Realm 06 - A Touch of Love

by Regina Jeffers

  “No, Ma’am. I am accustomed to seeing to His Lordship’s needs.”

  Lucinda touched the man’s hand in admiration. “The earl is fortunate to have such a man in his service. My father’s batman was exceptional in resolving the colonel’s suffering; however, my mother and I were quite adept at tending him. If it would not offend you, perhaps some day we could compare our knowledge of such remedies. I would enjoy hearing you speak of what brings Uncle Gerhard comfort. I know so little of the earl’s life.” She knew better than to tell Mr. Priest she likely held knowledge of medicine beyond the valet’s experience.

  “If the earl would not object, I would be pleased to speak on my service. For now, Ma’am, His Lordship wished for you to be aware of the possibility of a later start tomorrow or even a delay.”

  Not finding her uncle at the table, Lucinda had greeted Lord and Lady Hellsman before filling a plate. “His Lordship has not come down?” she asked.

  “I have not seen the earl,” Hellsman mumbled as he scanned his newspaper.

  Lucinda sat where the footman indicated. “My uncle was ill last evening. We may be forced to beg for your extended hospitality.” She prayed it would not come to that point, but Lucinda thought it only fair to warn the Lowerys of the prospect. “I apologize if our presence at Blake’s Run has delayed your retreat to the dowager house.” She shot a quick glance at Arabella Lowery.

  Lord Hellsman took a long admiring look at his wife. “I assure you, Mrs. Warren, Lady Hellsman has organized our new home. Only a few personal items require transplanting. Whether we move into the manor later today or later this week will make little difference. If the earl requires another day or two to recover, we will be pleased for your company. My wife was despondent at having to lose her new friend so quickly,” he said teasingly.

  Yet, Lucinda was certain the couple had second thoughts when a familiar coach pulled into the circle before the manor house in late afternoon. “Father’s coach,” Lord Hellsman announced as he caught his wife’s hand so they could greet his parents as a couple. Lucinda heard Arabella groan of displeasure, but Hellsman ignored his wife’s qualms. “Come along,” he said with encouragement. “We must portray a united front.” A short, harsh laugh followed. “You, too, Mrs. Warren. You must assist Arabella in distracting the baroness, while I deal with the baron.”

  She frowned in confusion. “Me?”

  “Of course, you,” he stated as he tugged his wife toward the main entrance. Lucinda followed reluctantly. “I hold no doubt the baron called at McLauren’s estate before proceeding on to Blake’s Run. My mother will have heard of Carter’s involvement in your life, and I would have the baroness’s interest quickly appeased.”

  Lucinda’s confusion turned to shock. Hellsman spoke of an apparent connection between her and the baronet. She glanced at her worn day dress, and her groan of discontentment joined Lady Hellsman’s earlier one. The baroness would find her an unimpressive specimen of femininity.

  The door swung wide, and the Blake’s Run staff spilled out upon the main steps to greet their master and mistress. A footman scrambled to set down the steps, and an elderly man, whose looks spoke of a combination of Lord Hellsman and Sir Carter, stepped wearily from the coach. He was not as tall as either man, but he possessed the same full head of hair. Lord Hellsman’s touch of gray at his temples would likely turn to the silver strands his father sported.

  The baron turned to assist his wife to the ground. Lucinda came to the instant conclusion Lady McLauren was the image of the baroness as a young woman. It made Lucinda anxious to have Maria’s and Delia’s acquaintances to observe which parent held precedence in the younger Lowery girls’ looks.

  “Father!” Lawrence Lowery exclaimed. “I am pleased to have you safe at Blake’s Run, Sir.” He bowed before extending his hand to the baron. Lucinda immediately wondered what prevented their embrace. Surely, the Lowery men had resolved their earlier disagreement over Lord Hellsman’s marriage.

  She watched as her new friend, Arabella Lowery, dutifully stepped forward to greet her father in marriage. The baron presented Lady Hellsman a quick bow and a respectful kiss to her cheek. “Welcome home, Baron,” Lady Hellsman said pleasantly, although Lucinda recognized the reserve in Arabella’s tone.

