by Gayle Callen
Yet her mind was flooded with curiosity. He’d been a cavalryman, she realized, her pace slowing as her mind settled. Why had a duke—or the heir to a dukedom—bought a commission in the army?
She tried to put away her interest when she reached the bench where her friends sat. Their expressions lightened with welcome upon seeing her, and relief flooded through her.
They were impoverished gentlewomen just like her: Jane Ogden, with a slight limp since childhood, worked as companion to an elderly woman; and Charlotte Atherstone, a chaperone nearing her middling years and well respected for her unmatched ability to keep her charge protected, even as she guided her into a proper marriage.
Faith liked Charlotte’s work best, and aspired to such a position. It felt . . . motherly or sisterly to help a young lady find the perfect man, the perfect life. It was almost what she was doing with Adelia, but she herself didn’t have the vast understanding of the peerage that Charlotte had, her own mother being so disinterested. So they had long discussions where Charlotte talked and Jane and Faith absorbed. Relationships among the peerage could be so complicated, but it was the sort of puzzle Faith enjoyed.
They all had the same afternoon off each week, Wednesday, and had randomly met in Hyde Park when a chill wind had blown off Charlotte’s bonnet, and the younger two women had ended up chasing it. It had been refreshing for all of them to meet like-minded souls. Though they’d only met two months before, they felt almost as close as sisters.
Charlotte smiled serenely as Faith approached. “We feared we would not see you today. So Miss Warburton could do without you after all.”
Faith sat down on the same bench as the two women, trying hard not to look back the way she’d come. If the duke had followed her, she didn’t want to call attention to him—and surely he wouldn’t approach her in front of witnesses.
“Miss Warburton is attending a musicale at her aunt’s this afternoon,” Faith said. “Plenty of relations for her to talk to. But tonight, the family and I will be attending the Earl of Greenwich’s ball, her first engagement of this kind. Miss Warburton is understandably excited. I had much to prepare this morning before I could leave.”
“You are her companion, not her lady’s maid,” Jane said disapprovingly. “I cannot believe they did not bring enough servants to London with them.”
Faith shrugged. “I am grateful for the work, even if it goes beyond what I was told. And I’ve told you how satisfying it will be to me to help the girl find maturity and happiness.”
“But without the extra salary, I’m sure,” Charlotte said, frowning.
Faith was glad for the sympathy of her friends, but she steered the conversation away. They discussed Jane’s elderly employer having her first visit from a relative in more than a month—the three of them occasionally visited the woman together, cheering her up—and how Charlotte’s young lady had received a second inappropriate proposal that had to be turned down.
“She is devastated, of course,” Charlotte said. “She doesn’t understand that these men are beneath the expectations of her family, beneath her in means and in placement in Society. I heard the poor girl crying in her bed last night. She’s afraid she will never find a husband, and doesn’t want to hear that I believe she simply needs be patient. To a fresh young girl, who am I but an aging woman who never managed to marry?”
Though they gave each other sympathetic nods, Faith was having a hard time concentrating. She couldn’t forget the strange meeting with the Duke of Rothford. She wanted to question her friends about him, but how to bring him up without sounding suspicious?
“Who do you think will be at the ball this early in the Season?” Faith asked, feeling foolish and curious all wrapped together. “I heard the Duke of Rothford has come to Town.” So very subtle, she told herself with an inward wince.
Charlotte stiffened. “The Duke of Rothford? What do you know about him, Faith?”
“Nothing much,” she answered truthfully.
“Though he’d been with the army in India for many years, people still whisper about the exploits of his youth,” Jane said eagerly.
Alone much of each day, Jane loved to gossip good-naturedly whenever she had the chance. But then a chaperone or companion needed to know the background of every eligible man her charge might meet.
“I forgot you have only recently come to London,” Charlotte said to Faith. “Perhaps word did not spread so far north about the faithless young man who gambled and spent money on entire wardrobes of garments that he boasted he only wore once or twice before casting them off. He participated in drunken duels, wild horse races, and hosted legendary parties.”
Such a man had tracked down the sister of a fellow soldier to ask how he could help? It made no sense. Unless of course he had other reasons . . .
“And there were women,” Jane said in a breathless, low voice. “Indecent women who became his mistresses—not that he ever had one for long.”
A coldness settled deep in Faith’s bones at the thought of those desperate women cast off at the duke’s whim. “But . . . if he was such a wild young man, heir to the dukedom, why did he purchase a commission?”
“Because he wasn’t the heir,” Charlotte explained patiently. “He had two older brothers.”
“I’m certain his father insisted he join the army,” Jane said firmly. “How else to control such a young man? He could hardly be a minister.”
“But how did he inherit the title with two brothers ahead of him?” Faith asked.
Charlotte’s expression faded into sadness. “A truly tragic story. Last year fever swept the Chamberlin household, and both the duke and his two older sons died within hours of each other, while the youngest son was still in India.”
