To Wed A Viscount (26 page)

“Where did the big cat come from?”

“Papa brought him over from Squire Jordan's. She will be the new mother for our kittens.”

Georgie reached into the box eagerly. The female cat hissed suddenly and swiped her paw at him. He pulled back in alarm. “She scratched me,” he exclaimed.

“You must not scare her,” Faith advised, reaching for the injured hand. She examined the cut closely, pleased to find it was only a surface welt. The cat had not even broken the skin.

“Why did she do that?” Georgie asked with great indignity.

“She is merely protecting her young,” Griffin explained.

“I wasn't going to hurt them. I only wanted to play with them.” Georgie made a face. “I want you to take the big cat back to Squire Jordan. She is mean.”

Faith crouched beside Georgie. “We were very lucky to have found such a wonderful mother cat. The kittens need her if they are to grow big and strong.”

“Well, I don't like her.” Georgie crossed his arms over his chest and stared mutinously down at the big tabby. “Why do they need a new mother, anyway?”

“To feed them and clean them and teach them how to be big cats,” Griffin said in a cheerful voice.

Georgie's frown deepened as he contemplated his father's words. He knelt beside the box and slowly held out his hand. The tabby sniffed, then allowed herself to be petted on the head. Gradually Georgie's expression lightened. “I guess it is like Faith.”

The viscountess exchanged a puzzled glance with her husband. “Like me? What do you mean?”

“I don't have a mother anymore, so Faith takes care of me. I like that.” He patted the cat one last time. Standing, he moved beside Faith and slipped his injured hand into hers. She latched on to it tightly. “I think I should call you Mama.”

“That would be lovely,” Faith murmured. An odd tightness rose in her chest as a single tear trickled down her cheek, but the smile she bestowed upon her little boy was filled with pure joy.

It was a brisk February afternoon, but the cut of the wind did not bother Faith, nor Georgie, as they journeyed into town on market day. They snuggled close together in the viscount's carriage, a large, boxy, old-fashioned conveyance with sagging springs and well-worn wheels, that bumped its way along the rutted road.

A lap robe wound tight about their knees chased away the chill, and the tufted leather squabs, though old and a bit worn, were still comfortable. Heads bent close, the two eagerly discussed the plans for the afternoon in town.

It was agreed that the first stop was to be Mr. Whitehead, the village clock maker to see if he could fix a pocket watch that had once belonged to Faith's father and was no longer keeping accurate time.

Faith had told Georgie the watch was intended as a gift for Griffin, but it was actually going to be given to Georgie. He had done well with his tutor and worked very hard in learning how to tell time, and Faith felt that the boy deserved a special reward for his efforts.

After the watchmaker, a trip to the cooper was needed so Faith could explain precisely the type of barrels she wanted made for storing household grains. Following that was a visit to the cobbler to have Georgie's feet measured for a new pair of shoes, and the final stop of the afternoon was to be at the Rose and Thistle Tavern for hot meat pies that would be eaten in the carriage on the ride home.

Faith remembered with mouthwatering delight those flaky, tasty morsels she had eagerly consumed as a child, and was looking forward to the treat almost as much as Georgie.

It was a busy, bustling day in the village and the various errands were accomplished at a leisurely pace. Feeling well pleased with the results, Faith and Georgie strolled down the street toward their final destination, bidding a cordial greeting to several acquaintances as they went. As they rounded the corner they ran into Mrs. Hinkle.

“Have you finished all your business in town yet, my lady?” Mrs. Hinkle asked by way of greeting.

“Nearly.” Faith inclined her head as Mrs. Hinkle dipped into a polite curtsy. Faith hoped she responded graciously. It was still difficult to get used to such formality from people she had known since she was a young girl. “I have promised Georgie a treat from the Rose and Thistle.”

“A meat pastry?”

“What else?” Faith smiled. “Are you enjoying your afternoon? There seems to be a great number of people about, despite the coolness of the weather.”

“Thankfully it is a sunny day, which makes it bearable to be out-of-doors, though my weary bones are suffering from the cold bite of the wind,” Mrs. Hinkle said with an exaggerated sigh.

Faith nodded her head. Mrs. Hinkle was firmly set in middle age and had always appeared healthy and robust. Yet for some odd reason the woman seemed to enjoy portraying herself as a frail creature, suffering from every sort of ill, real or imagined.

“The sun does manage to ward off a bit of the chill,” Faith replied, knowing better than to inquire about Mrs. Hinkle's health. That conversation could easily take up the rest of the afternoon. But since she lacked a good reason to hurry away, Faith felt compelled to stay and chat for a few moments.

