Realm 05 - A Touch of Mercy (8 page)

“Good afternoon, Lord Lexford,” a groom with sun-kissed skin and a shock of red hair said as Aidan tossed the man the straps. “Welcome home, Sir.”

Aidan scowled as he searched for a memory, but his tongue knew the right words without his thinking on them. “Thank you, Toby.”

The man smiled in response so Aidan supposed he had spoken correctly.
Thank God bits of myself remain
, he thought as he slowly climbed the manor’s main steps. Before he could release the knocker, the door swung wide to reveal his father’s butler.
His butler
, Aidan reminded himself. He had been the viscount for some two and a half years, but Aidan could not say he had ever felt comfortable in the role. As a second son, he had not been groomed for the title. It was a commonality he had shared with Marcus Wellston. Only one of the many traits he had shared with the Earl of Berwick: A younger son assuming the title; an attraction to the Aldridge twins; and an inability to save someone he loved. He and Berwick had been quite the pair until his friend had found “his” happiness with Cashémere Aldridge. Aidan gave himself a good mental shake. He had no time for distant memories. His
present
awaited him.

“We are pleased you have returned to Lexington Arms, Sir.” The butler accepted Aidan’s hat, gloves, and riding crop.

“Thank you, Mr. Payne,” he said with confidence. The butler’s was a name he readily knew from long before the confrontation with Charters. “I assume Mr. Hill returned safely.”

“Yes, Sir. I believe Mr. Hill awaits you along with the other staff in the main foyer.”

Aidan grimaced internally. His heart gave his chest a queer jerk of alarm. A formal “welcome” was the last thing for which he wished. He would have preferred to treat this day as any other day in his life. Marking it as an auspicious occasion would only add to his rapidly growing trepidation. He nodded his understanding before sucking in a steadying breath. Stepping into the main passage, his heart sank. Some five and twenty servants stood stiffly awaiting his recognition. What if he could not recall their names? Would they lose respect for him? Or worse, would they pity him?

Hill met him as soon as Aidan turned the corner. Lucifer’s expression said he had attempted to sway the staff to do otherwise, but his man had been overruled. Hill offered a bow of respect, something with which they had long since dispensed, and the simple act sent Aidan’s senses on alert. “Did you see the marquis’s family on their way, Sir?” Hill asked as a means to distract him, but Aidan was not fooled by his friend’s efforts. After all, Hill had learned much of his deception from Aidan. As such, Aidan could not shake the idea Hill held an agenda of which Aidan was unaware, and that fact bothered him. Henry Hill had been the one constant in his life over the past seven years.

“The Dowager Duchess’s coach is safely in route.” Aidan’s eyes scanned the double row of servants. “I suppose I should make my official entrance.”

Hill stepped to the side. “As you wish, my Lord.”

Before Aidan could stop his errant tongue, he said, “Very little in my life has been as I wish.” With a sigh of irritation, he viewed
his troops
.

“Good afternoon, Lord Lexford,” Mrs. Babcock said sweetly. Aidan had never liked the woman, but she had served his father and Andrew faithfully, and she performed her duties diligently. Mrs. Babcock had offered Aidan no reason to dismiss her, but he had always thought she had overstepped her position with her “uppity” ways.

“Mrs. Babcock,” he grudgingly acknowledged the woman.

The lady had taken his notice as approval. “We thought it best to welcome your return. Mr. Payne and I have done our best in maintaining Lexington Arms in your absence. I pray you find nothing lacking.”

So, this display had been Mrs. Babcock’s idea. Now, Aidan understood why Hill had agreed to this formal review of the staff. When Mrs. Babcock had hatched an idea, very few could sway her opinion. And, in truth, the late viscount would have taken great pleasure in such a display of wealth and position. Aidan’s father loved the pomp afforded his position. “I neither doubt your good intentions nor your abilities, Mrs. Babcock.” To the assembled staff, Aidan raised his voice to say, “Your devotion to this estate and this title are duly noted. I appreciate your generosity.”

