by Lynda Hurst
Sobering quickly with tears of mirth in her eyes, Mary said, “It’s nothing at all, brother. We were just discussing the merits of having London society laid to waste with our outstanding presence as we cut quite a swath through it.”
Jackson made himself comfortable in the chair opposite to their chaise and mocked, “And with a head that overlarge, it’s a wonder you can walk through doorways, dear sister.” Mary was close enough to swat him and did so with a satisfying smack across his arm. He allowed it good-naturedly and continued as if she hadn’t displayed such unladylike behavior. Faith giggled at the twins’ antics, having been used to their constant teasing for years.
“At any rate, I don’t understand why I’ve been dragged into coming. Mother thinks it best I look after the two of you while in London, but I’ve a mind to steer clear of all the matchmaking mamas if it can be helped,” he grumbled.
“But Jackson, you have yet to meet our soon-to-be illustrious host’s sister,” his sister said, dryly. “I believe she is the reason you’ve been invited along.”
Jackson rolled his eyes and threw his sister a disgusted glance. “Lady Margaret had been nothing but a pest since we were small, always following us about when she wasn’t wanted. My last memory of her was most unflattering as she could not climb trees as well as our Faith here and ended up splattered in a mud puddle created from the rains from the night before.”
Mary teased, “But that was ages ago, when we were still children! I’m sure she has avoided trees and mud puddles long since then.”
“Well, I’ll have you know I’ve made it a point not to associate with anyone who has ever said a disparaging word against our dear Faith. Lady Margaret included.”
Mary quickly picked up what her brother was trying to say. The twins were fiercely loyal to Faith and made it a policy to cut anyone who even remotely said a harsh word about her in their hearing. It was a habit long developed that warmed Faith in the knowing of their devotion to her.
The rest of the morning passed with the three friends discussing their to-do list while in London, giving precedence to the galleries, museums, and shops the twins were sure Faith would want to visit. For Faith, her to-do list had more to do with discovering ways to fight off her attraction to her newly-minted guardian while also unearthing the secret to her mother’s disappearance.
10
Prestonridge Townhouse, London
After a dusty day of traveling, Devlin was thankful everyone had safely arrived in London without any setbacks. Given the unusually warm spring they were having, the heat must have been trying for everyone enclosed in the carriage. A second carriage following close behind the ladies’ carriage contained some of his staff he couldn’t do without: his valet, Smithers, his butler, Hugo, and, at Faith’s insistence, her own valet, Faust. Devlin, Hamish, and Jackson had brought their own mounts and had not had to endure the same discomfort the ladies must have been experiencing, being in such close quarters. No one had complained, thank goodness, and the trip was uneventful and mostly quiet.
With the extensive contingent of his staff in full force at their arrival, everyone’s trunks were precipitously carted to everyone’s respective bedchambers. He announced to every one of his party before everyone parted for their rooms that there was a chance to freshen up and rest before the dinner bell rung at six.
Making his way to his own bedchamber, the duke’s master suite, he was exhausted from the day’s ride and eager for a proper bath before dinner. His valet, Smithers, was on hand to oversee the filling of his hip bath and placing simple, fresh clothing, spread out on his bed. Once his bath was filled and adjusted to the right temperature, he made perfunctory use of the bath, dressed, and made his way back downstairs.
With everyone in their rooms resting and Faust properly introduced to the house staff and brought to his own quarters, the house was peaceful as he navigated through the main floor’s hallways. Remembering Faith’s undertaking of probing the secrets hidden in her mother’s journal while here, he decided he’d take a look around the house before she could begin her search. The library which doubled as the duke’s office was his first place to examine, as it seemed the most obvious place to hide a book.
At his abrupt entry through the library door, a female figure who stood at the wall opposite, jumped and gasped in surprise, then swung around to face him. Upon realizing it was him, Faith let out a breath of relief and exclaimed, “Devlin, you startled me! I wasn’t expecting anyone to be awake.” Without waiting for his reply, she returned to her task of inspecting the shelves and thus dismissing his presence.
Not one to feel comfortable about being dismissed, since he was a duke, after all, he crossed the room and propped one shoulder against the same shelf she was examining. Wryly, he said, “I wasn’t either, and thought to make good use of the quiet household to spend the rest of the afternoon here. What are you doing here?”
“The same as you, I imagine,” she said, sounding remote and far away from their present conversation. Devlin recognized the earmarks of a one-track mind in Faith and was amused at her single-minded focus. She barely acknowledged him as she checked the spines of books with a pointed index finger trailing across each one. That very finger distracted him, envisioning what the caress of that languid touch might feel like against his lips, his cheek. He passed seconds unmoving, silently observing her. Faith did not once look up to discern the reason for his silence, for if she did, she would have discovered a look of such heat and longing, she would surely have been singed.
