Realm 05 - A Touch of Mercy (11 page)

Mr. Ryan laughed agreeably. “Enough to decorate each mantle within the main rooms, as well as other flat surfaces.”

Aidan frowned. “That many? We will strip the trees bare.”

Ryan chuckled. “Such is the idea, my Lord, but no worry. There are many trees upon the grounds for the birds and squirrels to call home.” The man motioned to a copse of ash and transplanted rowan trees. “I promised Mrs. Osborne I’d bring back several kissing balls. Would ye be requiring some above stairs, my Lord?” The gardener winked conspiratorially.

The man’s suggestion caught Aidan by surprise. “Whom would I kiss, Mr. Ryan?” he asked earnestly.

The gardener’s eyes drifted to where Miss Purefoy chose limbs for the young servant to cut. Aidan’s eyes followed. The idea of kissing Mary Purefoy was not as repulsive as it should be. “Perhaps not, Sir,” Ryan said dutifully.

Aidan considered his response. In her innocence, the woman was beautiful, but she was his sister by blood. Even if he feigned an altruistic kiss on the cheek before “accidentally” finding her lips, the lady would recognize his motives for what they were. No, it was better to keep their relationship playful. To treat each other with respect and friendship. “Hurry on with you, Mr. Ryan.” Aidan purposely ignored the man’s suggestion. “I will require your assistance to meet the house’s need for holly.”

*

An hour later, Aidan escorted Miss Purefoy toward the house. He had insisted she return to the drawing room so they both could enjoy some chocolate. “It will warm you. Your fingers are too cold.” He had seated her before the fire. “And Mr. Ryan fully understands how important the greenery is to the house’s celebration.”

“What of the ribbon?” she asked distractedly.

Aidan smiled at the lady’s singularity. “I cannot say for certain, but we will seek Mrs. Babcock’s counsel.” In calling for the housekeeper’s presence, he meant to emphasize to the woman that it was his idea to reestablish Christmastide traditions. “I am certain the lady will be well aware of what else we might require.” Miss Purefoy flinched, and Aidan wondered of the source of her discontent. “Is something amiss, my Dear?” The girl quickly shook her head in the negative, but he did not believe her. “Tell me,” he said as he knelt before her to capture Miss Purefoy’s hands. “If we are to make anything good of this situation, we must speak the truth. We have been thrust together by no fault on our parts; yet, I hope we can carve out a mutual friendship.”

She stared at him long and hard. Finally, the girl nodded her agreement. “Mrs. Babcock is not pleased to have me in the household,” she confessed.

Aidan said incredulously, “Has the woman offered you an offense?”

“No. No,” Miss Purefoy assured. “But I feel Mrs. Babcock’s disdain, nonetheless. She watches me as if the lady suspects I might carry off the best silver.”

Aidan chose his words carefully. “My initial disparagement with your appearance likely was carried to the servants’ quarters. I apologize if my conceit brought censure to your door. We must set a new tone. Please understand the change will be slow.”

“It is of no consequence, my Lord. I will find a means to win over Mrs. Babcock. She is a loyal servant and wants only what is best for your household.” Aidan was not so certain, but he permitted Miss Purefoy her delusion.

*

They had enjoyed the chocolate and the heat of the hearth before Aidan finally summoned the housekeeper to the room. “Mrs. Babcock,” he said amiably, “Miss Purefoy and I had thought to add ribbon and glass ornaments to the greenery Mr. Ryan will gather to decorate the house. Are there items previously in storage which might be used?” The housekeeper shot a disapproving glare at Miss Purefoy. Aidan added quickly, “
I had thought
,” he emphasized the words, “some of my mother’s things might be available. I must surround myself with pleasant memories to nurture the missing ones.”

He watched with satisfaction as Mrs. Babcock’s expression changed from one of disapproval to one of empathy. “I am certain any ribbon remaining in storage would have rotted by now, but there are some lovely glass ornaments in a trunk in the drying room. I believe some of them were your great-grandmother’s. There are others which likely belonged to Lady Cassandra.”

“Could they be brought down in time to decorate?” he coaxed. His own excitement had grown with the housekeeper’s disclosure.

