by Gayle Callen
In fact, she could see Lord Shenstone watching Rothford and Lady Emmeline, his face impassive.
Two days later, Wednesday morning, as Adam’s valet was helping him dress, he thought back to his conversation with Faith at the dinner party. He hadn’t been able to get it out of his mind. Every time he saw her hurrying through the corridors, barely making eye contact and giving him a polite smile, he’d gone back to that conversation again. Though she’d been open about the problems of her adolescent years, something had seemed . . . off. She’d been vague and uneasy when conversing about the time between Cooper’s death and taking a position with the Warburtons. Of course, her personal life was her own, but . . . was she embarrassed about something?
Or was he simply so curious, he’d stopped pretending he could ever treat Faith with the right detachment?
Just as he was tucking his shirt into his trousers, someone knocked on the door with an urgent beat. The valet, a quiet man who seemed intimidated about serving a duke, opened it and stepped back.
Seabrook was there, breathing deeply.
“Seabrook?” Adam said, going to the old man. “Are you well?”
“You received another letter at the servants’ entrance, Your Grace. Cook tried to stop the boy—and it was a different boy, by the way—but he failed.” Seabrook actually put a hand on the wall to steady himself.
Adam didn’t waste any time on the letter, but ran past him, calling over his shoulder. “Did he head for the street?”
“Yes, sir. Dirty tan trousers, black patched coat, cap.”
Adam raced down the corridor—two maids flattened themselves against the wall—and took the stairs that outlined the entrance hall. A footman gaped at him.
“Open the door, Hales!” he called, before reaching the landing.
Hales hurried to do so, and Adam barely slowed his speed as he crossed the threshold. He ran down the pavement, through the gate, and found dozens of people moving past in both directions, dressed in all manner of styles.
But nowhere could he see a little boy.
He swore silently to himself and nodded curtly at a man who tipped his hat to him. The woman on his arm stared wide-eyed at Adam, and he realized he’d come out in only his boots, trousers, and shirtsleeves. He turned around and walked sedately back inside.
More servants were gathered in the hall to stare at him, joined by Aunt Theodosia and Faith.
“What is it, boy?” his aunt asked, as if he were eight and caught where he shouldn’t be.
“I tried to catch a messenger,” he said, not pausing as he ascended the stairs again.
“A messenger?” she called up to him, sounding disbelieving.
He didn’t look back. Seabrook was waiting in his bedroom, the valet gone.
“I didn’t catch him,” Adam said.
Without a word, the old man handed over the note, on the same rough paper.
“Thank you, Seabrook. You may go.”
Feeling tense, Adam broke open the seal and read:
She’s still there, in your home. You don’t know anything about her. Your obsession is showing.
He sank down in a chair near the hearth and read it again. What the hell did this person hope to accomplish? The last message was about him keeping away from Faith, but this one seemed more personal—
As if the anonymous writer knew something about Faith that he didn’t.
He pulled out the first letter from his drawer and compared them: the same paper, the same scrawled, almost illegible hand. He couldn’t even tell whether it was a man or a woman.
And then he had a thought—was this an actual threat toward Faith?
Once again, a letter had come after an event with dozens of people. He hadn’t danced with Faith to call attention to her, but they had talked almost privately together in the parlor.
If the letter writer thought he’d release Faith from his service, send her away, then that person was a fool. It was only making him more curious, more determined to stick close to her and make sure she wasn’t targeted just because she knew him.
But if it was truly about Faith, he had to know. He would contact Raikes again and send him north to her village, to find out anything in her background that could harm her.
Chapter 13
After luncheon, Faith was about to leave for her weekly trip to see the Society of Ladies’ Companions and Chaperones, when she heard Frances’s raised voice.
“But Miss Hervey promised me I could go out!”
Faith had never heard the young girl raise her voice. She walked forward slowly to find the duchess seated in her morning room, frowning at her granddaughter.
“Now, Frances, Miss Hervey is ill today, and the cool breeze will make her worse. Do return to the nursery and occupy yourself with your schoolwork.”
“But today is our outing! Mother already left so I can’t go with her and—” She broke off, took a deep, shaky breath, and hung her head in dejection.
“Excuse me, Your Grace,” Faith said cautiously.
The woman looked up and frowned. “Yes, Miss Cooper?”
“It is my afternoon off. Lady Frances could accompany me on a walk to the park. It would be no trouble. As long as you think her mother wouldn’t mind.”
The duchess didn’t even hesitate. “Excellent idea. Frances, you are lucky Miss Cooper offered. You will follow her direction in all things, of course.”
Frances gave Faith a slow growing smile. “Of course, Miss Cooper. Thank you so much.”
Faith was glad Frances had finally gotten over her shyness where she was concerned. She held out a gloved hand, and the girl took it. Soon they were walking out the front door.
“Where shall we go, Miss Cooper?”
“I have some friends to meet in Hyde Park.”
The girl was quiet for several minutes, until at last she said, “Why don’t you have a husband, Miss Cooper?”
Faith had known little girls have questions, but that was a discerning one. “I never met a man to love.”