With the housekeeper’s and butler’s acknowledgements, as a unit, the servants bowed and dispersed to their duties. With their leavings, Aidan breathed easier.

“If I might speak to you in your study, my Lord,” Hill said softly from beside him. “I have something of import to share.”

Aidan frowned dramatically. “Could it not wait until I have freshened my clothing?”

Hill moved closer to assure privacy. “My business is of the nature as to require your immediate attention.”

Aidan rolled his shoulders to release the tension. “Very well. If you insist,” he said ungenerously.

*

Mercy had impatiently waited for Lord Lexford’s appearance. She had an inkling of the viscount’s appearance for she had seen two renderings of the man in the gallery. In the first, Aidan Kimbolt had been no more than five or six years of age. He had been the youngest of the three children, and Mercy suspected he had given his nurse a case of the vapors. An impish good nature played in his brownish-black eyes. “Surely the portrait painter had erred in the color,” she had murmured when she had looked upon the rendering, for she had never known another’s eyes to possess such richness. The second portrait had been one of the viscount, his brother, and their father. Likely, the current Lord Lexford had been fifteen or sixteen at the time, while his brother would have been in his early twenties. Compared to his brother Andrew, Aidan Kimbolt had appeared lanky and boyish, while Lord Andrew had well defined shoulders and waist. All three men were exceedingly handsome, even the former viscount, whose age lines had only added to his well turned out appearance. Yet, Mercy had spent her time searching the countenance of the boy, the one not like the other two in his appearance. The one with the softer lines to his face and the more welcoming slant to his shoulders.

The sound of approaching footsteps warned Mercy of the viscount’s arrival, and she rose to greet him. She had had second and third thoughts on Mr. Hill’s plan to present her as Lord Lexford’s relative, but it was too late to change her mind now. Mercy squared her shoulders and prepared to meet the man who would decide her fate. She found herself strangely unnerved by the possibility.

He entered in obvious irritation, and Mercy’s heart leapt into her throat. The artist had not erred. The viscount’s eyes were mesmerizing. All she could say was they were more blackish brown. The color of the coffee beans she had seen on sale in the marketplace. Absurdly long lashes. A wide brow over which a sandy blond curl dropped. Chiseled cheekbones. And a mouth which had likely felled countless women. Her sister Grace had erred. Viscount Lexford must have been the most handsome man at the Prince Regent’s party.

*

Aidan had led the way to the study. He had wanted to be done with whatever foolishness Hill had concocted. Likely, the man wanted to plea for a return to Linton Park and to Hannah. If Aidan had not felt so vulnerable, he would have driven his friend from the estate with a stick. Unfortunately, he held no doubt Henry Hill would remain his salvation. However, after witnessing Mrs. Babcock’s display of showiness, Aidan wondered if he had made a mistake in returning to Lexington Arms to face his demons. “Now what is of such great importance?” he began before coming to a stumbling halt barely five feet inside the room.

He gave his head a little shake as if to clear his vision, but the image remained: A fairy goddess in a forest green gown. Red golden locks framed her heart shaped face. A compelling vibrancy surrounded her, and Aidan half expected her to take flight. His blood heated when he gazed into her eyes: The color of melted chocolate. She was dangerous. This woman was a perfect sin, and Aidan had to remind himself to breathe. “Pardon…pardon me,” he said on a rasp. “I was unaware we had guests.” Without removing his eyes from the girl, he said, “Mr. Hill, would you be so kind as to make the proper introductions?”

Aidan could hear the smile in Hill’s tone. “Lord Lexford, permit me to bring to your acquaintance, Miss Mary Purefoy.” His man paused for emphasis, and Aidan wondered what perfidy Hill practice. “Miss Purefoy is your sister, my Lord.”

“To Hell, you say!” Aidan growled. A heartbeat passed before he digested the situation to discover he was in no mood for whatever game the lady and Hill employed. “Get her out, Hill!” he snapped. “I have no need of an evening in the lady’s arms, nor do I require a mistress. What ails me cannot be cured by a thorough bedding!”

Hill judiciously closed the door before saying, “My Lord, you have misspoken.”

