Unmasked Heart: A Regency Romance (Regency Romance: Challenge of the Soul Book 1)

by Vanessa Riley

  Miss Smythen's familiarity with the duke grated on Gaia's nerves. Something burned in her chest when the woman used his given name.

  Mr. Stelford leaned forward, as if rubbing his leg under the pristine linen covering the table. "I don't think you should stay that long. All Cheshire is probably missing attendance in your salon."

  "Nothing means more to me than Cousin William and little Mary. I'd turn away strangers for family any day." Miss Smythen passed a tray of expensive sliced pineapples directly to the duke.

  His fingers gripped it, exposing tight white knuckles. The man seemed very agitated, but what could be done with obnoxious family members?

  Sarah sipped her glass of lemonade. "Your Grace, everything is so wonderful. You must give your cook my compliments."

  "I'm sure the servants will enjoy your words. With your simple country fashions, you're obviously well-travelled enough to know such differences," Miss Smythen chuckled and turned toward Mr. Stelford. "I'm teasing."

  It wasn't nice to joke at others' expense. "Your humor is very enlightening. It shows how one could travel and be unmoved by the experience," the words popped out of Gaia's mouth before she could stop them.

  Cheshire looked up from his plate. A smile briefly passed his lips. "Stelford, lead everyone to the drawing room. Mr. Telfair, with your permission, I'd like to show Miss Telfair my daughter, if she'd please remain behind."

  "May I witness? I so miss the little dear," Miss Smythen leapt up and smoothed her Sardinian-blue bodice and its yards of sprigged Mechlin lace.

  "Cousin, you said you would assist with my guests. A good hostess should play something on the piano."

  "I will," Miss Smythen's cheeks brightened.

  Gaia doubted it was from modesty. The lady took Stelford's extended arm and walked away.

  Everyone else rose and headed down the polished hall, but the duke grasped Gaia's hand, placing it on his arm, and then led her to the stairs. Her irritation slipped away at the touch of his palm. Why did it feel right to follow him?

  The dinner he'd fretted was done. It had been a long time since William was this on-edge. He patted Gaia's fingers and enjoyed the calming hint of honeysuckle in her hair. "I apologize for my cousin. She's difficult to take in long increments."

  A gentle smile curved the young lady's lips as she nodded. "Some people can't help making mischief. There is no need to be uneasy."

  A sigh of relief released from his lungs, as he and Gaia took to the treads. Though he hoped his emotions weren't so detectable, the last thing he wanted was for the Telfairs to feel uncomfortable, or, worse, belittled. It didn't matter to him their class or wealth, not with such kindness brimming in his young friend's eyes. Such beautiful eyes. "You look very pretty today. This is a new color?"

  "My sister loaned it to me. I'm glad she did. My other dresses might expose me to be too-little travelled."

  He chuckled and laced his fingers with hers. Bare palm to bare palm, something felt right having this woman at his side, checking on Mary.

  Up one flight and turning for the next, Gaia tripped on her hem, but he caught her. His arms went about her so tight he felt her strong heart beating against his ribs. "I've got you. Did you twist your ankle?"

  "No, but, thank you," she clasped his waist, clinging to him as if she were dizzy.

  Something in his chest tightened; again, the feeling of peace, of the rightness of having her within his embrace, swept over him.

  "Julia's taller than I."

  His pulse raced as his once-cold heart thudded in his ears. Think friend, Mary, another man's prize. It didn't help. His mind blanked, and he strengthened his arms about her shoulders.

  As if time froze, they held each other in the silent entry within the shadow of the twisting treads. "Thank you for keeping me upright," her voice was breathless and soft. "A person could hurt themselves tumbling down these ornate stairs."

  "Or worse. My Elizabeth fell. That's how my late wife died," he couldn't say anymore, as his throat thickened. A deluge of memories hit him. Their last argument…he broke a chair when she shouted she hated him…the sting of receiving Stelford's awful note of her death.

  Closing his eyes, he saw the overcast day of Elizabeth's funeral, standing with Stelford at her graveside. The clanging of the church's wrought-iron gate blocked the moans of his conscience of what he should've said to her if he'd known their conversation would be the last.