“I heard the vicar is suffering from a particularly nasty cold,” Mrs. Hinkle confided. “I sent my maid over with the ingredients for my special herb poultice to ease the tightness in his lungs since I could not visit the poor man myself.”

“One cannot be too careful when dealing with illness,” Faith agreed. She felt a deliberate tug on her sleeve and glanced down. Georgie gave her a silent, pleading look.

Sympathizing completely with the boy's feelings, Faith began to discreetly peruse the other individuals strolling down the street, hoping to spy someone she could draw into the conversation. Alas, there was no one.

“I see Mrs. Renford is still dressing herself in frills and flounces,” Mrs. Hinkle commented as the woman in question stepped into her carriage. “An unfortunate choice of clothing for a woman of her age.”

“Mmm,” Faith replied in a noncommittal tone. She leaned down and whispered in Georgie's ear, “I'm glad Mrs. Renford has climbed inside her coach. That green feather perched atop her bonnet was bobbing up and down so fast, it was making me seasick.”

The little boy put his hand over his mouth, trying to hold back his giggles. He was not successful. The childish mirth brought Mrs. Hinkle's full attention to the boy.

“What do you have to say for yourself, young man?”

Georgie turned uncertain eyes toward Faith. She placed a hand on his shoulder. “Georgie is hoping they have not run out of meat pies at the inn.”

“A legitimate concern,” Mrs Hinkle agreed. “You should send him along so he may get his pie. It is only across the street.”

Faith hesitated a moment, but the look of excitement in the boy's face swayed her. She pulled a coin from her reticule and pressed it into his hand. “Bid Mrs. Hinkle a proper good day,” she instructed the child.

Faith glowed with maternal pride as Georgie bent at the waist, one arm clasped to his front, the other to his back.

“My, what a courtly young gentleman,” Mrs. Hinkle tittered. “I feel like a royal princess. Where did you learn such fine manners?”

“Mr. Cabot taught me,” Georgie replied earnestly.

“The boy's tutor,” Faith added in explanation. “I confess I was originally opposed to hiring him, preferring the gentle guidance of a female hand. But the viscount felt strongly that Mr. Cabot should be engaged instead of a governess. I never like to admit being wrong, yet I cannot deny it was a good decision.”

Mrs. Hinkle nodded energetically. “Your husband was right, my lady. 'Tis a smart idea to give the child every advantage. I daresay it will stand him in good stead when he gets older, poor mite.”

“Um, yes.” Faith was distracted from that cryptic statement by Georgie tugging again on her sleeve.

“I'm going now, Mama,” he announced. “To buy my meat pies.”

“Be careful,” Faith called out as the child dashed across the street. She smiled as Georgie lifted his hand and waved, yet never once broke his stride.

Still smiling, Faith turned toward Mrs. Hinkle. “No matter how many times I tell him to watch where he is running there—Oh goodness, Mrs. Hinkle, are you all right?” Concerned, Faith reached out to steady the older woman, who had suddenly turned pale.

“He called you Mama,” Mrs. Hinkle said in astonishment.

“Yes.” Faith's chest puffed out with pride. “I'm so pleased. When the viscount and I were first married, Georgie didn't really call me anything, and then later he began calling me Faith. I knew his memories of his natural mother were dim, she died when he was so young, yet I felt it was intrusive to insist that he call me Mama.

“I have longed to be his mother in truth, and I'm glad I waited for Georgie to decide when the time was right. It makes it far more meaningful to me, knowing it was his choice.”

“I always knew you were a progressive-thinking young woman, but frankly I am shocked.” Mrs. Hinkle blinked rapidly.

“It is hardly an extraordinary occurrence,” Faith replied, wondering at Mrs. Hinkle's odd behavior. Perhaps the woman had been imbibing in too many of her own home remedies and they were finally beginning to have an adverse effect on her. “I'm certain there are many children who address a stepparent in the same familiar manner.”

Mrs. Hinkle's mouth dropped open. “But he is not a proper stepchild!”

“I beg your pardon?”

“He is illegitimate.”

“W-what?”

“The boy is illegitimate. A bastard.”

“I know perfectly well what the word means!” Faith dealt Mrs. Hinkle a glare that had sent many a servant scuffing for cover. “I am just overwhelmed that you would speak such vulgar lies in my hearing. How did you ever come up with such a mean, vicious thought? I had always believed you to be a fine Christian woman, Mrs. Hinkle. 'Tis lowering to discover that you are nothing more than a vicious gossipmonger who must fabricate outrageous stories in order to gain attention.”

Faith spun on her heel and stalked away. The throbbing of her heart was matched only by the pounding in her head. She could hear the patter of Mrs. Hinkle's shoes as the woman hurried after her.

“Wait, please. Viscountess Dewhurst . . . My lady . . . Faith! Please, wait.”

