Desperate and Daring 01 - Desperate and Daring (13 page)

Draven looked completely delighted by the awkwardness. He kept shooting glances at Anabelle, whom studiously kept her full attention on Lord Rigsby.

The tension was somewhat broken by more arrivals. That of the boisterous Pastor Andrews, and Heather’s two cousins, Sir Kenneth and his younger brother Mr. Walters.

Heather stood as she and Fallon were called over to greet Pastor Andrews and her cousins. Heather gave Anabelle a sympathetic glance before leaving.

Fallon leaned close to her as they strolled. “Having one’s tooth dislodged by a kick from a goat is more enjoyable than that moment was.”

Heather smiled. “Speaking from experience?”

“Actually, yes. I was a boy, and the tooth was already loose, but I sported a hoof-shaped bruise on my face for weeks.”

Heather covered her mouth to keep herself from laughing. “How awful!”

“Faegan has a sketch of it. He has countless sketches of me growing up.”

“I’ll have to ask to see one.” She looked up at him. He looked down at her at the same moment, and his eyes were so warm she felt her whole body warm in response. She was a little out of sorts when they reached the other group. Pastor Andrews beamed at her and loudly pronounced her the most beautiful bride to be he’d ever seen.

“You are positively glowing, my dear.”

Heather agreed with his assessment. She was sure her skin was the shade of a Maiden Pink flower.

“Thank you. It has been some time since we last visited.”

“Yes, but having known you since the day you were born, I still see the charming little scamp you used to be.

Heather laughed uncomfortably. Her mother quickly took up the conversational reins, saving Heather from further embarrassment. She let Fallon lead her to a chair, but just as she was about to sit, Cantour announced dinner. Being an informal dinner, they did not line up by station but strolled together to the dining room. Fallon led her to the chair beside his. She took it bashfully, feeling very much the center of attention, but as she looked around as the others took their seats, she was glad to see that the others were not looking at them, and were enjoying their own conversations. She relaxed and determined that she would make every effort to enjoy her meal. Lady Wellsford sat across from her on Fallon’s left and snared him in a conversation about Scotland. Heather looked down the table as other guests took their seats, her cousin, Sir Kenneth, was pulling out a chair for Anabelle and would sit between them, but suddenly, Lord Draven appeared, clapped the man on the shoulder and moved him to another seat, effectively taking his place. Anabelle stared in disgust as Lord Draven took his seat and promptly turned to Heather. “Good evening, Miss Everly. I’m so glad we could further our acquaintance.”

“I have no wish to be acquainted with you,” Heather said it so quietly it was almost inaudible, but she could tell he’d heard her by his answering smile.

“Surely, all can be forgiven. You could say I was instrumental in the coming about of your engagement. You should thank me.”

Heather cast a quick glance at Fallon, but he was engrossed in talk of his home. She looked past Draven to address Anabelle, wholly improper, but it was Draven, so it didn’t matter to her.

“I can make him leave if you wish it.”

“Don’t bother. He will only fabricate some indecent lie to spread around,” Anabelle hissed.

Draven leaned back in his chair and chuckled. “It seems you’re the only one telling tales, Lady Anabelle, for now, Miss Everly knows of our—”

“Lie? Your lie, to be precise?”

There was a boom of laughter suddenly. Pastor Andrews was launching into one of his stories, and his voice carried across the table and then some, casting all other conversations to the shadows.

“You are such an Angel,” was Draven’s only response.

Heather’s brow furrowed in concern as Anabelle and Draven continued to stare at each other. She didn’t know what to do, but Anabelle was doing a poor job of hiding her hostility. Heather picked up her fork and jabbed Draven in the thigh under the table. He yelped. Those nearest turned in concern.

Draven laughed as he turned and gave Heather a very peculiar look before addressing those who had turned to them. “My boot pinched my foot. It is of no consequence.”

They turned back towards Pastor Andrews.

Draven leaned close to whisper. “Are you mad?”

“Are you? I’m about to be a duchess. How would you like to be cut from society?”

He smiled at her, but he was clearly annoyed. “This is of no business of yours.”

“She is my friend, and you are hurting her on purpose for some lark. That is most definitely my concern.”

His face changed suddenly. “I’ve no intention of hurting her.”

“Look at her,” Heather implored. She nodded towards Anabelle, who was now staring miserably at her plate while Sir Kenneth tried to engage her. “That is hurt. You are playing with her future with such talk.”

He spared Anabelle a glance. “A kiss cannot ruin ones future,” Draven returned testily.

“No, but it can certainly change it,” Heather returned.

Draven caught her eye and something strange happened. He stared at her almost as if he had some kind of epiphany. His gaze shot to Fallon, and then he withdrew completely. Heather was dumbfounded as he sipped from his wine and began to sample his food as if their entire heated conversation had been a figment of her imagination. She turned to her own food and began to eat.

