by Mary Brendan
Claire waved at her friend Peggy, their housekeeper’s niece, and with a quick promise not to be gone long dashed away to talk to her. Michael had also spotted a group of chums and loped off in the opposite direction. Left alone, Faye became aware of her heart thudding beneath her embroidered bodice. An odd thrill was shooting iced fire through her veins. When their eyes had fleetingly met Mr Kavanagh had appeared aware of the unsettling effect he was having on her. His subtle smile had annoyed Faye as well as intrigued her. Yet there had been nothing in his behaviour that declared him to be the reprobate he’d been painted. His demeanour alone proclaimed him to be of wealth and status, and he was quietly minding his own business. But why was he here at all? He didn’t seem interested in the fair—in fact, he seemed bored. And then Faye spotted the reason for him idling on the grass. He was waiting for his mistress to finish browsing the fairground stalls.
The lovely young lady was just ahead, making purchases from a vendor and handing over the packages to her maids. Yes, not one but two bombazine-clad servants were dancing attendance on her while her beau waited patiently at a distance for her to sufficiently enjoy herself.
For a moment Faye couldn’t drag her eyes from Ryan Kavanagh’s paramour. She was struck by the young woman’s exquisite and rather exotic looks; the profound darkness of her hair and eyes were set off by the pale gold colour of the fine day dress that encased her perfectly proportioned figure. Her clear olive complexion was protected from the sun by her bonnet brim and a lacy parasol that one of the maids was diligently holding aloft and tilting to and fro. Aware that she had been standing quite still, staring, Faye propelled herself in the opposite direction, determined to forget all about the new master of Valeside and his entourage!
‘Tell your fortune, my lady?’ The voice was pleasantly accented. A weather-beaten face, with sharp dark eyes, was turned up to Faye’s. The woman had plaited tresses resembling a sable snake on her crown and she was extending a hand to take Faye’s palm in hers.
Ruefully Faye shook her head. ‘Thank you, but I’m not sure I’m brave enough to know it.’
The crone gave a gap-toothed smile and grasped Faye’s fingers so she couldn’t escape. The abrupt movement set her hoop earrings dancing against her leathery neck. ‘This isn’t the hand of a coward, though you’ve hurdles in front of you and no denying. You’re certainly of an age to be wed, but aren’t.’ She grinned. ‘And I didn’t know that from your bare fingers as I’ve not seen them yet.’ She pulled off the cotton glove covering Faye’s right hand and examined her palm. ‘But you’ll be happy and loved and give back those feelings to your man. Marriage and children are written for you here.’ She traced a dirty fingernail on a zigzagging path across Faye’s soft skin. Then she paused, frowning before raising her almond-shaped eyes. ‘And your lover is very close by today. He’s here with you...a good man...’
Faye’s fingers curled to conceal her palm and she jerked free. Quickly she handed over some coins got from her pocket. Usually she would have chuckled at such fanciful nonsense and it confused her why she had not. She swiftly moved on, keeping her brother and sister in sight as they mingled with their friends in the crowd. But the gypsy’s words were haunting her mind, urging her to glance back. The old woman had turned to watch her and nodded in a portentous and oddly reverential way. When Faye next tried to find her brother and sister, she found she couldn’t locate either of them in the throng.
Determined to enjoy herself, Faye marched up to a stall and bought some lemon ribbon and pearl buttons for a favourite, but well-worn, gown that would benefit from being spruced up. She wandered on, feeling tempted to purchase a meat pie from a woman carrying a tray laden with pastries. The savoury aroma was appetising, but she decided to resist and wait until the children came back so they could all sit together on the grass and enjoy a picnic. She examined some pretty gewgaws on another stall, then selected a hair comb crafted in tortoiseshell that she thought Claire might like. A pewter inkstand also caught her eyes and she purchased that, too, for Michael to take back to school. She was placing the gifts in her reticule when she sensed a looming figure close by, then a heavy hand was on her arm.
‘Mrs Gideon said I’d find you here...’
Faye spun about at the familiar baritone, then gasped in surprise and pleasure.
