Realm 06 - A Touch of Love

by Regina Jeffers

  Early Monday morning, three carriages set a course for Derbyshire. Carter had sent Mr. Monroe to Suffolk to pursue additional clues on the smuggling investigation. Much to Carter’s perturbation, the man had offered Mrs. Warren a tender farewell.

  “Are there children at Blake’s Run?” Simon asked as the coach made its way north and west.

  Carter looked on as the boy absent-mindedly rotated a wooden-and-string toy in his left hand. The child had not been happy to leave Maryborne’s nursery: While in Lincolnshire, Simon had taken on the role of Lisette’s defender against the older Ethan, a characteristic Carter had admired. It reminded Carter of his childhood, those times when he had defended his sisters against the neighborhood’s worst ruffians.

  “If you ask if Lord and Lady Hellsman have children awaiting their return, they do not. Their marriage is too new, but there are plenty of children about the estate.”

  Simon asked hesitantly, “Shall I be permitted to play with them?”

  Carter thought about the request. “I see no reason you should not enjoy time with Cook’s son or with some of the younger grooms. You will have freedom to roam the manicured park. We live in Derbyshire, near the Dark Peak. The land is wilder than what you have experienced in Kent. You must practice caution until you recognize the dangers, but do not fear God’s hand in creating the land.”

  The boy glanced to where Mrs. Warren napped in the rocking coach. Carter had thought her delightfully alluring. The shadow of her long lashes resting upon her cheeks held him captive. Simon leaned forward to whisper, “Why does no one speak to me of God? Does everyone think me a heathen?”

  Carter had never heard a child speak so maturely. He wondered where the boy had heard the word “heathen” and what a child could know of prejudice. It bothered him to think Simon might have experienced shame. “You wish to speak of God?” Again, the boy glanced tentatively at Mrs. Warren, but he nodded agreeably. “Very well.” He paused to gather his thoughts. “When I was younger, my mother was one to say God was everywhere, and He meant something different to each man who walked the earth.” He reached for the toy, an unusual contraption he had sent to Ethan when he was still in the East. The fact his nephew had readily parted with the gift both pleased, as well as disappointed Carter.

  “Take this toy, for example. I found in an Indian marketplace and sent it to Lord McLauren upon Ethan’s birth. Some in the East call it ‘Gennai’s Wondrous Click-Clack.’” Simon giggled at the odd-sounding name. “Later, when I returned to England, an American diplomat proudly informed me the proper name for the toy was ‘Jacob’s Ladder.’”

  The boy frowned dramatically. “Surely,” Carter continued, “you know the story of the Biblical ladder to Heaven.”

  “Sulam Yaskov,” the boy murmured.

  Carter closed his eyes to recite, “Jacob left Beersheba and went toward Haran. He came to the place and stayed there that night because the sun had set. Taking one of the stones of the place, he put it under his head and lay down in that place to sleep. And he dreamed, and behold, there was a ladder set upon the earth, and the top of it reached to heaven; and behold, the angels of God were ascending and descending on it! And behold, the Lord stood above it and said, ‘I am the Lord, the God of Abraham your father and the God of Isaac; the land on which you lie I will give to you and to your descendants; and your descendants shall be like the dust of the earth, and you shall spread abroad to the west and to the east and to the north and to the south; and by you and your descendants shall all the families of the earth bless themselves. Behold, I am with you and will keep you wherever you go; and will bring you back to this land; for I will not leave you until I have done that of which I have spoken to you.’ Then Jacob awoke from his sleep and said, ‘Surely the Lord is in this place; and I did not know it.’ And he was afraid, and said, ‘This is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate of Heaven.’” Carter released the toy to let it clack its way from one ribbon to the next. “After the American’s explanation, I was pleased I had bought the Click Clack; I began to think on the toy as a symbol of my pledge to protect Ethan from all harm.”

  Simon’s expression was one of regret. “I should not have accepted the gift.”

  Carter gathered the wooden squares in his large palm and handed them to the boy. “I suspect Ethan thought you required my protection more than he. Keep the toy and know I am near.”

