Lady Faith Takes a Leap (3 page)

“But I don’t believe Vaughn was ever a rake!”

“Perhaps not, but he has proved to be of a less-than-stellar character in the past, has he not?”

“As are many younger sons who don’t suffer the same pressures as the heir. But once they find their calling, they often settle down and become responsible men.”

“You are determined to defend him. I shan’t argue. I promise to make my own assessment of his character. But what I might say on your behalf would do little to help your cause.”

Faith bit her lip, annoyed with herself. Why was she defending Vaughn? Her emotions confused her.

Honor rose. “Now I want to see what you are wearing tonight.”

“Oh, Honor, I have the most divine dress, powder-blue satin with rows of old lace. You will love it.”

****

Chaloner’s valet, Jones, assisted Vaughn into his tight-fitting, blue long-tailed coat of superfine. The valet stepped back, clothes brush in hand, with a nod of approval.

“Excellent, Jones.” Vaughn patted his perfectly tied cravat. In the mirror, the light caught the emerald he always wore on his little finger. A present from his father many years ago. His father’s death had rocked him, perhaps more than his brothers, who were older, their lives more established, but he refused to use that for his sorry final year at Oxford. Kicked out on his ear, his life had gone downhill from there. At least until John gave him a job running his horse stud. Breeding horses was Vaughn’s passion. And because he enjoyed it, he was good at it. He had the stud working in clockwork fashion when John and Sibella returned home from London.

He frowned as he left his bedchamber and headed to the main staircase along the draughty corridors of the Brandreths’ ancestral home. He could not have remained in York forever. It was time for him to forge ahead with his own plans.

Strains of Bach drifted out from the ballroom. Vaughn entered to find sets gathering for a quadrille. He skirted the floor, greeting guests, and approached his mother, the Dowager Marchioness of Brandreth, where she sat surrounded by ladies of a similar age. She smiled.

“Vaughn. How very well you look tonight.” She turned to the lady beside her with tall ostrich feathers in her hair. “Does he not, Liza?”

Lady Price fluttered her fan as her gaze roamed over him, making him want to tug at his cravat. “Indeed he does.”

“Mama, Lady Price.” He bowed. “Please excuse me, I must speak to Edward.”

He found Edward drinking champagne and talking to Chaloner. “Not dancing?” he challenged his elder brother. “Surely, as the host, you should invite a lady to dance the quadrille with you?”

“Quite right,” Chaloner said, taking the bait. “Lavinia expressed a desire to dance; now where has she got to?”

As Chaloner wandered off in search of his wife, Edward raised his eyebrows. “Neatly done. But to what purpose?”

“I wished to talk to you.”

“And I you. It’s good to have you back, Vaughn.”

“I told John I shan’t return to York. He has engaged an excellent manager.”

“Because of this business with Miss…what was her name?”

“Lord no, that was months ago. I need to find my feet in my own enterprise.”

Edward frowned. “I wish I could finance you, Vaughn. I know you’ll do well, but unfortunately just now—”

“I don’t expect you to. That’s not what I want.”

“Oh?”

“Help me convince Chaloner to borrow against the Trust and release my inheritance into my hands.”

“I will put in a good word for you, of course. But I can’t see our brother agreeing at this point in time.”

Vaughn frowned. “He doesn’t trust me.”

“You need to prove yourself,” Edward said.

Frustrated, Vaughn shrugged. “How the devil can I do that?”

“Why not settle down and marry?”

“I considered marrying Miss Crispin, at one point, but that didn’t change his attitude.”

“The apothecary’s daughter? Chaloner would hardly approve of that union. No one did in fact. Did you intend to turn your back on all of us? Whisk the girl off to Gretna Green?”

Vaughn shook his head, surprised not to feel the smallest pang of regret where Miss Crispin was concerned.

“You have not been entirely reliable in the past. Why should Chaloner believe that any money he might give you won’t end up on the gambling tables?”

“That’s a bit brutal, Edward,” Vaughn said with a scowl. “I have no intention of visiting gambling hells. I’ve become a sober member of society.”

“Then show him. Begin tonight.” Edward swept out his arm. “There are many charming young ladies who would be delighted by your attention, and some with a healthy dower. Look around this ballroom. What about Miss Green?”

Vaughn turned to where Miss Green executed her steps in her white gown. “Miss Green tends to laugh rather a lot,” he said gloomily. The sound put him in mind of a pony their sister, Sibella, once had.

