“Not Faith,” She said with surety.
Titherington hesitated. “What makes you believe so?”
Faith paused. Should she tell him of her fears? It seemed the best course forward, but it was more than she had ever shared with a man or with anyone outside of Hope. Still, if she were to truly consider the man she must know his mind. Was she considering the man? How had she come to this?
“Emerson?” Titherington urged.
“You know Faith is as determined as Cassondra; yet somewhat of a bluestocking,” Faith said. It was strange talking of herself in such a distant manner. “She fears that a husband would prevent her interests.”
“Pfah,” Oscar said, waving away the notion. “I am sure I do not care.”
“You do not care?” Faith did not know whether to be relieved or appalled at his flippancy.
“Of course not. It does no harm if she likes to read. Why would any man censure that? We have read enough in the past few days ourselves.”
Faith thought how close to the truth that was, and yet she had to know his true feelings. He did not understand the depth of her concern. But she could not disclose more of her fears, could she?
“It is more than a bit of reading,” Faith said at last. “Many men censure their wives not because they truly dislike such pastimes, but because they want to assert their control.”
“You think I am that sort of a man?” Titherington said, and Faith felt as if he was hurt by the comment. She bit her lip, uncertain if she should continue, but she pressed on. There were things she wanted to know about this man, and her confession would help her to better understand him, and him her.
“Did you know the late Lord Mortel?” She asked.
“Only in passing,” Oscar replied. “Though, I have heard that he was a bloody arse.” Oscar immediately looked shamefaced. “My apologies. The man was a relation of yours and…”
Faith held up a hand to halt further protests. “Do not be sorry. A truer statement was never uttered,” She agreed. “You do know that Temperance absconded to a convent to escape the man?”
“I heard she went to a convent, but I thought it was to avoid an arranged marriage.”
“That also,” Faith agreed. “Five long years she stayed away; afraid to return to her own home, afraid to see or even write to her sisters or her mother lest her father find her. When it was discovered that she was gone, Lord Mortel fell into a drunken rage. He destroyed his own music room…her music room because she had defied him. He smashed near every instrument to kindling. He could not break her, so he broke all that she loved, even at expense to himself. He lost all sense of reason when he was crossed.” Faith shivered as she remembered that time. She and Hope had remained hidden in the storehouse simply to stay out of sight; she remembered the beating Isaac had taken for speaking against him, although Prudence and Mercy bore the worst of it; Mercy most of all. The remembrances filled her with melancholy and she purposely shook off the feeling. The devil was dead. “He cared only that he was not obeyed.”
Titherington sucked in a breath and uttered an oath which he would not have said if he had known she was a lady.
“He was known for his temper,” Faith added.
“I did hear he was a drunk,” Titherington said, “I think all of Nettlefold knew that, but I did not know…” He was silent for a long moment. “The first thing I did was get you drunk. I am very sorry, my friend.”
Faith shook her head. That was not Titherington’s fault. She had tipped the glass. “I do not often imbibe. Neither does Isaac. Faith would not accept a man who is often in his cups. She has also seen controlling men: her father and then Lady Prudence’s first husband.”
“Fondleton?” Titherington spat. “That man was a pig.”
Faith nodded. “So you see, Faith has said she will not marry. I think now you may understand why. She will not be easy to persuade of your worth, Titherington.”
“Here, I thought the lady convinced,” he said.
“How so?”
Titherington hesitated. “I usually allow the gossips to only get their teeth into my name, and not the lady’s, but since you are her cousin…” He paused and put a finger under Faith’s nose. She frowned. “I must swear you to secrecy, Emerson. I would not have the lady’s name bandied about, and you must promise not to be cross with me. Go on. Swear.”
“I swear I will not tell anyone,” Faith said, wondering what was this all about. Although she thought perhaps she already knew.
“She allowed me a kiss,” he said.
Faith considered. She felt her face heat slightly and hoped the blush did not show through her sideburns, but Oscar seemed not to notice. “It is my experience that women have passions, just as men have,” Faith began softly. “She has a fondness for you, of that there can be no doubt. That does not mean the lady will marry you.”
“I see that now,” Titherington nodded. “I have been my own worst enemy. I worried that she may have another suitor.”
“There is no other gentleman.” Faith asserted. “Only the love of the written word, she is much like me in that respect. So I must ask on her behalf. Do you love Faith?”
Titherington was long in answering. “I truly do not know,” he said finally. “I care for her. I know I would never hurt her. I cannot abide a man who would mistreat a woman so. Such men are vile cowards at heart. More than that, I cannot say. Still, you have given me much to think on, Emerson.”
On his way home that day, Oscar did think on all Emerson had said. Could he be falling in love with the irascible Miss Faith Baggington? She was certainly no wilting flower. The girl had spunk. It was originally for her that he was determined to befriend her cousin, Mr. Emerson. As it happened, the ploy to learn more of Miss Faith had turned into an actual friendship with the man. He liked Emerson with his dry wit and serious nature. True, the man needed to get out more, but he could make that happen as soon as he convinced the man to join him in London. In the meantime, Oscar genuinely enjoyed conversation with Emerson. He was quiet, but there was a depth to the man that Oscar found interesting. He wondered if Faith had the same depth beneath her quiet demeanor, then he shook his head at his own foolishness. He could not imagine having such conversations with a woman.
