To Wed A Viscount
Page 3
Harriet had long considered it a stroke of pure luck that their eldest brother Neville hadn’t married the Linden chit. And Harriet fully intended to make sure that Griffin would do the same as his brother.
Two
“Is there nothing I can say that will dissuade you, Faith?” a soft, feminine voice entreated.
“Not a single thing.”
Miss Faith Linden stoically repositioned the bonnet on her head and grimaced at her plain reflection. It was difficult to decide if the hat made her look older or duller or both. “To be honest, I did not think the newly entitled Viscount Dewhurst would stay more than a single night after he saw the deplorable condition of his estate. I thought he would whisk his sisters away to town at the first opportunity. Yet he has remained in residence for a full week. I dare not wait any longer.”
“I still do not understand why you must confront him directly,” Lady Meredith Barrington admonished, brushing a few specks of lint from Faith’s shoulders. “Could you not write him a letter and ask him to call upon you at his earliest convenience?”
Faith sighed. If only it were that simple. “I have already written a letter and received no reply. If I do not somehow force my way into his house, he shall be gone and I will have missed my opportunity to plead my case.”
“Do you think the viscount knows of the will?”
“He must.” Faith’s lips tightened. “Harrowby is a small village that thrives on gossip. I’ll wager that Father’s will has been the talk around many a dinner table for months. Not to mention sweetening the conversation as the locals share a few rounds of ale at the Rose and Thistle Tavern.
“Besides, I’m certain both of the viscount’s sisters know of it. How could they not? Elizabeth might not have mentioned anything to her brother, but I feel certain Harriet shall take great delight in informing him of my circumstances.”
“I suppose, then, that we must conclude the viscount knows about the will,” Meredith reluctantly agreed. She reached out and squeezed Faith’s hand in a sympathetic gesture of support. “Perhaps he is just waiting for a proper time to broach the subject with you.”
Faith made a grunting noise in her throat. Dear Merry, ever the optimist. In times of difficulties she could always be counted upon to offer encouragement, though in this case Faith viewed it as false hope.
Their mothers had been first cousins, but Meredith had long acted as the sister Faith had wished for as a child. They had been raised in different circumstances, far away from each other, but Meredith’s annual summer visits to Mayfair Manor, which began when the girls were only four years old, had created a bond between the women that neither time nor distance could diminish.
The lessons of girlhood, the tortures of adolescence, the challenges of womanhood, were all conveyed, experienced, and shared by both girls during those long summer days and nights. They would spend hours talking, reliving each event they deemed important and significant, then next turn their attention toward dreaming and speculating about their yet to be realized futures.
The extended summer visits had ceased when the girls reached their maturity, but diligent correspondence and shorter visits throughout the years had kept their relationship strong. Faith doubted she could have survived the trials of the last few months without the sympathetic ear and steady support of Meredith. Her dearest friend had been the one constant in an otherwise frightening, desperate time.
“There, I am ready.” Faith picked up her reticule and turned expectantly to Meredith. “How do I look?”
“Charming as always,” Meredith replied loyally. “Although I must confess it troubles me deeply, knowing what you are about to do. A lady never visits a gentleman’s home unannounced and uninvited. And you are going alone, without a proper chaperon.”
“My dire circumstances demand such boldness,” Faith insisted with a slight quiver. In truth, it was not the propriety of her actions but the outrageous, intimate nature of her request that had her a bundle of nerves.
Meredith frowned but did not contradict Faith’s explanation. “No matter how many times I have struggled to make sense of it, I just cannot understand your father’s reasoning. Whatever was he thinking when he added that ridiculous codicil to his will?”
Faith bit her lip. Oh, how many times had she asked herself that very question? “I believe Father was trying his best to protect me. When he fell ill last winter, he knew in his heart he was too sick to recover. Yet how could he die in peace with my future so unsettled?
“The old viscount had succumbed weeks before to the same illness and his son showed no inclination toward honoring the marriage contract our fathers had made so many years ago. How could I, a mere woman, possibly hope to succeed in making Neville Sainthill, who was now Viscount Dewhurst, marry me when both his father and mine had failed?”
Faith closed her eyes briefly. “By Father stipulating in his will that I must marry Viscount Dewhurst before the year of mourning ended or else I would forfeit Mayfair Manor, Father thought to give me an advantage. A means to press my claim for marriage, a way to finally bring my errant fiancé up to scratch.”
Faith remembered well how upset her father was over the lack of interest and affection shown to her by her intended bridegroom. Dear loyal Father, who saw beyond her plain looks and intellectual leaning, who thought she was far more than a small, skinny woman with mud-colored hair, dull brown eyes, and a too pointy chin. He thought her worthy of a prince, but was well pleased to offer her a viscount.
Shaking off the memories, Faith continued. “Viscount Dewhurst’s estate is badly in need of both the substantial income and varied resources Mayfair can offer. Father knew Neville well enough to decide he would not let that prize slip through his fingers. Neville might have found it easy to disregard me, but he would have been hard-pressed to ignore the bounty of the estate.”
“I don’t understand why your father insisted on Dewhurst,” Meredith commented. “Neville’s behavior proved he was hardly a good candidate for a husband.”
