Forever Yours (The Forever Series #1)

by Cheryl Holt

  “Why are you so opposed to this? Is it because you’re so far above me in status? Is that it? Am I too lowly a person for you?”

  “No,” she insisted, but he noticed she didn’t mention what her status was.

  “It seems to me,” he pointed out, “you’ve fallen quite a few rungs down society’s ladder. We’ve both been kicked out of the spots we used to occupy. We’ll join together and be a team. We’ll spit in their eye and get on fine.”

  “It’s not that easy, Alex.”

  She stepped away so he couldn’t reach for her and pull her back. They stared, and she appeared young and confused.

  “What now?” she finally asked.

  “Now you should give me an answer.”

  “My answer is no.”

  He’d suspected as much. “Why would you refuse?”

  “I’ve told you why. I’m certain this is a ruse to seduce me. Once I’m ruined, I’ll find out I don’t actually have a husband.” He might have argued with the assertion, and she said, “Don’t pretend it doesn’t happen.”

  “You’re wrong if you assume I’d treat you that way. You’re so wrong.”

  “Am I? That’s the trouble I’m having, Alex. How can I be sure?”

  “You need to consider what I’m offering you. You don’t have anything. Not money. Not family. Not a place of your own. If you don’t heed Mrs. Ford’s command to depart, you don’t even have your reputation anymore. Toss the dice, Abigail. What have you got to lose?”

  They froze, the question rocking her. Time stood still. The breeze in the trees ceased to blow. Had he worn her down?

  She rubbed her temples as if she suddenly had a terrible headache. “Here’s a question for you instead. The man with whom you dueled, Mr. Henley—”

  “Lord Henley.”

  “Yes, Lord Henley. You once claimed—if you had another chance—you’d shoot him all over again. Were you serious? Are you still that angry?”

  “Usually, I think I’m over it.” He pondered, then shrugged. “But he caused an enormous amount of damage to so many people. Just look at the twins. They’re living in limbo because of him. My wife and I divorced, and she never recovered. I nearly lost everything—my home, my land. I did lose my career and my good name. His parents simply whisked him off to Rome so he didn’t pay any price for his negligence. I’d love to extract a bit of vengeance.”

  She studied him forever, then sighed with regret. “Even if I would contemplate this—which I never would—there are issues with me. There are numerous problems that make it impossible.”

  “Tell me what they are.”

  “I can’t. Trust me on this. If you knew my history, you’d never have suggested this to me.”

  “What is it? Are you already ruined? Have you had a child out of wedlock? Have you been married before? Are you married now? Did your husband abandon you? Are you divorced as I am? What scandal is plaguing you? If you don’t apprise me, you’ll never make me believe your situation is somehow worse than mine.”

  “It’s nothing like that. I’m merely positive you don’t really want me.”

  He wasn’t about to give up. “I’ve sent for a Special License.” It was permission from the Archbishop that would allow them to wed immediately without calling the banns.

  “I wish you hadn’t,” she said.

  “I should have it tomorrow.”

  “Oh, Alex, please stop.”

  “No.” He walked over to her and took her in his arms again. “Have you written to Mrs. Ford? Have you informed her you’re returning to London as she demanded?”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “We can wed on Wednesday. You and the twins can move into the manor. We’ll build a family together, Abigail. A family! Wouldn’t you like that? Wouldn’t it make all your dreams come true?”

  “I can’t decide what’s best,” she wailed.

  “Agree to be my bride on Wednesday. It’s what is best for you.”

  She sagged slightly as if she might collapse. “I have to go.”

  “Not yet. We should discuss this.”

  “No, I can’t.”

  She yanked away, dashed over to the stairs, and hurried into the park. Then she was running down the path that would lead her through the woods to the cottage.

  “Abigail!” he shouted. “Let me harness the carriage. It’s too dark. I don’t want you in the woods alone.”

  She halted long enough to say, “I’ll be fine. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  She began running again, and he bristled with exasperation and clomped down the steps after her. He followed at a safe distance until she entered the cottage and closed the door.

  “That went well,” he sarcastically muttered.

  He was impatient and aggravated and yearned to storm in after her, to force her to debate the subject further. But he refused to have another pointless conversation. He would head for his library and jot a list of all the reasons he could use to persuade her. Eventually, he’d get his way. He had no doubt at all.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Faith was sitting in the shed behind the cottage and blindly staring out toward the ocean that was just barely visible through the trees. Due to her efforts over the prior decade, the space had been remodeled and upgraded so it was much bigger than it had originally been.

  At age sixteen, when she’d finished school, she’d understood that she was destined to spend her life as an artist. She’d had a female teacher who’d encouraged her, who’d convinced her that some talents had to be acknowledged even if they were pursued in secret and simply for personal pleasure.

  She’d taken her teacher’s words to heart and had created a haven for herself. Her parents had been dead by then, and she’d been stunned to learn that her father had bequeathed some money to her and her brother, Trevor. It wasn’t a lot, but Alex chipped in occasionally, especially with tuition for Trevor’s education.

