Realm 05 - A Touch of Mercy

by Regina Jeffers

  Hill scowled. “Is what you discovered within so dire as to have you pretend a sickness you do not possess? Lord Lexford sincerely worries on your behalf.”

  Tears formed in Mercy’s eyes. She hated herself for yet another deception directed toward the viscount. “The entries are truly dreadful,” she said vehemently. Mercy retrieved the book from where she had hidden it among the pillows. “You must read some of the entries for yourself to determine if I speak the truth.” She placed the book in Mr. Hill’s outstretched hands. “I have marked the most important ones. The early entries speak of the late viscount’s lengthy courtship of the former Lady Cassandra Morrison.”

  Mercy moved to stand over him. Mr. Hill opened the book to the entry, which had first set her tears flowing. “Read this one first.” She pointed to a passage and stepped away.

  When he had finished, Hill said, “It is not uncommon among the aristocracy for a man’s mistress to know more of the gentleman than does his wife. The current Lord Lexford would not approve of his father’s actions, but this information would not be devastating. After all, His Lordship believes your birth resulted from such a relationship.”

  Mercy paced the small space from the door to the settee. “Keep reading, Mr. Hill,” she insisted.

  Hill flipped to the next page Mercy had marked with strips of foolscap torn into small squares. As he read, Mercy’s pace increased. She wrung her hands in anxiety. Finally, she sat awkwardly on the edge of the settee and carefully examined Mr. Hill’s countenance as the man skimmed one entry after another. His expression spoke of the horror Mercy had known the previous evening.

  “That bastard,” Mr. Hill growled, and Mercy made no effort to chastise him. His words spoke to the indignation she had experienced on the viscount’s behalf. “Of all the twisted schemes,” he said incredulously.

  “Do you now understand why we must never share these passages with Lord Lexford?” Mercy asked anxiously.

  Mr. Hill frowned deeply. “Lord Lexford has a right to know what happened.”

  Mercy pressed, “How shall such knowledge alter the viscount’s life for the good? There is nothing but more pain within these pages.”

  Mr. Hill flipped through the book. “Where do the entries end?”

  “Shortly after Lady Aylene became ill. Lady Cassandra does not write daily. It is as if the viscountess saved this book to record her greatest happiness and her deepest despair.” Mercy leaned into the cushions. “I ask your assistance in ridding this house of Lady Cassandra’s diary.”

  Hill’s lips thinned into a tight line. “I am not certain we have the right to make that decision.”

  “Yet, we must,” Mercy insisted. “I shall not permit Lord Lexford to know additional pain.”

  *

  Although Mr. Hill had promised he would see to disposing of Lady Cassandra’s diary, Mercy still spent countless nights lying awake considering Lord Lexford’s reaction if he discovered the truth. She looked upon certain members of the household with dismay. Her knowledge of the perfidy practiced by the late viscount’s most trusted members of his staff troubled her. The only peace she knew during those troubling weeks was the look of contentment upon His Lordship’s countenance. Lord Lexford had taken well to the changes she had made in his home, and that particular fact gave Mercy some solace.

  “The family wing possesses an air of freshness,” Lord Lexford said as he seated her for supper. “I am most pleased.”

  “Are you truly, my Lord?” Mercy had thought the changes perfect. Each room had known fresh paint and new fixtures. She had kept the maids busy with sewing new draperies and coverings for the chairs. Assuming she was still at Lexington Arms in the spring, she would set the staff to beating the Persian rugs.

  The viscount smiled easily at her. “I am so pleased, I mean to host a small house party to permit my friends to observe my good fortune at having a talented sister. Plus, such a party will provide Miss Chadwick an introduction to Society families who will sing her praises. It is what we promised the lady in payment for her companionship and her expertise with both the boy and with the renovations.”

  Mercy’s heart plummeted. “When…when would you place the date, my Lord?” She would leave before his friends arrived. It was one thing to foist a deception upon the viscount, but quite another to do so upon Lord Lexford’s dearest friends. She would not embarrass him by appearing at his side and pretending a familial relationship. Mercy would not play him a fool before those he counted as his intimates. Despite her qualms over the role she had played in Mr. Hill’s ruse, Mercy had grown to think of herself as an essential part of His Lordship’s recovery. For what she had accepted from Lord Lexford, Mercy had repaid in her devotion to his household.