“I think Father believed Neville’s attitude toward me would change once we were married. Besides, as a mere baron, Father was always enamored with the notion that I should marry above my station.”
Meredith’s eyes narrowed. “Good intentions aside, the results your father had hoped to achieve for you by that silly will have hardly been realized. Such a typical example of a man’s pigheaded nature. They see no other possible consequences for their actions except those they desire.” Meredith shook her head, her lovely face full of sympathy. “Thanks to this odious will, Neville’s sudden, untimely death has left you facing a future without a husband and the prospect of losing your beloved home.”
Faith forced a small laugh. “I believe I was always faced with the prospect of no future husband. Gracious, Neville and I had been engaged for seven years. He was in no hurry to rush me to the altar.”
Meredith shook her head again. “I still believe your best chance lies with the courts. I have heard of wills that demand marriage by a certain age in order to claim an inheritance, but I have never heard of either the bride nor bridegroom being specifically named. Honestly, Faith, I have serious doubts that this section of the will is legal.”
“Don’t you understand, Merry? Naming the groom is the very point that can save me and Mayfair Manor.” Faith grasped Meredith’s hand eagerly. “The will does not name Neville Sainthill specifically as my future bridegroom; instead it names Viscount Dewhurst. In this instance, I believe that Neville’s death doesn’t null the clause, but actually strengthens it.
“Given my past experiences with my fiance, I might have a far better chance of convincing his brother, Griffin, to honor the wishes of our fathers and unite our families in marriage. Then Mayfair Manor will be mine.”
“Along with a total stranger for a husband,” Meredith said dryly.
Faith cleared her throat and turned away. She could not meet Meredith’s eyes. “Griffin Sainthill is not precisely a stranger. I knew him when
we were children.”
“So did I, though not nearly as well as you. I mostly remember that he never wanted to include us in any of the games he and his brother devised, merely because we were girls. And I also recall receiving many letters from you complaining of Griffin’s outrageous antics,” Meredith exclaimed. She sat on the edge of the bed and primly folded her hands in her lap. “He was an undisciplined, unconventional, and completely wild youth. I have no doubt he has grown into a thoroughly disreputable man.”
Faith bit back her smile. Oh, how dearly she hoped that were true. She could use a little wildness in her dull, staid life. “It isn’t like you to be so critical of someone you do not know,” Faith said gently.
“Of course. Forgive me.” Meredith rubbed her hand vigorously against her temples. “I am just so worried about you, Faith. If only you would wait until my parents return from Greece. I’m sure that Papa’s solicitors can help. They might even be able to declare the will illegal.”
Faith straightened her spine and tried very hard to look confident. As much as she appreciated the offer, it wasn’t possible to wait. Meredith’s father, the earl of Stafford, was a good and honorable man, who loved his family dearly, but he was not known for his reliability.
Who else but an eccentric earl with a scholarly passion for antiquities and his devoted wife would be traipsing around Greece while the madman Napoleon lay siege to half of Europe? Faith knew it could easily be months before the earl and countess returned to England. And years before the matter of the will was settled.
“I cannot afford to wait any longer,” Faith insisted. “My distant cousin Cyril was delighted to inherit Father’s title, but most disappointed to discover there was little income attached to it. ’Tis he who will become the new owner if I am forced out, and I know he would like nothing better than to get his hands on Mayfair Manor. I cannot waste any more time. I must speak with the viscount today.”
“I still believe you should wait for him to contact you. Yet I know you well enough to recognize that stubborn set of your chin,” Meredith replied with a gentle smile.
Faith blinked rapidly, nearly blinded by the sight. That gentle smile had transformed Meredith’s delicate face to breathless beauty. Though she loved Merry like a sister, a fierce pang of jealousy shot through her. Gazing at her friend’s loveliness reminded her far too sharply of her own lack of beauty.
Faith believed she had long ago accepted the truth of her looks, acknowledging that she possessed little physical feminine appeal. Still, there was no denying that her chances of succeeding today with Viscount Dewhurst would be far greater if she possessed just an ounce of Meredith’s stunning looks.
Ah, well, no use wishing for the moon, as her dear Papa would say. Dearest Papa. Faith took a deep breath and swallowed back the lump of emotion that seized her throat. How she missed him! Mother’s death five years ago had been difficult, but Papa had been there to offer strength and courage. With him gone, there was no one else, save Merry.
Papa had doted on Faith as no other person ever had, nor, she sadly suspected, ever would. Special treats at dinner, a new bonnet because it was Tuesday, a pony of her very own even before she could ride.
Her mother had often remarked to her husband that he was spoiling their child, but her father merely grinned with mischief when his wife made such comments and gently kissed away the objections.
Observing the love, affection, and easy manner between her parents had fueled Faith’s dreams to one day achieve such a union for herself. Those dreams were now gone, along with the parents she had loved. Her only goal now was to hold on to Mayfair Manor, the home of her childhood, the place where such love had once flourished.
“I cannot let the estate go without a fight,” Faith said forcefully.
