Realm 04 - A Touch of Grace

by Regina Jeffers

  “Not unwell,” Geoffrey assured. “Mercy would like a Season, but I have no intention of sending her off to London, and I refuse to spend months among the ton.”

  Grace wondered what had brought about this change. When he had finished his university studies, Geoffrey had tormented their father with his pleas to spend time in Town. As much as her brother enjoyed the company of his gentlemen friends and gaming hells, Grace could not imagine what would keep him from the annual trek to London. He might even find a wife with a dowry large enough to bring the estate solvency. “Is the estate doing well enough to warrant Mercy’s Come Out?” she asked evenly. It would be dangerous to appear too interested in Geoffrey’s financial situation.

  “Several of my more recent ventures have proven profitable, but I would not pronounce the estate on solid ground.” Mercy does not understand I will be forced to accept a local offer for her.”

  Grace frowned. She could think of no one in the neighborhood who would make an appropriate match for their sister. “Who would you consider? Has anyone make inquiries for Mercy’s hand?”

  “Sir Lesley has expressed his interest,” Geoffrey said offhandedly.

  Grace cringed. Sir Lesley Trent had five children between the nursery and the schoolroom. The man required a housekeeper and a governess, but not a wife. Sir Lesley kept a mistress and another family in the next village. He had expressed an interest in Grace; unfortunately for the baronet, by the time he exited the mourning period for Lady Trent, Grace had made her escape to Scotland. At the time, Mercy had been but thirteen, but as her sister had reached her eighteenth birthday during the summer, she was of age for marriage. “Hopefully, Mercy has other options,” Grace said cautiously.

  “There is nothing amiss with Sir Lesley’s offer,” Geoffrey insisted. “If not Mercy, perhaps his thoughts might be swayed upon your return.”

  Grace recalled a man of five and forty, fifty now, with a growing paunch and thinning hair. “I doubt Sir Lesley would honor a former governess with his name,” she said judiciously.

  “We will see if your return generates any interest among the gentlemen. Squire Newbery might be brought to snuff or even the new vicar,” Geoffrey declared.

  “I am perfectly content,” she lied, “to remain in a position similar to what I found among the Averettes.” The thought of marrying without love lacked appeal, and only one man would ever know her heart. Silently, she added a quick prayer for Lord Godown’s safety. Moreover, even if Grace had not loved a man who would never return her regard, she had abandoned any opportunity for marriage when she had given herself to Gabriel Crowden. No gentleman would accept used property.

  *

  He had spent a quiet evening with his aunts, but Grace Nelson was never far from Gabriel’s thoughts. He had first cursed himself for his weakness and then the lady for her betrayal. Mr. Sanders had located his signet ring within his purse. He supposed Grace had placed it there for safekeeping. At least, she is not a thief, he had told himself as Sanders shaved him. Well, not a professional crook. His pearl-handle one-shot palm pistol was not among his belongings.

  “It appears the lady used it for her personal protection,” Sanders remarked. “The maid reports your ‘marquise’ kept a chair under the door latch. Not unusual for a woman alone.”

  Gabriel kept his countenance clear of his raging emotions. He realized Sanders’ curiosity demanded answers, but he was short on the truth when it came to Miss Nelson. “The lady accepted no other reimbursement for her tender mercies. I can afford to replace the gun.” In reality, his father had presented him with the gun on his sixteenth birthday, but Gabriel assumed Renard Crowden would consider the pistol an excellent price to pay for his son’s life.

  Tomorrow, he would return to Gossling Hill and begin his life anew. His next life. He would leave behind the years he had wasted and fill his days and the years to come with an unnamed happiness. He would never see Grace Nelson again. With her leaving Lord Averette’s employment, they would move in different circles. There would not be an opportunity for a chance encounter. His next life would not include Miss Nelson.

  *

  She could not tell how long she had watched the road for a sign of her childhood home, but finally, the landscape changed. The upland areas leading to the Pennines. Rural land devoted to vegetable crops. Limestone deposits. The lowlands with their cattle and cheese making. The sheep farms in the high country. It had been five years since she had last seen this land. Repeatedly, she filled her lungs with the scent of “home.” Now, the darkness blocked all but the moon lit road.