  “Thank you, Lady Hellsman. I have longed to look upon the Dark Peak again.”

  “The Alps were magnificent,” the baroness interrupted. “I was sorry to curtail our adventure.” She embraced her eldest son and caressed his cheek. “You look well,” she said as she smoothed a line across his forehead.

  “I am content, Mother. More so than words can express,” Lord Hellsman declared as if to ward off his father’s criticism.

  The baroness patted his cheek. “I knew it would be so as soon as I laid eyes upon Miss Tilney.” She reached for Arabella, who joined the baroness in a loving embrace. “I have returned to Derbyshire to be available to Louisa and Maria,” she announced.

  Lord Hellsman caught his mother’s hand and brought it to his lips. “You will be required at Blake’s Run also, Baroness.”

  Tears sprang to Lucinda’s eyes as she looked upon Lady Blakehell’s countenance. She would never know a mother’s happiness at discovering herself a grandmother. “Oh, Bella,” she gasped as she tightened her embrace on her son’s wife. “When?”

  “December,” Arabella said softly.

  “A Christmastide baby.” The baroness’s hand came to her mouth. “Did you hear, Niall? An heir for the title?”

  Lucinda’s eyes shot to the baron. His expression spoke of relief and pride. It was a telling moment. Baron Blakehell may not have approved of his son’s marrying Arabella Tilney, but the man would celebrate the continuation of his family name. His gaze met Lucinda’s. “I suggest we take our good wishes within.”

  With a touch of embarrassment, Lord Hellsman said, “Baron. Baroness, permit me to present our newest acquaintance, Mrs. Lucinda Warren, the Earl of Charleton’s niece. His Lordship is quite ill and regrets being unable to welcome you home.” Lucinda executed a proper curtsy. “Mrs. Warren, these are my parents the Baron and Baroness Blakehell.”

  She could tell from the baron’s raised eyebrow Lady McLauren had filled her parents’ heads with tales of Lucinda’s involvement with Sir Carter. “I am pleased for the acquaintance,” she said tentatively. “I hope Uncle Gerhard will be well enough to join us later.”

  Unease crossed Lady Blakehell’s countenance, but she quickly recovered her feigned cordiality. The baroness asked what both she and her husband wished to know. “I understood Carter was in attendance at Blake’s Run.”

  “My brother has returned to his position,” Lord Hellsman announced. “Some two days prior.”

  Was that a look of reprieve, which crossed the baron’s countenance? “I shall leave you to your happy homecoming,” Lucinda said with as much poise as she could muster. “I should see to my uncle’s recovery. Thank you for your graciousness toward His Lordship and me.” She made a second curtsy before focusing her steps toward her uncle’s chambers. Even if it offended Mr. Priest, she meant to see to the earl’s speedy recovery. With a questioning look of disapproval, the baron had made it quite clear he thought her below his youngest son’s notice. What hurt more than the baron’s biased opinion was the truth behind Blakehell’s unspoken objections: Sir Carter deserved someone infinitely more suitable than she.

  When she reached her uncle’s chambers, Lucinda found the earl asleep. Mr. Priest greeted her kindly. “I thought I might relieve you for a few minutes,” she whispered. “I am certain you have additional duties, especially as the baron and baroness have returned unexpectedly from the Continent.”

  “Thank you, Ma’am. You are correct; His Lordship will wish to greet his host and hostess properly dressed.”

  She peeked at the resting form on the bed. “Permit me to retrieve a book to keep me company, and I shall return to sit with Uncle Gerhard.”

  “Of course, Ma’am. The earl will be most apprecia
tive.”

  Lucinda nodded before scurrying away. Her uncle’s illness would serve her well in avoiding the Lowerys, at least until she and Charleton could make their exits. Entering her now familiar quarters, she realized she had returned her book to the library in anticipation of their leaving. With a frown, she glanced about the room. “There is nothing to be done,” she chastised herself, “but to hope the Lowerys have not gathered in the manor’s library.”

  As if in answer, her eyes fell upon the locked box containing her father’s private papers. “Better than encountering the baron and baroness again so soon,” she declared aloud. “And I did promise the earl I would read Papa’s papers before I shared them with him.” Resigned, Lucinda removed the key from a string about her neck and unlocked the metal clasp.