“I never thought you would.” Meredith’s laughter rang out. “If you are so bound and determined to embark upon this scandalous course, then you must at least allow me to accompany you. I’m only a year older, but a twenty-five-year-old unmarried chaperon is better than none at all. I can easily delay my return to town for another day.”
“No!” Faith was truly horrified. Standing beside the statuesque beauty of Lady Meredith would make her look every inch the little brown wren. She was determined to at least spare herself that humiliation. “If my adventure goes awry, I do not want you touched by any hint of scandal.”
“Goodness, Faith, I thought we were beyond scandal at our age.”
Meredith tried valiantly to act unconcerned, but Faith could see that her carefully chosen words were having the desired effect. Meredith was toying nervously with the thin gold chain around her neck, a sure sign of nerves.
Faith felt a slight twinge of guilt. It was not her intention to distress Meredith, only to make certain that she would leave for London on schedule. And Faith knew that nothing would make her dear friend beat a hastier retreat than the threat of notoriety.
It seemed a true irony that Meredith, a young woman whose family was known for all manner of inappropriate misadventures, had a positive horror of scandal. She was constantly making excuses for her parents’ erratic behavior and always rescuing her dearly loved, and decidedly wild, younger twin brothers from all manner of mischief.
“If you are absolutely certain that you do not need me, then perhaps I had best return to town.” Meredith fidgeted with the catch of her necklace, then abruptly thrust her hands to her sides, as if willing herself to remain calm. “I have been gone only three days, but that is long enough for my brothers to get into Lord only knows what sort of trouble.
“When I left, Jason was keen on purchasing a matching set of bays he cannot afford for the sporty phaeton he had won in a card game, and Jasper was given to wearing his coat with the seams showing.”
Faith wrinkled her brow. “Jason is putting his coat on inside out?”
“An old gambler’s trick. Wearing a garment, usually a coat, reversed is supposed to turn one’s luck.” Meredith gave a long, suffering sigh. “I love my brothers to distraction, but they are impossible at times. I often long for the days when they were younger. Despite their constant misadventures, they were at least easier to control.”
Faith knew Meredith far too well to be startled by those odd words, for it had always seemed as if Meredith was more like a mother than sister to her younger brothers. And while Faith acknowledged that there was much about Meredith to be envied—her noble position, her charm, her looks, her kind heart—the responsibility of her two mischievous brothers was hardly something to covet.
Seeing her opportunity, Faith acted swiftly. “Come along,” she said, linking her arm determinedly through her friend’s. “I shall walk you to your carriage.”
The two women walked in comfortable silence and chatted deliberately about inconsequential things. When Meredith was settled inside her father’s luxurious coach, she leaned far out the open window and grasped Faith’s hand.
“Although I have grave reservations about this wild scheme of yours, I realize that you have your heart set on it. So I wish you every success.” Meredith’s gaze wavered. “Who knows? If you marry, you will not only keep Mayfair Manor, you will finally break the spinster’s curse.”
The amusement brightening Meredith’s face made Faith smile. The spinster’s curse had been a joke between them for many years, ever since Faith had become engaged at seventeen yet remained unmarried at age eighteen. And nineteen. And now at twenty-four still remained unwed.
Faith had developed a friendly, though not warm, relationship with her fiancé, but over the years Neville had shown little interest in solemnizing their vows. Though longing to be both a wife and mother, Faith often wondered if either would ever come to pass.
When Meredith had too remained single year after year, the spinster’s curse was born. Faith had understood her own single state was due to an uninterested fiancé, yet could never come to terms with the idea that Meredith had not been swept off her feet by a handsome, dashing nobleman long ago.
Yet Meredith had never really taken to society, and after initially beginning her search eagerly for a soul mate, was disappointed greatly with the men the beau monde offered. By and large they showed far more interest in the size of her father’s fortune than her. Or even worse, they showed regard only for her beautiful face, not the mind nor the emotions beneath it.
Though they joked of it, the spinster’s curse might hold a grain of truth. If they did not marry soon, they would be well and truly on the shelf.
“I shall write you the moment I return from the viscount’s home,” Faith promised.
She smiled and waved as Meredith’s carriage pulled away. Then she turned, stiffened her back, and started walking. Around the side of the manor house, through the formal gardens, and off to the meadow on the eastern border of the estate. It was a lovely day. The sky was so bright, Faith had to squint when she looked up.
It had rained earlier, and there was still a fair bit of moisture in the air, as a warm spring mist hung over the fields and woodlands. It collected on the leaves and dripped slowly to the ground beneath, sparkling in the golden afternoon sunlight.
Even walking at a brisk pace, and taking every conceivable shortcut, it took over an hour to reach the front doors of the viscount’s home. Yet as she stood staring at the tarnished brass knocker adorning the massive wooden doors, an attack of cowardice seized her. Try as she might, Faith could not remember why this had seemed like such a plausible solution an hour ago.
The need to flee came upon her swiftly, and for a moment she thought to act upon it. Yet somehow her feet remained in place. If she left now, there might not be another chance. Faith knew with certainty that both of the viscount’s sisters, Elizabeth and Harriet, were away from home, taking their weekly visit with the vicar and his wife.