A Scandalous Lady (20 page)

“A whole meat pie? All to myself?”

“You won't have to share it with anyone. And you'll get to eat at the table, too.”

“At the table? Zounds, Fan!” He started for the door, then turned abruptly, his brow creased with concern. “You'll still be here when I'm done, won't ye? You won't leave me behind again?”

“I won't ever leave you behind again, I promise you that.”

“Good. Cause mates don't leave mates.”

“Mates don't leave mates,” she whispered.

With her fingers pressed to her lips and her eyes so blurred with tears she could barely see, she watched him walk out the door. Her mind reeled over the fact that Scatter, the closest thing she could claim to family, was here at Westborough. God's teeth, she'd missed the little beggar, more than she ever thought possible.

“I thought you might be pleased to see him again.”

“Pleased! Oh, milord, you've no idea.” She grinned through her tears. “I can't believe you found him. That you brought him here. . . . Thank you. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you for bringing the lad home to me.”

 

It was a vision that haunted Troyce in the days to come. Faith so grateful, her face so soft—almost motherly—her love for the waif clear to anyone who looked. He didn't think he'd seen a more lovely vision in his life. It made him want to give her the world on a silver platter. Seize the moon straight out of the sky and hand it to her just to see her eyes light up. It made him want to—

Do exactly what his father had done for his mother.

She has designs on you.

Was that it? Troyce wondered. Faith was perfectly aware that he had not a farthing to his name, but he did have something many girls dreamed of having. A title. Granted, it wasn't much of one, the lowest of the peerage ranks, but it was still a title.

He raked his hands through his hair. Why was he so damned suspicious of her? Why couldn't he just treat her like any other servant in his household?

Why the hell couldn't he stop thinking of her?

He picked up the quill he'd thrown down on the desk, and determined to purge her from his mind. It took several minutes to focus his concentration on the ledgers, and then, he wished he hadn't. The numbers weren't increasing, but they weren't shrinking either. Pence by pence Faith was saving by making do. Replacing coal with peat gathered from the countryside. Trading surplus supplies or labor with the villagers for necessities. She was absolutely amazing in bartering and thriftiness, and again he wondered how she'd come to live such a life.

But it wasn't enough.

If the finances weren't already in such a sorry mire, another of his father's creditors had popped up, demanding a twenty-thousand-pound payment for some bauble his mother had no doubt thrown into the Channel for being the wrong color. But the real clincher was the Notice of Taxes Due he'd received in the morning's mail. He had little more than two months to pay the queen her due, or he would lose everything he'd worked so hard to keep. The noose grew tighter around his throat. The sinking feeling in his stomach told him where to find the answer.

He had no choice anymore.

He would have to find a wife.

Chapter 14

“S
o which would you prefer, a garden soiree or a summer ball?” Devon asked after breakfast two mornings later.

She was in her element. Give her an event to plan, and she was all aflutter. Normally, Troyce would have celebrated the rare burst of life that lit her eyes. Unfortunately, he felt as if she were simply planning his day on the hanging platform.

“You don't have to enjoy this so much, Devon.”

“It is my duty as your sister to see that you are properly betrothed. However, you are not making this easy by refusing every invitation that I've presented to you. So I've decided that if you will not go to society, then society shall come to you.”

“I can't afford to host a party, and you know it.”

“You don't have to.
Grandpère
is taking care of all the expenses.”

“You told
Grandpère?
”

“I had no choice, West. If you are to attract a wealthy, titled maiden, you cannot appear the pauper. Now which do you prefer?”

He would prefer to survive the whole bloody debacle with at least a measure of his pride intact. No one was even supposed to know that he was in the market for a bride. It was supposed to be a simple gathering of their closest, wealthiest neighbors, a discreet opportunity to assess his prospects. “Not a garden party. The last thing I want to do is spend the day smacking a bloody croquet ball all over kingdom come.”

“Then a summer ball it is. It will be nice to put the ballroom to use after all these years. Do you remember the parties Mother used to host? Oh, I just loved those tiny bowls of fish she'd place on the tables. Of course, Aunt Phoebe mistook them for finger bowls and Uncle Edward thought they were water goblets and drank four of them.”

A reluctant grin tugged at his mouth at the memory. “I remember the time you and Miles—” Troyce caught himself too late. “I'm sorry, Devon.”

She tossed her head. “It doesn't matter. Miles Heath means nothing to me.” But her hands shook nonetheless as she took a drink of water. “I'm thinking about wearing my red dress.”

“Your red dress? I thought you said it was missing?”

“Lucy found it a couple of weeks ago.”

“And you did not see fit to tell me?”

“Why would I? You made it quite clear that you care nothing for a lost piece of—what did you call it—feminine frippery?”

He wouldn't have given a flying fig about it if she hadn't been ready to hang Faith for something she hadn't even done. And he hadn't seen another woman in a red dress and thought it was her. Troyce felt his stomach turn.

“Do you think it would be too scandalous if I wore it so soon after father's death?”

He threw his napkin on the table and shot to his feet. “Wear a bloody potato sack for all I care.”

He walked outside and saw Faith and Scatter heading down the hill for the village. What a pair they made. Faith so fair and slender and graceful, Scatter so tall and dark and gangling. He thought about joining them; he missed spending his days working with Faith at his side. He missed watching her with the children, grubby urchins that they were, and he missed hearing her explain her ideas to the older ones, cantankerous crones that they were.

