Lady Faith Takes a Leap

by Maggi Andersen

  She patted his hand. “It is hard for you I know. The will clearly states that Chaloner is to give you a generous allowance but retain full control to invest your inheritance as he sees fit until you turn thirty. He is not unreasonable, however. Chaloner is an admirable man who takes his role as head of the family most seriously.”

  “Which is as it should be.” Vaughn raked his hands through his hair. “But he also expects everyone else to measure up to his high ideals,” he said. “Edward feels I must prove to Chaloner I’m able to use the money wisely.” He shrugged his shoulders. “How can I do that if I don’t have the use of it?”

  “A conundrum certainly,” his mother agreed. “I suggest patience.”

  He scowled. “Patience?”

  “Yes, my dear. Be patient. It shall come about. But please don’t give young ladies your undivided attention when you have no intention of seeking their hand.” She ruffled his hair. “You’re such a handsome man; you’ve only to beckon with your little finger.”

  He laughed. “You sound like a mother.”

  “I am your mother, but I’m not blind. And neither are other ladies, young and old.”

  If he raised a little finger, to Faith, for instance, would she come running? He very much doubted it. “I would actually like to find a suitable bride. Have a son or two like Freddie. But I’m hamstrung.”

  “We might be having this conversation some years hence.” She shrugged her shoulders in her lacy wrap. “But age has little to do with one’s feelings. You need love in your life, I quite see that, but you have been looking in the wrong place. Rational men are not always as good at listening to their hearts as we women are.” She pleated the bed sheet with her fingers. “I wish I could help you with this endeavor of yours, but my money is tied up, and I have little influence with Chaloner.”

  “Chaloner is so confident of his decisions; it’s difficult to change his mind on any matter,” he said.

  Perhaps his mother was not as forceful as she used to be, but she was still capable of ruffling a few feathers. He was aware that she had to tread carefully with Lavinia, who wasn’t the warmest of daughter-in-laws. Vaughn swallowed the lump of compassion in his throat at the extraordinary thought that his mother might be lonely. His sisters all lived far from home. The whole family only got together during births, funerals, and Christmas. His elder brother, Bart’s, wife, Emily, was a kindly soul, but they lived in York, and although Honor was a favorite of his mother’s, she and Edward seldom came to Brandreth Park.

  “I do not want to see you unhappy.” Her fine, expressive eyes turned sad. “Not now you’re finding your feet after troubling times. Cast your net wide, my love,” she said. “And now leave me. I wish to dress. We are to go to the spring at Tunbridge Wells today. I plan to take the waters. Faith is to accompany me.” She tapped her chin with a finger. “As Lady Montrose and her daughter will be joining us, perhaps it’s better if you do not. There’s no sense in exciting the good lady unnecessarily.”

  He rose. “Very well, Mama. Enjoy your outing.”

  Vaughn kissed his mother and left her in her floral boudoir. He was surprisingly disappointed, for taking the waters held little attraction for him. Walking along the drive, he returned to the house.

  His conversation with his mother made him cast his mind back as he strode along. He’d given up on his dreams after being sent down from Oxford. Chaloner’s parliamentary activities were concerned with improving the lives of his tenant farmers. Admirable though that was, Vaughn had wished to become a Member of Parliament who introduced important reform that would affect the whole country. He kicked the gravel with his boot. Pipe dreams were best forgotten, but he still yearned to make his father proud. Despite his father departing this earth years ago, regret was like a tight fist in his chest.

  John Strathairn had trusted him enough to take on a position of responsibility. For that, Vaughn would always be grateful, for he now had the skills to forge a decent, rewarding life. He was ready to earn the respect of his family. Chaloner should understand that and trust him too.

  The Baxendale curricle drove past him on the carriageway. He caught a glimpse of Faith sitting alone. His thoughts immediately returned to how curvy and sweetly scented her body had been in his arms the night of the fire. Damn, he wanted to drag her off to his bed and kiss every inch of her soft skin. He sighed and sent more gravel rolling away with an impatient kick. A man would be lucky to have her for his wife.

