Rescued by the Forbidden Rake

by Mary Brendan

  ‘What can I do for you then, my dear?’

  A skinny little woman had noiselessly come up behind Faye.

  ‘Oh...good day... I am seeking somebody. I believe he is staying here.’

  ‘Well, let me know his name and I’ll tell you if he is,’ the woman smirked. ‘I’m Mrs Gant, the landlady, and I know all of my clients, I assure you. I’m thinking that a genteel young lady such as yourself might have come to the wrong place, though.’

  ‘I’m looking for Mr Peter Collins and I know he’s here because I saw him come inside.’ Faye’s voice was firm and clear.

  Sally Gant had been running a lodging house for more than twenty years and in that time had grown used to young gentlemen hiding from the duns or from their irate fathers in her warren of rooms. This young lady looked too wholesome to allow herself to be got into trouble, unlike those other females she’d spotted with Collins. But Sally was aware that both loves and lightskirts figured in some gentlemen’s lives.

  ‘And who might you be?’ Mrs Gant asked, straightening her mobcap in a businesslike fashion. Whatever she privately thought about Mr Collins’s character, she wasn’t about to upset a paying customer; he was always on time with his rent.

  ‘I am Miss Shawcross and Mr Collins is my fiancé.’

  ‘Is he now?’ the woman said with an ironic inflection.

  But no further toing and froing was necessary. There was a sound of boots clattering down the bare stairs and a moment later the man himself unsuspectingly hove into view.

  Faye had to choke back a spontaneous giggle at the look of sheer horror and astonishment on Peter’s face. He went white, he went red, then he swallowed noisily and blustered, ‘What in God’s name are you doing here?’

  ‘I’ve come to see you, Peter,’ Faye replied flatly. She suddenly realised that it was immaterial whether or not he wanted to jilt her as there was no longer a foregone conclusion that she would marry him. Even without the spectre of Ryan Kavanagh occupying the back of her mind, she knew her trust in Peter had vanished. And without that fundamental element she couldn’t be his wife. She could see guilt burning brightly on his face, although she was not completely sure what was causing it. But she would know before she travelled back to Hertfordshire, he owed her that much. And she, too, had difficult explanations to make, she reminded herself. ‘Aren’t you pleased to see your fiancée?’ Faye asked quietly.

  Mrs Gant batted a sly glance between the couple. ‘Well, sir, I’ll be off so you can have a nice talk with your intended.’ She scurried off, wondering if she had an opportunity to keep her lips sealed on the fellow’s shenanigans for a price.

  ‘Of course I’m pleased to see you, my dear.’ Finally Peter composed himself. ‘I’m surprised...in a nice way, but also confused that you have made an unnecessary trip.’

  ‘How do you know that it is unnecessary, Peter? I haven’t yet told you why I’m here.’

  He took her arm, propelling her out of the dingy hallway and into the sunshine. ‘You look in fine fettle and I am, too...so what problem is so great that you needed to come? Who have you travelled with?’ He glanced about as though to locate her companion.

  ‘I came on my own to see you and I have been perfectly safe, never fear.’

  ‘Well, I’d rather you hadn’t done so,’ he replied curtly. Then his attitude seemed to soften. ‘Let me take a look at you.’ He tilted up her chin, smiling down at her. ‘You look as lovely as ever,’ he purred. ‘How have you managed to escape the scamps then for a sojourn to town? It’s very unlike you to leave that sleepy place you like so much. Has something of note happened in Wilverton?’

  ‘There is a lot for us to talk about, that’s for sure,’ Faye replied, thinking his voice, though smooth, had retained an undercurrent of annoyance that he couldn’t quite control. His eyes were narrowing as he considered her ambiguous comment, so she spoke before he could question her further. ‘What have you been up to, Peter, since we parted in Wilverton? I believed you had sailed for Malta and had heard nothing from you to the contrary. I sent a letter to Portsmouth for you—’

  ‘There was a delay in my application for the admiralty position,’ he fluently interrupted. ‘While I wait for it to be dealt with I am kicking my heels here in town and hoping soon to receive encouraging tidings. You had much on your mind when I left, Faye. Your brother was ailing, as I recall. I would have been in touch as soon as I had good news, but didn’t want to burden you with my woes.’

