Mountjoy ran his hand up beneath his wig and regarded the book that had been returned to his lap as if it were a particularly obnoxious specimen of vermin. “A damned Methodist, is what I think. Martyred for his cause, my foot and eye! George was shot because he talked too much, I wager. Wanted to shoot him often enough myself.”
Lady Carlisle replied gently, “But his daughter loved him. Surely you must see that. She loved him and she still grieves for him. And if she is clever enough to see that book published and escape all the men you have placed on her trail, she just might be right about George’s death. Perhaps, just perhaps, it was not accidental. And if the woman who calls herself Faith is not really our granddaughter, who do you think was the one foisting her off on us?”
In that moment Mountjoy felt old. He stared at the spacious salon that had known the company of the wealthy and the noble of several nations. He had led a proud life, increased his fortunes, made his name a commonplace at the tables of the powerful. He couldn’t do that without making a few mistakes along the way.
The thought of his two incredibly unalike sons made him sober. He wasn’t even certain they were both his sons. He rather figured Edward, as the elder, would be. His wife had been young and innocent when Edward was born. But George... Well, George resembled several ascetic politicians that his wife had favored in later years. There was every chance that he hadn’t been of Montague blood. Perhaps that was why he had driven the boy off.
But George had borne the Montague name, as did his daughter. And perhaps—if Edward and Thomas were any examples—it was better that the bloodline had been diverted. A son who could write a book and a granddaughter who could outwit men were not to be overlooked easily. He muttered and studied the book in his lap again.
“You win, Lettice, although how in hell I’ll protect the girl, I cannot fathom.”
Lady Carlisle smiled knowingly. “I rather think if you find a man who currently goes by the name of Morgan de Lacy, you’ll have the solution to that particular problem.”
The name meant nothing to him, but the marquess filed it away for future reference. The challenge of finding a granddaughter who had hidden from him for a year and a half while producing a book gave life new meaning. Mayhap she was worth the fortune he had threatened to bestow upon her.
***
“But with the Assembly still in session, the inn is full to overflowing! I cannot let you do all the work. I am quite well, really I am. You will make me feel as if I’m not needed if you don’t let me do more,” Faith protested.
Bess Needham snorted. “We are full to overflowing because you made this a respectable house with meals they come for miles around to enjoy. You have made neat columns of these bundles of receipts and invoices that look like so much gibberish to me. We have made a profit because you pay attention to the prices the merchants would make me pay. And you think you’re not needed? You just take care of that precious little boy there, and I’ll tell you when you’re not needed.”
Faith wiped the bottom of the “precious little boy” and wrapped him in dry cloths. He wiggled his baby feet impatiently, and she had to smile. With that head full of black hair, he could resemble no one but Morgan, and his restless energy only proved the fact. She had been told infants slept all the time, but George Morgan O’Neill had let her know in no fine terms that he wasn’t about to be kept in a cradle all day. Big bright eyes stared back at her expectantly as she lifted him to her shoulder.
“Well, I can at least come down and see that the maids are keeping the silverware clean and the tables polished. Do give me a chance to show off my son a little, Bess,”
Bess nodded knowingly. “He’s a fine one. His papa would be mighty proud of him. A handsome man he must have been, just to look at all that wavy hair. You bring him down to say hello, then get yourself back up here. You gave us a terrible scare and I’m not ready to repeat it again anytime soon.”
The hours of birthing were hazy in Faith’s mind, but she was aware that there had been some concern for her life. They shouldn’t have worried, though. She would never have left Morgan’s child alone to face the world. Still, it had given her reason to wonder if she shouldn’t let Miles know about the child. Should anything, God forbid, happen to her, she wouldn’t want little George to be left with nothing or no one.
Morgan would know about him, then.
As she came downstairs, cuddling the babe in her arms, a cheer went up in the taproom. She raised her eyebrows at Toby and friends and smiled shyly.
