Faith (8 page)

“Why is it that you’re not angry with me, my lady?”

Cleo raised her brows. ‘Why? Because it would be a complete waste of my time, of course. You don’t really regret what happened tonight, but Faith certainly does. And I’m reasonably sure she’ll make quite certain you’ll come to wish you’d never laid a finger on her.” Her bright blue eyes twinkled at him. “I’m merely going to sit back and enjoy the show.” She broke off and glanced across the room to see Jonathon Lloyd making his way across the raised dais upon which the orchestra was arranged. She grabbed his arm urgently and pointed Gareth toward the stairs. “Go now and stand by Faith. She’ll be needing you in just a moment.”

Gareth looked down at her for a second longer and walked away, pushing through the crowd as the music came to a sudden discordant halt and the dancing couples looked around in surprise. He spotted Faith about twenty yards away and headed toward her just as Jonathon raised his voice and the noise of the crowd died down.

Faith looked up at Jonathon curiously, wondering what he could possibly be doing, but grateful the attention of the guests was no longer so focused on her. She looked around for her aunt, thinking now would be the perfect time to slip away unnoticed. What she saw instead was Gareth heading straight for her.

Her lips thinned and her heart began pounding in sudden panic. She tried to warn him away with her eyes, but still he came, skillfully stepping around people who stood in his way. She looked in another direction and shook her head in resignation, then resolutely decided to act as if he weren’t there. Pointedly, she turned her back and lifted her chin, focusing her attention on Jonathon, who had begun speaking.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I have a rather unexpected announcement to make this evening. Those of you who know me best know that I seldom enjoy standing in front of a crowd making a scene. That’s more my wife’s way.” A wave of laughter swept the room, for Amanda Lloyd had always been the life of any party, in direct contrast to her more taciturn husband. “However, she has asked me to do this tonight, and as I’m seldom able to refuse her anything, here I stand before you.

“Earlier this evening, an agreement was reached during a family meeting that will soon become known all over England. Some will be surprised by this agreement, some will be disappointed, and some, myself included, will be deeply relieved. The agreement to which I refer will be published in all the papers tomorrow, but since most of our close friends are in attendance tonight, we thought we’d just let you be the first to know.”

Jonathon paused a moment for effect, then turned and looked deliberately at the foot of the ballroom steps where Faith stood wondering at his meaning. She felt Gareth arrive at her side just then and fervently wished he hadn’t, because now people were turning to see whom the Earl of Seth was regarding. They would all see Gareth standing next to her and would begin discussing the scandal afresh.

With grim determination, she ignored the man at her side and stared fixedly at the dais, watching as Amanda joined her husband. Aunt Cleo appeared out of nowhere to take her arm on the side opposite Gareth.

As soon as he saw that all the players were in place, Jonathon glanced down at Amanda, took her hand, and began speaking again. “Friends, I’d like to formally announce the engagement of my younger brother Gareth, the Marquess of Roth.”

A great gasp went up from the crowd, and Faith stiffened in sudden shock. Who was the cad going to wed? And why in the world had he been kissing
her
the night his engagement was to be announced?

The Earl of Seth hesitated no longer in providing that information. “He is going to marry Miss Faith Ackerly.”

Eleven

T
o Faith, it all seemed to happen slowly. Almost as one body the crowd turned, stared at them, and began applauding. She could see their moving hands and lips, but the sounds of clapping and the words of enthusiastic congratulations were coming to her as if from far away. Numbly she felt a smile arrange itself on her face, years of correct upbringing coming to her rescue.

She felt herself being enfolded in awarm hug fromAunt Cleo, who stood on tiptoe and whispered, “You’re doing quite well, my dear, but please
do
try to stop looking so much like a wounded deer.”

Faith felt herself nod in agreement. She turned to look up at Gareth, who was keeping up his part of the charade by smiling down at her in a tender and proprietary way. She watched his lips move and heard him say, “Shall we dance, princess?” But she couldn’t answer, could only nod in response.

As if in a trance, she placed her hand on his arm and allowed him to lead her to the dance floor, the other guests still applauding wildly as they moved aside to open an aisle through which the couple might walk. Faith felt herself nodding and smiling back at them from long-ingrained habit, but still the only thing that anchored her in reality was her hand on Gareth’s arm and the warmth of his hand covering hers.

Faith and Gareth neared the dance floor, and Jonathon signaled the conductor to begin a waltz. Gareth turned to Faith and bowed. She sank into a graceful curtsy. And then, all at once, she was whirled away, spun breathlessly round and round the dance floor just as she had been that first night on the balcony.

