‘I would certainly recommend getting them into the country more,’ Lord Witlow replied to her question. ‘Never too young for the little Duke to start learning about his land and tenants. Though I regret he never developed an interest in politics, I’m proud of the work my son Esterbrook has done on our estate, which he began running when he was still a boy. Besides his duty to Parliament, there’s nothing more important than a landlord’s care of his land.’
‘I would like to get Edward to Ashedon Court more often, but now that the Dowager has moved back with us, it’s no easier than when her son was living. Both much prefer staying in town.’
‘Take them on your own, then,’ the Marquess advised. ‘They no longer have a father whose permission you must secure, and I imagine the trustees will approve any decisions you make about their care that seem reasonable.’
‘I really may?’ Faith asked, her eyes lighting. ‘I would love that! Although we visited so seldom, I know almost as little about Ashedon Court as my sons.’
‘Time to learn more,’ Witlow said.
‘Might have a care, though,’ Coopley added from his end of the table. ‘It’s a hotbed of radicals, from Liverpool and Manchester, out into Derbyshire and Nottinghamshire.’
‘Is that a problem?’ Faith asked.
‘Those are the cities and the areas that currently have no, or limited, representation in Parliament,’ Davie explained. ‘Over the years, there have been demonstrations and protests.’
‘Riots and destruction of property, more like,’ Coopley countered. ‘Depending on how close Ashedon Court is to the disturbances, I could see why your late husband might not have wanted to install his family there. Though proximity to his London doxies rather than his family’s safety is more likely the reason for his remaining in town,’ he added, mirroring thoughts Davie wouldn’t have been tactless enough to voice.
Apparently armoured now against the baron’s bluntness, Faith barely blushed. ‘Mr Smith told me the new industrial cities of the north, having not existed when Parliamentary districts were drawn up in medieval times, were among those most vocal in calling for revamping the way Members are chosen. There were also towns and districts from that old assessment who now have very little population, yet retain their representatives, aren’t there?’
‘Exactly,’ Rowleton, one of the Reform MPs, said. ‘For instance, Dunwich has thirty-two voters, Camelford twenty-five, Gatton seven, yet each of these send two representatives to Parliament. While Liverpool and Manchester, with thousands of souls, send none! It’s a travesty we must address, and the Reform Bill does.’
‘Perhaps, but you would take away votes from some districts that have always had them,’ the Tory, Lord Howlett, said. ‘That’s not just, either.’
Normally, Davie would have launched into the discussion himself, but tonight, he was much more interested in watching Faith, her eyes sparkling, her lips curving into a smile as she followed the banter and debating points being scored up and down the table.
* * *
All too soon for his liking, the meal ended, brandy was brought in, and Lady Lyndlington rose. ‘Before anyone comes to fisticuffs, we ladies shall leave you gentlemen to sort out the details. Duchess?’
‘A fascinating discussion, which I am so pleased you allowed me to witness,’ Faith said. ‘I can now claim to be much more knowledgeable about the great work going forward.’
‘Yes, and you can warn those drawing-room idlers like your late husband that they need to get their lazy arses to the Lords,’ Coopley added. ‘Find out what is going on, with the most important decisions to be made in four hundred years about to voted on! A crusty old curmudgeon like me couldn’t persuade them half so easily as a lovely and eloquent lass.’
‘I appreciate your confidence, my lord,’ Faith said. ‘I shall certainly do my possible to encourage every peer to attend.’
At Lord Coopley’s endorsement, Davie could almost see Faith’s self-confidence grow. More appreciative of the crotchety old gentleman than he’d ever been previously, Davie felt as proud as an anxious tutor whose student has just passed a difficult exam. How right he’d been to encourage Faith to attend this gathering!
How sad he was that the ladies were about to withdraw, ending this special evening with her. But there was no way he could leave now and escort her home without arousing a great deal of unwanted speculation.
‘Will you stay for tea, Duchess?’ their hostess was asking as Faith walked over to meet her.
