To Wed A Viscount

by Adrienne Basso

  Faith’s vision blurred. That sweet, innocent face. A pit of bottomless despair opened in her heart.

  “Please don’t cry, Mama.” Georgie reached over and patted her hand awkwardly. “I saved the better pie for you. I don’t mind eating the one that is squashed.”

  “Where is the viscount, Gregory?” Faith asked, tugging off her gloves and tossing them at the footman who stood beside the butler.

  “The library, my lady,” the butler replied. “Shall I escort you?”

  “Don’t be an idiot,” Faith snapped. A slightly raised brow was the only reaction she received from the stiff-necked butler. The footman was not as well trained. His lower jaw sagged noticeably. “Is my husband alone?”

  “I believe so. Would it be idiotic of me to offer to check, my lady?” the butler inquired.

  Faith’s forehead wrinkled. “One more insolent remark and you shall find yourself walking the streets, searching for employment without a proper reference. Is that idiotic enough for you, Gregory?”

  She thrust her cloak at the butler and stalked away, not caring that the butler was now suitably shocked at her bizarre outburst. Her mood had swung from despair to grief to humiliation, settling lastly on anger. And anyone who was foolish enough to provoke her temper the merest fraction would suffer her full wrath. Including her servants.

  Faith entered the library in a huff and discovered that Griffin was in fact alone. He was seated comfortably in front of the fire, reading a book.

  “Back so soon, my dear?”

  She reached out and slammed the door. It shut with a resounding bang. “Tell me about Georgie’s mother,” Faith commanded.

  Griffin slowly closed his book and politely rose to his feet. The expression on his face was wary, unreadable.

  “Is there a particular reason why you are suddenly so curious?” the viscount inquired.

  Faith stared hard at him for a moment, then moved forward until she stood nearly toe to toe with her tall, impressive husband. “Tell me.”

  Griffin’s eyes narrowed fractionally. “Georgie’s mother was an American from South Carolina. The daughter of a successful merchant that I had business dealings with for several years.”

  “What was her name?”

  “Rosemary.”

  Faith flushed a deep, furious red. “What was her last name? Not her family name, but her name upon her death. It was not Sainthill, I’d wager.”

  Griffin moved over and tried to take Faith’s arm. She shrugged him off. “Sit down,” he said forcefully.

  Faith hesitated, then sat. But she lifted her chin defiantly and glared daggers at her husband.

  “Rosemary Morton and I engaged in an intimate relationship for several months, then parted on amicable terms. Business kept me away from South Carolina for several years after our relationship ended, and when I returned I discovered that Rosemary had died.”

  “Were you in love with her?”

  “No.” Griffin’s eyes were shadowed, dark with reserve. “It wasn’t that sort of relationship.”

  “You had a child together!” Faith retorted.

  His raised brow told her how foolish he thought that statement. “I did not know Rosemary was pregnant. If I had, perhaps things might have turned out differently.”

  “You were never married to her, were you?”

  “No.”

  “ ’Tis true, then.” All the bluster drained out of Faith. “Georgie is a bastard, destined to lead a life where doors of opportunity will be slammed in his face. He will never be fully accepted in society; instead, he will be forced to exist on the fringes.” The chill around Faith’s heart grew colder. “My God, what will happen to him?”

  “I will educate him, settle a generous yearly allowance on him when he reaches maturity, perhaps set him up in a business if he so desires. He is my son and shall always remain so, despite the circumstances of his birth.”

  It took a tremendous amount of inner fortitude to keep her eyes from sliding away from Griffin’s pained gaze. She would not feel sorry for him.

  “Is there nothing else we can do? Perhaps there is some way to make him legitimate?” Faith asked desperately.

  Griffin sighed. “I have already consulted a solicitor. It will take some time, and money, but Georgie can be adopted. He will legally bear my name and be known as a Sainthill. However, he can never inherit my title.”

  Faith flinched. A tense silence settled between them. Something cold and dark started growing in her chest until it could no longer be contained.