Amanda watched the pair dance for a few moments, then nudged Jonathon, her face wreathed in a happy, relieved smile. “That went well, I think.” She inclined her head toward the dance floor. “You wouldn’t care to join them, would you?”

He didn’t answer, but jumped down from the dais, caught her hands in his, and pulled her down after him. “Only if you think we can show them a
proper
waltz,” he said. Laughing as they spun away, Amanda agreed to do just that.

Not everyone was as pleased. On the edge of the room, her face pale with fury, Evelyn Hedgepath watched the newly engaged couple with venomous eyes. She was so wrapped up in her anger, she didn’t even notice when Cleo Egerton appeared beside her. “They do make a rather lovely couple, don’t you think, Evelyn?”

The younger widow barely managed to stifle a sharp retort. She said in a tight voice, “Why yes, Lady Egerton. They do, at that. Had I known the situation, I wouldn’t have felt such a need to—”

Cleo cut her off. “Bah! You knew precisely what you were doing. As it stands, you’ve forced something that should have—and I believe would have—developed naturally to progress with unhealthy haste.”

Evelyn drew herself up indignantly. “I have no idea what you mean, my lady.”

“Then perhaps I can make it clear, so that we each have an understanding of one another. You dumped Gareth because he had no evident hope of being anything more than a second son, and you hopped in bed with that pea brain Grimsby, who possessed the one thing Gareth did not: a title that outstripped the one held by your dead husband. Now, to your dismay, Gareth has not only inherited a title but outranks your new lover—whom you summarily dropped to publicly and shamefully chase once again after Gareth.”

“I don’t have to listen to this.”

Cleo thumped her cane with angry impatience. “No, but I’ll offer some advice to which you might consider listening. I suggest a long rest in the country, Evelyn. Your antics have been tolerated to this point because they are, sadly, all too common within our social set. However, you crossed the line this evening. This family
will
close ranks to protect its own. You’d never be received into a decent drawing room or be invited to any ball of importance again.”

Evelyn stared into the sharp blue eyes of the dowager for a long moment before her own gaze skittered away and fell, once again, upon the dance floor, now shared by a number of waltzing couples. She thinned her lips, inclined her head slightly in Cleo’s direction, and gathered her skirts in one hand. “Good night, Lady Egerton,” she said, her tone even.

“Good night, Evelyn.” Cleo turned away, dismissing the younger woman, and resumed watching her niece and soon-to-be nephew-in-law.

As the dance floor filled up around them, Faith began to relax. She looked up at Gareth with a smile, but her heart remained troubled. “How did we manage to get into this predicament?” she murmured.

He smiled warmly down at her. “How about if we concentrate on how to get out of it instead?”

Faith nodded tentatively, then gave him an apologetic look. “This is all my fault, I’m afraid. I should never have asked you to meet me alone.”

The music ended then, and everyone turned to applaud the musicians. Faith sank into another curtsy before allowing Gareth to lead her off the dance floor. But he slowed his steps a bit, and she looked up at him in question.

“You do know that as soon as we step off this floor we are going to be inundated with well-wishers and probably won’t get another moment to ourselves.”

Faith nodded.

He glanced around to see if anyone was listening. “Could you satisfy my curiosity about something?”

Faith tilted her head to the side and gave him a long, silent look.

He leaned down. “What was the real reason you lured me out into a dark garden in the middle of one of the biggest balls of the Season?”

At that, Faith bit her lip and looked down. She shuddered.

Alarmed, Gareth stopped and turned her to face him, no longer caring what the watching throng thought. He slipped a finger under her chin and tilted her face up. “Faith, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean—” He stopped.

His fiancée looked up at him, her gray eyes shining with tears of mirth. Faith Ackerly, the ever-composed, ever-correct Society beauty, was laughing uncontrollably in the middle of the dance floor. “I’m sorry, my lord,” she choked out, then took a deep breath and composed herself. “It just struck me as ironic that
I
lured
you
into a compromising situation, ruined
your
reputation, and now it appears I’ll have to marry you in order to repair the damage.”

Gareth smiled, but his heart constricted painfully at her words, for he knew that no matter what happened between them, she would always look back upon this situation and recall how she was forced to become his wife. He’d intended to court her and spoil her, to dance attendance and woo her until she couldn’t imagine a life without him. “A bit of a twist on the tired old theme, isn’t it?”

