Lady Faith Takes a Leap (5 page)

“Of whom are you thinking? You’ve gone carnation pink,” Charity observed.

“What?” Faith gave herself a mental shake. “I was thinking that I don’t wish to be just a wife.”

“But what else?”

“I don’t yet know.”

“You’re very good at the household accounts. When you do Mama’s, she marvels at your head for sums. But isn’t setting up a home why men and women marry?”

“Then I dare say I shall do my best,” Faith said in a cross voice. She put down the cat and stood, brushing out her skirts. Charity had her interest at heart, but her ability to cut through to the core of the problem was most annoying. Faith was decidedly uneasy as it was. “Just wait until it’s your turn! I trust you plan to fall in love at first glance?”

Charity folded her arms. “Not unless he has an appreciation of art and encourages me to paint. I refuse to fritter away my time entertaining guests or going to balls.”

“A rare bird in other words.”

Charity shrugged. “Then I shall go and live with Aunt Christabel.”

“Mm. We shall see! Are you coming with me to the village?”

“I have work to do. Take Mercy.”

Faith left the room. Her stomach roiled as overwhelming guilt swamped her at the thought of the huge expense her father had outlaid for naught. He glared at her whenever he came into the room and asserted, in a tone of voice that brooked little argument, that he was consulting his list of possible suitors. She might well end up with someone worse than Lord Fitzgibbon. She had never wanted to disappoint her father. He used to be so fond of her.

She went to put on her pelisse and hat. 

As usual, Tunbridge Wells was crowded. A popular place for visitors, especially the
ton
, the shops and eateries were crammed with patrons. Complaining, Mercy dragged along behind Faith as she entered a store.

“I was in the middle of creating an excellent treatment for sunburn.”

“Then cook will be relieved that I’ve removed you from the kitchen. And it’s better, surely, not to get burnt in the first place,” Faith said. It was embarrassing enough when Mercy offered their Aunt Amelia, who took great pride in her fresh, youthful complexion, a cream to prevent her face from sagging. Only half attending to her young sister’s description of her latest cosmetic creation, Faith examined a hat that had caught her eye in the shop window.

“But Wolf will be missing me,” Mercy said, attempting another tack. “He’ll poke his nose at the cat and end up having it scratched.”

“Sable is a very civil cat. And I’m sure Wolf will spare you for a few hours.” Gazing into a mirror, Faith put on the high-crowned straw hat adorned with a cheerful bunch of cherries. It would go well with her green stripe percale. Shopping unfailingly cheered her up when she was low, but she had little hope of it today. She had never been quite this low in all her life. While relieved that she wouldn’t become Lady Fitzgibbon, the future now seemed so uncertain. As she examined a spool of pink and white spotted ribbon, Vaughn popped into her mind.
Again
. She was growing used to it, for he was never gone for long. The kiss had awakened something in her that perhaps she should have left dormant. Would she ever be kissed like that again? She certainly hoped so. It would not be from Vaughn, however. He had ignored her for the rest of the evening and danced with all the single girls while their mothers watched, straight-backed. Vaughn might be the youngest of four sons, but his father was a marquess.

Faith still blushed at her audacious behavior. How had she come to be so bold? When she’d tried to reassure Vaughn, it had only made matters worse. Their paths would cross again soon, and she would adopt a dignified, friendly manner and try to make things right between them. She was dimly aware of how much easier it was to plan while Vaughn was not standing before her.

“I’d like to go home,” Mercy said at her elbow. “Are you going to buy the hat? Those cherries look quite real, don’t they? I hope Wolf won’t try to eat them. He gets sick when the cherry tree bears fruit.”

“Oh. Yes.”

As Faith stood at the counter while the shop assistant wrapped her purchase in tissue paper, she wondered why she found Vaughn so fascinating. He was blunt and plainspoken, and more than a little mercurial. A woman would never know quite where she was with him. She and Mercy left the shop, Faith carrying a hatbox by its pink ribbon. Gaining the street, they weaved their way through the crowd on the pavement in the direction of the carriage.

“I declare! It is Lady Faith Baxendale,” a man said behind her.

Faith turned and was instantly dismayed. Hat in hand, Mr. Thomas Warne bowed before her.

“Mr. Warne.” Faith nodded.

“And this must be your sister. You look so alike.”

