Faithfully Yours

by Jo Ann Ferguson

  His hushed laugh begged her to toss aside all thoughts except those of how glorious it would be to be his wife, to sleep in his arms each night, to sample his passion for the years of their lives together.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Yes, that you have known my feelings for you, or that you will be my wife?”

  Something was not right about what should be so perfect. She wished she could explain what was bothering her. Sebastian’s offer seemed sincere, and her heart had throbbed with joy when he spoke of being in love with her. Maybe it was nothing more than that he was asking her to be his wife at the very same time the rebels needed this diversion to free Tom Rooke. Was it just coincidence, or was it something more?

  She wanted to know the answer to that. Even more, though, she wanted to marry Sebastian, so that he would come back to her when he finished his search for the furtive Continental Congress. The rapture she had found in his touch would be hers for all time.

  “Yes,” she said as softly. “Yes, that I will be your wife.”

  Slowly, he turned her to face him. The warmth of his rough palm grazed her cheek as his broad hands framed her face, and a pulse of liquid fire pooled through her. That pool became a cascade when his thumb edged along her jaw and up over her chin to trace the heat across her lips. They parted as his fingers combed upward, tangling gently in her hair.

  With a soft moan, he tugged her mouth to his. His tongue stroked her lips in a slow, tantalizing caress. She shivered, and his arms tightened around her.

  “The wedding will have to be before we leave,” he murmured as he sprinkled kisses along her face.

  “So soon?”

  “I do not want to leave without having at least one more night with you.

  She pulled back, staring at him in horror. “You sound as if you think you shall not survive your journey.”

  Sebastian knew he must choose his words with care. He did not want to scare her, but she must understand the dangers he faced. As he gazed down into her wide eyes, he realized she already did. “I expect to return—to be by your side while we both grow old.”

  “But you cannot be sure.”

  “There are no guarantees, especially in war, sweet one.” When she swayed, he slipped his arm around her waist again. She fit as perfectly in his arms as seasoned boots fit on his feet. Kissing her, he released her, although he would have liked to draw her even closer. “I am certain you have much to do before we marry, sweet one.”

  “Before week’s end?”

  “I can delay our leave-taking until Sunday, so shall we marry on Friday?” He tapped her nose. “I would like more than one night with you as your husband before I must continue my duties.”

  Delight flared in her eloquent eyes before she rushed out of the room to do what she needed to do to begin preparations for this wedding that must have been quite a surprise for her. After all, he thought, it was for him.

  Sebastian went to the sideboard in the dining room and poured a large glass of the cider there. Tipping it back, he drank deeply. Cromwell would be delighted with the tidings of this match. His own father? The earl was interested in only two things beyond his mistresses and cards—having his son be lauded as a hero to uphold the family tradition, and bouncing his son’s heir on his knee.

  This marriage would bring the earl the latter, for Faith had shown how she loved children by watching so closely over her younger siblings. He let a smile twist his lips. Her responsiveness to his seduction had also revealed that she would not be a reluctant wife.

  Also, it would fulfill the promises he had made. He would protect Faith by giving her his name. His men had overheard too many rumbles at the tavern about the Cromwells and the favor they held with the British. Also, there were mutters that one of the Cromwells might be playing the British government false and was involved with the smugglers.

  The name that was repeated over and over was Faith’s. Was she smuggling supplies—or, worse yet, a spy? He would not see her arrested for knitting gloves for the rebels, but, if she was involved with the spies, she could hang. Marrying her would mean her returning with him to Philadelphia when his job here was done. Cut off from the spies, she would be safe. That was one promise kept.

  And the other? Inviting his superiors to his wedding might be the very way to gain the mission he needed to obtain that accolade as a hero. Did she suspect that he had suggested this marriage partly so he could return to his task of finding the Continental Congress? He cursed under his breath as he went to the window and looked out, as Faith had.

  He was no better than his father, no better than his brother, who had married the woman Sebastian had professed to love, no better than … He gritted his teeth. He was no better than Leonora to be using Faith this way.

