“Do you suppose Lord Lexford would object to my laying claim to several pieces? I would use them as style examples from the past.” Miss Chadwick folded the items to be sent to the church for the poor.
Mercy said graciously, “I am certain His Lordship would consider a donation an honor, Serena.” Their relationship had progressed nicely, and although Mercy did not have much in common with Miss Chadwick, she appreciated the girl’s loyalty and the way the shopkeeper’s daughter took on each challenge with equal enthusiasm. Miss Chadwick would prove a worthy competitor for future business opponents.
“I shall take these below so Mrs. Babcock may see to their being prepared for Mrs. Roberts’s committee.”
“I have but one more drawer to empty. I shall meet you in my quarters after you dress for supper.” Mercy folded a silken undergarment. Her fingers traced the delicate lines and soft detailing. Neither she nor Grace could have afforded such luxury. Even when her father was alive, they had not known expensive pieces of clothing. Baron Thomas Nelson was a very practical man. Mercy may favor her mother in appearance, but she was definitely her father’s daughter in personality. With resignation, she continued her task.
Arms full of day dresses and outerwear, Miss Chadwick paused at the door. “Might we spend time with the harp before the evening meal?” Mercy had shown Miss Chadwick the basics of the instrument, and the girl had mastered the delicate, but commanding, touch required in record pace. Mercy thought it all part of Miss Chadwick’s disposition. Serena possessed the heart and soul of an artist.
Mercy nodded her agreement. “I shall speed my task.”
When Miss Chadwick departed, Mercy took a private moment to examine the room. It possessed an alcove with a window seat, which overlooked the rose garden. During the summer, the scent of roses would fill the room. A deep sigh escaped her lips. “Not for you,” she said sadly before turning to the remaining drawer.
When Mercy finished a few minutes later, she physically made one last turn about the room. It was important to remove all the items. First, she would not have any of the former Lady Lexford’s beautiful pieces soiled by the workmen. It would destroy His Lordship to observe his mother’s belongings being treated with anything but the up most reverence. Secondly, she felt a special allegiance to this room. It was where Aidan Kimbolt had known happiness. From the items to be kept, she would ask Lord Lexford to choose one or two, which held special memories. Mercy would find a means to display them as part of the room’s décor.
“Nothing remaining in the drawers,” she said to the empty room as she closed the last one in the chest. Her eyes scanned the room. “Such a lovely suite. What could have kept Lady Susan from this room? Even empty, it is the most welcoming place in the manor.” Taking note of the desk, which Serena had emptied, Mercy thought to have a final look before she returned to her quarters to dress for supper.
Crossing to the small escritoire, Mercy purposely opened and closed each compartment. When she closed the bottom drawer, a thud had her searching again. Nothing appeared within, but she knelt before the opening. “And what have we here?” she asked as she extracted a leather bound volume from the space. The book had been hidden in a wooden sleeve attached to the bottom of the drawer above. Taking it to the window seat, Mercy thumbed through the pages. “Lady Cassandra’s journal,” she murmured in serious contemplation. “Should I share this with Lord Lexford?” She read a short passage, which spoke of a disagreement Lady Cassandra had had with the late viscount. “Perhaps I should peruse the passages before I share them. If there is anything within which would negatively color His Lordship’s memories of his mother, then it is best if this volume stays hidden. The man has experienced enough pain, and only the fond memories of his mother remains as part of his dream of a future.” Mercy tucked the journal between several sheets of paper before slipping from the room. In the hall, she glanced toward where His Lordship’s voice could be heard in conversation with Mr. Hill. To the passage’s stillness, Mercy vowed, “I mean to protect you, Aidan.”
*
Unable to avoid the temptation Lady Cassandra’s journal offered, Mercy had excused herself early to return to her quarters. When His Lordship had announced his intentions to accept Squire Holton’s invitation to play cards, Mercy had seized the opportunity to feign a headache.
Excusing the maid, Lord Lexford had insisted she allow, Mercy had quickly undressed and crawled into bed. She carefully opened the book to the first page.