“You’re embarrassing me,” she admonished. “It’s not as if I’ve returned from the dead.”
“Give ’im over, lass. Let’s see what Black Jack has produced.” When Faith seemed reluctant to hand over her bundle, Toby grinned. “I’m used to handling the little baggages now, since I’m an uncle. I won’t break ’im, I promise.”
Acton ambled over to join the idlers admiring the babe, and when the young attorney arrived, he too added his compliments. The son of one of the burgesses, he proposed a toast, and soon there was a crowd of young men drinking to the newborn and to the young widow, who blushed and smiled and didn’t know where to turn under their attentions.
She was almost grateful when little George made his complaints known. As the men laughingly cheered the lustiness of his cries, she bundled him back into her arms and curtsied, leaving them with smiles as she hastened from the room. She felt her ears burning as she started for the kitchens outside.
The May sun felt delightful on her cheeks as she stepped into the garden. Faith turned her face up to the sky and soaked in the healing rays. There had never been days quite like this in England, but she remembered spring warmth and scents and the blood coursing through her veins as Morgan took her in his arms. Her heart pounded a little faster with the memory. They were God-given days. They had to be. She would treasure them always.
Refusing to cry when she had so many reasons to be happy, Faith swung around in a circle amidst the evergreen hedges and circular beds of herbs and flowers, her skirts billowing, her son gurgling contentedly. Now that winter was gone, she would be happy.
***
“Hang on the reins, man! Hold her down!”
Morgan clung to his stallion’s bridle as he shouted at the young boy trying to manage the frantic mare. Both horses had weathered the ocean voyage in reasonably good health. Now that they felt solid ground beneath their feet, they were ready to run. He patted and soothed the restive stallion while the lad he had hired tried to calm the smaller of the two mounts.
Finding the mare had been a piece of luck. Miles had refused to give out any information about Faith’s destination, but Morgan knew his little Methodist well. Discovering Toby had disappeared at the same time as Faith, he knew at once where to begin searching. There were only so many ports where they could have found shipping to the colonies.
It had taken every cent Morgan had made these last months to bribe open the records of the London shipping offices. When he had found no entry resembling Faith and Toby, Morgan had started next in Portsmouth. He would have searched every port in England until he found them, but it was in Portsmouth that he had found his mare.
A bit of persuasion had located the owner, a ship’s captain just in port. A night of drinking had pried loose the memory of the young couple traveling to Virginia. He had even remembered Williamsburg as their destination, because he had recommended several inns there to the red-haired young man. Morgan had signed on the first ship for Virginia the next morning.
Now here he was, but he had no patience for admiring this new country. His only interest lay in locating Faith. His fixation with the past had destroyed any chance of a future, but he wanted to be certain Faith was well and happy before he made his own plans. He didn’t dare think beyond that.
Keeping the animals in line served to keep Morgan’s hands and mind busy as his trunk was loaded into a cart and they began their journey inland to Williamsburg. The voyage had given him over two months in which to qu
ietly go mad envisioning Faith’s life now.
He had tried to keep himself occupied with the horses, but there was only so much he could do for them. He had watched the ship’s crew, haunted the captain, learned as much as he could of navigation and sailing, but he couldn’t stay on deck twenty-four hours a day. Somewhere in every night he had to stop to sleep, and that was when Faith came to him.
After a while he had begun to accept her presence. There had been several attractive women on board, bound to the colonies to try their luck. They had practiced their wiles on him, but Morgan had been singularly uninterested.
It was a fair way to madness, but then, Morgan was quite certain he suffered from some lunacy to be here in the first place. All the coins he had saved these last years had disappeared with Newgate and the life he had been leading. The sale of the cottage had brought him a respectable sum, but part of that had been used on buying the mare and paying for his passage. He was the next best thing to a pauper, and he had no reason to believe he was any closer to Faith than before.