  She’d doubled the size of the shed, had put in large windows across the end so there was plenty of light. She’d had shelves and drawers built, had sanded the floor, sewn curtains, and bought old furniture until the place had become comfortable and usable for the sole endeavor that interested her.

  She wasn’t a very feminine woman, had never seen herself as a wife or a mother. Because of her notorious bloodlines, she’d always been on the edge of society and looking in, and she’d known she would have to find a different way to carry on and be happy.

  So…she painted in her refuge, and from that private vantage point, she’d watched the years flow by. Alex had been jailed, then banished. He’d returned and established himself at the manor. The twins had come to stay. Then various nannies and governesses had arrived and departed.

  All of it had been a sort of bothersome noise on the fringe of her world. When it grew too loud or objectionable, she would retreat to her sanctuary, mix some pigment and oil, and pick up a brush.

  Lord Pendergast was the only one who’d ever been curious about why she was always in the shed. He was the only one who’d ever pressed until she’d admitted that she had a hobby that was more than a hobby. He’d been the only one to ever ask to peek inside.

  She recalled every detail of the afternoon he’d first visited. She’d been so nervous. In her mind, she’d persuaded herself that she was brilliant, but what if she wasn’t? What if her art was merely a girl’s vanity and she had no skill worth mentioning?

  But he’d been amazed by her work which she’d considered a marvelous gift. He’d often begged to lug some of her paintings to London, to let him enter them in contests or sell them through a dealer, but she’d been too much of a coward to take a chance.

  What if she’d discovered she was absolutely average? The news would have crushed her, and she was glad now that she hadn’t proceeded.

  She wasn’t sure how to move forward. She’d been content in the past—with her small existence and small endeavors—but Wallace Downs suddenly seemed so tiny
and restrictive. She couldn’t catch her breath, couldn’t bear to continue on in the stifling, unwelcoming spot.

  Like a besotted debutante, she’d thrown herself at Lord Pendergast, but he’d been like a shooting star streaking across the sky. What had possessed her to believe he’d meant a single word?

  She couldn’t envision keeping on as an artist, couldn’t envision pursuing such a hollow enterprise. Maybe in a few months, the diversion would appeal to her, but for the moment the very idea left her exhausted and incredibly sad.

  The door opened behind her, and she bristled with aggravation. It was a firm rule that no one was allowed in her studio. Only Lord Pendergast had been permitted and that was a mistake she’d never make again.

  She glanced over her shoulder, irked to find it was Alex. In all the time he’d been at the manor, he’d never evinced the slightest interest in how she filled her dreary hours. She couldn’t have him blustering in when her spirits were at their lowest ebb.

  “Hello.” He smiled as if it was perfectly normal for him to pop in unannounced.

  “Hello,” she replied. “What are you doing here?”

  “Price told me you painted.”

  “You knew that. You didn’t have to hear it from him to realize it was true.”

  “He scolded me for never coming to look. He said you’re very good, and I was an ass not to have stopped by.”

  “If he claimed I was good, he was being polite.”

  She couldn’t talk about Lord Pendergast. Each voicing of his name was like the prick of a knife going straight to her heart.

  “What is it you need?” She stood to face him.

  “Just to see your work.” He gestured to where the canvases were stacked against the walls ten deep. “Show me your favorites.”

  “I’d rather not.”

  “Don’t be silly. Price was correct. I should have paid attention. I should have kept track.”

  “Why would you have? It’s a hobby.”

  She was being particularly surly which was unusual. While she wasn’t ever the most cordial person, she always made an effort with Alex.

  They had a strange relationship, and it was difficult to decide how they should interact. They were siblings, but not siblings. They’d been raised together in the same house, but not really raised together. They had the same father, but not the same parent. The man had been fascinated by Faith’s mother, but he’d barely noticed the two children who had been conceived through his folly.

  Alex had inherited enormous wealth from his father, but Faith and Trevor were lucky to have gotten a farthing from the despicable oaf. Alex’s position was a constant and stark reminder that people weren’t equal and the world was a very cruel place.

  He went over to one of the stacks and started studying each canvas. They were mostly landscapes from around the estate, the buildings, woods, streams, and beaches. It was a miniature tabulation of all the locations she liked best.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked. “You seem upset. Is everything all right?”

  “Everything is fine. I simply don’t like to have visitors snooping.”

  “Well, that’s absolutely ridiculous.” He scowled over at her. “Price wasn’t joking. These are fantastic, Faith.”

  He appeared to be sincere, and she said, “Thank you.”

  “Can I bring some of them to the manor? I’ll have them framed and hung in the public parlors.”

  “It would embarrass me, Alex.”

  “Why?”

  “It just would.”

  She came over to him and tried to drag him away, but he’d stumbled on one of the cottage he liked. He pulled it out and laid it in front of the others so he could step back and scrutinize it. She’d painted it the prior summer when the sky had been a brilliant blue and the roses had been in full bloom.

  “This is terrific,” he gushed. “I’m taking it with me. I don’t care what you say.”

  “You can have that one. But only that one.”

  “For now. I intend to keep pestering you until you give me as many as I want.”

