Faith (19 page)

After the dishes had been cleared away, Grace nodded to Trevor, who announced they would retire early, as they were a bit tired from the trip. Faith bit her lip and felt her stomach do an odd flip. She’d be alone with Gareth—though she half-expected him to excuse himself as well

When he didn’t, she drew in a shaky breath. It was time to talk, but she had no idea where to begin. The silence grew until it felt like a separate entity sharing the space with them. Finally, she cleared her throat and spoke. “I didn’t start those fires, Gareth.”

“I know.”

She waited another moment. “Perhaps we could just start at the beginning and clear the air.”

He looked at her, and Faith felt her heart fall. His brown eyes were expressionless, although the look on his face was almost pleasant. “I don’t see how it will help, but go ahead.”

“Well.” She looked down at her hands. “I was not uninterested in the tour of Rothmere. I know it came across that way, but a thought occurred to me that rather consumed my attention, and I wasn’t aware that I had withdrawn.”

“Do go on, princess. I’m dying to hear about this…thought.”

Faith blushed. “You were so proud of the changes you’d made to Rothmere. As I listened to you, I realized…” She swallowed hard to get past the lump of embarrassment in her throat. “I realized that I would bear the child to whom you would someday leave the estate.”

Gareth’s eyes grew hard, glittering dangerously in his previously placid face. “You can hardly bring yourself to utter the thought, can you?”

Faith, misunderstanding the reason for his sudden anger, shook her head hastily, reached out a placating hand, and placed it on his arm. “No! It isn’t that. It’s just that it was the first time the thought occurred to me and…” She stopped and drew her eyebrows together. “Do you not want an heir, my lord?”

Gareth’s flesh twitched under the soft, long-fingered hand on his arm, his wife’s touch burning into him like a brand. He felt himself stirring and recognized his arousal for what it was. He lifted his face and smiled, an ominous expression that did not reach his eyes. “Are you telling me you’re now willing to fulfill your marital obligations, Faith?”

Everything about the conversation was precarious, and Faith felt off-balance, unsure of the rules, or even of what role she played in this game. All she knew was that he expected an answer. Summoning her courage, she met his eyes and nodded.

“Tell me. Aloud.”

Oh, God. “I—I am now willing to fulfill my m-marital obligations.”

That she had no idea what he meant by that did not occur to Gareth. “So you’re ready to go to bed with me, to sleep with me, in my room, to allow me to plant my seed inside you every night until it takes root and grows within you to bear me an heir?”

“Every night?”

Gareth leaned forward and caught her eyes with his. “Yes, Faith. Every night until you become pregnant. That’s the only way I can hope to be sure the brat you carry is mine and not your lover’s.”

Faith sucked in her breath with a hiss, shocked beyond words. Her face drained of color for a long moment before two bright spots of angry red appeared on her cheeks. Gareth watched them appear and took her reaction as one of guilt.

“Nothing to say, princess?”

She closed her eyes and averted her head for a moment, folding her lips in a way Gareth knew indicated a struggle for control. When she looked back at him, her gray eyes were clear and frosty, her face calm. “I want to go home.”

“No.”

“One way or another, I’ll leave.”

“I’ll find you.”

Faith shook her head. “Why, Gareth? What’s the point?”

And that…ah,
that.
The question he could not answer because it ripped him apart. Because despite everything, despite the fact that she hadn’t even bothered to deny his accusation, he loved her. Outwardly, he appeared unmoved, and fought hard to do so. She could never learn of his inner turmoil. He took a deep breath. “Go, then. You’re right. There is no point.”

The words fell between them, insinuated themselves into the invisible wall they’d erected and strengthened it. After a moment, Faith stood and left the room, quietly closing the door behind her. She was halfway up the stairs when the sound of glass shattering against the wall made her flinch. Then, as servants came at a run in reaction to the noise, she resumed her sedate climb to the second level and disappeared down the hall.

Twenty-nine

F
aith’s jaw ached. Her smile faded as yet another curious group of nosy gossip seekers glided away unsatisfied. Discreetly, she lifted her fan to hide the fact that she was opening and closing her mouth to work the muscles and relax her jaw. Between gritting her teeth to keep from saying some of the things she truly wished to say and smiling disarmingly, she’d managed to build up a great deal of tension—a situation for which she entirely blamed Grace.

