by Mary Brendan
‘I fear my wicked desire may not be as well served elsewhere as I thought.’
Faye remained quite still, mesmerised, as she had been when outside and an Adonis-like ruffian had snared her with his deep blue stare. He raised a finger touching the graze on her face. ‘It’s healing well. It won’t mar your beauty.’
‘You have also had an accident, sir.’ As though she was powerless to stop it, a trembling finger touched then quickly withdrew from the scar on his cheek.
‘It’s not a duelling injury,’ he said abruptly. ‘Whatever you’ve heard about a fight over a woman is false.’
‘Whatever caused it...it must have been a nasty accident...’
‘The Battle of Waterloo was a tragedy rather than an accident.’
‘But we won...’ Faye said.
‘Five thousand English and allied corpses at Quatre Bras never knew that,’ he returned with quiet bitterness before his mouth swooped. He kissed her with a savage passion that would have made her stumble had he not pinned her between his torso and the door. He raised his head.
‘Do you want to slap me? Do it... I’ll let you go.’
Faye’s eyes were locked with his as she struggled to liberate herself. True to his word the pressure of his hard body eased away from hers, but she saw that some inner conflict and frustration were making him grit his teeth. Whatever he’d said, he hadn’t wanted to release her and was tempted to kiss her again.
And she wanted it, too. A tiny guttural sob rasped in her throat as her need for him fought with her shame. Just moments ago she’d contemplated how hurt her fiancé would be should he discover she’d fantasised about the dangerous master of Valeside’s cruel lips on hers... Indeed his mouth had been hard and bruising...the pulse in her lips still beat...but she yearned for him to do it again.
She was falling under Ryan Kavanagh’s spell and were he to ask her to be his mistress because he lacked female company in Wilverton...she might succumb.
It was the sobering thought of his pampered women in London that drove the intoxicating sensuality from Faye’s mind. He had a mistress either end of town, so Anne Holly had told her, and both had been treated to jewels and carriages.
Faye knew she never wanted to join their number. She put the back of a trembling hand against her scarlet mouth. ‘If you please, I should like to leave now, sir.’
He shoved himself away from her so he no longer barred her escape.
‘My apologies, Miss Shawcross, for behaving like an uncouth lout.’ He jerked open the door and bowed low in a way that might have been mocking. But she guessed it was not. Not to her anyway. As she watched him stride away into the bowels of the house without once looking back she guessed that, of the two of them, he mocked himself.
Chapter Ten
Anne Holly and her husband had been admitted to Mulberry House by Mrs Gideon. Notwithstanding the housekeeper’s gruff reassurances that her mistress was right as rain, Anne had rushed into the parlour and immediately grasped Faye’s hands to her bosom.
‘We heard that you had an accident in your trap, my dear, and have come to see how you do.’ Having examined her friend from sleek blonde head to slippered toe, Anne added, ‘Thank the lord you seem so well...but is that a bruise on your cheek?’ She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye and hugged Faye. ‘If it is all that you have suffered, you are lucky indeed.’ Anne had lost her elderly parents in a winter coaching accident some years ago so her agitation was understandable.
‘I wasn’t going to tell you because I knew you’d be upset.’ Gently Faye disentangled herself from her friend’s clutch. She felt quite a fraud. It wasn’t just that she wanted to save her friend’s feelings; the fewer people who knew about it the better. Questions would surely be asked and one thing would lead to another. Before long it could be common knowledge that she’d turned over her trap, racing to find her errant sister.
‘I ached dreadfully for a few days, but the bruises are fading already.’ She indicated that her guests should sit down. ‘It’s so nice to see you. I’ll ask Mrs Gideon to bring some tea.’
Anne settled comfortably into the sofa and removed her hat and gloves. ‘You’re very good at driving, too; far better than I. The idea of steering Derek’s gig, all alone, terrifies me half to death.’ She gave her husband a fond smile and he patted her hand solicitously.
‘You’d be surprised at what one can do with little option but to do it,’ Faye said wryly.