“She is attractive and cheerful at least,” Edward said.

“Mm.” A graceful lady danced past them negotiating the intricate steps of the quadrille. Her trim form in pastel blue was decidedly attractive…he didn’t recall hearing her laugh and suddenly wanted to. “Faith Baxendale has grown into a beauty.”

“Yes, but Faith isn’t for you. Baxendale has settled a generous dowry on her. He will never consider you. He aims high.”

“I daresay he does. She’s very pretty.”

“She is almost engaged,” Edward said with a sharp glance. “I am exceedingly fond of young Faith. I want to see her happy.”

“Fitzgibbon?”

“He has been to see Baxendale.”

“Lord Baxendale has granted his suit?”

“He has.”

“It’s a fait accompli then.”

“It does appear so,” Edward said.

“Well, she promised me a dance,” Vaughn said. “And I intend to claim it.”

“Dance with all the young ladies,” Edward said with a smile. “Banish that frown and enjoy the evening.”

Faith tried not to let her gaze wander in Vaughn’s direction as he moved around the ballroom. It was difficult, for he was so tall and his broad shoulders in his dark blue coat so very splendid he drew the eye. She forced herself to concentrate on the dance. Lord Fitzgibbon’s gaze followed her through the steps. He looked like a puppy anxious to please. Faith wanted to please him, her parents, everyone, but a tiny voice in her head warned that, with the wrong man, life could prove long and dreary, and while everyone else might be happy for her, she would not be happy herself.

Lord Fitzgibbon led her from the floor and rushed off to fetch her lemonade. Honor was quizzing Mrs. Browne about her receipt for potted lobster, and Faith was alone when the waltz was announced.

Lord Vaughn appeared before her. “I believe you promised me a dance, Lady Faith.”

Faith felt that tingling in the pit of her stomach again as his bold gaze roamed over her. “I did, my lord.”

Behind Vaughn’s shoulder, Lord Fitzgibbon stood holding the glass of lemonade, his mouth open. Well, Fitzgibbon did not have any right to her yet, and as her father was not present to object, she took Vaughn’s arm and they joined the dancers on the floor.

Vaughn gazed down at her. “You’re not going to marry that mincing milksop, are you?”

“That’s hardly your affair, my lord.” Faith wasn’t sure what upset her most, Vaughn’s brazenness or his description of Fitzgibbon. Lord Fitzgibbon did not mince, but she did wish he might cut the apron strings. Perhaps once married….

“That’s showing some spirit,” Vaughn said approvingly. His vibrant green eyes grabbed her gaze and held it. “But you know I’m right.”

She raised her chin. “I certainly do not. Who would you suggest I marry then, anyone here tonight?”

Vaughn glanced around the floor. “Lord Brocklehurst?”

Faith choked. “He is close to fifty.”

“Mm. Sir William Forest?”

She firmed her lips, fighting a grin. “Hardly.”

“Perhaps not. Forest is hard on wives. He’s just buried his third. Dear me. Not much to choose from, is there?” Vaughn said regretfully. He placed his arm around her waist and took her hand as the musicians struck up. “Perhaps you’d better have me.”

He laughed at the ridiculous pronouncement, but Faith still drew in a breath, fearing she would miss a step. “I believe my father would prefer me to marry Sir William.”

“Ah, a cruel thrust, Lady Faith. You don’t spare a man’s feelings.”

“I believe your shoulders are strong enough to bear it.” Faith instantly regretted her words, as her hand rested on his shoulder and she could feel the strength and warmth of him through her glove.

 “I remember what a thin, feisty child you were,” Vaughn said with a glint of humor warming his eyes. “You used to climb a tree like a monkey.”

Her face heated. “I was never thin, and it’s extremely bad manners
to suggest it.”

“You’d prefer I uttered flowery compliments?” He cocked a brow. “I’m sure you get enough of those.”

Faith did, but she was happy to receive more, and from him especially. “And I would prefer not to be reminded of my past misdemeanors.”

“I quite agree.” He bowed his head with a rueful and very charming smile. “I apologize.”

Vaughn was an accomplished dancer. She was aware of the female gazes following them as they turned on the floor. She’d caught that wicked gleam in his eyes and didn’t believe his apology for a minute. He was outrageous. Why did he refuse to bow to society’s conventions?

