by Edith Layton
“The Viking,” said the earl suddenly, as Faith jumped at the name, though she told herself it was only in surprise, “cultivated you at first because you were suspected of being a spy and he was set to find out if you were. My besetting sin is gossip, but sin can give birth to worthier things, you know. At least,” he shrugged, “that’s how I discovered it. But did you know that?”
“Yes,” she said, though she hadn’t, though it made perfect sense.
“He has no interest in marrying,” he went on. “We are old rivals. That may explain his interest now, it may not. I only attempt to make you see that mine is a present, real, and valid offer, and I cannot say that he would ever offer.”
“I know all that,” she said dully, for that too made sense—she’d expected little else.
“Is there no way I can prevail upon you to stay, and perhaps get to know me on your terms?” he asked seriously, taking her hand into his large one and not releasing it at once.
“No,” she said. “No way,” she agreed quietly, withdrawing her hand.
Thus, when Miss Hamilton’s third visitor was announced, he came out to the small economical garden in the back of the house where she sat in the shade of a single plane tree, and he discovered her fanning herself in desultory fashion, looking sad, lost, and languishing, and as regretful as if she were the one that had caused this warm and airless day.
He was all done up in autumn hues, from his brown jacket to his dark brown inexpressionables to his red and brown checked waistcoat, and when she saw him Faith sighed.
“Good heavens, Will,” she said weakly, “you make me warm just looking at you.”
“I can’t let you go home alone,” he said at once, tightly, as though the heat gave him difficulty in speaking.
“Of course, you can,” she sighed, “but if you can’t, it doesn’t matter, because if you know me, Will Rossiter, and it would be passing strange if you didn’t, you’d know I’m going anyway.”
He seated himself next to her on the wicker settle and took her hand in his. She stopped fanning herself and looked at him in some alarm. He looked older and infinitely weary. There were deep shadows beneath his troubled brown eyes and there was a grim cast to his usually laughing mouth.
“When I discovered what happened last night, Faith, I was beside myself,” he said. “I would’ve called Methley out because of it, but Barnabas kept me up for the rest of the night convincing me he had the matter in hand. It is his country and in the end, toward dawn, I had to agree he’d know best what to do about it. But do you want me to stand for you in this matter, Faith?”
“Indeed, I do not,” she cried in alarm.
“Then marry me, Faith,” he said with great sincerity, nodding as though she’d confirmed something to him, “and we’ll return together.”
“Don’t be a nodcock,” she said angrily, shaking off his hand and glowering at him.
“I understand,” he persisted, “that you were shocked at what you must have seen last night, and that, of course, you’re probably even more reluctant to wed because of it, but Faith, listen, I of all people wouldn’t expect more from you than friendship in marriage, and we’d make your grandfather very happy, and who knows what time and maturity will bring to us?”
“Only gray hairs and the grave, Will,” she snapped. “For heaven’s sake, stop being such a gapeseed. Methley took me to see the goings-on in a bawdy house, he didn’t employ me there. Oh now just look at you, Will, you’re redder than a beet, you’re a symphony in overheated colors, my boy. You ought to go douse your head in cold water and then change to something nice and cool before you visit Mary. I think she can use some cheering up far better than I can use a human sacrifice today, thank you. I ...” she went on in less confident tones, “was rather cruel to her this morning.”
Upon hearing this, the look upon her companion’s face was so far removed from that which one would expect of a gentleman who had just offered her his life and fortune that despite herself, Faith began laughing. Then, at his aggrieved expression, she giggled, “But Will, you oughtn’t to look like you were going to murder the lady you’d just asked to marry you. It doesn’t speak well for your good intentions. And at that,” she said, sobering, “maybe I did you a good turn. Because I gave her a great deal to think about and if she’s got any kind of head on her pretty white shoulders, she should be thinking about thinking for herself right now.
