by Mary Brendan
‘Shall I stop, Faye?’ he asked, his forehead resting on a cushion of her tangled blonde locks. ‘Tell me. I swear I’ll go now if you want me to.’ A tormented laugh followed as though he regretted having said that.
She shook her head and he felt the movement against his face. ‘Tell me!’ he demanded roughly.
But she could not. She simply swung her face, feeling enervated, and allowed her pulsating lips to sweep over the scar on the cheek presented to her.
‘Faye! Oh, where are you?’
With a groaned curse Ryan was on his feet and adjusting his clothes before Faye had properly assimilated the awful news that her sister was just outside the barn, calling to her.
He lifted her up on to her wobbly feet, jerking her forward to fasten the buttons he’d undone. With a swift thorough kiss he turned her about and gave her a gentle push towards the exit. ‘Saved in the nick of time...’ he muttered with savage frustration. ‘I’ll come and talk to you tomorrow.’ Without another word he turned and disappeared behind stacked straw, heading towards the back door that led to the garden.
Faye felt her heart racing so fast she thought she might faint. She clung to the wooden rail of the stall, finding the sense to shake out her crushed skirts just as the lamplight glowed in the doorway of the barn.
‘Oh...there you are!’ Claire sounded very relieved. ‘I thought I heard voices a little while ago, but couldn’t find you. Did Mr Gideon come back?’
‘No...’ Faye said weakly as her sister hurried closer.
‘Oh...Daisy is home! Did somebody from the big house bring her over?’ Claire rushed forward to pet the pony.
‘Yes... I was just making sure she is comfortable.’ Faye was slowly managing to compose herself and curb the peculiar ache low down in her belly.
‘She looks very well; Mr Kavanagh is kind to help us like that.’
‘Come...we must get to bed,’ Faye said. ‘Michael’s transport to Scotland will be here before noon so we must be up early.’
Claire linked arms with her sister. ‘I hope he has a nice time. I’m not absolutely sure I like the idea of staying with Mama, but if she’ll have me I promise I will go. Then in the spring I can go to London and have a nicer time. I’ve seen some wonderful new fashions in my magazines. I’d love a gown in the Parisienne style that is all the rage.’
Faye turned to close the barn door, barely aware of her sister’s chatter. She knew that she was still in shock; tomorrow it would sink in just how close she’d brought herself to ruin. Yet, she’d had the nerve to speak to Kavanagh of Claire being stupid and risking her reputation! She was a dreadful hypocrite! And so was he! Having said he understood the consequences faced by a young woman who’d been compromised, he’d gone on to seduce her. Or perhaps he thought that her betrothal gave her some protection against disgrace. Or perhaps he didn’t care either way as long as he got what he wanted from her. Yet...she believed that he sincerely regretted having brought the Lees into the neighbourhood. Faye took a deep calming breath as she followed her sister into the house.
‘Are you coming up to bed?’ Claire frowned. ‘You have checked all of that already.’ She was watching her sister making sure the locks and bolts were secure and that the windows were firmly closed.
Faye sat down at the writing desk, placing her oil lamp close by so that it illuminated her letter. ‘I shall just finish this for Peter before I go up. You get yourself tucked in. Sleep tight...’
Claire left her alone and for a long while Faye stared sightlessly at the parchment. Then the guilt and shame battering at her conscience grew too much and tears that hovered on her lashes flowed silently down her cheeks, dropping on to the ink and blurring it. When her eyes were dry she smeared the wet from her face with her fingers. Crushing the spoiled paper in her hand, she put it in her pocket and lifted the lamp to light her way to bed.
* * *
‘It seems quiet now Master Michael’s gone on his travels.’ Mrs Gideon made that comment while pushing the flat iron back and forth on a laundered pillowcase.
‘It does indeed,’ Faye concurred. Her brother had left at eleven o’clock that morning, in a sturdy coach with his trunks stowed on top. They had all been there to wish him a safe journey, Mr and Mrs Gideon and Claire, and even a few of the neighbours who’d heard he was going away had waved from their open casements. As soon as he could Michael had escaped his sisters’ tearful hugs and exhortations to be good and had clambered aboard, clutching the huge food parcel Mrs Gideon had prepared for him to eat en route. Then as the driver had cracked the whip he had hung out of the window to salute them until he was lost from sight behind the bend in the road.