  He knew that. He doubted if Faith would be kept from discovering the truth for long. Would she be able to forgive him? Even if she did, he wondered if he could ever forgive himself.

  Fifteen

  “You are lying!” came a shout from the jail as Sebastian opened the door that led to the small cell where Rooke was being held. He frowned. That was not Rooke’s voice. He had heard the spy speak those words often.

  “Gaylord!” he exclaimed as he walked into the cramped room that faced the barred door.

  His brother spun to look at him, his face taut with fury. “Thank heavens you are here! I have had as much of this lying spy as I can stomach.” He spat on the floor near the door. “That is what I think of your tales, Rooke.”

  Sebastian ignored his brother when he saw Rooke’s smile amid his thick beard. This man was a skilled manipulator. Although Rooke was the prisoner, he kept finding ways to plant ideas in Sebastian’s men’s heads—ideas that vexed them, ideas fueled by rumors, ideas that fueled rumors. Even though Sebastian had rotated his men from guard duty frequently, Rooke seemed to find a weakness within each one with an ease that would have been labeled witchcraft a century before.

  Now, it seemed, Rooke had found a way to infuriate Gaylord. Not that it was a difficult task, because his brother’s pride refused to ignore any insult, whether accurate or not.

  Rooke assumed that wheedling tone that irritated Sebastian, even though he had made every effort to hide it. Apparently Rooke’s keen gaze had noted some reaction. “Ah, Major Kendrick, just the man I had hoped to see.”

  “You won’t say that,” Gaylord returned, “if he has brought your execution order.”

  “But he has not, have you, Major?”

  Sebastian sat on a chair which gave him a good view of the whole cell, which was barely big enough for Rooke to lie down in. “No, I haven’t, but I expect that order to be delivered when my colonel arrives in a few days from Philadelphia.”

  “In time for your wedding?” Rooke returned, as unperturbed as if Sebastian had told him it was snowing again.

  Gaylord snarled, “My brother will denounce your lies if you are bold enough to repeat them to his face.”

  “But I am not lying.” Rooke folded his arms against the bars. “Simply curious why you haven’t shared the glad tidings with your brother, Major. Could it be that you are ashamed of your bride?”

  “No,” Sebastian replied. Terse answers impeded Rooke’s machinations.

  “You really are getting married?” Gaylord asked, facing Sebastian again.

  “Yes.”

  “To whom?”

  Rooke laughed. “Isn’t it obvious? To Cromwell’s daughter.”

  Gaylord choked out, “You are marrying her?”

  “Yes,” Sebastian said in the same even tone. “That is why I sent for you to join us here.”

  “I thought—” Gaylord glanced at the prisoner, then cursed. “Did you foist your heir upon her so that her father insists you wed?”

  “I have my reasons for this match.”

  Rooke laughed. “So Cromwell has finally caught a prize with the bait he has dangled before many British officers before you, Major. From what I have heard, you are not the first to take adva
ntage of that charming bait, but you are the first not to shake the hook.”

  “Rumors seldom hold much truth.” He would not give Rooke the satisfaction of seeing any reaction from him. Rooke’s words matched what Faith had told him of how soldiers had accepted her father’s hospitality and then tried to force themselves on her. Standing, he said, “Gaylord, I would like to speak with you … alone.”

  Rooke’s catcalls followed them as Sebastian opened the door and went out. Hearing his brother’s curses, Sebastian was tempted to caution him. It would be useless. Gaylord would never be able to overlook such comments.

  “Are you out of your mind?” Gaylord demanded as they stood on the frozen ground.

  “To marry Faith? Maybe. No one ever said love was sensible.”

  “Love?” He snorted. “Bed her, and you shall find that you have mistaken love for lust. Again.”

  Sebastian scowled. “Do not confuse her with Leonora.”

  “I do not.”