She had been against going out. There would, Faith knew, be questions for which she didn’t have answers, and with the ton, unanswered questions meant speculation, and speculation became rumors. Despite these protests, Grace had somehow managed to convince her that
not
making an appearance would be far worse, especially since it was known that she had returned to London and was residing with the Caldwells instead of living in Gareth’s town house.

“It will be fine, Faith,” her sister had promised. “We’ll just tell them the truth: Gareth is seeing to the renovation of Rothmere while you enjoy the remainder of the Season in Town, and you didn’t wish to stay anywhere alone.”

Thus Faith had found herself at this ball, sedately descending the steps behind the Earl and Countess of Huntwick, a contrived serene expression on her face hiding the inner turmoil she felt at hearing her title bellowed out for the very first time over the din of several hundred guests.

By the second hour, she was ready to leave. She stepped up behind Grace, who was talking with two gentleman friends of Trevor’s. “This was a terrible idea,” she hissed after her sister excused herself from that conversation.

“Oh, give it a chance,” Grace coaxed. “You’ve got to jump back in sometime and break the ice. After tonight, they’ll leave you alone.”

“Faith!” Both girls turned in the direction the voice had originated and saw Amanda Lloyd hurrying toward them, her husband striding along in her wake. She reached the Ackerly sisters and threw her arms around Faith. “What are you doing here? Where’s Gareth?” She craned her head, looking around for her brother-in-law.

Faith’s happy smile at seeing her friend faltered a bit at Amanda’s words. She winced inwardly when she saw those guests closest to her lean in to hear the answer. Catching herself from relaying any truths, she carefully renewed her smile. “He’s still at Rothmere. There were a few more details regarding renovations to which he wished personally to attend.”

Amanda tilted her head quizzically for an instant, not fooled by the fleeting changes in Faith’s expression. She swiftly recovered and turned to Jonathon, who had just managed, after being waylaid by an acquaintance, to catch up. “I’ve found my friends, darling, so you can run along and do whatever it is you men do.”

He smiled indulgently and kissed the hands of both Grace and Faith. His gaze lingered a shade longer than necessary on Faith, but he asked no questions. “Ladies.” He nodded and disappeared into the crowd.

Grace laughed. “Men! They like to pretend they’re happiest when they’re off playing cards or hunting or some such thing, but they always come running back.”

Amanda nodded and linked arms with the two sisters. They began strolling through the crowd. “I have a million questions, of course,” she said, “but I’ll not ask them here. You must both come to tea tomorrow.”

Grace readily accepted, and though Faith said nothing, her companions took her silence as assent. She swallowed hard. The situation was horrid. She couldn’t possibly expect Amanda to choose a friend over a member of the family, and she was terribly afraid it would come to that.

The girls walked on, arms still linked, skirting the edge of the dance floor and heading for Cleo Egerton, who stood talking with a cluster of older people. As they approached, Faith noticed the group included a familiar face: Horatio Grimsby, the Earl of Jameson.

With embarrassed chagrin, Faith remembered the last time she’d seen him, crawling on the floor of the parlor at the Caldwell town house, searching for the spectacles upon which she’d just stepped. He’d been preparing to propose when Gareth arrived.

Judging by the uncomfortable look on Horatio’s face, he recalled the moment as well. When he refused to meet her eyes, Faith’s heart went out to him. Knowing that only she and Gareth had witnessed the event, she decided to do her best to put him at ease.

With that in mind, she watched him carefully. The next time he glanced her way, she made it a point to catch his eye and give him a warm look. His eyes widened briefly in surprise before he returned it with a self-conscious smile of his own. A few moments later, he excused himself from the conversation and hesitantly approached.

“A pleasure to see you again, Lady Roth.”

Faith nodded and smiled again. “The pleasure is mine as well, Lord Jameson. I trust you’re enjoying yourself this evening?”

He fidgeted a little, uncomfortable as always around anyone of the opposite sex. “I am, thank you.” He swallowed visibly, then blurted, “I wonder if you might honor me with a dance, my lady?”

Faith’s smile faltered slightly. It hadn’t occurred to her that anyone might like for her to dance with him, though it was hardly an unusual occurrence. Indeed, both Grace and Amanda frequently danced with men other than their husbands. Considering that, she reasoned it would certainly be well within the boundaries of propriety to honor Horatio’s request.

“Why, yes, thank you. I think that would be lovely,” she allowed, just as he was about to excuse himself and turn away. He quickly smiled, offered his arm, and led her out to the dance floor.

