She enjoyed her conversation with the Baron Torsford, but it was time to get the books and go home. “If it is not too much trouble, I would like to collect my books,” Faith said.
“Of course,” Torsford said, “but first, I want to introduce you to Mr. Chapman, the printer.”
She could not argue with that plan. After all, she did want to meet the man. Perhaps he would publish further works for Emerson in the future.
The baron took a portly gentleman by the shoulder and introduced him as Mr. Adolf Chapman, the printer. The man looked blurry-eyed and Faith could tell immediately, that the printer was deep in his cups.
“The books?” Faith urged, and the baron nodded, leading the way into the library. Mr. Chapman rallied enough to nod and swallow his drink while she followed the baron to the nook where the books were boxed.
After that, Faith only had eyes for the printed matter. “Oh,” she said in awe as she held one of the volumes. “They are …” She paused realizing that she was about to wax poetic. How would a gentleman admire them? He would not say they were beautiful, or lovely. No. He would comment on the workmanship, she thought. “Very fine workmanship indeed,” she said gruffly.
Mr. Chapman nodded.
She opened the cover to reveal her own words, stamped boldly across the page. She wanted to shout and carry the item out to show Hope immediately, but of course she could not do that. She had to get them home.
“Would a footman be able to convey this to my carriage?” She requested. “I came primarily for the books. I believe I shall make it an early night. I am not much of a dancer.”
“That is the truth,” said a masculine voice from the doorway. Faith looked up to see Mr. Titherington in attendance. “I see you found your volumes.”
“Come Emerson, let’s celebrate your success, shall we?” The baron asked.
“Of course,” Faith replied, unable to think what sort of celebration the baron might have in mind until drinks were poured all around. Faith thought that with the previous drinks, she had already drunk were quite enough. She had to keep her wits about her, but she was the one they were toasting, so she could hardly refuse. She put on a brave face and smiled as she sipped hoping to water a potted plant directly. Mr. Chapman downed his and took a refill, but both the baron and Mr. Titherington sipped their drinks.
In a moment, Mr. Chapman returned to the ballroom and the baron to his guests leaving her alone with Mr. Titherington, who sat quite comfortably in one of the wing chairs as he browsed through one of her books. The storm that had been threatening all evening finally broke, and the rain fell heavily against the library windows.
Faith felt a bit odd being alone with a gentleman, especially one that she found attractive. “I do not want to keep you from your evening,” Faith said. “I am quite capable of waiting for the footman alone.”
Titherington looked up surprised. “Of course you are,” he said. “But I must say I am having a fit of ill temper.”
“You don’t say?” Faith wondered what brought on his sudden change of mood.
“Yes. Well Emerson, the lady I had most hoped to dance with seems to be absent.” He leaned close and Faith could smell his cologne as he whispered conspiratorially, “and I just managed to dodge Miss Charleston. She is too ripe and ready by half.”
“You did not think she was tempting?” Faith asked deciding to feel out her competition for Mr. Titherington’s favor.
“Lud! No! Did you?”
Faith shook her head emphatically.
Titherington took a sip of his brandy and looked thoughtful. “She used to follow me and Edgar around, the scamp. I cannot think of her as anything, but a sister, and if I were to despoil her, Edgar would have my guts for garters.” He said taking another sip of his drink. “She is well-inlaid, if you are looking for someone to finance your writing career, but to tell the truth, Emerson, I don’t think you need it. Chapman might be persuaded to fund the paper and ink, and from there, I think the work should stand on its own.”
“Do you think so?” Faith asked
“Yes. I must confess. The baron and I stayed up quite late the night before last pursuing the story. I don’t know when I laughed so hard. Your characters are magnificent. I think they should be on stage, and I know just the man to do it.”
“Who?”
“Mr. Jonathan Maddox.”
“I’ve heard of him.”