  Finally, Geoffrey turned his personal vehicle into the gates at Foresthill Hall. They had departed the Scottish inn in the early hours. She did not know exactly how long it had taken them to make their way across the Scottish border. Geoffrey’s phaeton had been light and quick, but it had not been comfortable, especially considering with her straddling her own bags, she had had little foot room. They had stopped twice for refreshments and for personal needs. Grace had worried whether she might have to convince her brother to leave his ale behind, but, surprisingly, Geoffrey had not tarried at either stop. She supposed he wished to reach the pleasure of his own bed. Or perhaps Geoffrey had no funds for a room–two rooms if he did the gallant thing and chose to pay for her, although she doubted Geoffrey would consider her company as part of his obligation to family.

  The lights had long since been extinguished before they came to a halt outside the familiar manor house. Grace fought back the moan of delight: first, because she was home, at last, and, secondly, because every bone in her body ached from the journey. Not knowing how long she had remained unconscious, she could only guess they had been on the road for twelve hours–likely more. As she tentatively stepped to the ground, Grace concluded she would have preferred to travel on the mail coach. Road dust covered her clothing. At least, we had fine weather, she thought. In early October, one could never tell. Yet, today’s warmth had faded hours earlier, and now she shivered as a damp mist rolled across the open lawn.

  A door swung open, and the light from a single lantern pierced the blackness. A groom appeared from the direction of the stables to claim the horses’ reins as her brother sprung up the entrance steps ahead of her. Stiffly, Grace turned to lift her bags from Geoffrey’s carriage, but the groom scurried to complete the task for her.

  “Allow me, Ma’am,” he said as he set the bags on the ground.

  Grace glanced over her shoulder to where the beckoning light remained. Geoffrey had not given her a second thought. He strode into the house and left her to her own devices. “Thank you,” she said softly as the man, whom she did not recognize, returned to the horses’ heads.

  As he led the carriage away, she realized the man had not showed her a kindness. Instead, he had saved himself additional work. Otherwise, he would be expected to return to the house with her bags once he had unhitched the horses. Before she departed Scotland, she had asked Blane, Lord Averette’s butler, to ship her heavier belongings to her brother’s directions. Catching a bag in each hand, Grace took the first step into her past.

  “Miss Nelson,” a familiar voice gushed as she stepped into the circle of light. “Oh, Miss, if I had known it be you who accompanied the master…” The man set the lantern on a three-legged table by the door and reached for her bag. “You are a most pleasant sight.”

  “Mr. Soames,” she said with renewed delight. “I am most grateful to be at Foresthill Hall once more.”

  The man assisted her with her cloak and hat. “The staff will be elated to find you under the master’s roof,” he said with true affection. Her brother’s butler had offered her a warmer welcome than had Geoffrey.”

  “Place Miss Nelson in the blue rooms,” her brother ordered as he reappeared in the hallway.

  “Why not my former chambers?” Grace asked before she could stifle the words.

  Geoffrey’s countenance spoke of his irritation. “First, this is my home. I decide where guests are housed
. Secondly, Mercy has moved into your previous quarters.”

  Grace purposely lowered her eyes. She must relearn how best to handle her brother’s mercurial temperament. “The blue rooms shall be more than adequate,” she said contritely. “I am happy Mercy enjoys my former quarters.”

  “Come, Miss,” Soames said as he hefted her bags. “I will show you the way.” Geoffrey disappeared into her father’s study. Her brother’s study, Grace dutifully corrected. She climbed the stairs beside the elderly servant. She took note of the man’s stiff gait as they made their way to her assigned chambers.

  “Has my sister retired for the evening?” Grace asked as they passed yet another section of faded wallpaper where once hung one of her father’s treasured armory pieces. The previous baron had collected swords and shields from the battles that defined the struggle between England and Scotland. History had been Thomas Nelson’s passion. Without thinking, a sigh escaped Grace’s lips.

