“How long shall you stay?” Mercy asked as they wound their way along the forest path that led toward the manor house.
Grace paused to judge her words. “I do not imagine Geoffrey shall welcome my presence under his roof for long. I expect anything beyond a month shall be treading on our brother’s goodwill.”
Mercy snorted contemptuously. “What goodwill?” she said sarcastically. “Can you believe Foresthill Hall has come to ruin so quickly?”
Again, Grace chose her words. It appeared Mercy had taken a stand against their brother, but Grace could not be certain. “Each man must find his way. Perhaps there is hope for Geoffrey.”
“How can you speak such nonsense? Our brother has permitted you to know the degradation of hiring yourself out. You shall never know a family of your own. You have been robbed of a London Season and all the trimmings. As a baron’s daughter, you could have known a smart match,” Mercy declared indignantly. “My God, you were the Honourable Grace Nelson, and now…”
Grace’s first thought was of waltzing with the Marquis of Godown. Of course, if she had known a Season, she would never have met Gabriel Crowden. He had been on the Continent and in service to the British government when she had reached an age to be on the marriage mart. No, she would cherish her few moments with Lord Godown rather than having known a “smart match.” Grace countered, “Who says I would have taken. I lack your fine countenance, and few gentlemen look beyond a woman’s appearance.”
They walked on in silence for a few minutes. “You departed so I might find happiness,” Mercy said softly. “Do not deny it. At first, I hated you for leaving me behind. Then I realized you held no choice. You were quite brave to foil Geoffrey’s plans for you before he could formulate a means to be rid of you and for him to profit from your departure.”
Perhaps Mercy had learned life’s hard lessons, after all. Grace had weighted her choices with Geoffrey as the new baron. She had realized it would be beneficial for her brother to offer her up to the first wealthy lecher who would make inquiries. She had decided if destiny had placed her in a position to tend another woman’s children, she would rather do so as a governess rather than as a stepmother. “What I did was what was best for me. It is not the life for the faint-hearted. There was not enough money for both of us. Father’s will left the minor children with an annual allowance, but I was eighteen at the time. There was nothing for me. I am certain Father expected me to be married by that age. You were but thirteen. By law, Geoffrey had to provide for you.”
“But no longer,” Mercy announced. “Our brother would pocket the funds allotted to my care.” She spun around to face Grace fully. “But I shall not have any of our brother’s manipulations! If Geoffrey attempts to force me into a marriage with one of his friends or some repugnant nobleman, I shall take matters into my own hands,” she threatened.
“Do not do something foolish,” Grace cautioned. She would not have Mercy know their brother’s violent temper.
Mercy smiled knowingly. “I have plans of my own.”
They had reached the main house, and without speaking of a need for secrecy, by design, they switched topics to speak of the latest fashions. They had just stepped into the main foyer when Geoffrey appeared at the overhanging balustrade.
“Ah, there you are,” he said in casual welcome. “I had thought to send out searchers.”
Grace noticed how Mercy hung back in the shadows. Aware of the tension-filled dynamics filling the room, Grace offered a penitent apology. “It was my fault. It has been so long since I was Foresthill. I became lost in my memories.”
Geoffrey rubbed his palms together as if he had completed a satisfactory negotiation. “It is of no never mind. You are here, and in plenty of time to freshen your things for the afternoon meal. I have extended an invitation to Sir Lesley to dine with us. While you dwell among us, Grace, I thought you might chaperone Mercy. It is time our sister considers marrying for the family’s benefit.”
Chapter Eight
He had been home for a little more than a fortnight when late one afternoon, his butler, Mr. Hinman, announced a visit from James Kerrington. “Lord Worthing,” Hinman said as he escorted the future earl into Gabriel’s study. Over the past few days, Gabriel had half expected one of his Realm friends to call. Pointedly, he had ignored Shepherd’s last two messages, which he had realized would not sit well with the Realm’s government contact. Gabriel stood to accept Kerrington’s outstretched hand in greeting. “Shepherd sent the man in charge,” Gabriel said with a chuckle. “I must have irritated our esteem leader quite thoroughly.”
