by Lynda Hurst
Faith lightly mocked, “You must be losing your eyesight if you think you’re anything like your housecat Smee.” Smee was a rather sleek little tabby who earned his place in the household by competently keeping the mice at bay.
Devlin teased back, “Don’t think for a second I will let that portly comment slide by. A man of my size? I know I’m not counted among those of average build, but I can assure you that none of what I carry is extra weight.”
Faith sighed. None of what he said helped to keep her mind off his build, but he insisted on bringing it back into the conversation. So, she steered it onto safer ground. “If you’re here to tease, please wait until I’m in a better frame of mind to handle it. I was hoping to wrestle out some thoughts I was having before I have to prepare for tonight’s dinner party.”
Switching to concern, Devlin asked, “Are you all right? Is your head paining you? If I thought the fresh air would aggravate your injury, I wouldn’t have allowed you outside.”
“No, no, that’s not it,” Faith assured him. “I’m perfectly fine. I just needed some air and some time to sort out some thoughts I’ve been having.”
“Well, at least, make me feel better by sitting down. I’ve had a week to get used to you being immobile.”
“Yes, and likely more biddable, too.” But she moved to sit at the stone bench nearby where he joined her.
“When were you biddable? I seem to recall you were uncooperative and unreasonable as an invalid.”
“Could you blame me? Being confined to bed for a week with nothing more entertaining to do than stare out the window?” Redirecting the conversation, Faith started anew, “It was my hope that the fresh air would help me sort out what my mother’s sketchbook is actually trying to tell me. So far, I haven’t been able to properly make sense of it.” And she handed him the sketchbook she’d been studying since breakfast.
Devlin reached for it and opened it to observe its pages. He recognized the drawings of young Faith, bringing him back to the day of their encounter in the woods between their homes. And there was the pond where she had caught him kissing young Emmy Sloane almost a lifetime ago. An old well. Revelstoke Place. It seemed to him that the artist in the countess had carefully chosen these subjects and landscapes for a reason if Faith’s letter from her was the first stepping stone in Faith’s treasure hunt.
He also had to admit to some surprise that Faith actually had the sketchbook with her when he knew Jackson hadn’t found it the day they found Faith hurt. With its reappearance, Devlin could maybe let go of the possibility that someone had actually harmed Faith to get to it, but it was also another possibility that the person responsible found the sketchbook wanting and had returned it when no one was looking. Since it was all done within his household, he was forced to suspect anyone and everyone, excluding the Ellesmere twins and Faust, of course.
Faith urged when his silence dragged on a little too long for her liking, “Well, what can you make of it?”
Carefully, he said, “I think that maybe your mother thought her drawings would bring you comfort, just like her journal did for you. I can’t think of how these drawings and your Revelstoke treasure could possibly be related.”
Disappointed, Faith said, “I feared as much. None of it makes sense as clues to an actual king’s treasure. All I’ve seen are just childhood memories of my old room, my doll, and the various places around the property where I used to play.”
Devlin thought some more before speaking. “Since taking ownership, I’ve only gone through your old house once. It was to inspect the property before I thought to sell it, but my heart wasn’t in it. I couldn’t sell it without remembering you. I remember your room, but it was devoid of anything of you in it.”
“Yes, I kept that doll, and it’s in my room currently at Atwell Cottage. It was one of the few gifts Mother had given me as a child.”
“Ah. It’s just as well. I had always wondered what had happened afterward. I felt guilty turning you out, not knowing that your older brothers who should have been caring for you had instead abandoned you.” Faith turned her head to see Devlin’s head bowed at his own words, his eyes downcast, looking so forlorn.
“But I’m all right now, as you can see. And now you’re my guardian, just as you wished.”
Snapping his head up, and looking fiercely down at her, he said, “No, Faith. I never wished this. I only sought to make my amends for what I’ve done.”
“But I thought—” Faith’s words trailed off to nothing. She didn’t know what it was she thought.
“I never wanted to be your guardian. I only wanted—” Devlin couldn’t bring himself to voice out loud what it was he wanted. Really wanted.
Faith looked up into his eyes, hers luminous and bright. Devlin had only one thought when his eyes searched hers, her lovely face, and her even lovelier, parted mouth.
“What was it that you wanted?” Faith whispered. His face was so close to hers, she could almost see her reflection in his eyes.
Drawing closer, he whispered. “This. This is what I wanted when I first saw you at Atwell Cottage.”
And he swooped in to capture her mouth in the sweetest kiss, her first kiss with the man she had loved all her life. She was stunned at first, not quite believing that he ever had the urge to kiss her, and it warmed her to her toes that he admitted as much.
She had never kissed a man and wasn’t sure what to do. Devlin pulled back a centimeter and said, “Kiss me back.” With pleasure, she gave her all in that kiss, enthusiastically pressing her lips against his. Joy shot through her as it finally hit home that she was kissing Devlin and it was glorious. She thrilled at his touch when he reached up with a finger to lightly stroke the side of her cheek, making her feel delicate and cherished.
