Realm 06 - A Touch of Love (7 page)

“Miss Purefoy?” Carter asked, thinking of the woman of whom Lexford spoke so highly when last they had met.

Swenton continued with an ironic chuckle. “Lexford has sworn me to absolute secrecy. The viscount and Hill have ridden to Lancashire to prevent a wedding. If Lexford proves successful in rescuing his ladylove, he is to meet me at Linton Park. I had not thought to involve the others, especially with Pennington’s betrothal party this evening; yet, the bishop has denied my request in Lexford’s name.”

Carter shrugged off the crisis. He would learn the full of it when the time arrived. “Then let us retrieve the others before we speak to the bishop again. If there is any chance Lexford has tasted happiness, then we must have the bishop’s approval.”

“Viscount Stafford waits below. I asked him to join us. It seemed only appropriate after Stafford walked away from a card game he could have easily won in order to offer me a means of reaching London in a timely manner.”

“Lord Godown will not approve.” Carter smiled with the possibilities. “Although I enjoy it when the marquis’s finely honed composure is ruffled, perhaps we should not inform Godown of what we plan.” Swenton shrugged his approval. “I will seek out the earl.”

“You mean to call upon the earl for what purpose?” Aristotle Pennington filled the open door with his form.

Carter shot a quick glance to Swenton. A nearly imperceptible nod from the baron spoke his permission for Carter to explain to the Realm leader their mission. “Lexford has set himself the task of rescuing the woman who has captured his heart. The viscount and Lucifer Hill ride to Lancashire. Swenton and I mean to convince the bishop to issue a special license so the pair may marry at Linton Park. Otherwise, Lexford means to race toward the Scottish border.”

Swenton explained, “The viscount wished to keep his quest secret, but the bishop turned away my unusual request.”

Pennington’s mouth twisted into an ironic smile. “Did he now?” He nodded to Carter. “Permit me to retrieve my hat and gloves. As my days as the head of this unit are numbered, I suspect it is time I use my authority more freely.”

An hour later, as a unit, they had entered the bishop’s office. The elderly cleric’s countenance betrayed his surprise at having the Duke of Thornhill, the Earl of Berwick, Viscounts Worthing and Stafford, Baron Swenton, Aristotle Pennington, and Sir Carter Lowery upon his threshold. Needless to say, after viewing the grand audience before him, the bishop’s objections faded quickly.

“I will leave you to it,” Carter overheard Pennington whisper to Swenton. “Call on me before you depart for Derbyshire. I mean to know the truth of what has occurred at Lexington Arms.”

Swenton appeared uncomfortable. “I have sworn an oath of silence to Lexford.”

Pennington settled a hard gaze on the baron, and Carter smiled to see the stoical Swenton drop his eyes in submission. The authority displayed by Pennington did not come easily to Carter, and he wondered if he could ever replicate the magnificent line of Pennington’s brow in disapproval. “And I have
requested the truth of what has occurred in the life of one of my best agents. How may I protect the viscount if I know not the depth of Lexford’s agony?”

Swenton said softly, “I will come to you before the ball.” Again, Carter questioned his ability to do all Pennington did for the Realm members. “Shepherd,” as he and the others fondly called Pennington for his ability to gather “lost souls” and change them into some of the best agents in the world, appeared to recognize what those who served the Realm required most in their lives to know success on missions and happiness at home. For not the first time, Carter wondered if he could accept the life and death decisions Pennington made on a daily basis.

Carter looked on with amusement as Lord Stafford declared, “As I am a viscount, I hold no qualms in signing in Viscount Lexford’s stead. After all, I have met his lady and have witnessed his true regard for the woman.”

The bishop stammered, “I…I require…the lady’s name…for the license.”

All eyes fell on Swenton; he said sheepishly, “Mercy Nelson.”

While the others gasped, Carter placed the pieces of the puzzle together. “Not Mary Purefoy?” he asked.

“Yes to Mary Purefoy, and yes to Mercy Nelson. One and the same,” Swenton admitted.

Worthing questioned, “The missing sister of the marquis’s wife?”

The baron confirmed, “By accident, Hill discovered the girl on the road and rescued her. It is a long, complicated story, to which Lexford has demanded my tight lips. The viscount fears failure and does not wish to appear a fool for giving his heart to a woman who does not return his regard. In truth, I believe the viscount fears being duped, as he was with Susan.”

Worthing ordered, “Finish the bishop’s work, and then we will dine together. We should each own an understanding of the viscount’s pain.”

In the end, Swenton had confessed more than what the viscount had released him to do. It was decided among them that Swenton would accompany the Worthings to Linton Park on the morrow. Swenton had promised to greet Lexford with the special license in hand.

“I pray the viscount does not experience more failure,” Yardley said with real concern. “Lexford appeared quite solemn when he joined Lady Yardley and me at Chesterfield Manor.”

Carter suggested, “We will follow, but with a day’s delay. If Lexford has not known success, send word, and we will remain from Derbyshire. We will permit the viscount time to grieve and to save countenance.”

The others had agreed Carter had chosen wisely. Yardley reasoned, “Worthing and Swenton can tend to Lexford’s bruised ego if he does not manage to prevent his lady from marrying another.”

Although he had suggested they have an alternative plan, Carter did not like all the long faces. “It appears to me, we have taken the negative slant. Instead of saying ‘if,’ I suggest we substitute ‘when.’ We should recall we speak of Aidan Kimbolt, a man who is capable of doing the impossible. I can think of few others I would trust more than Viscount Lexford to play the role of Claudio to claim his Hero.”