  “How long will it take to finish the guest rooms?” he asked casually.

  Mercy swallowed her sorrow. She would name the date of her self-imposed expulsion from Lord Lexford’s life. “I cannot imagine the task could be accomplished…could be accomplished in less than six weeks,” she said in true distress.

  His Lordship appeared deep in thought and did not notice her misery. “Six weeks. Then the first week of April. A pleasant time to travel.”

  Mercy forced herself to ask, “How many guests would you ask to Lexington Arms?” She thought, Please make it a large number. I cannot bear the thought of leaving you. The more rooms to finish the longer Mercy could delay her departure.

  “I had originally thought of only sharing the changes in the house with those I served on the Continent, but I hold no objection in your adding names to the guest list.”

  Mercy’s heart raced. “Oh, no, my Lord. I have no one beyond these walls.”

  His Lordship’s frown lines met. “We should take in part of the Season. You should develop your own acquaintances.”

  Lord Lexford’s kindness brought tears to her eyes. He meant to treat her as his family. “When the spring comes, you should enjoy Society, my Lord, but as for me, I am content to remain behind with Master Aaron.” Before he could insist she accompany him to London, Mercy redirected the conversation. “Tell me who to expect.”

  His Lordship’s smile widened. “Lord and Lady Worthing. Her Ladyship should be free to travel by April. I have heard from the viscount, and they have welcomed their daughter Amelia to Linton Park.”

  “The nursery will have another resident. Aaron will be excited,” Mercy observed.

  “I had not considered the nursery as part of the house’s renovation, but it the first room which knew your touch, is it not?” Lord Lexford said with good-natured enthusiasm. “I have never hosted a party where children must be accounted for.” His Lordship’s smile grew. “I believe I like the idea.” He sipped his wine. “I will be pleased to share the changes more suited for a child with the Kerringtons. They will hold a real appreciation of what you and Miss Chadwick have accomplished.”

  “Who else, my Lord?” Mercy made mental notes of how many rooms and something of each guest. She would see His Lordship’s house immaculate. The task would be her personal “farewell” to the man.

  “I am uncertain of the Duke and Duchess of Thornhill. The Duchess should be six or seven months with child by then.” He ticked off the others on his fingers. “The Earl and Countess of Berwick, Baron Swenton, and Sir Carter Lowery. I suppose I should also consider Sir Carter’s brother Lord Hellsman and his new bride.”

  Mercy would love to have the acquaintance of the people who meant so much to him, but she was certain the Countess of Berwick would recognize her and spoil Mercy’s pretense. “With the opportunity to see his lady love again, Mr. Hill should be beside himself with anticipation,” she said softly. “But what of the marquis?”

  Lord Lexford frowned. “Of course, I will extend an invitation to Lord Godown, but the last message from Viscount Worthing confirmed what we all expected: The marquis’s rushed wedding to a woman he suspected of practicing a deception has proven the lady’s true colors. Lord Godown has banished his bride to one of his minor esta
tes.”

  “Is there no room for a reconciliation?” Mercy asked in concern. Men of Lord Lexford’s ilk, evidently, were unforgiving. She did not understand how any man could drive his wife from his home. Surely, the marquis did not know the full circumstances. Despite what many men believed, artifice was not a ploy most women practice.

  Lord Lexford said disdainfully, “The marquis has known several attacks of late, and all evidence has pointed to Lady Godown’s involvement.” Mercy had never heard the viscount speak with such bitterness. Had his own miserable marriage clouded Lord Lexford’s view of how best to embrace the difficulties of marriage? Mercy had witnessed her parents’ sometimes-loud rows, but she was certain Thomas and Louisa Nelson adored each other.

  “Then why did Lord Godown marry the woman if he suspected her of deviousness?”

  His Lordship’s mouth thinned to a wry smile. “The marquis had thought to hide his heart, but Lord Godown actually affects his wife. We can never know when love will present itself. Unfortunately, love can often cripple a man.”