“Yes,” she said suddenly, eagerly, “if you can get an audience with her alone, and maybe you can,” she said excitedly, “because I believe the duchess has taken herself off on her rounds all day today, she’s that anxious to avoid me. And you know I won’t interrupt you. So go. This would be the perfect time to confront her with the truth of your intentions at last, Will, along with a nicely worded sincere offer.”
And in a very short order, she related the whole of her morning’s conversation with Lady Mary to him, especially the part where nothing was said, but where she’d read volumes into the expression on the other girl’s face as she’d finally crept from the room.
The butler at the Duke of Marchbanks’ townhouse was sorely grieved. It was not for a servant to know better than his betters, but this day no titled one in the establishment seemed to remember what was the thing to do. The American guest, of course, could be expected to know nothing. But no one else appeared to be doing much better. A stream of gentlemen seemed dead set on having audiences with various females in the house, and the duchess wasn’t there to forbid it, the duke had been gone since morning, and even Lady Mary had gently but firmly overruled any hints on propriety given by himself, the housekeeper, or her abigail.
The only good thing about it, the butler sighed as he went to usher yet another gentleman into precincts where a gentleman ought not to be alone with a young lady, was that it was summer, and in the summer in London there were few around to carry gossip through the heat, and so one could do a great many things that might never be heard of again. Or at least, so one could only hope.
The warmth had grown with the day, and so this time Miss Hamilton was to be found sitting alone on a spindly chair in a corner of the anteroom. The room was hers by default. The garden had grown too sultry, she knew that Lady Mary was holding an audience in the salon, and she didn’t dare be so bold as to requisition the library or the drawing room or the grand salon for her personal use. The choice of the anteroom had been a happy accident, since she soon discovered that the high ceilings and tiled floor made it one of the few areas in the house that had any claim to coolness.
The gentleman, however, had no place to sit, and the butler, after having shown him to Miss Hamilton, retreated speedily so that he would not be called upon to provide any seating either. The servitor vowed to tell the footmen not to hurry if they were summoned to do the job. It was enough that he must cater to ill-bred whims, he thought righteously as he beat a rapid withdrawal to servants precincts, it would be more than too much if he were asked to pander to them.
But no one sat, or thought to sit, after the gentleman had entered the room. Miss Hamilton rose, and stood and gazed upon her visitor, and the gentleman simply took her hand and appeared to be content to stand, holding it, and looking down at her. She had been neither angry nor sad nor regretful when he’d appeared, as she’d been in turn for each of her other guests this day. She’d thought herself drained of emotion, and had only been surprised to hear his name spoken, and then briefly, delighted to see his face, and now was dismayed at the sudden, unexpected force of her reaction to his touch.
She’d thought herself enormously sophisticated today. She’d handled each of her visitors with wisdom and aplomb. But one look at his tanned face and the warmth in his knowing eyes and she’d found herself tongue-tied and shy. She was so glad to see him, and so overwhelmed with pleasure at the glad welcome evident in his face and in his eager step as he’d come into the room, that she grew angry with herself for being so overjoyed and vulnerable to him. So she blurted, when she could, “I’m
going home, my lord. As soon as possible.”
“What a lovely greeting,” he said enthusiastically, holding on to her hand as though he were restraining her from boarding the clipper ship that was about to bear her off, rather than standing with her in a deserted anteroom in a townhouse in London. “You do know how to put a gentleman at his ease. It’s a lucky thing that I’m a monster of conceit or I’d take that remark personally. Or,” he asked, not laughing now but looking at her keenly, “ought I to after all?”
“Oh no,” she gasped, “it’s never you. It’s Mary and the duchess, and the mess I’ve made of things.”
“And what Methley did?” he asked seriously, his eyes searching her face.