Faith nodded. “I really did mean to apologize for the way I treated you.” Her expression was sober.

“You needed to do that in private?”

She looked uncomfortable. “Well, I wasn’t sure how you would react,” she said. “You see, I was also going to suggest that we not see each other again.” She winced inwardly and watched his face. He continued to smile, but some of the warmth left his eyes.

“I do see,” he said, drew her arm back through his, and turned to walk to where Amanda was now standing with Lady Egerton. “A love match this is not. Shall we go and face our horribly deluded public, princess?”

Faith nodded, although she suddenly felt much more like curling up in a ball in the corner.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of congratulations, hearty handshakes, and exclamations of surprise. By the time Faith finally found herself safely ensconced in her aunt’s carriage, her hand was sore from being squeezed, and her facial muscles ached from the constant smiling. Aunt Cleo chattered excitedly all the way home, but Faith heard none of it over the steady throbbing of her head brought on by the horrible litany that kept repeating itself in her mind.

I’m betrothed to a man who doesn’t want me.

Twelve

F
aith awoke with a start when the door to her room burst open. Before she had time to sit up and scrape her hair from her eyes, Grace streaked across the room and landed with a plunk on the bed beside her.

“Are you awake?” Her sister’s voice thrummed with breathless urgency.

Even after a full night’s rest, Faith always had trouble getting started in the morning. Since she’d spent most of the previous night in sleepless thought, finally falling into a fitful slumber as dawn approached, she pulled a pillow over her head, unwilling to accept that it was already time to get up. “I am now,” she mumbled.

With cheerful disregard for her usual thirty-minute waking ritual, Grace reached out and plucked the pillow from Faith’s face. “No you don’t!” she laughed when Faith threw an arm over her head and reached blindly for the covers. “You’re going to get up and tell me what happened last night.”

A sudden rush of painful recollection unceremoniously jolted Faith into wide-eyed awareness. She sat bolt upright, then closed her eyes in acute horror and dropped her face into her hands. “Oh, my God,” she moaned. She looked at Grace hopefully through her parted fingers. “It was just a dream, wasn’t it?”

Amused, Grace shook her head. “I don’t think so. Aunt Cleo was here first thing this morning with a story so wild I can scarcely credit it.”

Faith could well imagine what her blunt relative had come to say. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and reached for the dressing gown she had draped across the footboard. As she slipped into the garment, she glanced down and wrinkled her nose at the mess Grace had made of her bed. “You’ve rumpled the covers dreadfully,” she complained.

Grace shrugged and flopped irreverently onto her stomach, propped her chin in her hands, and began swinging her lower legs back and forth through the air with deliberate nonchalance. “Beds are supposed to be rumpled in the morning,” she stated, then frowned. “And stop trying to change the subject. You can either decide to be frank with me and tell me what’s going on, or I shall be forced to accept Aunt’s version as the truth.”

Faith gave her sister a tolerant look, pointedly turned her back, and walked across the room to the wardrobe. “Think what you wish,” she said calmly, reaching in and selecting a powder blue linen morning gown with piping accents in a vibrant cobalt velvet.

“All right,” agreed Grace companionably.

Faith bent to select a pair of slippers from the neat row beneath her dresses. She leaned in to retrieve them.

Grace watched her sister rummage a moment and continued. “Aunt Cleo says you’ve compromised poor Gareth quite beyond recall.”

Completely forgetting she’d said much the same thing to Gareth herself Faith, felt her temper snap. She abruptly stood, unfortunately not taking into account the gowns that were hanging all around her. Hopelessly entangled in their diaphanous folds, she lost her balance, grabbed wildly at the air, and fell in a disgruntled heap on the wardrobe floor among her precisely arranged shoes. Too late, her flailing hands found something to grab. Unfortunately, it was only several delicate gowns, which promptly slipped from their hangers to settle about her head and shoulders in billowy clouds of silk, satin, and chiffon.

Gales of laughter erupted from the direction of the bed as Faith dragged herself from the floor of the wardrobe. She marched across the room to glare at her sister, leaving a trail of dresses and slippers in her wake. “Grace Olivia Caldwell, you get out of my room this instant!”

Wiping tears of mirth from her eyes, Grace stood up to leave and broke into renewed giggles at the sight of the formerly neat wardrobe. She turned back to Faith just in time to duck and avoid the pillow her sister had thrown. “All right already! I’m leaving,” she said, dodging a second pillow on her way to the door. She opened it and stepped out of firing range into the hall, then stuck her head back inside. “Oh—I forgot to tell you. Gareth sent word that he will be here at eleven o’clock to finalize things.”