“Lady Cassandra’s sixteenth birthday,” Mercy said wistfully. Geoffrey’s drunken friends had marred her sixteenth birthday. They had pounded upon her chamber door, offering vile suggestions. The next morning, the staff had informed her that the first of the silver plates from her grandmother’s service had gone missing. Geoffrey’s response to the discovery had been to discharge the housekeeper.
Mercy read the entry with interest. Lady Cassandra Morrison had been the daughter of the Earl of Hartwood, and her sixteenth birthday was the first night of the girl’s acquaintance with Lord Arlen Kimbolt. Seven years her senior, the former Viscount Lexford had just come into his title shortly before he had presented himself to Lady Cassandra as a potential suitor. Needless to say, Lady Cassandra had been thrilled by the viscount’s attentions.
Trying to imagine the exuberance of a young girl straight from the schoolroom, Mercy fingers gently traced the words on the page. If Andrew had greatly favored his father, Mercy knew something of the young viscount who set his sights on the daughter of an earl. She had seen renderings of Lady Cassandra in her late twenties, but the emptiness found in the lady’s eyes in the drawings did not match either His Lordship’s memories or the words of happiness found on the journal’s page. Mercy wondered what had happened to bring about the change.
Encouraged by Lady Cassandra’s spirit, Mercy continued reading of the early days of Kimbolt’s courtship. Evidently, Lady Cassandra had reserved this particular journal to record her interactions with Viscount Lexford, and Mercy imagined how the earl’s daughter had hidden it away from family and servants. It was full of young girl thoughts of marriage and duty to husband.
Apparently, Arlen Kimbolt had been singular in his pursuit. He had presented Lady Cassandra with flowers and small trinkets, which the girl had faithfully kept as proof of the viscount’s affection. When she had her Come Out, Kimbolt had followed her to London to make his intentions known before all of the haut ton.
Mercy thought the viscount’s actions a bit peculiar. Most men waited until the age of thirty to marry, but the previous Lord Lexford had made his choice in his early twenties. Perhaps it was because he had come into his title so early on, only two years after reaching his majority.
There were months during their long engagement in which Lady Cassandra did not see Viscount Lexford, but from her words, she appeared quite content with the idea of marrying Arlen Kimbolt. At the end of her second Season, the lady wrote, “Arlen has officially spoken to Papa, and I expect him to make his addresses to me tomorrow. Papa had wished for me to be more than a viscountess, but I am content. I hold the viscount with tender regard, and I expect to find happiness in Cheshire. Mama says a late summer wedding would provide the family time to arrive in Yorkshire.”
Despite her best efforts, Mercy sighed with contentment. Lady Cassandra’s words spoke of the dream of every woman of finding fulfillment in marriage. Mercy could not help but wonder if she would ever know a husband and a family. As often as she told herself she would not wish for more than what she had found at Lexington Arms, she could never quite abandon her own schoolgirl dreams, ones very much like those of Lady Cassandra Morrison.
Mercy turned the page in anticipation of reading more of the woman’s bliss. Instead, these words greeted her: “I am a fool. I had thought Arlen affected me, but I have quickly come to discover my husband knows nothing of respect and regard. He only thinks of himself.
“He has brought me to this house, a place greatly in need of repair and of the generosit
y of my dowry, and he has left me to manage a reluctant staff while he tends to his mistress. After our wedding night, Arlen spoke harshly to me of how poorly prepared I was to please a man of his tastes. What did he expect? An earl’s daughter is not a common tart. What shall I do? I cannot return to York. As my husband has so kindly informed me, I am his property, and he can do with me as he chooses. I must learn to call Lexington Arms my home, but I shall never love one thing within its walls.”
Tears streamed down Mercy’s cheeks. “Perhaps the simple life I have under the current Lord Lexford’s roof is for the best.” Yet, she knew it could not always be the way it was now. Some day Lord Lexford would choose a wife, and another woman would not tolerate the position Mercy currently garnered in Aidan Kimbolt’s life. “I must leave soon,” she decided. “When the weather turns toward spring, I must return to the road. I am already too attached to the viscount.”
