Realm 05 - A Touch of Mercy

by Regina Jeffers

  Rhodes closed his eyes before his tale continued. “I should have put a stop to Beatrice’s and Sophia’s grand schemes, but I have never been able to deny my wife anything she desires.” A long pause followed, and Aidan felt sympathy for Rhodes’s plight. Susan’s father was a very weak man. “Bea came to the viscount’s house before your father married Lady Cassandra. I knew nothing of the Poleys at the time, but from Sophia, I have learned how Beatrice thought Arlen Kimbolt meant to end his engagement to Lady Cassandra and to marry Bea in your mother’s place. Bea was with child when Arlen pronounced his vows to Lady Cassandra. The viscount brought his bride to her new house and placed his mistress beside her. According to Sophia, it nearly destroyed Beatrice not to have the title.”

  He thought of how his father’s self-centered behavior could have easily destroyed Lady Cassandra Morrison, as well. Aidan sat spellbound. He wished to stop Rhodes’s confession, but he knew this moment had been the one for which he had craved all his life.

  “Arlen had a lusty appetite, and Beatrice kept him from Lady Cassandra’s bed by presenting the viscount with a son. Your poor mother knew several losses early on, and Beatrice seized her opportunity to make her son the next viscount.”

  Aidan felt the anger again. His father had permitted another woman to rob Aidan’s mother of her rightful role as Viscountess Lexford and him his position as Arlen Kimbolt’s heir. “Your mother was berated for her inability to produce an heir and made to accept the changeover; Andrew’s birth was proclaimed as the legitimate one. The neighborhood thought it odd how Lady Lexford had shown no signs of being enciente before the birth, but no one would speak out against the viscount.” Aidan shook with anger and misplaced guilt. His mother had been too young to withstand the viscount’s manipulations, but her actions nearly stripped him of his birthright.

  Rhodes paused again. This time he opened his eyes. The pain of the story had already taken a toll upon the man’s countenance. “Lexford adored the boy; but soon his eye left Beatrice, and he took up with a woman in London. While the viscount saw to his Parliamentary duties, Bea attempted to keep Lady Lexford in line. However, Cassandra Morrison was stronger than Beatrice had anticipated. Lady Lexford visited her family’s estate for an extended stay and returned to Cheshire with a new resolve. Your mother had matured, and she fought for her husband’s attentions. Lady Cassandra was more graceful and more beautiful than Beatrice Babcock could ever hope to be, and soon Kimbolt had fallen madly in love with his wife. It was late coming, but men also mature, and they learn what is important in a marriage,” Rhodes reasoned. The connection between Lord and Lady Lexford, which Susan’s father described, was what Aidan had observed in his childhood.

  “With a renewal of Lexford’s commitment to his wife, Lady Lexford delivered forth Aylene and later you, my Lord. Beatrice was forced to watch her hopes dwindle. However, Andrew had been proclaimed the rightful heir, and no one knew how to change what had been set in motion. Arlen changed his will to give you the bulk of his fortune and all of his unentailed lands, leaving Andrew little more than the title.” Aidan wondered how Rhodes had been made privy to such intimate details of his father’s will. Surely, Arlen Kimbolt had not told his former mistress what he had planned. He could not imagine his father being so naïve. Perhaps, the housekeeper had used her position to steal away his father’s secrets.

  “Shortly after your father’s changing of his will, Arlen returned to London for important Parliamentary business. In his absence, first Aylene and then Lady Lexford turned ill and passed.” Rhodes turned his gaze upon Aidan. “Do you realize you escaped something more dangerous than a contagious disease when you were returned to your studies?”

  Aidan’s voice was heavy. “What are you implying, Rhodes?”

  “Think upon it. Why would both mother and daughter succumb to the disease and so quickly?”

  Aidan’s composure wilted. He shot a pleading glance to Swenton, and thankfully, the baron understood. “Although it is not likely much can be done after all these years, but I will ask the squire to investigate the circumstances of Lady Cassandra’s death in more detail. For now, perhaps, Rhodes, you will graciously return to your story of Lady Susan Lexford.”

