Realm 04 - A Touch of Grace

by Regina Jeffers

  Finis

  Grace is the absence of everything that indicates pain or difficulty, hesitation or incongruity.

  - William Hazlitt

  Historical Notes

  Jean-Louis Aumer

  Aumer was a French danseur and choreographer. Born in Strasbourg on 21 April 1774, Aumer was educated at the school of the Paris Opera Ballet. In 1801, he joined the company after an initial engagement with Jean Dauberval in Bordeaux. He created his early ballets for the Théâtre de la Porte Saint-Martin after the Paris Opera’s Maître de ballet, Pierre Gardel, blocked Aumer’s efforts. The competition from Gardel was so intense, Aumer left France for engagements in Kassel (1808-1814) and Vienna (1814-1820). Afterwards, he returned to the Paris Opera Ballet from 1820-1831, where, he renovated the French repertory with the addition of the elements he learned abroad. In this book, I have included a mention of the 1815 Vienna staging of La Fête de la rose.

  The Opium Wars

  The Opium Wars (also known as the Anglo-Chinese Wars) were the climax of disputes over trade and diplomatic relations between China under the Qing Dynasty and the British Empire. The First Opium War ran from 1839 to 1842. The Second Opium War took place from 1856 to 1860. From 1700-1842, Guangzhou came to dominate maritime trade with China, and this period became known as the “Canton System.”

  Officially, the British East India Company held a royal charter for trade with the Far East. The East India Company dominated Sino-European trade from its position in India. A deficiency between the high demand by Europeans for Chinese silk, tea, and porcelain and the low demand by the Chinese for European goods created a gap in the international trade.

  Generally, the Chinese would only accept silver for the currency exchange; this was a problem for the British who used the gold standard from the mid 18th Century. The Brits had to purchase silver from other European countries for their transactions. In the 18th Century, the British imported opium from India and introduced it to the Chinese. Owning India’s poppy fields, the British meant to reduce the trade deficit by trading opium. In 1729, the Yongzheng Emperor prohibited the sale and smoking of opium among his people.

  After Britain annexed Bengal after the Battle of Plassey in 1757, the British East India Company attempted to instigate a monopoly on the production and export of opium. From 1773 forward for the next 50 years, opium would be the key to the East India Company’s hold on the subcontinent.

  Elaborate trading schemes developed, many of which depended on leveraging illegal markets for the opium trade. In 1797, the EIC added direct trade routs between opium farmers and the British. British exports of opium to China grew six fold from 1730 to 1773. Stopping opium smuggling in the northern provinces did not keep the trade from occurring in China’s southern provinces. The EIC even had the British government acknowledge recognized its opium monopoly. By 1820, China was importing 900 tons of opium annually.

  Introducing Book Five of the Realm Series

  A Touch of Mercy

  The rain came down in miserable sheets of icy stiffness; yet, Henry “Lucifer” Hill barely noticed the elements. His mind remained on the heart-shaped face of Hannah Tolliver. Despite his protests to the contrary, he had been sore to leave Lady Worthing’s maid behind, especially at Christmastide; but his master Aidan Kimbolt, Viscount Lexford, had sent Lucifer ahead to prepare the manor for Lord Lexford’s return to Lexington Arms.

  “Nothing to be done but to serve His Lordship,” Hill grumbled as he adjusted the reins to keep the open wagon safely in the muddy grooves of the country road. Hill recognized better than most how much the viscount had suffered of late, but that knowledge did little to lessen the heartbreak of leaving Hannah behind. “Ah, my Girl,” he said to the open countryside. “Think of me often, my Hannah, for I will be thinking of you.”

  As each water-filled rut in the road wore a sore along his backside, Hill reflected on the past couple of months. In the midst of a misguided kidnapping, Lachlan Charters had delivered a mighty blow to the back of Viscount Lexford’s head. Not only had His Lordship lost the woman he courted during the chaos, which followed, but also Lord Lexford had suffered a worse fate than the loss of a potential love. “The viscount’s memory plagues him, but, in truth, Lexford lost his heart and his dreams long before Charters’s attack.”

