Realm 05 - A Touch of Mercy

by Regina Jeffers

  Through tight lips Aidan growled, “I had no hallucination, Lucifer.” He hoped his voice did not reflect the panic coursing through his veins. “And yes, I am aware of the effects of prolonged use of laudanum, but a week after my return to consciousness, I refused all use of the drug. It has been more than six weeks since my recovery, and other than this damnable memory loss, I have experienced no difficulties. Why, pray tell, would an evening with Miss Purefoy bring on a manifestation of my late wife?”

  Hill scrubbed his face with his palms. “Perhaps you felt guilt over enjoying Miss Purefoy’s company.” Lucifer looked about in disbelief. “I truly have no idea, my Lord. However, you have taught me to consider all the possibilities.”

  Aidan’s frustration lessened. “As such, could we examine the area for proof of or a refutation of my tale?”

  Hill nodded his agreement. “I will take the left side and meet you at the opening of the grove.”

  *

  They had searched for more than an hour, but to no avail. There was no sign of his mystery woman. Hill had promised to search again with the morning’s light; however, Aidan held little hope of vindication. He had returned to the window in his quarters to resume his vigil. Subconsciously, Aidan knew Susan would not return this night, but he watched for her nevertheless. From somewhere below, the grandfather clock chimed the midnight hour, and he shot a glance to the ormolu clock on the mantel to confirm the time. “Nothing to see,” he murmured to the darkness surrounding him.

  How many nights had he stood watch throughout the slowly moving hours? More times than he cared to recall. Watching for the Realm’s many enemies, but not his enemy. His enemy had dwelled in this house, among his family. His brother. Such a deep betrayal. His family had all known how deeply he had affected Susan Rhodes. He had spoken of little else for years. “Had no one been listening?” he growled. “Was I so insignificant as not to have my feelings recognized? Had I only been the proverbial ‘spare,’ after all?”

  Aidan rested his forehead against the cool glass. “No one,” he whispered simply to hear his own voice. “No one has cared,” he reluctantly admitted. “Not since Mother’s passing.” The words ripped at his heart, but he knew them to be true.

  He turned from the glass and walked toward his waiting bed. Aidan despised sleep. When he slept, all the ills of his world visited him. He collapsed diagonally across the mattress. Grabbing handfuls of the blanket, he draped the woolen linens across him. He should undress: His valet would have a fit in the morning, but for the moment, Aidan did not care. He had found the day exhausting, and for once, he hoped it would be enough to permit his mind to know peace.

  *

  “Miss Purefoy,” Aidan said cheerfully as he entered the morning room. “I am pleased you are an early riser.” He had actually slept until four of the clock before the nightmares had returned. He reached for a plate to claim a few of his favorites from the breakfast items.

  “I am, Lord Lexford.” The lady’s melodic tones eased the tension between Aidan’s shoulders. Perhaps the woman was what she claimed. Would it not be doubly ironic if his father’s death had not only thrust Aidan into the role the late Arlen Kimbolt had designed for Andrew, but had also provided Aidan with family, at last? With his father’s passing, it had become common knowledge in the neighborhood that the late viscount’s manipulations had robbed Aidan of a brother, a wife, and a child. “I had thought I might find something useful to fill my day.”

  He sat at the table’s head. “I have told you previously; there is no need for you to earn your keep,” Aidan said softly to maintain privacy.

  Miss Purefoy shot a quick glance to where a footman awaited their orders. “But I insist, my Lord,” she said in hushed tones. Her blunt manner of speech did not offend him. Instead, he found her stubborn boldness starkly refreshing.

  Aidan also enjoyed the way the December sun, reflecting through the high windows, kissed the golden threads of her hair. A shaft of light caused her locks to glow from within. “You may repay me by keeping me company.”

  “I shall do both,” she declared.

  Aidan spread jam upon his toast. “We should also see to finding you a maid,” he observed.

  “May we wait, my Lord? I have no need of a maid to attend to only my needs, and I would not wish to impose upon your staff.”

  Aidan smiled easily. “I suppose you mean to insist again.”

  Chocolate eyes shimmered with amusement, and Miss Purefoy’s dimple reappeared. It drew Aidan’s eye to its indentation, and he smiled inwardly. “See how you are learning my ways.”