For the rest of the courses, their end of the table was rather subdued, but thanks to Pastor Andrews and his ridiculous stories, no one noticed.

Their evenings were hectic with parties and balls, and so were most of their afternoons, but on this afternoon, Heather found herself completely free of obligation, and decided a bit of exploring was due. She walked the halls of the townhouse, frowning at the number of portraits that she guessed had no relation at all to the Calder name. She walked through every public room, making a mental note of the things she would like to change. The house needed more color, more light. The furnishings were large and heavy, the colors dark shades that were mostly masculine, but also, slightly depressing. There was nothing inviting about the décor, but perhaps that was because there was nothing inviting about the man who chose the décor.

An hour later, she reached the end of her exploration. Molly, a housemaid, preceded her into the attic room set aside for storage. She walked across the small room and pushed open the shutters to let the waning afternoon light into the room. Heather entered in trepidation, but the attic wasn’t as spooky as she imagined. One side was stacked with covered furniture. She made a mental note to peek under the Holland covers and see what could be of use. One wall had stacks of cloth covered paintings leaning against it. She eagerly walked towards the paintings lifting one and then another cloth covering to reveal landscapes, Angels looking over children, a couple strolling in a garden. Heather’s smiled broadened as she revealed more and more beautiful paintings far more interesting and cheerful than stodgy portraits. At the end of the row was a chest and Heather kneeled to open it.

It creaked open, and Heather pulled away a cloth to reveal stacks of little miniature portraits. She almost closed the lid in disinterest, but one of the portraits caught her eye with a charming smile. She looked again in astonishment, her hand carefully lifting the portrait into the light. It was a boy, smiling cheerfully with all the exuberance of his age. She recognized him instantly, could easily see in him the man he had become. She smiled back at the portrait and then frowned. She looked down into the chest again, at all the little portraits of Fallon. She pulled more out and lined them up along the outside of the chest by apparent age. There were many of them—fifteen years’ worth, she presumed—as if one were done every year, from a young boy to a young man. But, why were they here? Fallon had mentioned that Faegan had done sketches of him, so perhaps he would know.

Heather left the attic in determined strides. Faegan was not in the house, but Cantour said he would return shortly. Heather thanked him and went to her room. She paced the rug in front of her bed and pondered the reasons for the portraits. Was it possible the duke had asked for them? Who painted them? Did Fallon know of their existence? She had so many questions and no one to answer them. Fallon would not be coming to dinner tonight. Her mother had encouraged him to seek other suitable interests while in town. That was all well and good, except her questions were burrowing a hole in her patience, and she had no one to appease her. She groaned in exasperation and gave up for a moment to change for dinner.

A half hour passed, and she was heading downstairs to meet her family in the dining room. As she reached the landing, Cantour approached.

“Mr. Faegan is awaiting you in the drawing room, Miss Everly.”

“Thank you, Cantour. Please tell my mother I shall be a moment,” Heather said in relief as she skipped down the stairs and hurried to the drawing room. Faegan stood as she entered, but she waved him to sit and took a chair beside him. He looked a bit unsettled.

“You wished to see me?”

“Yes, I have a matter to ask you about, but don’t have much time, so I will get straight to the point.” Heather panted before taking a moment to catch her breath. “I was in the attic with Molly and I came across a chest of miniature portraits of Fal—er, his grace. Do you know where they came from and why they are here?”

Now Mr. Faegan looked supremely uncomfortable. He swallowed and pulled at the neck of his tie. “Well, you see, it was my way of trying to convince the duke to be a proper father. I sent them to him for many years, but gave up after no attempt to see the boy was made.”

“Does Fallon know?” Heather gave up pretenses. It was confusing to talk about the duke when Fallon was now the duke.

Mr. Faegan blanched. “No. He would be terribly irate if he found out.”

Heather frowned in puzzlement. “But who painted the portraits then? How could he not know?”

“I did. I painted them from the many sketches I drew of him. It wasn’t right of his father to just ignore him like that. Children need to know they are cared for, and that someone cares enough to celebrate their life. That’s why I drew the sketches. I did my best to make him feel cared for.”

Heather was speechless. She felt a swell of emotion for Fallon and the lonely boy he must have been, and for the man before her who had tried to fill the role of father for him. “Thank you, Mr. Faegan. Why didn’t you tell him about the portraits when you first started doing them?”

“It’s a funny thing, miss. From the moment the duke walked out on his son, that boy was determined to go his own way, to be his own man. He had a fierce heart even for a little scamp.”

“But he didn’t do it on his own, did he. He had you, and he had Mrs. Ferguson.” Heather smiled fondly. “Thank you.”

Mr. Faegan went scarlet in the cheeks. His eyes looked a tad bright. “It was nothing. He’s a good lad, and now he has everything he deserves.”

Heather reached out and squeezed his hand. “Thank you for telling me. I won’t keep you any longer.”

He looked up at her with a frown. “Will you tell him? I feel as though I’ve betrayed him.”