  Hill sighed heavily. The weight of so many troubles rested upon his shoulders for he meant to see Lord Lexford happy before Lucifer claimed Hannah as his wife. “Damn fool,” Hill grumbled. “His Lordship should never have pursued Miss Aldridge. The girl was never of a nature to appreciate Lord Lexford’s gentleman’s code. The lady will fare better with Wellston. The earl possesses a wild streak not found in Lord Lexford. And as for the other one: Miss Satiné.” Hill spat the Aldridge girl’s name as if it were poison. “She lacks a spine. Too much like the former Viscountess Lexford. Run away at the first sign of strife.”

  From an interested distance, Lucifer had observed the viscount’s pursuit of one female after another, but none could absolve Lord Lexford of his guilt. Lucifer had served the viscount since their time together on the Continent, and he suspected he knew more of Aidan Kimbolt than had the viscount’s late father.

  Lord Lexford had saved Henry Hill from a torturous end. Hill and a dozen other British soldiers had found themselves prisoners behind enemy lines. Hill always thought he could have escaped upon his own, but Lucifer could not have left his fellow Englishmen behind. When the day of their deaths arrived, he had made his peace with God and with his decision to stay. But much to his relief, Lord Lexford had come charging into the camp, followed by James Kerrington and Marcus Wellston. Three Englishmen who could fight like twenty good men, and despite his complete exhaustion, Lucifer had taken up the cause. Within minutes, the four of them had stood triumphant. It was a proud moment: One to be savored by a man, who had not known such exquisite glory before then.

  The incident had given Lucifer a ‘hunger’ to be a better person. To return to his letters and to learn from these heroes. At the time, he had pledged his allegiance to Viscount Lexford. He had given his word he would serve Lord Lexford for a period of ten years. He had done so from gratitude, but his were not all altruistic reasons. Lucifer had wanted to associate with men of the caliber of those who had served as his rescuers. To hitch his stars with such greatness. That choice had been made some seven years prior, and although he knew His Lordship would release him from his vow, as easily as had the British government had released him from his service, Lucifer refused to break his promise. However, the thought of the happiness he could know if he could make Hannah his wife certainly tempted him to beg for his independence.

  “Cannot leave His Lordship’s service until I see the man well settled. Especially now that his missus’s memory haunts him again,” Lucifer reasoned aloud. “The problem lies in the means by which His Lordship seeks a replacement for the former viscountess. In his misplaced guilt, the viscount looks only upon women, who favor the late Lady Lexford. In my opinion, His Lordship requires a miss who is Lady Lexford’s opposite. Lord Lexford should not wallow in his memories. He should place Lady Lexford firmly in the past. The lady was never a true wife to the man.”

  Hill flicked the reins across the horses’ backs. The rain had greatly delayed his return to Lexington Arms, and irritation hunched his shoulders in the manner, which only Hannah’s soft touch could cure. “It will be a long time before I will see my sweet gel again,” he warned his wayward heart. As they had done for the last few hours, his musings might have continued along the same lines, but a bizarre sight caught Hill’s attention. “What in Heavens’ name?” he exclaimed as he pulled up on the reins.

  Sitting on a stile was a gargoyle-like figure. Some four feet in height, whatever it was, it did not move. Having experienced more than one ambush during his years with Lord Lexford and the Realm, Hill proceeded slowly. He reached for his gun before crawling down carefully from the bench seat. Cautiously, he edged closer to the figure for a better look. “Eas
y, Boy,” he cooed as his hand caressed the horse’s rump. Stepping heavily into the thick mud, he steadied his stance by tugging on the harness.

  Finally, he stood before the gray-clad apparition. Despite the icy rain now dripping from his hat and down his back, Hill smiled. “Are you not an intriguing sight?” he said with fascination. “I thought you were a witch or a medieval bear come to life.”

  “Neither,” the girl said through chattering teeth.

  “I can see you are a wood sprite instead,” he said with a chuckle.