  “And people think me the lesser son.” He had answered in a jest, but truth rested within the words.

  The lady grimaced. “Never would I speak disparagingly of you, my Lord. Even on our short acquaintance, I find you quite unmatched.”

  Her words caught Aidan unawares. Few, other than Hill and his Realm friends, would come to his defense. It was not as if those with whom he did business would malign him. It was worse: They pitied him. He was the fool who had served his family most dutifully and had nothing to show for his efforts. “It was misplaced banter, my Dear.”

  Silence filled the empty spaces between them. Aidan turned his efforts to the food upon his plate. He lifted the last of the ham to his mouth, but before he could finish it off, the lady stopped him cold by asking, “When will we gather the greenery for Christmastide, Lord Lexford?”

  “Christmastide?” Dumbfounded, he stared at her in disbelief.

  “Yes, Christmastide.” Miss Purefoy said with satisfied amusement tugging at her mouth’s corners. “As in a fortnight forward.”

  Aidan placed his fork heavily upon his plate. His expression scrunched up in a rueful manner. “I had not considered celebrating the Festive Days. I doubt this household has acknowledged Christmas or Twelfth Night since before my mother’s death some eighteen years prior. Certainly not in the past eight years. For the past four, we have been in mourning,” he admitted by way of apology.

  “But you are no longer in mourning,” she asserted.

  Aidan hesitated. If he wished to place the past behind him forever, celebrating the upcoming festivities would be a small step in that direction. With a shake of his head, he said, “No. No, we are not. In fact, we have experienced enough of Death’s hand. I have cast my vow for Life.”

  Miss Purefoy giggled, and Aidan thought it was the sound of Christmas bells. It was certainly the sound he wished to fill his house. “Then may we choose greenery for the mantels and the staircase?”

  “Absolutely,” he said with a smile. “Go fetch your cloak and mittens. I will make arrangements for the cutters.”

  Miss Purefoy rose, and Aidan followed her to his feet. “And several old blankets, my Lord. Do not forget the blankets.” She hurried away in excitement.

  A few seconds later, Hill appeared framed by the open door. “You have made the lady happy, my Lord,” he said with amusement.

  Aidan returned to his meal. “We have decided to celebrate Christmastide, Hill,” he announced. Without looking at his friend, he waited for the man’s protest; however, it did not come.

  “It is time,” Hill said solemnly.

  Aidan excused the footman before he motioned Hill to a chair. “Do you truly think so? I have considered the possibility my memory might not return as I wish it to do, but that does not mean I must give up on life. I should like to know a bit of what Kerrington and the others have found. Should not the time be right?” Hesitation lingered in his tone.

  Hill said earnestly. “You have suffered enough. If inviting Christmas into this house brings you one full minute of happiness, I think it an act of genius.”

  Aidan leaned forward to say privately. “I have no idea how to go about it. I know nothing of celebrating Christmas. Other than to have been a guest at various house parties over the years, I hold few memories of the Festive Days. Where do we begin?”

  Hill said easily, “Trust the lady, my Lord. One thing I have le
arned from my Hannah is that ladies are possessed of a natural inclination on how to make a house livable. They know what makes a man feel comfortable in his skin.”

  Aidan said anxiously, “Will you assist me in organizing this venture?”

  Hill stood slowly. “You bring the lady about, and I will have the men prepared to do your biding.” Hill turned toward the door. He said cockily, “And thank you, my Lord.”

  “For what do I receive your gratitude?” Aidan puzzled.

  “I am most anxious to observe Mrs. Babcock’s countenance when I tell her she has work to do. The old bitty is too assured in her position. I think it about time she earns her keep.”

  Aidan frowned deeply. “Tell Mrs. Babcock this is my wish. Do not place the blame on Miss Purefoy’s shoulders,” he cautioned.

  Hill grinned widely. “Perhaps I will tell her it is my wish, my Lord.” Over his shoulder, his man said in a mild taunt, “Enjoy the day, Lord Lexford, and be certain to wear your leather gloves. You will require them for the holly.”