  A single tear slid from the child’s eye. “Will you protect Mrs. Warren also?”

  Carter’s eyes returned to the sleeping form. “Always,” he said reverently.

  Simon asked, “Have you ever known failure?”

  The image of the youth he had left to the ravages of war sprung to Carter’s head. “Once.” He paused awkwardly. “We are all human and suffer from the weaknesses of the flesh.” He swallowed the bile rushing to his throat. “In the war, I promised to return for an innocent, who should never have been placed in that position.”

  “What happened?” Simon whispered in awe.

  Carter shrugged away the tension building between his shoulder blades. “I took an enemy bullet in the leg. The other soldiers carried my from the field before I could fulfill my promise.”

  “Did the person live?”

  Carter said solemnly, “I pray daily he did, but I possess no knowledge one way or the other. I must trust God’s goodness.”

  Simon’s expression spoke of childlike confusion. Finally, he made his decision; the boy returned the toy to Carter’s palm. “Tell me the story of God’s ladder again. I wish to know more of the God of Abraham’s greatness.”

  “It is beautiful, Sir Carter.” Mrs. Warren sighed heavily. They had arrived in Derbyshire late the previous evening, and today he meant to show her and the boy a bit of his home. He had always loved the ruggedness of his ancestral estate. It had provided him and his sisters the possibility for great adventures, and as a youth, Carter had climbed every hill, scaled every rock face, and swam every stream. Each miraculous moment of his life was somehow linked to this place.

  He smiled easily with her praise as Simon rushed circles around them. The boy scampered off, following one of Law’s favorite hounds across the open field. “Quite different from Kent,” he protested weakly.

  “Yet, equally magnificent,” Mrs. Warren countered.

  He enjoyed the pressure of her hand as it rested upon his arm, and without realizing he did so, Carter cupped her hand with his free one. “I thought at week’s end, we might travel toward Manchester and, perhaps, Liverpool. My sources say there are large Jewish enclaves in both cities. We will leave the boy under Bella’s care.”

  “Do you think Simon’s family could be found in the western shires?”

  Carter shook his head in the negative. “Our purpose will be to ask questions. To learn more of how we might identify the boy’s family. We must assume Captain Warren met Simon’s mother while serving in Spain and Portugal. We must determine where people emigrating from those areas settled in England.”

  She asked honestly, “How might I aid our search?”

  “Do you hold letters from Captain Warren? Records of his service? I could send to London for the captain’s files, but my interest could cause someone to take a closer look. I fear my position could signal others in the Home Office to wonder why Captain Warren would draw my notice.”

  Mrs. Warren nodded her understanding. “I received only two letters from Mr. Warren during those years. They were mailed to his parents and forwarded to me by Father Warren. At the time, I supposed Matthew considered it ill form to write to me directly before we were officially engaged. Afterwards, there was no reason to know of his regard. The captain’s parents kept mine well informed of his success in the war. Those letters rest at the bottom of my trunk.”

  Carter frowned in frustration. “I had hoped Captain Warren had left a more thorough trail,” he said dejectedly. He glanced toward the line of peaks. “I suppose it is equally foolish to hope for any irregularities in the captain’s
records.”

  “As my father was Mr. Warren’s commanding officer, I would imagine the colonel permitted my husband great latitude.” Her chin dipped, and Carter could no longer look upon her countenance, but the tightening of her fingers upon his arm told him the lady struggled with her emotions.

  He leaned close to speak in private. “Tell me what bothers you. I remain your confidant.”

  She stumbled to a halt. When she released his arm to present him her back, Carter encircled her in his embrace. He spooned her body with his. A silent sob shook her shoulders, and so he nuzzled her ear. “I never meant to bring you grief.” When her tears increased, he slipped his handkerchief into her hands before gently rocking her in his arms. She wrapped her arms about her waist and accepted his comfort. She fit him perfectly. The rounded curves of her body rubbed softly against the hard planes of his chest, while the heat flooded his groin. He tightened his grip and closed his eyes to the satisfaction of holding this particular woman to him.