‘Peter! I had no idea you were coming. Why did you not write and let me know to soon expect you?’ She chuckled. ‘Had you sent word I would have given you pork chops for dinner, you know. As it is, the butcher’s not due until Thursday.’
Peter Collins grasped her outstretched fingers and brought them to his lips. ‘I wanted to surprise you, my dear.’
‘You have certainly done that.’ She paused. ‘Although I had my fortune read a moment ago and the woman did say my sweetheart was close by... I thought it all nonsense, too.’
‘It is nonsense,’ Peter dismissed, top lip curling. ‘You should avoid such people.’
‘That is easier said than done at a summer fair.’ Faye chuckled. ‘You will stay and dine with us later?’ She smiled up into his hazel eyes.
‘Of course, I’d be glad to, pork chops or no.’ Again his mouth brushed her knuckles. ‘I’m putting up at the White Hart in Wilverton for a few days.’ Peter drew Faye to a quieter spot so they might promenade and chat more easily on the edge of the crowd.
Slipping her hand through her fiancé’s arm, Faye discreetly hugged him, feeling oddly relieved as well as happy to have his company. But there was one thing niggling at her: she had expected some notice of his arrival so she might get straight in her mind how to tell him of her meeting with Westwood. She didn’t want Peter to feel guilty for having put her in touch with the lawyer, yet he was bound to feel disappointed that the best part of her dowry had gone. The Collins family were well-connected gentry, but Peter had told her that his mother complained they were poor as church mice.
‘What is it?’ Peter looked down at her, his smile fading on noticing her frown.
‘Oh...nothing that can’t wait till later. Let’s enjoy ourselves while the sun’s shining. It might storm later, according to Mr Gideon.’
‘Where are the scamps?’ Peter asked, referring to Faye’s siblings.
‘Oh, they’ve gone off to see their friends,’ Faye answered as they began to promenade arm in arm. She nodded to a spot where Michael and a chum were now throwing balls at skittles. Even at a distance she could hear the boys’ whoops of glee.
‘And where is Claire?’ Peter turned his head, seeking her.
Faye also looked about. She came to a halt and pivoted on the spot, but still she couldn’t spot a blue-beribboned bonnet anywhere. She realised it had been some time since she’d last caught a glimpse of her sister.
‘She was chatting with Mrs Gideon’s niece earlier. I expect they have found a shady spot to sit down. It is very hot...’ Despite her explanation, Faye felt a frisson of uneasiness. Claire had said she would only be gone a short while. ‘Michael might know where she’s gone.’
‘There she is!’ Peter drew Faye’s attention to a copse; Claire and Peggy were emerging from between two brightly painted caravans.
Slipping her hand from Peter’s arm, Faye set off towards them, her heartbeat accelerating in alarm. They had the furtive look of people who feared being spotted doing something they shouldn’t.
‘I have been looking for you. Where have you been?’
Claire spun about with a guilty gasp, her cheeks reddening. ‘I...we have only been looking at the ponies.’
Faye glanced at the squat piebald animals tethered to the low branches of trees, sedately cropping grass. ‘You should have said you were going off the beaten track.’ She hadn’t really believed Claire might come to harm on this sunny afternoon, yet still uneasiness prickled at her. As she glanced at Peggy the girl averted her eyes, then excused herself, running back to the stalls with her fiery
red tresses flying out behind her.
‘I see Lieutenant Collins has turned up.’ Claire sounded unenthusiastic at the forthcoming reunion with her future brother-in-law. Faye knew that Michael would react similarly. Peter had a lukewarm relationship with her half-siblings, believing them to be obstacles to his marriage. But Faye wouldn’t hear of her brother and sister being nudged aside before they were of an age to be independent.
‘I expect you’ve had your fill of the fair if you’re feeling bored enough to pet the ponies.’ Faye linked arms with Claire. ‘Let’s set off home. While we wait for Mrs Gideon to cook dinner I’ll show you what I’ve bought you today.’
‘You’ve got me a present?’ Claire sounded delighted. Then her expression drooped. ‘Is Lieutenant Collins coming home with us?’