Just as suddenly, Devlin gathered her close within his embrace, continuing the kiss. Faith almost swooned at the rapid change in position but had quickly caught hold of Devlin by his shoulders to steady herself. The kiss itself had changed from soft and sweet to one that was exciting and fueled with passion. As an eager participant, Faith followed Devlin’s lead, trusting him implicitly. Devlin, on the other hand, knew better than to let the kiss go any further than propriety would allow, but her lips were temptation incarnate, and he needed just one more second, one more taste.
But his head knew better than his heart so he reluctantly pulled away, his chest heaving as though he’d ran a mile and back. Light-headed from the effects of that kiss, Faith shut her eyes and leaned her forehead against his, their breath mingling in the morning air. Devlin was torn between kissing her again and keeping his distance, but he manfully kept his hands to himself.
Whispering as if they could be overheard, Devlin said, “Faith, as sweet as that kiss was, I promised myself to give you at least one season. You deserve to experience it at least once. Then, when I decide you’ve had your fill of London’s offerings, and only then will we talk about us.”
Faith’s heart plummeted. She had been feeling light as feathers in the aftermath of their kiss until Devlin’s words worked like a bucket of cold water, dampening her spirits. Devlin watched as Faith’s countenance transformed from happy and serene to stormy and thunderous, and he braced himself for the verbal onslaught to come.
She made good on his prediction. “You promised yourself? Did you even think to include me on this decision to give me a season? I had never wanted one in the first place,” she angrily spat and got up from the bench to look down on him. “Clearly you can’t have thought deeply on the matter if you thought it was of great import to me. I’m sorry to inform you that it isn’t!”
Devlin stood to protest his stance. “Faith, I know life hadn’t been kind to you growing up with your father, and I just want to allow you full knowledge of what life can offer for one of your station. You were born a lady, and you deserve all of the benefits the title entails.”
Faith raised a sarcastic brow. “Oh? I now begin to see the direction your mind has taken here. Because my up
bringing is in question, you’re attempting to bring me up to snuff, so I might better fit in your circle.” Now it was Devlin’s turn to see his misstep and opened his mouth to dispute her words, but she exclaimed, “No, no need to defend your position in the matter. My eyes have been opened to what you truly think of me. There isn’t any more to be said here.” She turned away, the conversation over for her, but not yet for him.
He pulled her back toward him to look her directly in the eye and said, “Faith, just listen to me. You’ve got it all wrong. This season is about giving you your rightful place in society. Your chosen mode of survival and the genteel grace with which you’ve lived your life has only shown me your true worth, and it’s greater than all of the nobility lumped together. And truthfully, I want you more than I can put to words, but I want you to be happy with no regrets even more.”
Faith inwardly sighed at his words, but still couldn’t believe his high-handedness about the whole affair. Her independent nature railed against his conviction that she participate in this season business when, ignorant as she was of society’s ways, she strongly felt she was better off without knowing what she was missing. She was happy in the moment she was in Devlin’s arms, and he had to ruin it with his overbearing way of handling her, giving her more reason to believe his autocratic ways were a result of slipping into his role as an imperious duke.
This time she sighed audibly, and wearily said, “I don’t want to fight with you, Devlin. And I am also a woman of my word. I’m here in London because of an agreed exchange between us. Your help with my mother’s journals for my cooperation in one London season. And if I recall, an engagement was to be the end result, is that correct?”
Wary at the change in Faith, he barked out, “Of course I remember! And I have to approve your choice of fiancé, which you also agreed to.”
“Ah, now here’s the rub. If I choose you as my fiancé, will there be objections?”
Devlin sputtered, “But I insist upon you having your season first!”
“And if I choose someone who is not you, what then?”
Between gritted teeth, he growled, “You will still have your season, and I will not give your hand in marriage to someone unsuitable or unworthy of you.” He was now on edge, hating the thought of Faith with someone other than him.
“Then that’s all I needed to know. If you will excuse me, I must start my preparations for tonight’s dinner party. I will see you then,” she called over her shoulder, as she started for the house, leaving him standing there with a look that was half shock and half dismay at her casual dismissal. God only knew what Faith was thinking in that warped brain of hers, but he already knew he probably wasn’t going to like the result.
16
For the remainder of the day, Faith managed to avoid any further encounters with Devlin, as she was closeted together with Mary in her bedchamber. Faith had never had any use for a maid while living out in the country until now, so Mary’s maid, Anna, attended to them both by readying their evening clothes and by intricately arranging their hair for that evening’s special event.
The de Chamblays, Ellesmeres, Averys, and Faith had all been invited to dine at the Earl of Wyndhurst’s residence that evening, and therefore, it would be Faith’s first foray into the world of the haute ton. Knowing she would be presented as Devlin’s ward, she secretly hoped she wouldn’t embarrass herself or Devlin through her country ways, but she at least counted herself fortunate to have the appropriate dress for the dinner party. Mary assured her that the deep burgundy silk she had chosen would set off her smooth complexion just right and conspiratorially winked at her when she followed with, “And I’m sure His Grace, the duke, would be bound to notice.”
