Faith (2 page)

One

Summer, 1813

I
t was rather disconcerting, and not in the least fashionable, thought Faith, for a couple, however newly wed, to behave in such a manner.

She was watching her sister Grace play impish children’s games with her new husband, Trevor Caldwell, the Earl of Huntwick. This was definitely
not
the manner in which a countess should comport herself. But then, Grace had never been one to bow to the dictates of Society. And they
did
seem rather happy.

Still, the hour was growing late, and Faith was becoming weary. She looked across the crowded ballroom from her place at the head table and noticed other people stifling yawns. Fewer and fewer couples seemed to be seeking the dance floor.

Searching the room for her elder sister, Faith finally caught sight of Grace slipping into a shadowy alcove. She pondered her sister’s action and realized precisely what was going on as Trevor walked past the darkened alcove a scant second later, also obviously looking for Grace. Faith thought she recognized the hands of her fifteen-year-old twin sisters in this. A moment later her suspicions were confirmed, for all three of her laughing, red-haired siblings emerged from the hiding place and scurried off in the opposite direction.

Faith sighed and propped her elbows on the table in a decidedly unladylike way, dropping her chin into her hands and wearily closing her eyes. It could be hours before the groom caught his wayward bride and they retired, thus allowing the assembled guests to follow suit. It seemed she was doomed to a late night.

“If I were to hazard a guess, I’d say Grace will certainly pay for this in the bedchamber tonight.”

Shocked that anyone would say such a thing within earshot of herself or any other gently bred young lady, Faith frowned. She turned and found herself caught by the gaze of a young man with laughing brown eyes. He stood at the end of the long table at which she sat, and Faith recognized him immediately, as she knew he did her, though they had never been formally introduced. She fixed him with a glacial stare, fully intending to give him a cool setdown, but was surprised to find herself drawn in by his open, friendly face. Firmly, she repressed the unbidden urge to smile back.

Her new conversational companion was Gareth Lloyd, the younger half brother of the Earl of Seth, and he was known throughout the ton as a notorious prankster and womanizer far more interested in the pleasures of the flesh than in responsible behavior. Rumor had it that he was on strained terms with his rather staid elder brother, who thought even a second son with little hope of inheriting either title or fortune still had responsibilities to the family title, if only by extension. Gareth, it was clear, thought different. He felt life should be lived a moment at a time, embraced and enjoyed as though there were no tomorrow. Further gossip held that his days were spent in languorous inactivity, and that he could be found most evenings at one of any number of social events in Town. This in itself was not unusual, as most of the ton behaved in precisely the same manner, but Gareth, people whispered, was just as comfortable in a brothel as in a Society drawing room, as much at ease in a gambling hell as he was in White’s, and would enjoy himself more at a courtesan ball than at the premier event of the Season.

He was, in short, everything the correct and proper Miss Faith Ackerly despised.

Schooling her features into a stern frown, Faith turned back around in her chair and fixed her gaze on the dance floor, summarily dismissing the owner of the compelling brown eyes without comment. Seconds later, she heard the chair next to hers being pulled out. She drew in a shocked breath at this impropriety and immediately prepared to rise and remove herself from his presence.

Gareth read her intention. “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced,” he said.

With great calm, Faith swung her cool gray eyes back to his. “Nor shall we be, sir. If you’ll excuse me, please.”

She pushed her chair away from the table and stood, abruptly turning her back on the rake to make her way across the ballroom to the place she had last seen Grace. She felt his eyes upon her every step of the way until, thankfully, the crowd closed around and swallowed her up. Only then did she allow herself to look back.

Gareth had been joined at the table by an attractive older woman Faith did not recognize. She watched as Gareth stood up, stepped close, and bent down to whisper something in the woman’s ear. The brunette laughed and placed a familiar hand on his chest. There was something oddly intimate about the way they were interacting, almost as though they had forgotten they were at a wedding reception, in full view of all assembled guests. With a start of comprehension, Faith realized they must be lovers. She blushed and turned away. Fighting a strange, inexplicable sense of loss, she resumed her search for Grace.