The three women sat quietly for a moment in solemn thought, even as birds trilled around them and distant voices were raised and lowered as if floating on the wind. Faith understood what it was like to be told that your only sibling was dead. But did Rothford feel the same sorrow as she? How could he—he’d ended up with the title of duke, in control of vast estates occupying far corners of Britain and the world.
While she’d had to make a decision that banished her from home forever.
Chapter 2
But the following Wednesday, just when Faith had practically forgotten about the duke, he was there in Hyde Park again on her afternoon off. He was alone, both hands resting on the head of his cane, and he was watching her.
She saw him from a distance, standing exactly where they’d met the week before. Her heart started to pound—with anxiety, she assured herself. He looked tall and dashing, the sun glinting off the embroidery of his red waistcoat, his striped morning coat emphasizing the width of his shoulders, the narrowness of his waist. Faint amusement curled one corner of his lips, but those blue eyes were full of determination. She almost turned and ran.
But she’d never backed down from a challenge, had met every adversity with acceptance and resolve. Whatever he wanted from her—whatever game he proposed—she would make him understand she wasn’t playing.
Keeping her steps short and ladylike, Faith approached him, then curtsied. “Your Grace,” she said coolly. “I do not think our meeting again is accidental.”
“Indeed it is not, Miss Cooper.”
His voice was rich with assurance and confidence, the voice of a man used to getting what he wanted, used to command. She tried to imagine him in a life-or-death situation and could not.
“Have you given thought to my offer of assistance?” he continued.
She arched a brow. “There was no need to consider what I’d already politely turned down. Did you forget?”
“No, Miss Cooper, but I cannot disregard the fact that because of your brother’s death, you, a gentleman’s daughter, were forced to accept a position of employment. And I feel responsible.”
&
nbsp; She heaved a sigh. “That is entirely wrong of you, Your Grace. Unless you shot the rifle yourself—”
“I might as well have,” he interrupted quietly, soberly.
The words of dismissal died in her throat, replaced by a lump of dismay and sadness. “What are you saying?” she whispered, forgetting that she stood in a public park with a man.
His eyes met hers with directness. “Miss Cooper, I have lived with the knowledge of my mistakes for well over two years now. Guilt and sadness mar my every day.”
“Mistakes?” she echoed.
“I and two of my fellow soldiers made a decision that cost three men their lives, one of them your brother.”
“What decision?” she demanded in confusion. She didn’t know what to think, as everything she’d been through the last two and a half years seemed to mock her with futility. Had her brother died for nothing? It seemed appalling and infuriating, and so terribly, terribly sad.
“The words are indelicate to a lady’s ears,” he began.
“Do continue,” she said between gritted teeth. “Death is an indelicate subject.”
He bowed his head a moment too long. “It is. My explanation will sound as if I’m making excuses, but you wanted the truth. My regiment was escorting prisoners to a detention facility where they were to be . . . questioned.”
“Interrogated, you mean, even tortured,” she said indignantly.
“We believed so, yes.”
“I know how to read, sir, and because my brother was involved, I learned to understand the meaning beneath the pretty words.”
“In times of war, such measures are often necessary,” he explained, “but these men seemed like starving villagers, and were in the company of their women and children. I was convinced that the information supplied by our superiors was wrong, and I persuaded my friends of this. We looked the other way as the prisoners escaped. These same men returned with reinforcements and attacked. Your brother and two other men died because of my judgment.”
“Your judgment?” she said in a choked voice. She tried to put herself in his place, but she couldn’t see starving villagers, only killers who’d taken Mathias away. “More than one person in London has believed your judgment suspect, sir. Do they not hold you accountable now?”
“Strangely enough, Miss Cooper, people seem determined to believe that mistakes happen. That is too easy a way out.”
“And now you try to salve your conscience?” she said, appalled that her voice was shaking. But the enormity of the consequences of this man’s actions seemed to be strangling her. Everything in her life had changed because of him. “Another easy way out?”
“You cannot believe this is easy for me, Miss Cooper.”
There was sadness and weariness in his voice, but she had no sympathy for him. “What do you want from me?” she demanded, her own voice low and hoarse. “Forgiveness? You shan’t have it. My brother is dead, and you are alive and dressed as London’s finest dandy.”
“No, not forgiveness. But allow me to help you in some way.”
She drew her breath in harshly. “Help me? You cannot. You cannot bring my brother back, can you?”
She saw a muscle clench in his jaw, but his voice was mild when he spoke. “No, and I regret that every day. But you are in need of assistance, and I can offer that, in memory of your brother.”
Assistance? She wouldn’t accept that from a man again.
“No, thank you,” she said tightly and swept past him.
And then she saw her friends staring at her in shock, and she had no idea how long they’d been there or what they’d overheard. She hadn’t known them long—what would they think about her? What would they say?
Jane took a limping step toward her. “Faith, that man . . .” she began, before trailing off.
Faith glanced over her shoulder, but saw only the duke’s back as he walked away.
“He is the Duke of Rothford,” Charlotte said slowly, her brows lowered in concern.
“I know. He introduced himself.”
Jane’s mouth sagged open. “Introduced himself . . .”