  The mention of those years of fruitlessly devoting herself to a man who had held her in contempt had swept away Lucinda’s composure. After the years of deprivation, the baronet’s touch was a salve to her badly bruised heart. Sir Carter Lowery was everything she had once thought Matthew Warren would be–strong and decisive, yet tender. The gentle sway of his body brought hers to life. Longing rushed through her veins, and although their actions spoke of inappropriateness, Lucinda wished to remain in the safety of his arms forever. She knew he was not immune to her, and for a woman who had never known a man’s lust, Sir Carter’s obvious desires were a giddy experience. His loins nestled in the crevice of her hips, and Lucinda wished she held some knowledge of how to entice the baronet to kiss her again and perhaps to…

  She heard the sigh of regret and felt the gentle caress of his body go still. On a throaty rasp, he said, “If you have recovered, permit me to return you to the house.”

  In disappointment, Lucinda dashed the moisture from her cheeks. Stepping from his embrace, she said, “I apologize. My days with Captain Warren hold a myriad of emotions, but I promise to keep my personal thoughts under due control.” She forced herself to speak to his sympathetic countenance. “I am not a watering pot. I shall not disappoint you.”

  I shall not disappoint you. He heard Mrs. Warren’s voice echoing in his head as he dressed for bed. Carter suspected that particular phrase summed up the woman’s life. Mrs. Warren had wanted so much to please her husband, and Captain Warren had abused the lady’s trust. “I shall not disappoint you,” he whispered. How many times had he said those same words? To his mother? His sisters? To Pennington? His fellow Realm members? His father?

  The realization of their similar paths shook Carter to his core. Had Mrs. Warren considered herself a disappointment to her parents? Especially to her father? “Surely the colonel would have relished having a son to follow in his footsteps. Was that the reason Rightnour had turned a blind eye to his daughter’s misery? Had thought Captain Warren a good replacement?” Carter did not think Mrs. Warren a good enough actress to hide her loneliness from those who wished to know the truth. “If nothing else, why did Rightnour not offer his only child comfort once Warren passed? Had the colonel knowledge of the captain’s duplicity? Did Rightnour attempt to hide Warren’s other life in order to protect his own reputation?” In frustration, Carter jammed his fingers into his hair. “God, I hope not. Mrs. Warren will never survive another betrayal.”

  “I have not requested a maid to accompany us,” Carter whispered close to her ear as he seated Mrs. Warren at the breakfast table. He had waited for her in the main foyer. “By using the let coach, we will be less conspicuous than if we used one of my father’s equipages. I had thought a maid would draw attention to our position, but if you would feel more comfortable with a chaperone, we can certainly secure one.”

  A look of concern crossed her expression. “May I inquire to your plan?” she said softly.

  Carter straightened. In a voice meant for the waiting footman’s benefit, he asked, “May I prepare a plate for you, my Dear?”

  “Just toast and perhaps an egg,” she said sweetly.

  Carter enjoyed the way in which she followed his lead. The lady was quite intelligent. “Absolutely.” He chose a plate before uncovering the various dishes. Over his shoulder, he said, “Griffin, please pour Mrs. Warren her tea. The lady is quite fond of tea.” He winked at her.

  She surprised him by countering, “What would you say if I chose chocolate instead?” He heard the tease in her tone.

  Carter’s lips tugged upward. “I would say, Griffin, Mrs. Warren’s wishes are always to supersede my instructions.”

  He delivered her plate before filling one for himself. Returning to the table, Carter excused the servants. “I possess experience in questioning Jewish community leaders on prior occasions.” He cleared his throat pointedly. “Unfortunately, some groups are not so welcoming, especially when confronted with members of the aristocracy.” The lady nodded her understanding. “I had thought we could travel as husband and wife or as brother and sister. People of trade, without connections.”

  “Brother and sister,” she announced after a brief pause.

  Carter had preferred the idea of a pretend marriage; he had hoped to remain by Mrs. Warren’s side without censure. “Brother and sister, it is. I assume you have packed items for overnight.”

  She granted him a slight nod of her head before asking, “Have you spoken to Lord Hellsman? Shall it be a nuisance to leave Simon behind?”

