by Erica Ridley
“When was this delivered?” she asked over the rapid beating of her heart.
Her parents exchanged a glance. Over thirty years after they had first met, the two lovebirds could still be found surreptitiously holding hands beneath the blanket on the settee.
Father took a sip of his own brandy before responding. “This afternoon, I believe.”
Faith had been at the boarding school since early morning. It had been a long night for Dahlia, whose family had hosted a musicale the night before, so Faith had ordered her to sleep in and offered to cover morning duties herself.
Of course, morning duties led to noon duties which led to afternoon duties. Even though Dahlia had arrived at the school far earlier than Faith had anticipated, there was always more to do than time to do it, and the two women never secured a spare moment to chat.
Or possibly Faith had been avoiding her best friend, just like she’d been avoiding Hawkridge ever since they’d shared that devastating kiss. Faith did not want to confess her moment of weakness to Dahlia, or risk running into Hawkridge himself out of fear that she’d allow the transgression to happen all over again.
She forced her thoughts from the delicious memory and focused on the letter in her hand.
Receiving correspondence was such an unusual occurrence for Faith, that there could only be one source: the Fitz-Dwyer Academy she had applied to for Christina’s admission. The school had been sent Faith’s heartfelt letter listing every one of her daughter’s best characteristics, as well as a letter of recommendation from Mrs. Turner who was the daughter of a lord.
Whether that was enough to give Christina a fighting chance was another question. But there was only one way to find out.
She retrieved the Pharaoh’s-head letter opener from beside her glass of brandy and slipped the edge of its obsidian blade beneath the wax seal binding the letter. With trembling hands, she placed the letter opener aside and began to read.
Four short lines of text sent excited disbelief skittering through her veins.
“Mother! Father!” She could barely grip the parchment with the shaking of her hands. “Christina has an appointment at the Fitz-Dwyer Academy in a fortnight.”
Her father stared at her. “Why?”
“There are many applicants but limited openings, so the interview with parent and child—or guardian and ward—are of utmost importance,” Faith reminded him. “But don’t you see what this means? She might actually be accepted!”
Her parents’ eyes filled with instant dismay.
“I have a better idea,” Mother said quickly. “Let’s focus on your school instead. What if we sign over your dowry money? Do you still want that?”
“Absolutely. And I shall hold you to it,” Faith agreed in excitement. “But that has nothing to do with Christina. Fitz-Dwyer is an exceptional school and an opportunity we must jump on at once.”
Mother clearly did not share Faith’s joy. “Would she have to live at the finishing school with the other students?”
“We’ve talked about this,” Faith said patiently. “Chris deserves the best education we can give her. We are not shipping her to Egypt. She will be just outside of London. We can have her back on weekends and holidays and yuletide and—Mother, this is her chance. She’ll have the very best resources.”
Faith’s heart swelled with relief and love. This invitation was everything she’d hoped for… But not a guarantee.
Her joy wobbled. This interview would likely be as much about how Faith presented herself as Christina.
She would have to be more than respectable. Since she could not prove Christina’s provenance, Faith could not allow bloodline to be a deciding factor. She must appear a model citizen, and Christina the perfect candidate.
A fortnight suddenly seemed like forever. They could not allow a hint of scandal to arise between today and the interview.
With luck, Christina would soon be on her way to an idyllic childhood full of experiences and educational resources beyond Faith’s wildest dreams.
“Do not dare break your word,” she warned her parents. “You agreed not only to allow, but also to finance, Christina’s schooling. Fitz-Dwyer is the best way to make that happen.”
“Of course we will pay for anything the child wants or needs,” her father assured her. “It will just be lonely without her in the house.”
Faith swallowed her fears. She had been trying not to think about that.
She could count the number of bedtime rituals she’d missed on a single hand. Once her daughter was installed at a finishing school, she would have new rituals. New people. New friends. New memories. It was bittersweet to say the least.
But Chris was growing up. Her mother and grandparents could not be the center of her world forever.
Faith wanted her daughter to be happy. To have every advantage she could give her.
This was Christina’s opportunity to practice French and Latin with other girls, have lessons from a true dancing master, complain about sums or discuss literature, forge relationships that would last the rest of her life.
Faith would not keep that from her daughter, no matter how painfully she missed her.
“Perhaps while Chris is at finishing school, you’ll finally have a chance to put yourself back out to market,” Mother suggested slyly. “It’s not too late for Christina to have an uncle, is it?”
Wasn’t it?
Faith turned her gaze to the crackling fire. She was in no position to reenter the marriage mart. Not when her insides still tangled with butterflies at the merest thought of Christina’s father.
She tried to consider him in that light and could not.
Hawkridge, for all his admittedly fine qualities, would be a terrible father. His failing estate would consume every penny of her dowry. Even if he were to someday actually offer marriage—and mean it—raising a child in poverty was the opposite of ensuring Chris the best advantages.
Faith’s glance slid over to her parents.
And they would be impoverished. Her father would disown her for sheer stupidity if she even entertained the notion of going back to the man who had caused her such pain. Father would sooner light her dowry on fire than hand it to Hawkridge.