  “It is a shame,” Soames said gravely. “Baron Nelson’s heart would break if he knew the condition of his prized home.” He opened the door to the chamber quite distant from the family’s quarters. “Miss Mercy retired early this evening, Miss. Your sister indicated she would not wait for her brother.” Grace wondered what the family servant did not say. Did Mercy fear Geoffrey’s return? “I will send a maid up to unpack your things and to set the fire.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Soames. You are being very kind.” Grace placed her small bag on the dresser. “The last of my things are being shipped from Scotland. They will arrive some time in the next week.”

  Soames nodded and prepared to exit. “The master prefers to have his breakfast served promptly at nine,” he instructed. “Miss Mercy will be pleased for your company at eight.”

  Grace’s eyebrow rose in curiosity. “I understand, Mr. Soames.” With his departure, Grace sat heavily on the bed. Apparently, nothing had changed. She had hoped with her leaving Geoffrey would have used what he saved from her board to improve the manor. Grace hoped her sister might be more forthcoming with information regarding the truth of the situation. Not that Grace could do much about it. Geoffrey had inherited the title. The house was his to do with as he pleased. She was truly a guest in Baron Nelson’s home.

  *

  The light tap on the door came earlier than Grace had expected. She brushed the sleep from her eyes as she sat up in bed. The days and nights of tending Lord Godown seemed far removed. “Come in,” she called as she clutched the bed linens to her chest. Instantly, the door opened, and a beautiful young woman slid into the space. “Oh, Grace,” the woman gasped. “You have come home, at last.’

  Grace’s eyes fell on the most perfectly exquisite creature she had ever beheld. Strawberry blonde curls framed a heart-shaped face, and bright blue eyes sparkled with delight. It was as if Grace looked upon the living image of her mother as a young woman. Her heart ached with the knowledge she would never know her mother’s comforting embrace again. “Mercy?” Grace said through dry lips. “Is it truly you?” She opened her arms wide to welcome the girl.

  Instantly, her sister encased her girlish embrace. Grace buried her face into the tangy scent of lemon. She had missed such moments. The child Gwendolyn had regularly hugged her, and Grace had readily returned the sentiment. Poor Gwen, she thought. With Lord Averette for a parent, the child had been starved for affection. Yet, nothing felt more complete than the embrace of a loved one. Grace rocked her sister as she edged the girl closer. “I had forgotten how much I still required this,” she said. Finally, she set the girl from her. “Permit me to look upon how much you have changed.”

  Grace wiped the happy tears from her face. “You are absolutely beautiful,” she said as Mercy blushed. “You have our mother’s comely looks.”

  “You are beautiful too,” Mercy said through a giggle.

  Grace shook her head in denial. “I am not vain. I use a looking glass daily. You are our mother where I take after our father. Thomas Nelson was a handsome man, but his features look better on Geoffrey.”

  Mercy frowned at the mention of their brother. “I do not wish to speak of Geoffrey,” Mercy said defiantly. “This is our time together. Come. Dress for the day.” She tugged on Grace’s hand. “Cook is preparing your favorites.”

  Grace threw the coverlets aside. “What is the hurry?” she said as she slid her feet into the slippers Mercy handed her.

  “It is to be a beautiful day, and the Nelson sisters shall be about exploring some of their favorite haunts,” Mercy declared. “I do not intend to share my favorite sister with anyone today.”

  “I am your only sister,” Grace good-naturedly reminded the girl. She replaced her worn night rail with a green muslin day dress.

  “Do not split hairs,” Mercy warned. It was a favorite saying of their mother, and Grace’s heart soared to hear it upon her sister’s lips. Mercy had been but a young girl entering her double numbered years when their mother followed their father to Heaven.

  Grace smiled widely. “Every woman requires a bit of teasing. Come assist me in lacing my dress. I have missed you terribly.”

  A quarter hour later, they were ensconced in the morning room and sharing an early breakfast. “Now speak to me of how you have gotten on,” Grace instructed as she reached for another slice of toasted bread.

  Mercy’s eyes grew in size, but a slight shake of her sister’s head told Grace not to inquire of the manor’s lifestyle before the servants. “We have more than enough time to renew our memories. For now, I am content simply to have my sister under our parents’ roof.”