But after abandoning his goals of revenge, Morgan had no other purpose in mind. The vague ideas of owning land, raising horses, and having a family were too impossible to conceive without the one woman he needed to make them come true. And she was so far beyond his reach that he had occasion to wonder at his temerity in seeking her out. Still, here he was, searching for an elusive will-o’-the-wisp who had every right to despise him. It made about as much sense as anything else he had ever done.
When Morgan arrived in Williamsburg to find every inn and tavern stacked to the rafters, he accepted it as one more punishment that he deserved. Finding a liveryman who appreciated fine horseflesh and agreed to set some of the nags into a paddock in order to stable the thoroughbreds, Morgan left his trunks and horses and set out on foot to explore the town Faith had taken for her own. He hoped.
The main thoroughfare almost put an end to his hopes. The street was wider than any Morgan had ever seen, and it was packed from end to end with expensive coaches-and-four, and even coaches-and-six. Elegantly coiffed ladies in luxurious silks and powdered hair rode behind liveried servants. Gentlemen clad in sober black mingled on the green with wealthy planters garbed in the finest silks and laces. Such a profusion of wealth all in one place instantly brought to mind his days of riding the high toby, and Morgan mentally counted the proceeds should he take to the road again.
A man obviously wouldn’t starve in this place. The streets seemed remarkably clean of the ragged urchins and maimed beggars that congregated in every major city he had ever known. It was impossible to imagine a place where everyone had enough to eat. Morgan knew if he looked hard enough, there had to be the poor and hungry here, but he was beginning to think it would only be the lame and the mad who went without in these streets of gold.
The May sun sent him searching for shade, and he found it in a pleasant tavern fronting on Duke of Gloucester Street. He ordered rum and listened to the frock-coated gentlemen expound vociferously on the day’s happenings in the Assembly. It seemed every man in here had an interest in the government, not just an idle, blasé interest, but an adamant, aggressive opinion on every topic to come before the Assembly. Morgan thought that intriguing, but it brought him no closer to finding Faith.
But the polished pewter and neatly swept floors of the tavern gave him another idea. How many inns and taverns could there be in a colonial town? He had to find a place to stay. That gave him excuse enough to stop and question at every one. Knowing the way his little Methodist’s mind worked, she would have hunted for work in the places she knew best.
Someone, somewhere, would be able to tell him of a delicate female with a lady’s ways applying for position of tavern maid.
Chapter 30
“I can’t. I simply can’t. There isn’t time....” Faith protested.
The young gallant in satin waistcoat with lace at throat and wrist made a dramatic gesture to dispel her remonstrations. “We will make time, Mistress O’Neill. The day is made for the out- of-doors, and I have a brand-new carriage I wish to display in style. How better than with the most beautiful woman in all of Williamsburg by my side?”
Faith’s lips quirked with amusement. Randolph Blair had become a regular at Needham Inn since his father had taken a seat in the House. He was only a few years older than she but he had led a sheltered, pampered life that had left him happy and carefree, and not exceedingly wise or mature. Still, he had a lively sense of humor, a quick wit, and he treated her as if she were a princess. Such treatment was exceedingly hard to resist, and she gave up her attempt now.
“I’m scarcely attired for elegance, Mr. Blair. You will have to give me a few moments to don something appropriate for showing off a new carriage.”
Randolph grinned, a sloping grin that spread across his narrow face and illuminated his blue eyes. “I will take one mug of your fine ale while I wait. Then the day is mine.”
Faith shook her neatly capped curls. “Not quite, sir. You forget my demanding son. One hour I give, no more.”
“Two, and you will be forgiven.”
“We’ll see.” Faith escaped before he could persuade her into more. Never in his spoiled life had Randolph Blair been denied anything, and he had learned too well all the ways to turn women to his thinking. She wouldn’t fall into that trap, but he did make it difficult to say no, particularly on a lovely spring day such as this one. She’d never been courted before, and she wouldn’t be female if she didn’t enjoy his admiration.