  She thumbed through the papers, many of which she barely recalled seeing previously. After the devastation she had witnessed and the pain of losing her father, she had been so distraught when she had refused to return to the quarters she had shared with her father. A group of Belgium nuns had taken her in. She recalled crawling into the bed they had provided her and had cried for what must have been days. Finally, a member of her father’s staff had called upon her to inform her the army had assigned the small set of rooms, she had once shared with the colonel, to another family. “Where am I to go?” she had asked in bewilderment.

  The strict military protocol had defined the obvious: “You should return to England, Ma’am. Surely you possess family who are anxious for your return.” What the man had not understood was her complete desolation had arrived.

  “How long?” she had whispered.

  “Four and twenty hours,” the officers had said in clipped tones.

  And so she had packed her personal belongings and those few remaining items she wished to retain of her father’s. Having witnessed the scavengers on the battlefield who stripped the bodies of their clothing, jewelry, and medals, Lucinda had sold many of her father’s uniforms and personal effects for enough money to book passage to England. Without time to decipher properly what papers held the most importance, she had emptied a metal box her mother had used to store clean bandages and medicinals and placed all the colonel’s correspondence within, and there they had remained until this day.

  Her eyes scanned the stack of letters and business papers, finally resting on a thin leather covered journal. “Best to start with something innocuous,” she declared as her eyes filled with tears. “Papa likely spoke of burnt meals and plans for battles,” she assured her aching heart. “I do not think I could bear to read the letters he kept from Mama and me. At least, not immediately.” She swallowed the bile clogging her throat. “Once he is feeling more himself, perhaps Uncle can make sense of the papers from Papa’s man of business.”

  Thus decided, Lucinda returned to the earl’s room, the journal tucked neatly at her side. Mr. Priest placed a chair beside the window so she could have advantage of the light. The rest of the room remained in darkness. She recalled how her father preferred total darkness when he suffered likewise. Within seconds, she was alone with a man she barely knew.

  Over the past week, Lucinda had searched her uncle’s countenance for the similarities between the earl and her father. The earl was several inches shorter than the colonel’s military stature, and he was more effeminate in his features. His hair was lighter and his lips thinner. Roderick Rightnour’s weather-beaten countenance would have looked odd upon the earl’s shoulders, and Lucinda certainly could not imagine hardened soldiers snapping to attention when Gerhard Rightnour issued an order. The earl had the soft-spoken authority of the aristocracy, while Roderick Rightnour could quell the most dangerous enemy with his raging intensity. It was as if Nature had known their roles prior to their births and had presented each with the perfect countenance and frame. She had come to the conclusion over the past several days her mother had been fortunate to spark the interest of two such diverse men.

  When the earl had first pronounced his affection for Sophia Rightnour, Lucinda had been both incensed at her uncle’s forwardness and curious on how things had come to pass. She had to admit it had been freeing finally to have an explanation of what appeared to be a foolish feud between brothers, a feud more than two decades old, and although she remained fiercely loyal to the colonel, she had appreciated Gerhard Rightnour’s honesty. He could have presented her a lie and waited for her to discover the truth. Instead, the earl had spoken from his heart and had ultimately endeared himself to her.

  She sighed heavily when she opened the journal to the first page. Her father’s familiar script brought fond memories rushing forward to catch her heart in a tight grasp. Unshed tears tightened her throat, and Lucinda blinked several times before her eyes could focus on the words. She read quickly through the early entries, which described her father’s joy at having claimed Sophia Carrington as his wife. The colonel spoke of their days together as the happiest he had ever known.

  7 August 1794 ~ The day has dawned at last. My darling Sophia has delivered forth the most beautiful child God has ever touched. Lucinda Isabella Rightnour came into this world at two of the clock on the new day. Sophia thought I might be disappointed not to claim a son, but everyone knows a wee lass can claim a man’s heart with her first breath. My daughter’s hair is a golden fluff, and her eyes are blue, but Sophia assures me both will change with time. Thank you, God, for your benevolence.

