As Faith had peeled back the paper and the gown was revealed, tears had stung her eyes, true gratitude rising up within her — until she recalled that it was a present for the lady’s great-niece, not some poor village girl who happened to find suitable employment in a proper household.
However, she’d kept her emotion in check until the lady had departed. Only then had she allowed her despondency to take over, the tears flowing down her cheeks unheeded. Faith was glad that she had to endure this horrible charade for but a few more days. She was ready to move on with her life and forget about the viscount, the duchess, and everything else related to the aristocracy. In truth, when it was all over, she might just go back home and get a job as a local serving maid. At least there she would feel as if she belonged. And who knew? Someday a drifter might enter her tavern and she could get the cottage that she’d always wanted. Or she could end up as the dreaded spinster. At this moment, either option would be preferable to the current misery she was feeling.
But since her role was not yet complete, she straightened her shoulders and headed downstairs when a footman arrived at her door and told her that the viscount was waiting for her in the foyer.
She was at the landing, preparing to descend when he glanced up and saw her. The look in his eyes was so… heated that she had to hold on to the wooden bannister for support. Even then her legs were shaking so badly she could hardly stand upright.
Somehow she managed to make it to the first floor without tumbling down the stairs and when she joined Freddie, he took her hand and kissed the top of her knuckles. She could feel the contact through her gloves and it sent a thrill through her. “You look enchanting, my dear.”
She blushed, for it was the first time he’d referred to her as anything that sounded remotely intimate. But then, when he’d kissed her quite thoroughly against that oak this afternoon and called her by her actual name, it had been pure bliss.
The duchess entered the foyer at that moment, looking very sharp and every inch the highborn lady in her dark purple silk dress and diamond jewelry. “Your Grace.” Freddie didn’t even bow, but put a hand to his heart as if the mere sight of her struck him. “You are a vision.”
She laughed, but tapped him on the arm with her fan. “Enough of this shameless flattery. Shall we go? We are late enough without being obscene and I should like it to remain that way.”
The carriage slowed a short time later, although it wasn’t due to the usual London traffic, or the slight bit of drizzle that coated the streets, but the row of vehicles that were lined up to drop their passengers off at the front door of the Richmond townhouse. It was two short blocks away from where the duchess lived and would have likely been faster to walk, but of course, the aristocracy would never do something so asinine.
They finally alighted from the carriage only to wait in the receiving line for another quarter hour at least. Faith gathered her courage as she got her chance to greet their host and hostess. She waited for recognition to strike, but when they both appeared completely oblivious that there was anything amiss, she released her first full breath. Of course, they weren’t out of the woods yet, so to speak. There was still the chance that someone could accuse her of being a savage interloper.
But as Faith looked over the railing at the overcrowded ballroom, she had to wonder if that was a concern at all, for there was such a sea of faces below that she couldn’t have even picked out Mercy herself if she had been there.
“It’s quite the crush, isn’t it?” The duchess said from beside her, although it wasn’t a whisper. She nearly had to yell to make herself heard between the chatter of the guests and the music from the orchestra.
Faith could do no more than nod, for she had never imagined such events actually took place. She would hear Mercy complain about her aching feet the few times her parents had dragged her to London, but it generally didn’t last long. They preferred early country hours to the late nights of town.
She leaned toward the viscount. “I heard there’s a card room about somewhere—”
He looked at her sharply, cutting off her words. “What makes you think I should wish to leave your side?”
She shrugged a shoulder. “No reason. I just thought if you got bored—”
Again, he cut her off, but this time with a snort. “With you? Never.” He grasped her arm even more firmly as they descended the last of the steps.
Faith was instantly adrift. She had always been rather petite, but standing so close to these fluttering fans and such raucous laughter in a sea of finery, she felt as if she was being swallowed whole. The duchess was snatched from her side almost immediately and so she clung to Westbrook in an almost desperate panic.
“Would you care to dance?”
She looked to see that he appeared quite ill at the thought. It surely only mirrored her own sentiments. “I’ve never been particularly fond of dancing,” she hedged, for honestly she could never comprehend how Mercy remembered the steps. Truly, how many different variations could there be when it came to discerning one country dance from another? “I think I’d like a bit of fresh air. Perhaps on the terrace?” It seemed to be the most logical place to escape the chaos around them.
He appeared to visibly relax. “I think that sounds absolutely ideal,” he agreed and led her that direction.
Unfortunately, due to the heat of the crowd inside, many people had the same thought, for the terrace was littered with several guests. Freddie turned to her. “The gardens, perhaps?”
Faith nodded. “Yes.”
They walked out onto the green lawn, and while the slight drizzle had ceased for the time, she glanced at the sky and noticed that a thick layer of clouds continued to hide the stars, so the rain hadn’t yet given up completely.
They came upon a stone bench a short distance from the terrace, but far enough away that they were afforded some privacy. It seemed dry for the most part, but even so, the viscount removed his jacket and laid it down for her. She smiled in gratitude and sat down. He did the same while making sure to keep a respectable distance between them.
