Realm 04 - A Touch of Grace (3 page)

She guided Alice Aldridge’s steps to the main staircase. The viscountess glanced over her shoulder to where her husband ranted about the lack of assistance from his servants, “Viscount Averette will object,” she said tentatively.

Grace steadied the woman’s stumbling steps. “His Lordship plans a journey of his own. He has ordered his coach,” Grace said softly. “The servants have their orders. Something bad is happening at The Ridge, and you and Gwen must not be a part of it.”

“But what of you?” Lady Averette allowed Grace to lead the way toward the mistress’s private chambers.

“I have long wished to return to Lancashire,” Grace said softly. If not for Lady Averette’s faltering composure, the house’s mistress would have heard the falsehoods, which laced Grace’s words. “I have family there.” Grace reached for the door latch. “If you would provide me a letter of reference, I shall find another position. Perhaps, something closer to my home,” she had added for good measure.

Lady Averette stopped suddenly and gazed questionably upon Grace. “What of Gwendolyn? My daughter shall miss you terribly.” The woman caught Grace’s hand in her two. “My husband is simply out of sorts. Something concerning the estate or his nieces. I am certain Lord Averette will forgive your interruption of a few moments prior. You shall see. Everything shall return to normal.”

Grace had experience all the normal she could tolerate in this household. Even a few days under her brother’s roof would be preferable over the madness Samuel Aldridge invoked. She said evenly, “On more than one occasion, His Lordship has voiced his displeasure for my part in the Duke of Thornhill’s revenge on Sir Louis Levering. Although I was an unknowing participant, Viscount Averette has made his ire known. I am certain my most recent interference has sealed my fate in this household. And as to Gwendolyn, she shall have your parents to dote upon her and cousins with which to play. She shall adjust quickly. I have spoken to her of my departure, and Gwen understands my reasons for leaving. I have explained I miss my brother and younger sister.”

“I shall always think of you kindly, Grace Nelson,” Lady Averette said reverently. “You have been a Godsend. When you are prepared to take your leave, your letter shall be waiting for you.” Wiping the tears from her eyes, the viscountess permitted her maid to lead her into her private quarters.

Grace sighed heavily. “I shall be happy to be free of this place.”

*

Tired of permitting life to pass him by, Gabriel Crowden had ridden leisurely, but with a new determination to discover his own future. With Jamot’s escape from the abbey, he and Kerrington had given chase. They had scooped up Baron Ashton’s private papers from the ground where the Baloch had scattered them as part of his escape diversion before mounting to pursue the shadow of Murhad Jamot. Neither man had spoken. After having served together for five years, Crowden and Kerrington had known what to expect–the nuances of the quest.

Kerrington had taken the lead, and Gabriel had ridden some two lengths behind. As his former captain followed the Baloch’s trail, Gabriel had scanned the landscape, searching for possible subterfuge. As Jamot’s attempts to locate Shaheed Mir’s missing emerald among the Realm members had failed three times, Gabriel had expected Mir’s man to act with desperation. His eyes had scanned every tree–every rock, expecting the Baloch to expose himself–to take aim against them, but Jamot had once again done the unexpected: Jamot had made a full out retreat. Retreating to fight another day.

That knowledge had not deterred their initial efforts, but after a quarter hour they, instinctively, eased away from the urgency. Lathered with foam, both horses labored under the hilly conditions, and as he and Kerrington topped yet another crest, they slowed their animals to a stop.

Out of breath, Gabriel wiped his sweaty brow with a handkerchief. A bit of dust rose from where the road twisted into a loop and turned toward the east. From their position atop the hill, they could see the Baloch had, at least, a half-mile on them. “Jamot heads into the Southern mountains,” Crowden gestured to the wisp of dust lingering above the hedgerows. Dejectedly, he said, “Will we continue to search.” Above all things, he wanted the madness to end. He had longed for home for so long, and he could no longer muster a taste to do the government’s business.

“God!” Kerrington appeared as frustrated as he. The captain had not removed his gaze from where Jamot sought refuge. “I know I should continue our pursuit, but, in reality, all I want is race to Cheshire to assure myself Ella is well. I am tired of this life. Is it beyond reason to simply want to live out my days as Eleanor Kerrington’s husband?”