  His voice sounded small, as if he were a lad lost in the woods. "If I'd been home, I might've saved her, kept her from whatever irrational bend made her rush down the stairs."

  Arms tightened about him as if to lead him from a dark forest. Gaia's soft voice became an anchor, "Accidents happen. It's not your fault."

  A small press on his shoulders shook him free from his paralysis. "We should see about Lady Mary."

  This wasn't his wife or even a lover within his embrace. Gaia Telfair was a friend, a friend to aid Mary. He released her and again tucked her arm within his.

  With her free hand, she pulled from her pocket a starched square tied with a pale pink ribbon. "Your handkerchief, Your Grace. It is too fine to keep, and I shouldn't impose."

  Slipping it into his jacket, he lifted a brow. Such a thoughtful woman. "Don't make yourself uneasy. I have—"

  She lifted her skirt an inch and exposed worn slippers.

  "I have many." What a daft thing to say as he pretended not to notice her shoes, but the contrast between the new herb-green-colored satin and the water-stained slippers puzzled him. With an estate the size of Mr. Telfair’s, surely there was enough to keep both elder daughters in finery. Maybe it did not. How horrid to choose which child would be favored. The way William fiercely loved Mary, his heart would cleave in two if the babe had been twins and he could only give to one.

  He pushed open the door to the nursery. Mary and her nurse sat in the corner, stacking blocks. As the child lifted her gaze, she held out her arms to him.

  Picking up the little girl and swinging her about, he tucked her close. "This is my daughter, Mary. Lady Mary, this is Miss Gaia Telfair."

  His daughter tugged on his coat and squirmed in Gaia's direction, as if to inspect at what he pointed.

  The maid withdrew, closing the door behind her. They were alone, the three of them, and could speak freely.

  Gaia put her hand on the baby's cheek. "She doesn't have your wide ears."

  A dangerous compliment to a man being blackmailed about an unfaithful wife. He swallowed. "Lucky girl?"

  Mary leaned forward and gripped a lock of Gaia's hair.

  "May I?" she slipped her palms about Mary's waist.

  He hesitated for a moment then released the child to her.

  Mary went easily. No fuss or cries.

  "I'm impressed, Miss Telfair."

  Gaia smiled at him. Her sweet lips hummed a tune, maybe the reel they’d danced at the Hallows' Ball.

  That heart of his had a mind of its own, skipping with the rhythm. "They say children know a kind spirit."

  Again, Gaia beamed at him then lowered her gaze to Mary. "So, tell me how old you are."

  Oh, how he'd wish his girl would answer. Nevertheless, she wouldn't until this young lady, this beautiful, kind-hearted woman, drew Mary from her silent shell.

  And Gaia, sweet Gaia, would keep the secrets his daughter's returned voice would bring. He was sure of it.

  The babe tugged hard on the frizzy lock of Gaia's hair as she pivoted to the window to get a better look at the child. "Tell me, Lady Mary, how can I help you?"

  His jaw tense, the nervous papa held out his hands as if she'd drop the babe.

  Gaia had been handling children longer than anything, from the twins and Timothy, to some of the neighbors. She shook her head. The duke would have to learn to trust her if she were going to help his daughter. "Be at ease, Papa. I will not harm this little one."

  A smile briefly lifted his lips.

  She looked into the child's greenish-blue eyes, then back
to Cheshire. "Does Lady Mary grunt or annunciate a syllable?"

  His mouth opened then closed, as if he’d changed his mind on how to respond. "Sometimes; when I tried your song idea, she seemed to try to mimic."

  Releasing Mary's tight fist from her hair, Gaia tickled the girl's thumb and spun again in the salmon-pink room. "Has she ever spoken?"

  "Yes; I remember the sound of her voice like my own name. Right before I left to go to Parliament, she said 'Papa'." A sigh left him, as if the memory weighed on his lungs. He rotated on the thick puce rug, then, as if he couldn't stay away, moved closer and clung to the white-trimmed window.

  His scent, warm tarragon, swept about Gaia. Her mind should be on Lady Mary, not how nice it felt to be in his bold, strong arms. She looked away and made eyes at the child, causing the girl's smile to widen. "I remember how sad my stepmother was when we discovered little Timothy's troubles. She thought it was her fault. But what mother or father could change God's design?"

