Redemption of the Duke

by Gayle Callen

  Not worry? Faith thought. Of course she was worried. Adam was controlling, but she was positive his aunt would have told him where Faith was going. Why did he feel the need to watch out for her? And he’d started sending a footman with them wherever they went. Was something else going on, something he hadn’t told her?

  No surprise there, she thought with bitter exasperation.

  “Oh, ma’am,” Ellen said, glancing at her, “you have a visitor.”

  And she hadn’t said that right away? “Who is it?”

  “Lady Sophia. She’s in the front parlor.”

  The family assault had begun. But Faith wasn’t about to cower behind her bunker. She descended to the parlor on the first floor and found Sophia looking somber, staring out the window—at their footman?

  She turned when Faith entered, but her smile didn’t lighten her sad eyes. “Faith. Oh, Faith.” She pressed a handkerchief to her mouth and blinked furiously.

  “Don’t cry,” Faith said gently, crossing the room to take her hand. “You didn’t do anything.”

  “Yes, I did! If you only knew—”

  “You agreed to walk in on us alone, so we’d be compromised.”

  Her watery green eyes went wide. “You knew?”

  “I guessed and he confirmed. You only did what your brother asked. He can be very persuasive.”

  “You sound so bitter. Oh, Faith.” Sophia covered her eyes with the handkerchief.

  It was strange how much Faith wanted to console her, when Sophia really had behaved inappropriately.

  “I just knew how much he loved you, and—”

  “Did he tell you that?”

  “No, of course not. He would never speak freely of his feelings. Not the way we were raised. I was young, and my older brothers left me alone, but they tortured Adam, picking on him, ridiculing him from the time he was a little boy, and they were so much older—old enough to know better. Adam learned not to show he liked anything, because it would be taken away or ruined.”

  “I had heard that your brothers resented your father’s focus on his new wife and younger children, but I guess I didn’t realize they’d started tormenting him so young.” She’d pretty much imagined that a child of a duke must have a magical upbringing, even if he didn’t get along with his brothers.

  “As a third son, he knew he’d have to support himself, but our father refused to believe that his other sons would ever stoop so low as to cut off their brother.” Sophia sighed. “Papa was always quick to believe the worst, once my brothers convinced him of Adam’s wild ways. I was young, but even I could see Adam acted out just to be noticed, just to matter, because once upon a time Papa had adored him. And my brothers made that all go away.” Sophia gave her a hesitant glance. “I don’t know that telling you all this matters. I just know that it won’t be easy for him to be open with anyone. I had thought, at last, he’d been able to do that for you.”

  “No, he never even came close. It wasn’t about love or vulnerability. It was about guilt and power.”

  “No, Faith, not power, never that. What does he care about power? He’s the duke now, and I’m not sure he really even cared about that. But guilt? I don’t know.”

  “If it’s not power, why is he having me followed?”

  Sophia looked confused. So Faith pointed out the window.

  “Don’t you see your footman?”

  “Oh. No, I didn’t even see him. I don’t understand.”

  “I don’t either. But I don’t want to talk about that anymore. Talk to me about something else, anything else.”

  “Then . . . you forgive me?”

  “I do.”

  A tear slipped down her cheek and she wiped it away. “Thank you. Even though I don’t deserve it, thank you. But what else can I tell you that even matters?”

  “What about Mr. Percy?”

  Sophia’s smile turned brittle. “I am done trying to make him love me.”

  “But you were so hopeful!”

  “But I was foolish and I should have simply held to the truth. Mr. Percy visited to gently break the news that Lord Shenstone might be misleading me, since he was courting another woman. I’m almost certain he meant Emmeline, but he didn’t want to hurt me with it. As if I haven’t noticed Lord Shenstone’s fascination with her.”

  Faith blinked in astonishment. She hadn’t noticed at all, but then she might have been distracted . . .

  “And with all the mistakes I’ve recently made,” Sophia continued, “I couldn’t lie anymore, so I told him the truth, that I’d asked Lord Shenstone to show an interest in me when Mr. Percy was around, to make him jealous.”

  “What did he say?” Faith asked, curious in spite of her own melancholy.

  “He seemed truly surprised I would do something like that for him. But it didn’t matter. He said he could not in good conscience court my favor, and did I not see from your situation how marrying above one’s station could only make . . .” Her voice faded away. “Oh, Faith, I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I’m sorry to set such a bad example to Mr. Percy. And naturally you could not tell him that the difference in rank had absolutely nothing to do with our problems.”

  “Well, no, I would never reveal your private business. In some ways, I’m coming to the realization that if Mr. Percy believes he cannot take the pressure of our different backgrounds, then perhaps he really is not the man for me.”

  She was trying to be strong, but Faith could see the hurt underneath, the fear that Sophia worried she wasn’t worth fighting for.

  At least Faith didn’t have to worry about that. Adam fought too hard for her.

  “Enough about me,” Sophia said. “You haven’t asked about Adam.”

  “You know I won’t. I only left this morning.”

  “He avoided us all at breakfast, when Aunt Theodosia told us you were gone.”