Kerrington placed his gloves on the corner of Gabriel’s desk. “You know how Shepherd lives for details. Besides, it has been nearly a month since we parted. I thought it time we catch up on what has occurred in the interim.”
Gabriel poured them both a brandy. “Has Jamot made another threat?” he asked with little true interest. He had meant the vow he had taken on that dusty Scottish road. His efforts to save England would all be fought on the Parliamentary floor. He had served England for longer than his original agreement.
“No, the Baloch has not resurfaced, but Shepherd has no information that indicates Jamot has returned to Persia.” Kerrington accepted the drink and sank into the chair Gabriel indicated. The viscount sighed heavily. “I have come to the conclusion I do not much care as long as Jamot stays far away from my family.”
Gabriel smiled knowingly. “How goes Lady Worthing’s confinement?”
“Eleanor insists on taking on many of my mother’s duties. For a woman nearing seven months along, one can have difficulty keeping up with her. She and the Countess have finished refurbishing the east wing and the nursery. I believe they have their sights set on the private quarters next.” Kerrington smiled widely. “Neither the Earl nor I have ever been so content. Even Daniel sings his step mother’s praises.”
Gabriel’s thoughts drifted to the image of Grace Nelson that had haunted him since departing Scotland. Would she have wished to redecorate part of his home? Of course, he would never know. Miss Nelson had made her choice. He had sent Sanders to discover if she truly had returned to her home. It had taken his valet a fortnight to uncover Miss Nelson’s secrets. Sanders had traveled the route of the mail coach until he had learned the lady’s directions. Then his valet had made the trek to Lancashire, where he found Miss Nelson had recently returned to her family’s estate. Word also came the lady had been seen riding out with Sir Lesley Trent, a widower with five children. Perhaps, that discovery had been her plan all along. To marry into a readymade family.
“I am pleased you have found ease.” Gabriel bit back the bitter taste of regret. “What news of Yardley? Has he set a date to make Miss Cashémere his wife? And what of Kimbolt and Miss Satiné?”
Kerrington chuckled lightly. “You know Yardley’s impetuous nature. He no more than had returned to Scotland before he and Miss Cashémere were on Linton Park’s doorstep and asking to use the family chapel for the ceremony.”
“Why not marry in Berwick?” Gabriel asked with interest.
“Baron Ashton and Miss Satiné returned to Tweed Hall with Wellston and Cashémere. The baron plans to escort Satiné to the Continent to recover from her ordeal. Without knowing for certain whether Lachlan Charters violated the lady before he plummeted to his death in the glass cone, the baron thought it best to remove Miss Satiné from England until the rumors die away. The baron has hired Wellston’s former batman Richard Breeson as his new steward for Chesterfield Manor. With Satiné’s slow recovery, Marcus thought it best if he and Cashémere marry away from the estate. After all, everyone thought Satiné might be his bride.”
“Not everyone,” Gabriel said with a bit of an “I told you so” attitude.
Kerrington sipped his drink. “You were more astute than the rest of us; you never seemed to believe Wellston and Satiné were a good match.”
“Too soft. Too smooth. No depth to the lady’s emotions,” Gabriel pronounced
.
“Lord Yardley will have his hands full with Cashémere,” Worthing said with amusement. “My Goodness, the girl raced to Scotland on her own to save her twin. Like you, I cannot imagine Miss Satiné doing the same for Cashémere.”
“And Kimbolt? What happens to the viscount now Miss Satiné has departed England?”
Worthing paused briefly, and Gabriel realized something remained amiss. “Kimbolt is staying with Thornhill. He has recovered physically, but his memory is struggling to catch up. He has no recall of his time since Susan’s death.”
“What can I do?” Gabriel said sincerely.
“Perhaps if you plan to visit London any time soon, you could manage a side trip to Kent. Lord Lexford would enjoy the company of someone besides the duke,” Worthing said.
Gabriel laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back in the chair. “I promised the Three Roses I would take in the Short Season.”
“Time for a wife?” Worthing asked.