  He bolted up from leaning against the sill and spun to her. The sun shining through the mullions fell upon his dark jacket and the deep shadows lining his face. "And why would a good God allow this? If sins should fall upon anyone, shouldn't it be on one whose shoulder can bear the stripes?" He touched a lock of the girl's hair. "I should suffer, keep suffering; not Mary."

  Gaia had questions, too. Why couldn't she know who her true father was? Would the man she loved accept the truth of her birth? But she kept these thoughts to herself. "Why things happen, I don't know. My lack of understanding doesn't change things. And I choose to believe the God Who set the world in orbit, clothes the sparrow, and decorates every corner of the moors in beauty, has a plan."

  His brows furrowed as his arms folded across his deep-blue waistcoat. "A plan?"

  "Timothy has such understanding. His friendship, though the world has called him slow-witted, or knocked in the cradle, has helped me through my awkward years. I am sure that your little one is only beginning. Someday, she'll set the world aflame."

  His gaze swept over Gaia as his raw tone lifted. "Is that even possible?"

  She gazed into the babe's expressive eyes. "Yes. Her world might just be the moors, or the run of your house, but she will make a difference to those blessed to know her."

  He leaned down and kissed Mary's forehead. "I wish I could believe like you."

  Returning the babe to his arms, she brushed his sleeve. Her touching him seemed so natural. "Give this child support and unconditional love, and then you'll see and believe."

  "How will we begin, dear Gaia?"

  The way he said her name, almost breathless, lingering on the second syllable, made her pulse race. She must still be undone by nearly falling down the stairs.

  Her palm floated to his arm as her other straightened the lacy collar of Mary's pinafore. "Father should let me visit once a week. Timothy and I will come."

  His full lips folded into a smile, but he looked to the floor, as if to hide the expressions crossing his face. "I'll send a carriage for you two. Magnus hasn't quite gotten over his last ride with Master Timothy. You don't know what this means."

  He looked down and shifted his sleek slippers. "I could even pay you for your trouble."

  "Pay me?" Heat crept up her neck. Her beating heart shriveled. "You mean like a governess, and teach Lady Mary lessons?"

  "Yes... No... I just want to thank..."

  Her feet started moving, and she gripped the crystal doorknob. "There are many things I do for friends, but if I was ready to put myself on the shelf, I wouldn't need Your Grace's assistance."

  The door flung wide, and Miss Smythen pranced in. "Oh, that's what this night was about; you're interviewing the family of the new governess for our Mary."

  The little girl screamed, as if seeing the duke's cousin upset her. For a moment, Gaia wanted to turn back to settle her, but she couldn't let Cheshire or Miss Smythen see the tears in her eyes. "Tell my party I'm at the Hallows’."

  His footfalls and Lady Mary's moans came closer. "Don't go; Southborne is two miles away," his voice sounded strained, but he hadn't been injured. He just let his true motives be known—a lowly governess for the rich man's daughter. That's why he'd been so secretive, to draw her in.

  She walked to the stairs.

  "Please, Miss Telfair. Wait. Take the steps slowly."

  She gripped the banister and charged forward. When her slippers met the mahogany planks of the first level, she slowed, raised her chin, and walked to the front door.

  Albert, the brooding groomsman, blocked her path.

  She wasn't employed by the duke. No one but Mr. Telfair could control her actions. "Open the door for me."

  The servant looked toward the stairs then opened the door for her.

  When the door shut behind her, she started running, and let the air dry her face.

  With a mile behind her, taking its toll on her lungs, she stopped and gasped for air. The closeness and growing warmth she'd felt for Cheshire had been so misguided.

  Almost slipping on wet grasses, she steadied herself at the edge of a lily pond. It was too early for the white and yellow flowers to bloom, but the heavily-veined leaves floated on the surface, staking their positions for the summer. At least they knew where they belonged.

  She looked at her reflection in the clear water, hair falling, smudges on her glasses. Cheshire's family and the Telfairs weren't of the same class. She was poor. He was rich. She thought him a friend, and he made her a governess. Tears fell again, blinding her to the setting sun or the sentiment awakening in her heart when the duke held her close on the stairs.