  “I imagine the duchess was quite satisfied.”

  “You know she cannot bear anything harming her son,” Sophia chided. “She seemed worried about him. And Marian—she worried about how to tell Frances.”

  “Well, at least they weren’t gleefully dancing a jig together.” She blanched. “I’m sorry to speak of your mother this way.”

  “Pshaw,” Sophia said, sounding like her aunt. She took Faith’s hand. “What will you do now, Faith? Please tell me you’ll think and maybe discuss things with Adam, and then come home.”

  “It’s not my home, Sophia,” she said gently. “It’s his. I don’t know what I’m going to do. I feel . . . betrayed.”

  But Faith couldn’t forget about the man Adam had watching Mrs. Evans’s home, and by the evening, when even Adam hadn’t called on her, she sent a missive to Aunt Theodosia to meet somewhere. To her surprise, the lady came over immediately.

  After the two old women exchanged the day’s gossip, the lady of the house retreated so they could be alone.

  “Aunt Theodosia, in no way did I mean you to rush over here,” Faith said.

  “I know, my dear, but I’ve spent the day concerned about the two of you, and I could not stay silent another minute, not when Adam is so worried, but determined to be strong and silent and protect you.”

  “And that footman outside is supposed to do it?”

  “Ah, I knew that would not get past you. Yet you did not ask Adam directly.”

  Faith sighed. “I am not ready to speak to him.”

  “Meaning you’re afraid you will be quite overpowered with emotion.”

  She lifted her chin. “And I don’t want to be, so I will give myself time.”

  “To stop loving him?”

  Faith said nothing.

  “He will be angry I told you this,” Aunt Theodosia said, “but he’s still not thinking clearly. He’s been receiving a
nonymous notes about your past, almost since you first took the position with me.”

  Faith’s mouth dropped open.

  “He didn’t want to worry you, knew you’d probably flee if whatever is in your past came to notice. He did not tell me your secrets, of course, nor would I want him to.”

  “My God, everything I feared has come to pass,” Faith said, finding her voice at last. She felt ill. “My sins are haunting me, threatening all of you.”

  “No one knows your sins, my dear. No one has come forward and done anything, except try to hurt Adam, to convince him to cast you off. He wouldn’t back down, has vowed to figure all of this out.”

  “But he told you rather than me?”

  “He did not tell me willingly. And what would your response have been if he’d told you?”

  Faith stiffened. “It doesn’t matter—it would have been my response, my choice.”

  “And he was convinced you’d flee, possibly putting yourself in danger.”

  “Instead he exposed all of you to terrible scandal. If you only knew—”

  “I don’t want to know. We’ve all made mistakes, and apparently, yours didn’t bother Adam.”

  She flinched. How many men could have accepted that the woman they were involved with had been a mistress? She could not fault Adam for that.

  “But his mistakes bothered you,” Aunt Theodosia continued.

  “He manipulated me into marriage! No one wants to be forced against their will.”

  “I don’t remember seeing a gun.”

  Faith gasped. “I couldn’t let him suffer for dishonoring me—you know that.”

  “And he didn’t want you to suffer, knowing there was someone out there who wanted to hurt him by hurting you.”

  Faith let out her breath. The battle wasn’t with Aunt Theodosia, but with Adam. “Does he have anyone he suspects?”

  “He suspected everyone who knew you, and has gone to great pains to rule many out.”

  “How many people do I know who . . .” Her voice faded off. “Timothy,” she breathed, then immediately wished she could take it back.

  “You know that man better than anyone. Should you discuss him with Adam?”

  “I’ll think about it,” Faith said after a long moment.

  “Good.” Aunt Theodosia braced her hands on her knees to rise, before finding her cane. “Do let me know what you decide, won’t you?”

  After the old woman had left, Faith sat still, the last few weeks rushing over her as if she could see them in a new light. She already knew he’d looked into her past, knew what she’d done, and still wanted to marry her, to protect her. But he’d risked his family with this anonymous threat. He’d done that—for her. It didn’t make right the wrongs he’d done, but she couldn’t stay here, practically a prisoner with a guard, and do nothing to save his family from the scandal of her past.

  She had to go back. Though he’d manipulated her, he was also willing to put his family’s reputation on the line for her. And she wasn’t certain what that meant.

  The next morning, Adam ate breakfast with his family, who cast sidelong glances at him as if waiting for him to explode. But no one mentioned Faith.

  Until Sophia dropped the napkin from her hand and cried, “Faith!”

  He turned around and she was standing there, dark hair demurely caught back as if she hadn’t been wild in bed with him not two nights ago. He stood up. She was wearing one of those old shapeless gowns, too, rebuking everything he’d done for her.

  And she looked—wonderful. The ache that had not left him since their argument eased the smallest bit. She’d come home to him. Maybe she even loved him.

  Because he loved her. Every moment without her had been full of the never-ending fear that he’d ruined any chance to show her how much.

  But she didn’t look at him. She looked at Sophia, who was softly crying as if at the return of the sister she’d always wanted. Faith smiled at her, then went around the table and gave her a bolstering hug.