‘Was Daisy spooked? How is your little pony?’ The Reverend Holly joined the conversation as Faye was about to ring the bell to summon her housekeeper. ‘Is your trap still in one piece, Miss Shawcross?’ Derek was a mild-mannered fellow who took his calling seriously, but was never too uppish to get his hands dirty. ‘I’ll bring over some tools if bolts need tightening.’
‘Mr Kavanagh has already had it mended for us and now it’s good as new. He’s given us a pony, too,’ Michael piped up from his seat at the table by the window. Having dropped that into the conversation, he continued building a tower from dominoes.
Anne’s pop-eyed stare swerved to her friend. ‘Mr Kavanagh?’ she snorted, sounding scandalised.
‘What good fortune, for you,’ Derek Holly remarked. ‘That gentleman might be a bit of a puzzle, but I’m sure he’s not the rogue he’s painted.’
‘Indeed, it was lucky that he was riding in the vicinity when the trap hit a pothole. He kindly helped me home and has said we can have his pony while Daisy’s leg mends.’ Faye kept her explanation succinct, then put a question of her own. ‘How did you find out about my accident?’
‘I overheard Peggy Miller speaking to Mr Bullman about it in the butcher’s shop.’ Anne frowned. ‘Once I knew of the calamity I wanted to come immediately to find out for myself how you were.’
‘I expect you discovered that Michael didn’t have scarlatina and it was a false alarm.’
‘Indeed, everybody knows he is quite well. We had no fears on that score.’
Faye slanted a suspicious glance at her brother. He avoided meeting her eyes and slipped from his seat.
‘Shall I ask Mrs Gideon to bring you some tea?’
‘Yes...thank you, Michael.’ Faye hadn’t banned her brother from going out; she guessed that he had used her absence earlier to slip away to town to see Edward. But she would have hoped he’d be sensible enough not to discuss their family crises.
In a backwater like Wilverton where little of note happened often, a woman overturning her vehicle would keep people speculating for days. One poor soul who had landed in a ditch had been branded a drunk simply for losing her footing while carrying ginger beer.
Faye knew she had no right to carp at Michael about sensible behaviour after the way she’d acted! She had convinced herself she’d gone to see Kavanagh from rectitude, but she’d not persuaded him that was the case. He’d suspected there had been more to it. And so did she...now. Duty, once served, should have put the master of Valeside from her mind. But she couldn’t forget him, even for a minute. Even now she wasn’t fully concentrating on her friends’ visit though usually she’d be delighted to have their company.
A seductive Irish voice whispered constantly in her mind and the words wouldn’t be blotted out... ‘I fear my wicked desire may not be as well served elsewhere as I thought.’
Faye was tempted to go back and tell him she was glad he wanted a local woman, such was her yearning to again have his kiss burn her mouth. She abruptly stood up, exasperated with herself for allowing such daft thoughts to drive her mad when she was betrothed.
‘Are you all right, Faye?’ Anne asked in concern.
‘A slight twinge of pain...the bruises remind me of their presence.’
Anne smiled sympathetically. ‘Your fiancé will be relieved to know you’ve suffered no broken bones.’
Immediately Fay
e sensed Kavanagh’s firm dark fingers smoothing the length of her limbs, checking for injuries. ‘There is no need for Peter to be informed.’ She pushed up the sash to allow in a breath of air to cool her complexion. ‘He has a lot on his mind with his promotion in the offing.’
‘We know he left Wilverton earlier than expected. A promotion, you say?’ Anne nudged her husband’s arm. ‘Isn’t that excellent news for a man soon to be married?’
Mrs Gideon appeared with the tea tray, relieving Faye of the need to find an answer.
‘Where is your sister?’ Anne asked, selecting a treacle oatcake from the plate of biscuits.
‘Oh, Claire’s probably browsing a fashion journal in her room.’
‘Preparing for her debut is an exciting time for a girl. It’s a shame my niece didn’t get to know Claire. Sarah has returned to town with her mama, but I have her address. I scribbled it down to give to you.’
Faye took the piece of paper that her friend proffered and pocketed it.