Faith’s arm stopped in midthrow, and her eyes flew to the small clock on the mantel over the fireplace. It read ten forty-five.

With renewed ire, she threw the pillow. It landed with a harmless thud against the safely closed door.

It took the combined efforts of Grace’s personal maid and two upstairs chambermaids who’d been pressed into emergency service, but at one minute to eleven, Faith was hurtling down the corridor from her bedroom fully dressed, a lavender satin slipper clutched in each hand.

She’d chosen the least complicated gown she owned, a lilac chiffon morning dress with short puffed sleeves and a simple scooped neckline. It closed in the back with only two small buttons and had a wide lavender satin ribbon that tied in an easy bow at the back of a high waistline. While Becky rummaged through the mess in the bottom of the wardrobe in search of her shoes, Faith did her own hair, brushing the front and sides away from her face and securing it with a silver filigree clip at her crown. A few moments later, a red-faced Becky emerged from the wreckage of the wardrobe and triumphantly held out the lavender slippers. Faith grabbed them, gave Becky a quick squeeze of thanks, and left the room.

She stood now at the top of the curving stairs and braced one hand on the newel post to balance as she lifted first one foot, then the other, so she could slide her feet into the soft shoes. She straightened and glanced in one of the small mirrors designed to reflect light from the sconces that hung on the wall in front of them. Satisfied that nothing seemed out of place, she turned and began walking sedately down the steps, completely unaware of the fetching picture she presented.

Her color was high, thanks to the frantic rush to get dressed, which gave a pleasing tint to her flawless skin. Her posture was as regally erect as ever, and with her hair falling from the silver clip in a luxurious tumble of golden waves and curls, instead of pinned up in its usual prim chignon, she didn’t look nearly as unapproachable as usual. The lilac shade of the gown combined with the earlier excitement did amazing things to her eyes, turning them a startling shade of silver that glowed as though lit from within.

She reached the bottom of the staircase and paused a moment before stepping onto the ground floor. Holding on to the staircase, she leaned forward and looked to her left. Wilson was standing stiffly by the front door, ready to greet any callers who chose to present themselves, his face so expressionless that Faith couldn’t tell if her own expected guest had arrived. She turned her head to the right and peered down the long corridor, then caught her breath. O’Reilly was stationed just outside the parlor doors, a definite indication that someone was within.

Her heart skipped a beat. She realized with a touch of surprise that she was actually looking forward to seeing Gareth. She went down the last step and frowned as she walked slowly down the hall toward the parlor. She examined her feelings with consternation, trying to remember when she’d begun to feel this way, but couldn’t come up with an explanation as she approached O’Reilly. This new emotion had come upon her so gradually she’d scarcely noticed it, although she had to admit that Gareth had always had an unsettling effect on her state of mind.

Deliberately, she shook off her reverie and smiled warmly at the footman. “I understand I have a guest, O’Reilly.”

He nodded. “Indeed you do, Miss Faith. He hasn’t been waiting long.”

She leaned forward, lowering her voice a bit. And is he alone, or is my sister entertaining him?”

O’Reilly looked surprised by the question, but answered anyway. “He is alone, Miss Faith.”

Faith’s smile widened and she made the most impulsive decision of her entire life. She reached out and squeezed O’Reilly’s hand. “Please do me a tremendous favor and try to stall the others when they come, would you? I’d like a few moments alone with my guest.”

The footman nodded, and with a last beatific smile, Faith walked past him into the parlor. Feeling quite daring, she turned and began to close the door. At the last moment, not feeling quite brave enough to shut it completely, she decided to leave it half-open. With both hands still on the doorknob, she took a steadying breath.

“I’m glad we have a moment to ourselves, my lord.”

She heard him swiftly suck in his breath, then heard his soft footsteps as he crossed the room. When she felt his gloved hand touch her shoulder, she let out her breath and turned to face him.

“I just knew you’d feel the same way I do, Miss Ackerly!”

Faith felt the color drain from her face when she realized the man now holding both her hands in a painful grip was not Gareth. It was Lord Horatio Grimsby. And he was looking at her with an expression of such triumphant satisfaction that Faith greatly feared he intended to kiss her!

Quickly, she pulled her hands from his, stepped neatly around him, and walked across the room to put some distance between them. She turned and jumped in startled surprise when she found him once more standing right behind her. Her eyes darted nervously to the half-closed door, and she took another step back.