  The girl pulled her wet cloak closer. “I require no pretty words from the likes of you,” she boldly declared. She stepped from the stile to stand in a mud-filled puddle. Lucifer noted the wear of her boots. They had many miles on them. “If you will excuse me…” She picked up a small bag and took several steps in the opposite direction of his.

  “Where are you traveling, gel?” Hill called to her retreating form.

  “It is none of your concerns, Sir,” she said smartly.

  Lucifer enjoyed her sass. “I thought perhaps you might require a ride.” He waited until the count of three to determine if she would accept. The viscount was always telling him not to rush a woman’s decision. The fairer sex prefers to weigh all their options before deciding what is best. We men are the impulsive ones, Lord Lexford had said on more than one occasion.

  She paused, but did not turn around. “What is your destination?”

  Hill remained where she had left him. “I mean to finish my journey to Lexington Arms in Cheshire. I am to prepare the manor for the master’s return.”

  *

  Mercy caught her breath. She knew of Lexington Arms. It was the seat of Viscount Lexford. Upon Grace’s return to Foresthill Hall, Mercy and her sister had spent a delightful afternoon discussing Grace’s brief encounter with the viscount, his associates, and even the Prince Regent. Afterwards, Mercy had searched Debrett’s for each of the men Grace had mentioned.

  “The Prince Regent actually came to the table and spoke to everyone?” Mercy’s mouth had stood agape in amazement. At first, she could not believe her sister’s tale.

  Grace chuckled in that self-deprecating manner her sister wielded to defend off the least bit of praise. “Obviously, our monarch held no interest in me,” Grace had asserted. “There were several very beautiful women at the table and more nobility than should be permitted in one place. Ignoring the Dowager Duchess of Norfield, who is a beauty even in her advanced years, and Viscountess Averette, Prince George’s eye fell heavy on Miss Aldridge. The lady resembles her younger sister, Miss Cashémere, who outshone many of higher titles. They are both very dark of color and strikingly elegant. And there was Lady Eleanor Kerrington, who had won the praise of the Queen during Lady Eleanor’s Presentation. She and Lord Worthing have only recently married. Lady Worthing 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 had sat spellbound. Living at Foresthill, she had held no hopes of having the acquaintance of any of the nobility. “And what of the men?” she had asked in curious delight. “Were they exceedingly handsome?”

  Her sister’s eyes had glazed over in quiet contemplation. Finally, Grace continued, “The men in our party, other than Viscount Averette, who has grown a good-sized paunch since last you saw him, included several from the aristocracy, who served together during the war and beyond.” Her sister had taken great satisfaction in ticking off the names upon her fingers. “Lord Worthing, who is the heir to the Linworth title, led the group when they served abroad. He is magnificently tall and lean. He possesses the most mesmerizing steel gray eyes I have ever encountered and a strong jaw, which speaks of his ancestral lines. The Duke of Thornhill is shorter than Lord Worthing, but he is equally muscular in build. He has light brown hair, which he wears a bit too long to be fashionable and dark brown eyes. It is my understanding from my time with the Averettes the Duke has 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 uncomplaining and serious minded, but who I suspect holds very deep emotions; the Marquis of Godown, who is sinfully handsome, and Viscount Lexford from Cheshire, who is sandy blond of head and boyishly handsome.”

  Mercy smiled knowingly. If she traveled to Lexington Arms with this stranger, she would have the acquaintance of the viscount, and, perhaps, several of his associates. It could be a means to honor her sister’s memory. Grace had been a governess, but she had dined with the Prince. Could not Mercy assume a position under the viscount’s roof and come to know those of the peerage? She turned slowly to best judge the man who offered her an adventure.

  *

  Lucifer had remained perfectly still so as not to frighten the girl. To allow the truth of his words to take root. “His Lordship and I served together during the war. Now, I am his man of all means.” The girl nodded her understanding. Hill’s instincts told him she was a runaway. She was miserably cold, but the girl refused to acknowledge her desolation. Lucifer could not resist admiring the woman’s defiance. It spoke well of her character. “If you require employment, I imagine there is a place on His Lordship’s staff. That is if you are willing to put in a fair day’s work. I am not offering you charity.”

