Forever Yours (The Forever Series #1)

by Cheryl Holt

  “I met the new governess,” Britannia said.

  “Where?”

  “She was walking out on the lane, and Faith introduced us.” Like an accusation, she added, “She’s awfully pretty.”

  “Yes, she’s very pretty.”

  “Was that wise? A pretty governess shouldn’t be hired. It causes so many problems.”

  He blew out a heavy breath, not inclined to discuss the topic with her. “Is there something you need? Could we get to it?”

  “Must we talk about it in the driveway? I don’t care to have the footmen eavesdropping.”

  “It’s here or nowhere, Britannia. What is it?”

  She pushed open the carriage door and motioned for him to climb in, and he dithered for an eternity. He was off to see Abigail and couldn’t abide any delay.

  He was more excited about her than ever, and he was beginning to wonder if he shouldn’t set Camilla aside and take up with her instead. But he’d learned his lesson about making rash decisions so he had to ponder the notion to be sure.

  He’d like to have Abigail move into the manor, and he was trying to figure out how he could persuade her. He assumed he could finagle her by suggesting she bring the twins with her, and to his amazement he was actually thinking it might be enjoyable to have them in the house. The huge, drafty abode seemed so empty.

  With all of those issues on his mind, he was in no mood to bother with his mother, but if he didn’t allow her to vent, she’d simply keep showing up until he relented. In the end, he obliged her.

  People thought he loathed her or blamed her for what had occurred with Eugenia, but he didn’t feel it had been Britannia’s fault. Who could have guessed how Eugenia would change after the wedding?

  No, what he didn’t like was how Britannia had acted after the marriage had fallen to pieces, after he’d come home on furlough and found his wife six month’s pregnant—when he’d been gone for a year. Britannia had insisted they sweep the scandal under the rug and he remain wed to Eugenia and claim the child as his own—even if it had been a boy and could have inherited everything.

  But Eugenia had been quite mad by then. She’d been almost manic in her need to revel, and he’d been terrified of the damage that might ensue. She belonged in an asylum, and if they hadn’t been such grim places he’d have locked her away.

  When he’d fled England to serve his banishment, he and Britannia had had no contact. Then he’d returned with Camilla so Britannia had departed Wallace Downs. He’d bought her a home of her own and expected her to stay in it.

  Yet she didn’t want that, and she constantly pestered him. She always brought bad news, never good news. In his view, she was like an exhausting neighbor who complained about dogs running loose in her pasture or a broken fence and the cows getting out.

  “What are you so eager to convey, Britannia?” he asked. “Please be brief.”

  “You don’t have to be rude.”

  He sighed. “I’m not being rude. I’m just busy.”

  “I heard your friend is in London. Might I hope it’s permanent?”

  “If you heard that, it indicates I have a spy in my midst who is reporting to you. I’ve been curious about it, and I won’t have disloyal servants. Will I have to fire someone because of you? You have your own house. You needn’t be so concerned about mine.”

  “No one has to spy. The two of you are notorious. I only have to walk into any shop in any village, and the rumors are swirling.”

  He sighed again. “I will not debate Camilla with you. It’s pointless so tell me why you’re here or I’m leaving.”

  She hemmed and hawed, trying to ascertain how she might extend the conversation, but his patience was limited.

  Finally, she said, “There is some money that should be yours.”

  “That should be? Father has been deceased forever, and all of the assets passed to me ages ago. What could be left?”

  “This was…ah…I suppose you’d call it a bribe.”

  “What sort of bribe?”

  “Your father was afraid you’d never marry.”

  “You and I took care of that for him.”

  “Yes, but he died before…before…” She waved a hand to signify all that had transpired. She never mentioned Eugenia or his marriage. “Anyway, if you’re not wed when you’re thirty, the funds are forfeit. The terms are very specific.”

  “I’m thirty now, Britannia.”

  “I realize that.”

  “You planned to inform me…when?”