  ‘I see...’ Faye said, although she didn’t really see at all. A man less bedevilled by woes to the one she’d watched cavorting with Westwood and the flashy-looking woman was hard to imagine. And though Peter had recalled her brother’s illness he hadn’t asked how Michael fared.

  ‘How did you know where to find me?’ Peter threaded her arm through his and started to promenade along the street.

  ‘The Reverend Holly spotted you in town. I thought it odd so...’

  ‘So you came to check up on me, did you?’ Peter interrupted coldly.

  ‘I am not spying on you; had I been I wouldn’t have made my presence known so quickly, would I?’ Faye sounded equally short. ‘I only arrived on the mail coach a short while ago.’ She glanced at his profile, a little of the entrenched feelings she had for him tweaking at her heartstrings. Their lives had been entwined for such a long time that it seemed wrong to give up on trust and affection and hopes for the future.

  ‘London is a big place, yet you knew where I was...how odd...’ It sounded a throwaway remark as though he were careless of an explanation.

  ‘Oh, finding you so quickly was sheer luck. I noticed you entering this building when I was travelling in a hackney cab. I hopped off and let the driver carry on with my bag to my aunt’s house. I am staying there for a few days before going home.’ Faye held back on mentioning that she’d seen him with his friends. If the lawyer’s name cropped up then her investments must, too, for she couldn’t delay again in telling him about that. She wished she had spoken of it long ago, then her fiancé would not have been so chummy with Westwood; yet she’d like a more private place than a busy street to speak about something so serious.

  ‘I’m sorry if I sounded ungrateful after you’ve put yourself out to visit me.’ Peter gave her a winning smile. ‘Tell me all that’s happened in Wilverton.’

  ‘Well, I had a carriage accident...but as you can see I’m fine now,’ she quickly reassured him, hearing his hiss of concern. ‘It was my own fault for being careless. As for the children, Michael is fully recovered and staying with a friend in Scotland and Claire has gone to Ireland.’

  ‘So you managed to find their confounded mother at last, did you?’ Peter gave her cheek a rewarding tickle. ‘Very well done, my dear,’ he praised. ‘It is high time that she did her duty and let us finally be married. Have you been languishing at home, all alone, thinking about me? You wanted your fiancé’s company, did you?’ He suddenly stopped walking and swung her to face him, nuzzling words against her cheek. ‘I am glad you did. I’ve missed you, too.’

  ‘Mr and Mrs Gideon are always around. I’m not lacking company.’ Faye took a pace back, feeling uncomfortable with his display of affection in broad daylight. She found herself wondering if he’d acted vulgar because he’d confused her with the hussy in the feathered hat.

  As they strolled on she inwardly argued with herself. She owed her fiancé a fair hearing. She’d seen nothing to convince her that Peter was having an affair. Westwood had seemed equally friendly with their female companion and appearances could be deceiving. It might be that she lacked refinement rather than virtue. Faye knew she was not without fault herself; perhaps Peter had succumbed to a flirtation...but so had she fallen prey to another’s charms. Whether she’d wanted to or not she’d responded to Kavanagh...how she had responded! A surge of blood warmed her throat at the memory of the passion they’d sh
ared.

  ‘Oh, there is no point in waiting for the right time to bring this up,’ she burst out, coming to an abrupt halt. ‘There is a rumour going around that you might jilt me for a Miss Pettifer. I doubt it is true as you have just spoken of us being married, but in any case you should be aware that we are being tattled over.’

  Again a startled look hardened his features and he loosened his cravat with a fidgeting finger.

  ‘You know Miss Pettifer, don’t you?’ Faye sighed, slipping her hand from his arm.

  ‘Indeed I do know her, but it is utter nonsense to say there is anything between us. If I find out who has spread the dirt I’ll have their hides!’ Peter’s lips had flattened against his teeth. ‘She is simply a cousin of a friend of mine. I’ve shown her no more than courtesy when we’ve met.’

  Faye digested that and came to a conclusion. ‘Is she Mr Westwood’s cousin?’

  Peter’s eyes narrowed on her. ‘She is... How did you know that?’