Still, it bothered him to be away from Miss Faith. He did not care for the idea of Miss Faith having another beau. Although Emerson asserted that she did not, he knew how easy it was to fall into another’s arms. Not, he amended, that Miss Faith was an easy piece. It was only that he hoped to be the one to share such things with her. Though Oscar had only known her a short time he felt that Miss Faith could very well become a worthwhile companion. He scoffed at himself. She already was far more than worthwhile in his mind. Of all the women he had known, she was the only one he could imagine himself wedding. He cared for her. He found her attractive in her stubborn, hesitant sort of way and he found that he enjoyed teasing her and watching the blush rise to her cheeks. It was all very different from the feckless women of the ton who lied with every breath and seemed to set traps at every angle. No. He could see that Faith was forthright and honest. She was the woman he wanted, not just to bed, but to keep. He smiled at the thought. He wanted to get to know her. He would marry her if she would have him. But love? Did he love the woman? He did not know. He felt he must see her again.
He would wait, he decided, at Emerson’s insistence, but not too long. He did not want to leave her long without his presence lest the lady find another. She may not wish to marry, but Isaac would wish to see her settled. He would speak to Lord Mortel directly upon the man’s return. He would court Miss Faith properly and then he would be sure of his sentiment.
The following morning, Titherington brought only a tin of peppermint candies along with a small stack of books strapped together with a belt for that purpose.
“Shall we read?” he asked unbuckling the books.
Faith stared at him, her mouth agape. Was Mr. Oscar Titherington, renowned troublemaker and master of
mischief, truly going to sit and read with her? Of course, they had shared a love for adventure, but his excitement had taken place in the real world, while hers was only in stories.
Faith slipped the uppermost book free from its bindings and pulled back the front cover with trembling fingers. The binding creaked and groaned from overly ardent use. How long had it sat at the cottage, upon a shelf, she wondered? Was this book a favorite that Titherington loved or one that was abandoned at the cottage? The pages were crisp with the scent of ink and age. She stared down at the words, she was overcome with shock and excitement. After the first few sentences however, her voice fell into a rhythmical cadence and she nearly forgot herself, although she was ever conscious of the gentleman beside her. They entered the pages together and there was nothing but the tale, woven from elegant descriptions and fine lyrical prose. There was no sound of her own speech in her ears, just her mind lost in the imaginings as she spun the tale around them. It was the beginning of many such days over the next few weeks. Sometimes Faith wrote and Oscar read silently, but often they shared a book. No matter, they shared companionship.
Each time they read together Faith had to remind herself that Titherington was not courting her. There was a friendly ease to their time together, but certainly there was nothing that would encourage Oscar in a romantic way. He did not even know she was a lady. In fact, Faith nearly forgot herself. They were only two friends, reading and discussing politics, philosophy and the theater. Oscar only shared his opinions freely with Mr. Emerson, not Faith. This was, she had almost convinced herself, a simple friendship between gentlemen and nothing more, but when his deep voice read the part of some hero in the story, her heart soared. A warm tingle began in her belly and moved lower as she imagined the resonance of his voice spoken just for her. She imagined so much more than simple friendship, but how could there be more between them? Oscar clearly thought she was a man and Faith was too deep in the deception now to reveal her true identity.
The day came when instead of opening one of the books he had previously brought, he picked up Faith’s manuscript. He already knew most of the pertinent plot points. She had discussed them with him, before the writing and after, but now, it was time to review, and he knew it. How had he become so involved in what heretofore had only been an adventure shared with her twin?
“Shall we read?” he asked in the most casual way. This was no random book. This was her manuscript he held. He popped a peppermint into his mouth and turned, sitting close to her so that she too could see the pages. He turned the page, surveying her careful, even writing, and grinned at her. With his boots stretched casually out in front of him, holding her manuscript, he looked completely at his leisure. She liked the warmth of him next to her.
“Together?” she laughed.
“Why not?” he said with a shrug. “We can take turns.” He passed her the manuscript. “You start and pass it here when you have had enough. I’m sure a second set of eyes on the paper will do the story a good turn.”
He folded his hands beneath his head and his mouth suckled the candy as if he had not a care in the world, teasing her senses with the sweet smell of peppermint. When she remained frozen in silence for too long, he waved a hand and declared himself ready to imagine the scene, if she would proceed, and so she did.
Every so often they alternated roles, pressing further into the pages of mystery, adventure and romance. Faith watched Oscar when he was too focused upon the pages to take note of her lingering gaze. He had a habit of plunging his hands into the wayward curl of his hair and twisting some captured lock around his finger. She realized that this must be why he always appeared so mussed. With each passing moment she found the look all the more endearing. She ached to put her own hands in his wayward locks. Would they be as soft as they looked, she wondered. She scolded herself for such thoughts. Their friendship could be nothing more than temporary, and she certainly should not be having such thoughts. He was only interested in spending time with her because he had lost his friend Edgar to marriage. It was Emerson he valued, not Faith. This could never go on.