  “I’ve stopped by several times, but I haven’t been able to see you.”

  She didn’t have to clarify her meaning. If Camilla was in residence, Britannia wouldn’t shame herself by visiting. Not if there was a chance they might bump into one another.

  “So…there’s money,” he said. “How much?”

  “It’s quite a lot actually. It’s been invested all these years so it might be up to as much as ten-thousand.”

  “Ten-thousand pounds?” He scoffed. “You’re being ridiculous.”

  “No, your father was adamant about it. He put it away where he couldn’t touch it.”

  The comment made him extremely dubious. His father had been a spendthrift who never saved for any rainy day. Alex was still recovering from the man’s financial mess.

  He oozed skepticism. “It’s mine, and it’s simply sitting there for me to grab?”

  “Well, it’s yours if you’re thirty—and you’re not a bachelor.”

  He rolled his eyes with annoyance. She was prone to exaggeration, and he rarely believed a word of her nonsense. He didn’t believe her about this, and he was certain there was an underlying issue to it that would prove to be false and would wind up costing him a fortune rather than his receiving one.

  “I was wed in the past,” he told her. “I’m sure my prior marriage will count.”

  “No, I’ve consulted Mr. Thumberton.” Thumberton was their attorney. “The phrasing in the document is odd. It wouldn’t apply to your circumstances at twenty. You have to be a husband now.”

  “How would I accomplish that precisely? Should I run to London and elope with the first girl I see?”

  “I have no idea how to rectify the situation, and I wouldn’t presume to advise you. You can have the file to study at your leisure, but you have to swear to me you won’t wed Miss Robertson. If you would consider it merely to get the money, then I’d as soon have it be forfeit.”

  “I won’t ever marry Camilla.”

  “You swear?”

  “I swear, but where is it to go if it doesn’t come to me?”

  “To the Church.”

  “What a perfect waste.” He opened the door. “Will that be all? Is there anything else?”

  She gave him a satchel. “You should write to Thumberton. He can explain it better than I.”

  “I’ll jump on it right away,” he sarcastically retorted.

  “You think I’m making this up.”

  “I think I’m busy. I’ll read the papers tonight.”

  He climbed out, and she said, “Don’t wait too long to find somebody who’ll have you. Once you’re thirty-one, it will be too late.”

  “It’s always been too late. That’s the story of my life.”

  He closed the door and signaled to the driver. The man clicked the reins, and the horses pulled the coach into motion.

  “Goodbye,” Britannia called, but Alex simply waved.

  He watched until she vanished from sight, the satchel clutched in his hand.

  He’d been on his way to the cottage, but apparently he would delay in order to look at what his mother had brought. Despite his less savory attributes, he was adept at managing his money. If there was a trust fund with his name on it, he wasn’t about to let the Church have it. Then again, he wasn’t about to marry on the spur of the moment either.

  A bride? A wife? A quick wedding?

  The whole notion was so repu
gnant that he couldn’t begin to contemplate it. Yet he was determined to learn what sort of debacle his mother had delivered. With her, he could never be sure.

  * * * *

  Abigail walked to the door of Faith’s bedroom, and she knocked quietly.

  She’d just tucked the twins into bed. She was trying to implement the type of schedules and habits that normal children in a normal family would have. To her surprise, she liked all of it very much. Her own family had been torn asunder by catastrophe, and she was building a new one with them, and they were so grateful for the least little kindness.

  Faith didn’t verbally answer Abigail, but she came over and peeked out, her torso blocking the opening so Abigail couldn’t see inside.

  “Might I talk to you?” Abigail asked. “I need your advice.”

  Faith dithered, then said, “Give me a minute. I’ll meet you down in the parlor.”

  She started to shut the door, and as she did Abigail noted a traveling trunk on the mattress. Clothes and other personal items were stacked in piles as if Faith was packing for a trip.

  “Are you going somewhere?” Abigail asked.

  “Ah…maybe. I’ll be down shortly.”