Aidan opened his mouth to reprimand his associate, but before he could utter a word, the woman’s open palm left its print upon his cheek. Aidan’s head snapped to the right. “You, sir, are no gentleman,” she hissed. Next, she turned her anger upon Hill. “You promised me he was a reasonable man, but I should have known better. Men who claim social positions are all full of self conceit and misplaced pride.” The woman’s gaze fell upon Aidan’s countenance, and he thought himself blessed by the passion he found there. Whoever the chit, she was magnificent. “You are of the same ilk as my brother’s associates. Riff raff, all of you.”

Aidan rubbed his cheek. “Are you hoping I will accept another brother, as well as a sister?” he said viciously. “If so, you are sadly mistaken.”

The woman blushed thoroughly, but her venom had not lessened. Her eyes darkened in annoyance. “My brother is Mr. Purefoy’s heir. He is fortunate in that regard for he must not contend with the likes of you. In such matters, you and…” She paused awkwardly, and Aidan wondered what she would have said if she had not corrected herself. “You and Francis are very much alike. You receive the best of what your positions afford. It is only we women who must bend our natures to please a man’s whims. Otherwise, we possess nothing of substance.”

Aidan watched the breadth of emotions crossing the woman’s countenance. One corner of his mouth curved upward in a half grin. “If this is your way of bending to my will,” he taunted, “I am most displeased.”

The girl snorted her disapprobation. To Hill she said, “Mr. Hill, if you would make arrangements for my passage, I shall pack my few belongings for the stage. I thank you in advance for such kindness.”

Hill’s gaze narrowed. “Perhaps, if we could sit and begin again, things will be more civil.” He gestured to the chairs before the warm fire. Catching the girl’s elbow, Hill turned her steps toward the seating. “Come, my Lord,” Hill coaxed.

Aidan shrugged his shoulders in defeat. He knew Hill would not relent until the man had had his way; therefore, Aidan chose the most comfortable of the chairs. He purposely slouched in the seat as if he possessed no cares. “Then be about it,” he said aristocratically. “Share with me the lady’s tale of woe so I may finally dispense with the road dust ruining my clothing.” He had intentionally seated himself before Hill had assisted the woman to her seat. Aidan could not say why he had taken on the mantle of a spoiled child. He supposed the problem rested in the nameless wretchedness he had yet to discover at Lexington Arms.

“I possess the power to speed your task, my Lord,” the lady said with false sweetness. An enticing pulse leapt to life at the base of her neck, indicating she was well aware of the tension between them. “Permit me the use of your small carriage to see me to London, and you shall never hear from me again.”

Aidan said bitterly, “And why should I suffer the inconvenience of losing my small coach for a week when I might place you on the public coach for the flip of a coin?”

Hill interrupted their “discussion.” With a clearing of his throat, his man insisted, “My Lord, you are better than this quibbling. I have never known you to be irrational. Please listen to my explanation.”

Aidan knew Hill was correct, but it felt so good to vent his anger. He was known among his associates as the affable one, but Aidan wished to shed that particular label. He wished to lose the image of a man who always accepted second best. Grudgingly, he attempted nonchalance. “Have your say, Lucifer.” He would find time to apologize to Hill when they were alone. His man would not place him in a poor light. “Be quick about it,” Aidan added to permit the girl to know his continued irritation.

Hill sat between them. The man took a moment to compose his thoughts. “I must direct your memory to the time before you traveled to Chesterfield Manor. Do you recall any of the goings on before you called upon Baron Ashton’s household?”

Aidan resisted the urge to squirm. Of course, he recalled bits and pieces of the puzzle known as his life, but he was uncertain to what Mr. Hill referred. “I suspect you must be more specific,” he said defiantly.

Hill nodded his understanding. “Before you made the decision to court Miss Aldridge, you received a letter informing you of Miss Purefoy’s existence. You confided in me and asked that I escort the girl to Lexington Arms.”

Aidan scowled. Something in Hill’s tale went against logic, but he could not pinpoint what expressly spoke of untruth. “Is the letter still available?” he asked distractedly.