“My younger sister, Lady Mercy,” Faith said, clutching Mercy’s arm.

“You’re going to be quite devastating in a few years, young lady,” Mr. Warne said to Mercy.

Mercy scowled. “I don’t believe I’d like that.”

“You must forgive us, Mr. Warne. We are expected at home,” Faith said, nudging Mercy ahead.

“But of course. So very nice to see you. Perhaps we’ll meet again?”

“Do you live in Tunbridge Wells, Mr. Warne?”

“No, I’m here on business.”

“Then I doubt we shall. Good day.” Faith scooted Mercy to the carriage.

“Who is that man?” Mercy asked as they settled against the squabs. “You squeezed my arm too hard.” She rubbed the spot vigorously.

“I met him in Cornwall when I was there with Honor. Remember? Before she married Edward.”

“I didn’t like the way he looked at you,” Mercy said, screwing up her nose.

“I don’t entirely trust him.”

Edward had dealt admirably with Thomas Warne after he’d become overfamiliar with Faith when the family had visited the Duke of Morven’s estate. At the time, Honor expressed the opinion that Warne was ambitious and might try to compromise Faith. Edward had obviously read the situation accurately, for he’d stepped in and made sure Warne had no such opportunity. Without Honor or Edward here, Faith released a breath on a fervent hope that Warne would soon be gone from Tunbridge Wells.

****

In his oilskins, Vaughn rode along the road through the dripping woods toward Brandreth Park. Rainwater ran down the back of his neck, and his nape itched. The unpleasant weather failed to dash his spirits. He’d seen a very fine property perfectly suitable for his venture and remained hopeful that Chaloner would come on board.

Entering the house, he sought Chaloner out but found him distracted, cast down by the state of his eldest son, Freddie’s, ill health, the doctor in attendance. Fortunately, the diagnosis was not alarming. A slight cold. Lavinia panicked at every sniffle, Vaughn knew, and Chaloner was no better.

They both seemed so bowed down it made Vaughn wonder if he wanted children of his own. He revised his opinion later when he visited the nursery. He and Freddie discussed their shared passion, horses, for over an hour until Nanny appeared and tut-tutted over Vaughn’s lengthy stay. He came away convinced a fine son like Freddie would be a Godsend to a man. Such a happening was a long way off, however. First, he had to set up his business before he could select the right bride. He resolutely pushed away the face framed by blonde curls that swam into his vision.

By Saturday, Freddie was sliding down the banister with no sign of the sniffles. The rain had gone, and a cool sun cast shadows over the landscape. The house was a flurry of activity with preparations being made for the trip to Dimbley Castle. Famed for its ornamental façade, the castle lay to the north in Rutherford some miles distant and would require an overnight stay.

Lavinia’s cousin, Joseph Adams, Earl Trevor, had invited the family for two days of activities, which included an afternoon of archery and walks around the newly created gardens to view the follies and the ornamental lake. Luncheon was to be served on the lawns, if the weather proved clement, before guests retired to rest before the ball.

Edward appeared at breakfast while Vaughn tucked into eggs and ham to tell him that the Baxendales were attending. Lacking his usual subtlety, Edward mentioned some of the eligible young women Lavinia had said would be there.

Annoyed, Vaughn took a gulp of tea and nodded in the hope that Edward would leave him to eat in peace. Really, Vaughn could manage his own romantic affairs without Edward’s help. He’d certainly had no complaints in the past. Even from Miss Crispin, not that anything more than two stolen kisses took place. Vaughn chewed thoughtfully. He’d begun to realize what a narrow escape that had been. Such a marriage would not have suited either of them. Miss Crispin’s father was to be applauded for his good sense.

Chaloner’s pretty, dark-haired wife, Lavinia, never seemed entirely happy to Vaughn. At family gatherings, she was inclined to sit in a corner with her embroidery and never joined in the boisterous conversions. Now, she fussed over their children, and it was late morning before the family finally settled in the carriage. Chaloner’s valet jumped up beside the coachman on the box, and the carriage rolled away with two liveried footmen riding behind. Vaughn mounted and followed on horseback.