‘Sarah said she’d love to have a letter from Claire before they meet up in the spring. Lady Jersey has promised to get Almack’s vouchers for Sarah. It might be possible to get some for Claire as well.’
Faye was sure that her friend’s tone wasn’t patronising. She was the one at fault, becoming too prickly and defensive due to recent trying events.
* * *
After the Hollys had left Faye went in search of Michael. She was determined not to be cross with him because she felt optimistic that fate would be kind to them in future. It was clear that Anne hadn’t heard about Donagh Lee which meant that the story hadn’t leaked out in Wilverton. Peggy might have gossiped about the carriage accident, but thankfully it seemed she’d kept quiet on the other business.
Her brother was gazing morosely out of the window when Faye entered his chamber. ‘You’ll be glad to get back to school, won’t you?’
Michael grimaced an affirmative.
‘Would you like to take up Mr and Mrs Scott’s offer to stay with them?’
Michael nodded. ‘I know I can’t because of the cost of it.’
‘Oh...I think we might manage to scrape up the funds for your holiday.’ Faye had made a snap decision. Her brother had been denied his chance to enjoy the summer with his friend because of her financial losses. But it would have been better if Michael had been out of the way during the recent turmoil.
‘Shall I write and see if I can arrange it for you after all?’
‘Yes please.’ Michael gave his big sister a spontaneous hug.
Faye left her brother with a grin on his face and trod lightly to Claire’s door. As she’d suspected Claire was lying on her stomach on her bed coverlet, reading.
‘Sorry...did I make you jump? I should have knocked.’
‘What do you want?’ Claire demanded over a shoulder, snapping shut the journal. She abruptly sat up, a startled look on her face.
‘Well, nothing really. I just came to tell you that Michael is going to spend the rest of the summer with his friend’s family.’
Claire felt with her toes for her slippers and jumped to her feet, brushing down her dress. ‘Lucky him. I’d like to get away from here, too.’
‘Don’t be like that, Claire,’ Faye said softly. ‘I know you are growing up and are impatient for more excitement than is to be found in Wilverton. It will come soon enough, I promise, when we go to town next year.’
‘I doubt that we’ll go after all the trouble,’ Claire mumbled grumpily. ‘What did the Hollys say?’ She glanced at the window. ‘I saw them leave. I didn’t come down in case I got questions thrown at me.’
‘They only visited because they’d heard I’d had an accident. It seems things in town are as they should be.’
‘You mean nobody’s yet found out about me falling in love.’
Faye’s gesture hinted at impatience. ‘You are very young to be talking of love and marriage, Claire.’
‘You won’t say that in six months’ time,’ Claire riposted.
‘Touché...’ Faye gave a faint smile. ‘Very well... I admit that I think you are almost ready for a husband, but if you’d married your gypsy I think you would have regretted it,’ she gently explained. She thought of what Ryan Kavanagh had said about the youth’s inconstancy, but kept it to herself. She didn’t want Claire any more upset than she already was. Besides, there were other reasons why the match was unsuitable. ‘I imagine a Romany’s wife has a spartan life...no feather beds or fireside chairs in winter, you know. You would be cold and miserable—’
‘I could have come home if I found life was unbearable,’ Claire interrupted.
‘No...you could not,’ Faye quietly yet firmly differed. ‘Marriage is a serious business, not something to turn one’s back on. Besides, I will be a wife myself soon and have my husband to think of. Things are changing for us all. When Peter comes back next time we will set a date for the wedding in the spring. It is long overdue.’ Faye had again made a quick decision about the future, but she knew she must stick to it. She was engaged to a decent man and she should have listened to him. He’d told her time and again that the children would be a responsibility she’d be unequal to handling. And so it had proved. Things now seemed under control, but she’d not want to cope with another such drama. Besides, she was no different to any woman in that she’d like to have a wonderful wedding day and, God willing, children of her own before she got too much older.
The master of Valeside perhaps understood her better than he should. ‘Are you not worried of being lonely...?’ His words filtered back into her mind. At the time she’d been indignant that he should think she lacked company. But now, she could see that on a certain level she was bereft.