  “Damn you!” Faith swore loudly and thumped her fist down hard on the cushion of her chair. “You should have told me, Griffin. You should have trusted me enough to confide in me.”

  Griffin turned and walked restlessly to the window. “At first, my only thought was to protect the boy. Given the unusual circumstances of our marriage I felt it best to remain silent. I feared the truth would be revealed all too soon anyway. And so it has.”

  “Oh, yes, the truth is now known.” Faith’s eyes blazed with indignation. “And it should not matter that I was told this truth not by my husband, the child’s father, but by an acquaintance, in the middle of the street, on market day. Can you even fathom how dreadful that made me feel?”

  Griffin shrugged his shoulders helplessly. He met her gaze, then shifted uncomfortably. “I thought I had more time. I never dreamed that anyone would discover the truth. Harriet—”

  “Harriet knows?” Faith shrieked, popping up from her chair.

  “We have never spoken directly about it, but clearly she does not believe I ever had a wife while I lived abroad.”

  “I suppose Elizabeth is aware of the truth, too.” Griffin nodded, and Faith threw up her hands in mock despair. “I guess that makes me the only gullible fool in the household.”

  “Faith, you are making too much of this,” Griffin said. “I apologize for my lack of judgment, but I thought I was doing what was best for the child.”

  Faith slowly sank down into her chair. She could feel a glow of humiliation heating the back of her neck, but it did not matter. Nothing seemed to matter. How could she have been so wrong, so incredibly stupid?

  The trust she had worked so hard to reclaim was a mere illusion, the dream of one day building a strong, healthy marriage a mockery to her naïveté. It had been doomed from the start, from the moment she had realized Griffin was only marrying her because he believed she had been compromised.

  “You must think me a gruesome creature indeed to keep this from me for so long,” she said softly.

  Tears prickled so hard at the back of Faith’s eyes that she had to swallow three times to hold them back. For she would not cry. This final lesson had revealed the inner core of Griffin’s feelings for her, and she would not shed one more tear over him.

  She rose silently to her feet. Pride kept her head held high, but her heart was weighed down with so much pain it really did not matter.

  “Did Georgie also discover the truth today?” Griffin inquired anxiously.

  “No, thank goodness. Though I doubt he would understand it. For him bastard is just another word. Yet I fear all too soon he will understand its meaning.” Faith let out an ironic laugh. “He saw that I was very upset this afternoon, but he thought I was crying because the meat pies had been squashed.”

  Griffin managed a weak smile. “Where is he now?”

  “In the stable with Higgins. He wanted to help rub down the carriage horses and then visit with the kittens. They have grown so much it takes him a while to catch them.” Faith placed her palm against her forehead and discovered her hand was trembling. “I need to gather a few personal items from my room. I’ll say good-bye to him out there.”

  “Good-bye?”

  Faith swallowed, but the sick feeling in her stomach did not vanish. “I need to be away for a while. I shall return home, to Mayfair Manor.”

  The viscount reached out and cupped her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Is that really necessary?”
/>   “I do not know what else to do,” she whispered.

  His silver eyes flashed with fire, yet his fingers were gentle as they caressed her cheek. He abruptly released her face. “Perhaps it would be best.”

  Faith closed her eyes briefly as a fresh wave of pain washed over her. It suddenly seemed so real, so final.

  “You will allow Georgie to visit me each day.” It was not a question.

  Griffin bowed his head solemnly. “I would not keep him from you.”

  “Thank you.”

  There was nothing left to say. With the politeness of strangers, the viscount escorted his wife out of the library and deposited her at the foot of the main staircase.

  He gave her a low, courtly bow, so reminiscent of Georgie she had to bite her lip hard to keep from bursting into sobs. Faith watched his retreating back with blank, expressionless eyes, fighting valiantly the lump that had formed in her throat. Then she turned and slowly climbed the stairs, feeling like a woman eighty years of age.