  And that was that.

  Abigail stood in her spot, wondering if she should pound ferociously on the wood and demand entry. Although Faith was part of the Wallace family, she wasn’t part of it either.

  She lived alone in the cottage and didn’t appear to have any friends. She drank liquor and smoked tobacco. She painted canvases she never let others view, and the subjects could be nudes for all Abigail knew. She carried on an inappropriate flirtation with Viscount Pendergast, and Abigail was certain it would never turn out to Faith’s benefit.

  If she was planning a trip, she was probably going by herself. Should Abigail have an opinion about that? If so, what should it be?

  She yanked away and went downstairs. She poured two glasses of wine, one for herself and one for Faith. It had become a nightly ritual, and it was another splendid routine that was making it seem as if she resided in a real home. Faith might have been a sister or cousin, and Abigail definitely didn’t feel like a servant.

  Before too long, Faith came in. Abigail was sitting on the sofa, and Faith scooted into the chair across. She took her glass, and they clinked the rims together.

  “To us,” she said.

  “To us,” Abigail agreed.

  “I’m so glad Alex hired you.”

  “So am I. I’m growing more content by the day.”

  “I was so aggravated when he first told me about you. I couldn’t abide another grouchy, grumpy matron who retired at six o’clock so she could spend hours reading her Bible.”

  “That’s not me.”

  “No, it’s not as I’ve been delighted to discover.”

  They sipped their wine, the interval cozy and companionable.

  Eventually, Faith said, “You need my advice. On what topic?”

  “I received an invitation from Alex to join him for supper tomorrow. At the manor.”

  “Oh.” Faith studied Abigail, her gaze digging deep. “Do you wish to go?”

  “Yes and no.”

  “Camilla is in London so she’s not there. The guests have departed too so it’s not as if there would be a wild party in progress that would offend your sensibilities.”

  “What could he want though?” Abigail inquired. “His request can’t be for any valid reason, and the servants would see me slinking in.”

  “If they gossip, he’ll fire them.”

  “If he hears about it, but that’s not the point. I would never engage in behavior that would have people gossiping about me, and I particularly can’t have anyone lose his job because of me.”

  Faith’s smile was wicked. “Perhaps he’d like you to replace Camilla.”

  Abigail huffed with indignation. “That’s not funny.”

  “You wouldn’t be amenable?”

  “No.”

  “Not even a little bit?”

  “When my services here are no longer necessary, I have to be able to obtain a different position. I can’t ruin my reputation with Alexander Wallace. I’m already terrified that word of those clothes will drift back to Mrs. Ford at her employment agency.”

  “How would she learn of it?”

  “Miss Robertson threatened to speak with Mrs. Ford when she’s in town. I’ve been waiting for the shoe to drop.”

  Faith scoffed with derision. “Don’t worry about Camilla talking to her. She acts like a bully, but she’s a coward. She wouldn’t dare approach Mrs. Ford—mostly because Alex would be angry if she interfered in his private affairs.”

  “I’ll pray that you’re correct, but if Mrs. Ford revoked her patronage I’d be devastated.”

  “But if you made Alex happy, it wouldn’t matter. He’d always take care of you.”

  “I wouldn’t lower myself to let him take care of me. I would never sell myself for a few baubles.”

  “Women sell themselves all the time,” Faith said. “What do you think matrimony is actually about?”

  Abigail bristled with exasperation. “You’re no help at all.”

  Faith shrugged. “He’s your boss, and he’s commanding you to dine with him. I don’t see how you can refuse.”

  “This is precisely how females get themselves into trouble. I’d really rather not walk down this road. There’s no good end to it. You figured that out by watching what happened to your mother.”

  Faith shrugged again. “Then don’t go. He’s an adult. He can deal with it, although I should mention that he has an enormous ego. If you decline to oblige him, I can’t predict how he’ll react.”

  Faith downed her wine, then went to the sideboard and poured herself some liquor instead. She came back to her chair and eased down.