“H-have you been offered refreshment, my lord?” Her stammering voice seemed loud in the awkward silence.

Horatio stepped closer. “The second you stepped into the room, my beauty, I was refreshed.” Faith looked at him in horror. He reached for her hand, looking rather pleased with himself after that poetic speech. She gulped and nimbly stepped aside, her mind searching furiously for a means of escape that would not be impolite. “Faith, my sweet, you needn’t be so modest. I heard you tell the footman you wished to be alone with me.”

She managed to quell a horrified gasp. “Perhaps, Lord Jameson—” she began.

He took another step forward, the light glinting off his spectacles. “You needn’t explain. I heard the rumors about last night, of course, but I didn’t credit them at all. I know that you, of all people, would never act as impulsively as the gossips say you did with someone like Gareth Lloyd.”

Faith put out a hand and backed away as he continued to advance. She tried again. “Perhaps, Lord Jameson, you should speak with my brother-in-law.” She sat down with a thump as the backs of her knees came into contact with the settee.

Horatio was on his knees before her in an instant, taking her hand. “I’d rather speak with your father.”

“That won’t be at all necessary,” came a curt voice from the hallway. The Marquess of Roth stood filling the doorway, an expression of stony displeasure on his handsome face.

Gareth had gone home immediately after the ball and spent a sleepless night pacing the library, trying to reconcile the fact that he was going to marry a woman who didn’t care for him, something he’d sworn he would never do. But he was optimistic by nature. By the time the sun rose, he’d managed to convince himself that, although Faith admittedly didn’t love him, there had already been a great deal of feeling between them. And where there was feeling, he knew there was hope of love.

He’d arrived at the Caldwell town house in a lighthearted mood. Wilson had opened the door and informed him that Faith was in the parlor. His step light, he’d approached O’Reilly, who stood outside, a horrified look on his face. Gareth smiled at him nonetheless and reached around to push open the half-closed door. Incredibly, the diminutive footman stepped in front of him just as Gareth caught a glimpse of Horatio Grimsby.

Roughly he’d moved O’Reilly aside and pushed open the door further to see Faith seated across the room, her hands clasped in those of Horatio, who knelt before her in a pose that could only mean one thing.

Faith surged to her feet at the sound of Gareth’s voice, knocking Lord Jameson, who was also trying to stand, squarely on his rump. Her absurd burst of unexpected pleasure immediately faded, however, as she noticed the look on her fiancé’s face. Coloring hotly, she looked down at Horatio, who was on his hands and knees, reaching under the settee and peering about as though looking for something. His hand slid along the floor under her skirts and suddenly grasped her ankle.

With a gasp of shocked outrage, Faith pulled her ankle free and stepped back…right onto the spectacles for which Horatio had been searching. Chagrined, she bent down and picked them up. The frame was askew and one lens was cracked. Horatio stood.

“I’m so sorry, Lord Jameson…,” she began. But no further words came to her. She bit her lip and solemnly handed the spectacles over. The earl took them without a word. He straightened the frame as best he could, put them on, bowed stiffly to Faith, and turned to leave.

Nodding briefly to Gareth as he passed him in the doorway, he said, “Good day, my lord.”

Gareth nodded back. “Jameson.”

The earl’s footsteps retreated down the hall. Gareth and Faith heard the front door open and close. Seconds passed. They stood without speaking, tension growing between them until it was almost palpable.

O’Reilly appeared in the doorway behind Gareth, an apologetic look on his face. Faith saw him and abruptly shook off the spell of silence. “It’ll be fine,” she assured the worried servant.

Gareth quirked an eyebrow at her, not realizing O’Reilly was there. “I’m afraid I would describe the sight of my fiancee of less than twenty-four hours being proposed to again right under my nose as something other than ‘fine.’”

Faith drew herself up stiffly. “I wasn’t speaking to you, my lord.” She returned her attention to O’Reilly. “Please have one of the maids bring refreshments, then kindly inform Lord and Lady Huntwick that the Marquess of Roth has arrived.”

O’Reilly nodded. He caught the baleful glare of the marquess and gratefully scurried away.

Faith stood still, her chin up and her hands clasped loosely in front of her as she watched Gareth walk slowly across the room to stand before the tall windows. He looked out across the gardens, tapping the tip of his forefinger thoughtfully on his lips. “You’re not as calm as you appear, Faith,” he remarked, his tone even.

She refused to allow him to bait her. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, my lord.”