She applauded with the rest of the assemblage after a solo violin performance, although she hadn’t heard a single note. Her mind was whirling with thoughts of the man at her side and how thrilling it was to sit next to a man who treated her with such kindness. And if the snide glances from other ladies in the room were anything to go by, she had managed to capture quite a catch.
She glanced at Westbrook and had to admit that he was particularly dashing tonight. He’d donned a light gray jacket, black trousers, and a bottle green waistcoat that brought out the glints of color in his eyes. It was the ring on his left pinkie finger that always reminded her of who he was and what he would never be to her.
Damn you, Mercy, she thought rather uncharitably. For years she’d been nothing but devoted to her mistress, but after this little escapade, she wasn’t sure she wanted to remain in the Newthyme household. She’d never coveted anything that Mercy had, for they were born into two separate worlds and there was nothing she could do about that. It was just the way of the world, a lucky toss of the dice. But when it came to earning Lord Westbrook’s affection, she couldn’t help but be resentful that for someone she was forced to spend time with, she would have to ignore everything that they had shared when this was all over, pretend as though none of it had ever happened.
And that was what she couldn’t ever forgive.
“You seem rather… distant of a sudden. Is everything all right?”
Faith blinked and forced a smile as she threaded her arm through his. “I couldn’t be better, especially with you by my side.” She actually fluttered her lashes and then chided herself for doing so.
But then something occurred to her.
Mercy had taken this wonderful man for granted, assuming that he would laugh off their little game as a lark, but Faith would ensure that it wouldn’t be so easy to discount his kindness. And it wasn’t as though the viscount would be the only one injured, but the duchess would likely be hurt as well, thinking that she was reconnecting with her great-niece all this time.
No. Faith refused to stand for it. She had never imagined that Mercy was selfish, but she had chosen to lead Faith on this dark path. Mercy had ignored her duties as the true betrothed to Westbrook, so the least Faith could do was make sure that she was the best possible lady the viscount could have ever chosen. She would be witty and charming and everything else that a perfect debutante should be, so that when the truth was finally revealed, she could walk away with somewhat of a clear conscience imaging that she had done no more than what her mistress had asked of her.
She’d like to see Mercy charm her way out of this one.
Chapter Four
The next week passed by in a flurry of anticipation and the most fun Faith had ever had in her entire life. Each day, she would rush downstairs, for she knew there would be a bouquet of flowers waiting for her in the parlor. At this point the duchess was starting to complain that the room was beginning to resemble a hothouse.
However, that didn’t diminish the joy Faith felt in knowing that the flowers were intended for her — and yet, unfortunately, they actually weren’t. The man courting “Lady Mercy” thought he was showering all this attention on his intended, except it wasn’t true.
She winced when she imagined what his response would be when he realized he had done all of this to impress the wrong woman, and a ladies’ maid at that, but then Faith remembered that she was simply doing what she’d been instructed. She pushed aside her conscience and tamped down her guilt and smiled brightly when the viscount came to pick her up for their daily ride through the park. When weather didn’t permit, he merely tarried a bit longer over tea. He’d even charmed the duchess to the point that she didn’t remain with them the entire time, but actually allowed them some privacy to chat.
Faith was quite sure that she had never carried on a conversation with a member of the opposite sex for so long or so openly before, but it seemed as though neither of them ever ran out of things to discuss. From the weather, to politics, and even their childhood experiences, she was thankful that they never got too personal. Either way, it hadn’t taken her long to discover that not only was Westbrook rather intelligent, but she was starting to truly enjoy his company very much.
She also liked the fact that they kept their evening entertainments rather small. They attended two more musicales and an opera, but it was their simple rides that she enjoyed the most.
One such afternoon, as they were trotting down Rotten Row in the phaeton, which, she noted, he had mastered quite well, she wondered aloud, “If you weren’t a viscount, is there anything you would have wanted to do?”
He laughed, the deep, rich sound something she never tired of hearing, and said, “Actually, yes, there is.” He turned to her with a serious expression. “I should have liked to become a vicar.”
Her expression brightened. “Truly?”
“You find that difficult to believe?” he asked with a cocked brow.
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Perhaps a bit.”
“Why is that?” he queried.
“To be honest—” She glanced at his attire, and more pointedly, the way he filled out the material. “You don’t really look like someone who would stand before a congregation and recite from the book of Proverbs. You’re much too handsome.”
His second brow joined the first. “You think I’m handsome?”
Since he seemed genuinely intrigued, she couldn’t really be embarrassed for speaking her mind. “Shouldn’t I?” She forced herself to say it. “We are to be married, so I would imagine it is a promising start to our future that I do.”
He offered a noncommittal response and turned his attention around to the track. After a moment, he said, “What about you? If you weren’t a highborn lady, what should you wish to do?”
Faith glanced at the hands in her lap. “If I were free to do as I please, I would like nothing more than to have a modest cottage in the country where I could have a garden and tend to the chickens…” Her voice trailed off. “Well, I suppose you get the idea.”