“Oh no,” she said, in her anxiety to convince him of her earnestness forgetting to defend herself, and staring directly back into his eyes. “I’m glad he did that, though I realize,” she began to smile, “that makes me sound like a monster of lechery, doesn’t it? But it made me understand a great many things—no, our talk last night did that,” she admitted, averting her eyes again, and so not seeing his relieved smile. “But he offered for me this morning, you see, and I refused him, of course, just as I will everyone the duchess tosses me to. Why,” she said nervously, “I don’t think I’ll draw an easy breath here again for fear she’ll find a way to strand me with another of her favorites if I don’t keep a sharp watch. No, I’m going home.”
But she didn’t try to retrieve her hand, and only noted with a sort of distant pleasure that it was a strong and warm clasp and that it was comfortable to stand thus with him.
“Well,” he said emphatically, and she grinned at him so impulsively that he had to curb an impulse to take her up in his arms, “it would save us both, Methley and I, a great deal of money, but even so, I don’t think it’s a good idea. No, I disapprove of the notion in the strongest terms. No, I cannot like the idea at all,” he said, shaking his shaggy head sadly in the negative.
“I recognize,” he went on, as he rubbed his thumb slowly across the back of her hand, “that your leaving would mean that I could stop buying up all the caricatures I’ve found in shop windows in Picadilly recently, but it also might mean ruin for several starving artists. You wouldn’t want to account for all those fellows dwindling to nothing, would you?” he inquired sweetly.
“For I’ve come to realize,” he explained, looking down at her confusion with an ironic smile, “that between Methley and myself, and perhaps the duke as well, we’ve given rise to an entirely new industry: the manufacture of Miss Hamilton cartoons and broadsheets. It strikes me that as we’re creating the same market we’re supporting, if we cease buying them up, they’ll cease to exist. Because, not to wound you, Faith, but I don’t believe anyone else in Town has the slightest interest in them. It’s a question of supply and demand. As a woman with business interests, you probably see this clearly. But as a charitable human being you must also see that if you leave, they’ll starve, or at the least, languish, and you may well have Mr. Rowlandson’s and Mr. Cruikshank’s untimely deaths on your conscience.”
She laughed at that until he added, quite soberly, “And mine as well.”
His handsome face was very serious, and as she could not bring herself to look directly at him just then, she found herself studying his high white neckcloth and wondering how he could look so cool and bear the refreshing scent of pungent herbs on such a sweltering day. Then she discovered herself wondering how it would be if he removed that constricting cravat for comfort’s sake, and then of course, she dropped her gaze to his blue and green waistcoat so that she would not refine upon the thought of whether that long, strong torso would be tanned equally golden as the bit of throat which showed above the neckcloth.
“Faith,” he said urgently, and she looked up at that and so was trapped like a fly she’d once seen cased in a bit of amber, in his clear light gaze, “I don’t want you to go. Not ever. Not from me. I know you must feel something of what I do, but I also know that there are some things that cannot be grown out of season. In time, Faith, in time, I believe we might have a future together. But not if you run home. And not if you remain here, I grant you that. Faith,” he began, and then looked about them.
“Not even a chair,” he sighed, “and I doubt you’d permit me to share that one with you, and I refuse to get on one knee to make a declaration.”
“Methley once said the same,” she said, unthinking.
“Oh did he?” Lord Deal said with great interest. “What an interesting proposal this will be then. Be sure to let me know if I become derivative, I should hate to bore you. Well then,” he said abruptly, “if it’s variety you’re after ...” and before her horrified eyes, he dropped to one knee in front of her.
“Miss Hamilton,” he said on a weary sigh as she stared down at the top of his streaked and tawny mass of hair, “will you do me the honor—”
“Oh do get up, do get up,” she chanted in panic, looking about the room, dreading anyone’s interrupting them. “Oh please don’t remain so,” she cried, trying to tug him up by the arm, and when he simply stared at her, enjoying himself immensely, she grew frantic enough to actually venture to tug at that thick crop of hair. “Oh don’t get on your knees to me, I do not deserve it, oh I cannot bear it,” she almost sobbed in vexation.