‘No, I should return to my boys.’
‘Then I shall retire as well. Shall I have Rains summon your carriage?’
‘He could have a footman find me a hackney. The Dowager was using the carriage tonight.’
‘Ah, I see. I’ll have him get your wrap. Mr Smith, would you be kind enough to keep the Duchess company until her hackney arrives? I’m sure these gentlemen could spare you for a few minutes.’
Davie’s gaze shot to his hostess, who gave him a quick wink. ‘I’d be honoured. Duchess?’ He offered Faith his arm, stifling the sigh of delight that nearly hissed through his teeth when she laid her hand on it.
As he led Faith out behind their hostess, Giles gave him a concerned look, Coopley a questioning one. After the courtesy of farewells, however, the other gentlemen ignored them, becoming consumed once again by their debate.
* * *
‘Thank you, Maggie,’ he whispered to his hostess a short time later, while the butler was assisting Faith into her evening cloak. ‘For dinner, and this.’
She nodded, but her look was speculating and her eyes were sad. ‘Just remember your promise. Friendship only.’
‘Friendship,’ he repeated, even as his traitorous body stirred and hardened. Memories of holding her flashed through his head—the softness of her body against his, her golden hair under his cheek—and sent desire spiralling.
The butler exited to order the hackney, Faith walked back to them, and their hostess turned to her. ‘I’m so pleased you enjoyed the evening, Duchess. I hope you will join us for many more—and call here often. There is work we can do together!’
‘I would like that very much. But you must call me Faith, then.’
‘I would be honoured! And you must call me Maggie, as Mr Smith, does.’
‘I, too, would be honoured by your friendship.’
Maggie nodded. ‘That’s settled. I’ll bid you both goodnight—and count on seeing you both again soon!’
With that, bows and curtsies were exchanged, and Maggie ascended the staircase, leaving him alone with her.
How to best use these precious few minutes?
A radiant smile on her face, Faith stepped nearer. It took every bit of self-control he could muster not to close the distance between them and take her in his arms. Or at least, take her hands in his.
Somehow, he made himself stop. The mere inches of air separating them vibrated with sensual tension, making his heart pound so hard in his chest, he thought surely she could hear it.
Slowly, while he gritted his teeth with the effort to remain motionless, she reached out a hand and gently stroked his cheek. ‘Thank you for tonight, my sweet Davie,’ she murmured. ‘I haven’t felt so...energised, and appreciated, and alive, since...’
Since I held you in my arms a week ago, he thought, consumed with the need to take her again. But he’d promised...something.
‘Well—for a long time,’ she finished. She went up on tiptoe, and for an instant, he had the wild hope that she would kiss him again, as she had when he’d escorted her home that night. Then, as if realising how inadvisable that was, she returned to her feet.
For long, endless moments, they stood frozen, staring at each other from a hand’s breadth apart. He devoured with his gaze every curve and angle of her sweet face, every plump contour of the lips he hungered so much to
taste, the desire pulsing through him stronger than he’d ever experienced.
And then, with a little sigh, she angled her head up, offering her lips, her eyes drifting closed, as if she were as helpless to resist the force between them as he was.
Heaven knew what idiocy he might have committed, had the butler not chosen that moment to stomp back in, announcing the arrival of her hackney.
The man’s voice sent a shock through him, and they both stepped back. ‘Your hackney, Duchess,’ he repeated inanely, seized by a looming sense of loss.
‘When will I see you again?’ she whispered, voicing the thought that consumed him.
‘Perhaps...perhaps,’ he replied, thinking rapidly, ‘I could escort you to visit your sister, in Highgate. Englemere doesn’t come to town every day, I imagine. I could...bring him some committee reports.’
‘Yes!’ she said, her eyes lighting with enthusiasm. ‘I would like that.’
‘Bring your boys, too. They could become acquainted with their cousins.’