After his departure Faye had managed to write a very nice note to her fiancé and she intended to post it to the naval base in Portsmouth. If Peter had tarried a few extra days in London he would be at the port by now, she was sure.
Faye had banished any thought of Ryan Kavanagh from her mind. And in time she would conquer her guilt and shame, too...she must if she were ever to find any peace and happiness with Peter. For the whole of a restless night she had thanked the lord that Claire’s arrival outside the barn had shocked her to her senses yesterday. She had behaved with disgraceful wantonness and despicable disloyalty to her future husband.
Just a few minutes more pinned beneath him on the ground and she would have been a fraud walking down the aisle wearing a white wedding dress.
‘Mr Kavanagh brought Daisy home yesterday evening,’ Faye informed neutrally, then she rushed on to say something that she knew would take her housekeeper’s mind off finding questions about that visit.
‘I’m hoping to take Claire to Ireland to find her mother. After recent events my sister thinks it would be best if she stayed there until her debut in the spring and so do I.’ Faye saw the other woman’s look of relief.
Nelly replied flatly, ‘It’s as well to get her away from here and no mistake.’
‘And I hope to be married as soon as possible,’ Faye continued lightly. ‘After all this time I don’t want a lavish affair and I doubt my fiancé does either. A simple country celebration in Wilverton will be quite acceptable.’
‘If it is what you really want, then good luck to you both, I say,’ Mrs Gideon said stoutly.
Faye smiled, yet she felt rather disconcerted by Nelly’s lukewarm response to her news. ‘A wedding breakfast at the White Hart for just a few friends will do.’ Faye paused. ‘And now I’m off to town to post my letter to Peter telling him to come back as soon as he is able so we can make plans.’
Faye hadn’t been to Wilverton for a while, not wanting to run the gauntlet of stares and whispers. But the townsfolk seemed at pains to act normally when they spotted her. She was ruefully aware that she probably had the Hollys and the Gideons to thank for that.
Mrs Bullman had come out of her shop and patted Faye on the arm before bustling back inside without a word. Faye noticed that Peggy was inside the butcher’s, looking sulky; she was glad the girl hadn’t lost her job over it all. Peggy deserved punishment for being malicious, but Faye didn’t want her family to suffer the loss of her wages. She was coming to know what it was to penny pinch and felt sorry for Mr Miller rearing his brood. He was in a far worse position than she was.
Having posted her letter to Peter, she strolled on towards the perimeter of town where she’d left Daisy in harness in the shade of a large oak tree. As she reached the White Hart Faye hesitated. A mail coach had just pulled in and harassed people were noisily disembarking. It reminded her of the journey she and Claire must soon make. On impulse she followed the passengers inside, intending to pick the landlord’s brains about travelling to Liverpool to catch the boat to Ireland. She imagined she might need to change coaches many times on such a lengthy journey.
The interior of the tavern was dim and smoky and as she hesitated by an open doorway,
several fellows in coarse clothing turned her way, their clay pipes gripped in stained teeth. Faye pressed on in her search for Mr Rowntree, turning right and left in the maze of narrow corridors, hoping to find the landlord. She hadn’t stepped foot in this place since her father was alive.
Once in a while Mr Shawcross had frequented this hostelry to take a drink with neighbours. On one occasion he’d been from home on a day when his son, playing hide and seek with Claire, had taken a tumble on the stairs. Fearing Michael had broken his leg, Mrs Gideon had sent Faye to fetch her father from the White Hart and tell him he must return immediately, bringing the doctor.
Faye reflected on that accident, judging it to have been about seven years ago. She could clearly recall running as fast as she could to Wilverton on a balmy, light evening, feeling fearful for her little brother. Michael had suffered no more than bruises; the doctor had patched him up with arnica and lint, and her father hadn’t taken another trip to the pub for many months thereafter.