  Chapter Seven

  The curricle pulled up in front of the rambling, ivy-covered, old redbrick house. Holding on to her hat, tugged by the cool breeze, Faith descended onto the driveway of Brandreth Park. She was to join the dowager’s party to visit the Royal Tunbridge Wells Spring. Straightening her skirts, Faith prepared to follow the liveried footman to the house. Would Vaughn accompany them today? She firmed her lips. She should not be thinking of him. It would serve her better to focus on her new beau, who was to join them in Tunbridge Wells.

  “Hullo, Faith.”

  Faith turned, wondering if her traitorous thoughts had conjured him up. Vaughn walked from the direction of the dower house in riding clothes, his Hessians polished to a high shine and a beaver hat set over his black locks. No need for buckram wadding in those shoulders, she thought with a sigh. She recalled their last meeting when her hair had been in a braid and she’d barely a stitch on. She bit her lip and frowned. She was not entirely convinced he’d needed to carry her! She steeled herself and curtseyed.

  “My lord.”

  “How very formal, Faith.” He removed his hat and bowed from the neck. A ray of sunlight alighted on his thick, straight hair, and her fingers curled as if buried deep in the silken strands. The rush of need to step closer and touch him rocked her. Mr. Sefton, she reminded herself fiercely, had perfectly presentable dark brown hair.

  “Vaughn,” she corrected coolly, gaining control of herself. But it still gave her far too much pleasure to say his name. “Thank you again for coming to my aid the night of the fire,” she managed to say without blushing. “Have you been to see your mother?”

  “No need to thank me.” His gaze roamed lazily over her. “Mother tells me you are to go with her to visit the spring.”

  “Shall you join us?”

  “Not today. I must investigate another property for my horse stud.”

  Should she be glad? She would prefer not to spend the day comparing him with Mr. Sefton. Not that Mr. Sefton wouldn’t measure up, she amended hastily. He was an entirely more sober member of society.

  They walked together to the house, passing through the massive wooden front door held open by the butler, Belton. A footman took Faith’s pelisse.

  “Mother is dressing,” Vaughn said. “Allow me to escort you to the salon. Would you care for coffee or tea?”

  “I would like some tea, thank you,” Faith said, still feeling awkward in his company.

  Faith sat on the brocade sofa while Vaughn left the room to summon a footman. It was a pleasant room with walls papered in moss green, the windows framed in rose silk damask. A painting of the dowager as a lovely young woman hung above the carved marble fireplace. She and her sister, Fenella, were famous beauties and the toast of London when they were young. A door onto the terrace stood open, giving a glimpse of smooth emerald lawns and a rose garden.

  Young Lord Frederick, heir to the marquisate, ran into the room holding a ball. “Who’s going to play with me?” He gazed around as if the room was full of possible playmates.

  Faith rose and peeled off her gloves. “As there’s only me, I will if you wish it.” She eyed the exquisite pair of Egyptian vases on the mantel. “But out on the lawn.” She looked toward the door. “Where is your nurse?”

  “Nanny Greengage is in the nursery with my sister. Come on, then.” He took her sleeve and pulled.

  “Goodness, you are keen. Very well.” She stepped through the French windows onto the terrace as Freddie raced down the steps onto the lawn. “That’s far enou
gh.” She gazed around for someone to sanction their game, but there was no one.

  She turned back as Freddie threw the ball to her. Not ready, Faith made a grab and missed. The ball went tumbling into the rose garden.

  “I’d best find a servant.” Faith did not want to risk her new violet-blue gown on the thorns.

  “Girls!” Freddie muttered in a disparaging tone. “I’ll go then.”

  “I don’t believe you should, Freddie. You’ll tear your—”

  But Freddie was already on his hands and knees. He disappeared into a runnel between the densely planted rose bushes.

  “Ow! I’m caught,” he yelled a moment later.

  “Oh. Wait. Stay there. There’s help coming.” Faith looked around for assistance. No servant had emerged from the house, so she removed her hat and dropped down to crawl after him. She’d almost reached him when thorns grabbed her skirt and held tight. “Oh bother.” She twisted to try to free herself. “Don’t move, Freddie. You’ll tear your…” she began again but, this time, was interrupted by a frightful ripping sound.