  “Are you leaving on a trip?” Abigail asked.

  She hoped Faith wasn’t. She was used to having her around. It was like being at school where she’d lived with so many other girls.

  “Yes, I’m leaving on a trip,” Faith said, but she didn’t elaborate.

  “May I ask about it?”

  “No.”

  There was a tense moment of silence, then Abigail said, “Your reply makes me absolutely sure I should ask.”

  Faith stared at Abigail over the rim of her glass, and Abigail could practically see the wheels turning in Faith’s head as she struggled with what her response should be.

  “I’ll tell you,” she finally said, “but you have to swear you won’t tell Alex.”

  “Oh, Faith, don’t force me to swear. Not when I have no clue of what you’re planning. If it’s wild or negligent, he should be apprised of what you intend.”

  “He’s not my father, and he’s barely my brother. He doesn’t have any authority over me.”

  “Yes, but he’d worry if you suddenly flitted off.”

  “I doubt it.” Faith chuckled in a nasty way. “He and I are not close, Abigail. You shouldn’t imagine we are.”

  “What about your other brother? What’s his name? Trevor?”

  “Yes. He’s at school.”

  “What if he visited after you left and demanded to know where you were?”

  “You’d truthfully state you have no idea.”

  “All right. I won’t pester you.”

  “Please don’t be upset,” Faith implored.

  “I am upset. I like to think we’re friends, and if you’re about to immerse yourself in a reckless or dangerous venture, I should be able to counsel against it.”

  “It’s not reckless or dangerous. It’s exactly what I want.”

  “What is it? I’m so anxious to hear.”

  Faith glared and pondered, then said, “Promise you’ll keep it a secret.”

  “I promise.”

  “If you ever tell Alex, I’ll never forgive you. He wouldn’t understand.”

  “Fine. I won’t tell Alex. Now what i
s it?”

  “I’m going away with Price Pendergast.”

  Abigail gasped. “You’re eloping?”

  “I suppose it’s an elopement. We’re moving to Spain.”

  “To do what?”

  “To…live, silly. To live happily ever after.”

  Abigail was stunned and might have been tiptoeing on thin ice. She couldn’t make a misstep where Faith would become angry and stop talking. But Abigail was from an aristocratic family. She knew—better than Faith ever could—how engagements were arranged. Often, they were contracted when babies were in their cradles. Betrothals involved fortunes and land and incalculable wealth and status.

  Viscount Pendergast was in line to be an earl, and he would never wed the bastard daughter of a housemaid, but she couldn’t point out the obvious without wounding Faith. If he’d claimed he would, she was mad to believe him.

  “Viscount Pendergast asked you to travel there?” Abigail cautiously inquired.

  “He didn’t ask. We agreed on it together.”

  “He was amenable? He didn’t hesitate?”

  “He’s eager to leave England. He’s miserable here, and his burdens are heavy. He’s never wanted to shoulder them.”

  “Won’t Alex be furious if the two of you run off?”

  “Why would he care? As I said, Abigail, he’s not my father, and he’s certainly not Price’s father.”

  “Yes, I see.” Abigail nodded, pretending she grasped the pair’s motivations, but she was extremely confused. “When will this occur?”

  “He had to wrap up some business in town, then he’ll return for me. I told him I’d be ready the minute he rides up the drive.”

  “What will you do in Spain?”

  “I’ll paint and sell my work to earn an income, and I’ll spend the rest of my life making Price happy.”

  “And what will he do?”

  Faith scowled as if she hadn’t considered that problem. “He’ll simply be himself, and I’ll watch over him. That will be more than enough for both of us.”

  “If he marries you, won’t his father disown him?”

  “Probably, but I have a small trust fund from my own father. We’ll survive.”

  Abigail was growing alarmed. She’d only shared a few dozen words with Lord Pendergast, and he’d seemed flirtatious and charming. Other than that initial reaction, she couldn’t guess how he might behave when push came to shove.