  Aidan’s shoulders remained tense, and he could not swallow properly, but he listened with all his being. Rhodes’s voice had taken on the tones of an elderly man. “When you showed an interest in Susan, I was most pleased to have my daughter so properly engaged, but Beatrice solicited Sophia’s assistance for her own revenge against the late viscount. My sister in marriage had discovered how poor the former Lord Lexford had left Andrew, and she meant to reclaim her son’s position. She would not have you placed above Andrew. In Beatrice’s opinion, there was still time for Viscount Lexford to draw up another will. With Sophia’s influence, Susan was convinced to change her affection from you to Andrew. The joining would serve two purposes: a Poley would finally marry into the aristocracy, and the situation would place Andrew in Arlen Kimbolt’s good graces if your brother produced a child quickly.”

  “When Sophia approached me with the possible joining, I allowed my own aspirations for my daughter to override my good sense. Sophia and I came quickly to the conclusion that Arlen could live for many years yet, and who was to say Andrew might not predecease his father?” Rhodes laughed ironically. “It was as if we predicted the fall of the Kimbolts with our ambitions. Sophia and I planned to outmaneuver Beatrice and make Susan a viscountess much earlier by marrying her to Arlen instead of Andrew. Therefore, we placed Susan in Arlen Kimbolt’s way so our daughter might claim her place as the viscount’s new wife.” Aidan’s stomach rolled, and the bile returned. He physically forced the bitter taste from his mouth. God! He could not imagine such twisted plotting! How would he have ever tolerated seeing Susan with his father? Aidan would have been perpetually estranged from his home.

  “Sophia arranged for Lexford to dine regularly with us, and each time we would leave Arlen and Susan alone. By that point, you were away, and Susan had no one but her mother and me, and we had turned our hearts from sensibility. We reasoned if Susan wed Lexford and bore him a son–a true heir–the viscount would send Andrew away, which would provide you assistance, as well.”

  “Did no one consider my presence?” Aidan said in bewilderment.

  “Susan did. My daughter objected, but we convinced her that she was righting a wrong by permitting Arlen’s attentions. But as for Sophia and me, we knew otherwise,” Rhodes admitted honestly. “You were in war. It was conceivable you would never return.”

  Aidan countered, “If you were aware my father had willed me the bulk of his fortune, why not permit Susan and me to marry? Your daughter would have known a wealthy life and great connections.”

  “But not the title, and Sophia was as adamant as her sister in wanting someone in the family to claim a role in the aristocracy.”

  The extremes to which these people had gone to claim a part of the viscountcy amazed Aidan. He had fought some of the most devious wrongdoers upon the Continent, but none could compare with the Poley family.

  “Sophia met a man at one of Lexford’s gatherings who knew a great deal about an opiate, which rendered those who took it unable to judge right from wrong. When next we hosted Lexford, my wife arranged a rendezvous between the viscount and Susan. She added a bit of the drug to several of their dishes. Between the opiate and the wine, neither the viscount nor Susan understood what overcame them. Sophia’s barely veiled suggestions became a reality. Arlen Kimbolt succumbed to his baser instincts. He took our daughter over and over again during a two-day period and in this very room.”

  Aidan’s hand came to his mouth, and he searched for a bit of air to clear his head. Poor Susan. Her mother had constructed a plan to make Susan a viscountess, and her father had permitted a man to abuse her womanhood. How often had the pair walked by the closed doors to this sitting room and looked the other way? Aidan’s mind drew up an image of Susan’s young body and his father’s elderly
one. The image sent his mind searching for a different reality, but none existed.

  “It is not a pretty story, and I am not pleased with my role in it,” Rhodes declared baldly. Aidan caught the chair arm to keep from beating Rhodes to within an inch of his life. “We thought Arlen would do right by Susan, but the viscount’s heart remained with his late wife. He had long since abandoned Beatrice to being no more than his housekeeper. Arlen let it be known far and wide how Lady Cassandra had brought honor to the viscountship–an honor Beatrice Babcock could never achieve. My sister in marriage became the bitter woman you know today, but Bea’s hopes sprang to life again when Arlen agreed to permit Andrew to marry Susan in his father’s stead.”