“I could list your misdemeanors, my lord,” Faith said, “but I’m afraid the dance won’t be long enough.”

Vaughn chuckled. “What would you know of such things, Lady Faith?”

“You have been the subject of village gossip for some time.”

His eyes gleamed beneath a fringe of thick, dark lashes. “Indeed? What has been said about me?”

She shook her head. He was incorrigible. “Nothing that would please you, sir.”

“Ah, my luck in life, I fear.” He did not look particularly put out. “My brothers have all been exemplary, never put a foot wrong. It behooved me to add some color to the family.”

“You’ve made a remarkably good job of it,” Faith said, unable to keep the laughter from her voice.

“You have a lovely laugh, like water bubbling over rocks in a brook.”

“My goodness! You are waxing lyrical, my lord.” She enjoyed the gleam of interest in his eyes that she’d never found in Fitzgibbon’s anxious gaze.

“I am not inclined to reciting poetry, I confess, but should you wish it, I seem to remember something of the poetry drummed into us at Eton. Now…what about this?

Come away, come, sweet love!

The golden morning wastes,

While the sun from his sphere

His fiery arrows casts,

Making all the shadows fly…

I can’t remember the rest, and I’ve no idea who penned the poem.”

Faith fought to hide her disappointment. It was far too brief; she could have listened to his husky tones for hours. “I declare you make a mockery of flirting, sir.” Many men had flirted with her, but oddly, even though Vaughn had his tongue firmly in his cheek, the moment somehow eclipsed any of the others.

“What would you have me say? That your nose is perfection? It is.”

Faith had to laugh. “My nose is far from classical; it tips up at the end.”

“I find classical beauty rather cold and boring.”

“I wonder if that’s true. Beauty is fascinating. The Ancient Greeks certainly thought so.”

“I doubt statues ever stirred a man’s lust, even an Ancient Greek’s.”

Faith widened her eyes. “My lord! You should not say such things.” She looked around hastily at the dancers nearby. No one seemed to have heard. “I fear women are seldom satisfied with their appearance. Mercy has a perfectly straight nose, and yet she wishes for a tip-tilted one. She has devised a strap with wires attached that hook onto her ears. She believes it will be effective if she uses it every night until her come out.”

Vaughn laughed.

“Oh please don’t mention it to her,” Faith said, aghast that she’d told him. She found trustworthiness in Vaughn’s handsome eyes, which, annoyingly, drew her into indiscretion.

He grinned. “I promise but shall watch the development of Mercy’s nose with interest.”

The music ended, and Faith became aware of where they were, surrounded by couples preparing to promenade from the floor. She’d felt as if they were the only two people in the room.

Vaughn escorted Faith to her mother. “Lady Baxendale.”

Lady Baxendale nodded. “Are you staying long in Tunbridge Wells, my lord?”

“Not an inordinate amount of time, my lady.” With a wry smile and a bow, he left them.

Her mother turned to Faith with a perplexed frown. “You won’t want to give Lord Fitzgibbon the wrong idea, dear. He would expect his wife to have eyes only for him.”

Faith bit her lip. “I have not yet decided to marry Lord Fitzgibbon.”

Her mother’s eyes widened. “Is it because Lord Vaughn has returned?”

“It has nothing to do with Lord Vaughn,” she said, although it had everything to do with him, if indirectly.

Her mother nodded. “I suppose I must at least talk to Fitzgibbon’s mother, although I do find the woman challenging. And where is Honor? I’ve hardly spoken to her tonight.”

“She was dancing with Edward earlier.” Faith looked around. “She might be on the terrace.”

“Go and find her, Faith. And smile, dear, or Fitzgibbon will think you don’t like him.”

Faith wanted to speak to Honor too. She wouldn’t urge Faith to marry a man who not only failed to raise her pulse above its steady beating but also provoked her sympathy when he expressed his concern about displeasing his mother.  

She walked out onto the terrace where Miss Anna Seabrook and her sister, Fiona, were standing at the balustrade.

“Such a lovely evening. Aren’t the magnolias splendid this year?” Anna said, exuberantly drawing in a noisy breath of perfumed air.

“Yes, glorious. I’m looking for Honor.”

“I saw her,” Miss Fiona said. “She strolled into the gardens on her husband’s arm.”

Faith wouldn’t disturb them. She turned to re-enter through the French windows.