  *

  Aidan had never cut evergreens. When he was a child, he and his brother and sister had raced about to find the best branches, but the former Lady Lexford had refused to permit them to risk being injured. With a deep sigh of both frustration and excitement, he watched as the men gathered supplies for the cut. “Follow the lady’s lead,” Hill whispered close to Aidan’s ear. He whipped around to see his man walking casually toward the tree line.

  With a chuckle, he turned his attentions to the woman by his side. Executing an exaggerated bow, he said, “I am your humble servant, Miss Purefoy.”

  The lady swatted at his arm. She giggled again, and the sound mystified Aidan. Why had he never acknowledged the magic of a woman’s smile prior to today? “You are dressed too well for a servant, my Lord.” She gestured to the overspreading branches. “I think it best if we ask some of your men to do the cutting.”

  He caught at his heart as if she had wounded him. “You think so poorly of my physical prowess, my Dear?”

  This time Miss Purefoy laughed, and Aidan found that particular sound even more addicting than her giggle. “I would not wish you to break your arm again, or, Heaven forbid, have you soil your breeches with tree sap.”

  “You place a trial before me, my Lady. Women are infamous for enflaming a man’s desire to prove himself worthy, but I will gladly succumb to your challenge.” Throughout his speech, Aidan had strutted about like a conceited peacock. He hoped to elicit another laugh from Miss Purefoy’s full lips.

  She good-naturedly rolled her eyes at his antics, but despite the lady’s best efforts, her smile exploded to sparkling effects. Aidan’s heart clenched in satisfaction. “Then Lay on, Macduff, and damned be him who first cries 'Hold! Enough!” Miss Purefoy declared with a flourish of her own and another girlish giggle. She caught up her skirt tail and drifted off toward several hearty evergreens. One of his men trailed after her, and Aidan thought the young gardener the smartest one of those gathered about.

  He watched her go before turning to his head gardener. “You must mold me into the lady’s hero.” He caught the man’s shoulder. “Tell me where to begin, Mr. Ryan.”

  When the man smiled, his wrinkles met. “You were always the gallant one, my Lord.”

  This time being called “gallant” had not stung. Instead, it was comforting revelation. Aidan said with new affability, “Please say you hold knowledge on how to please the lady in this matter?”

  “I do, Lord Lexford. Come with me.” Aidan followed the man, who had served the Kimbolt family for more years than Aidan had been alive, into the woodland surrounding the main house. “We must choose the best holly branches, one loaded with lots of berries to set against the green silk of the leaves.”

  “Like those?” Aidan rushed to the stand of holly trees.

  “Exactly, my Lord.” Mr. Ryan chose a branch. “Make your cut at the notch so the branch left behind will sprout another for next year.”

  Aidan listened closely. He had never considered how much knowledge Mr. Ryan and his staff must possess in order to keep the Lexington Arms’ grounds immaculately beautiful. It made him wonder how many other things about his house of which he had never taken note. “Excellent advice, Mr. Ryan,” he said with true admiration. “How many should I cut?”

  Mr. Ryan laughed agreeably. “Enough to decorate each mantle within the main rooms, as well as other flat surfaces.”

  Aidan frowned. “That many? We will strip the trees bare.”

  Ryan chuckled. “Such is the idea, my Lord, but no worry. There are many trees upon the grounds for the birds and squirrels to call home.” The man motioned to a copse of ash and transplanted rowan trees. “I promised Mrs. Osborne I’d bring back several kissing balls. Would ye be requiring some above stairs, my Lord?” The gardener winked conspiratorially.

  The man’s suggestion caught Aidan by surprise. “Whom would I kiss, Mr. Ryan?” he asked earnestly.

  The gardener’s eyes drifted to where Miss Purefoy chose limbs for the young servant to cut. Aidan’s eyes followed. The idea of kissing Mary Purefoy was not as repulsive as it should be. “Perhaps not, Sir,” Ryan said dutifully.

  Aidan considered his response. In her innocence, the woman was beautiful, but she was his sister by blood. Even if he feigned an altruistic kiss on the cheek before “accidentally” finding her lips, the lady would recognize his motives for what they were. No, it was better to keep their relationship playful. To treat each other with respect and friendship. “Hurry on with you, Mr. Ryan.” Aidan purposely ignored the man’s suggestion. “I will require your assistance to meet the house’s need for holly.”