You’ve scarcely looked in my direction all evening, Gareth Lloyd.” Evelyn Hedgepath, the recent and very-well-provided-for widow of the elderly Viscount Blakely pouted, her full lips pursed and intentionally inviting, a reproachful look in her startling green eyes.

Gareth glanced down at the hand she’d placed on his chest. She curled her fingers into her palm and withdrew it, but kept her eyes on his.

“You forget yourself, Evelyn. Would you have me simply announce our arrangement? It is not
my
reputation that would suffer, you know.” Though his words were harsh, his voice was warm with affection.

Evelyn’s eyes narrowed. “Of course not. Ridiculous rules. One would think that after burying a husband, a woman might find herself exempt from scrutiny. It is a freedom men like you take for granted.”

Gareth raised a brow and stepped marginally closer to the lush brunette. “You
do
enjoy freedoms, Evelyn. They just require more…discretion.”

She caught her breath and looked up, eyes smoldering with practiced, calculated desire. “Come visit me tonight,” she purred suggestively. “I want to taste freedom.”

Gareth’s eyes lifted and swept the crowd. Nobody had noticed their conversation. The members of the weary crowd were mostly interested, at this point, in wrapping up the evening and finding their way home to their individual beds.

His eyes landed on Faith Ackerly again. She was just turning away, an odd expression on her lovely face. It was a combination of regret, disappointment, and something else—disdain, perhaps? Whatever it was, it had the effect of a bucket of ice water on his ardor.

“Not tonight, Evelyn,” he replied, and to soften the blow, lifted her hand for a kiss. “Perhaps another time. I’m going to step outside for a moment. Excuse me, please.”

Evelyn, who did
not
like being dismissed, cleared her throat. “Gareth.”

He turned back and waited, a polite expression on his face.

She quirked a single eyebrow. “You and I understand one another, don’t we? Our arrangement is about one thing, and one thing only. Your skills in that area are considerable, so your lack of social standing is something I have chosen to overlook. But that means, when you choose to deny me our one shared interest, there’s simply nothing left.” She watched him carefully. “Perhaps you wish to reconsider my invitation.”

His face betrayed nothing, though his heart experienced a sharp pang at her words. Despite their rather sordid arrangement, he actually cared for Evelyn, would even have considered spending his life with her, had he anything to offer a wife. She clearly recognized that he did not.

After a long moment of silence, he bowed. “Well, my dear,” he said finally. “I shall certainly give it every consideration. Good night.” Then he turned and walked toward the doors opening out onto the terrace.

Evelyn followed his exodus with narrowed eyes. She pursed her lips and looked around.
Insolent, untitled pup,
she thought. If he was not willing to share her bed tonight, she could most certainly find someone who would.

Out on the shadowy terrace, Gareth lit a cheroot and strolled up to the stone balustrade, looking out into the dark gardens in brooding silence. After a moment, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle, warning him that he was no longer alone.

“It wouldn’t do to trifle with the Ackerly girl, Gareth.”

Gareth clenched his jaw in irritation and deliberately failed to turn; he made no physical effort to acknowledge his half brother’s presence. Smiling angrily into the darkness, he said, “Ahh, the ever-present, ever-vigilant Earl of Seth. To what ‘trifling’ incident do you refer?”

Jonathon Lloyd stared inexorably at Gareth’s back, wishing not for the first time that such a wall of resentment did not hinder their communication. “The incident about which I am the most concerned is the one that will undoubtedly occur between yourself and Hunt, should you toy with her affections. Do not forget she is the sister of his new countess.”

Fury made Gareth turn. “Do you think I’d actually endanger that friendship in such away? Or is it that you think me so selfish, the only reason I’d converse with a woman is to prepare her for a tumble in the sheets?”

“I have only recent history upon which to base my judgments, Gareth.” Jonathon’s voice was severe.

Gareth smiled with scathing contempt as he flicked his cheroot away into the inky blackness of the gardens below. “At the risk of sounding trite, my lord, I’ll remind you it is not always wise to judge a book by its cover.” Then he stepped neatly around his brother and returned to the ballroom.