She came down a while later wearing the yellow silk that Morgan had given her the previous summer. The style still served here in the colonies, and she was extremely proud of her elegant confection. A stiff petticoat and white satin underskirt with rows of lace billowed the gown into a stylish bell, and the matching lace at the elbow-length sleeves and in the curve of the bodice declared her a lady of leisure. She had thought the gown ridiculous until she had noted those of the ladies in the shops and streets.
As Randolph’s eyes widened in appreciation, Faith knew she had successfully made the transition from servant to lady.
“I trust I won’t clash with your new carriage,” she said as he guided her toward the street.
“I would run the thing into the river should that be so,” he declared brashly as he handed her into the waiting curricle.
Faith looked at the new vehicle with surprise, gazing upward to the sky, where there should be a roof, and to the sides, where she could easily see the dusty street below instead of a proper window. The whole thing looked extremely rackety, and she turned to her companion as he took up the reins. Only then did she realize that there was no driver, and that he meant to leave his groom behind.
“Whatever on earth is this thing, Mr. Blair? I fear I shall be dashed to the street at any minute.”
“It’s a curricle. Don’t you like it? Wait until you feel it run when I let the horses have their heads. It’s like flying. Hold on to your curls.”
His attention was entirely on his horses and the spectacle they were making as they pulled out into the road, without the least bit of concern for Faith’s fears. With one hand she grabbed the scrap of lace holding her hair in place, and with the other she grabbed the side of the curricle as Randolph sent the horses into a swift canter, barely missing a narrow coach.
“Mr. Blair, you will walk this carriage or I shall never ride with you again.” Faith spoke loudly enough that he could hear over the sound of the wheels hitting every rut in the road.
Randolph turned her a cheery grin and slowed the horses. “A sedate walk to please the lady for now. After we have showed the town our paces, we will try her out in the country, shall we?”
“No, sir, we shall not.” Faith breathed easier as the carriage slowed and turned onto the wide thoroughfare of the Duke of Gloucester. Releasing the side of the vehicle, she primly folded her hands in her lap. Refusing to respond to the young man’s cajoling smile, she gazed around her, admiring the sights from thi
s vantage point.
She was thoroughly delighted with this town she had adopted. The streets lay in well-planned parallels lined with neat cottages, imposing houses, and well-kept businesses. With the new Capitol rising splendidly on one end, the impressive college at the other end, and the Governor’s Palace just off to the center, it suited her sense of orderliness. All the yards had formal gardens that grew the most marvelous fruit, along with herbs for the kitchen and flowers for beauty. She would think she had found heaven had not one important piece been missing.
Just as that memory made her flinch, Faith noticed a massive black stallion. The horse would have caught her attention at any time, but the tall, immaculately turned-out rider in black frock coat managing the great beast made her breath catch. The curricle rolled by before she could observe his face beneath the jauntily cocked hat, but that brief sight was enough to jar loose a flood of emotions she had long since locked away.
It couldn’t be him. That would be impossible.Miles Golden would never have revealed her hiding place. It had to be someone who rode like him. There must be other experienced horsemen in this world. She had no reason to believe that the one man in the world she needed to make her happiness complete was riding down this same street behind her.
The intensity of the emotions just the possibility stirred nearly broke the calm that she had worked so hard to restore. It had taken months to wipe away the tears, piece together her heart, and stow away the longings.
Choking back the sob lurking in her throat, Faith stiffly checked the pins in her cap and turned her attention back to the young man merrily greeting friends and neighbors.
***
Behind her, Morgan had no doubt of the identity of the woman riding in the expensively useless vehicle beside a young fop. Of all the things he had imagined in these last months, finding Faith in the lap of luxury had not been one of them.
Miles had told him she had never drawn on the bank draft he had given her. Morgan had assumed her pride would force her to work for a living. But seeing her now in silks and laces in the company of a young macaroni who could very well have made her his mistress roused a black temper Morgan had not let loose in years.
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