  She liked him, really liked him. How could she have been so mistaken?

  Stooping low, she pushed a lone leaf, forcing it to join the cluster of leathery greens in the middle of the water. Maybe she should just do as Mr. Telfair wanted. Maybe he knew what was best for her.

  Yes, Mr. Telfair was right to think of her as a governess. At least she'd be given a place of honor and influence at Chevron. What more could a scandal-ridden girl want?

  If it weren't so far, she should make for home and read to Timothy. She needed one of his big hugs right now.

  "That is Nuphar Lutea Aquatic." A crop of willowherb parted its hairy, oval leaves, and allowed Elliot Whimple to forge through the brush. "That is you, Miss Gaia."

  The lowering sun bathed Elliot, adding a glow to his lightly-tanned skin. His crowned felt hat lay cocked to the side, making his smile seem wider. The short cut of the caped greatcoat meant he'd been stalking the woods for his treasured plantings. His patent gaiters had smudges, and the smell of raw mud hovered about him. Yes, he'd been with his first love…nature.

  How could she look at Elliot, knowing her traitorous heart had started to favor the duke?

  CHAPTER TEN

  The Wrong Man

  WHEN ELLIOT HELD out his palm to Gaia, she hesitated to claim it. How could she, with her arms barely cold from the duke's touch?

  Elliot extended his hand again. "Miss Telfair, I admire your reserve, but I won't bite. What are you doing walking alone?"

  This time she took it. "I needed some air." She whipped her head toward the dirt trail, then began to pin her hair; so many fallen tendrils. "I was on my way to see Serendip Hallow. Oh, I must look horrid."

  His gaze swept over her. "You look charming, but I've never known you to be caring of your appearance. You always seem at ease with nature."

  Charming. Did he say charming? She kept a sigh from leaping from her lips.

  "It's not safe being here alone. I shall accompany you. I've just left my brother's. I, too, needed to walk."

  In her haste, she'd forgotten her gloves, but now her bare hand could feel the taut muscles in his lean forearm. All the memories of admiring Elliot Whimple flooded back to her mind.

  He stopped and parked in front of her. "Are you well, Miss Telfair?"

  His Spanish-blue waistcoat and buff breeches hung well on his thin frame. This was Elliot, so kind, and
concerned with the feelings of others. He was what she wanted, not someone ashamed of her and her family. She'd just been confused since the Hallows' Ball.

  "Miss Telfair," he gripped her hand, tugging it to his chest, "should I carry you to the Hallows'?"

  The thought of being that close to Elliot made her cheeks feel hot. "No, I'm well. How is your brother doing?"

  Elliot looked up to the thick tree grove. "He's not improving. The injuries to his amputated leg bother him. Horrid war. Most days, he doesn't have the strength to play with my niece. I take it as my duty to roll hoops with the active child."

  She picked a leaf stuck in the tiered woolen cape of his coat. "You were rolling hoops, not skulking about the woods?"

  He bent and dusted his knees. "I did both. My niece is a brilliant child, and I'm not so old as to forget what it's like to have fun. From what I recall, you liked hoops."

  Now Gaia was sure her face had caught fire.

  With a gentle tug on her hand, Elliot led her forward. "My niece is learning plants, too. I'm a very proud uncle. But enough of my ramblings… what are you doing so close to Ontredale?"

  She swallowed. There was no other explanation but the truth. "My family and I just dined with the duke and his friends."

  He squinted at her. "And you're out walking to the Hallows' alone? The number of social engagements you young ladies keep."

  Yes, she'd let him think she'd planned all this and hadn't stormed out upset and insulted. "I like walking, Mr. Whimple. It helps me think. Right now, I'm contemplating life choices. What do you want out of it?"

  For a moment, he closed his eyes. The edges of his thin lips curled, highlighting his prized dimples. If she kept looking at him, she'd surely melt into a heaving puddle.

  With her arm firmly set in the crook of his, she fell in step with him. "You don't have to answer my impertinent question. Let's be on our way to the Hallows'."

  A chuckle fell from his mouth then his tone became somber. "I want what any man wants; a happy home, maybe to make a difference with my research."