  Mercy’s heart clenched tightly in her chest. She held silly schoolgirl dreams of Lord Lexford’s forgiving her deception, and even perhaps falling a bit in love with her; but his words of finding love did not match his dreams of family contentment. Which did he truly believe? If given the opportunity, she would remain by His Lordship’s side forever. “I shall add the marquis and Lady Godown to my prayers. Perhaps God shall find a means to their happiness.”

  *

  It had happened when he had been least prepared to act. Weeks had passed since his last sighting of Susan’s “ghost,” so long, in fact, Aidan had begun to believe the apparition had been but a fragment of the fear he had experienced upon his return to Lexington Arms. If not for the shot, which had wounded Miss Purefoy and the attempted kidnapping of his nephew, Aidan would have pronounced the ghostly visions a remnant of his recent injury: His mind playing tricks upon his conscious thoughts.

  For the second time in a month, he had spent a pleasant evening playing cards at Squire Holton’s modest home, but he was well aware of the lateness of the hour. Since the war’s end, the number of poor who had taken to the road as amateur highwaymen had increased significantly, and Aidan remained on alert.

  He was on his own property, but still some distance from the main house when he heard a snap of a twig off to his right. Instantly, Aidan’s senses intensified. He slowed the horse to a halt and gently patted Valí’s neck to keep him calm. Aidan’s eyes searched the darkness for any movement.

  Then he saw it: A flip of white moving swiftly away. For a brief second, he thought it might be a deer, but the figure caught in hesitation in a shaft of moonlight. It was definitely a female in a dark gown and cloak. The white had perhaps been a petticoat.

  Aidan slid off the horse to give pursuit. The woods were too thick to follow on the stallion, especially in the dark. Retrieving a gun from an inside holster, he trailed the woman further into the woodlands.

  Crouching low, he used the filtered moonlight to search for any signs of which way the figure had gone. Finally, he came across a distinct boot print in the soft earth. Whoever he followed had turned toward the stream, which fed the River Goyt. It was the same stream by which Miss Purefoy had been recently injured, and that particular fact kept him cautious. If his quarry was not a female, he might think poachers had plagued his property in his absence. Aidan increased his pace. His years with the Realm had taught him to track his enemy in the worst of conditions.

  Unfortunately, his training had given him a false sense of superiority. Like many men, Aidan considered females the weaker sex. Therefore, he had not expected the assault when it came.

  He had followed the few markings to an outcropping. A slight incline rose to a rocky ledge. Cautiously, he climbed the hillside, taking time to place each of his steps so as not to dislodge the stones and signal his approach. If he were fortunate, Aidan would corner the intruder upon the upper point with no means of escape.

  Silently, he crept over the rocky edge to stand upon the flat surface. He scanned the area: Nothing. He had somehow underestimated his opponent. He had made an uncharacteristic error. The footprints had led him to this particular spot. He would stake his reputation as one of His Majesty’s agents on his ability to trail any unknown intruder. Yet, despite his confidence, Aidan frowned when he stared hard into the empty space. “Damn,” he growled under his breath. This had not been a wise choice, a voice in his head advised.

  In frustration, Aidan briskly searched the confined area. He knelt on all fours and leaned over the flat surface to observe the area beneath the outcropping. There was no way down on the other side for the ledge dropped off to the water below. Nothing moved. He stood to walk carefully about the ledge, instinctively looking for any clue to the mystery, which had trailed him to Cheshire.

  Shadows stretched across the valley, which formed his pastureland, Aidan felt the frustration wan, and his fear rose quickly in his chest. The air was pungent with the scent of dread. Silence drifted upon a heavy breeze. He jammed his fingers into his disheveled hair. Attempting to settle his breathing, he closed his eyes to calm the tension knotting his shoulders. He turned his head to listen to the sound of the falling water. Somewhere below him, the thin line of dampness worked its way toward the stream. The rain from earlier in the day had given the water more force, creating a small waterfall.

  Opening his eyes, he replaced the gun in its hidden pouch, but before Aidan could return to his horse, he found himself struggling to keep his balance. Every pore in his body spoke of awareness, but the warning had come too late. His boots could find no purchase on the broken rock face. Someone had struck him from behind. Not like before with Lachlan Charters. Not enough to injure him, but hard enough to send him tumbling head first toward the water below.