“Of course you have,” Titherington said standing and re-filling both of their glasses from the decanter before Faith could refuse. “He is the man to see for everything at Drury Lane. Strangely enough, his brother is the business manager at Covent Gardens. There’s a sibling rivalry if I ever saw one.” He handed her the glass of brandy.
“Wait,” Faith interrupted, “Drury Lane or Covent Gardens. You think I could play at Drury Lane or Covent Gardens?”
“Why where else? They are the only theaters licensed to put on a play within the city limits. Of course, there are some small shows that pop up outside the city. When they are good, they find their way to Drury Lane or Covent Garden, but why start at the bottom if you don’t have to do so. Anyway, someone will rewrite the plays from the smaller venues. If you go that avenue, the actual playwright’s name might be lost in translation. We want to build your name, not lose it.”
“Do you really think players at Covent Garden or Drury Lane would perform my play?” Faith was amazed at the idea.
“Of course they will. All you need is a patron. Most let Mr. Maddox do the business work. I will introduce you around.”
“Of course, “ Faith said thoughtfully. “Wait! In London?”
“Of course, in London,” Titherington said. “I know several gentlemen who patronize the arts, but I do not think you will lure them to our fair town of Nettlefold so easily. Mr. Maddox handles the business, but most patrons do not care for details. Their interest is the continuation of the theater, and of course the actresses,” Titherington added dryly.
Faith felt a blush filling her face, and Titherington laughed. “You are an innocent,” he said. Titherington leaned back in his chair and considered Faith. “Have you ever been with a woman, Emerson?” he asked.
Faith, who had just taken a swig of brandy, choked and quite entirely could not breathe. Titherington slapped her on the back repeatedly until she nearly fell to the floor, but she finally got her breath back.
“I will take that as a no,” Titherington said with a jolly grin. “I think we should go to London forthwith,” he said. “That would be best for you and for your play. I am sure of it.”
Faith dissembled. “Well, right now, we should return to the ballroom and find the ladies.”
“Yes, lest they come looking for us,” Titherington agreed standing and walking to the door. “Where is that footman, I wonder?” he said. “Blast, Edgar probably forgot.”
Faith stood and the room swam. She clutched the side of the chair.
“I do believe you are foxed,” Titherington said laughing.
“Yes, I believe you are right,” Faith agreed shakily. She had never drunk spirits or quite so much of anything alcoholic. She remembered some of the anecdotes her brothers told about the army and free flowing drink amongst their male friends. She blinked hard, but could not manage to bring the room into focus. Strange, it was not spinning while she was sitting. She sat down hard in the chair. The room still moved. It seemed once the room began to move, sitting again did not stop its wavering.
She closed her eyes to the sound of Titherington’s laughter. “I will tell the baron you are staying the night.”
That brought her to her feet, spinning room or no. “No. no. I must return home,” she said clutching the chair.
“Why?” Titherington asked. “Is the cottage so warm and comforting?”
Faith did not answer. What could she say? If she could only manage to get her feet under her, she would leave.
“If we are going to London, we should get in an early start tomorrow.” Titherington c
ontinued.
“Tomorrow? I can’t go tomorrow.”
“Why? What is wrong with tomorrow?”
“I just…I am not sure when I would be able.” Faith said as she started to rise and then sat back down. She was feeling a bit queasy and wanted to go home now. She brought a hand to her forehead and closed her eyes.
“Perhaps you are right. We should put off going to London a bit,” he teased. “You shan’t have the head for it on the morrow.” Still laughing, Titherington exited the library. “Take your time, lightweight.”
Faith stood rather unsteadily, and followed the man back toward the ballroom. She did not see Hope. Titherington had located Lady Torsford and was speaking to her. Faith came up beside them.
“Miss Hope was looking for you,” Lady Torsford said.
“Where is she?” Faith asked looking around the ballroom and blearily trying to discern whether a woman in the in the corner might be Hope.
“They just left,” Caroline explained. “The entire family.”