The corners of Hill’s lips turned upward, and again Aidan wondered about the man’s honesty. “Not of which I am aware,” Lucifer said evenly. “Before I could act upon your mission, Lachlan Charters changed everything. I accompanied Viscount Worthing to Scotland to seek your attacker. During your recovery, I remained with Lord Worthing at Linton Park. It was only with word of your likely return to Cheshire that I recalled Miss Purefoy’s fate. I immediately sent word to Staffordshire.”

“And Staffordshire is your home, Miss Purefoy?” he asked suspiciously.

The girl shot a quick glance at Hill. Aidan grimaced inwardly. Was he somehow missing an important fact? Of course, he was missing a hundred or more important facts, but a false one from his past would be a different matter. “My brother’s estate is on the border with Derbyshire.”

“I am familiar with the area. May I ask which village?”

“Near Leek,” Hill answered for the girl, but the man’s response had come a bit too quickly.

The lines on Aidan’s forehead deepened. There was something odd about this conversation, but before he could define the weaknesses in Hill’s story, Aidan made the mistake of looking upon the girl’s perfect countenance. Her hair caught the light of the fire, and he could see the flame of life in each silken strand. He wondered what it would be to release the pins, which held her locks tightly in place, and permit the silken strands to run through his fingers. To place a row of kisses along the column of her neck.

“I arrived in the nick of time,” Lucifer was saying.

Aidan pulled his gaze from Miss Purefoy’s pouty mouth. “How so?” he said inattentively.

“Miss Purefoy’s mother had passed, and Francis Purefoy was not of the persuasion to recognize an allegiance to his stepmother’s issue. Mr. Purefoy drove his sister from his ancestral home.”

Aidan’s eyebrow rose in disbelief. “Destitute, heh?”

Lucifer sat straighter. “I would not say ‘destitute,’ my Lord, but Miss Purefoy’s future rests in your hands.”

“Such a tenuous position,” Aidan said sarcastically. The girl rolled her eyes, and even Aidan found his attitude amusingly pathetic.

Hill continued his tale. “Miss Purefoy had set out on a solitary journey. Unfortunately, an innocent is fair game to those of unscrupulous purposes. A couple posing as benefactors robbed Miss Purefoy of her few valuables.” Hill’s tone changed ever so slightly, and Aidan heard candor in his man’s words.

Aidan set forward, his former disdain forgotten. “Would you recognize the perpetrators?” he said with concern. “Were you injured in any manner?” He struggled with his unwillingness to accept the overpowering need to determine exactly what had occurred.

The girl said softly, “Only my pride. My mother’s locket…” She reached for where the chain should have rested about her neck, and Aidan suspected it the second truthful moment he had experienced since entering his study. “The couple claimed their names were Foyle. Mr. and Mrs. Foyle.”

“If you will relate what you recall of the pair to Mr. Hill, he will convey the description to the authorities in the area. I am not without influence.” Aidan did not like to think of any woman alone on the road, and especially a woman who held the countenance of a fairy princess. If evil had befallen her, Aidan would not have had the pleasure of staring into the woman’s mesmerizing features.

Her eyes closed as if recalling the fears she must have encountered and shivered. “Mr. Hill has been more than kind,” she said with admiration.

Aidan’s jaw clenched. He did not particularly like the idea of Lucifer being the girl’s hero, especially when Aidan had chosen to play the role of villain. “Perhaps we should call a truce, Miss Purefoy.” Her eyes rose to meet his, and Aidan saw a flicker of hope. “Please explain Mr. Hill’s claim of our familial relationship.”

Again, the girl looked to Hill for support, and Aidan considered the possibility his man of all means had made a conquest. “Before her death, my mother reportedly announced the certainty of my parentage.”