  “As am I,” Grace said softly. They spent the remainder of the meal in discussing the weather and the differences in the Scottish countryside compared to life in Lancashire. Grace shocked Mercy with a censored version of how she had made the Prince Regent’s acquaintance.

  “He actually came to the table and spoke to everyone?” Mercy’s mouth hung open in amazement.

  “Obviously, our future monarch held no interest in me. There were several very beautiful women at the table and more nobility than should be permitted in one place,” Grace countered. “Ignoring the Dowager Duchess of Norfield and Viscountess Averette, the future George IV had an eye for Miss Aldridge and her younger sister, Miss Cashémere. They are both very dark of color and strikingly elegant. And there was Lady Eleanor Kerrington. She and Lord Worthing have only recently married. Lady Eleanor is the Duke of Thornhill’s sister. She is tall and majestic. I can assure you I faded into the tapestry; yet, it was a moment only few can claim.”

  Mercy sat spellbound. Finally, she asked, “And what of the men? Were they exceedingly handsome?’

  Grace’s thoughts went immediately to Lord Godown. “The men in our party, other than Viscount Averette, who has grown a good-sized paunch, included several from the aristocracy who served together during the war.” She bit into her toast to slow her heart’s response to thoughts of Gabriel Crowden. “Lord Worthing, who is the heir to the Linworth title, led the group. He is magnificently tall and lean. The Duke of Thornhill is shorter than Lord Worthing, but he is equally muscular in his build. The Duke recently married his cousin Miss Aldridge. The bachelors included Sir Carter Lowery a newly minted baronet and a very affable young man; Lord Yardley, an earl from Northumberland, who is stoical and serious minded; Viscount Lexford from Cheshire, who is sandy blonde of head and is boyishly handsome; and the Marquis of Godown from Staffordshire.”

  Mercy’s interest piqued. “The Marquis of Godown? Mary Freelowe said she met him at a ball during the Season. Mary says the marquis is the most handsome man she had ever seen.”

  Grace considered Mary’s evaluation quite apt. “Your friend would receive no argument from me regarding Lord Godown’s fine features. I would deem her estimation of the man more than accurate.”

  “Oh, my,” Mercy said softly. “You will tell me more of each person in your party. Wait until Mary learns you spent an evening with the Marquis and with the Prince Regent. She shall be gre
en with envy.” Mercy smiled mischievously. “For once, I shall be the one in the know, and Mary shall be in awe.”

  *

  With Mr. Sanders’s and Doctor Thatcher’s assistance, Gabriel stumbled his way toward his traveling coach. Doctor Thatcher had examined the wound and declared it healing properly. Gabriel had assured the Roses he would tell them if he had tired so they might find accommodations for the night. For Gabriel, it was a relief to leave Death behind, as well as the memories of Grace Nelson’s soft body beside him.

  “You appear happy,” Lía remarked as he hoisted himself into the coach. Doctor Thatcher had insisted Gabriel not move the arm sporting the bullet wound; therefore, he wore a makeshift sling. Gabriel hated it, but he did not have the heart to refuse the beseeching look from his Aunt Lyn when the physician had made the suggestion.

  “I am pleased to spend the day with three of the loveliest of the King’s subjects. I am blessed among men,” he drawled.

  “You have a silver tongue,” Aunt Lía chastised, but he noted how she blushed from the compliment.

  Gabriel confessed, “I am truly fortunate to possess such a caring family.” He shifted his weight as his footman closed the carriage door, and the coachman set them in motion. He could not resist the need to look back. At this nondescript inn some twenty miles from the English border, his life had changed. He could only hope it was for the better.

  *

  She and Mercy had spent several hours visiting the estate’s few remaining tenants and the vicar’s new wife. It bothered Grace greatly how those who depended on the estate for their livelihoods suffered. She could not help but to remember how the land thrived under her father’s reign. Each household welcomed her with tales of her parents’ goodness and with meager offerings. Conscious of the hard times the cottagers faced, she carefully chose the least of the refreshments placed before her. She would not take food from the children’s mouths. The fact not one tenant spoke of her brother–either yea or nay–told volumes. Geoffrey had milked the estate dry and had left her father’s tenants in dire situations.