Gabriel did not look at the man he had admired for much of the last decade. “I owe it to my father and to the title. I have permitted a youthful indiscretion to nearly bring down the Crowden legacy. I must accept my responsibility.”
“You have never shirked your obligations,” Worthing said sagely. “It took great maturity to withstand Society’s pressure to marry a deceitful woman. Lord Templeton is fortunate he did not lose his life to you on a dueling field. Gardenia Templeton left her child with her footman husband to live with an Italian conte in Vienna.”
Gabriel listened carefully to what has friend said. He had never asked of Miss Templeton’s fate, but people were always happy to tell him how fortunate he had been in avoiding the lady’s trap. The trouble was he did not feel fortunate. He felt desolate. Felt robbed of his future. He had held a true affection for Gardenia. Even thought himself in love with the girl. On the European battlefields, he had made himself a solemn vow never to give another woman sway over him. The cost was too high. “The lady’s trials do not concern me,” he declared.
Silence filled the time before Kerrington said, “I suppose I should come to the reason for my visit.”
“You mean beyond my charming company,” Gabriel had said good-naturedly.
“Nothing personal, Crowden, but I much prefer my wife’s company to yours.” The smile had returned to his friend’s lips. In some ways, Gabriel was truly happy the viscount had found his heart, but in others, he resented the fact he would never know such happiness.
Unable to hide his constant turmoil, Gabriel looked away. He did not like to think of what had happened after he and Miss Nelson had separated in Scotland. Too many unanswered questions remained. Too many bittersweet memories. “I imagine Shepherd wants to know why it took me more than a week to return to my estate and why the Roses accompanied me.”
“Something along those lines,” Worthing confessed.
Gabriel chose his words carefully. “When we parted, I first made certain Wellston and Swenton had prevailed in their rescues of the Aldridge twins. Then I began my trek home. Unfortunately, someone decided to use me for target practice.”
Lord Worthing set his glass down with a thunk. “My God, Crowden. Were you hit?” He sat forward in his chair.
Gabriel maintained his gaze. “My shoulder. Tore the muscle. Loss lots of blood.”
Real concern crossed Worthing’s countenance. ‘I should never have left you. Was it Jamot?”
Gabriel reached into his desk and removed the sketch. Her sketch. His heart beat erratically whenever thoughts of Grace Nelson invaded his memory. “Not unless Jamot has purchased the services of this man.” He slid the sketch across the desk’s polished surface to Kerrington. “Do you recognize him? He used the name Jonah Wright.”
Lord Worthing lifted the picture to the light. “It is possible Jamot has taken a partner, but he usually does not trust another to execute the attack, and I cannot imagine a Baloch seeking assistance of an inferior Englishman. No, it is not in Jamot’s nature to pay another to ambush you. To spy on you. Definitely. But he would prefer to see you die in person.” Worthing studied the picture. “Perhaps you have ruffled someone else’s feathers. How about Templeton? I have heard his rants regarding your return to England. He finds the audience at White’s and at Brooks’ to his liking.”
“Baron Templeton prefers to blame others for his own inabilities to control a headstrong daughter, but I doubt he would consider paying someone to kill me. It is not as if my demise would stifle the gossip,” Gabriel said matter-of-factly.
“Any other irate fathers or husbands or lovers?” Worthing asked. “You are generally very secretive about your liaisons.”
Gabriel recovered the drawing and returned it to the drawer. It was a part of his memories of Miss Nelson. He would never part with it. “As you said, I have been very discreet.”
Worthing nodded. “Then something to do with your service with the Realm.”
“That is my conclusion also.” Gabriel’s finger traced his glass’s rim. “I followed my attacker to a coaching inn. I was able to take refuge until the Roses came to retrieve me.”
Worthing braced his forearm on the desk. “But how? Was there a surgeon to tend you? Why did not your attacker come to finish you? Especially if you were in poor condition.”
The images of those moments when he thought he would die flashed before his eyes. Then the image of an angelic Grace steadied his breathing. “I managed to wound my assailant also. The reason for his sling in the sketch. And I found a friend to attend me.”
Worthing’s eyebrow rose in curiosity. “A friend?”