“What?” Faith exclaimed. The world snapped back into focus. She found herself momentarily in control. The room stilled although it still felt as if Lady Torsford was speaking from far away. Faith was certain that Hope must be frantic. What on earth had occurred to make them leave? Was their ruse found out or was there some other catastrophe? “What has happened?” she asked.
“I know not,” Lady Torsford said, “and I am not one to gossip, but the family looked upset. The Lord Mortel called for their carriage and they were off before I could speak with them.”
Faith groaned and felt the evening crumble at her feet. She could not think of a single reason why Hope might desert her, but she had. This was a disaster.
“I must go,” she said, turning quickly toward the door where she hoped to find a footman to fetch her carriage, but the room moved with her sudden change in direction. She tripped over her own overly large shoes and stumbled, falling to the floor.
Faith sat stunned for a moment, but she managed to hear Lady Torsford’s whispered hiss, “This is your fault Titherington, first that printer, and now this. You keep your drunken friends out of my house. I mean it.”
“Now Caroline,” began the baron, “I am as much to blame. We got perhaps a bit carried away.”
Faith was hauled abruptly to her feet. “I shall take care of him,” Titherington said to Lady Torsford.
Mr. Titherington had her, Faith thought, as she snuggled close. He smelled good; like peppermint. Oscar frog-marched her out of the ballroom and out onto the veranda where the chilly rain and the cool night air hit her full in the face and quickly roused her.
“There you are,” laughed Titherington when she blinked up at him. He was so handsome. His blue eyes were sparkling with mirth. “I thought you were down for the count, Emerson.”
The use of her alias brought Faith back to reality. “I truly must get home,” she said.
“You are in no shape to ride, Emerson.”
She pulled away from him and stood as tall as she could. “Are you claiming to have never ridden drunk?”
“Well, no, but Demon knows the way home. I do not think your carriage animals are so smart.”
“Perhaps not,” she agreed.
A footman stuck his head out of the doorway. “Mr. Emerson, the baron said you are welcome to stay in the blue room, and you Mr. Titherington may have your usual room.”
“See,” Mr. Titherington said with a shrug. “Edgar has managed his wife.”
“That is no way to talk about a lady,” Faith said and Mr. Titherington chuckled and led her back inside before they were both fully drenched.
Titherington would not hear of her leaving, and the baron sided with him. Reluctantly, even Lady Torsford agreed, saying Emerson was in no condition to go anywhere, and she didn’t want him dead in a ditch. Outnumbered, Faith capitulated. She would rest for just a bit and then go home.
Once in the guest room, Faith thought she would just close her eyes for a moment until the room stopped moving. She did not think that Titherington would be an early riser. She would be home long before he awoke and none would be the wiser.
She awoke several hours later to pitch darkness with a desperate need to use the water closet. She reached for a candle that had been on the side table, but there was nothing to light it with. Fumbling around in a room that she did not know, she managed to find what she needed and relieved herself. At that point, she rubbed her face and realized she only had one side burn on the left cheek. The right was naked.
“Blast and botheration,” she muttered as she felt her way back to the bed, thinking perhaps it was on the pillow. After a solid fifteen minutes searching in the dark, she found it stuck to the bedding. She had a moment of fear thinking what would have happened if the sideburn was left in the bed. She tried to stick it back to her face, but the spirit gum had dried. She would just have to keep the right side of her face turned away from anyone she saw. She had to get home. What a disaster it would be for Titherington to find her so disheveled. Still, the thought of him sent a thrill through her. She pushed it aside. If she left now, no one would know. Her face would not be so visible in moonlight. She could do it. As she crept out into the hall, she realized she was not likely to find anyone. It seemed the house was all abed.
When Faith reached the door, she realized it was still raining. She sighed. There was no help for it. She could not face the baron and Mr. Titherington in the morning with her crumpled clothing and only one sideburn stuck to her cheek.