Worthing nodded his agreement. “Without Lexford’s unique ingenuity, I would have lost Lady Worthing. I owe the viscount my devotion.” They drank a round in salute to a man they each called “friend.” However, Worthing did add one caution. “We should mention none of this to the marquis until we know the outcome. Godown suffers enough with his wife’s absence. I would not give him false hopes of finding Grace Crowden. I fear the woman means never to return to her home. When Lexford claims Mercy Nelson as his own, then I will inform Godown of the development.”

“What do we tell the marquis of Lexford’s absence if he asks?” Yardley inquired.

“I will think of something appropriate. Likely a half-truth, which is much more effective than a prevarication,” Worthing assured.

The months had passed quickly, but she was no closer to discovering the truth of Captain Warren’s perfidy than she was the day she had opened the door to find the child. Since the invasion of her rooms, Lucinda had taken extra care in securing both the door and the windows. As best she could tell, the only thing missing from the earlier break in had been one of the papers in the small pouch the boy had carried.

Obviously, whoever had intruded upon her quarters had known of the child’s existence and the fact she had become Simon’s temporary guardian.

Temporary
, she thought with an incongruous snigger. “Temporary” would denote a beginning and an end, but no end to her guardianship was in sight. Simon Warren had been with her since shortly after Christmas, and April had arrived in London. “Nearly three months,” she murmured. “Not so impermanent, after all.”

Each day Lucinda had feared a representative from the British government would appear at her door and demand she repay the widow’s allowance provided her as Mr. Warren’s wife. She would have no means to support herself or the boy if that scenario occurred.

In addition, she had come to fear someone meant either her or Simon harm. When the barrels had worked loose from the cart and injured her ankle, Lucinda had thought nothing of it–simply an accident. But then came the break in, which was followed by several bricks dislodging from a rooftop and landing at her and Simon’s feet, as well as the mysterious man she had observed matching their pace but on the opposing street whenever she and the child went about their daily routines. It was with this realization Lucinda had decided to swallow her pride and seek the assistance of the one person she knew would hold great sway in Society and with the government: Brantley Fowler, the Duke of Thornhill.

“May I visit with Mrs. Peterman?” Lucinda looked up from her stitches to find the boy standing before her. She often wondered in moments such as these if she held no maternal instincts. In the few months of their acquaintance, Lucinda had never once hugged the child nor even ruffled his tightly curled hair. She had never mistreated Simon, and she was certain she would defend the boy with her life; yet, every time she looked upon his countenance a twinge of regret stabbed her heart. Matthew Warren had never thought enough of her to permit Lucinda to know the completeness of holding her own child.

“Have you completed your lessons?” she asked devotedly.

“Yes, Ma’am.” He dropped his eyes, a characteristic which irritated her.

“Simon, look at me,” she said more tersely than she intended. “Is there something I should know?”

The boy’s bottom lip quivered. “It is only…I have never…never read from your Bible.”

Lucinda’s frown lines met. “I know so little of your religion, and I did not wish to make decisions for you until we know whether a member of your family
will return for you.” The child nodded his understanding, but Lucinda was certain he held no idea of the quandary in which they found themselves. “If you remain with me, I shall have no choice but to bring you into Christianity. I hold no knowledge of Jewish beliefs, but I do know anything outside the Church of England is frowned upon among the British citizenry. I would not have you know the pain of rejection. If I am to continue as your guardian, I must protect you.”

The child’s eyes grew in size. “You do not…you do not despise me?”

Lucinda tutted her condemnation. “Of course, I do not abhor you. You are as much a victim in this madness as I.” Instinctively, she straightened the child’s shirt. “We shall muddle through this together.” She gently flicked a single tear from Simon’s cheek. It was the first time she had seen him cry. “Now, go off and enjoy the tales Mrs. Peterman spins.”

“She is making apple tarts today,” he confessed.

Lucinda wondered how her landlady could afford the makings for apple tarts. Evidently, Mr. Peterman managed quite well with his finances. She smiled easily at the boy. She had suspected his possessing an underhanded motive to spending so much time with their landlady. “If Mr. Peterman has finished with his newspaper, ask him if I may borrow it.”

Simon declared, “Mrs. Peterman says you are seeking employment.”

“Allow Mrs. Peterman her delusions,” Lucinda returned to her sewing.

When the boy slipped from the room, she murmured. “I just pray the duke returns to Town soon. I am uncertain I possess the ability to keep the boy safe and to maintain my sanity without a ‘knight in shining armor’ riding to the rescue.”

Lucinda had stood on the busy street corner for a quarter hour, attempting to shore up her nerves. She had carefully read the social register for the past few weeks, waiting for the return of the Duke of Thornhill to his London townhouse. A single line of type had reported Brantley Fowler’s presence at Briar House, and Lucinda had wasted no time in sending a note around, requesting an audience with the duke. Thornhill had responded immediately, setting the date and time.

Self-consciously, she checked Captain Warren’s pocket watch for the time. She regularly carried her late husband’s watch in her reticule. It was one of the few items she had kept to mark her days as Mr. Warren’s wife. “Time,” she murmured.
Matthew never found the time to speak the truth
, Lucinda thought bitterly. As she set her shoulders to cross the street, she wondered how Thornhill would take to her report of his old friend.
I have no choice
, she assured her rapid pulse.