‘Witlow said I should be able to take them where I like, now that I don’t need their father’s permission. When shall we go?’
‘Arrange what is convenient for you, and send me a note.’
She nodded eagerly. ‘I will. Tonight was wonderful! Thank you again.’ With a glance towards the waiting butler at the open front door, she said, ‘Goodbye, Davie. I’m so glad I’ll be seeing you again.’
‘Make it soon.’
‘I will.’ She turned to leave, hesitated, then gave his hand a squeeze before hurrying over to the door.
As she disappeared into the night, Davie raised his hand, inhaling her faint scent of lavender. The skin she’d touched still sparked and tingled, the aftermath of a desire so powerful he’d almost done something foolish and irreparable.
It shook him to realise how swiftly being with her, alone, had unravelled his control.
Maybe it wasn’t wise to see her again, lest his hold over himself crumble altogether, leading him to commit some irreversible act that would tarnish his honour and hers and sever for good this tenuous revival of their friendship.
And yet... With her sons along to play chaperone, they wouldn’t be alone on the road to Highgate. After they arrived, she’d most likely be closeted with her sister, while he could discuss the latest compromise position with Englemere, focusing his mind on business and away from her enchanting face. With her within the protective embrace of her family, there would be no opportunity for passion to get out of hand; he’d be able to enjoy the delight of her company without fearing for his sanity or his honour.
Besides, he knew in the depths of his soul that he could never stop himself from seeing her unless she herself forbade it.
Chapter Five
Faith’s euphoria buoyed her through the short hackney ride back home. She hadn’t felt so energised, challenged, and alive since the early days of her marriage—before she discovered what a tragic farce her dreams of being loved and cherished had become. To attend a society function and meet encouragement and appreciation, rather than smug or pitying glances, made it seem as if she’d suddenly emerged from the dark room of isolation and sadness in which she’d been trapped for so long into a glorious dawn of new possibilities.
And then there was that thrilling, titillating connection with Davie. How could so strong a bond re-establish itself so quickly with a man she’d seen only half a dozen times over the last ten years?
She couldn’t thank him enough for this evening, where he’d stood beside her, encouraging with a glance, assisting with a helpful comment, supporting her with his silent presence. And always, simmering underneath—until it had nearly erupted into action in Witlow’s front hall—was the powerful physical link that seemed to strengthen each time they were together.
How could she find words to thank him for the sense he gave her of being attractive, desirable, and wanted, nurturing her crushed and battered spirit to a renewed confidence? His obvious desire unleashed an unprecedented, heady sense of feminine power—and an urge to use that power to satisfy the increasing demands of desire.
Ah, yes, desire. Having endured so many years of unhappiness made her a little reckless. She’d never be permitted to marry a man like Davie—if marriage were in fact on his mind, which it probably wasn’t. Lust certainly was, as it was on hers.
Dare she yield to it? Would he let her?
She didn’t know. Continuing to associate with him would lead her into a maze full of risks and dangerous choices—but also to the possibility of fulfilment, even joy. She wasn’t prepared yet to decide whether to proceed down that path. For the present, she’d seize every opportunity to be with him, and just enjoy.
Make it soon.
She’d write a note to Sarah this very night, seeking a convenient time for a visit.
Still aglow with energy and optimism, she sprang down from the hackney and waltzed up the front steps. Not until the butler admitted her, informing her that the Dowager had returned from her entertainment and would enjoy a glass of wine with her in the Blue Salon, did her soaring spirits make an abrupt descent.
She was home again, and back to being the much-maligned Duchess.
But not any longer, she told herself. Not that she would be rude to her mother-in-law, but she did not intend to meekly endure her criticism. Though she wasn’t sure Lady Lyndlington’s ‘stare’ would work to silence so overbearing and self-important a woman, she would certainly excuse herself, if her husband’s mother decided that a ‘chat over wine’ meant a litany of reproof for her behaviour today.
