by Mary Brendan
He’d asked if she feared being lonely in the future...she would be if she agreed to his terms: sharing his bed and perhaps bearing his bastards until his eye landed on somebody else. Peter might not be rich and charismatic, but he was steadfast. And she would never reward his loyalty by choosing a philanderer over him.
‘A motive, has he?’ Mrs Gideon gave a wise nod. ‘Perhaps you ought to let him know that you’ve one, too, concerning a ring and a vicar.’ She stood up and comfortingly rubbed Faye’s shoulder. ‘You’re not the first woman to outgrow her childhood sweetheart.’
Faye turned away from the window and started to clear away the teacups into the tin bowl. Mrs Gideon’s comfort mirrored the hopes she had. But she knew they’d never come to fruition. Kavanagh would only give material comforts and sensual pleasure. And when she dwelled on the blissful way he made her feel, the ignominy of being a kept woman almost seemed worth bearing.
Offering you anything you desire and my protection is an insult? he’d mocked when she’d asked if he was apologising to her for treating her like a harlot. What more could a country spinster of straitened circumstances expect, he might have added had courtesy not held him back.
‘We could make him a cup of tea, at least,’ Mrs Gideon said. ‘I doubt it’ll satisfy him, but at least we’ll have been hospitable.’
‘Yes, we should be hospitable,’ Faye said wryly. ‘And as for satisfying him... Mr Kavanagh is probably not too bothered about that; he tells me he is well served elsewhere.’ Faye felt slightly uneasy talking so to her housekeeper, yet it was nice to have a confidant. Mrs Gideon had been her closest, and most trustworthy, female companion for the last twenty years.
‘I know he’s not a saint; it must be hard for such a good looker not to be tempted when women throw themselves at him. Go and speak to him.’
Faye nibbled her lower lip, feeling swayed to follow the housekeeper’s instruction.
‘If he tries any funny business, I’ll put a shovel over his head myself as Bertram’s out.’
‘You would, too, wouldn’t you?’ Faye said with a soft chuckle.
‘I’ll try to keep Miss Claire out of your way if she comes in from the garden.’ Mrs Gideon wrinkled her nose. ‘Your sister’s brewing up rose petals for scent. It smells poisonous.’
With a deep intake of breath, Faye tucked a few loose tendrils of fair hair into their pins, then opened the door and stepped outside. If he’d heard her, he didn’t turn about until she was almost within arm’s reach.
‘I take it asking you to come for a ride is out of the question.’ He sent a crooked smile skywards before looking at her.
‘My acceptance certainly would be.’ Faye kept her eyes on the horizon rather than on him. Whenever they were close she was always struck anew by how handsome he was. Even that first sighting of him in Wilverton had stirred something in her that was too strong to be forgotten. She had thought about him every day since. She became aware of her hands quivering and clasped them together behind her back. ‘You wanted to speak to me, Mr Kavanagh?’ Her voice was firm and clear.
‘Where to start...’ he drawled.
‘Perhaps you might like to explain why you have tempted me with knowing where Deborah Shawcross is in Ireland, but have refused to disclose more.’
‘You wouldn’t want to know more. And travelling to Ireland simply to take your sister to her would be a waste of time. You’d not leave a dog in that place.’
After a shocked silence Faye whispered, ‘What do you mean by that, sir?’ But she was intelligent enough to have already concluded that what he meant was that Deborah had fallen into the gutter.
‘She’s living in a brothel,’ he confirmed quietly. On hearing Faye’s spontaneous gasp he drew her closer, discreetly comforting her with a caress. ‘I’m sorry to have to tell you such news.’
‘Are you sure it is her?’ Faye gazed up into his dark features. ‘Could it be a case of mistaken identity?’
‘I wish it were. But as soon as I knew you were interested in finding her I sent investigators to seek her whereabouts. I recalled an English woman living under the protection of a decent fellow. He was a judge...not of advanced years, but he became ill. He died a year or so ago now.’ Ryan shrugged. ‘His wife and family were provided for, but your stepmother was not. It is a common enough tale for a woman of middle years and poor connections. I believe she had nobody else in Ireland to call on.’