Inside, he swept the room with angry eyes, looking for Evelyn. Her invitation was suddenly more attractive, despite the bitter sting of her clarification regarding their agreement. When he didn’t find her, he decided to leave, fed up with the social protocol of waiting for Trevor and his bride to say their good-nights. He retrieved his hat and cape from the underbutler.

Stepping outside, he was just in time to see Evelyn being handed up into a coach by a gentleman he did not recognize. He glanced at the seal on the door but could not quite make it out. When he looked at Evelyn again, he found her eyes upon him. She smiled a cold, dangerous smile, then with deliberate intent looked away and disappeared into the interior of the coach. Her escort followed.

Gareth watched the coach pull away, then walked down the steps to summon his own conveyance, swearing under his breath. Evelyn, he decided, was free to enjoy the eager fumblings of her new and titled lover for as long as she wished. Eventually she would discover she missed his skill.

Two

Fall, 1813

T
own is rather bare of company for the Little Season this year, Faith. I greatly fear that you’ll be bored.”

Grace and Faith were seated in the well-appointed drawing room of the Earl of Seth’s town house, waiting to see Amanda Lloyd, their very good friend and the earl’s wife. Faith had left London shortly after her sister’s wedding to return home to Pelthamshire, a small village northwest of the city, and neither young woman had seen Amanda in months.

Faith waved a dismissing hand at her elder sister. “Nonsense,” she said. “Besides, it wasn’t my intention to come to London for the social whirl. Patience sent me to keep you company during your confinement.”

Grace laughed, glancing down at her stomach, which was still nearly flat, although she was almost five months into her pregnancy. “Now that the horrid sickness has passed, I sometimes find it difficult to believe I’m actually carrying Trevor’s child.”

“Papa said it was the same way when Mama carried us. Her condition never became evident until extremely late,” replied Faith.

“Which hardly seems fair to me,” came Amanda’s warm voice from the doorway. The Ackerly sisters smiled and rose to greet her, enjoying the radiant look on the face of their very dear and also pregnant—
very
pregnant—friend. “I started increasing quite nearly as soon as I discovered I was with child.”

“Ah, but you had none of the dreadful sickness I’ve had to endure,” Grace reminded her.

“Yes,” agreed Amanda. “But you’ve yet to complain of even a twinge of back pain.”

Grace opened her mouth to retort, but didn’t get a chance. “Please stop,” Faith cut in with a musical laugh. “You’ll both have me terrified of ever bearing a child if you don’t cease arguing over who’s suffering more. Whatever happened to the ‘Radiant Glow of Impending Motherhood’ we were all promised as children?”

All three women laughed and sat down to bring each other up to date. Grace and Trevor had only just returned from the Willows, their country estate, while Amanda and Jonathon had remained in town to be nearer her physician.

“How are your father and sisters?” Amanda asked.

“Doing well. The twins begged Patience to allow them to come along with me, but she insisted they wait another year, of course.”

“And your father?”

“Papa’s spent the last ten weeks holed up in his study, writing,” replied Faith.

Grace smiled fondly, remembering all the time she had spent in that same study taking lessons from her learned father. “What is the subject this time?”

“I believe he was on his fourth title when I left, which was
A Treatise on the Effects of Gravity as It Pertains to One’s Age and Health.”

Amanda giggled. “My, what a mouthful,” she said. “And Mercy?”

Grace laughed. The youngest of the Ackerly sisters had a healthy crush on the much older Duke of Blackthorne, who was a great friend of both Amanda’s and Grace’s husbands. “Mercy instructed Faith to tell Lord Blackthorne that she is no longer
merely
thirteen.”

“When I pointed out to her that she had, in reality, only just turned thirteen a few months ago,” Faith added, “she scolded me quite soundly and informed me that His Grace would be ‘most impressed to find me much improved at nearly fourteen.’ And so I promised to deliver her message if I chance upon the duke.”

“Oh, I wish I could be there to see Sebastian’s face,” crowed Amanda. “Nothing and nobody, except your little sister, ever seems to discomfit him!”