So of course she’d had to go and kiss the man. Like a complete hen-wit.
Although Faith had managed to avoid him ever since, she wouldn’t be able to keep it up forever. Not with every one of her students clamoring for more dance lessons and the old abbey in constant need of repair.
From this point forward she would simply have to keep things between them civil. Professional. Distant.
A knock sounded at the front door.
Her parents exchanged puzzled glances. “Who would come to call at this hour?”
Faith lay the precious invitation from the finishing school atop one of the satin pillows and sprang to her feet just as Gostrell, their butler, appeared in the doorway. Perhaps it was Dahlia.
Gostrell cleared his throat. “A Lord Hawkridge to see Miss Digby?”
Faith resisted the urge to drop her face in her hands and melt through the parlor floor.
Her father was suddenly on his feet, his face purpling. “Throw him out at once.”
“No,” Faith hissed. “Please, pretend to tolerate his presence. You don’t have to like him, but we cannot cause any drama. Christina’s interview is in a fortnight.”
Her father narrowed his eyes. “Did you know that self-important toad would be paying a call?”
“Of course not. I would never invite him here or anywhere. Especially not with…” She jabbed her finger toward the ceiling where Christina played above. The hairs on the back of her neck pricked with fear. “Now that he’s here, we dare not cause a scene. We shall let him in and hope he leaves quickly.”
After an interminable moment, Father nodded in acquiescence. Gostrell disappeared to fetch Hawkridge.
Faith retook her seat amongst the mountain of soft pillows. She did not wish to appear eager to see him by
remaining on her feet.
She would probably seem obnoxiously indolent, reclining in a room filled with opulent antiquities whilst a brimming glass of expensive brandy dangled from her fingertips.
Good. She was not trying to make a positive impression. Hawkridge stomping off in disgust would be perfect. She needed him to go away.
Then all of a sudden, there he was. Filling up the doorframe like a Greek god dressed as a mortal man.
Despite the windy evening, not a hair was out of place. His greatcoat was not in the first stare of fashion, but it molded to his wide shoulders and defined the contours of his muscles so exquisitely, Faith could not imagine him in anything else.
Well, yes, she could imagine him in nothing at all… To her horror, heat spread up her neck and cheeks at the direction of her thoughts.
She rose to her feet but did not bob the requisite curtsy.
Her parents did not bother to rise.
“Mr. and Mrs. Digby. Miss Digby.” Hawkridge’s bow was fit for royalty. “Thank you for allowing me into your home unannounced.”
Faith’s parents still made no comment.
Hawkridge’s wide, unblinking gaze darted from Faith to her parents to their butler in confusion.
One could cut the awkwardness within a knife.
Faith cleared her throat. “What brings you here this evening?”
“My townhouse is not two blocks away. I was out for a walk and…” He glanced at her parents and then back to her.
Of course his townhouse must be little more than a five minute walk from theirs. Faith couldn’t believe it hadn’t occurred to her before.
Obviously she had noticed when her family fortunes had reached a level where the Digbys could afford to live in one of the nicest neighborhoods in all of London.
What she hadn’t considered was who else must live in such a neighborhood. Their nearest neighbors were dandies and debutantes. Why wouldn’t a marquess be counted among their numbers, too?
“I didn’t realize,” she said, hoping her horror was not evident in her voice.
“I doubt you would,” he replied self-deprecatingly. “We only rent while Parliament is in session, and it’s rarely the same townhouse twice. More to the point, we rarely leave our home. Had I realized our proximity sooner, I should not have waited until tonight to start taking evening walks.”
“‘We?’” Mother’s eyes were as sharp as her tone. “Dare I hope you’ve married?”
Faith tried not to wince. Hopefully Hawkridge would believe her parents simply ill-mannered, and not viscerally opposed to his very existence.
“I have not,” he answered with a smile, as if it had been a purely ordinary question. “In fact, I hoped to invite Miss Digby to take a carriage ride in Hyde Park tomorrow.”
“She’s busy,” Father said flatly.
Hawkridge blinked. “From dawn to midnight?”
“For you, she will always be busy,” Mother put in, leaving no further doubt as to their opinion of him.
Hawkridge’s eyes met Faith’s, but she could say nothing to help him.
A public carriage ride in Hyde Park was far more than he had offered her back when she’d given him everything. But she no longer wanted it. No longer wanted him.
At least, that was what she told herself.
“I fear we have begun on the wrong foot,” Hawkridge said with understandable confusion.
He had no reason to believe Faith would have confessed her fallen state to her parents. Or that they knew he had taken their daughter’s virginity before deciding she was not important enough for marriage.
“It’s been some time since we’ve held a soirée at the Hawkridge estate,” he tried again, smiling in the direction of Faith’s parents. “But I will be sure to put your names on the guest list at our very next dinner party.”
This time, Faith did wince.
One of the reason the others had mocked her was because her mother had been so flagrantly title-hungry. At the time, social-climbing had been her raison d’être. That had been a lifetime ago.