‘My father had passed on as well by then. If she did seek to contact him through his lawyer it would have been too late for him to help, even had he felt so inclined.’ Faye inwardly shuddered, imagining her glamorous stepmother reduced to such squalor. But Kavanagh had called such a fall from grace a common enough tale; indeed it was and one that she too might have known at some time in the future had she accepted his proposition. How did any mistress fare if she had no independent means and her provider succumbed to an accident or illness and left no lasting provision for her?
She at least had some of her father’s bequest left, but it would not see her through many decades. There was no need to fret about it, she impressed on herself. She was marrying a decent man and in time her infatuation with Ryan Kavanagh would fade. Her affection for Peter might reignite into the exciting passion she’d felt for him when he’d kissed her for the first time. If they could spend more time together, things might be different, she thought wistfully. But Peter seemed to enjoy his work so it was unlikely he’d retire when they married, or even, God willing, when he became a father.
It was a great blow that her sister couldn’t go to Ireland to allow gossip to die down. Instead, they would have to batten down the hatches and pray that the tale of Claire Shawcross and a gypsy boy stayed in Hertfordshire. Then in the spring her sister must find a suitable husband in London.
Ryan had allowed her to digest the distressing news about her stepmother without interruption before saying gently, ‘There is a solution that might suit, if you still want your sister to go away for a while.’
‘I can’t send her to my relative in London before the spring, if that is what you are about to say, sir.’ She paused. ‘Mrs Banks isn’t well off and she wouldn’t want to cope with Claire for that amount of time.’ She gave a tiny half-smile. ‘Neither would my sister agree to being cooped up with her widowed aunt; she is a lovely lady but she rarely goes out. Claire would be bored stiff.’
‘I wasn’t thinking of London. Ruby is going to Dublin to stay with family and she would like your sister to go with her. She wants them to be friends.’ Ryan smiled. ‘I imagine Donagh will be in for some fierce criticism from the two of them, but that apart there will be plenty of other things for them to do...outings and so on that young ladies seem to enjoy.’
‘I...I don’t know what to say, Mr Kavanagh...’ Faye felt a surge of optimism, but knew she couldn’t make a snap decision on something of such importance.
‘Are you trying to find a polite way of saying that you’re not sure you trust me enough to put yourself, let alone your sister, into my hands?’
‘Given what I know of you that’s hardly surprising, is it?’ Faye returned crisply.
‘I thought you knew nothing of me. I’m a stranger, you said.’
‘And so you are!’ Faye was aware of his amusement at having had a chance to remind her of that. She glanced to the right; a neighbour along the lane had just thrown open a window and was craning her neck to get a better look at them.
‘Shall we go inside and finish this?’ Ryan suggested.
Faye hesitated despite the sense in what he’d said.
‘I meant Mulberry House...not its barn...’ he muttered drily and, gripping her wrist, he strode to the kitchen door, making Faye skip to keep up with him.
‘Mr Kavanagh would like some tea, Mrs Gideon,’ Faye burst out breathlessly as he shut the door behind them.
‘Then some tea he shall have.’ Mrs Gideon began filling the kettle. ‘Why not sit in the parlour and I’ll bring it along.’ She added darkly, ‘You should know, sir, that my husband will be back from town very soon.’
If Ryan deemed a fellow with a limp, approaching sixty-five years of age, of no significant threat to a man half his age, who’d dragged himself from battlefields with a burning gun and a bloodied sword, he graciously didn’t show it.
‘I have taken note of it, ma’am,’ he said in his soft Irish burr.
‘Hmmm...’ Mrs Gideon said, turning away so he couldn’t see her subduing a smile.
‘You shouldn’t joke with her like that.’ Faye uttered the first thing that entered her head as he closed the door.
He leaned back against it, regarding her steadily. ‘I wasn’t joking. I swear I’m on my best behaviour. Have you told her about us?’