After reading several more of Viscountess Lexford’s passages, Mercy thought to burn Lady Cassandra’s testimony to a life of despair. She certainly could never permit Lord Lexford to read of his mother’s misery. It was painfully plain Aidan Kimbolt had adored Lady Cassandra’s role in his life. It would tear at the man’s heart to realize how poorly his father had treated the viscountess.
Sadly, even as her heart told her no good would come of reading more of Lady Cassandra’s wretchedness, a part of Mercy felt compelled to learn details of the viscountess’s story. Obviously, the lady had found a means to survive in a loveless marriage, and from Lord Lexford’s accounts, his mother had discovered love beneath Lexington Arms’ roof: Lady Cassandra had borne the late viscount three healthy children. “Surely, they resolved their differences.”
*
She had cried herself to sleep long after she had closed the pages of Lady Cassandra’s diary. Mercy had cried for a woman she had never met, but one she had come to admire over the hours after midnight. She had also cried for a weak man who had destroyed what could have been a most satisfying love. And, finally, Mercy had cried for Aidan Kimbolt for she knew what the diary held would crush His Lordship’s hopes for a happy marriage.
A light tap on the door drew her attention from the dresser where she had sat, ineptly placing her hair in a loose twist. “Come,” she called lacklusterly.
The door opened to reveal the man over whom she had spent her sleepless hours. “Miss Chadwick informs me you are still out of sorts this morning,” Lord Lexford said with true concern. “Should I send for Mr. Jamison?”
Mercy shot a quick glance to where she had hidden Lady Cassandra’s diary. “Thank you, my Lord. I suspect a full night’s sleep will cure what ails me.” A profound sadness crept into her heart.
He stepped farther into the room. “I will not have you work yourself into a sick bed. I insist you leave the oversight of my mother’s quarters to Miss Chadwick and Mr. Hill.” He came to stand behind her, and Mercy watched him through the mirror’s reflection. Aidan Kimbolt was an exceptionally kind man, and the woman who eventually won his heart would be fortunate indeed. The thought made Mercy all more aware of her responsibility in assisting the viscount to keep his heart in tact. Learning his mother’s secrets would likely wound him forever.
Resting his hands upon her shoulders, the viscount said, “While Miss Chadwick and Hill see to their duties, I plan to assume charge of your care. I will have your maid bring you a light breakfast, and I will ask Mrs. Osborne to prepare a draught to assist you to rest properly.” His Lordship lifted her to her feet, and Mercy readily accepted the comfort of the viscount’s embrace. “I must put aside my selfish need to have you at my table,” he whispered close to Mercy’s ear. “To permit you time to heal properly.” Lord Lexford caressed her cheek, and Mercy fought the tears pricking her eyes.
The viscount studied her countenance carefully, and Mercy realized her expression spoke the words she had purposely stifled. “Is there something other than a headache, which troubles you? I have never witnessed you so distraught. Has someone treated you unkindly?”
Despite her best efforts, the tears escaped. “Everyone at Lexington Arms has treated me well, my Lord. I have found family here,” she said through trembling lips.
“You are family.” He brushed loose curls from Mercy’s cheeks. “This house knows life because of you.”
Sorrow tugged at Mercy’s heart. She must never speak the truth of what she had discovered to this man. “You are the best Lexford this estate has ever seen.” Far superior to your father, Mercy thought. “Promise me you shall mark my praise as your personal motto, my Lord.” She peered deep into his expressive eyes.
Confusion crossed the viscount’s countenance, but he said, “I would promise you anything, Mary Purefoy.”
“Then heed my words: You must not permit anyone to prevent your happiness. You are the finest man I have ever known, and I would see you fulfilled.”
Their eyes met and held. His Lordship leaned forward slowly as if to kiss her. Mercy’s breath shallowed, but she stepped from his embrace. She could not permit herself to become more attached to this man. She pretended to return to her ablutions.
The viscount cleared his throat. “I am to meet with a gentleman regarding Master Aaron’s future, but I will not be long from the estate. If you require anything beyond your maid’s duties, please send for Mr. Hill.”