“Speaking of siblings, how is your brother-in-law these days?” Grace had a real fondness for Gareth Lloyd, despite the public bet he’d placed earlier that year which had almost cost her Trevor’s love. She found him witty and charming, and at heart a very kind person.

Amanda looked taken aback. “Actually, I’m surprised you haven’t already heard the news. Gareth is out of town attending to his new estate. He has, it seems, become the new Marquess of Roth.”

Faith wrinkled her brow, trying to place the old Marquess of Roth. Nothing came to mind except her friend’s brother-in-law and his laughing brown eyes, and she found this inexplicably irritating. She brushed the feeling aside. “How is it that your husband didn’t inherit the title?”

“Jonathon and Gareth are only half brothers. This inheritance came from a distant cousin of Gareth’s mother, who was, of course, no relation to my husband.”

“And he had no idea he was in line for a title?” asked Grace.

Amanda shook her head. “Not until the solicitor showed up on our doorstep. Apparently, the former marquess was a rather reclusive old man who never got married. He spent his time amassing huge sums of money by investing and reinvesting his fortune. From what the solicitor said, money seemed to be his only companion.”

Grace raised her eyebrows. “So not only did Gareth inherit a title, but there was a large fortune to go with it?”

Amanda nodded. “Although, apparently the old man never actually spent any of his money unless he was perfectly certain there would be some kind of a return on his investment, so the estate was literally falling down around his ears. Gareth wrote last week that he was finding stacks of money hidden everywhere, and that the old man had employed no servants, because he trusted no one. Gareth doubts that he’ll ever even find all of the money.”

“You do know what this means, don’t you?”

Amanda and Grace turned to look at Faith, whose matter-of-fact tone indicated that she had, as usual, already dismissed the deliciously romantic appeal of the story and gone straight to the heart of the matter.

“What’s that?” asked Amanda.

“Your little brother is about to become the catch of the Season.”

Grace looked at Amanda and grinned. “Indeed. Looks like it’s time for little Gareth to grow up!”

Faith raised dubious eyebrows. “I’ll believe
that
when I see it.”

This place is an absolute disgrace, Gareth,” said Jonathon Lloyd, gingerly kicking aside a sizable chunk of plaster that had fallen at some point from the ceiling of the musty library. He walked across the room and propped his Hessianclad foot upon an unidentifiable piece of covered furniture, intending to inspect the highly glossed toe of the boot for damage. He never got the chance. His actions raised such a cloud of dust that he promptly removed his foot and retreated to a safe distance, scowling.

Gareth raised his eyebrows in amusement. “A disgrace it may be, big brother, but Rothmere is
my
disgrace. Besides, I like it. I think the estate has enormous possibilities.”

Jonathon lifted his eyebrows and glanced around. “Possibilities for what, pray tell? Immediate demolition?”

“Possibilities for improvement, of course.” Gareth grinned and walked out of the room.

Jonathon followed. “Surely, you don’t mean to live here,” he protested.

“On the contrary. I do and I shall.”

“But the expense involved in renovating—”

“I can afford it,” cut in Gareth.

“You’ll likely have to tear the house down and begin anew with the foundation,” warned Jon, looking around and wearing a grave expression.

“If I must, then I must.”

Seeing that his brother had his mind set, Jon fell silent for a moment, then changed the subject. “I suppose you mean to stay with us until the place is habitable.”

“No. But thank you for the kind invitation,” said Gareth, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’ll be taking a town house in London, but I won’t stay there until next Season at the very earliest.”

Although shocked at both the uncharacteristic interest Gareth was taking in his plans and the fact that his socially inclined brother intended to miss the Little Season, Jon merely raised his eyebrows. “Well, if you’ve decided to stay here, please do me a favor and take the time to name your heir. This place seems rather likely to tumble down around you as you sleep.”

“The caretaker’s cottage is where I’ll stay for the time being.” Gareth’s eyes turned thoughtful at the mention of an heir. It summoned ancillary thoughts of marriage—something he’d always intended to do for love, not out of a sense of duty. Frowning, he added, “I do suppose I’ll have to think about heirs now, won’t I?”

Jonathon glanced about himself with eloquent distaste. “Perhaps you should first think about giving them something to inherit.”