‘There is no...us,’ Faye said quickly. ‘She knows...that...’ She found she could go no further.
‘What does she know?’
‘Mrs Gideon knows that trouble is brewing because of many things,’ Faye said shortly. ‘And she will be horrified to hear the Shawcrosses have suffered more bad news. I will not pretend that in the end Deborah was liked by any of us, but neither would we have wished on her such dreadful luck.’ Faye felt desperately sad for her father’s sake. Mr Shawcross had grown cold towards the woman who’d abandoned him, but he would not have wanted to see the mother of his two youngest children suffer such degradation. She wondered if he would have helped her, had he been alive to do so. Faye hoped that he would have shown pity. Instead of the woeful tale increasing Faye’s dislike for her stepmother she felt more charitable towards her. Deborah had married Cecil Shawcross, but her love for him had withered...as sometimes was the case between a man and a woman, as she now knew herself. Deborah had had the courage to risk all and follow the man she loved...and she had paid the price. Faye wondered if her stepmother thought the sacrifice had been worth it.
‘Please sit down if you will.’ Faye perched on the edge of the armchair opposite the seat she indicated he should take.
‘We were speaking of your sister travelling to Ireland as Ruby’s companion.’ Ryan sat back, clasping his hands between his knees.
‘It is good of you to make the offer but I hadn’t yet agreed to the proposal,’ Faye pointed out with a steady emerald stare.
‘I think you will if you let me tell you more about it.’ A ghost of a smile moved his mouth as he considered introducing a prickly subject into the conversation. ‘Why haven’t you asked me who I was with at the White Hart?’
‘Why haven’t you told me?’ Faye shot back. She flicked a hand. ‘It is none of my concern who you spend time with.’
‘So you don’t want to know who she was.’
‘No...I do not...’ Faye immediately gained her feet. ‘Mrs Gideon is a long time making tea.’ He had got up as she did and was now gazing into the garden with his hands planted against the casement frame. ‘Who were you with?’ Faye demanded, unable to maintain insouciance.
‘My sister,’ he answered, still staring into sunlight.
‘Your sister?’ Faye echoed tartly. ‘How odd that you entertained her at a tavern rather than at your beautiful home.’
‘You like the manor?’ He turned from the window to look at her.
Faye hadn’t been expecting that. ‘Of course...who would not like such a wonderful house?’
‘Had you been inside before I took it on?’
Faye shook her head. ‘My parents were invited to dine on a few occasions when I was a child. But then old Squire Benford died and his heir used it very rarely. Mostly it was empty but for servants. We didn’t even know it had been sold until you turned up.’
‘Do you wish I hadn’t turned up, Faye?’
‘No...the house deserves a new lease of life.’
A rueful smile met her evasiveness.
The door opened and Mrs Gideon backed in, carrying the tea tray. She poured while sneaking glances at the couple, then exited the room with a polite bob.
‘So let us return to the matter of my sister,’ Ryan said immediately the door had closed. ‘Valerie was at the White Hart because one of her horses went lame close to the end of her journey; she was waiting while the blacksmith shod him. She is now at the manor and will be staying about a week before escorting Ruby to Dublin. Claire can go, too, if she wants. She will be perfectly safe in my sister’s care. Valerie has children of her own and has a very comfortable house.’
‘I greatly appreciate your offer to help us, sir,’ Faye said. ‘But I cannot agree or decline without first mulling things over. And I should speak to Claire, of course. She is of an age and character to be troublesome if sent away against her will. I would not inflict more of her temper on you than you have already borne.’
A sympathetic smile twitched Ryan’s lips; he knew very well what it was to deal with a petulant young lady.
‘We didn’t get a chance to talk properly at the inn,’ he said, crossing his arms over his chest and looking unusually diffident. ‘There’s a great deal I need to tell you...about myself and about Ruby. I hope that when I do explain you’ll understand why I’ve not said anything before.’ He was watching her face closely for her reaction.