‘If you’re setting the day, I shall have to go and find Donagh. Lieutenant Collins won’t want me under his roof; neither do I like the idea of it,’ Claire said flatly. ‘We shall do well enough with a horse and caravan of our own... I couldn’t abide living with his bossy father.’
‘You know I wouldn’t see you homeless, Claire. Before I marry you’ll find your perfect match.’
‘Perhaps I have already done so,’ Claire returned petulantly.
Faye rolled her eyes in exasperation. ‘I’m not a snob, so don’t think that. I know it seems romantic having a handsome gypsy husband and the open roads in front of you.’ Picking up the journal, she added wryly, ‘But there would be no fashion plates to pore over for a start...’ Her voice tailed off as a paper fluttered out from between the pages.
Quickly her sister pounced on it and thrust it into her pocket, but not before Faye had a glimpse of some pencilled scrawl.
‘Is that a letter from Donagh?’ Faye felt a coldness wash over her.
‘No, it isn’t.’ Claire clammed up, but then relented on seeing her sister’s fierce frown. ‘If you must know, it’s from Peggy. She gave it to Michael to give to me.’
‘Let me see it, please.’ Faye held out a hand.
‘It’s nothing.’ Claire pulled the note from her pocket and crumpled it up, but her guilty expression wasn’t so easily concealed. ‘Peggy won’t do anything, she’s bluffing because she is still jealous of me.’
Faye felt the knot of anxiety tighten in her stomach. If she’d not been certain before she now definitely knew that the intention behind Peggy’s note was to cause trouble. Prising the paper from her sister’s fingers, she smoothed it out and read the ill-spelt message in which Peggy warned she’d tell about Donagh Lee unless Claire gave her the new bonnet with blue ribbon.
Faye momentarily closed her eyes in consternation as her mind was bombarded with awful consequences should that childishly written threat become reality.
Of the two pieces of paper she now had in her pocket Faye knew the greatest danger came from that written in elegant script, given to her by Anne Holly and bearing
the address of Lady Jersey’s friend.
Peggy might break the scandal in Wilverton, but eventually it would leak through to London’s beau monde. Once the tabbies got their claws out Claire’s chances of attracting an eligible man would lie in ruins.
Faye knew Anne wouldn’t deliberately pass on gossip, but she’d tell her husband and an overheard word in the wrong ear was like a pebble hitting a pond, ripples would spread far and wide. Besides, Faye didn’t want to discuss an intensely private matter even with her best friend.
‘Shall I give her the bonnet?’ Claire offered in a small voice, having watched her sister’s pale brow gathering furrows.
‘There’s no point; Peggy might still tell tales or want more from you.’ Faye bit her lip.
‘What will we do, then?’ Claire sank to the edge of the bed with her face cupped in her palms, the enormity of the problem she’d created having finally sunk in.
‘I’m not sure I know at the moment,’ Faye said. ‘But what I must do is write that letter to Mr and Mrs Scott before supper time. I want to post it tomorrow. I won’t let Michael down.’
Chapter Eleven
Her letter to Scotland posted, Faye set off along Wilverton’s High Street, to the butcher’s shop. She was tempted to go in and confront her sister’s tormentor. But giving in to her anger would only inflame matters. She stood slightly to one side of the entrance, out of sight; by leaning a little to the left and peering from beneath her bonnet’s straw brim, she could see Peggy’s frizz of auburn hair. Faye walked on aimlessly, frustrated by her inability to decide what to do.
To allow a brainwave time to happen she entered the drapery to browse the wares. It was quite a wide, deep shop and the proprietor had a good stock of silks and satins to choose from as well as cheaper calicos. The finest rolls of cloth crammed the space close to the door, doubtless positioned to catch the eye and draw customers in. They were piled up thick and high like a jewel-hued shimmering forest. Faye took off her linen gloves and smoothed her fingers over emerald velvet. She’d had a gown made for her debut of an identical luxurious material...to match her green eyes, her dear papa had said when choosing it with her in Pall Mall.