“Mother says sometimes if we have a fondness for a man, it’s a good place to begin.”
“That’s true, but that fondness should be quite strong, don’t you think?”
“And you never felt that?”
“It is a shame, but no.” How to tell a young girl that marriage was based on so much more than love?
“It must have been your dowry,” Frances said, nodding thoughtfully.
Faith blinked at her but didn’t know what to say.
“It cannot have been you, because you’re very nice, and you’re pretty.”
“Why . . . thank you, Lady Frances.”
They walked along companionably until they entered the gates of the park.
“What shall we do?” Frances asked. “Hunt for frogs?”
“One of my favorite things ever, when I was your age. But first, I must say hello to the friends I came here to meet.”
Jane and Charlotte were waiting on their usual bench, both full of smiles as they were introduced to Lady Frances.
“I know you all will talk,” the little girl said solemnly. “I need to look for frogs on the Serpentine. Might I go, Miss Cooper?”
“Always stay where I can see you, Lady Frances.”
When the little girl was a distance away, Charlotte said, “And now you are a governess? You seem to take on more positions everywhere you go.”
Faith winced. “Lady Frances’s governess was ill today, and she wished to go outside. I didn’t think you’d mind.”
“Oh, we don’t,” Jane said, watching the girl squat near the bank of the small lake. Wistfully, she said, “I would love to see young children more.”
They were all spinsters, and for a moment, the air about them was solemn with unfulfilled d
reams. But they were also practical women, Faith knew, who did not dwell on what they could not have.
“Faith,” Charlotte said, “I saw you at the Lady Ludlow’s dinner party the other night, but you did not see me.”
Faith turned to her, wide-eyed. “But . . . though there were many people, how could I have missed you? Oh, please forgive me, Charlotte.”
“You did not look yourself—I almost didn’t recognize you.”
She looked down at Faith’s shawl, which covered another elegant gown.
Faith sighed. “Lady Sophia insisted I wear her cast-off garments. I do not quite feel myself in them.”
“You look lovely,” Jane said brightly.
Charlotte gave her an irritated glance, and Jane bit her lip.
“Well, it certainly isn’t as wrinkled as her last gown,” Jane insisted, “but your hair . . . dear Faith . . .”
“I know, I know. I think the bonnet is barely holding it in place. My maid, Ellen . . . she is trying, but . . . she is a sullen, strange creature, and I wish to give her the benefit of the doubt.”
“You looked better at the dinner party,” Charlotte said impassively.
“Lady Sophia insisted her maid work with me, to show Ellen. I do not think the instructions have yet taken.” She touched Charlotte’s gloved hand. “Please tell me you forgive me for not greeting you at the dinner party.”
“I forgive you, but there is something you are too close to see—I watched the Duke of Rothford that night.”
Faith swallowed, trying to look serious rather than worried.
“I have heard . . . stories of his youth. Much as he’s been a soldier for many years, it seems his wisdom is still lacking—or else he has missed our fair sex far too much. He kept you in the refreshments room for far too long, talking.”
Faith winced. “I know, but it’s hard to escape without being rude. He’s a nice man.”
“He has designs on you,” Charlotte said boldly.
Jane gasped. “Oh, Charlotte, that cannot be!”
Faith leaned toward her friend. “Any man might sin within his heart. It’s how he acts that matters. He is an honorable man, Charlotte. He cares about the good opinions of his mother and aunt and sister.”
“Does he?”
When Adam returned from his business meeting, he felt satisfied that he would soon find out the truth about Faith, and know that this anonymous blackguard was fomenting trouble for trouble’s sake. He found his mother, aunt, sister, and sister-in-law in the family drawing room, awaiting their callers.
He frowned. “Where is Miss Cooper?”
“This is her afternoon off,” Aunt Theodosia said, spectacles perched on her nose as she looked up from her needlework. “She took Lady Frances to the park with her.”
“I beg your pardon?” Marian cried, standing up at the piano bench. “You did not tell me this. Why is she not with her governess?”
“Because her governess is ill,” Adam’s mother said languidly, even as she smiled at her son. “The child was quite happy to be out of doors. Did I do wrong, Adam?”
“Of course not, Mother,” he said. He’d worried that this blackguard was subtly threatening Faith—but he’d thought he had time to ensure her safety, to talk to the staff about tightening the security of Rothford Court, to make sure she never went out alone. He was a fool.
Marian drew herself up. “I will have to speak to Miss Cooper about the familiarities she takes upon herself.”
“Oh, Marian, do sit down,” Aunt Theodosia said with exasperation. “I don’t see you taking your daughter for a walk when she wants one.”
“Of course I do!”
Adam headed for the entrance hall. “I’ll leave you ladies to your callers.”
He didn’t bother sending for his horse, knowing that would take time he didn’t have. Instead, he marched quickly toward Hyde Park. He didn’t mean to frown, but at least a dozen people practically jumped out of his way.
He knew right where to find Faith, and when he saw her with her friends in the distance, relief moved through him and he slowed down. He could never imagine her hurt, not ever again. He realized she was becoming more and more important to him.