When she moved on to the next bookshelf, Devlin broke out of his reverie and cleared his throat as if to clear the haze that clouded his mind while watching her. “I see you decided to forgo an afternoon nap and decided to treasure-hunt instead,” he said while settling himself behind his desk, affecting the look of getting to work on the accounts. He rifled through drawers, looking for blank sheets of paper and a clean quill.
Faith said absentmindedly while continuing her book-by-book search, “Just by being here, I needed to see for myself right away whether or not Mother’s journal might actually be in here, hidden in plain sight.”
“Oh? And the idea to look in here first was your idea?” he asked.
“No, I can’t take the credit for that. I asked your housekeeper where the most likely place Mother’s journal could be hiding. And she was kind enough to direct me here.”
“You talked to Mrs. Mayes?”
“I did. I thought that the more the staff knew what I was about, the better. If they didn’t, they might take issue with my poking my nose all over the house.”
“Ah, that’s brilliant. I’d hate to have Mrs. Mayes report you in a complaint.”
“As would I. She told me she was fond of my mother and that I looked just like her.” To that last comment, Devlin could agree that there were some features Faith shared with her mother but found that the daughter carried her own unique brand of beauty that her mother had not possessed.
To distract himself from continuing down that vein of thought, Devlin continued searching through the desk drawers, this time for a fresh pot of ink. Reaching for the bottom drawer, he pulled it open swiftly but had not anticipated its emptiness only to have it slide off its railing to fall a short distance, askew, onto the floor. Getting up from his seat to return the drawer to its rightful place, he could not fail to notice the drawer’s bottom had lifted, making the drawer appear shallower than its exterior appeared.
Faith had since rushed over to help with the mess and also noticed the anomaly the drawer presented. “Devlin, that drawer appears to have a false bottom.”
“I was just thinking the very same thing. I’m just not sure I want to know whatever secrets my father may have been hiding under there.”
“Cat’s out of the bag, now,” she said saucily. “If he wanted it properly hidden, there are much more secure methods than hiding them beneath a false bottom of a drawer.”
Devlin looked at her askance, still unsure about unco
vering something that may have belonged to his father. Faith’s eager face was bright and animated at the unearthing of this secret drawer, and he found it was easier to submit than to argue with a woman as headstrong as Faith. He sighed and pried the loose board from the drawer. Faith gasped when he uncovered a lone leather-bound book with no title on either its cover or its spine. Without consulting Devlin, Faith shakily reached for the book and turned its cover to find the feminine, flowy script which scrawled its first page, “Lady Eugenia Revelstoke, née Beauchamp. 1811 – 1817”. The latter date being the year both his father and her mother had disappeared.
Faith’s eyes welled as she held her mother’s journal, no longer seeing the words written there. “It wasn’t your father’s secrets we found after all; instead we found what Mother wanted me to find.” Faith’s eyes shone with her unshed tears up at Devlin, but he could plainly see the joy written on her face at the discovery. Yet, locating the countess’ journal only raised more questions in Devlin’s astute mind.
How did the countess’ journal end up in his father’s desk? Knowing that they carried on a relationship in an unspecified time frame, it was likely the countess had been privy to the secret compartment and may have put it there herself. Or his father had hidden it there for reasons he couldn’t begin to guess at. Another question was: why would it have been necessary to hide it in the first place? If the journal was meant for Faith to find, it could have been possible that others may find it and know firsthand the existence of an actual treasure within its pages. Thus, the necessity of its concealment. However, if he hadn’t been the one rifling through the drawers in the first place, Faith’s chances of finding it on her own were slim to none.
Setting the drawer back to rights, Devlin had moved back into his seat while Faith had moved to a seat across from him, absorbing her mother’s words in the journal. Allowing her quiet time to read, he cracked open his most recent place in his account book and was about to get to work, when Hugo slipped in and announced, “Your Grace, you have a visitor awaiting you in the drawing room.”
Surprised that his presence in town had been noted, he asked, “Who is it?”
Hugo replied, “It’s Lord Haversham, Your Grace.” Haversham was an old schoolmate of his who, when coming into his inheritance, had bought a townhouse not far from his own.
“Ah, I’ll be there right away. Thank you, Hugo,” he said, dismissing his butler. To Faith, he said, “Excuse me, Faith. I’ll leave you to your reading while I say hello to an old friend.”
“Of course,” she said, without looking up from the book and waving a dismissive hand. “By all counts, I’m preoccupied at the moment and wish you a happy visit with your friend.”
Once Devlin had left, Faith immersed herself in the words her mother had written of her life here in London, at home in Revelstoke Place, and of her hopes and dreams. For the first time she was made aware of her mother’s innermost feelings; elation and relief when away from her father, the earl; sadness that she was constantly away from her younger children who no doubt still needed her; and the happiness she felt when she was with Devlin’s father, the former duke.
