Realm 05 - A Touch of Mercy

by Regina Jeffers

  Miss Purefoy shoved herself to a seated position. Although she kept the blankets close, Aidan noticed the prominent bandage at the edge of her gown’s neckline. The bullet had grazed the lady’s shoulder blade. “Might we set the servants to the task of reorganizing the library? It would do me well to be of service during my convalescence. Besides, later today you have another interview for Master Aaron’s nurse, and I would not wish to take you away from your duties.”

  Aidan smiled at how her mind worked. The woman was always planning and organizing. “I will speak to Mrs. Babcock immediately and return for you in half an hour. I will not have you attempt the stairs alone.”

  “It is not…”

  “Necessary,” Aidan finished her protest. “You forget, my Dear, I am the master of this house,” he said teasingly. “And I choose what is necessary.” He presented Miss Purefoy a quick bow before reaching for the door latch. “By the way, your boot survived your mishap.” He placed the footwear on a nearby table. “Deland returned it to Mr. Hill.” Smiling at her, Aidan said, “Be about it, my Dear. I mean to see you well quickly. I find I do not care to dine alone.”

  *

  He had physically carried her through Lexington Arms’ passageways to rest upon a chaise in the library, not because one of the footmen could not have done the job equally as well, but because Aidan enjoyed having Miss Purefoy close. “We are all at your beck and call,” he announced to the room. Mrs. Babcock had objected to his interruption of what the woman termed the staff’s “routine duties,” but Aidan had reminded the estate’s long time housekeeper that “his” wishes would prevail. It was essentially what he had said to Miss Purefoy, but not with the same tone or intent.

  Miss Purefoy’s smile widened, and Aidan could have sworn sunlight flooded the room. He was very much attached to this woman’s charms. “I think it best if we remove every book and thoroughly clean each shelf. We should dust the books, as well, and examine them for loose bindings. Those found in need of repair should be set aside until those repairs are completed. Books are too precious not to be treated without respect.” Her excitement grew and so did Aidan’s. “What say you, my Lord? Shall we organize the books by titles or authors?”

  “Authors,” Aidan announced. He enjoyed the way Miss Purefoy always deferred to his position.

  “Then authors it is,” the lady agreed.

  Aidan took over from there. “From what I have observed this job is not as daunting as it first appears. The majority of the books are already arranged alphabetically by author. We will each take a section and first remove the books, which do not belong. Then we will place those ‘lost’ books on the shelf where they should be alphabetically. Afterwards, we will clean and organize each shelf.”

  “We?” Mrs. Babcock said skeptically.

  “We,” Aidan asserted. He removed his jacket and handed it to Miss Purefoy. “I have never been one to object to a bit of dust upon my hands.” To Miss Purefoy, he said, “You, my Dear, are to design other improvements we might make in this room.” He retrieved paper and artist pencils so his sister could make sketches and notes, an activity he had observed her doing when the household carried out her instructions for the nursery. She was obviously a “list” person.

  Mrs. Babcock’s countenance spoke of the woman’s disdain. “This room has been a showcase for the past half century. The late viscount would be most displeased.”

  Aidan said incredulously, “You forget yourself, Madam. Arlen Kimbolt is no longer the master of this household. I am Viscount Lexford.”

  The housekeeper dropped her eyes in a subservient manner, but Aidan was not fooled by the action. “I apologize, my Lord.”

  “As this was my mother’s favorite room, it will be restored to its former glory and as my cousin sees fit.” He suggested judiciously, “Perhaps you should see to rearranging the duties of the others while we begin our work in here.”

  With a poorly disguised glare in Miss Purefoy’s direction, Mrs. Babcock made her curtsies.

  “Odd,” Aidan said under his breath.

  Miss Purefoy paused to collect her composure before leaning forward to speak privately. “Perhaps not so odd. Likely, you have not taken notice previously.”