“It sounds quaint and quite perfect,” he murmured. Following a brief pause, he said, “I suppose I should also tell you that you’re pretty.”
Her cheeks flamed. “Don’t feel obligated just because I gave you a compliment. I wasn’t hoping for one in return.”
He pulled back on the reins and set the brake. Only then did he turn his focus back on her. With those green eyes warming slightly, he said, “I think you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, Lady Mercy. Both inside and out.”
Faith’s heart warmed, until Mercy’s name intruded like an arrow, striking her happiness bubble. “Faith,” she blurted.
He frowned. “What?”
“It’s my middle name,” she hedged. “It’s what my close friends generally call me.”
“Faith.” He appeared to mull it over. “It actually suits you better.” He offered her a crooked grin. “And if we’re going by middle names, then you must call me Freddie.”
“Freddie?” she giggled. “My, it sounds as if you were a handful when you were younger.”
He winked at her. “You have no idea.” He took up the reins and flicked them, setting them into motion once again.
Faith thrilled at the promise in that statement, although she pushed it aside and asked after his parents.
“My mother is still around of course, but my father died from a heart condition some years ago.”
“I’m so sorry,” Faith said sympathetically. “I had no idea.”
“I don’t speak of it very often. I find it too painful to do so.”
“I understand. My parents are still living, but I don’t get much occasion to see them. They stay plenty busy with five other mouths to feed.”
Faith didn’t even think of her slip of the tongue until the viscount said, “I thought you were an only child?”
“Of course. I am.” She attempted to laugh off her faux pas. “I was referring to the village children, natura
lly. They were practically like relations.”
Westbrook said nothing but steered the phaeton off the path and parked beneath a large oak tree. He jumped down and held up a hand to help her down. “Let’s take a walk.”
Faith thought his request seemed rather sudden, but she didn’t say anything as she gathered her skirts in one hand and accepted his assistance with the other as she stepped to the ground. They walked silently, arm in arm, until they approached the Serpentine.
At the edge of the lake, he glanced down and then picked up a smooth, flat rock. He flipped it in his grasp. “Have you ever skipped stones before?” With that, he flicked his wrist and they watched as it slid across the sparkling, glassy lake four times before it finally sank.
“Impressive,” she murmured. After she chose a rock of her own, she let it fly across the water, pleased when she managed five skips.
He glanced at her in challenge. “That looked like a declaration of war to me.”
Faith accepted the gauntlet that was thrown down, and for the next half hour, they each concentrated on finding the best rocks to skip and trying to invent different ways of besting the other. It was this sort of easy fun that she had enjoyed for the past week. She almost wished that time would slow down so that she could remain here with him forever. But as she continuously reminded herself, it was foolish to wish for something that was impossible.
It didn’t matter anyway, for in a few more days, this fantasy world she’d been living in would end and that was that.
She started when she felt the gentle touch of a hand lift her chin. “What’s wrong? You suddenly appeared thousands of miles away.”
His kindness touched her so deeply that tears sprang to her eyes. “I’m fine.” She moved away from him and went to stand under another English oak. She reached out and touched the bark, rough and natural against her palm.
“Faith.”
She spun around and found that the viscount was close. Too close. She backed up against the tree until she could go no further. She was trapped and yet, he continued to advance. He paused directly before her and reached out to tuck a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. Without taking his eyes from her face, he slowly untied her bonnet and let it fall to the ground.
Faith was breathing heavily by this time. She knew what was going to happen, and yet she couldn’t stop it. In truth, she didn’t want to. Kissing Westbrook was all that she’d wanted for days and by the glimmer in his eyes, she could tell her deepest desire was about to be granted.
“Say my name,” he whispered.
She had to swallow several times before she could speak. “Westbrook.”
He shook his head. “No.”
She thought for a moment and then smiled. “Freddie.”
The green in his eyes sparked like emerald fire as he slowly lowered his head and captured her lips in a kiss that left them both aching for more.
***
Freddie had never tasted anything as sweet as Lady Mercy.
Faith. She certainly tested his that was for sure. He knew it was wrong to take this route and yet, she had seemed so lost and forlorn, that he was willing to damn his own soul to bring back that lovely smile and the glint of mischievousness that he’d come to expect in those captivating brown eyes.
She had opened up to him so much more since that first day when she’d been as nervous as a frightened hare. She’d barely been able to string two words together and yet, now it was as if they’d known each other for years instead of a handful of days. But, he supposed it wasn’t very difficult to converse easily when you were pretending to be someone else.
He admitted that it had caught him off guard when she had opened up about her family, before trying to smooth it over by claiming she was speaking of the village children. There had been too much sentimentality in her voice for him to think it was anything but blood relation. Between that, and asking him to call her Faith, Lady Mercy was turning out to have more layers than he’d originally thought. She spoke almost as if she hadn’t been born to a life of privilege.
She grasped his shoulders, and he took advantage by drawing her closer within the circle of his arms, so that there was nothing separating them but the clothes that they wore. Even then, he could feel the gentle swell of her breasts pressing against his chest. It heightened his desire for her to a sweltering need.