Faith sighed. “I daresay I prefer much smaller gatherings. I like it much better at the estate in Croydon.”
“Indeed,” he concurred softly. “I get nervous around crowds.” He cleared his throat. “Which is why I don’t rub elbows with my peers that often.”
They both fell silent after that, allowing the slight hum of the violins inside to drift out to them from the open doors. Faith began to sway to the music, so Westbrook stood up and offered her a hand. Instantly, she paled. “I told you I’m not particularly fond of dancing. I fear I lack a certain grace—”
He kept his hand extended. “Come on. You can’t be any worse than I am. And out here, there’s no one to judge our skills.” He gave a half shrug, followed by a wink. “Or lack thereof, as the case may be.”
Faith shook her head, but finally stood. She accepted his offering and stepped into the circle of his arms. They started off rather awkward, laughing at their own errors, but after a few turns, they began to figure out how to work around each other’s mistakes. He twirled her about the expanse, where no one was there to judge them but the trees.
She kept her focus on his face and found that, after a time, her smile refused to leave. There was just something so… enigmatic about the viscount that no matter how much she tried to distance herself from him, or remind herself that he thought she was someone else, he would manage to spin that web of infatuation back around her.
As the music drifted off, he dared to lean her back into a dramatic dip. Faith gave a light squeal of delight that quickly changed into something else as his attention fell to her mouth. Her lips parted in invitation, but when he would have leaned forward and kissed her, a single fat raindrop smacked her right in the eye. Her lashes fluttered in surprise, but shortly thereafter, another followed, and another, as the heavens abruptly opened up.
***
A collective round of cries could be heard around t
hem as the guests who had been milling outside rushed to return to the cover of the ballroom to escape the deluge that was suddenly being unleashed upon them. Freddie, however, was still riveted on the woman in his arms. He couldn’t remember a time when a woman had fascinated him so, if ever there had been anyone else before Lady Mercy.
Faith. She was quickly becoming his reason to wake up in the morning and the reason he went to sleep with a grin on his face, knowing that he would soon be in her company once again.
He didn’t want to admit it, but there was no use debating what he knew to be true.
He was in love with her.
Of course, it was the height of folly, but although he’d fought against the emotion for days, he could no longer ignore his heart’s desire. He wanted her with every fiber of his being and nothing could change that.
With her in his arms, Freddie realized that he didn’t even feel the rain as it pelted his clothes. “We’re getting drenched,” she said, and yet, she must have felt the same magnetic pull, for she didn’t seem to care as he brought her up close to his chest.
“It would seem so,” he murmured, although neither one of them made a move to rush inside.
He reached out and cupped her cheek in his palm, and her breathing hitched. “Freddie,” she whispered.
It was all the invitation that he required.
He kissed her with all of the passion that coursed through his veins. She moaned and wound her arms around his neck, ensuring that he didn’t escape.
As if he would ever want to. He yearned for this woman with every beat of his heart and every breath that he took into his lungs.
His hand slipped around her waist and slowly traveled up her ribcage until he brushed the underside of her breast. Even through the confines of her stays, she responded to his touch and arched into him. He dared to go even further and cup her in his palm, flicking his thumb across her hardened nipple. The rain had dampened her gown, making access even more attainable, although it hadn’t done anything to calm his ardor. His cock was straining against his trousers, eager to do more, but since that wasn’t an option, and never would be, he had to content himself with kissing her in the pouring rain.
He left her mouth to trail a path of kisses down her neck and along her collarbone. She clutched his wet hair, and he noticed that her own was a soggy mess of dark ringlets falling down her back, the pins having fallen out despite the weight.
He’d never seen anything more beautiful.
However, when he would have taken their seduction a bit further, they were interrupted by the arrival of a footman holding an umbrella constructed of a wooden rod, whalebone, and waxed canvas, similar to what Wellington himself might have used, although Freddie doubted there was a rapier hidden inside.
“Pardon me, my lord, but the duchess asked me to retrieve you.”
Freddie glanced toward the terrace where the shadowed figure holding a cane was standing. “Of course. Thank you.”
He offered Faith his arm, which she accepted. “I fear we have tarried overlong, my dear.”
She nodded, although he couldn’t help but note that her eyes held a bit of regret that likely mirrored his own.
***
Faith lay in bed, tucked under the covers, although she was finding it rather difficult to fall sleep. After the duchess had realized that there was nothing that could be done for her ruined attire, she had ordered the carriage to be brought around and they had departed. The viscount had chosen to rely on his own means of transportation, although he had kissed her hand as they’d left, murmuring that he would call upon her the next day.
With a sigh, she threw the covers off and walked over to the window that overlooked the street. She leaned her head against the pane and closed her eyes, allowing the chill to penetrate her conscience.