  *

  Aidan had left the women to their cleaning, but Miss Purefoy’s words clung to him like a winter cloak. Had his distress upon being forced to return to Lexington Arms blinded him to the real goings on under his roof? Had he refused to take notice of what had become of his family’s title? Grudgingly, he waited for Mr. Payne to show in the scheduled candidate for a nurse for Aaron. He would have preferred to remain in the library with Miss Purefoy. The woman had made a game of finding various volumes, and the maids had scrambled to do her bidding. It was intoxicatingly lively wherever she was, and Aidan ached for what the lady brought to his household. Now, if he could simply resolve his growing desire for her, Aidan would find some peace at last.

  At a rap on the door, Aidan looked up as Payne escorted a freckled faced girl of possibly twenty years into the room. “My Lord, this is Miss Hanson. She is Mrs. Osborne’s niece, Sir.”

  Miss Purefoy had convinced Aidan to allow the girl an interview. Reportedly, his cook had pleaded with his sister to intervene in Miss Hanson’s behalf, and, as usual, Aidan had agreed with Miss Purefoy’s suggestion. He chuckled at his own domestication. “Thank you, Mr. Payne. Would you ask Miss Chadwick to bring in Master Aaron?”

  “Immediately, Sir.”

  Aidan rose and gestured to a nearby chair. “Please, Miss Hanson.” He waited for the girl to seat herself on the edge of the cushion before he continued. “I am to understand you are Mrs. Osborne’s niece.”

  “Yes, Sir. The late Mr. Osborne and my mother were brother and sister.” The girl’s lips trembled, but her voice was strong. At least, he had not intimidated the girl completely.

  “And what of your qualifications, Miss Hanson? How might I judge you as competent to tend my nephew?” Aidan sat across from her.

  The girl shot a quick glance about the room and sighed in admiration. “I…I have four younger brothers and sisters, and last year I served Mr. Shankler after his wife passed in child birth. The gentleman kept Mrs. Titus as the wet nurse when he decided to return to Edinburgh, but I held no desire to leave Cheshire, Sir.”

  A light tap announced the arrival of Miss Chadwick and the child. “Wunkle Waden,” the boy squealed as he scampered to meet Aidan’s open embrace. It still amazed Aidan how quickly the child had wormed his way into Aidan’s heart. He caught the boy’s shoulders and turned him to where Miss Hanson looked on. “This is Miss Hanson.” He balanced Aaron upon his knee. The boy’s eyes widened, but he did not shy away. “Miss Hanson has asked permission to escort you on a walk about the grounds.”

  “Wout side?” Aaron asked in anticipation.

  “Yes, the lady will escort you outside to play. You must mind her most loyally though.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Without further ado, Aidan handed off the child to the girl. “Miss Chadwick will show you the boy’s quarters. Be certain Master Aaron dresses for the elements.”

  His order obviously surprised the girl, but she caught Aaron’s hand, made her curtsy, and turned to follow Miss Chadwick. He liked the fact Miss Hanson understood his intentions: Aidan would judge her competency by observing her interactions with the child.

  He looked up to see Miss Purefoy framed by the open door. “I thought you were to send word when you had finished for the day,” he said a bit testily. He once again fought the warmth her appearance brought to his heart.

  As he had done, Miss Purefoy ignored the others in the room. “A woman may only remain a lady of leisure so long before she requires more challenging endeavors, my Lord.” Despite everyone looking on, Aidan smiled. He adored the familiar teasing tone Miss Purefoy had adopted with him.

  He extended his hand to her. “Then come join me, my Dear. Miss Hanson is escorting Aaron outside so they may learn more of each other.”


  Miss Purefoy bent to kiss the top of Aaron’s head. “Hello, my Darling,” she whispered. “You must be a good boy for Miss Hanson,” she instructed.

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “Then hurry along.” She watched the two women and the child depart before saying, “You, Sir, are quite ingenious.”

  Aidan chuckled. “You have come to recognize my manipulations.”

  He caught her hand and gently led her to a nearby chair. Aidan noted each gingerly step Miss Purefoy took; the lady was likely severely bruised. He would not mind kissing well each of those bruises. “You mean to know if Miss Hanson can truly contain Master Aaron’s enthusiasm for the outdoors.”

  Aidan seated himself across from her. One thing they had quickly learned about the child was Aaron possessed an enormous reservoir of energy, which needed thoughtful planning to control. “How Miss Hanson fares will prove her true credentials.”