It was with an iron will that he managed to break apart from her. The sight of her slightly parted lips had him swaying back toward her, but he took a step away instead. “We should be going. It’s getting late and we have a ball to attend this evening.”
He hadn’t wanted to go to this blasted event, but Braxton had actually approached him that morning with the invitation personally in hand. He’d handed it to Freddie and said, “The Richmond Ball is one of the highlights of the Season. To ignore this sort of request is to court social ruin. The viscount has gone every time he’s been in London.”
“Then won’t the hostess remember him?” Freddie had asked dryly.
“It’s been two years since Lord Westbrook was in London. Even so, the countess is tactful enough not to note that anything is out of place in such a large, public setting, nor will she have the time to do so. There are usually nearly four hundred guests that attend.”
Freddie rather hoped that they wouldn’t have to do much more than greet their host and hostess, take a turn about the ballroom and have a glass of punch before they could make their escape. Not only did such large crowds make him nervous, but with so many society members in one place, the odds that someone would call him out for a fraud were higher than ever before.
He escorted Lady Mercy back to the carriage. He noticed that she didn’t say much as they returned to the duchess’ residence, and he found that words had deserted him as well. When they stopped and he got down to assist her, his hands lingered a bit longer than usual at her waist. He could feel her stays beneath, but also the soft form of the woman under all those constricting layers. How he yearned to peel them back, one by one…
He clenched his jaw and bowed respectfully. “Until this evening, my lady.”
“Thank you for a pleasant afternoon, Lord Westbrook,” she returned just as politely. And although she smiled, he noticed that it didn’t quite reach her eyes.
He withheld a sigh as she disappeared inside the house. He returned to the phaeton and headed for the viscount’s residence.
Once he was there, he tossed the reins to a waiting groom and rubbed the back of his neck. He was restless and thinking of this evening wasn’t helping. He started to head for his rooms, but changed his mind at the last minute and headed for the study where he poured a generous amount of brandy into a tumbler. He tossed it back and hissed through his teeth as it burned a path down his throat to his stomach. A few more of these and he might not feel anything at all.
It wasn’t until he was pouring his third, that a dry voice said from behind him, “I see it didn’t take you long to start imbibing the master’s spirits.”
Freddie shook his head with a smirk. “It’s called fortification, Braxton.” He swallowed the last drink and found that it no longer stung, and there was a soft, warm swirling sensation in his stomach.
“Just remember that you are representing the viscount as well as this entire household.”
Freddie slammed the glass down and turned all his pent-up anger on his fellow servant. “Trust me. It’s a fact I’ve seldom forgotten.”
He shoved a hand through his hair. God, what was wrong with him? He never lost his temper. Perhaps he was going mad.
“I understand it must be strenuous to act as a member of the aristocracy. I’m not sure I could do it.”
Freddie regarded the butler evenly, surprised that he was actually being empathetic to his plight.
“While I didn’t readily approve of Lord Westbrook’s decision, for it could ruin his chances with the lady, causing her to cry off from their engagement when I firmly believe that he needs to settle down, you know as well a
s I do that servants aren’t meant to hold an opinion.”
Freddie supposed that was the only sort of apology he was going to receive. “I never wanted to agree to this. I should have refused even if it cost me my position.”
“I doubt that would have happened. The viscount seems to rely on your counsel quite heavily.”
Freddie snorted, but at least all of his anger had evaporated. “Perhaps when it comes to his wardrobe. He certainly didn’t want to listen to me on this.”
“I imagine not. He was quite set on going to Brighton.”
“I hope it’s been worth it,” he muttered.
“We shall find out soon enough, I should imagine,” the butler returned. He walked over and put the stopper back on the brandy decanter. “My advice to you now, however, is to go upstairs. I’ll have one of the maids send up a tray while you relax and prepare yourself for the Richmond Ball.”
“Indeed. Let’s hope I don’t trip over my two left feet should the lady take it into her head that she would like to waltz.”
“I’m sure you are merely masking your talent. But if you wish to avoid the dance floor, you might make mention of your ankle and how it has been paining you of late due to an old war injury.”
Freddie frowned. “But I haven’t done anything—” His expression immediately cleared and he clapped the butler on the shoulder. “Braxton, you’re absolutely brilliant.”
The older man smiled faintly. “I have my moments.”
Chapter Five
Faith couldn’t believe that she was the same woman who stared back at her. Anne had certainly outdone herself when she’d pulled her hair up into a regal chignon. A few strands were left down to frame her face and draw attention to her slender neck where a strand of emeralds fell just below her throat and matched the set of earbobs that dangled on her lobes.
Wearing a pale yellow satin gown with an empire waist and delicate cap sleeves that was paired with white, elbow length satin gloves and slippers, Faith was quite sure that a princess couldn’t be more fashionable. She lifted her chin slightly, for this was the first dress that wasn’t handed down to her from Mercy’s cast offs. The duchess had actually surprised her with the gift when she’d returned from her outing with Westbrook.
The Brunette Who Stole His Heart Page 4
