Realm 05 - A Touch of Mercy (4 page)

When he had awakened from the long sleep caused by his injury, he could recall nothing of the past two years, but a kiss. A kiss that had made him hungry for “things he had never known.” A kiss, which had wiped away the deceit he had discovered upon his return to Cheshire.

For some time he had assumed the kiss had come from Miss Satiné Aldridge. According to Lady Worthing, her brother Brantley Fowler, and Sir Carter Lowery, Aidan had courted Cashémere Aldridge, but the lady and her twin Satiné had exchanged places. Evidently, he had wooed the wrong lady, a truth which had eaten at his pride. But Aidan had accepted the fact the “kiss” had been the most important aspect of his brief encounter with Miss Satiné. It was the kiss, not the lady, which had given him hope.

His memory of his time under Wellington and his service to the Realm remained in tact. It was the time since his return to England some two plus years prior, which he could not recall. Aidan was aware of the majority of the details. After all, his friends had spent countless hours relating every feature of which they were aware. He had learned of his sexual conquests, his continued role as a Realm member, and the innovations he had put into place as the master of Lexington Arms, innovations, which had eased the impact of the war and climatic devastation upon his land.

However, it was when Fowler had arrived at Chesterfield Manor to assist his sister in Aidan’s care that Aidan had discovered the truth of the kiss, which had haunted his subconscious mind. He had asked specifically of the duke’s knowledge of Susan’s demise. “I think I know, but I need someone to confirm my suspicions. Did I cause Susan’s death?”

An array of emotions had raced across Fowler’s countenance, and for a few brief moments, Aidan had feared his friend would offer a prevarication. Finally, the duke said, “Not directly.” And his friend’s rendition of the event had paralleled Aidan’s remembrance. Later, Mr. Hill had confirmed much of Fowler’s tale. Neither had witnessed Susan’s death, but both had heard his tale soon after the event. In fact, Fowler had rushed from Brittany to Aidan’s side.

And Aidan fully recalled his reaction to Marcus Wellston’s appearance in Aidan’s sick room. They held a bond not known among the other members of the Realm. The earl had been the only one to fully comprehend the extent of Aidan’s grief at not being able to save Susan from the fire his wife had started for Wellston had turned to the Realm as atonement for the earl’s inability to rescue his twin sister Maggie. But a chasm had risen between them.

“I plan to marry Miss Aldridge tomorrow morning in the Linton Park chapel,” his friend had awkwardly announced.

Lying in his recovery bed at Chesterfield Manor, Aidan had searched his memory for actual images of Cashémere Aldridge. Sadly, none appeared. He knew from what Kerrington had shared that Aidan had thought to claim Miss Aldridge for himself, but the lady had chosen the earl instead. Although it was not in his nature, Aidan had snipped, “And what do you wish of me, Wellston? My blessings?”

His friend had swallowed hard, and Aidan had immediately regretted his terseness. “I never meant to fall in love with Cashémere. I told myself you were my friend, and I would not come between you if you were serious about Cashé.”

Hearing the lady’s familiar name spoken so tenderly rubbed raw against Aidan’s usual amiability. His world had imploded, and someone needed to pay for his misery. “But I proved myself otherwise by kissing Miss Satiné,” he had accused. “Is that it, Wellston? It was a ruse, perpetrated by the young ladies.”

The earl had flinched. “It is not that way, and you know it.” Then his friend spoke the truth of Aidan’s life. “You saw Cashémere as a safe choice–someone you enjoyed–someone with whom you could dull the memories of what happened with Susan, but I never observed in you what I had seen in Kerrington’s and Fowler’s countenances when they looked upon the women they affect. I suspect if true love existed for you, that if you held a soul-cleansing devotion to Cashémere, you would never forget it–no matter what Charters did to you. Do you recall such a love, Lexford? If you say you love Cashémere in that manner, I will cancel the wedding; I will permit you the opportunity to make Miss Aldridge love you in return.”

Aidan hesitated. He and the earl stared at each other for several seconds before he surrendered to Wellston’s demand for an answer. He had searched his memory and his heart. In neither did Miss Aldridge exist. Wellston had the right of it, and how could Aidan deny his friend’s happiness? Dutifully, he had rejected his hopes and dreams in favor of his friend. “No. I do not remember such a love. Surprisingly, I remember kissing Lady Eleanor during the farce involving Louis Levering,” he had declared baldly. The certainty of the memory had startled him, but it had not displeased him. Aidan continued earnestly, “And I remember feeling clean afterwards. I also recall passionately kissing someone whom I suppose was Miss Satiné.” That particular memory was less clear than the one of Lady Eleanor, and he had quickly come to the conclusion he had held no true memory of the event, only what his friends had shared of the incident. It was in that moment Aidan realized his life had been skewed in the oddest of ways. “But I possess no recollections of love. Miss Cashémere is not part of my memories,” he had finished.