  “Devious, thy name is Lord Lexford,” she teased.

  Aidan chuckled again. “I am pleased you approve. Now tell me how I may serve you. What more challenging endeavors have you set for yourself?”

  Miss Purefoy retrieved a book from where she had placed it on a side table. “Miss Chadwick has compiled this sample book over the past few years. In it, she has placed bits of cloth of many shades. The pages are bound only by ribbon,” she explained as she opened the handmade book upon her lap. “By doing so, a person may remove and compare the pages for complementary colors. See these two pages hold shades of red. These three hold blue, and so forth.”

  Aidan moved to where he might better view the samples. There were squares of cloth and paper and ribbon and even of wood and leaves. “Interesting,” he said as he turned yet another page.

  Miss Purefoy bit her bottom lip in hesitation. Aidan knew she still did not feel comfortable speaking for his household, but he had come to rely heavily upon her opinions. “I had thought we might seek cloth of this shade to replace the two worn chairs in the library.” She pointed to a sample of golden hues. “I do not think you would need more than those changes to bring life to the room. We might rearrange some of the pieces, but the furniture is sturdy and speaks of a masculine quality. The drapes and rugs are due a thorough cleaning, but those could wait until spring. With the beeswax shine, the room will sparkle.”

  Aidan took the book from her and turned several more pages, flipping back and forth between two samples. “I agree,” he said distractedly. “This one is beautiful, but it is too dark. It would act in opposition to the drapes. You have a good eye for color, my Dear.” He returned the book to her lap. “Tell me what you would choose for my imprint upon Lexington Arms.”

  Miss Purefoy blushed. “I have had no occasion to have viewed your chambers, my Lord,” she said softly.

  Occasionally, Aidan had to remind himself they had been together for but a month. Miss Purefoy filled the empty spaces he had known forever. “Of course, I will show you my quarters, but perhaps for the time being, I might give you a hint by choosing from Miss Chadwick’s samples.” He turned the pages carefully so as not to dislodge the samples from the wax, which held them. “Here.” Aidan pointed to a deep purple swatch of cloth.

  Miss Purefoy did a poor job of hiding her disapproval. “Oh, no, my Lord. That will never do. You are an earth color,” she declared.

  “An earth color?” Aidan’s lips turned up in amusement.

  “You must wear and use the rich shades of the land,” she asserted. “Blacks and browns and greens.”

  It was odd: Those were the colors he would have associated with her. The earth and the blues and grays of the sky.

  “Why would anyone assume you would choose the color of royalty? You have no false airs, and if ever there was a man who saw the goodness in all, it would be you, my Lord,” she said earnestly. The woman never hid her feelings. No artifice existed in her speech, except, of course, the possibility of their familial connection. The lady’s praise was a balm to his bruised soul.

  “The purple tones were my father’s choice,” Aidan admitted. “I had never thought to change them.”

  Miss Purefoy caught his hand. “It is not kind of me to speak poorly of a man I have never met, but you are not of the same ilk as the late viscount. In fact, I doubt there is another quite like you.”

  Chapter 10

  “Damn! The woman knows exactly how to enflame my dreams,” Aidan growled as he undressed for bed. Hours had passed since Miss Purefoy’s innocent pronouncement, but the lady’s words still haunted him. He glanced about his chambers. As was customary, Aidan had moved into his father’s suite of rooms after Arlen Kimbolt’s death. At the time, he had seen the move as symbolic of his transition into the title. As the younger son, Aidan had thought it important for appearances to assume his father’s position, but now he wondered if he had erred. He looked upon the drapes of plum and the bed linens of a similar shade and regretted the decision. “Certainly not of my taste,” he said as he tossed his shirt upon the back of a chair.

  “What is not to your taste, my Lord?” his valet asked from the dressing room door.

  Aidan often forgot about Mr. Poley’s presence. When he had departed for the war, he had left behind Mr. Stewart, the elderly valet, who had served him throughout his youth and university years. The late viscount had pensioned off the man. After he and the others had rescued Mr. Hill, Lucifer often served the role of valet, but it was as much a part of the ruse the group had practiced, as it was a subservient position for Hill. In reality, Aidan looked on Hill as one of his most trusted friends.