  He kicked out in hopes of finding a deeper point in the water. Luckily, the ascent had not been high, but neither was the stream known for its depth. Aidan was facing another serious injury or even death if he did not time his descent perfectly. He barely had time to make the necessary adjustments. Thankfully, his previous injury had not dulled his instincts, nor had it colored the childhood memory of jumping from the rock face on a summer day.

  The water was a cold knife cutting through his senses, and Aidan’s reflexes curled his body into a tight ball before he struck the rocky bottom. Intuitively, he kicked against the rough underbelly to propel himself to the surface. Unfortunately, the tight cut of his jacket and the weight of his boots worked against Aidan’s success, but he managed to break the water’s surface and gulp in the chilly night air.

  He treaded awkwardly as his boots filled with water. Aidan turned his body to the side and attempted a life-saving stroke. Reaching the shore was tantamount. Otherwise, the frigid water would rob him of his life’s breath.

  In a little over a minute, Aidan crawled along the shallow bank. With a significant effort, he pulled his weight to drier land. Finally, he collapsed upon the grassy bank. Gulping for air, he rolled to his side.

  It was cold, and he was soaked through; and Aidan knew he could not rest long, but he made no effort to recover further. He simply turned upon his back to stare up at the stars, the same ones he had looked upon in Persia and had said his prayers for direction in his life. “Why have you brought me here?” he asked the stillness. Through trembling lips, he confessed, “I do not understand what it is you expect of me.”

  Turning his head to the right, Aidan’s eyes returned to the outcropping. His wife looked down upon him. Aidan could not see her countenance because her hood cloaked it in shadow, but, nevertheless, he knew it was she. “If you are alive,” he shouted as he shoved himself to his elbows, “I expect you to return to Lexington Arms. To me and to your son.” He sat upright, but Aidan’s eyes remained on the stationary figure staring out over the water below.

  Susan did not speak, but a shake of her head in the negative denied his demand. She turned toward the back of the
rocky ledge; yet, before she disappeared into the darkness, Aidan heard her say, “Your home offers nothing but misery.”

  *

  “You sent for me?” Mr. Hill appeared at the library door.

  Whenever the viscount spent time away from the manor, Mercy had developed the habit of waiting in the library for Lord Lexford’s return. Then she would quickly scurry through the servants’ entrance to hide in her quarters as if she had not known of his absence. It was a foolish act, but she could not seem to control her desire to know of the man’s safety. “Yes,” she wrung her hands as she paced the open area before the hearth. She would expose her vulnerability by permitting Mr. Hill to know of her obsession. “I apologize for drawing you from your quarters, Mr. Hill.”

  The man smiled wryly. “How may I be of service, Miss Purefoy?”

  Mercy hesitated but an elongated second. What did her silly pride matter if there was a chance Lord Lexford had come to harm? Besides, she had long ago abandoned any artifice in her dealings with Mr. Hill. “His Lordship has not returned from the squire’s card game.” She shot a quick glance at the mantel clock. “It is more than an hour past the time Mrs. Holton would permit the squire his entertainment.”

  “And what do you wish of me? Lord Lexford has no need of a nurse maid,” he said without judgment.

  Mercy ceased her pacing. “I have no idea what should be done nor even if I dare express my alarm. Speak sense to me, Mr. Hill.”

  Hill entered the room and gestured to two chairs before the fire. “Perhaps we should converse privately.”

  Mercy shot a glance toward the darkness beyond the window. In frustration, she joined Mr. Hill. “I have no right to worry over Lord Lexford’s safety,” she confessed.

  “But you do so, nevertheless,” Hill said evenly.

  Mercy bit her bottom lip in indecision before sighing heavily. “His Lordship has become essential to my days.”

  “And you to his,” Hill declared.

  The man’s words sent her heart skittering; yet, she was a practical person. Tentatively, Mercy said, “I can be nothing more to Lord Lexford than a poor relation; yet, that knowledge does not keep me from considering his happiness above all others.”