  Oh, God! Aidan thought. Could the tale be more twisted? “A quick marriage occurred. Andrew lodged only a few objections upon your part, Kimbolt.” Aidan stifled the groan of despair resting on his lips. What could he say that was not a curse against all involved? “I managed a sizeable dowry to assure my daughter would be the future viscountess, but the marriage was in immediate disarray. Andrew claimed his husbandly rights, and, naturally, was not pleased to discover Susan impure. He accused my daughter of having lost her innocence to you, my Lord. Before the household, Andrew announced he would have no part of his younger brother’s leavings.”

  Aidan could sit no longer. He bolted toward the patio door and pulled the drape aside. He looked out upon the winter sun and wondered why the world appeared to have gone on without him. “Continue,” he said grudgingly, but he kept his back to the room.

  Rhodes’s tale was coming to an end; his voice held his weariness. “Shortly after Andrew’s exit, Susan discovered she was with child. Our daughter begged to return to her childhood home, but the viscount would have none of it. Lexford claimed Susan’s desertion would play poorly against his family’s name. Little did it matter that Andrew had left his wife to live in the house with his father, a man she feared and despised.” Aidan’s hands fisted and unfisted at his side.

  Rhodes now rested his head in his hands. He spoke to the floor. “Before we could right our daughter’s world, Andrew met his Maker in a duel over a woman not half the lady our Susan had become.” Aidan thought it more than ironic Rhodes had turned his daughter into a whore, and yet Susan’s parents termed her a lady. “Your father ordered your return, but before you could save Susan, the viscount suffered from a weak heart. Just think if the viscount had married Susan, all would have been well. She would have been the dowager viscountess and could have married where she wanted. Andrew, too, could have known happiness. It was all Arlen’s fault for not meeting his responsibilities to our daughter. Poor Susan was made to accept a man she had once cherish, but knew herself no longer worthy of calling ‘husband.’”

  Aidan turned at the sound of Swenton’s baritone voice. “Susan Kimbolt took her own life because of the shame she carried, and your wife searches the halls of Lexington Arms for a daughter she lost long before the fire.”

  Rhodes nodded his agreement. “I give Mrs. Rhodes laudanum so she might rest, but often her mind drives her from her bed.”

  Aidan caught the window frame as reality invaded. “If Andrew claimed his husbandly privileges but once, then you are saying Aaron…” He broke off, unable to verbalize the truth of the child’s birth.

  Rhodes cautiously met Aidan’s eyes. “I had thought the child would provide Sophia comfort. The boy is the last remnant we have of our daughter, but the boy’s features are those of his father’s. Every time Sophia looked upon the child, my wife was reminded of how she had failed Susan.”

  Aidan’s mouth had gone dry, but his lips managed to form the words he could never have thought to speak. “Aaron is not my nephew–not Andrew’s son. The boy is my brother.”

  Chapter 21

  By mid afternoon of the third day, Mercy guided the let horse into the circle before Crandale Hall, Sir Lesley’s seat. As they had been since the trio had departed the posting inn, the Baloch and Trent rode on either side of her. Exhausted from a lack of sleep, Mercy wearily slid to the ground when a groom caught the horse’s reins.

  They had spent two nights upon the road, but unlike the six weeks she had traveled alone, Mercy had known real danger and real fear while in the company of Trent. Mathias had eyed her as if she were a thoroughbred whose spirits he had meant to break. Surprisingly, Mercy had found an ally of sorts in the one known as Jamot.

  Trent had stopped for the first evening at a seedy inn on a country road. The future baronet had let a room for her on the top floor. It held nothing more than a small bed and table, but Mercy had been thankful to be free of the ill-fitting sidesaddle Trent had purchased for her. Every muscle in her body ached from the strain of the ride and of the tautness of the unknown. She had managed to dress for bed before a tap at her window brought her spinning around in fright. The Baloch stood precariously on a perch just below the window’s sill.

  “Permit me to enter,” he said against the closed pane.

  Mercy wrapped her robe closer about her. She shooed the man away. “Leave me be,” she had hissed.

  Jamot gave her a secretive smile. “It is not as it appears.”

  Mercy rushed to the window to make certain it was locked. “If you do not leave, I shall scream for the innkeeper,” she had threatened.

  “Who will open the door to Trent and the others,” the Baloch insisted. “Now hurry before it is too late.”