  When he had returned to secure the Kimbolt line by marrying his brother’s widow, Aidan had never considered the idea he would one day inherit his father’s title, the late viscount’s chambers, and Viscount Lexford’s valet. Aidan had simply accepted all three as part of his responsibility to the estate. “I have been considering of late redecorating these quarters. I have asked Miss Purefoy for suggestions.”

  Mr. Poley looked up from where he folded Aidan’s freshly laundered clothes and frowned. “Do you think that decision a prudent one, my Lord?”

  Aidan’s eyebrow rose in curiosity: Mr. Poley rarely expressed an opinion; that is until of late, Poley had kept his silence. Yet, since his sister’s arrival both his valet and his housekeeper had become more vocal. “Do you disapprove of my changing the décor of my private quarters or is it Miss Purefoy to which you direct your dissatisfaction?”

  Mr. Poley froze, and a multitude of emotions crossed the valet’s countenance. “I…I apologize, my Lord. It is…it is none of my…of my concern how you conduct your viscountcy.”

  Aidan bit back his curse. He realized several of his father’s servants, especially Mrs. Babcock, had disapproved of his treating Miss Purefoy as family. Others disagreed with his placing Mr. Hill in a position of oversight; yet, none of the others understood him the way Lucifer and the lady did. His growing dependence on Miss Purefoy’s opinions and his continued reliance on Hill’s should worry him, but Aidan felt secure in the knowledge that both spoke honestly of his past and his future. “Then I will keep my own counsel,” he said aristocratically. “You may be excused for the evening.”

  “Of course, my Lord.”

  Mr. Poley gathered Aidan’s soiled clothing, bowed, and turned toward the dressing room, but Aidan’s ire continued to simmer. He stopped the man’s exit. “Mr. Poley, I will be most displeased if I discover my decision to shed my father’s feathers has become part of the servants’ gossip line. I hope I make myself clear in this matter.”

  “Perfectly, clear, my Lord.”

  *

  “Mama!” The child’s voice rose in alarm. Mercy pulled the blanket tighter about her. She certainly did not want to relinquish the bed’s warmth to stumble through the darkness to comfort the boy. She had done so every night since Mr. Rhodes had deposited the child in Lord Lexford’s care. Mercy adored Master Aaron, but it would be wonderful if the boy would discover a means of calming himself. Just this one e
vening, she would love to return to her dreams of the viscount’s endearing smile.

  “No, Mama!”

  The child’s alarm brought Mercy fully awake. Tossing the linens to the side, she bolted up from the bed. Scanning the room for where the sound of shuffling feet came, Mercy’s eyes noted a brief flash of light as the dressing room door closed quickly. “Aaron! Aaron, where are you?”

  “Mar!” the boy called. It was the child’s attempt to say “Mary.” Aaron had only done so for the past few days, and the boy’s familiarity with her had warmed Mercy’s heart.

  Mercy’s head snapped to the right. “Stop!” she ordered, but whoever it was who had the boy was running. “Stop! Stop! Stop this instant!” Without considering the consequences, Mercy was running too. She flung open the exterior door in time to see the culprit hurrying toward the burned out rooms. She could not understand why the wall sconces had gone out, but the passage was draped in darkness. “Stop!” she screamed to the retreating form.

  Immediately, she was on the move. Aaron was crying loudly, but the figure paid the boy no attention. In his retreat, the interloper overturned small tables to block her way. The noise of the breaking glass and wood only added to the chaos. Deftly jumping over the scattered debris, Mercy ignored the ploy; yet, despite her daring, she was too late. The figure disappeared into the open darkness, and the door to the ruined section slammed shut just as she reached it. As she caught the latch to follow, a bolt on the other side slid into place. “No!” she pleaded as she pounded her small fists against the wood. “No!”

  *

  The constant tapping ripped Aidan from a sound sleep. “My Lord!” a servant called. “Please, my Lord!”

  Aidan stumbled from his bed to yank the door open. “What is it?” he growled.

  A young footman in a wrinkled shirt looked about anxiously. “Mr. Payne reports screams coming from the west wing, Sir.”