Faith would not hide this truth from her friends, especially since his behavior had made her look suspect. And he had not asked her to keep his secrets. “He believes his misjudgment in battle caused the death of my brother, and he offers his condolences and his help.”
Charlotte narrowed her eyes. “That is quite the revelation.”
“I refused him, of course. That would only make my position even more precarious.”
Jane licked her lips. “Does he want you to . . . consort with him?”
Both Faith and Charlotte shot her outraged glances.
“Of course not!” Faith insisted. “He cannot possibly help me, and I would not accept.”
“Still,” Charlotte mused, “I am reluctantly impressed that he has a conscience after all.”
“A guilty one,” Faith insisted. “My brother . . . my brother knew he risked his life for the Crown, I know, but to think he might be alive today—” Her voice caught on her grief and her regrets. She and her brother hadn’t been close, with parents who raised them without any discipline, in a manner that seemed uncaring. Mathias had had his friends and his own life, and left her alone. He hadn’t consulted anyone when he’d impulsively joined the army. She’d felt surprised when he remembered them each month with a portion of his earnings. That had made her feelings soften toward him. But his death had put an end to any chance they might reconcile as adults.
“You cannot live in peace wishing the past were different,” Charlotte cautioned.
“I know. But I can put it behind me and move ahead. I wish the duke would.”
Jane cocked her head. “You almost sound as if he’s being persistent.”
Faith hesitated, then admitted, “He is. He tried to offer me his help last week, and seems to want to ignore my wishes in the matter.”
“Oh dear,” Jane breathed, glancing with worry at Charlotte.
“I will ignore him,” Faith insisted. “He will come to realize he must look to God for forgiveness, not me.”
“But . . . he is a duke,” Charlotte reminded her. “They are creatures who believe they can always have their way.”
“Not this time.”
But her friends didn’t look convinced.
Adam watched Miss Cooper with her friends from the concealment of a wooded copse. He logically understood that he’d offered his help—twice—and been refused.
He couldn’t blame her—and he couldn’t accept it, either. Maybe he’d thought it would be simple: settle a sum of money upon her and ease his conscience. But from her every expression, he knew she would not accept that kind of help.
There was something about Miss Faith Cooper that seemed . . . fascinating. Approaching her friends, she’d moved with a calm grace that to him seemed to signify great control. As the three women spoke, their expressions ranged from serious to concerned, and he knew that was because of him. She had no reason to fear him, and neither did they. He would find a way to make her realize he only meant to help her.
Yet she seemed accepting of her life, the life he’d helped bring about. Well, he couldn’t have it.
She was younger than he’d first thought, and he wondered if she took pains to appear other than her true age. Her black hair, already the severe color of night against her pale complexion, was pulled back simply at the base of her neck, no girlish curls above her ears. Her face was thin, her body well hidden in voluminous garments that protected her from the late winter cold of London—or protected her from other things.
But that face—cheekbones that emphasized the hollows beneath, darkly arched brows above pale gray eyes that flashed silver at him when she was angered. She was no great beauty, but her features were arresting when she w
asn’t in control.
But he suspected she was in control much of the time.
She and her friends walked away together, and he watched until they were out of sight. After that, he had no choice but to go home.
Seabrook took his greatcoat, hat, and cane in the entrance hall, which soared up three stories and ended in a domed stained-glass ceiling.
“Good afternoon, Your Grace. Your mother and sisters are in the drawing room preparing for callers.”
“Then I should escape,” he said, trying to get a smile out of the old man.
But Seabrook had been with the family for three generations now, and any humor must have long ago been extinguished.
Adam sighed. “Then I shall be the good son and brother and greet them.”
The drawing room had frescoes on the ceiling and several fireplaces along the length, with groups of sofas and chairs scattered about. It was easy to pause on the threshold and not be seen, since he wasn’t formally introduced.
His mother was still a beautiful woman, with blond hair that had already been so light that the whiter strands of age simply blended in. She was vain enough that she now used makeup to enhance her features, but her maid was so skilled it was hard to discern. She had a generous mouth made for smiling, and Adam’s blue eyes, more beguiling and innocent on her. Not that she was all that innocent anymore, but she played it well. Men still regularly proposed to her, but as a duchess, she reigned supreme. He knew she’d never marry again, though he thought she might dally on the side.
His sister Sophia was the attentive daughter because she knew it was her duty, rather than experiencing a deep connection with their mother. Sophia was blond as well, a shade of honey, her eyes their father’s green, her figure displaying the voluptuous curves she’d inherited from their mother. But her disposition was all her own: sweet-natured and kind, bright with opinions, and always generous with her thoughts. Sophia had written to him faithfully in India, letters he read over and over again in soggy tents while his candle sputtered. Once he’d inherited the dukedom, other women of his acquaintance began to write, but he valued them little compared to his deep tenderness for his sister. Even their older brothers could not fault her, and had let her be during her childhood. She’d been no threat to them, and there was plenty of money for her dowry. Of course, her beauty and disposition would bring the right sort of man to the marriage. Now that Adam was in charge, he would make sure she married the man she wanted, not the one who best suited the family.