  “Faith!” Aunt Theodosia said a bit too heartily. “How is my dear friend, Mrs. Evans? I do hope you were able to be of help with her speeches.”

  As if Faith had only gone off on an errand of assistance.

  “She is well, Aunt,” Faith said in a quiet voice. She nodded to his mother. “Ma’am.”

  And to his surprise, the dowager duchess said, “It is good to see you, Faith. It has been rather quiet without you.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  As if she couldn’t help herself, Faith shot him a questioning glance, which he felt like an arrow, but he managed to give only an imperceptible shrug.

  Marian said nothing, busily eating as if she had far too much to do that day than waste her time on reunions. If it was a reunion. He found he couldn’t let himself hope for that, not with the tension and coolness Faith gave off like steam from one’s breath on a winter morning.

  “Adam, may I speak with you privately?” Faith asked.

  At last, the crux of the matter. He walked with her across the entrance hall, light shining through the stained glass far above as if the day would be beautiful.

  Or maybe it would be the day his marriage ended. But he wouldn’t give up without a fight.

  “Faith!” Frances leaned over the balustrade on the next floor up.

  Faith’s smile bloomed so beautifully that his breath caught at the splendor. She would make a wonderful mother. Maybe she already carried his child. He’d worked at it often enough in just a few days. Then she’d have to stay with him.

  But he didn’t want her to feel like that, forced and unwilling. He wanted her devotion and love. He wanted the Faith who met his passion in bed, who challenged him to make a better man of himself.

  Instead, she’d seemed cold and distant until Frances escaped her governess and came running down the stairs to throw her arms around Faith.

  “I’ve missed you, Aunt Faith,” the girl said, her words smothered in Faith’s bodice.

  “I was only gone a day,” Faith said, chuckling.

  Keeping her arms around her, Frances looked up. “It was a long day, and I was afraid you weren’t coming back.”

  Faith kissed her brow. “I’m sorry to frighten you. We’ll talk later. Off to your lessons.”

  Frances didn’t even pout, just waved good-bye and ran back up the stairs.

  In his study, she didn’t bother taking a seat, only turned to face him and spoke coolly. “Don’t think I’ve forgiven you. I only returned because your aunt told me about the anonymous notes you kept from me.”

  He grimaced. “I didn’t want you hurt like this.”

  “Adam, you are not to decide what truths hurt me. I’ve told you that over and over.”

  “This is different,” he insisted. “You are my wife.”

  “And they are your family,” she said, pointing to the door. “You risked scandal on their good names for me.”

  “I’d do it again. They’d expect it of me.”

  She arched a brow.

  “Most of them,” he conceded. “So tell me—what should I have done? What would you have done?”

  “I would have discussed it with you immediately.”

  “Would you?” he scoffed. “If it would have sent me fleeing alone into danger?”

  She inhaled, then let it out.

  “Now you see my dilemma. I know you, Faith, much as you think I don’t. What if I couldn’t have found you? What if this blackguard did?”

  “From what Aunt Theodosia told me, he hasn’t exactly threatened me.”

  “The notes are threatening enough, and they’ve escalated in tone.”

  “Let me see them.”

  He spread them out on the desk, and side-by-side, they looked at them: the rough, pl
ain paper, the crude scrawl that made guessing the sex of the blackguard impossible.

  Faith is lovely. Wherever she goes, you can’t stop looking at her. But I’m watching you.

  She’s still there, in your home. You don’t know anything about her. Your obsession is showing.

  You risk much to have her—she’s not worth it. I know what she is, what she’s done.

  You’ll be sorry when everyone finds out your new duchess is a whore.

  He saw her face pale as she put a hand over her mouth. But she didn’t turn away, even leaned closer as she read them all again.

  “Until the last note,” she said slowly, “it’s all mostly aimed at you, isn’t it, even though it’s about me?”

  He nodded. “I believe someone is enjoying having power over me. But I haven’t gratified them by giving in.”

  “And getting rid of me.”

  He met her stare with a confident one.

  “Instead, you married me,” she mused, without any emotion showing. “When did this last one come?”

  “A week or so before the wedding.”

  “You risked this person revealing my secret.”

  “I know. I’ve risked much from the beginning. What would you have done differently? Should I have sent you away? I could have taken you away on the wedding trip, but that would have simply delayed whatever was going to happen. I felt I needed to be here.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “So whom do you suspect?”

  “Shenstone has been so angry with me that I confronted him yesterday about it. He denied any role in it, and I believe him. Turns out, he’s been angry over Emmeline’s ‘attachment’ to me. He thought he was making progress courting her, then I returned and apparently ruined it all,” he said with faint sarcasm. “We’ve settled our differences. Well, except about Sophia, but he wouldn’t reveal her confidences.”

  Faith waved a hand. “Sophia asked him to pretend to court her to make Mr. Percy jealous. It didn’t work, so she ended the charade.”

  Adam stared at her.

  “I know it was foolish, but who are we to pass judgment? Back to your suspects.”

  He released a heavy sigh. “There’s Ellen—”