There was a flash of lightning, and she saw her way to the stable. She began the trek hoping that the rain might let up, but it seemed to be an all-night affair. Another lightning flash pointed her in the right direction. Once inside the stable, it seemed darker than the house. In the dark, she could not find her carriage. Furthermore, she had never had need to hitch a horse to a carriage. Then it dawned on her that it was possible that her family took both carriages home. Surely the twin’s ruse was found out by now. With only Hope riding home, Isaac must know Faith was not there, unless Hope managed to tell him that she had already gone home, in which case, where was the carriage?
The horse nearest her snuffled and pushed his big head against her arm. She knew that head. Demon’s Reach, she thought. He nuzzled her looking for apples. “Well, no one else knew who I was, but you do, don’t you, Demon?” Faith asked. Right there beside his stall was his bridle hanging on a hook. She knew she could not manage to get a saddle on him in the dark, and even if she could what would she use? A man’s saddle or a side saddle? She did not think Demon was trained to side saddle. Of course, she had no experience with a man’s saddle. Nonetheless, she had to get home.
She held the bridle, with the bit in her hand, and Demon as if searching for some hidden apple treat, took the bit and let his head down for her to fasten the bridle. She scratched him vigorously for his compliance, and then led him out of the stall. He stood patiently while she attempted to mount his bare back. It was an ordeal. She finally lay flat across his back and with a handful of mane and reins, managed to shift herself to face his head and pulled herself upright with one leg on each side of the horse. She sighed when she was finally situated, and Demon blew out his breath in concert.
She was accustomed to riding astride, but she had done it on a dare from Jessie. She knew if Demon walked all the way home, she should be alright. Then what? She asked herself. She was not sure, but at least she wanted to talk to Hope and learn what had happened to make the family leave so quickly. Then together, they would decide what to do.
Faith turned Demon and walked him out of the stable and into the steady rain.
15
Hope met Faith at the door when she crept back into Mortel Manor even though the rest of the family was abed. Her twin’s face was filled with concern.
“Faith, I’ve been so worried. You completely disappeared. Where have you been?” Hope demanded, and then when she took in Faith’s disheveled appearance, her hands went to
her mouth. “Oh sweet heavens! What happened to you? Are you injured? I am so sorry, Faith. I should not have left you. I was so torn. Should I have told Isaac? I am sorry, Faith.”
“I am glad you did not,” Faith said. “I am well. I mean, I am wet from the rain, but I am not hurt.” Faith paused, holding back a sneeze that finally escaped.
“Still, this night has brought nothing, but ruin,” Hope said. “Come. Let’s get you out of those wet clothes, before you catch your death.”
“Yes,” Faith agreed following her sister through the darkened house to their shared rooms. “What caused you to leave before the ball ended?”
“Oh,” Hope said. “Mercy. That is terrible indeed. But you must speak first. Why were you not in the ballroom?”
“The baron and Mr. Titherington wanted to introduce me to the printer, Mr. Chapman, and there were celebratory drinks.”
“Drinks?” Hope repeated. “You were drinking?”
“I was detained,” Faith said, unwilling to tell her sister the whole story with her head spinning the way it was.
“Then you have the books? Oh, but how? Isaac took both carriages.”
“Yes! I know. I had to leave the books behind. I took Titherington’s horse.”
Hope gasped. “Demon? You are lucky you did not part company with the beast and even now, lie in a ditch between here and there.”
“You took the carriage, Hope! What was I supposed to do?” She did not mean to be short with her sister, but she was wet and miserable and they still did not have the books.
“It could not be helped.”
“Nonetheless, I had no conveyance when I escaped from the house and the rather free-flowing brandy,” Faith said as she pulled the other sideburn from her face and put both on the dresser. She brushed back her wet hair that had come loose from her braid. “I was unaware how potent the liquor was and it took me a bit to gain my wits, but once I did, I knew I must get home. Tell me, sister. What did Isaac say? How were you able to hide my absence? I would have expected him to come pounding upon the baron’s door to drag me home by my ear.”
The Lady to Match a Rogue: Faith (The Baggington Sisters Book 4) Page 13