‘Of course! He’s putting up in Wilverton...but will dine with us first.’
Faye was walking ahead with Claire along the narrow earthy track towards Mulberry House. Her fiancé and brother were bringing up the rear and they had been strolling for little more than ten minutes when she noticed Mr Kavanagh and his party descending the hill towards Wilverton.
‘Who is that with Mr Kavanagh?’ Claire whispered, her eyes widening on the sight of the lovely young woman sitting atop the black stallion. The two maids were marching one either side of the fine animal, led by its master.
‘Umm...the young lady is a friend of his I believe,’ Faye said diplomatically, then turned to glance over a shoulder at Peter. He, too, had caught sight of the people descending towards the valley, travelling on a parallel course to their own.
‘Do you know that fellow?’ Peter had noticed the gentleman’s head turn in their direction.
‘We’ve not been introduced. I have it from the vicar’s wife, though, that he is the new master of Valeside Manor...an Irishman, I believe.’ Faye had noticed that the two men were staring at one another in the way fellows did when summing one another up.
‘Mrs Gideon said he’s a black-hearted rogue.’ Claire followed her pronouncement with a mischievous smile. ‘He’s very handsome though.’
‘Is he now?’ was all Peter said, striding ahead and whipping aside the entangling grass with a twig he’d found on the ground.
Faye glanced across the meadow, but Kavanagh and his entourage had disappeared into the valley that led towards Wilverton.
Chapter Three
‘I’ve put the chicken and vegetables on the dining table, Miss Shawcross. I’ll be in the kitchen with Bertram, doing mending. Just ring, if you need me.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Gideon.’
Faye and Peter had been idling in the parlour, waiting for their dinner while examining their fairground gifts.
‘Mrs Gideon and her husband could surely go home now the meal is prepared,’ Peter murmured close to his fiancée’s ear, as he helped her to be seated. ‘I’ll gladly assist in clearing away the crockery if it means I get more time alone with you.’
‘You know Nelly’s a stickler for etiquette,’ Faye whispered a rueful reply, unfolding her napkin. Her housekeeper took pains to ensure that her mistress’s reputation was protected even if that meant returning home late, after visitors had left. Mr Collins might be Miss Shawcross’s future husband, but in Nelly Gideon’s mind one observed rules until vows were taken.
As Peter carved the chicken and helped hand around the dishes of vegetables Faye felt a twinge of melancholy that he couldn’t always show such tolerance to her brother and sister. Soon, he would want them out of the way as well so that he could have his fiancée to himself. When it was just the two of them Faye enjoyed his kisses and caresses although sometimes she wondered why she didn’t crave their privacy as passionately as he did.
* * *
‘When must you return to your ship?’ Faye asked when the children had left the table and she had also eaten her fill.
‘In less than a week, I’m afraid.’ Peter put down his pudding spoon and patted his stomach. ‘Your Mrs Gideon always turns out a decent dinner.’
‘She is a boon and I don’t know what I’d do without her or her husband helping us out.’ Faye rang the little bell to let Mrs Gideon know that she could clear the table. ‘If you have finished, we can go and sit in the parlour.’
‘I’d certainly like a little comfort before being ejected by your virtuous housekeeper to the frugal offerings of the White Hart.’ His hazel eyes darkened with desire as he pulled out her chair, then teased her nape with his fingers. ‘I can’t wait much longer for us to be husband and wife.’ His voice sounded rough. ‘Have you contacted that woman yet to advise her you are to be married and she must send for her children?’
‘I have not; as I have said, I’ve no idea whereabouts in Ireland my stepmother is.’ Faye felt a niggling exasperation tighten her insides. Despite her reply never altering, Peter regularly asked her the same question about ‘that woman’ as he called Deborah Shawcross. Faye truthfully did not know her whereabouts and, even if she did, she would not force her brother and sister to go and live with an adulteress who had rejected her own flesh and blood in favour of her lover.