Although she’d done everything in her power to ensure that she only thought of the viscount as Westbrook, instead of ‘Freddie,’ she realized that she’d failed miserably. In just over a week’s time, she had quite fallen in love with him.
It was nothing short of a disaster, exactly as she had predicted at the outset.
She groaned. The only way this could get any worse was if the viscount reciprocated her feelings, and by the way he kissed her, she could only imagine that he felt something for her, even if it wasn’t necessarily love, it was fondness. Either way, how was she supposed to explain all of this to Mercy?
You know while you were in Brighton having one last hurrah before you embarked on married life? Well, about that, I sort of stole your betrothed’s heart. Sorry.
No matter how close they might have been over the years, Faith would likely be tossed out on her ear without a reference before the day was out. If that were the case, she wasn’t sure what she would do. It wasn’t as if she could return home. The hardship her parents had faced when she was there was enough of a deterrent.
And after the viscount learned of her perfidy, he would likely want nothing more to do with her, for they were from entirely different worlds. She would never fit into his aristocratic lifestyle, and he would never debase himself to wed a penniless commoner who had deceived him.
She moved away from the window and began to pace her chamber. What she needed was a plan, something to fall back on in case she found herself without any prospects. But what? Who could she possibly go to for help? Everyone she’d left behind in her small hamlet had their own problems just trying to make it through the day with clothes on their back and food in their belly, they didn’t need her adding to their woes. And it wasn’t as if she knew many people in London. Other than the duchess…
Faith stopped. Dare she confide in the duchess before Mercy returned? Could she truly take the risk that the lady might be sympathetic to her plight and refrain from tossing her into the street?
She began to pace again, but she was no closer to coming up with a solution than before. It appeared that she would have to throw herself on the mercy of the duchess and pray that her gamble was in her favor.
Chapter Six
Faith went downstairs the next morning in a blue and white striped muslin, fully prepared to confess all to the duchess, but when she entered the dining room, she was surprised to find that the lady wasn’t alone. It seemed rather early in the day to be entertaining, for it wasn’t yet nine o’clock, and yet, a properly dressed middle-aged gentleman with thinning brown hair rose at her entrance.
“Ah, Mercy, there you are, dear. I was just about to have one of the footmen come up to fetch you.” The duchess waved her hand at the man. “This is my solicitor, Mr. Phillip Seymour. This is my great-niece,” she added in an aside to him.
He bowed slightly. “It’s an honor to finally meet you, Lady Mercy.”
Faith’s spine prickled with alarm. “MeMe, what’s all this about?”
The duchess rolled her eyes as if she were dimwitted. “I’m altering my will, of course. Without any children of my own, and a trust at my disposal that the late duke set up for me, I should like to know that you are well settled when you begin your own family.” She smiled. “You always were the granddaughter that I never had. Instead of leaving all my wealth to your parents, now that you will soon be wed to Westbrook, it’s time that I—”
Faith couldn’t hear any more. She walked further into the room and said, “Don’t you think you’re being a bit hasty? I mean, the viscount hasn’t yet asked for my hand.”
“But he will,” the duchess returned confidently.
Faith lifted her chin and said the only thing that she could think of to cause the lady to hesitate. “Then what if I decided that I don’t want to marry him?”
She snorted. “That would simply be foolish. The viscount is an appropriate match for a girl of your social standing. Your father is a marquess and your mother was—”
“I don’t want your money!” Faith finally blurted in exasperation.
Silence immediately fell after her outburst and while the duchess regarded her rather curiously, she spoke to
the solicitor. “Mr. Seymour, would you give me a moment alone with my great-niece?”
The gentleman had yet to retake his seat, so he inclined his head and left the room without a word.
“Now, what’s this all about, Mercy? Personally, I think you’re suffering from bridal nerves,” the duchess said calmly. She patted the table next to where she sat and Faith reluctantly walked over and sank down in the chair.
“It’s not that.” Faith exhaled heavily. She was not looking forward to this next part. “I have something to tell you and it may come as something of a shock, and you will likely not be very happy about it—” She broke off when she realized she was rambling, all in an effort to stall exposing who she really was. Finally, she said, “I’m not—”
“My niece?” The duchess cocked a knowing brow and added, “I know.”
Faith was prepared to blurt out the truth when the lady’s words penetrated her scrambled brain. “Wait… what do you mean you know?”
“I knew it from the first time you walked in and I told you that ridiculous story about calling me MeMe. Mercy detested me when she was a child. I’m sure if there was anything that she called me, it wasn’t anything resembling fondness.” She rolled her eyes. “I only enlisted Mr. Seymour’s assistance this morning to see how far you might take this little charade.”
Faith wasn’t sure if she was relieved or upset that the duchess had known about her perfidy all this time and hadn’t revealed that particular bit of knowledge. Either way, she said, “I’m so sorry about all of this. I don’t know what to say—”
“Telling me where my great-niece is would be a good place to start.”
The Brunette Who Stole His Heart Page 5