Faith slowed a bit and swallowed hard. She took another step forward, stopped, then wheeled about Mrs. Hinkle, who was breathing hard, placed a tentative hand on her arm. There was sincerity and distress in the other woman's eyes. A cold shiver of fear ran down Faith's spine.

“Yes?”

“I thought you knew. Please, you must listen.” Mrs. Hinkle took in several deep gulps of air. “I am not lying, nor did I fabricate this tale. My brother owns a small clipper ship that trades in the Americas. Nothing as grand as the viscount's business, but it does journey on some of the same routes. Several months ago my brother traveled to Portsmouth to help the captain hire on a new crew.

“One of the men they employed used to sail with your husband. He spoke well of the viscount and pridefully of the captain's little boy. The child that Lord Dewhurst had recently discovered he had sired and brought to England to raise as his own.”

“Recently discovered? I do not understand what you are saying.”

Mrs. Hinkle flushed. “Apparently the viscount did not know the boy even existed until his nurse brought him to the ship one day. She was searching for the child's father because his mother had died.”

“My husband was captain of one of his ships, traveling for long months at sea. The child was born while he was away on a voyage. Perhaps he was unaware of the pregnancy before he set sail. The viscount once told me that he did not live with Georgie's mother. But that does not make my son illegitimate,” Faith retorted frostily.

Mrs. Hinkle shook her head sadly. “Lord Dewhurst did not know of the child because he was never married to the boy's mother.”

“ 'Tis only sailors' gossip,” Faith whispered forcefully, trying to put on a brave face as her heart was twisting in anguish.
It cannot possibly be true
.
It cannot!

“Has the viscount ever spoken of the boy's mother?”

“No.”

“Or spoken of a prior marriage?”

Mrs. Hinkle's voice was kind, sympathetic. Faith's stomach started churning with fear.

“I am certain you are mistaken,” Faith heard herself say. Her voice sounded dull and muffled, as if it came from a great distance.

Mrs. Hinkle shook her head. “I am not trying to be a moralist, though most people will agree it is lowering to be of illegitimate birth. I think it is a fine thing his lordship has done, claiming the child and taking responsibility for him. I'm sure his father's rank and influence will help the boy achieve some level of success in life and society. Perhaps there will be opportunities for him abroad. In the Americas.”

Faith forced her mind to clear, to concentrate. Georgie sent off to the Americas? Living his life across the ocean where they would never see him? It was unthinkable. Oh, dear Lord, she had to get away from Mrs. Hinkle. Now.

“I cannot discuss this any more,” Faith said numbly. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Hinkle.”

Faith fled without a backward glance, nearly crying with relief when she saw Georgie emerge from the inn, his small hands filled with meat pies wrapped in clean linen cloths.

She bent low and snatched the boy to her chest, hugging him tightly, seeking to shield him from this horrible truth. Trying to hide him, protect him from the inevitable hurt he would experience.

“Careful, Mama,” Georgie said, trying to pull himself out of her grasp. “The pies are hot.”

“Hurry, now.” Faith choked out. “We must hurry home.”

Without waiting for an answer, Faith dragged the little boy toward the carriage, startling the coachman and footman at her unexpected, early arrival.

“Take us home,” she shouted. “Immediately.”

She boosted the child into the coach and jumped in after him, not bothering to wait for the footman's assistance. When she heard the door close behind her, Faith spread her hands over her hot cheeks. Then she glanced across the carriage at a very puzzled little boy.

“I brought you a pastry, too,” Georgie said, hesitantly holding out the treat.

Faith's vision blurred. That sweet, innocent face. A pit of bottomless despair opened in her heart.

“Please don't cry, Mama.” Georgie reached over and patted her hand awkwardly. “I saved the better pie for you. I don't mind eating the one that is squashed.”

 

 

“Where is the viscount, Gregory?” Faith asked, tugging off her gloves and tossing them at the footman who stood beside the butler.

“The library, my lady,” the butler replied. “Shall I escort you?”

“Don't be an idiot,” Faith snapped. A slightly raised brow was the only reaction she received from the stiff-necked butler. The footman was not as well trained. His lower jaw sagged noticeably. “Is my husband alone?”

“I believe so. Would it be idiotic of me to offer to check, my lady?” the butler inquired.

Faith's forehead wrinkled. “One more insolent remark and you shall find yourself walking the streets, searching for employment without a proper reference. Is that idiotic enough for you, Gregory?”

She thrust her cloak at the butler and stalked away, not caring that the butler was now suitably shocked at her bizarre outburst. Her mood had swung from despair to grief to humiliation, settling lastly on anger. And anyone who was foolish enough to provoke her temper the merest fraction would suffer her full wrath. Including her servants.