Faith responded by rolling her eyes, not yet having forgiven Devlin for his uppity behavior from earlier. Changing the subject, Faith asked, “Where has Jackson gone off to this afternoon? I haven’t seen him since breakfast.”
While Anna worked on Mary’s hairstyle, Mary shrugged and said, “He mentioned something about wanting to avoid a certain someone whose name started with an ‘M’ and he gave two guesses who. Naturally as his twin, he wouldn’t go out of his way to avoid me, so that left me with Lady Margaret. Then he took off for his club for some amusement to pass the time. He assured me he would arrive back in time to freshen up for the Earl of Wyndhurst’s dinner.”
“Hm. I can’t say I blame him either for wanting to avoid her,” Faith said. She herself made no move to befriend the woman who noticeably had hostile feelings for any and all Revelstokes. But she also bore no real ill will against Lady Margaret, for she suspected the animosity stemmed from the distressing loss of having lost her one remaining parent. A feeling she knew well. Rather than resent Lady Margaret for not extending a hand in friendship, she decided that avoiding the woman was her temporary but best course of action. Until Devlin decided that he did want her permanently and not just as a ward, then Faith had no choice but to continue dodging the woman.
Mary continued, “My brother has never encouraged that woman, and yet he seems to stumble upon her wherever he goes. For instance, he was off to Hookham’s to purchase the latest of Shelly’s works. Percy, not Mary, mind you, but there she was chasing after him asking him to escort her there as well. And then there was his trip to the gallery to meet an old friend of ours, and who was tripping down the stairs just as he was about to leave? That wretched nuisance, claiming she had an urge to take in the fine works of Britain’s greatest artists and just had to accompany him. The woman is ridiculous.”
Faith didn’t know what to say. It was painfully obvious Lady Margaret had carried a torch for Jackson since their early days, but hadn’t realized that torch was still burning bright and strong to this day. She understood unrequited love and felt a pang of sympathy for the poor woman, but as far as loyalty went, Faith felt required to feel indignant on Jackson’s behalf.
“She seems harmless enough,” Faith stated.
“That’s what she wants you to think,” Mary said. “Jackson and I had discussed it, and we think it’s possible she was the one who struck you down in the library.” It had never occurred to Faith that her attacker might have been a woman.
Mary went on. “You hadn’t seen her face after His Grace chastised her for mistreating you in front of everyone at breakfast. If you did, you would not have missed the look of rage she couldn’t quite hide before she scurried off. And we made sure she was never around you alone long enough to repeat the performance.”
Faith gave Mary’s words some thought. If it was Margaret who had hit her, she could see a plausible reason for her doing so: humiliation was a strong enough motive. But why would the sketchbook be of any value to her? She doubted Devlin would have told his sister about anything pertaining to Countess Revelstoke, seeing as how his sister hated the countess for stealing her father’s love. So, Faith concluded that Margaret would have no real cause to take the sketchbook without knowing its actual value.
“No,” Faith finally said. “It couldn’t have been Margaret. You said the sketchbook was missing when you found me? And then I discover it a week later behind the chaise cushions? If my attacker was Margaret, she would have left the sketchbook where it lay after the first few glances at its pages. I think whoever had taken it was deliberately looking for something within and secretly returned it when they couldn’t uncover its secrets.”
Mary conceded, “Good point. I think I’ll have to discuss this with Jackson. Between the three of us, we can come up with a better theory as to who attacked you and who would have much to gain from obtaining your mother’s journals.” Anna had finished Mary’s elegant coiffure and Faith admired the style’s artfully upswept locks. Mary inspected herself in her hand mirror, and squealed her praise towards her talented maid.
“Your turn,” Mary announced and Anna moved to work on Faith’s hair. While Anna worked, Mary moved behind the screen to change into her gown for the evening, but continued the conversation. “By the way, have you lea
rned anything from your mother’s sketchbook?”
“No, nothing useful. I’ll show it to you and Jackson tomorrow after I hopefully survive tonight. I’m a nervous wreck!”
“Don’t be silly,” chided Mary. “You’ll have us there with you. And if there’s anything I’ve learned from previous seasons is that the jaded ton almost prefer Originals to the countless sheeplike creatures bleating about in debutante dresses. And you, my dear, are an Original, and therefore, like a breath of fresh air.”
“If you say so,” Faith said doubtfully. Anna had completed her work on Faith and handed the hand mirror for her to look over her work. There in the mirror, Faith beheld a more elegant, sophisticated version of herself and gasped at the transformation. Forgetting her nerves, Faith exclaimed, “Oh, Anna, you are a magnificent artist! I hardly recognized myself!” With her luxuriantly red hair piled high on her head and tendrils falling from the top of a low twist in a cascade of waves, she marveled at the difference a beautiful hairstyle made to one’s appearance.