  ‘Have you seen her very recently?’

  ‘I have not!’ Peter returned forcefully. ‘I haven’t seen her since we all took a drive in the park earlier in the week.’ He frowned. ‘Are you jealous, or is it that you don’t trust me?’

  ‘I’m not sure what I’m feeling at the moment, other than confused and tired.’ Faye gave a mournful chuckle. ‘I think I must get to my aunt’s or she will worry that some mishap has befallen me.’

  ‘I will accompany you to Mrs Banks, my dear.’ Peter patted her hand solicitously.

  ‘You were on your way out somewhere when I ambushed you. I don’t want to delay you longer in going about your business.’ Faye knew she’d sooner be alone...and after such a time apart from her fiancé she knew that was a worrying sign.

  ‘And a most pleasant interruption it has been. I won’t hear of you travelling by yourself! We should spend as much precious time together as we can. I will soon scotch these stupid rumours going about by announcing the date of our wedding in The Times. I think early next month might be suitable, don’t you?’ He clicked his fingers at a passing hackney. ‘Come, we can discuss wedding plans on the way to Mrs Banks’s house and break the happy news to her when we arrive.’

  ‘I would rather we kept the matter to ourselves for a while longer.’

  ‘If you wish.’ He gave her an indulgent smile. ‘I expect you’ll want to browse the warehouses for wedding finery to take home with you.’

  ‘A shopping trip with Aunt Agatha would be nice,’ Faye said neutrally. She allowed him to help her aboard. As he climbed in to sit beside her, the scent of violets drifted to her, making her turn away to breathe the fresh air blowing in through the window. Miss Pettifer’s perfume smelled as cheap as she looked.

  Chapter Eighteen

  A beam of yellow light infiltrated the curtains, striping warmth on to Faye’s cheek, bringing her awake with a start. For a heart-stopping moment she blinked at the ceiling, confused as to where she was. Then memories flooded back and she rubbed a hand over her heavy eyes, pushing herself up on her elbows.

  Despite the problems cramming her head she had slept soundly in her bed in Marylebone. In fact, so sweet had her sleep been that she was tempted to sink down beneath the eiderdown and close her eyes to try to recapture the blissful state of unconsciousness.

  But how would that help? she chided herself. Hiding from worries was never the way to rid oneself of them. With a sigh she swung a pair of shapely calves off the edge of the mattress and pattered to the window to gaze upon a new day. Pulling back the curtains, she watched the London street coming to life; it was quite different from the sort of morning scene that would have greeted her in her home village. People were going about their business early, much as they did in Wilverton, but here the hubbub was created by smart carriages and liveried servants, rather than by farm vehicles and peasants in smocks.

  A tap on the door made Faye drop the brocade into place and turn around.

  ‘I thought I heard you up and about in here, my dear; it is good to see you looking refreshed. I have to say I was quite worried about you yesterday.’ Aunt Agatha backed into the room, carrying a tray. ‘I thought you might like some tea. And breakfast is ready, if you are.’ She placed the crockery on the nightstand, then turned to assess her niece. ‘You seemed very tired when you turned up. I dare say the journey took it out of you...amongst other things.’ Agatha was still garbed in her dressing gown with her grey hair in curling pins. She poured the tea, then perched on the mattress as though settling in for a chat.

  Faye had had no need to worry about her uninvited visit being badly received: Agatha had been delighted to have her stay despite the short notice and her lack of staff. Her aunt had explained that her maid only came in a few times a week now to help with laundry and cleaning so had personally prepared them a supper of cold meats and pickles accompanied by cheese and a freshly baked loaf. Faye hadn’t eaten much all day, nevertheless she’d had scant appetite to reward her aunt’s efforts. She realised that the woman was making necessary economies. Her husband had been an army officer, killed in action in his prime, and his widow had survived for over a decade on his pension. Faye admired her aunt for being practical and resourceful. She wouldn’t baulk either at getting her hands dirty when the need arose. And, following her experience with Westwood, one never knew when it might.

  With a husband by her side, of course, things should be easier. Peter had spoken of an imminent marriage, but Faye knew she’d lost faith in him. After she’d bidden her aunt goodnight and gone up to her chamber, she’d spent a long time staring at the moonlit street scene, mulling things over. But concentrating on whether to try to salvage her relationship with Peter had been impossible with memories of Ryan constantly infiltrating her mind.