‘What can be so bad that it needs to be kept a secret?’ Faye made a small gesture. ‘I know you have gypsy kin and one of them is Ruby Adair. It seems odd that an aristocrat might be so related, but it is not dreadfully shocking to me, if that puts your mind at ease.’
He dipped his head in gracious thanks and said, ‘It does. I hope you take the rest of what I have to say so sweetly.’ He seemed about to carry on, but suddenly looked over her shoulder. ‘Valerie would like to meet you and your family. Will you come over later and dine with us?’
‘Are we invited out to the manor?’ Claire had slipped in through the French doors and was beaming at the idea of an outing to the big house. ‘I should like to see Ruby again. Do let’s go.’ She turned a plaintive look on Faye.
‘Very well...thank you, Mr Kavanagh.’ Faye kept her frustration hidden that their conversation had been interrupted. She was sure she’d been on the point of learning more about him. ‘Our brother has gone on holiday to Scotland, so it will be just the two of us.’
‘I’ll send a carriage for you at seven.’ Ryan dipped his head, ready to depart.
‘I didn’t say sorry for the trouble I caused you, did I, Mr Kavanagh?’ Claire rattled off. She’d rather get her apologies out of the way privately than do it later in Ruby’s hearing. ‘I shouldn’t have acted so daft and I’m very sorry that I did.’
Ryan held out a hand for her to shake. ‘Ruby tells me she feels the same way about misbehaving for Donagh Lee’s sake. She’d like to be friends; I think you two young ladies should get along in future.’
Claire gave a shy smile on hearing that.
‘Will you accompany me to the gate, Miss Shawcross?’
‘Yes...of course... Come out this way, Mr Kavanagh, through the garden.’ Faye opened the French doors. ‘It is very pleasant in the sun.’ Faye wanted to avoid running the gauntlet of Mrs Gideon’s knowing looks.
They stopped by the gate and gazed at one another in a way that Faye realised held a new and profound intensity. The pull of desire between them still simmered, but a quiet understanding seemed to have cemented the base of a friendship during their short meeting.
‘When you come over later we must finish our talk in private,’ Ryan said softly. ‘The more I think about it, the more I wish I’d opened up to you sooner.’ He rubbed a hand about the nape of his neck. ‘But...you seemed withdrawn at times as though you didn’t want me to get too close to you...in body or mind.’ He raised a hand as though he would touch her, but instead stepped away from her. ‘We must also talk about my recent trip
to London...and your fiancé.’
‘If I’ve seemed distant it is because you have been unwilling to reveal much about yourself,’ Faye said in a quiet intense voice. She glanced about, exasperated that they were out in the open and couldn’t continue to talk for long. She wasn’t sure she had the patience to wait until later to resume this heart to heart. ‘I admit to being confused about your relationship to Ruby and if I have seemed suspicious or guarded at times that is why.’
‘But there are things about you that confuse me,’ Ryan said smoothly. ‘I’m not the only one wary of revealing more about a close relationship. You have just avoided speaking of a certain person, haven’t you?’
‘What do you mean?’ Faye asked indignantly.
‘Your fiancé. I don’t understand why Peter Collins has your trust. You’re not a fool, are you?’
Faye glanced sharply at him. But there was no malice in his eyes, just a look of concern and, yes, a glint of jealousy. ‘I do not avoid speaking of him.’ She knew that wasn’t completely true and felt a guilty flush spreading on her cheeks, so hastened on, ‘We are betrothed...of course I trust Peter.’ She scanned his dark features and bit her lip. ‘Do you really think he was up to no good in London when you saw him there?’
Ryan plunged his hands into his pockets. ‘I don’t know...’ he said honestly. ‘I have no proof, but I could easily find out.’ He trailed a finger along the curve of her sharp little jaw, quickly and discreetly. ‘I’ve no wish for us to quarrel and I can see that we might if I say more on the subject.’
A twinge of uneasiness tightened her stomach. ‘If you have something specific on your mind, I’d sooner hear it, sir.’
‘I believed I was coming close to hearing you call me Ryan and now we are back to “sir” because of that confounded fiancé of yours.’