She read on, feeling her heart clench at the evidence that her mother had loved them, recalling several times in her writing the memories of her siblings and herself as innocent, cherubic babies. There were numerous accounts of her mother’s attempts to send gifts back for the younger children, but they had been sent back through the same courier with notes from the earl telling her to cease sending frivolous bits of nonsense that would likely corrupt the children. Appalled at her father’s coldness that deprived her of her mother’s love, Faith felt anger anew against him, but knew her anger wouldn’t help change a past that had molded her to the strong woman she had become.
The dinner bell sounded when she approached the middle of the book, and she still hadn’t found mention of the Revelstoke legacy. Hopefully, the rest of the book would have the answers she sought, but there would be plenty of time during their stay in London to discover them. She closed the journal and tucked it back in the drawer of Devlin’s desk when Mary stepped into the library.
“Ah, there you are,” Mary said, reaching for Faith’s hand. “The duke mentioned in passing that you spent the afternoon here rather than resting upstairs. I trust you spent a nice, quiet afternoon just reading?” Faith looked at Mary, noting a hint of sly teasing in the tone of her friend’s voice.
“Why, yes, I have. Thank you for asking,” Faith replied tersely. Rounding on her friend, stopping the both of them in their tracks, Faith asked, puzzled, “Why did you phrase your question like that?”
“Oh, it’s nothing. I just assumed that since the duke was also not upstairs resting that the two of you had taken advantage of the situation.”
“Mary! What precisely are you implying?”
“No need to shout, Faith. I can hear you just fine,” Mary grumbled. “I didn’t mean that the two of you were doing anything improper. I just thought that maybe the both of you were able to renew your acquaintance now that you are part of his household.”
Faith blew out a breath of mild frustration, and said, “Next time, please say what you mean outright. I can never anticipate what that mind of yours cooks up half the time.”
Mary grinned and said, “But that’s precisely why you love me. Now, let’s head to the dining room before your new guardian berates you for being late.”
11
It had been a busy week for the modiste as Faith needed a completely new wardrobe to suit the various events of the London season. The talented modiste who claimed to hail from France, fashioned lovely day dresses for Faith, meant for the more staid soirees and teas. Several new silk pelisses in richly vibrant colors had been bestowed on Faith for any outdoor jaunts or open carriage rides. The modiste prided herself most for her work on Faith’s several new evening gowns and ball gowns meant to be shown off at dinner parties and balls. It was at Mary’s advice that only the deepest shades of greens and blues be used in the lushest fabrics.
Not to be outdone, both Mary and Margaret employed the same modiste to outfit them with the latest styles from Paris, and with the help of at least four different assistants, the poor modiste had gotten everything ready in record time. Faith worried how Devlin would react to receiving the bill, but Margaret had assured her that her brother was always happy to ‘donate’ to a cause that would soon see them both out of his household and into the care of a husband.
Faith had to secretly admit that she wholly enjoyed the experience of dress shopping with other females who also relished the activity. Growing up with Mary in the country and visiting the smaller mercantile with her wasn’t quite on the same scale as purveying the refined shops of Bond Street here in London. Through Mary’s eyes and experience, she found her initial prejudice against London life was unfounded and unfair until the moment she discovered for herself that it was quite fascinating here.
When she wasn’t busy with dress fittings and alterations, Faith ate up her mother’s journal. Fervently searching for clues that referred to the Revelstoke legacy, she failed to find even the obscurest hints of where the former Duke had planned on taking her mother before they were no longer heard from again. Frustrated, Faith had thrown the journal across her bedchamber in a burst of temper, but the sight of the poor book in disarray across the floor shamed her into picking it back up and smoothing out the pages. Other than the doll her mother had given her years ago, this book was the only thing she had to remember her mother by.
Her mother’s daily entries consisted mostly of inane doings such as whose dinner party she attended or of descriptions of her daily walks through Hanover Square and who she had met there. Those things had no interest for Faith. What did perk her notice was the numerous times her mother mentioned her drawings and sketches. Faith had no idea her mother was an artist and had never seen evidence of her mother participating in the activity. One entry had moved Faith to tears where her mother described sketching a portr
ait of Ethan as a baby. “Getting the curve of his cheeks just right,” her mother wrote, “had me longing to go back in time and caress that baby softness once more. How I loved the freshness and smoothness of a baby’s skin pressed against my own!”
Another entry referred to an impromptu sketch of Faith and Erica, strolling through the gardens at two and eight, respectively. Yet another expressed the difficulty she had drawing both Faith and Ethan as they were at sixteen and fourteen, as she distressed at the thought of not being able to recall specific details of their maturing features.
Neither of the accounts regarding the sketches seemed like they belonged and didn’t make much sense to Faith as she was led to believe that there would be more information about the Revelstoke legacy among its pages. She had arrived at the book’s end, and still, there was no mention of it. But through her mother’s words, she was able to discern a note of desperation and longing when she wrote of her children. Of Frederick and James, there was no mention, other than that she had missed them as babies before their father had poisoned them against her, turning out as vile and cruel as their father. Her mother clearly held her younger children closer to her heart than Faith had realized and wished the realization hadn’t come so late.