“And yet, I cannot breath unless Cashémere is near,” the earl had confessed.

Another long silence had ensued. Finally, Aidan had mustered up the necessary words. “Then I suppose you should marry the lady. I would not wish to be the cause of your demise.” He had reached out his hand to the earl. “We are brothers, Wellston, and brothers never stand in the way of the other’s happiness. You have my blessing.” Ironically, his words about brotherly devotion had never proved true in his own family. Perhaps, it was the number of years separating his and Andrew’s births. He and his older brother had never known a close familiarity, but Aidan would have given anything to have his brother’s life returned to him.

Immediately, he had taken a vow to some day be so afflicted: to know love. Finally. What Aidan had seen in Wellston’s eyes now rested in Gabriel Crowden’s. “Please God,” he murmured as his gaze searched the barren trees on the horizon. “Allow me to one day look in the mirror and observe in my own eyes what I have seen in my friends’ steady gazes.”

Reluctantly, he turned his steps toward the morning room. Toward the woman he had kissed in a Lincolnshire hunting lodge. A kiss that was the only true memory he held of the past two years. All the others Aidan had borrowed from his most intimate acquaintances. A kiss from a magnificently incomparable woman. A kiss and a hope for the future.

“Certainly not what I had thought my life would bring,” Mercy told herself in cynical bemusement, but it was honest work and not beyond her abilities. She had managed to convince the owners of a small inn in Derbyshire to hire her to replace their regular maid for the week the girl would be tending to a death in her family.

The Pawleys had provided her two meals each day, along with bread and tea to break her fast. It had been so long since Mercy had eaten more than an overripe apple or a handful of berries for a meal that it was a real struggle not to wolf down the simple stew Mrs. Pawley had placed before her. Her hand trembled as the spoon approached her mouth. Mercy closed her eyes and savored each potato and pea and stringy chunk of lamb as if the finest French chef had made it. Not that Mercy had ever eaten such delicious offerings.
Better than escargot
, she thought with wry amusement. The idea of eating snails turned her stomach on its head. Yet, she had heard of the practice, and she knew the dish was reportedly a delicacy most cherished. “Ye’ve been doin’ without?” Mrs. Pawley had said perceptively. Mercy had dropped her eyes and nodded. Thankfully, the inn mistress had said no more.

The work had been backbreaking, but certainly no more tiring than walking from sun up to sun down. At least, it held a familiarity. At Foresthill Hall, Mercy had often assisted the few maids her brother had employed with the household duties. True, she had never washed the laundry, but Mercy had assisted her brother’s servants with changing the bed linens and airing the rugs. In return, the Foresthill maids had agreed to sleep in her room. It was how she and the girls had avoided Geoffrey’s gaming friends when the men were deep in their cups.

“Another penny,” she exclaimed in delight as she swept the floor under the bed of the recently vacated room. It was the third one in as many days. As Mercy fished it from between the slats of wood, she thanked her lucky stars for delivering her to the Pawleys’ doorstep. She would not become rich, but when she set out on the road again, Mercy would do so with renewed determination.

“I shall reach London,” she had told her image in the cut class mirror setting on the small table. When Mercy had arrived in Derbyshire, she had reached her lowest point. Nearly of the persuasion of lying down in the road and permitting God to decide her fate. “Odd how a meal and a warm, dry bed can change a person’s stars.”

*

For three days Aidan had stood attendance upon the Linworth household. He had escorted the ladies into the village several times, and he had dutifully spent time with Kerrington’s son Daniel. Soon the boy would be leaving for school, and the child was full of questions on what to expect and how best to survive. Aidan had enjoyed his time with the youth, but it had emphasized all the things missing in his life.

With Susan’s death, Aidan had permitted her parents to raise the child. Legally, he could have kept the boy, but he had made a previous commitment to Shepherd and the Realm; and, in truth, he could not love the child as his son. Every time, Aidan had looked upon the lad, especially after Susan’s death and the demise of his hopes for contentment in his marriage, he had seen his brother’s betrayal in the child’s face. The boy had favored Andrew rather than the Rhodes family. “Perhaps…” he whispered to the empty room. Perhaps, if he and Susan could have put their disaccord aside, he might have felt different about the child. Perhaps he might have called the babe “Son.” But any warmth he and Susan had once shared had dissipated while he served upon the Continent. He closed his eyes to erase the images demanding his heart.