  Mercy hesitated, but a heavy tread on the stairs told her Jamot was the least of her threats. She released the latch and shoved open the sash. “Someone approaches,” she whispered.

  Jamot nodded before he lifted his weight through the opening and landed on silent feet. With a finger to his lips to indicate her silence, the Baloch moved across the floor to listen at the door.

  Mercy’s ears strained to hear what Jamot could hear. He caught the room’s single chair and wedged it against the door at the same time as the wood rattled from a fist upon it. Mercy jumped when the pounding broke the silence. “I brought your meal,” Mathias Trent called from the other side. “Open the door.”

  Jamot whispered close to her ear. “Stall him.”

  When the pounding began again, Jamot quickly shut and locked the window and drew the drape. Meanwhile, Mercy called, “I am preparing for night. Please leave the tray outside. I will retrieve it shortly.” She was surprised by how calm her voice sounded.

  “The food is hot now,” Trent insisted. Mercy jumped again when Mathias jiggled the latch. Thankfully, the chair did not permit the bolt to turn.

  Mercy swallowed hard, but she countered, “I shall be thankful nonetheless for your kindness.”

  Mathias hit the door with his fist again. “The innkeeper will be displeased.”

  Mercy pressed her weight against the door to slow Mathias’s entry while Jamot rolled one of the towels from the table to stuff it under the bottom. He said in a voice barely above a whisper, “The cloth will preclude Trent from reading your shadow under the door and will prevent the wood from sliding easily if the future baronet manages to free the latch.”

  “Yet, the innkeeper shall be thrilled for the business,” she answered Trent. Mercy was extremely thankful for the Baloch’s cunning.

  Mathias grumbled, “I will return for the tray.”

  She and Jamot leaned heavily against the door, ears plastered to the wood. Thankfully, Mathias placed the tray pointedly on the floor and retreated.

  Jamot said softly, “Trent will return. He has earned his courage this evening. The future baronet has sampled some of his own wares.”

  Mercy asked, “The opiates?” During their long ride, she had searched every memory she held of Mathias’s interactions with Geoffrey, and she had decided Mathias was more than a bungling heir to the baronetcy. The younger Trent was the mastermind behind the opium ring of which Mr. Hill had spoken honestly. She wished she had known the truth before she had departed Lexington Arms.

  Jamot nodded curtly. “Do not judge, Miss Nelson. If
you do, you will estimate me also, and, at the moment, I am your salvation.”

  Mercy blushed thoroughly. “I only meant to know the truth,” she confessed.

  Jamot had said no more on the subject. He released the chair and the bolt. Quietly, he eased the door from its casement and retrieved the tray. Handing it to Mercy, the Baloch quickly closed the door again. “We must do something to secure the opening. A chair will not be enough when Trent returns.” The Baloch was a conundrum. One minute he spoke as if he meant to have his way with her, and the next, he stood between her and Trent.

  Mercy glanced about the small room. “There is nothing but the bed,” she reasoned.

  The Baloch shrugged. “Then we use the bed.” He strode to the dark wood piece and flipped the mattress from the frame. Then he placed his back to the wooden rectangle and shoved it across the floor to rest solidly against the door. The draping hung crookedly against the wall.

  Mercy retrieved the blanket from the floor. “What should we do with the bed linens?”

  Jamot nodded to the poorly stuffed mattress. “Make yourself a place before the hearth. We will wait for Trent’s return.”

  Mercy gasped, “You mean to sleep in my room?”

  The Baloch smirked. “I could permit Trent to breach the opening.” Jamot withdrew a knife from a pouch at his side and placed it on the table. “If you wish me to leave, you must simply say the word.”

  “Why?” The word slipped out before she could stifle it. “Why are you protecting me?” She was confused by his sudden empathy. After all, it had been Jamot who had suggested to Mathias that Mr. Hill likely aided in her escape.

  Jamot shrugged noncommittally. “I am not of the nature to believe a man proves himself by overpowering those below him. If you ask if I will assist you in an escape from Sir Lesley, I will not. Despite his advanced years, the baronet will treat you kindly; yet, I will protect you from a man who means to make you his conquest.”