“And you believe my father is the missing parent?” He briefly considered the girl’s explanation, and Aidan felt the suspicions return. His father was far from angelic. After all, the late viscount had lost his wife some sixteen years prior to his own passing; but Aidan had thought himself aware of the women with whom the late viscount associated. He held no knowledge of a genteel woman in Staffordshire. And what made the tale harder for him to swallow was if the girl spoke the truth, Arlen Kimbolt had sired Miss Purefoy while Aidan’s own mother was still living. He was not naïve enough to know such matters did not occur on a regular basis among men of his social standing, but it pained him to consider the fact while Cassandra Kimbolt still lived, his father had betrayed his mother.

“I know only what I have shared,” she confessed. “Have you no memory of my mother’s letter, my Lord?”

He wished he could define what part of her story bothered him the most. Unfortunately, as a gentleman, Aidan could not turn her out, especially if the lady possessed no other home. He stood slowly. “We will act upon discovering the truth of this matter. Until that time, you will remain our guest, Miss Purefoy. I assume Mr. Hill has seen to your quarters.”

Lucifer said evenly, “Mrs. Babcock thought the west wing was best.”

Aidan shot a sharp glare at the man. “And you accepted this slight?”

The lady intervened. “It is of no significance, Lord Lexford. I found nothing wanting in my quarters.”

He did not approve. Even if the woman’s tale proved untrue, Aidan would never have considered the west wing as appropriate housing. Obviously, Mrs. Babcock’s manipulative ways continued. He wondered what the girl had done to engender the woman’s disapprobation. Likely, the woman thought herself protecting the Kimbolt name. The housekeeper’s disdain permeated the manor, and he was of a mind finally to pension the woman off. The possibility would be something of which he would discuss with his man of business. He said, “It was my intention upon this return to Lexington Arms to speak to Mr. Hill regarding the necessary repairs for that portion of the house. Hopefully, men can be immediately secured for the work. You may discover your quarters less than desirable under those circumstances.”

“If so, I shall report my discomfort.” She curtsied. “If there are no other concerns at this time, I shall leave you to discuss estate business with Mr. Hill. Thank you for your kindness, my Lord.”

Aidan watched her go. He found he enjoyed the gentle sway of the lady’s hips. “Do you speak the truth of the lady’s plight?” he asked the one man he had repeatedly trusted with his most innermost thoughts.

Lucifer remained behind him. “If you ask if Miss Purefoy is in need of protection, I hold no doubt of the lady’s distress. I discovered her perched upon a stile during a downpour. After losing her money to the Foyles, she sought shelter on the road in barns and stables. It was only by Fate’s good hands I came upon her by accident.”

“The condition of the woman’s gown fully announces her financial straits, and her speech says she has been reared as a lady; but I wish to know whether her claim of blood relation has merit.” Aidan remained where he stood; he had not removed his eyes from the closed door. It was as if he expected the girl’s return.

Hill cleared his throat. “I hold no knowledge of Mrs. Purefoy’s purpose in writing to you of her daughter. You said at the time that you wondered whether Mrs. Purefoy had been aware of your father’s passing. If the woman held ulterior motives in writing to you when no proof could be found.”

Aidan turned to his friend. “Quite remarkable,” he said with a scowl. He hesitated before suggesting, “Needless to say, I must send someone to investigate the lady’s story.”

“You do not wish me to do so, my Lord?” Hill said with a bit of surprise in his tone.

Aidan shook his head in the negative. “I will require your assistance in negotiating my return to the viscountcy. I will write to Pennington and ask him to set someone to the task.”

*

Mercy’s knees were so weak, climbing the main stairs had proved difficult, but she kept her chin high and her breathing even. The servants watched her every move, and she was certain several had heard His Lordship’s earlier disparagements, but Mercy would not permit the possibility of gossip below stairs to worry her. She had survived her first encounter with Viscount Lexford, and what an encounter it had been: From insult to concern.

In reality, she had fallen face first into a most unusual quandary. Normally, she considered herself to be logical and practical and even a bit tedious. Such traits had proved useful in her dealings with her brother Geoffrey and with her supposed suitor Sir Lesley Trent. After all, Mercy had found a means to rise above the debauchery her brother had delivered to Foresthill’s threshold, and she had kept Sir Lesley’s attentions at bay while executing her escape. Quite an accomplishment for a girl not yet nineteen years.