“I will tell you no more than to say I expected to die, and I owe this person a debt of gratitude.” He would not ruin Miss Nelson’s reputation. Whether she wished to marry or to take another governess position, the lady had his well wishes. “I would like to find my attacker and discover who sent him after me.”
“I will ask Lowery to call on you in London. The baronet has access to information the rest of us only dream of.”
“You will stay the night?” Gabriel said as he stood.
Worthing rose slowly. “I do not take well to too many hours in the saddle. I suspect I am getting old.” He moved a bit stiffly.
Gabriel laughed easily. “Married life is making you soft, Captain.”
“Perhaps.” Worthing smiled widely. “But I would have it no other way.”
Gabriel clapped Worthing on the back. “Come. I will have Hinman show you to your usual room. We will dine and drink and reminisce about our golden days.”
“I am not that old,” Worthing said defiantly. “I can still take you with a sword.”
Gabriel laughed for the first time in weeks. “I have no doubt, my friend. No doubt whatsoever.”
*
His aunts would arrive tomorrow from their respective homes, and as a large party, they would leave for London on Thursday. Anxious to return to his wife and son, Lord Worthing had departed at dawn. Gabriel had waited until after his breakfast to order his horse. “I will not return until late,” he instructed Mr. Sanders as the man tied a simple knot in Gabriel’s cravat.
His valet kept his eyes on his creation, but he said, “Will you call on the lady, my Lord?”
Gabriel hated the fact his intentions were so obvious. “Beware, Mr. Sanders,” he said irritably. “Do not overstep your duties.”
“A good valet keeps abreast of the latest gossip so he might advise his master,” the man said smugly. He reached for Gabriel’s riding jacket.
Despite his irritation, Gabriel actually found Sanders’ newfound familiarity refreshing. Although he had always appreciated Sanders’ efficient handling of his duties, it was only since the man had taken the lead in discovering information on Grace Nelson that Gabriel had valued Mr. Sanders’ versatility. Gabriel corrected, “A good valet keeps abreast of the latest gossip involving those his master is likely to encounter.”
“Then you do not plan to ride to Lancashire?” Sanders spread
the material across Gabriel’s shoulders.
Gabriel sighed heavily. “She does not wish to see me.” It hurt his pride to admit his need to see for himself that his Grace had chosen a life separate from him.
“Then why make the journey so soon after your injury?” Sanders asked matter-of-factly.
Gabriel shrugged. “I cannot explain it.”
A long silence held between him and his trusted servant. Finally, Sanders said, “I will see Balder has been readied. Your mount has had a long rest. It will do him good to stretch his legs.”
Gabriel nodded his agreement as he reached for his gloves. “I assume you have prepared my wardrobe for the Short Season,” he said to change the subject.
“With your permission, my Lord, I will send a note to your tailor for two new waistcoats and several accessories to be delivered to Fugol Hall.”
Gabriel shot one last glance in the mirror. “I bow to your expertise. Just inform Mr. Thomas of the purchase so he will be anticipating the expense.” With that, Gabriel set out to say “farewell” to Grace Nelson. After all, he had been robbed of those moments when she had departed the Scottish inn with a stranger.
*
She had heard from Mrs. O’Boyle. A position had become available. She could begin her duties in a little over a fortnight. Grace did not like the idea of leaving Mercy behind, but she would be glad to be free of Geoffrey’s tyranny. Even a subservient position in another’s household would be preferable to the tension that existed at Foresthill Hall. Her younger sister had implemented a schedule that allowed Mercy to avoid Geoffrey throughout most of the day. The Foresthill staff had adapted to her siblings’ very different lifestyles.
It was not as if Grace placed blame on Mercy. Her sister had discovered a means to survive a “bachelor’s” household. Geoffrey thought nothing of exposing, not only Mercy, but also the Foresthill female staff, to the worst of his acquaintances. Several maids had been dismissed when they had reported their pregnancies to the housekeeper. When their brother hosted his gatherings, two maids slept in Mercy’s room to protect her sister, as well as the young servants.
Realm 04 - A Touch of Grace Page 12