  The first few days of Faith’s absence passed slowly. Griffin deliberately kept himself busy from morning till night, hoping to lose himself in his work, but it seemed that everything he came into contact with reminded him of his wife.

  Her subtle scent lingered in their bedchamber; the embroidery piece she had been stitching was in the sewing basket in the sitting room. The day lilies arranged in the Chinese porcelain vase in the entrance hall were her favorite flower. The new draperies for the dining room that had been hung were her favorite shade of blue.

  Even the discovery of a discrepancy for payment of household goods by a former estate manager two years prior reminded Griffin of Faith. Would she be as passionately annoyed as when they had discovered Mr. White’s duplicity? Griffin wondered. Or would she no longer care about the fate of the estate she had forsaken?

  Outwardly the household did not suffer. The servants performed their duties efficiently and satisfactorily. Meals were prepared and served on time, the linens were changed and the bedding aired each Wednesday, the silver polished each Thursday.

  After a long, exhausting day Griffin would sit in the drawing room with his sisters, a fire crackling cozily in the hearth. Elizabeth would play the pianoforte or Harriet would read aloud from one of her favorite books, and the three siblings would quietly pass the time.

  This was no different from the way Griffin had spent many a winter’s evening, and yet try as he might the viscount was unable to recapture that comfortable, restful, contented feeling he normally enjoyed.

  Instead, he would lean back in his chair, sip his brandy, and try not to indulge in depressing thoughts. In these quiet, contemplative moments, a terrifying sense of loss would grip him, and Griffin was finally forced to admit that with Faith gone Hawthorne Castle was no longer a home. ’Twas merely a residence.

  Initially he had arrogantly assumed she would be gone only a day or two. He understood her emotions were raw; he knew that she had been hurt, though he did not understand why she needed to be away from him to cope with her distress.

  As the days passed into a week Griffin was beginning to think he had handled the situation badly. It seemed the longer his wife was gone the more she wanted to stay away.

  However, true to his word, the viscount had arranged for Georgie to visit Mayfair Manor each afternoon. To his astonishment, it was his own two sisters, Harriet and Elizabeth, who volunteered to accompany the boy on the short journey.

  Most days they stayed for tea, and occasionally later, arriving home as dusk settled. Worse, when the trio finally returned they never spoke of Faith, except to comment that she looked well and appeared content. Hungry for news of his errant wife, Griffin thought to corner his son and shamelessly pump the boy for information, but in the end his conscience would not allow it.

  “I am home, Papa!” Georgie’s eager young voice echoed through the entrance foyer.

  The viscount’s mouth curved wryly. Even if he had not been watching through the front parlor window he would have known of his son’s return. The boy made as much noise as ten children.

  Georgie made his way into the room, with Elizabeth trailing behind him. Griffin knew better than to ask about Faith, knowing he would receive the usual bland response. He grimaced. A lesser man would surely begin to think he was living amongst a nest of ungrateful traitors.

  “I was wondering where you had gotten to,” Griffin remarked after he hugged the child in greeting. “ ’Tis nearly dark. I’ll wager that Georgie’s supper has grown cold waiting for him.”

  “I’m sorry.” Elizabeth nervously twisted her fingers together. “The road was extremely muddy after last night’s rain, so the coach had to proceed slowly and carefully to avoid getting stuck.”

  The viscount pressed his lips together, effectively squashing the urge to bark a reply. His chest tightened with a restless, unfamiliar emotion, and Griffin wondered if his sister also felt this uncustomary awkwardness between them.

  “I don’t care about my supper. I’m not hungry,” Georgie announced. “I ate three pastries and one apple tart today. Mama’s cook said she has never met a little boy who likes to eat as much as me.”

  “It does a father’s heart proud to hear of such a boastful accomplishment,” Griffin declared.

  Georgie nodded proudly. Then his face took on a serious expression. “I like to visit Mama and I like to eat the treats the cook makes for me. But I liked it better when she was here all the time. Why does she stay at the other house?”

  Griffin shook his head. He could think of no answer to give his son.