Then he rose, even as she realized with astonishment how very loathe she was to loose her grip on the silky, clean feel of his hair beneath her fingers. And as he rose he caught her up with him until he held her close, and then he said, all seriousness, all laughter, “Faith, marry me. At once. Then we’ll have all the time in the world to work the rest of it out. I’d never force you, or hurry you or coerce you or compromise you, believe that. Mind, I don’t cede the point, don’t think I intend to give up that future physical delight, I only swear that I’m content to wait on it. I believe that in your time, in good time, you’ll come to me, on your own, without fear. I must believe that, and so should you. For we’re friends, Faith, and that’s good and rare enough in this cold world, for now. I’ll wait on the rest, it will come. And who knows what other joys time will bring to us?”
“But that’s what Will said,” she thought aloud, so that she would not have to think of an answer for him, she was so dazzled and flustered by his proximity, his voice, his words, his scent, and his arms about her.
“Oh Faith,” he chuckled, looking down into her perplexed eyes, “we shall have to see to finding you some other sort of hobby. There’s no way I can make a decent proposal when you’ve half the kingdom’s offers to compare with mine. Have you done nothing today but be wooed? You can only have one of us, no matter how many gentlemen you’ve conquered. Don’t you know we British frown on multiple marriages?” he asked, trying valiantly to keep the subject light, to keep his thoughts and his gaze from her soft, parted lips. Yet by looking into her eyes he could see that she was staring in fascination at his own mouth as he spoke.
He groaned, she may have too. It seemed they drew together. It might have been that their lips touched. It might have only been that they came so close that it was possible. But it was he who drew away instantly, ruefully, abashed.
“A fine way,” he murmured, stepping back from her, “to assure you of my fine resolve. I am resolved though, Faith. I have faith in myself ... good lord, there’s that name again, see the trap you set for me?” He laughed briefly but then said very seriously, “I believe in myself, and value you. Nothing will change that, certainly not marriage, and not intimacy. It might only make me love you the more, in a different fashion, to add to what I already feel. Didn’t you know that?” he asked tenderly, watching every nuance that showed in her face. “I came to know you because I was asked to determine if you were a spy. That’s my hobby,” he explained on a gentle smile. “Ah, that doesn’t surprise you. Then it’s as well that it’s clear you couldn’t carry a dire plot across a playground. Lovely security Britain enjoys. But the point is, once I ascertained that, I had no reason to continue haunting Marc
hbanks, except that I had gotten to know you.
“I generally avoid proper, unwed young women. I lost a fiancée, as you know, and for all my chatter, I’ve never looked to replace her. I still don’t. I want only you, and you’re certainly one of a kind. I find I’m even selfishly glad you’ve avoided men until now, though I know it can’t have been pleasant for you, but it kept you safely single for me. Perhaps I needed a wife who wanted no husband. I’ve always been the contrary sort,” he mused.
“Now,” he said, continuing to choose his words with care from all the ones he’d thought up through a sleepless dawn, and then tested to himself all the morning so that when he at last spoke with her, he’d make no blunder, “be assured, if you want to involve yourself with trade after we’ve wed, I’ll not stop you. In fact, I’ll encourage it. I’m fond of funds, and not ashamed of how I’ve grown mine. I’ve American interests too, aside from you, of course. If you want to visit your homeland, I’ll be happy to accompany you as well, it’s a place to be proud of being from and a pleasure to go to. But I think you already know most of this.
“The important thing is that it needs that you believe in me, and trust me when I say that as you’re not your mama, so you must understand I won’t be the sort of husband she had either. I refuse to count either fear or bad experience as my rival. And neither will harm us. If, that is, you care for me.”
Then he said no further word, nor did he touch her, but only waited patiently for her answer, observing her closely.
Now there was no escaping him. Or herself. She looked at him and understood what she’d feared all along, that to leave him would be to leave her only chance at happiness. Then she allowed herself to realize that dread and doubt and trepidation notwithstanding, where he stood, there stood her home. Then she steadied herself and fought against herself and because of her great need, wrenched, at last, free of herself.