  ‘I’ll understand if you don’t want to say why you’ve come quite suddenly to town.’ Agatha had been watching her niece’s porcelain brow being pleated by some inner conflict. ‘But I can hazard a guess at the reason,’ she added helpfully.

  Faye took a sip of tea. ‘You’ve heard the rumours about my fiancé’s roving eye?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Agatha declared. ‘I didn’t want to bring the subject up yesterday. I thought it best to let you have your rest first; as he dropped you off outside I imagined you might be feeling cross with him. I’m glad you didn’t invite him in, though. I would have given the fellow a piece of my mind.’

  Faye placed down her cup, feeling let down. ‘If you knew, why did you not write and tell me? I heard about Miss Pettifer from a friend in Wilverton.’

  ‘Why create a mountain out of a molehill and upset you into the bargain? I’m not sure he is guilty of more than an unwise flirtation with the chit. Why...if every betrothed fellow who cast his eyes on other women was jilted by his fiancée, there would be no weddings.’

  ‘I caught a glimpse of her at a distance...she looks rather flashy,’ Faye said, matter of fact.

  ‘Indeed she is! She can’t hold a candle to your classic beauty, of course, however young she may be.’

  ‘She is very young?’ Faye asked wryly. The feathers in Miss Pettifer’s hat had prevented Faye getting a good look at her face yesterday. She knew that at twenty-five years old, with a lengthy betrothal behind her, people would assume that her fiancé had grown bored with her.

  ‘I imagine she is about nineteen.’ Agatha dismissed Miss Pettifer with an idle hand flick. ‘If you are still of a mind to marry him, perhaps it might be sensible to finally set the date, my dear. It has been a long wait for you both.’ Agatha held a similar opinion of Mr Collins to that of her late brother—she’d never really taken to the man her niece had set her heart on. But now Faye had invested so much of her youth in him it seemed silly not to go ahead.

  ‘Peter told me yesterday he wants us to be married quite soon.’

  ‘Well, there you are then!’ Agatha beamed. ‘Pi
ffle! is my answer to those chinwaggers who’ve the sauce to say he’s mooning after somebody else.’ Agatha got up. ‘I’ll set the table for breakfast. Come down as soon as you’re ready. Then perhaps we ought to sally forth and give the gossips something to really tattle over: we’ll browse the warehouses for some white silk suitable for a wedding gown,’ she gleefully declared.

  Faye had travelled light and had just one change of clothes with her. She gave the light cotton dress a vigorous shaking as she drew it out of the trunk. Then she turned her attention to the jug and pitcher. She was used to washing in unheated water so it was no ordeal to splash her face, then towel her cold complexion to a pink glow. In fact, it was a fillip that jerked her mind into action. Once clothed she sat down at the dressing table, frowning into her own eyes. Yesterday she had deliberately cut short her meeting with Peter, needing time to think. She’d been on the point of accusing him of lying when saying that he’d not been in Miss Pettifer’s company. Faye had sensed that she must tread carefully. Now she was glad she had held her tongue and slept on it. Most gentlemen would baulk at admitting they’d been in the company of a woman who looked as vulgar as Miss Pettifer. But if she were the cousin of a friend, how could he excuse himself without appearing rude?

  Yet something still niggled at Faye, making her believe that there was more to it. Peter had accused her of spying on him and she realised that the only way to discover what was going on might be to do just that...

  * * *

  ‘Oh, dear! You have missed her, Mr Collins. But do come in for a moment.’ Agatha permitted the stern-faced fellow into the hallway...but no further.

  ‘Missed her?’ Peter enquired. ‘Your niece is not here, Mrs Banks?’

  ‘I’m afraid not, sir. She went out earlier to visit a friend.’ Agatha felt rather puzzled and a little hurt that her offer to accompany Faye had been rebuffed...politely, of course. But she wasn’t going to let this man know that and continued blithely smiling. It was better he believed that his fiancée had plenty to do and no inclination to sit at home moping over him if he chose to pay attention to silly girls.