The eyes of the ever-watchful ton followed them, and speculation abounded, for although Faith’s logic in accepting the dance seemed perfectly sound to her, she had not, in her innocence, taken several things into consideration. First, though it was true her sister and Amanda sometimes danced with other men, they were typically married friends of their husbands, and Trevor and Jonathon were usually in attendance. Second, Faith’s marriage was new, had been rather unexpected, and she was making social appearances without her husband a shockingly short time after their nuptials. Finally, it was noted that Faith had actually prompted Lord Jameson to initiate a conversation, that it appeared Lord Jameson was behaving in a rather proprietary way and that Faith did not at all seem to mind.

Not all the eyes following their dance did so gleefully, however. Jonathon Lloyd watched, his face impassive, and abruptly left the ballroom.

Trevor glanced up from his cards as Jonathon entered the room where he was playing. A short look passed between the two men, completely unnoticed by anyone else. Jonathon spoke briefly with their host, then walked to the French doors and disappeared through them. Trevor watched him go, finished the hand, and quietly excused himself from the table.

Outside, Jonathon stood at the marble balustrade, staring out into the inky darkness of the unlit garden. “Faith is back in London rather quickly,” he remarked when he heard Trevor light a cheroot behind him.

“Yes.”

“Should I ask how it came about?”

“Probably not.”

Both men were silent a few long moments. Jonathon cleared his throat. “Gareth?”

“Still at Rothmere.” Trevor stepped up beside his friend and held out the open case that contained his cheroots. Jonathon nodded his thanks, took one, and lit it.

The two noblemen finished smoking in silence.

In direct contrast to their husbands’ nearly monosyllabic conversation of the previous evening, Amanda and Grace insisted on peppering Faith with endless questions. Reticent at first, she found herself reluctantly opening up.

“We never should have married,” she admitted with a little sigh.

Amanda glanced at Grace, who was giving Faith a look of admonishment. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffed. “Whom else would you marry? Gareth is perfect for you.”

Faith snorted indelicately, taking the other two completely by surprise. “Perfect? Hardly. We haven’t a single interest in common, and he utterly lacks a sense of humor.”

Amanda’s brows shot up. “Gareth? Lack a sense of humor? I find it impossible to imagine such a thing! Why, he drove Jonathon crazy for years because he wouldn’t take anything seriously.” She smiled fondly. “When I think of some of the pranks he pulled…”

Grace nodded. “Having been one of his victims, I have to agree. You know as well as I what trouble Gareth’s sense of humor caused last year, Faith.”

Faith shrugged. “Regardless, I find him terribly dour and not at all disposed to amusement.” She said it in such a prim, polite tone that both of her companions burst out laughing.

When she caught her breath, Amanda smiled at Faith. “Well, you can’t stay in London forever. When do you intend to go back to Rothmere?”

“I don’t.”

Amanda looked shocked. “You’re going to wait for him to come collect you, then?” There was a hopeful note in her voice, but Faith shook her head.

Grace hastily interrupted before Faith could speak. “She hasn’t given it enough thought, enough time. She is, of course, more than welcome to stay with me for as long as she needs. Then she can go back home.”

“Actually,” argued Faith, smoothing a nonexistent wrinkle from her gown, “home is precisely where I intend to go.” She looked up and met her sister’s eyes. “Home to Pelthamshire.”

Grace closed her eyes and shook her head. “You can’t run away from a marriage.”

Faith looked amused. “Why not? Half the ton does precisely the same. Gareth will live his own happy little life here or at Rothmere, and I’ll live my quiet life in the country. Patience deserves a holiday, in any case.”

“But Faith,” protested Amanda, “don’t you want children? I imagine Gareth would like an heir…” She trailed off as Faith’s face became cold and impassive, suddenly reminded of why Society had referred to her as the Ice Princess.

“Gareth,” said Faith loftily, “will have to make his own decisions with regard to children. I’m fairly certain he’ll not want to father one with me.”

An awkward silence filled the room. Grace fidgeted a little, then picked up her cup of tea and turned to Amanda. “Speaking of children, how is little Geoffrey?”

Grateful, Amanda seized the offered topic and launched into a spirited description of her son’s latest accomplishments. Grace smiled and laughed and shared her own stories about baby Christian.

Faith listened politely, sitting perfectly still, her back ramrod straight, and tried to ignore the knot of misery lodged in her chest.