Crowden’s heart lurched. He had witnessed the happiness both Kerrington and Thornhill had discovered upon their returns to England. Knowing Wellston’s tenaciousness, Gabriel held no doubt the earl would join the viscount and the duke in wedded bliss. Gabriel had lost his family because of a youthful indiscretion. He wished to salvage what remained. “I believe you should go home, Captain. You have a family to protect. Chasing the kidnapper of your wife’s cousin is one thing. A family obligation should always take precedence. Chasing a crazy Baloch across Scotland is someone else’s mission. Have we not given enough years and faced enough dangers?”

“You sound introspective, Crowden.” Kerrington’s gaze had shifted to Gabriel’s countenance. “Is there something you wish to say?”

Staring off toward the trail they should be following, Crowden remained silent for several minutes. “I want what you have,” he said into the stillness. “What Thornhill has. What Wellston has obviously found. If I possessed it, I would be on the road to my estate so quickly people would question whether I had ever been here.”

Kerrington turned his horse in a tight circle. The captain’s eyes glanced to the disappearing evidence of Jamot’s retreat before returning to Gabriel’s countenance. “You have the right of it, Crowden. Someone will find Jamot, or the Baloch will return to his homeland. Either way, I am to Manchester. I will deliver Ashton’s papers, and the baron can choose whether to prosecute Aldridge. At the moment, all I wish is to sleep with my wife held tightly in my embrace.”

Crowden nodded his agreement. “I will assure myself Lord Yardley and Swenton have recovered the ladies, and then I will be to Staffordshire. I am of the persuasion I can serve England more by being a voice of reason in Parliament than I can by tracking Jamot.”

“We will report we lost the trail,” Kerrington confirmed.

Crowden extended his hand in parting. “Farewell. Be safe, Captain.” Kerrington had accepted it with a nod of approval. His friend turned his mount toward England, his wife, and his home. Gabriel watched the man he had blindly followed into hell wind his way to the west. He watched until he could no longer decipher his friend’s form before hoarsely saying, “If I possessed what you have discovered…” Gabriel gave his head a shake to clear his focus. “Soon,” he murmured. “Very soon.”

*

Gabriel had spent barely twelve hours with his friends before he made his excuses and set himself upon the task of returning to Staffordshire–to what remained of his family. Upon taking his leave from James Kerrington, Gabriel had made his way to Leith to discover Marcus Wellston, John Swenton, and Lucifer Hill had been more successful than he and Kerrington. With the earl’s ability to scale heights, and Swenton and Hill’s brute strength the three men had staged a dramatic rescue of Miss Cashémere Aldridge, the woman Wellston intended to marry, and the lady’s twin sister, Miss Satiné.

During the Season, Gabriel had made Miss Cashémere’s acquaintance during the Realm’s staged ploy that had brought about Sir Louis Levering’s forced transportation and eventual death at Murhad Jamot’s hands. At the time, everyone thought the lady was marked for Viscount Lexford, their friend Aidan Kimbolt; but even upon his limited interactions with Miss Cashémere, Gabriel had never thought her a fit match for Lexford.

The remainder of the Realm did not know women the way he did. The moment he kissed the back of a lady’s hand, he could tell anyone who bothered to ask the depth of the woman’s guard for a man. Cashémere Aldridge might have possessed a childlike innocence, but the lady also held a deep, passionate independence–one Kimbolt would have smothered rather than nurtured. The lady’s disposition was better suited to Wellston. On the earl’s Scottish border estate, the woman would rule her land with controlled fervor. As if she were a warrior princess. As with Kerrington and Lady Eleanor and Thornhill with his childhood love, Velvet Aldridge, Wellston would know contentment with Miss Cashémere, and she with him.

Gabriel had remained in Leith long enough to assure himself of a safe end to Wellston’s adventure and to make a manipulated statement to the local magistrate as to his involvement in Miss Satiné’s rescue from her kidnapper and in the eventual death of her abductor, Lachlan Charters. With the knowledge happiness was easily within his reach if he was willing to permit its admittance, Gabriel had bid his friends farewell.