  Lucinda smiled easily. She recalled the feeling of love when she curled up in her Papa’s lap in the evenings. The smell of cigars clung to his jacket, and she would bury her nose into the cloth. Those early years were idyllic. They lived in Devon and enjoyed the life of a genteel family. Papa never claimed his aristocratic roots. He was Captain Rightnour then, and the neighborhood envied the goings on at Merritt House.

  Over the next hour, Lucinda read the dated entries. Her Papa did not write in the journal daily, only when he had something of note he wished to mark. Lucinda relived her first birthday, the time she fell into the small tarn behind the house and her Papa diving in to save her, the swimming lessons, which followed that incident, her governess’s praise at the quickness of Lucinda’s mind, and the moment the dream began to crumble.

  7 August 1804 ~ My darling girl has turned ten, and the day began in glorious anticipation on both our parts. I have bought Lucinda a pony, and I mean to teach her to ride.

  Lucinda remembered the day well. Her father’s gaze had held his happiness when he lifted her to the specially made saddle. Yet, her mother had not been pleased at the colonel’s daring. “What if she falls and breaks her neck?” Sophia Rightnour had pleaded.

  Lucinda’s father had scoffed at his wife fussiness. “I will walk beside her every step. You must know I would never permit anything to happen to my Lindy Girl.”

  Later that evening there had been a terrible rout. Lucinda had always thought the fright had stemmed from her mother’s continued objections. That is, until she read her father’s words.

  Sophia and I have been living a lie. I have discovered her betrayal: My wife has maintained a correspondence with my older brother Gerhard. As I have celebrated each of Lucinda’s accomplishments, Sophia has shared those same events with the man whom she once preferred over me. I had thought we had carved out a satisfying life together, but I have been a fool.

  Why? Lucinda wondered. Why had her mother risked her marriage by secretly writing to a man to which the colonel had purposely parted ways? It made no sense. Even if Sophia Rightnour continued to love Gerhard, what would have driven her to bring pain to a man who adored her?

  A stirring from where the earl rested upon the bed brought Lucinda scrambling to her feet. She tucked the journal behind a cushion. “You are awake, at last,” she said as she rushed forward to assist him to a seated position. She fluffed the pillows behind his back.

  “Where is Mr. Priest?” he asked cautiously.

  “The Baron and Baroness Blakehell have returned from their journey. I permitted Mr. Pries
t time to prepare your clothes. I assumed you would make an appearance at supper.” She busied herself with pouring her uncle a glass of water.

  “That is most kind of you,” he said unsurely. “You are correct; I must place myself forward to greet my hosts.” He sipped the water she had given him. Returning the glass, the earl caught her wrist. “Something has occurred to upset you. Please tell me what is amiss. It disturbs me to see you so often in distress; I would ease your pain if you would permit it.”

  Lucinda’s eyes fell on the long slender fingers holding her hand in place. What could she say? Should she ask him how he had managed to steal her mother’s heart from her father? Somehow, the words would not come. She would finish the journal to discover more of her parents’ pasts before she confronted the earl. Earlier, Lucinda had remarked on her uncle’s earnestness. She did not doubt his previous tales, but perhaps the earl had omitted some important fact. As did your mother and father, she silently cautioned.

  The earl waited patiently for a response; therefore, with a small shrugging motion, she told him a half-truth. “The baron did not approve of Lord Hellsman’s joining with the former Arabella Tilney. He held plans for the eldest son to wed Bella’s cousin Miss Dryburgh, who holds connections to Lord Graham.”

  Her uncle reasoned, “But I heard Lord Hellsman say his wife was the Earl of Vaughn’s granddaughter. The Vaughn title can be traced to the early Anglo Saxons. Graham’s only goes back three or four generations. Miss Tilney holds the more considerable lineage.”

  “True,” Lucinda granted. “And if Miss Tilney’s family was not acceptable company, what of mine?” The earl frowned. “I did not mean it as such,” she said quickly. “Our connection is an exceptional one. However, the Blakehells have spent several days with their oldest daughter before returning to Blake’s Run. I am certain Lady McLauren has filled her parents’ heads with tales of my situation with Simon and of Sir Carter’s involvement. They must think Arabella infinitely more appropriate than I.”