At the time her brother had been just six years old and although Michael had been distraught for a while he now avoided speaking of his mother. Claire, at ten years old, had comprehended what had occurred between her parents and had been so hurt by her mother’s abandonment that she’d professed to hate her.
Humiliated by his wife’s betrayal Cecil Shawcross had dealt with it as best he could, but when it became apparent Deborah was not coming home he had banned any mention of her. They had all sensed that their father’s snapping and snarling was the outcome of him being deeply wounded and had obeyed his wishes. But none of them had forgotten that Deborah Shawcross had turned their lives upside down.
Peter’s frustration that his fiancée had been burdened with caring for her siblings was understandable, but in other ways Faye thought him unreasonable. She would happily marry immediately, but Peter had made it clear that the children could not have a permanent home beneath his roof. Even had Faye not promised her late father that she would see the children safely settled, she loved them too much to ever reject them as their mother had.
‘May I?’ Peter had picked up the decanter on the sideboard in the parlour.
‘Oh, do help yourself,’ Faye replied, settling on the sofa. The children had gone to their rooms as they always did when Lieutenant Collins paid a visit. Now that they were alone Faye knew she had a perfect opportunity to broach the unpleasant subject of her meeting with Westwood. But she was reluctant to spoil their harmony on Peter’s first day back and decided to wait until tomorrow to break news that was likely to create a bad atmosphere. But know about it he must.
‘So, the new fellow at Valeside has moved in lock, stock and barrel with his wife, has he?’ Peter made himself comfortable beside Faye, an arm slung negligently along the sofa’s velvet back as he sipped his port.
‘Oh, you mean Mr Kavanagh. I don’t think the lady we saw with him is his wife.’ Faye gave a tiny laugh. She had not expected the conversation to turn in that direction. ‘According to Anne Holly she is his chère amie.’
‘Is she indeed?’ Peter snorted amusement and took a gulp of his drink. ‘Deuced brass neck of the fellow taking her about with him like that. Ryan Kavanagh, you say, is his name?’ Peter put down his goblet and turned his attention to his fiancée. ‘Never mind about him... I’d sooner think about you and how much I shall miss you when I set sail.’ He leaned forward, brushing his lips against Faye’s. His hands travelled to her slender waist, shifting her closer to him on the sofa as his kiss deepened.
‘Actually, there is something I should say to you, Peter...’ Faye held him off a little. She’d had a change of heart and wanted to get the bad news over with, but he again hungrily captured her mouth with his own.
‘Oh...sorry..
. I should have knocked...’ Claire garbled out, having burst into the parlour. ‘Michael is unwell; Mrs Gideon is with him. She said to tell you to come and see him.’
Peter cursed angrily beneath his breath and surged upright. ‘I’ll be on my way. I’ll call tomorrow, if I may. Then I shall be in London for a day or two before returning to Portsmouth.’
‘Yes, please do come tomorrow.’ Faye gave her fiancé an apologetic smile. ‘Would you like a nightcap before you go?’ She was also disappointed that his visit had been abruptly curtailed.
Out in the hallway she heard the unmistakable sound from upstairs of Michael being sick. With a resigned sigh and a quick farewell peck on her fiancé’s cheek, she let Peter see himself out.
‘He’s got the bellyache and headache; it’s not the chicken I cooked,’ Mrs Gideon announced bluntly, holding a basin under the invalid’s chin.
‘He’s been scrumping today, he told me so,’ Claire said, wrinkling her nose in distaste before adding, ‘I’m off to bed.’
‘Scrumping, eh? Apples aren’t ripe yet...no wonder he’s got the bellyache.’ Mrs Gideon snorted.
‘I’ll see to him, Mrs Gideon; you and your husband will want to get to your own beds now.’
‘I’ll fetch Master Michael a powder to settle his stomach before I leave.’
‘Have you been scrumping?’ Faye asked when Nelly had left the room.
Michael nodded, screwing up his face as a cramp tightened his belly. ‘Claire shouldn’t have told on me. I don’t tell on her.’
‘What’s to tell?’ Faye asked mildly. She glanced at her brother, but he turned his face away on the pillow.
‘Nothing...’ he mumbled.