  He looked happy in a way he never was, and she wondered what had happened. Was it because Camilla had left? Faith hoped that was it. Did he recognize his elevated mood? What would he think if she pointed it out?

  “I have to tell you a secret,” he said as he hauled the canvas of the cottage over to the door. “And request a favor. Promise you won’t faint when you hear what it is.”

  “I’m not exactly the swooning sort.”

  “No, you’re not thank goodness.” He took a deep breath and blew it out, and his cheeks actually flushed with chagrin. “I’ve asked Miss Barrington to marry me.”

  “You what?” The news was so shocking that she staggered over to a chair and plopped down.

  “It’s mad, I admit it.”

  She banged a palm on her ear as if it was plugged and his words had been jumbled. “You proposed marriage? Seriously?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.” He shrugged and laughed, and he was a tad bewildered, as if he couldn’t figure it out. “The question just popped out of my mouth.”

  “Did she accept?”

  “No.”

  She snorted. “Smart girl.”

  “Hey, I’m not a bad catch.” He huffed with feigned indignation.

  “Not if we ignore your arrest, trial, conviction, prison sentence, banishment, and divorce.”

  He waved a hand. “Yes, we’re ignoring all of those. We’re focusing on the fact that I’m rich, I need to sire some heirs, and there isn’t a reputable father who would let me wed one of his daughters.”

  “Abigail is incredibly reputable.”

  “Yes, she is.” He frowned. “I think she’s too good for me.”

  “I think she is too.”

  “So the favor has to do with her.”

  “I won’t engage in devious behavior for you. I don’t care what it is or how much you beg.”

  “No, it’s easy. If she asks you about it, encourage her to say yes.”

  “What if I don’t feel she should?”

  “Why would you feel that? Have you noticed that she’s likely from a very top-lofty family? There has to have been a tragedy in her past. Her father must have gambled away their estate or some other calamity occurred, and she was tossed out into the world to survive on her own.”

  “I’ve wondered about that. She seems quite a bit above the other governesses you’ve hired.”

  “I won’t be marrying down by picking her.”

  “She might be lowering herself though.”

  “But I’d be saving her, don’t you agree? She lost whatever status she used to have, and I can give some of it back to her. I’m wealthy, and I can provide for her. She’d be safe here with me, and she wouldn’t have to struggle so hard.”

  “Before you rush into this, shouldn’t you investigate her? You ought to at least try to learn some details about her. You should speak to the woman at the employment agency that sent her. She’s known Abigail for years, and she might have some information.”

  “I’m desperate to get it over with or I might chicken out and change my mind.” He glared at her. “Are you really opposed to the idea? Do you really assume marriage to me would be so terrible? Tell me the truth.”

  “You didn’t succeed too well the last time.”

  “It wouldn’t be the same, and we can’t compare. Miss Barrington isn’t deranged.”

  “No, she’s not.”

  “She’s stylish and educated and sophisticated. She’d be a marvelous wife.”

  “Probably,” Faith grudgingly allowed.

  Why she was being so churlish? She liked Abigail and thought she’d be a much better wife than Alex deserved, and it dawned on her that she was jealous of Abigail’s sudden good fortune. She was working as a governess—a position deemed by all to be hideously unpleasant—yet she’d swiftly latch
ed onto Alex.

  It was so unfair that Abigail’s dreams would come to fruition at the very moment Faith’s dreams had been dashed. With her own life in shambles, she didn’t want anyone else to be happy.

  It was a dreadful attitude to have. Alex had never previously asked her for any assistance, and he was unfailingly kind. Although she was grieving and despondent, she would never be so petty as to deny him.

  “I’ll talk to her,” Faith said.

  “Thank you.”

  “But I won’t lie.”

  “Just don’t claim I’m awful. She’s aware of my bad habits so we don’t need to emphasize my flaws.”

  “I suppose not, and I hate to rain on your parade, but have you considered Camilla at all? What are your plans regarding her? You won’t keep on with her after you’re wed, will you? Abigail wouldn’t put up with any nonsense.”

  “I’m parting with Camilla.”

  “Have you told her?”

  “No, but I will shortly—as soon as I receive my answer from Abigail.”

  “Swear to me that you’ll split with her, Alex. I would be so disappointed in you if you didn’t.”

  “I swear, Faith. I’ll be implementing a lot of changes. Abigail has made me see that I should. She’ll be a breath of fresh air for all of us.”

  “I hope you’re correct.”

  Their conversation was at an end. He picked up the canvas he was intent on having, and as she opened the door for him, she ordered herself not to inquire. But if she didn’t get an explanation as to what had transpired with Lord Pendergast, she couldn’t predict what she might do.

  “Have you heard from Price?” She struggled to sound nonchalant. “As he left for London, he hinted at an important surprise, but he wouldn’t give me a clue of what it might be. With him, it could be any wild escapade.”

  “You won’t believe it.”

  “Yes, I will. I’ve known him nearly as long as you have.”

  “He’s betrothed himself.”

  “Betrothed!” She forced a grin. “To who?”

  “She’s a foreigner. Actually, she’s a princess.”