  “I tore my trousers,” Freddie said in a shocked tone. “Nanny Greengage is going to be cross.”

  Faith fumbled behind at her skirt, but with no room to turn and inspect the damage, it was difficult. Freddie, having freed himself, crawled over to her. They studied each other face to face.

  “I can’t get past you,” he said, as if he expected her to give way.

  “But I can’t move,” Faith said crossly. “You shall have to wait.”

  “Wait?” His impatient expression made him appear very much like the rest of the Brandreth men. Lord Frederick did not like to wait. In addition, no female would be so presumptuous to expect him to.

  “Yes. Wait,” she said firmly. “You shall have to be patient.” She huffed out a breath and blew away a wisp of her hair, which had landed in her eyes, as her fingers worked to free her skirt. Her arm cramped, and a thorn scratched her hand.

  ****

  Even a few moments alone with Faith seemed dangerous and filled with possibilities. Aware of his brother’s disapproval, Vaughn thought it prudent to quit the room. Instead of pulling the cord, he went in search of a footman to order the tea. He returned to the salon planning to make his apologies and leave. He spun around. Where had Faith got to? He hadn’t come across her in the passage, and as his mother was yet to arrive, Faith hadn’t left the house. The curtains stirred and drew him to the French windows. He stepped out onto the terrace.

  A lady’s hat adorned with violets lay on the lawn. In the rose garden, several bushes shook violently, scattering petals. Intrigued, he leapt down onto the lawn and walked toward the garden bed, spying something blue amongst the green.

  “Is that you in there, Faith?” he called, incredulous.

  “Uncle Vaughn?” Freddie’s head bobbed up above the bushes.

  Vaughn gave a bark of laughter. “What on earth are you doing in the middle of the garden, Freddie?”

  “I got caught. I tore my trousers. Now I can’t get out because Lady Faith is in the way.”

  Vaughn hunkered down to find a pleasingly shaped derriere in amongst the bushes.

  “I’m snagged on a bush,” Faith said, her fingers working at the material.

  Vaughn struggled to suppress his amusement. “I can see that.”

  He edged forward on his knees until he was right behind her then carefully removed the thorns, freeing her skirt. “You can back out now.”

  Vaughn enjoyed the way her derriere swayed as she edged back onto the lawn, which filled his mind with extremely pleasant if ribald thoughts. He assisted her to her feet, and when she turned to face him, her face was as red as a hothouse tomato. A chuckle escaped his lips as he brushed his hands over his soiled knees.

  “Is there a particular reason why you were crawling amongst the roses?” He picked up her hat and handed it to her.

  “Freddie’s ball,” she said, taking the hat from him, her tone condemning any further discussion.

  “Ah.”

  Freddie scampered into view. “I found my ball!” He jumped up with the offending toy clutched in a grubby hand. Then he dropped his head, crestfallen. “But I’ve torn my trousers.”

  “Viscount Altham!” Nanny Greengage stood on the terrace, arms akimbo. “Where have you been? And what have you done to your clothes? Come to the nursery, please, my lord.”

  An abashed Freddie disappeared into the house with Nanny following.

  Faith brushed the dirt and leaves from her skirt. Discovering a rip near the hem, she murmured her dismay and raised the skirt to inspect it, affording him a pleasing view of shapely ankles and calves. “I can’t go out with your mother looking like this.”

  “The housekeeper, Mrs. Gillies, will set you to rights,” Vaughn said. “It was kind of you to try and help Freddie.”

  She chewed her bottom lip. “I should have gone in search of a servant.”

  “If I know Freddie, you wouldn’t have had a chance,” Vaughn said with a laugh. Reaching over, he plucked a leaf from hair the color of wild meadow daisies. He dropped his hand before he gave in to the urge to remove the pins. Would her tresses reach down to her fetching derrière? He coughed. “You were playing a game?”

  Her eyes warmed with amusement. “I failed to catch the ball. I’m afraid Freddie’s opinion of a female’s sporting prowess may now be irredeemably damaged.”

  Vaughn threw back his head and laughed. “Freddie’s a great lad, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, despite being a Brandreth,” she said with a playful smile.