The lady’s prune face had returned, but her tone held her professionalism. “I shall see personally to the decorations, Lord Lexford. It would have pleased the late viscount to know his son had taken up several of the family traditions.”

Aidan could not recall a time when Arlen Kimbolt placed family traditions to the forefront. Only in securing the line had Aidan’s father shown any passion. He graciously accepted the housekeeper’s words before excusing her to her duties. With the woman’s exit, he turned to his sister. “We should take the coach into the village.” She meant to protest, but Aidan stifled her words by saying, “I have no sensibilities when it comes to ribbons. You must save me from making a cake of myself.” He assisted her to her feet. “Now hurry. I am rarely a patient man.”

“Despite your exaggerations to the contrary,” she said after a long assessing look, “I think you a man of great insight.” Then she was gone. Gone before Aidan could ascertain her meaning. In the lady’s opinion, was being a man of insight a good thing?

Thirty minutes later, Mr. Hill had taken the reins of the carriage. “Mrs. Osborne has a long list of supplies in order to create a Christmas feast,” his man explained.

“Then you do not mean to chaperone?” Aidan teased.

Hill’s eyebrow rose in curiosity. “Do you require a chaperone, my Lord?”

Aidan chuckled. “I think not.” He turned to assist the approaching Miss Purefoy into his small coach. “It is but a short ride into the village,” he explained to his companion as Hill climbed into the seat. “Once there, if you think of anything else we might require for the celebration, do not hesitate to purchase it. As I explained earlier, it has been nearly two decades since anyone has thought to mark the Festive Days at Lexington Arms. My memory of those days is as vague as that of the past two years.” Although he said the words as an apology for his shortcomings, Aidan was not certain he spoke the truth. Since accepting Miss Purefoy’s suggestion to decorate his house for the Festive Days, in snatches of colorful images, he had enjoyed the vivid memories of those early years of his life.

Miss Purefoy kept her eyes on the scenery outside the coach. Since entering the carriage, she had not looked upon him. He knew that observation to be the truth for Aidan had watched her exclusively. “This is very kind of you, my Lord. Kind of you to honor a poor relative’s whim.” In hesitation, she bit her bottom lip. “Like you, it has been many years since Christmastide knew a home under my brother’s roof.”

Aidan asked, “Did not your mother insist on bringing the Festive Days into her son’s home?”

The girl blushed thoroughly. She stammered, “My…my brother is not easily swayed.”

He was not certain Miss Purefoy spoke the complete honesty. Aidan had the strong suspicion she had forgotten the ruse she practiced, but he also could not shake the idea he had seen the “real” girl within. “Then we will form our own family tradition,” he had said patiently.

*

Mercy swallowed hard. She had come close to betraying her true devastation to Lord Lexford. The man was so not what she had expected. When her sister Grace had spoken of having the acquaintance of the viscount in London, Grace had also confided that the gentleman had developed an affection for Cashémere Aldridge. Mercy had met the girl but once in the five years Grace had served as a governess in Samuel Aldridge’s household. At the time, Mercy had found the girl highly opinionated, and not in a good way. Cashémere Aldridge spouted religion as if she were an Evangelical preacher. Mercy could not imagine any man would desire a shrewish woman for a wife, and especially a man of Lord Lexford’s ilk.

The viscount was perfect in every way. Handsome beyond reason. By far the most handsome man Mercy had ever encountered. Yet, underneath his fine features, His Lordship possessed a cold intelligence, which defined him, and even deeper, there was a sadness, which could destroy him. Destroy her, too, she feared, for she was already very attached to the man.

“We have arrived,” Lord Lexford announced as the carriage rolled to a halt before a colorful mercantile. “Did you consider other purchases we should make?”

Mercy raised her eyes to meet his. “We should see to some form of gratitude for your cottagers, my Lord.”

“You are correct again,” His Lordship conceded. “This has been a difficult year for those on the land.”

“More so than last?” she inquired. “I understood last year beyond the pale.”

“True,” he acknowledged, but he did not act as if he held a remembrance of what she spoke. Instead, he spoke from instinct. Mercy wondered how she might assist the viscount in discovering the missing pieces of his life. It would be her hope that in doing so, the man would finally know peace. “I will ask Mr. Hill to anticipate our needs in this matter. Thank you for reminding me of my duty to the estate. Your empathy is duly noted.” He slid across the seat to reach for the door handle.