The idea that Hawkridge still believed he could buy her parents’ benediction with nothing more than an invitation to sit at a marquess’s table was an insult her mother would not bear.
“No, thank you.” Mother trained flat eyes on Hawkridge. “We are busy that evening as well.”
“It’s late,” Faith said quickly. “Let me show you to the door.”
Since her parents had not bothered to rise to greet Hawkridge, they could not now scramble to their feet in a ham-fisted attempt to watch over them in the short distance between the parlor and the front door. There would be a few minutes in which they could speak privately.
“They hate me,” Hawkridge said as soon as they were out of earshot.
She lifted a shoulder. “I wouldn’t say that.”
He stared at her in disbelief. “They did not bid me good afternoon or goodbye, much less invite me to sit or take tea.”
“They do hate you,” Faith admitted. “You shouldn’t be here.”
He blinked at her. “But why? What did I do wrong?”
“What did you do wrong?” she repeated with contempt. She counted his sins on her fingers. “Ruined their daughter. You stole my innocence and discarded me as if I were as forgettable as a penny whore. And you made no attempt to behave in a gentlemanly fashion thereafter, despite your lofty title.” Her voice cracked with hurt and anger. “You’ll have to excuse my parents if they do not wish to dine at your table. Perhaps you should count yourself lucky no blunt objects were hurled at your head.”
“You told them?” Hawkridge’s shocked expression would be comical if his actions hadn’t completely changed the course of her life.
“I had to,” she spat, furious he still believed he could act as if the past had never happened and he were completely blameless. “You ruined me and left me no choice.”
“I…I did ruin you,” he stammered, as if suddenly realizing he was not the victim of that particular turn of events. “And I did not behave honorably. But I didn’t leave you no choice. You can’t be ruined if no one knows you were ruined. It’s not as though you were…” His face drained of color and he grabbed her wrists hard enough to bruise. “Were you?”
An eternity stretched between them. Faith’s heart waged war in her chest, anger clashing with hurt, guilt clashing with vengeance.
This was the moment she had dreaded ever since the day she’d realized what her missing menses indicated. By then it had been too late to undo the past. To guard her innocence. To keep her virginity. To call back the overhasty letter assuring the lord who didn’t want her in the first place that there had been no consequences to his actions.
He had made it easy to mind her silence by not bothering to be part of her life since the night he ruined her. There had been no opportunity to speak to him, which had quickly come to feel as though there was no reason to.
But here he was in her house. Face to face. With his gloved hand trapping her trembling wrists to his chest and Christina right upstairs. This was her chance to finally be honest with him.
It might also be her last chance to protect her daughter.
“No,” she whispered. Her heart raced like the hooves of a thousand horses.
His eyes searched hers and narrowed with doubt at whatever they found.
She tried to wave the question away. “Hawkridge—”
“Were you with child?” he repeated, jerking her against his chest, his eyes wild.
She shook her head, her entire body trembling in terror.
He dropped her wrists as if they had burned him like coals.
“Liar,” he seethed, his expression a mixture of shock and hurt. “You would hide a child from me?”
She shook her head again, not trusting herself to speak.
“If you gave my baby to some other couple, I will bring suit against all of you for child-stealing. And if you left my baby on the doorstep of some orphanage—”
“N
o,” Faith said quickly. “I would never.”
“Wouldn’t you?” With a sneer, he gestured at her grand townhouse. “Your life seems fine. Your reputation unblemished in any way. What else am I to think?”
“It wasn’t like that.” She hesitated. “When you walked away—”
“You decided to keep a secret?” His eyes glittered with fury. “Ten years is an unforgivable length of time. I won’t let you keep my child from me a moment longer. If I have to drag you in front of the courts and splash our names across every scandal column in London—”
“Don’t,” she whispered. “Please.”
“Try to stop me.” He jerked away from her to stalk toward the door.
Panic gripped her. “Hawkridge—”
He didn’t slow. “By this time tomorrow, you will not have to answer to me, but to a judge who won’t care how much textiles money you have.”
She ran to catch up with him. “You have it all wrong.”
“I have nothing wrong. You are a woman. I am a marquess.” He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes cold. “You cannot keep a child from me.”
Her stomach bottomed.
He would ruin her life. He would ruin Christina’s life.
She had to stop him.
Even if it meant telling the truth.
“Let me explain,” she whispered.
He folded his arms over his chest. “You can try.”
Could she? A bubble of hysterical laughter tangled in her throat. She’d had ten years to practice a speech for this moment.
Nothing could have prepared her.
“Come back to the drawing room,” she said. “Let’s sit down and talk about this.”
He drew himself to his full height. “Speak now, or I will see you in court.”
She swallowed her fear.
Surely she could reason with him. Hawkridge was in no more position to be a father today than he had been back then. He would come to the same conclusion she had: Christina had been far better off right where she was.
There was no need for courts or scandal sheets or criminal charges.
Her parents were blameless. Christina was blameless. Lord Hawkridge could hardly say the same.