She stopped by a door that was ajar and peered around it into a room that looked to be reserved for a more refined clientele than she’d previously chanced upon. Hot and bothered lady passengers were fanning themselves, seated at blackened oak tables. Several young serving girls were whizzing to and fro, carrying laden trays. But of the landlord there was no sign.
‘Why...Miss Shawcross...how can I assist you?’ Charlie Rowntree had emerged from a door opposite. He held a tray aloft, piled with plates of succulent-looking sliced meats and a crusty loaf. The aroma of the freshly baked bread made Faye’s mouth water. On rising she’d had no appetite following a sleepless night, but she realised she felt hungry now.
‘I...I wanted to speak to you, sir, about coaching times. But perhaps another day would be better. I can see you are dreadfully busy.’ Faye had noted that she’d lost the fellow’s attention already.
‘Oh...just coming, sir...right away...’ Charlie had dipped his head obsequiously to somebody.
‘Take it into the room, if you will...’
Faye recognised the accented baritone instantly, but managed to stop herself swinging around. She gave Mr Rowntree a nod and even restricted herself to walking, rather than dashing away.
Unsure of which corridor to take, she chose left and came to a dead end. She turned, her bosom rising and falling with her rapid breaths. He had followed her, as she’d known he would, and had propped himself against the wall some yards away.
‘Did you go to the manor, then come here looking for me?’
Faye choked a sour laugh. ‘No, I did not, sir. But I can understand why your conceit might make you think such a thing.’
‘You’re angry with me?’ It was a toneless enquiry.
‘Angry with you?’ Faye repeated in a suffocated whisper. She gestured disbelief. ‘You are so unbearably arrogant!’ she fumed as quietly as she could. ‘You think you can do as you please...take what you want...’ Faye pressed together her lips. She was not about to air any more Shawcross dirty linen in public. ‘Please remove yourself so I can pass,’ she said distantly.
‘I take it you require an apology for my wicked ways yesterday evening. Be fair...there was little time for fond farewells.’
‘I expected nothing from you, sir, least of all that,’ Faye said acidly.
‘I expected more from you...’ His deep blue gaze had turned as sultry as his voice. ‘And almost got it...’
Faye swallowed the block of humiliation in her throat, but she refused to reply or even glance at him.
‘So...if you didn’t enter this place looking for me...what are you doing here?’
‘I’m investigating the times of the mail coaches, not that it is any of your concern,’ Faye replied stiltedly.
‘It is my concern if you’re intent on travelling abroad with your sister, unaccompanied, and with no idea of what lies in front of you.’
The authority in his tone put a spark of green fire in Faye’s eyes. ‘Show your concern then, Mr Kavanagh, by making things easier for me and telling me where to find my stepmother.’
‘I said last night I’d come to talk to you about this. I’d planned to call on you later.’
‘Well, please do not for I shall not receive you!’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I do not want to!’ Faye answered, feeling frustrated by his calm. She wished she could find some of that composure he had mastered, but her insides felt as though a nest of vipers writhed in the pit of her stomach. For two pins she would slap him. But she dared not. She knew what happened when she touched him...even in anger. ‘You may think you can bend me to your will, sir, but you will find you are mistaken.’
‘You have a way with words, Faye, that greatly disturbs my equilibrium.’ He smiled at the hand he’d splayed on the wall. ‘Rephrase your complaint about me so I can concentrate on something else and make amends for whatever it is I’ve done wrong. I want to help you.’
‘No, you don’t. Your only concern is feeding your conceit and quenching your lust. You should go back to London; your two doxies will appreciate your attention more than I.’
‘I doubt that,’ he said quietly, slanting her a glance. ‘If my memory serves...’
Faye felt the blush start in her cheeks, then spread to burn her throat. Oh, she knew what he meant by that! Just as he intended she should. Neither of them had forgotten her arms tightly imprisoning him or her animalistic mewls of delight as he lavished her body with kisses and caresses. But he’d not denied the existence of his pair of pampered mistresses who were capable of greater self-control than she.