When he returned to Gossling Hill, he would send for the Three Roses and permit them to do a bit of matchmaking. His father’s sisters had repeatedly “encouraged” him to wed, but he had deftly avoided their previous maneuverings. Now, he would welcome their devious attempts. He would open his London townhouse and stand attendance on all the ladies his Aunt Rosabel, Aunt Rosalyn, and Aunt Rosaliá deemed suitable. He would make polite conversation until someone struck his fancy.

He had made a mental list of the qualities he would require in a future mate. Gabriel would share those requirements with his aunts prior to their search: attractive beyond the ordinary, a quick mind but not overly opinionated, the usual accomplishments of fine ladies, resourceful, and above all other qualities–loyalty. Gabriel had known too many women who kept their wedding vows only long enough to produce the required heirs. He would not tolerate a woman who spent her favors among his acquaintances.

Gabriel would like to know the deep soul-cleansing love his friends had found, but he would settle for a woman who did not immediately bore him. The requirement for him to produce an heir loomed, and Gabriel might lower his standards a bit, but only a fraction. “Surely, with the number of women who make their Presentations each Season, a man may discover an appropriate match if he sets his mind to it.” And even if the lady did not engage his heart, he would perform his duty and beget several children. He had always desired a large family. Without brothers and sisters, he had spent a lonely childhood, the only issue of much older parents. Privately, Gabriel had decided some time ago he wanted, at least, three children. More if possible. It was not a fact a man discussed even with his most intimate companions, but Gabriel had long ago settled the fact as an absolute.

Setting his mind to a different course, Crowden had ridden leisurely away from the Sly Fox Inn. With a new determination, he set his horse’s pace to bring him to Gossling Hill’s doorstep within three days. He had crossed Midlothian and Peeblesshire and was likely in Dumfriesshire when the shot rang out. Despite the sudden pain in his chest, Gabriel jerked Balder’s reins hard to the right, turning the stallion in a tight circle. He searched from where the bullet had come, but he found nothing unusual. He had thought to locate cover, but when another bullet whizzed by his ear, he kicked Balder’s flanks and grasped the reins tightly to maintain his seat.

The blood squirted from the wound. Each beat of his heart sent another gush of fresh blood. He managed to remain in the saddle, but after a mile, Gabriel abandoned the effort. Reining Balder in, he clumsily slid from the saddle and half crawled to shelter behind a large boulder. Jerking a second handkerchief from an inside pocket, he pressed it to the wound and prayed to stop the blood flow. He cursed himself for not considering the possibility of a highwayman’s attack or even of Jamot seeking revenge. He had been so consumed with the idea of finally knowing happiness he had not listened to the knell of his own death’s bell. Placing more pressure against the gaping hole, Crowden closed his eyes and prayed for a second chance.

She had ridden for two days in first one mail coach and then another. As she shot a glance out the small window, Grace reflected once more on how much her life had changed the day her father had lost his hold on his favorite hunter’s reins as the animal jumped a low-cut hedgerow in the midst of the annual Cletherwoode Hunt, receiving a fatal blow to the back of his head. The former Baron Nelson’s actions had up-ended her hopes of home and family and a loving marriage. Her father’s small estate rested outside the Honour of Clitheroe, but her parents were always included in the annual event, and it had never occurred to Grace until that fateful day a man could die in the throes of pleasure. But her father had died with wide-eye wonder upon his countenance and a hearty laugh upon his lips.

Baron Thomas Lenard Nelson had departed this earth some six years prior, followed closely in time by his loving wife, Lady Louisa Anabella Bredlow Nelson. Grace had discovered her mother’s body, resting in repose, in her late husband’s chambers. The physician had declared the mistress of Foresthill Hall had passed from a broken heart.

Grace had shed more tears than she thought possible. Both of her parents had left her in less than three months time. Now, as she bounced along the rough road, wedged between a country solicitor on one side and a matronly housekeeper on the other, Grace’s thoughts fell again on the life of luxury she had once known. A far stretch from her current accommodations. Grace sighed wistfully.

“It not be too much farther,” the solicitor said. “I ride this road often. It is superior to the interior roads,” he assured as the coach’s right wheel lurched from yet another rut left behind by recent rains.

Grace caught the edge of the seat cushion with her free hand and straightened her legs to brace her position. It would not do to tip over onto the man. “That is excellent news,” she murmured to be polite before shifting closer to the woman.