  “Nor do I.” He paced in a tight circle in front of the door. “The colonel will be arriving for the wedding. If all goes as I hope, he will have made a decision about Rooke. Then we can continue on to York, and take care of that problem.”

  Gaylord shook his head. “I am returning to Philadelphia. I have enough of this cold wind and of damp nights of trying to find a place to sleep. There is a lass waiting for me there who does not expect marriage. Only pleasure and a few gifts to create envy in her friends.” He grasped Sebastian’s arm. “Do not be a fool. Cromwell is ambitious. Give him a bit of what he wants, and he will gladly let you have his daughter without the obligations of marriage.”

  “I have asked Faith to be my wife. To renege now would be dishonorable.”

  Gaylord snorted again. “Honor? What does the pursuit of that get you but disgusting assignments like this? You thought your honor was tarnished when Leonora let you dangle worthlessly after her. So you ran off to become a great war hero.”

  “And you followed me.”

  “Because I was tired of hearing father’s bellyaching about how he was saddled with sons who never would do anything to make him proud.” He laughed. “Also, I could come here and leave old debts and clinging mistresses behind. Before you sent for me, I was on the longest winning streak of my life at the card table. There are two captains and a major who would like to see me meet my end in glorious battle so they do not have to pay me their losses.”

  “I hope it does not come to that.”

  “As I do.” His brother hesitated. “Sebastian, rethink your plans to wed Cromwell’s daughter. It is not too late to change your mind.”

  “It is.”

  “I intend to show you how wrong you are.”

  Sebastian seized his brother’s arm. “Do not do something you will regret, Gaylord.”

  “I will not do anything that I regret.” He strode off into the darkness.

  When Gaylord did not halt, Sebastian growled an oath under his breath. He had thought Gaylord would comprehend why he was doing this.

  Faith entered the byre. She had not planned to come here again … at least until after Sebastian had left to ride toward York. A pulse of sorrow rushed through her, too strong to be ignored. She did not want Sebastian to go. Anywhere along the road, a rebel ambush might be waiting for him.

  “You are late!” came the woman’s annoying voice from her usual place in the shadows.

  “I needed to find a moment when I could slip away from the house. The wedding preparations are complicated by the fact that Sir Richard has offered his house for the ceremony. My mother and I have been very busy.”

  “The wedding is to divert the British, not you.”

  Faith folded her arms in front of her and glared at the shadows. “If you had wanted to keep me from being diverted, you should have suggested something other than a wedding. The bride-to-be is endlessly diverted by all the details.”

  “You must focus on your work now, as you did when you persuaded Major Kendrick to marry you.”

  “I did not persuade him of anything. He asked me to be his wife before I even had a chance to speak to him of it.”

  “Is that so?”

  Trying to gauge the woman’s distorted voice, Faith could not guess what emotion might be in it. Amusement? Surprise? Exasperation?

  The woman went on. “We will attend to Rooke while the British soldiers are busy celebrating your wedding.”

  “Not all of them will be. Sebastian is certain to leave at least one guard at the cell.”

  “You need not worry about all of the soldiers. We will tend to those who are not attending.” A folded paper was tossed onto the floor beside her. “This powder must go into your betrothed’s wine by the time the sun sets.”

  Faith stared at it, but did not move. “No.”

  “What do you mean? He must not be able to give chase.”

  “No, I will not put this into his wine. The last time I was given powders to halt Sebastian’s men from riding about on their duties, one man sickened so much that he almost died.”

  “This is a different powder. You can place it in the wine safely.”

  She wanted to believe the woman, who had never revealed her face. She wanted to see Rooke freed so that he could not reveal her name and those of all the others he knew were helping the rebels. No one else she cared about must be hurt. Picking up the packet, she stared at it in disgust.

  “A sleeping powder only,” said the woman.

  “That is what I was told before.”

  “But I am not Tom Rooke.”

  Faith’s eyes tried again to pierce the shadows. Who was this woman? She was as rabid as Tom Rooke in wanting to see the British defeated, yet there was a gentleness and an intelligence about her that Rooke did not have. He was so determined to punch King George and his men in the nose that he would take any risk to achieve it.