They read until the dusk stole the light and Faith was squinting to see the words.
“Let’s just finish the chapter,” he said. Apparently his eyes were sharper than hers, because the words were a blur on the page, but she closed her eyes and let him read to her, his baritone speaking deeply to her, and saying much more than the story she wrote.
“Again tomorrow?” he asked when the time had come for the pair to part ways.
Faith was forced to give herself a mental shake for she had been lost in the soothing tone of his voice and had not realized that he had stopped reading. Her thoughts were far away, with Cassondra, held in his arms, awaiting the heat of his kiss.
She nodded and turned away before he might witness her flush of excitement, but in all probability the light of the candle was too little to allow him to see. She blew it out, plunging them into darkness until her eyes could adjust to the moonlight.
20
Faith, dressed as Mr. Emerson, pilfered a hot roll and two apples from the kitchens before she hurried past Thomas and out the door. Usually, she endeavored not to encounter any of the servants.
“Sir,” the butler began, and for a half second she hesitated, caught in her masquerade.
Thomas who was half blind was probably wondering what gentleman was in the house when her brothers were in London, but Faith could not explain, and his near blindness would work in her favor. She darted out the door and Thomas just stared after her with a questioning look. She often dressed for her characters and usually took a bit of food with her to the storehouse, but perhaps she looked entirely too masculine. She shrugged, lengthened her stride to a more suitable gait for a man and continued on toward the wood.
She arrived at the suggested bend in the Nettlerush River just as the last of the hot roll melted away in her mouth. The nickering of a horse on the other side of the bramble told her that she had not arrived a moment too soon. Oscar seemed surprised that she actually made her appearance. Emerson rarely left the old storehouse. Faith was surprised herself, for though she had often been mischievous she had never been so bold as this. She was playacting Emerson more than she was being herself lately. Her waking moments were devoted to the ploy, and it no longer felt awkward. She was as much Emerson as she was Faith. Hope would be horrified that she had continued the charade so long.
Faith was aware that such clandestine meetings were a danger enough with any gentleman, and even more so with this one. Still, she had permitted their friendship to grow. There was not so much wrong in that, she had told herself. He did not even know she was a woman. There could be no danger, but Isaac would soon return. Her meetings with Titherington would end, and Faith would be forced to fabricate some excuse why Emerson must leave Nettlefold.
She was loath to do so. She enjoyed Oscar Titherington’s company. He had become a good friend, and she could not bring herself to end their association. She should tell him the truth, Faith thought. But how could she? She was too far into the falsehood. At least, as Emerson, she could be his friend. What could Faith Baggington be?
“Have you a line of your own?” Oscar asked as he finished removing Demon’s bridle so that the animal might roam at will while the two of them enjoyed the river. The horse plodded down towards the river for a drink of the fresh water.
Faith looked at Oscar. “I have not.”
“Then how can you catch a fish?” he asked.
She sighed and turned away. “I shall go back to my writing,” she said.
“No! No,” he laughed and waved his hands to stop Emerson. “I was only teasing. I have brought a spare.”
Faith considered whether she might return to the manor just to spite him for teasing her. Instead, she called, “And I have brought our favorite treat.” She tossed an apple at his head, and he caught it with athletic ease. He laughed and took a bite of it, much to Demon’s consternation. The horse seemed to give a dete
rmined huff. Faith could not contain her laughter. The animal was so unique in his ways, so definitive in his person, that she could not help but find him amusing. Titherington fed the beast his apple core, and realizing no more treats were forthcoming, the horse wandered off in the search of fresh spring grass. Titherington gave a sharp whistle and Demon returned at his command. He patted the big horse. “Don’t wander too far afield,” he told the horse as if the stallion understood, and with the intelligent look in the horse’s eye, Faith was not too sure that he did not.
Faith had long fished with her brothers and she and Oscar were one for one with both having put a fish in the basket that Oscar had settled in the water. “Not enough to return to the cook,” Oscar said, but at that point both of them caught another. Laughing they pulled in their catch and added them to the basket.
Oscar dropped his pole and ran a hand through his hair. “It is hotter than expected,” he said. Without further ado, he began pulling off his jacket and cravat and then began unbuttoning his shirt in quick succession.
Faith knew she should say something, but what? She could not remove her eyes from his chest though she knew she should. She sat frozen, her hands white-knuckled on the fishing pole. The sight of him in shirtsleeves warmed her face and she knew she was sporting her colors, but she could not look away from the expanse of skin he had exposed at his neck, and then across his chest, and lower as he pulled his shirt from his trousers. Her heart felt as if it was beating in her throat and she could not move. She could not breathe.
He paused on a button. “Care for a swim?” he invited.
She could not speak. She simply shook her head.
“Relax Emerson,” he called. “Friends need not stand on ceremony. You must be hotter than blazes in that jacket. Loosen your cravat at least,” Titherington urged.
She sat looking at him dumbfounded. At last, she gained a voice. “I think not,” she squeaked.
The Lady to Match a Rogue: Faith (The Baggington Sisters Book 4) Page 18