Mr. Haley had reported Susan’s “episodes” to him upon Aidan’s return. His once vivacious friend and youthful lover walked the halls of Lexington Arms in a depressed state. Her grief was so great Aidan had thought not to marry her, but it was his father’s dying wish to know the future heir to the title would remain under Aidan’s protection. And the child was Lexington Arms’ future. Aaron Kimbolt was Aidan’s heir unless Aidan married and produced an heir of his own. He was ashamed to say he wished to hear the word “father” rather than “uncle” when he thought of his title’s future.

On Wednesday, Worthing and Godown had unexpectedly returned. They had come across a bit of luck in their search for a special license. Instead of having to ride to London and Doctors’ Commons, they had learned the Archbishop had remained at Durham longer than expected, and his friends had returned after only three days. Meanwhile, Godown’s three aunts and the Realm leader, Aristotle Pennington, had arrived on Linton Park’s doorstep.

With the extra company, after supper, the ladies retired to the drawing room, and the men enjoyed their cigars and French brandy. Despite their close acquaintance, Aidan had felt disconnected from his friends. Each of the other three had an air of completeness, which he had yet to discover. His stomach clutched tightly from loneliness.

“I was not aware of your long standing relationship with Godown’s aunts,” Aidan had ventured when the marquis slipped from the room to have a word with his valet.

The man they had all known as “Shepherd” until only recently scowled. Aristotle Pennington traced his finger up and down the glass’s stem. Finally he said, “I am from the same neighborhood as the former Crowden sisters. Our relationship has seen the test of time.”

Evidently, Kerrington’s curiosity had also been piqued by Pennington’s sudden appearance as escort to Godown’s aunts. “I have often wondered how Crowden came to us, especially as the marquis possessed no experience in service to the King prior to joining the Realm.”

Pennington remained staunchly stone faced, but he said, “It was a break in regulations,” he confessed. “Yet, the boy served well, as I assured you he would.”

Kerrington nodded his agreement. “Crowden’s skills with languages, the sword, and cunning proved most valuable, and I meant no disparagement, Pennington.”

“Perhaps, the truth,” Aidan encouraged. “None of us would speak unkindly of whatever you disclose. On the contrary, we would celebrate your happiness. You have never led us astray, and we wish you well.”

Pennington shot Kerrington a knowing look, which appeared to contradict Aidan’s words, but the man smiled wryly. “I held no title, and a man with no title cannot aspire to marry a marquis’s daughter. Yet, as I reflect upon those dark days, they drove me to earn my position in the British government.” Pennington chuckled ironically. “In many ways, I wield more power than any duke of the Realm.”

“Have you renewed your plea to the Dowager Duchess?” Kerrington asked curiously. Aidan looked on as the Realm leader squirmed in his seat. He had never witnessed Shepherd so nervous. It seemed even a man of advanced years had found love.
Everyone but me
, he thought with regret. Bitterness rushed in to fill his chest.

“Bel wishes things settled with Godown before we consider joining, but be known I have begun a search for an estate appropriate for the widow of a duke. Bel will relinquish her identity with an exchange of our vows. I wish her role as Mrs. Pennington to give her peace.”

Kerrington ventured, “I imagine the Duchess holds no worries in that manner.”

Aidan asked, “And what of your position?” Aidan could not imagine the Realm without Aristotle Pennington as its head. The man was a walking history of British military and covert intelligence. “Who has the knowledge to replace you? You cannot be both a country gentleman and the Realm’s leader.”

Pennington smiled that secret smile, which always drove Aidan crazy. He shot a enigmatic glance to Kerrington before saying, “I have chosen my successor. That is all I will say on the subject at this time.”

*

Mercy’s newfound optimism floundered when the cold rain had begun. She had set her sights upon London once again. The Pawleys’ regular maid had returned yesterday, and Mercy had regretfully gathered her meager belongings. Mary Purefoy, the maid, had graciously permitted Mercy to share her small room for one last evening; otherwise Mercy would have been forced to be on the road some twelve hours earlier.

Mrs. Pawley had fed her a hearty breakfast and had given Mercy a small loaf of dark bread to see her on her way. “If’n ye are ever in the neighborhood agin’,” the woman offered. “Ye must come to us. Mr. Pawley and me be thankful to welcome you.”

Mercy had been sorry to leave the woman, not only because of the nourishing food and the dry bed, but because the Pawleys had shown her a great consideration. It had been so long since Mercy had known true human kindness that she thought she would miss the couple’s empathy more so than she would miss the Pawley’s warm kitchen.

