken to thinking and speaking of her late husband as either “Mr.” or “Captain” Warren. She meant to distance herself from everything for which Matthew Warren stood.

  “Mrs. Warren?” Lucinda looked up to see a freckled-faced young man standing before her. Hat in hand, he bowed awkwardly to her.

  A familiar face, Lucinda laughed easily. “Lieutenant Worsley? My goodness. To think we have met again after all these years.” She patted the bench beside her. “If you have a few moments, please join me.” After Matthew’s death and that of her father, Lucinda had quickly come to the conclusion she had no true friends, only a string of acquaintances, who had waltzed in and out of her life. The man standing before her was one such acquaintance.

  “I would be honored, Ma’am.” With a blush of color on his cheeks, the young lieutenant sat stiffly on the other end of the bench. “I could not believe my eyes when I crossed the street and spotted you upon this very bench,” he said on a nervous exhalation.

  The man was likely several years older than she, but his actions said otherwise. The former lieutenant was quite discomfited. “How long have you been in London?” she asked in politeness.

  “We only arrived this week.” He nervously ran his finger along the line of his cravat.

  Lucinda nearly felt sorry for him. She had not known Lieutenant Worsley well, but she had always noted how he stumbled over his words when he was in the presence of a woman. She assumed him quite naïve, but that had been years prior. Should not the war have given the man more confidence? “We?” she inquired. “With your family or your betrothed perhaps?” She could not erase the teasing tone from her words. Since coming to London, she had known very little company, and it was good to speak to a familiar face.

  Worsley fingered his hat. “Oh, no, Ma’am. I am not the one betrothed, but my sister has made a fine match with Sir Robert O’Dell. Mother insisted we come up from Surrey to have a proper dress made for the nuptials. Mama seems to think I should take in some of the entertainments. She believes I require a wife to ease my way into Society.” Lucinda doubted a wife would cure the man’s bashfulness. He swallowed deeply. “Is Captain Warren in London also? I would enjoy an evening with someone who speaks of all I have seen. It is sometimes difficult for others to accept honesty in my responses.”

  Lucinda knew immediate regret. Perhaps, more than shyness plagued the man. Those who served had suffered, even if they had survived the devastation. “I fear Captain Warren met his Maker a year before Waterloo. I am alone in the City. I have only recently left behind my mourning weeds for Mr. Warren and for the colonel.” In reality, she wished she had never mourned Matthew’s passing.

  “Your father also?” Worsley said incredulously.

  “Yes, at Waterloo.” Lucinda would not tell him how foolishly she had responded when the French approached. Sometimes, she wondered if her father would have survived if she had not acted so uncharacteristically.

  They sat in companionable silence for several minutes before the lieutenant said, “You must pardon my familiarity, Ma’am, but I do not understand how you could be permitted to live without the guidance of a man.”

  Lucinda knew many males would not approve of her actions. “As you have said, Lieutenant Worsley, those who were not on the Continent cannot understand the conditions under which we lived. Even the women who followed the drum hold a different perspective of what is important in life. I fear an afternoon tea with companions speaking of frills and lace holds no attraction for me.”

  “Are you one of those bluestockings?” Worsley snarled with displeasure. The man must learn to curb his tongue if he meant to find a wife. Where had the lieutenant’s timidity gone? Had it all been an act? Or was it she who had erred? Her experience with men had always been related to the war. She had no means of knowing when to speak her mind and when to temper her words.

  She said calmly, “I have always been a reader, but I am far from advocating universal suffrage. Moreover, I must insist my life is my own concern.” Lucinda reached for her gloves.

  The lieutenant stood quickly. “Please forgive me, Ma’am. I have spoken out of turn.”

  Lucinda noted the remorse upon the man’s countenance. “I am not annoyed with you, Lieutenant,” she said dutifully, although she was embarrassed to admit how she had come to this moment.

  Worsley’s Adam’s apple worked hard. “I truly meant no disrespect, Mrs. Warren. England has changed much in the decade I was away. I am often at sixes and sevens it seems.”

  “As are we all,” she said compliantly.

  He shuffled his feet in place. “Would it be?” Tentativeness had returned. “Would it be acceptable for me to call upon you while I am in London?”

  Lucinda stood also. “Your offer is greatly appreciated, Lieutenant, but we should each find a means to return to English society. It would be wrong of us to seek comfort in each other.” Her words sounded foolish, but Mr. Worsley nodded his agreement.

  “You speak with reason, Mrs. Warren. The captain would have been proud to call you his wife,” he declared.

  Lucinda kept the scorn from her expression, but not totally from her tone. “I am certain Captain Warren rewarded his wife with his devotion,” she said enigmati
cally. She spoke the truth: Mr. Warren had devoted himself to his wife; the only exception was she was not that woman. She extended her hand to the lieutenant. “I wish you well, Mr. Worsley. Find your happiness and seize it tightly to you.”

  A look of confusion crossed the man’s countenance He accepted her hand and bent to kiss her glove. “I pray I know the happiness you did with Captain Warren, Ma’am.”

  Lucinda withdrew her fingers from the man’s grasp. As a squire’s son, Mr. Worsley would do well among the genteel sect. “I pray you know happiness beyond what you observed in my stead.”

  Carter frowned as he read the missive. Much had happened since he had seen his parents aboard The Northern Star. First, he had led an operation, which had confiscated a large supply of opium entering England: then he had set about dismantling the vessel to search for clues to the whereabouts of Murhad Jamot, a known enemy of the Realm. Gabriel Crowden had reported seeing Jamot aboard The Sea Spray when they had staged their take over, and although Carter had initially declared his disbelief in the marquis’s account, he knew the Marquis of Godown would never have said as such if it were not true.

  Thinking on the marquis’s report brought Carter a moment of regret, and he prayed he had not permanently damaged his relationship with Lord Godown. His actions had been a great mistake. Carter had fished Lady Godown from the water. The woman and the marquis’s elderly aunts had been taken captive; when the marquise had escaped, Godown’s wife had attempted an impossible swim for shore in the icy waters off England’s coast. As he carried Lady Godown to her husband’s waiting arms, an unusual loneliness had invaded Carter’s heart.