  “Do you think she left because she was mad at me?” Georgie inquired anxiously. “For letting my kittens get in her sitting room and wet the floor? Mistletoe made a big mess.”

  A rash of guilt swamped the viscount as he beheld the wounded look in his son’s eyes. He had not realized the full impact this quarrel was having on the boy.

  “I’m sure she has forgotten all about that,” Griffin said firmly.

  Georgie frowned, then wrinkled his nose. “It smelled really bad.”

  “Mrs. Hodges cleaned the carpet thoroughly,” Griffin told the child, but he could see that answer did not satisfy the little boy. “Mama loves you very much. No matter what happens, you must never forget that, Georgie.”

  There was a short silence. “I want her to come home.”

  “So do I,” Griffin muttered.

  “Perhaps you should visit Faith,” Elizabeth suggested timidly.

  Griffin looked at her sharply. “Why? So she may have a chance to turn me away? Or better still, invite me in and then ignore me?”

  “Oh, I am certain she would never do that,” Elizabeth replied emphatically.

  Griffin immediately straightened his spine. “Has she said something to you? About me?”

  “Well, er, not exactly,” Elizabeth hedged.

  “Mama called Papa a horse’s arse,” Georgie piped up in a helpful voice. “I heard her whisper that to Aunt Harriet.”

  Elizabeth cast a worried look in Griffin’s direction. “I am sure you must have misheard, dear.”

  “Oh, no, that’s what she said,” Georgie replied earnestly.

  The viscount’s mouth curved in a small grin. At least he knew Faith was still angry with him. A far better state of affairs than total apathy or disinterest. Perhaps now was the right time to make a move. “I believe Aunt Elizabeth is correct. ’Tis time for me to journey to Mayfair Manor to speak with Faith.”

  “Will you bring her back, Papa? Please?”

  Georgie’s hopeful expression tempered Griffin’s confidence. How humbling to realize his son’s well-being involved far more than providing adequate housing, clothing, and food. The child needed a mother.

  “I shall do everything possible to persuade her to come of her own accord,” Griffin declared. “And if that does not work, I suppose I will have to throw her over my shoulder and carry her out by force.”

  He had spoken the last words jokingly, attempting to c
oax a smile from Georgie, and the boy did indeed giggle. However, when dealing with his stubborn, headstrong wife, Griffin was astute enough to realize that physical force might be the only way to gain his objective.

  Twenty

  Griffin arrived at Mayfield Manor by the light of the rising moon. He reined his horse in front of the portico, taking a brief moment to admire the simple, clean architectural lines fronting the stone entrance. Swinging down from the saddle he waited until a young footman emerged from the house.

  “Good evening, sir,” the young man said. “Can I be of some assistance?”

  Griffin turned and realized with a start that the servant had no idea who he was. It was a rather humbling, somewhat disquieting experience. Deciding not to identify himself, the viscount tossed the fellow his reins.

  “Be careful when you handle my horse,” he instructed. “It usually takes him a few minutes to settle down after a hard gallop.”

  “Yes, sir.” The young man obediently took a step back from the dancing hooves. Then he cautiously led the snorting animal off toward the stables in the rear of the manor.

  Griffin waited until the servant was gone before climbing the steps leading to the front door. The last thing he wanted was an audience. It was galling enough to have to admit to himself that he had come to see his errant wife in hopes of convincing her to return home.

  The maid who answered the door stared very hard at the card Griffin presented her. For a moment he thought she might be unable to read it, but the way she scampered off after telling him to please wait a moment let him know that at least she knew exactly who he was.

  He cooled his heels in the entrance foyer for several long minutes, studying the painted ceiling. It was a whimsical scene of various mythical Roman gods majestically displayed against a deep blue sky. It was not difficult to identify many of them, though he found his eyes continually drawn to Venus, Cupid, and Psyche.

  Griffin was beginning to think he had been forgotten when he heard muffled voices coming from the other side of the foyer. An older, stout woman emerged from behind a heavy wooden door and rushed toward him.