He might have tried to stay out of sight, but the chaperone, already frowning at Faith, spotted him with her sharp eyesight, and drew herself up aloofly. She must have said something to Faith, who whirled about until she saw him, then her blush was clearly visible.
As he approached, he bowed his head. “Good afternoon, ladies.”
Faith’s younger friend was wide-eyed as she gazed up at him, but not the elder.
Faith looked between him and her friends with embarrassment. “Your Grace, allow me to introduce Miss Charlotte Atherstone and Miss Jane Ogden. Ladies, His Grace, the Duke of Rothford.”
Both women came to their feet and curtsied. Miss Ogden touched Miss Atherstone’s arm as if she were slightly unbalanced, and then he noticed she held one leg stiffly.
“A pleasure to meet friends of Miss Cooper’s,” Adam said.
“Your Grace,” Faith said, “is something amiss?”
“It seems my mother should have consulted Lady Tunbridge before allowing Frances to leave the house.”
“Oh, dear, she was upset?”
“Mildly.”
“Then I shall take the child home at once.”
“Where is she?” he asked, frowning. Damn, was he going to have to worry about every woman in his household until he solved this mystery?
“Down by the Serpentine,” she answered, then spread her hands, “catching frogs.”
“Ah, a favorite pastime. You enjoy your conversation a while longer, and I’ll see what my niece is up to.”
He walked away, then smiled when Frances looked up from the embankment and shouted, “Uncle Adam! Come look what I found!”
He made all the appropriate remarks about the frogs’ colors and jumping abilities, but he kept glancing at the ladies on the bench—her Society for Ladies’ Companions and Chaperones, if he remembered correctly. He would have liked to call them that to see their reaction, except that would have been betraying a confidence.
The older woman didn’t trust him—that was easy to see. She was watching him even now, saying something serious to Faith.
Warning her about him?
Six years ago, he’d been the kind of young man every chaperone warned their charge about—bold, reckless, wild, uncaring about a woman’s reputation. He’d taken pride in it. But now he didn’t want Faith to believe the worst of him, wished she could know he’d do anything to keep her safe.
He looked around. Was someone watching them even now?
And then Frances plopped hands-first into the edge of the Serpentine, wetting herself up to the elbows. She glanced wide-eyed at him, then burst into laughter, and he couldn’t help grinning.
He didn’t know if that made him the stuff of good fatherhood, but he wanted to give it a try someday soon.
An heir and all that, he told himself, not looking at Faith.
He helped Frances to her feet and brought her back to Faith, who was already standing.
“Oh, dear, the frogs pulled you in, did they?” she asked.
Frances giggled, and Adam couldn’t help smiling from her to Faith. Until he saw her “chaperones” frowning at him.
“We should go,” Faith said.
If it were any other time, he would tell her to stay while he took Frances home, but she couldn’t be alone anymore.
“I will be happy to escort Frances, Your Grace. Please do not trouble yourself.”
“I’ll walk with you, Miss Cooper. I have business at home.” He nodded to her friends. “Ladies.”
She waved but it was halfhearted, and he wondered again what they’d been saying to
her. He didn’t like anyone making her unhappy. But of course, he regularly did a bang-up job of that himself.
“I’m sorry to have made Lady Tunbridge cross,” Faith said, then gestured toward Frances, who was joyfully wringing out her sleeves as she walked ahead of them. “And this won’t help.”
“I was watching her for the water mishap. She was perfectly clean and dry until I arrived.” He glanced over his shoulder, where her two friends had already leaned their heads together to talk. “Why do I have the feeling I have not made a good impression on them?”
“You are paying too much attention to me,” she said softly. “People are watching.”
He stiffened, almost catching her arm to stop her, but remembering himself in time. “What do you mean people are watching?”
“Your Grace, I am but a companion in your household. I know you feel responsible for me because of my brother, but you’ve done what you wished, and you need to let it go. People are noticing the inappropriateness of your . . . attention to me.”
If only she knew the depth of that. And he wanted to make her happy, to step back as she wanted, but now he couldn’t. And he couldn’t tell her why, not the real truth.
When he didn’t speak, only frowned and continued to walk with his hands behind his back, she stole a glance at him.
“Sir? Do we have an understanding?”
He sighed. “I don’t know if we do. I cannot forget that you are in this situation because of me. I’ll do what I must to help and protect you, but I’ll try to be more subtle about it.”
She pressed her lips together and narrowed her eyes. “I cannot change your mind?”
“No, you cannot.” He wanted to tell her she’d have to travel with a footman at all times now, but suspected that would sound better coming from his aunt—not a cowardly thought at all, he told himself.
Trying to lighten the mood, he said, “Though this is none of my business, I did like the look of your hair at the Ludlow dinner party the other night. Why the extremes?”
She rolled her eyes. “Sir, my hair is not your concern.”
“It is when my servant is styling it.”
“I’ve told you already, Ellen is new to this. I know she is a servant, but I wish to have a decent relationship with her. Things are slowly improving.”