  “What? You don’t approve of us?”

  “Brandreth men are a determined lot. Heaven help anyone who thwarts you.”

  He took her by the elbow, steering her into the salon. “I’m pleased you realize that.”

  She widened her impossibly blue eyes. “Why?”

  “Because when I’m called upon to rescue you from your next scrape, I don’t wish to spend valuable time arguing with you.”

  “And what scrapes would those be, my lord?”

  “I recall the first occurred when you were stuck in a tree some years ago. The second, well, it wouldn’t be fair to go into that one. And now this. What would you have done without my help?”

  “I would have managed.”

  He eyed the sky through the window with a smirk. “It wouldn’t do to still be in the rose garden. It’s about to rain.”

  She raised her chin, and her temptingly curved mouth quivered. “I believe you are teasing me.”

  Vaughn blinked and hastily bowed. “I must leave you, I’m afraid. My business.”

  Chapter Eight

  As the spring was in the very center of Tunbridge Wells, the carriage ride took little more than half an hour. Lady Brandreth had invited Faith to ride with her, as her mother, suffering a slight chill, had declined the invitation. Faith settled on the velvet squabs in the luxurious barouche drawn by matching greys, a little intimidated by the dowager, who was known to be a woman who spoke her mind.

  They had barely left Brandreth Park when Lady Brandreth crossed her gloved hands in her lap and settled her vivid green gaze on Faith. “I expected you to be married by now, or at least engaged, after your come out. You attracted many suitors.”

  “I met no one I wished to marry,” Faith said.

  The Dowager gave an approving nod. “I heard you sent Lord Fitzgibbon packing. A wise decision. His mother would have made your life a misery, as she does her son. I was surprised you went against your father’s wishes, however.”

  Faith lifted her chin. Vaughn’s comment that she lacked fortitude still rankled. “I am not a namby-pamby miss, Lady Brandreth.”

  The dowager chuckled. “Neither you are. You have a good deal of spirit, my girl, and don’t forget it.” She did not elaborate, however, and as the carriage drew up at Tunbridge Wells, Faith was left to wonder why Lady Brandreth took a sudden interest in her.

  They joined the rest of the small party outside t
he spring, where a servant waited to offer them the waters. Lady Montrose’s daughter, Rosamond, had come with her and her ladyship’s brother, Lord Whitworth.

  “Isn’t Lord Vaughn coming today?” Rosamond searched the busy colonnade.

  “I don’t believe so. He mentioned a business matter.”

  “Business? Gentlemen have little to do with business. Mother will see that as a rebuff. She won’t be pleased.” Rosamond frowned. “Mother believes gentlemen to be shamefully unreliable.”

  Perhaps Lady Montrose wanted Vaughn to marry Rosamond. Perhaps he would. Dismayed by the sad throb in her chest, Faith plastered on a smile as she was introduced to Lord Whitworth. A widower, the tall, grey-haired gentleman had deep grooves radiating from the corners of his hazel eyes as if he smiled a lot. He promptly took the two older ladies by their arms and steered them over to the table covered by a white cloth, where the servant called a Dipper awaited them.

  Rosamond hung back. “You saw Lord Vaughn today?”

  “Yes, at Brandreth Park this morning.” Faith bit her lip, recalling the unfortunate episode with Freddie. Had Vaughn been laughing at her?

  “I believe you are neighbors.” Rosamond and Faith followed slowly after the others. Rosamond sighed. “I do wish he’d come. He’s always tremendously good company and so very handsome, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, he has a good sense—”

  “Mother wants me to marry him,” Rosamond confessed. “But it’s more about her needs than mine.”

  “Why?”

  “She just wants to be connected to the Brandreth family; even Vaughn’s reputation doesn’t deter her.”

  “How do you feel—?”

  “I shan’t take the waters,” Rosamond said, cutting Faith off midsentence. “I’m sure it has a hideous taste! It is reputed to cure all sorts of ills. I don’t suffer from moist brain, or other dreadful complaints.” The corners of her mouth turned down with a disgusted mew. “I find this all a dreadful waste of time, don’t you?”