  *

  An hour later, Aidan escorted Miss Purefoy toward the house. He had insisted she return to the drawing room so they both could enjoy some chocolate. “It will warm you. Your fingers are too cold.” He had seated her before the fire. “And Mr. Ryan fully understands how important the greenery is to the house’s celebration.”

  “What of the ribbon?” she asked distractedly.

  Aidan smiled at the lady’s singularity. “I cannot say for certain, but we will seek Mrs. Babcock’s counsel.” In calling for the housekeeper’s presence, he meant to emphasize to the woman that it was his idea to reestablish Christmastide traditions. “I am certain the lady will be well aware of what else we might require.” Miss Purefoy flinched, and Aidan wondered of the source of her discontent. “Is something amiss, my Dear?” The girl quickly shook her head in the negative, but he did not believe her. “Tell me,” he said as he knelt before her to capture Miss Purefoy’s hands. “If we are to make anything good of this situation, we must speak the truth. We have been thrust together by no fault on our parts; yet, I hope we can carve out a mutual friendship.”

  She stared at him long and hard. Finally, the girl nodded her agreement. “Mrs. Babcock is not pleased to have me in the household,” she confessed.

  Aidan said incredulously, “Has the woman offered you an offense?”

  “No. No,” Miss Purefoy assured. “But I feel Mrs. Babcock’s disdain, nonetheless. She watches me as if the lady suspects I might carry off the best silver.”

  Aidan chose his words carefully. “My initial disparagement with your appearance likely was carried to the servants’ quarters. I apologize if my conceit brought censure to your door. We must set a new tone. Please understand the change will be slow.”

  “It is of no consequence, my Lord. I will find a means to win over Mrs. Babcock. She is a loyal servant and wants only what is best for your household.” Aidan was not so certain, but he permitted Miss Purefoy her delusion.

  *

  They had enjoyed the chocolate and the heat of the hearth before Aidan finally summoned the housekeeper to the room. “Mrs. Babcock,” he said amiably, “Miss Purefoy and I had thought to add ribbon and glass ornaments to the greenery Mr. Ryan will gather to decorate the house. Are there items previously in storage which might be used?” The housekeeper shot a disa
pproving glare at Miss Purefoy. Aidan added quickly, “I had thought,” he emphasized the words, “some of my mother’s things might be available. I must surround myself with pleasant memories to nurture the missing ones.”

  He watched with satisfaction as Mrs. Babcock’s expression changed from one of disapproval to one of empathy. “I am certain any ribbon remaining in storage would have rotted by now, but there are some lovely glass ornaments in a trunk in the drying room. I believe some of them were your great-grandmother’s. There are others which likely belonged to Lady Cassandra.”

  “Could they be brought down in time to decorate?” he coaxed. His own excitement had grown with the housekeeper’s disclosure.

  The lady’s prune face had returned, but her tone held her professionalism. “I shall see personally to the decorations, Lord Lexford. It would have pleased the late viscount to know his son had taken up several of the family traditions.”

  Aidan could not recall a time when Arlen Kimbolt placed family traditions to the forefront. Only in securing the line had Aidan’s father shown any passion. He graciously accepted the housekeeper’s words before excusing her to her duties. With the woman’s exit, he turned to his sister. “We should take the coach into the village.” She meant to protest, but Aidan stifled her words by saying, “I have no sensibilities when it comes to ribbons. You must save me from making a cake of myself.” He assisted her to her feet. “Now hurry. I am rarely a patient man.”

  “Despite your exaggerations to the contrary,” she said after a long assessing look, “I think you a man of great insight.” Then she was gone. Gone before Aidan could ascertain her meaning. In the lady’s opinion, was being a man of insight a good thing?

  Thirty minutes later, Mr. Hill had taken the reins of the carriage. “Mrs. Osborne has a long list of supplies in order to create a Christmas feast,” his man explained.

  “Then you do not mean to chaperone?” Aidan teased.

  Hill’s eyebrow rose in curiosity. “Do you require a chaperone, my Lord?”