  Carter good-naturedly patted the back of her hand. “The child will do well, even in our absence.”

  Within a half hour, they were on the road again. From his place upon the rear-facing seat, Carter watched her carefully. Last evening, as he spoke with Lawrence regarding his plans, he had marveled at what a wonderful sport Mrs. Warren had been. Throughout the chaos surrounding this journey, she had never complained. The lady had trusted him implicitly. From London to Kent to Suffolk to Lincolnshire to Derbyshire, and now to Manchester, and nary a word of grievance. No woman of the ton would have considered even being uprooted one time, but Mrs. Warren had readily done so six times in less than one month, and with each situation, the lady had blended in with those she encountered. It was quite remarkable.

  “Why are you smiling?” she asked with a carefree tone.

  Carter schooled his expression. “Just considering the pleasure of seeing Manchester with a beautiful woman on my arm.”

  “A beautiful sister,” she corrected.

  The corners of his lips turned upward. “Amazingly, a man may possess a bevy of beautiful sisters. Some of which he discovers in the oddest of places.”

  “Thank you for agreeing to speak with us,” Carter said as Isaac Cohen slid into the place beside him. The man appeared oddly amused by being summoned to the private dining room of the Capalett Inn on the main road between Manchester and Staffordshire. When they had arrived in the Manchester area, Carter had called in at Chesterfield Manor. Charles Morton, Baron Ashton, had quickly located a leader of the local Sephardic community.

  “The baron is an excellent patron of many of my compatriots, as well as an honorable man.”

  Carter’s gaze spoke his earnestness, and the man presented him an almost imperceptible nod in response. “My sister and I have an unusual predicament, and we require both your assistance and your discretion.”

  Rigid with disapproval, Cohen’s eyebrow rose in curiosity, but he said, “I would be pleased to be of service, Mr. Patrick.” It was the name upon which Carter and Mrs. Warren had agreed.

  Carter articulated the tale he had previously constructed. “I am a war veteran, Mr. Cohen, having served on several fronts, but before I entered the service, my sister and I followed our father from Portugal and Spain across the European continent.” A knot of eager anticipation tightened in Carter’s stomach as the stranger nodded his encouragement. “After one of the bloodier battles in 1812, my sister discovered a small b
abe, which was sheltered in a recessed area of one of the few remaining cottages of a burned out village. We used our limited resources to discover the child’s family, but as the war raged onward, we could do nothing less than to take the child with us. Since the war’s end, I have used my connections to the government to review every record of the aftermath of that particular campaign to locate the child’s family.” His mouth compressed in a frown. “The boy is five years of age, and we are willing to assume his care, but if he has family, then it would be best to place him with those with whom he serves a heritage. Even now, it will be difficult for the boy to call others family, but it would be unfair to wait until he is older.”

  Cohen asked with a mischievous grin. “I assume the child is Jewish.”

  Carter nodded, forcing a grateful smile. “Yes, I should have made the situation clearer. We were near a village outside of Salamanca at the time. Our enemy burned crops and everything in sight before the British-Portuguese forces under Graham drove them from the area. Most of the British troops gave pursuit, but my father’s company was to push the straggling French sympathizers toward the prisoner ships.”

  “You were part of the force?”

  “A lieutenant.” Carter spoke in half-truths. In reality, he had finished up university in 1810 and had not entered his military service until 1813.

  “And this was Spain?”

  Was that suspicion Carter heard in the man’s tone? Cohen sounded almost protective. “Yes,” he said simply. “Realizing the child is Spanish is the basis of our seeking your advice. We must discover where members of your race from Algeciras might have settled in England.”

  If Cohen meant for Carter to question his decision to seek this man’s assistance, he succeeded. “My people have worked hard to assimilate into English society, Mr. Patrick. Since the early 1700s, our schools have taught our children English, and many of our religious services are offered an English translation.” Cohen paused before saying, “The Jewish world has known wars in central Europe, massacres in Poland, and expulsion from Bohemia, as well as daily persecutions elsewhere. We have come to England and have taken occupations no one else would do, just to demonstrate our usefulness.”