“You did what you thought was best. I don’t know if I will tell him, or if it is even my place to tell him. He talks about his father so rarely, but there seems to still be something there, some kind of wound.”

“I know what you mean. If there is anyone who can heal him, I know it is you.”

Heather was taken aback by that. She wanted to ask what he meant exactly, but didn’t have the courage. “Thank you,” she said sheepishly. She stood and bid him goodnight. Her previous questions replaced by other questions. She wasn’t sure she was ready for the answer, so she let it go as she arrived at the dining room and joined her mother and sisters.

“What took you so long? I’m famished, but Mother said we had to wait.” Violet spooned more fish into her mouth.

Heather looked over at her half empty plate. “You survived. I had to speak with Mr. Faegan about pictures in the attic. I want to take all the frowning aristocrats of unknown origins down, and hang some of the nice landscapes I found up there.”

“What a wonderful idea. This house could use a feminine touch.” Her mother smiled approvingly

“Where is our knight in shining armor anyhow? He promised to tell me about the ghost of the Sheepshead Moore.” Prim sighed in disappointment.

“Mother advised him to find more interests in town. He can’t spend all his time mooning over Heather.”

“Violet!” Heather and her mother said in unison.

Violet jumped and looked back and forth between the two. “Now that was scary.”

“That’s enough, Violet.” Lady Everly continued, “I simply encouraged his grace to take advantage of all the town has to offer a gentleman of his means. He could use a little town bronze.”

Heather didn’t like the sound of that.

“What entails town bronzing?” Prim asked.

Lady Everly shrugged. “I don’t rightly know, but Lord Rigsby will lead the way. I would guess cards at Whites, a boxing match or two, a little gambling—responsibly, of course. Ablehill has a good head on his shoulders.”

“On very broad shoulders,” Violet added. Prim giggled.

Heather threw her sister a reprimanding glare, though she quite agreed with her sister’s assessment. Fallon had a very pleasing physique. He was tall and strong. She could feel it every time his arms came around her, and she heartily enjoyed it. Most men of her acquaintance did not compare to him. He was so different from the men she knew, so much more vibrant and giving. He was one of a kind, and he was going to be hers.

Heather took a sip of her water, afraid her less than innocent musings would become apparent in the color of her cheeks.

“He isn’t scrawny like most gentlemen, though neither are Lord Draven and Lord Rigsby.”

“These are not appropriate opinions for a girl your age, Violet,” her mother admonished.

“Why not? I am well aware that I will be judged on my looks first and foremost when I come out. It’s only fair and reasonable that women do the same.”

Lady Everly only rolled her eyes heavenward and took a sip of her wine.

“Lord Rigsby is nice and quite funny,” Prim added, delighted by the scandalous conversation. “And Lord Draven—”

“Is a scoundrel,” Heather intervened. “Do not set your cap for him, or any man like him.”

“I’m not setting my cap for anyone. They will be much too old for me by the time I am of marriageable age, but he does look dreamy, in a villainous sort of way.”

Heather rolled her eyes. “What sort of man would you wish to marry?”

“A man just like Mr. Calder—I mean, his grace. A nice man with exquisite looks and a title.”

“The measure of a man is not his title, little Primrose. Whether he is a mere mister or a duke, we all recognized what an exceptional person he was, barring the misstep of fibbing about his identity.” Lady Everly intoned wisely.

Heather wanted to snort. Now her mother viewed it as a mere fib? It still rankled Heather when she thought of that moment, but she pushed it away. After all, things were going quite nicely, and holding onto a grudge would only ruin it. She preferred to focus on the positive things now, like his nice broad shoulders, and his teasing smile when they seemed to share the same thought and caught each other’s eye. She liked the way his hand felt on her back when he guided her through a crowded room. She could feel the heat of his palm and the press of every fingertip. She liked when he leaned close to hear her better or to share a private remark. It felt intimate, and it always made her yearn for a kiss.

There had been few opportunities for kisses in the past evenings. Fallon remained rigidly proper at all functions. Heather appreciated his efforts when society was waiting for the scent of scandal, but she missed being close to him, she missed the press of his body against hers. She sighed. Now she wished he were here and not off with Rigsby and Draven. She was shocked to realize that if he were, she would be planning a way to get him alone.

Dinner carried on. Heather remained lost in her thoughts while her sisters filled the air with remarks and barbs to earn reproving glances from their mother. Heather laughed and enjoyed it, giving into their baiting occasionally. She’d missed nights like these, time that was just theirs when they could be themselves. Again, she remembered that this too was because of Fallon. If not for him, they would not be this happy. Heather smiled at that thought. She was happy, she realized, they all were. Her heart swelled with the feeling, and she was almost brought to tears. Her mother caught her eye, as if they had been sharing thoughts, and Heather raised her glass to her mother, and her mother did the same. At that moment, the last of Heather’s reservations evaporated. She couldn’t ask for anything more than what she already had.