Bracing herself, she entered the Blue Salon. ‘Did you enjoy the opera?’ she asked, seating herself and accepting a glass from the footman the Dowager waved to serve her.
‘It was tolerable. Although it had to be more entertaining than a dull political evening at Lord Witlow’s. I can’t imagine why you accepted that invitation.’
‘I didn’t find it dull at all. Conversation about the new Reform Bill was fascinating, and Lady Lyndlington is a very gracious hostess.’
‘Lyndlington? Ah, yes—Witlow’s daughter, Lady Margaret, married that jumped-up by-blow of the Earl of Telbridge—who is to inherit, despite the fact that the earl divorced his harlot of a mother! Quite the scandal!’
Just like the Dowager, to have some bit of disparaging gossip to divulge about every person one could mention. Avoiding any response that would allow her to elaborate, Faith said instead, ‘My brother-in-law, Lord Englemere, was also present, and asked me to call; his youngest child has been ill. I shall send my sister a note directly to see when is convenient. You mustn’t be alarmed,’ she added quickly, when the Dowager held up a hand in protest. ‘I know what a dread you have of illness, so there is no need for you to accompany me.’
‘Very well, if you feel you must, although I think it is very inconsiderate of your relations to ask you to visit a sick house, especially as you are a mother with three children of your own to protect!’
‘I believe the child is recovering, and most of my visit will be spent with my sister.’
‘I still think it encroaching. But I didn’t ask you to stop by to discuss some dull political gathering—I have exciting news that will certainly raise your spirits! Which have, quite properly, been downcast since the demise of our dear Edward—’ The Dowager paused, her voice wobbling as she wiped her eyes with a bit of muslin. ‘Well, no longer must we suffer being a household of women. My dear Randall has consented to live here with us! Now we shall have a gentleman’s escort to any entertainments we find proper to attend!’
The memory of her brother-in-law’s leering face, drunken smile and hard, grasping hands swept over her, followed by a wave of revulsion. Faith set down a glass that suddenly wobbled in her hand.
‘How...useful,’ she said at last.
‘I would ha
ve expected you to exhibit a bit more enthusiasm,’ the Dowager said tartly.
‘I’m tired, and the news is...shocking.’
‘Shocking? What is so unusual about a son coming to care for his mother?’
Faith bit down hard on her lip to stifle the replies that immediately sprang to mind. That the arrangement was probably more about the estate taking care of Lord Randall’s needs, than him caring for his mother. That he was highly unlikely to escort them to a gathering unless he wished to attend, and since he preferred spending most of his evenings at gambling hells, bordellos, and other establishments of dubious repute, they would be as often without masculine escort as they were currently.
The appalling news settled in, setting other thoughts careening back and forth in her head like a shuttlecock in a lively game. She’d never be able to convince the Dowager that her younger son was an unreliable, dissolute wastrel—or that he’d made advances towards Faith. Was there any way to prevent Lord Randall from installing himself, a leech upon the estate? Did she have the power to eject him, or would, upon her appeal, the trustees do so?
Gulping down the last swallow of wine, she said, ‘I know you will be much comforted by his presence.’
‘But you’re not?’ the Dowager said with a frown. ‘Heavens, you’re always the most ungrateful child! All excited about running off to visit your sister’s sick brat, and no enthusiasm at all about having your dear departed husband’s precious brother coming to bear us up in our hour of grief!’
She would not stay here and be harangued. ‘Grief does exhaust me, and it’s late,’ she said sharply. ‘I’ll bid you goodnight.’ Nodding to the Dowager, she rose and paced out of the room, blocking out whatever response the Dowager might have made.
A sick hollow in the pit of her stomach, she took the stairs up to her chamber. Having to tolerate her mother-in-law was bad enough—but Lord Randall’s presence was much worse.
Had his amorous attentions been inspired by the drunken boredom of an idle evening—or would she now have to watch her back, every minute, in her own home?
Stolen Encounters with the Duchess Page 6