‘I have done you no harm,’ Faye murmured, gazing through a tiny bullion window at distorted figures in the courtyard. ‘When you first arrived in Wilverton I spoke up for you...asked others to give you the benefit of the doubt rather than believing gossip and condemning too soon. And in return you would destroy me.’
‘I would destroy a fantasy you have in your head about Collins. But I’d never harm you...you know me better than that.’
‘I don’t know you at all.’ Faye’s fierce emerald eyes veered to him. ‘You’re a stranger; I don’t even know how to address you. Major Kavanagh... Viscount Kavanagh... Gypsy Kavanagh...who are you really?’
‘All of them,’ he answered without hesitation.
‘How can you be?’ she said, desperately wanting an explanation.
‘By an accident of birth.’
‘The Lees are your kin?’ Faye knew that they’d have little time to talk privately in such a public place and from his concise answers it seemed he was also aware of eavesdroppers.
‘The Lees are cousins.’
‘And Ruby...how is she related to you?’
‘Oh...there you are, Ryan. I thought you had abandoned me.’ A woman appeared behind him. ‘Are you not hungry, my dear? The food looks most appetising.’
Faye watched with thundering heart as a brunette slipped her arm through his. Moments ago she had flung at him that he should go back to London to be fawned over by his mistresses; it seemed he had no need to for one had joined him. And she was very beautiful.
‘Oh...I see you have company.’ The lady cocked her head to get a clear view of Faye. ‘Are you not going to introduce us, Ryan?’
‘We are barely acquainted,’ Faye blurted, jerking her weak legs into action. ‘Mr Kavanagh might not recall my name.’ She felt dreadfully frustrated that their conversation had been curtailed at such a crucial point. ‘I am Miss Shawcross.’ She held out her hand to give the lady’s expensively gloved fingers a brief shake. ‘Please excuse me; I must dash off now.’ She’d taken a few paces away before she remembered her manners. ‘Good day to you both...’ she sent quietly over a shoulder.
Chapter Fourteen
‘Mr Kavanagh still wants to speak to you. He said he’ll wait outside rather than come in,
if you prefer.’
‘I shan’t receive him, Mrs Gideon. I have a headache. He can leave a message with you, if he wishes.’
Mrs Gideon blew a sigh. ‘Don’t reckon he believes you’ve got a headache any more than I do. He’s the look of a man sticking to his guns because he knows he’ll get what he wants in the end.’
‘Indeed...that sums him up,’ Faye muttered acerbically. ‘But today he’s to be disappointed and, actually, I do have a headache,’ she added, rubbing her throbbing brow.
Mrs Gideon sat down opposite Faye at the table, enclosing her mistress’s white fingers in her chapped hands. ‘You’ve had nobody to talk to about those things that confuse young women, have you, you poor lamb?’
‘I had my papa’s counsel till I was twenty-one,’ Faye pointed out with a wan smile.
‘It’s not the same as having your mother to guide you. I could see that governess of yours wouldn’t instruct you in anything that didn’t have a fraction or a verb attached to it.’
‘What are you trying to say, Mrs Gideon?’ Faye gently withdrew her hands from Nelly’s.
‘I know I was wrong about the Irish fellow. He’s been a boon to you. From the start you saw the good in him. But now something’s changed and I shan’t pry into what it is. I don’t suppose he’s perfect; none of us are, but he’s done things for you and your family that no other man has since your papa died.’
‘He has a motive, I assure you; you were right to warn me of that. Don’t think him a saint.’ Faye felt her cheeks growing warm. She stood up and went to the kitchen window, peeking out from behind the curtain. He was leaning on the front gate, gazing out over the fields as though he didn’t have a care in the world.
Yet her heart was breaking. She’d fallen in love with him. She wanted him, not her fiancé, and that was why she must avoid seeing him again. She’d been in love with Peter when still a child; she was now a woman and she loved Ryan Kavanagh. But for him it was different. He’d spoken of wanting her, but lust wasn’t love and wouldn’t last. She yearned to be with him, but she wouldn’t loiter in shadows waiting for the crumbs of his time and affection to be tossed her way.