Mercy returned to her dressing table. “I shall rest, my Lord. Thank you for your concern.”
He bent to kiss the top of Mercy’s head, and she wished desperately to lift her chin and accept the viscount’s tenderness. “As you wish, my Dear.” With that, he left her alone, and Mercy grieved for what might have been.
*
He had thought to kiss her. Aidan frowned in displeasure before giving himself a good mental shake. It had all seemed so natural: He had held her in his arms, and Miss Purefoy had spoken of wishing his future happy. His mind and his body had agreed for a change; they both thought Mary Purefoy would be the remedy for the desolation, which had plagued him for years. Thankfully, the lady had recognized the folly of Aidan’s actions and had moved away before he could pull her deeper into his embrace. Before he could act upon his complete desire for her.
“An absolute fool,” he chastised as he reined in the horse before the solicitor’s home. “You have lost your previous good sense.” Mr. Taylor had agreed to locate a man of the law who could protect Aidan’s rights with his nephew. He also wished more information on what illness consumed Susan’s mother. From the servants’ gossip line, Aidan had discovered several examples of peculiar behavior since Susan’s passing. Earlier he had confided in Hill, “If necessary, I will use Sophia Rhodes’s illness to keep Susan’s parents at arm’s length. I will not permit my wife’s parents to ruin their grandson’s life in the manner in which they had destroyed the child’s mother. Despite my initial qualms, Aaron is a Kimbolt.”
Chapter 12
“You wished to speak to me?” Mr. Hill asked. He had arrived within moments of Mercy’s sending for him. She suspected he had anticipated her message. After Lord Lexford’s departure, Mercy had taken her tea in her sitting room before sending for the viscount’s man.
“Please come in, Mr. Hill. I have something of import of which I require your discretion.”
A raised eyebrow and a twitch of his lips said she had piqued his interest. “Should I close the door?” He tilted his head to one side, studying her.
“By all means.” It was her turn to study him. Mercy gestured to a nearby chair. When he had settled, she took a deep steadying breath before beginning. In the hours following her reading of the diary, Mercy had decided to seek Mr. Hill’s advice on how best to be rid of the former viscountess’s words. “In our renovations of the Lady Cassandra’s suite, I have stumbled upon the viscountess’s personal diary.”
Hill sat forward. He eyed her squarely. “I assume you did not share Lady Cassandra’s writings with Lord Lexford?”
A completely outlandish flush of color rested upon Merc
y’s cheeks. “I made the decision to read the viscountess’s diary before I turned it over to His Lordship. Viscount Lexford has suffered from his memory loss, and I feared something within might affect Lord Lexford’s recovery.”
Hill rested his forearms on his thighs. “And why would you think anything within his mother’s diary would damage Lord Lexford’s state of mind?”
Wondering how much to disclose, Mercy bit her bottom lip in hesitation. “His Lordship has shared several idyllic scenes from his childhood. Lord Lexford’s memories are so fragile I feared exposing the viscount to shadows from his past. No marriage is perfect, and I was certain after perusing a few of the passages that some of the information within could cloud the viscount’s understanding of what happened behind closed doors.”
“Has Lord Lexford said anything to lead you to believe things were not what he purports them to be?” Hill asked in concern.
Mercy shook her head in the negative. She wondered why she had ever agreed to betray such a handsomely disturbing gentleman. Lord Lexford had placed her already chaotic world in more turmoil; yet, Mercy would never regret her time with the man. “Call it female intuition. The current Lord Lexford does not hide his emotions well. If His Lordship was aware of what I have discovered, the news would torment him.”
Mr. Hill kept his expression purposely bland. “For a man trained in complicated charades by the best in the British government, when it comes to his own affairs, Lord Lexford wears his thoughts upon his sleeve.”
Mercy wondered if Mr. Hill could see what was happening between her and the viscount, or rather what she hoped deep in her heart was happening. “I meant only to read a few of the entries–to determine whether to share the book with His Lordship,” she explained.
Mr. Hill stated the obvious, “But you read more than a few.”
Mercy closed her eyes and heaved a heavy sigh. “The whole book,” she confessed.
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