Some hours later, enjoying an ale at a coaching-inn while the horses were changed, Faith entered his thoughts. He’d recovered his sense of humor and wanted to see her again. If only for the verbal dance he expected she’d lead him. All the Baxendale girls spoke their minds it seemed. He wondered idly what Baxendale had planned for her. Was there already another suitor in the works? He hoped the man would measure up better than that milksop Fitzgibbon. The very thought of any other man bedding Faith had Vaughn gnashing his teeth. He struggled to understand himself. Had he decided two years ago when he gave her a flower that she would one day be his? Well, it was becoming increasingly unlikely that she ever would be, and he must come to terms with it.

After spending the night at an inn, the entourage arrived at Dimbley Castle just before noon the next day. The bow-fronted castellated building was of warm, honeyed stone partially hidden behind a thick mat of ivy. Several carriages stood on the circular sweep of carriageway as grooms and footmen rushed about.

Tall, rail-thin, Joseph, Earl Trevor, and Lady Trevor greeted their guests in the lofty Great Hall, the towering walls hung with armor and crossed swords.

A footman led the way up the grand, sweeping staircase. Not long after, a servant entered Vaughn’s chamber with a jug of hot water. Chaloner’s long-serving valet, Jones, bustled in to help remove Vaughn’s Hessians and riding breeches. Stripped to the skin, Vaughn washed off the travel dust, marveling at the superb heating the earl had installed. He would urge Chaloner to install it at drafty Brandreth Park where the chimneys smoked out the rooms when the wind blew from a certain quarter.

Once Jones departed, Vaughn double-checked his appearance in the chervil mirror. He approved of the dark green double-breasted coat, pale green striped waistcoat, and strapped, fawn wool trousers. Leaving his chamber, he went in search of company.

Vaughn had reached the landing when someone came down the stairs behind him. The delicate perfume of Attar of Roses wafted in the air.

“Lord Vaughn.”

He bowed. “Lady Faith.” Returning her formal greeting, he offered her his arm. “Please allow me to escort you.”

“Thank you.” Faith took his arm with a smile. Faith wore a sea-green dress with frills at the hem and sleeves. Vaughn was familiar with the color; his sister, Sibella, often wore it. Curls peeped from beneath Faith’s high-crowned straw hat embellished with some sort of flower and tied with pale green ribbons.

Must she be so enchanting? He tried to visualize her with her nose reddened in the cold. No, she’d still be appealing. “I like that color. It’s a favorite of Sibella’s.”

She held up her skirts with her free hand as they stepped down. “I wasn’t sure this color would suit me. It’s perfect for your sister, but she has lovely green eyes.” She smiled up at him, her eyes as blue as a summer sky, fringed with dark gold lashes.

“Yes, but blue is also….” Vaughn wavered. Fulsome compliments seemed inappropriate, no matter how much he wish to utter them. He wondered how quickly he could excuse himself.

There was a pause.

“Have you forgiven me?” Faith asked in a small voice.

He huffed out a breath. “What’s to forgive?”

“It was very bad of me to ask you to kiss me,” she continued ruthlessly, causing him to set his back teeth. “You see I.…”

“I do hope the exercise proved fruitful,” he said stiffly. They had reached the ground floor. He dropped his arm.

A rosy flush tinged her cheeks. “Well, yes. Most helpful.”

“In what way?” he asked, unable to stifle his curiosity and, although futile, a sign that she wasn’t sorry they kissed.

“It made my mind up about Lord Fitzgibbon.”

“Yes, but in what way?”

“I don’t believe I shall tell you.”

He might reach for the moon than learn anything more; Faith would not to indulge him. “Well, we have that, at least.” Vaughn dragged his eyes from her full bottom lip, remembering how sweet and soft her mouth, how the kiss had sent blood rushing to his groin. Damn it, he’d been a whisker’s breath away from deepening the kiss and plundering her mouth. He almost broke out in a sweat at the thought of where that might have led them. And with Edward and Honor a few steps away. He coughed. “Shall we continue?”

Faith walked with him along the corridor’s Persian carpet, the walls hung with gilt-framed paintings. “I hope we can be friends. Like brother and sister, perhaps. After all, you are my brother-in-law, the closest I have to a brother.”

The role was so far from the one he wished for he almost laughed. “I can’t deny the family connection,” he said. “But I’ve no need of another sister. I can barely cope with the four I have.” He turned to her and bowed. “If you’ll excuse me. I must go in search of Edward.”

Faith blinked. “Your mother and Lavinia are still in their rooms. If I know Honor, she will already be here with Edward.”