  “You must not turn back from what you need to do now,” the woman said. “If you do, the major will be suspicious, and you may destroy all you have tried to protect.”

  Sixteen

  As she stepped from behind the dressing screen that was set near the hearth, Faith looked across the elegant bedchamber to the chair where she had left the bag that held her knitting. Her parents had obviously been amused when she insisted on bringing it with her to Sir Richard’s house. No one must suspect that tucked inside one ball of yarn was the packet of sleeping powder.

  “You look perfect, Faith,” her mother exclaimed as she pointed the cheval glass next to the wide bed. “That lavender silk is just the right color for you.”

  Touching the wide skirt that was split in the front to show off the silk petticoat that was rigid with starch beneath it, she had to agree with her mother. Swirling in a curving style up both sides of the skirt was ruching far wider than the delicate lace at the square neckline, which was deeper than on her customary gowns. Full sleeves dropped to her elbows, then flared out beyond satin garters into a blizzard of wide, white lace that reached nearly to her wrists. Her single piece of jewelry was a pearl necklace.

  Looking at her finger, she wondered if Sebastian would have a ring to put on it. Everything was happening so quickly. A dream come true. She glanced again at the bag on the chair, hoping its contents would not become a nightmare.

  A knock sounded on the thick door. Faith watched her mother cross the elegant red rug with its pattern of blue flowers that matched the painted walls.

  “Are you ready, Faith?” asked her father, his jovial tone suggesting he had already enjoyed Sir Richard’s wine.

  “Yes.”

  Her mother smiled and kissed Faith’s cheek before Father held out his arm. Her hand trembling as she took it, she went with him out into the hall, the only sound their footfalls and the silken whisper of her gown. As they went down the wide, curving stairs, voices from the largest parlor flowed toward them.

  Faith did not see any signal, but a violin began to play as she and her father reached the doorway. Such a short time ago, she h
ad danced reels here with many of the guests. Not with Sebastian, who had invited her to share a far more intimate dance.

  She looked past the guests to where Reverend McEachern was coming into the room to stand by the hearth. When she saw Sebastian following, she could not keep from staring. She had been so sure that he would wear his uniform for their wedding, as an announcement to their neighbors that the Cromwells were tying their fate even more closely to the king’s will. Instead, he wore a dark coat over white breeches. His waistcoat was a sedate gold that matched the long rows of buttons on either side of his coat and along the thick cuffs on his sleeves. A ruffled shirt closed high beneath his chin and accented his dark hair, which was tied back with a bow of the same gold. The brilliant shine on his knee-high boots rivaled the flame on the candles.

  “Faith?” murmured her father with a tug on her arm.

  Did he think that she had paused because she had changed her mind about marrying Sebastian? As she scanned the room with so many men in their crimson uniforms on one side and her neighbors from Goshen on the other, she could imagine nothing she wanted more than to be in Sebastian’s strong arms.

  She was not sure whether she walked or simply floated toward where Sebastian was smiling at her. When she saw his brother standing beside him, frowning, she hastily looked away. She wanted to pretend that everything was just as it should be, that everyone was as pleased with this match as she and Sebastian were.

  With a welcoming smile, Reverend McEachern began the wedding ceremony. A quiver rushed along her when he spoke of how she and Sebastian were making vows that would last for the rest of their lives—a quiver of anticipation and of fear. The war could tear him away from her so quickly.

  The minister’s voice evaporated as a sweet warmth oozed up along her arm when Sebastian laced his fingers through hers. Sebastian tilted his head toward her and whispered, “Do you want to marry me, Faith?”

  “Yes.”

  “Of your own free will?”

  Startled, she could not keep from glancing at where her father sat, beaming. Father was so pleased with this match. So was she, and her longing to be Sebastian’s wife had nothing to do with politics or the war or grasping for power. It had everything to do with how her heart sang with joy whenever she was with him.