*

“Congratulations, Your Lordship,” Aidan had waited for Lucifer to speak his peace to the marquis. Aidan had asked Godown to join him and Lucifer in a private drawing room. It was a bit unusual, but Lucifer Hill had served beside the members of the Realm as their eighth man. Hill had saved each of their lives at one time or another, and they had rushed to save his more often than Aidan could recall. Men who shared such moments held a bond beyond class or station. “It pleases me you have found a worthy mate, my Lord.”

The marquis smiled that silly grin, which had not departed Gabriel Crowden’s countenance since Grace Nelson’s appearance in the Linton Park chapel. “Lady Godown will bring a sense of order to Gossling Hill. I thank you for your well wishes.” Godown had accepted Lucifer’s hand in parting. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must return to the wedding breakfast before the Three Roses think me displeased with my choice of brides.”

“A man must only look upon your countenance, my Lord, to see your true regard for the lady,” Hill asserted.

Surprisingly, the marquis did not contradict the statement.
So Hill sees what I do,
Aidan thought. It was a moment of triumph and regret.

“Be safe, Hill,” Godown said graciously. “And keep the viscount from harm.”

“I will do my best, Sir.” Hill bowed as the marquis exited.

Aidan watched Godown’s retreat before he said, “I will remain at Linton Park until Godown’s aunts follow the marquis to Staffordshire. Pennington has asked for my escort as far as Cheshire.”

Hill nodded his understanding. “Your delay will provide me time to make certain everything at Lexington Arms is set aright before your arrival.”

Aidan smiled easily. “Do not go berating everyone again. I have no desire to listen to a litany of complaints upon my return.”

“You know I have no patience for those who waste my time,” Hill defended himself.

Aidan grasped the man’s shoulder. “And I am a better man for your allegiance, my Friend. You will hold to the marquis’s warning to take care.” He shook Hill’s hand. “Have you said your farewells to Hannah?”

“Aye, Sir.” Hill nervously reached into his pocket. “Before you leave Linton Park, would you ask Lady Worthing to present this small gift to Hannah on Christmas? It is a token of my devotion.” His friend’s voice had taken on an emotional tone, like sand rubbing against a stone, and Aidan felt the same twinge of jealousy, which had plagued him of late.

Aidan accepted the brown paper wrapped package. It grieved him he would not know the pleasure of giving a simple gift to a beloved one. “Why did you not give it to Hannah yourself?”

“The woman has shed enough tears with my leaving,” Hill confessed. “Plus, I wish Hannah to realize she is in my thoughts when we are separated. It is important for a woman to have something upon which to hang her hopes. Viscount Worthing was saying just the same the other day.”

Aidan thought of poor Susan. Had his young wife not had something upon which to pen her dreams? Had such a thought been the source of Susan’s bedlam? Had there been a means by which he could have saved her? Had Susan wished to be saved? “I will see to it personally.”

*

The rain came down in miserable sheets of icy stiffness; yet, Henry Hill barely noticed the elements. His mind remained on the heart-shaped face of Hannah Tolliver. Despite his protests to the contrary, he had been sore to leave Lady Worthing’s maid behind. “Nothing to be done but to serve His Lordship,” Hill grumbled as he adjusted the reins to keep the open wagon safely in the muddy grooves of the country road. Hill recognized better than most how much the viscount had suffered of late, but that particular fact did little to lessen the heartbreak of leaving Hannah behind. “Ah, my Girl,” he said to the open countryside. “Think of me often, my Hannah, for I will be thinking of you.”

As each water-filled rut in the road wore a sore along his backside, Hill reflected on the past couple of months. In the midst of a misguided kidnapping, Lachlan Charters had delivered a mighty blow to the back of Viscount Lexford’s head. Not only had His Lordship lost the woman he courted during the chaos, which followed, but also Lord Lexford had suffered a worse fate than the loss of a potential love. “The viscount’s memory plagues him, but, in truth, Lexford lost his heart and his dreams long before Charters’s attack.”

Hill sighed heavily. The weight of so many troubles rested upon his shoulders for he meant to see Lord Lexford happy before Lucifer claimed Hannah as his wife. “Damn fool,” Hill grumbled. “His Lordship should never have pursued Miss Aldridge. The girl was never of a nature to appreciate Lord Lexford’s gentleman’s code. The lady will fare better with Wellston. The earl possesses a wild streak not found in Lord Lexford. And as for the other one: Miss Satiné.” Hill spat the Aldridge girl’s name as if it were poison. “She lacks a spine. Too much like the former Viscountess Lexford. Run away at the first sign of strife.”