Her hand stayed his arm. “Before the people who depend upon your estate for their livelihood, may I not be your cousin?” Mercy asked softly. She dreaded facing strangers who had heard rumors of her supposed parentage.

The viscount smiled easily. “I should have considered the possibility previously. I have struggled with how to reconcile what I know of my father’s history with our relationship and without causing you pain. From this day forward, you are Miss Mary Purefoy, my cousin from…”

“York,” she supplied.

“My cousin from York.” The viscount kissed the back of Mercy’s gloved hand before debarking. He first gave Mr. Hill instructions and then reached for her. “Come along, my Dear.” Despite her plain clothing, Mercy had never felt so special. Viscount Lexford made her feel as elegantly dressed as a princess in a gossamer gown. When His Lordship was near, Mercy found herself continually a kilter. “What first?” he whispered close to her ear.

“Ribbons first, my Lord,” she said with a full smile.

*

Aidan was uncertain of why the woman brought him a sense of purpose, but she did. Contrary to his normally sensible nature, he had accepted a complete stranger into a place of honor within his home, and worse, he strove to make the woman happy. In less than four and twenty hours, Miss Purefoy had solidly wormed her way into his life, and Aidan would have it no other way. However, he could not totally dismiss her choice of “York” as her home shire. He wondered if the lady had forgotten her earlier tale of Staffordshire or whether she meant to mislead others into thinking her more rightly distanced from Cheshire. It was a fact Aidan would include in his letter to Pennington.

He escorted her into the small mercantile. Instantly, Mr. Chadwick, the proprietor was before him. “My Lord, may I be of assistance?”

“My cousin, Miss Purefoy, has convinced me it is time for Lexington Arms to shed its mourning ribbons. We plan to begin with a small family Christmastide celebration. As such, Miss Purefoy says we must have red ribbon and plenty of it.”

“Absolutely, my Lord.” The man bowed again for good measure. “Is there anything else you desire?”

Aidan shot a glance to where Miss Purefoy thumbed fine muslins. “Please ask one of your daughters to assist my cousin with the purchase of whatever cloth the lady might desire. I wish to speak to Mr. Hill regarding proper supplies for my cottagers; then I mean to choose several personal items.”

The shopkeeper rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “As you wish, my Lord.”

Although he did not remove his eyes from Miss Purefoy, for a quarter hour Aidan and Hill decided upon what would be appropriate for the estate’s tenants. Lucifer thought it a good idea to open Lexington Arms to the cottagers on the day following Christmas. “It will provide the staff time to organize a basket of staples for each family.”

“I agree,” Aidan said.

Hill’s eyes followed Aidan’s gaze. “Ask the lady’s opinion of what we have chosen and what else should be included.”

Aidan scowled. “You readily bow to Miss Purefoy’s opinions. Do you have an ulterior motive, my Friend?”

Hill chuckled. “Only that I like the man I see when you think no one watches you watching the lady.”

It was very frustrating to be so transparent. Aidan said defiantly, “You must be daft,” but he strolled toward where Miss Purefoy shoved away the hands of what must be Mr. Chadwick’s daughter. “Give it here,” he demanded as he caught the dark blue cloth. He held the material close to Miss Purefoy’s cheek. “An excellent choice,” he declared. “Now the dark green.”

“My Lord…” Miss Purefoy pleaded.

“None of your protests, my Dear,” he replied. “I mean to see my cousin dressed for her station.” He turned toward the girl. “Miss Chadwick, I presume.”

The girl stammered, “Yes…yes, my Lord. Serena, Sir.” A quick curtsy followed.

“Miss Chadwick, my cousin requires five new dresses.”

“Three,” Miss Purefoy corrected.

“Five.” Aidan swiftly dismissed her protest. He winked at Miss Chadwick. “And a riding habit.” He looked again upon the pale countenance of Miss Purefoy. He said in sympathy, “Yet, I will not embarrass my cousin by asking her to submit to a fitting today. Instead, we will place the choice of fabrics in your expert hands.” The young girl blushed thoroughly. “Perhaps you might also recommend a competent dressmaker who would call upon the manor to complete the work.”