  Lucifer noted the pleased smile, which graced the girl’s lips. Her hood had slipped from her head, and with the icy crystals mixing with the red gold of her hair, the woman reminded him of a snow princess he had once seen in a painting in a Viennese art museum.

  “Why would you offer a complete stranger a position in your master’s household?” Her cultured tongue told Lucifer the girl was no country miss. The woman before him was a genteel lady. That particular fact only solidified Hill’s resolve to escort her to Cheshire. He would not leave any woman to suffer as he suspected this one had. He would do the correct thing, the only thing.

  “Years prior, the viscount saved me from Death’s claws. He is a good man, and he would expect me to extend his benevolence to you.” He smiled easily. “If you pardon my saying so, Miss, you appear to have come upon hard times.”

  “Be there children at His Lordship’s home?” she asked tentatively. “My sister was a governess. I had thought to find a similar position.”

  Lucifer gave a slight shake of his head. He thought of the child Mr. and Mrs. Rhodes had whisked away from a distraught Lord Lexford. Lucifer had always thought if His Lordship had poured his love onto the babe the viscount would have found peace by now. He took a half step in the girl’s direction. “I fear not, but we can find you some other form of employment. At least, come with me to Cheshire. Spend several days with us. Recover your strength. Fortify your will to travel on.” The girl swayed in place, but Lucifer did not reach for her. She might think he meant her harm.

  “I worked at an inn recently,” she protested weakly.

  “For how long?” he coaxed.

  Her eyes closed as if she was silently counting. “Five days.” She paused awkwardly. “The Pawleys fed me and gave me a warm place to sleep.”

  Lucifer wondered if he might have to resort to kidnapping the girl. She possessed no skills to survive a winter on the road, and Lucifer meant to see her well. “Five days of charity proves the Pawleys worth knowing, but five days after how many weeks?”

  The girl snarled her nose in remembrance. “Perhaps six.”

  Lucifer edged closer in anticipation of seizing the girl. “Would you not wish for more days of warmth and nourishment? I can promise you Mrs. Osborne makes the finest lemon tarts in all England.”

  The girl looked over her shoulder to the road behind her. “But Cheshire is the way I came. I cannot retrace my steps.”

  Lucifer dug into his pocket to retrieve his purse. Fishing several coins from the leather pouch, he extended them toward the girl. “Come to work at Lexington Arms. Stay, at least, through Twelfth Night, and if you do not ca
re for the place, use these coins to purchase your passage to London or wherever else you wish to go.”

  “Why?” she asked skeptically. “Why do you insist on offering your assistance?” She looked off across the empty fields. “The last people I trusted stole all my money, as well as my mother’s locket. I have nothing of value remaining.”

  “I want nothing from you, gel. I have me a beautiful angel, who claims to love the likes of me. And I have a comfortable home and a generous employer. For a man who has not always walked on Heaven’s path, I hold many blessings. I think it is time I become the Good Samaritan.” He extended his hand to her. “Come, Girl,” he encouraged. “You require what I offer.”

  Although the rain had lessened, moisture from her eyes’ corners still caressed her cheeks. “Are you certain the viscount will not object?”

  Lucifer breathed easier: He would win this battle. With an ironic chuckle, he said, “His Lordship will likely not realize you were not always part of his staff.” Thoughts of the injury, which had robbed Lord Lexford of his memory, were never far from Hill’s mind. He meant to see the viscount well.

  He caught her elbow and directed the girl toward the flat bed wagon he drove. Lucifer knew better than to give her time to change her mind. The girl had required a bit of encouragement and a good dose of coercion. “It might be best if you sit in the back,” he suggested. “You can place the blankets about you. It won’t be much drier, but perhaps a bit warmer. I will set your bag under the seat.” He pressed the coins into her gloved hand as he lifted the girl to the wagon. “Sit back,” he ordered as he gathered the damp blankets he had stashed in a wooden crate beneath the bench and tucked them about her. “We still have a piece to go so stay as dry as possible.”

  The girl nodded her gratitude. “May I…may I know the name of my benefactor?” She openly shivered from the cold.