Most of all, he missed the way she always looked for him. Their gazes would meet across a street or over a field or under a broken cart, and all the pieces of his broken world would fall into place. She made him feel like a bloody hero.

His throat tightened. He shoved his hands into his pockets and headed for the boathouse. Damn it all, what was he doing? He had no right thinking of her. No right wanting to be with her. No right wishing he could give up everything his father had left him just to have her.

He was to marry someone else.

 

“Do ye ever miss the tunnels, Fanny?” Scatter asked, his voice echoing across the entrance hall. He'd been anxious to help her in the castle today, so Faith had set him to the task of replacing the candles in the pewter holders that sat on one of the tables they'd brought in from an unused room.

Polishing the lion's head at the bottom end of the balustrade, she said, “Not so much the tunnels, but I miss the band. How is everyone?”

“Don't know. I ain't been back since ye left.”

“What do you mean?”

“Jack wouldn't let me go back till I had news of ye.”

The rag paused on the lion's mane. “Where did you live?”

“On the docks, mostly. Sometimes I'd find a building no one was usin', but I'd have to be real careful of the coppers, so I didn't get much sleep. This sure is a big house. I bet a few of the lads wouldn't mind living here.”

“Don't think it, Scat. Lord Westborough was kind enough to bring in a few of the villagers to help ready the house for the party, but I don't want to test his generosity.” Not just yet anyway. Once he learned to trust her and Scatter, though, she hoped she might persuade him to bring in a few more members of the band.

“Ye want me to start fillin' the lamps?”

“Aye—I mean, yes,” she corrected herself. “The oil is kept in the pantry on the other side of the icebox. Do you know where that is?”

Scatter nodded, then tore down the hall. Faith smiled. In the two days since he'd been at Westborough, he'd brightened her days. She finally had someone to talk to, and someone who listened. Someone who didn't judge, didn't accuse, and most importantly, didn't set her nerves a-riot.

Unlike some people she could mention.

She knew she should probably be grateful that she hadn't seen much of the baron since he'd brought her back from the woods. The truth was, though she didn't see him, he was never far from her thoughts. She kept seeing him as he'd been in the stables, his shirt plastered to his skin, his hair in disarray, his eyes shooting fire. He'd been mad enough to skin a cat and yet, he'd also been the most wildly attractive man she'd ever seen.

She still couldn't believe he'd brought Scatter back with him from London. That he would have gone back to her world, just to bring her back a piece of it, still touched her to the depths of her soul. No one had ever done something like that for her before.

Sighing, calling herself the silliest of gooses, she moved up a step to reach the upper railing of the banister. Lady Brayton had left instructions that the entire house was to be spotless by the Friday of next week. Apparently, the party was to be a grand event, a chance for the baron to meet some powerful people. Faith hoped that one of them might be willing to invest in his ship. She knew how much he worried about money. She'd already been informed by Lady Brayton that no nonsense would be tolerated. Fifty or so guests had been invited to Westborough, and while they were there, Faith was to remain out of sight and out of trouble or there would be the devil to pay.

Faith tried not to let it bother her, but there were times when she wondered if she would ever fit in here. Aye, the villagers seemed to accept her well enough. And all the house servants save Lucy had grown used to her, but Lady Brayton . . . she shook her head. She just didn't know what to think of that woman.

Or her brother.

Faith pushed the baron from her mind and moved up another step. Best just to concentrate on her task, for the year would end soon, and she would be free. As she dragged the rag up the banister, she found herself thinking of her life on the streets, of all the times she'd slid down pipe rails in her haste to escape a bobbie.

It seemed years had passed instead of months since she'd been chased. And while she could not say she enjoyed being a target, neither could she deny an odd thrill in the pursuit. The outwitting of foxes. The excitement of running and dodging, leaping and . . . yes, sliding to freedom.

She stared longingly at the gleaming banister. No, she couldn't. She didn't dare. If she got caught, Newgate would look like paradise compared to where Lady Brayton would send her.

But oh, how slick it looked. How damned inviting.

She glanced at the kitchen, then the study door. No one was about. The baron had left hours ago to work on his ship; Lady Brayton had gone to Brayton Hall with Lucy to collect extra bedding for the guests. Millie was napping, and Chadwick had been sent to the village to train a few of the villagers on butlering. No one would ever know . . .

Her heart pounded with the thrill of the forbidden as she raced to the very top of the staircase. Bunching her skirts, she mounted the banister sidesaddle. A smile of sheer delight spread across her face as she started to slide. “Wheeee!” she cried, picking up speed. When she reached the bend in the railing at the landing where the staircase split into wings, she tilted her body to accommodate the slant.

It was in that moment that the front door opened, and in walked Lady Brayton, Lucy, and Chadwick.

Faith's heart flew into her throat but she couldn't have stopped if her life depended on it. The starched fabric of her skirt on polished oak was like butter on a hot skillet, and down she went. Just before she would have hit the lion's head at the end of the railing, she leaped off onto solid ground. The momentum drove her forward and she slammed into Lady Brayton. She had a flashing image of wide-eyed shock and mouths agape before one after another, the group tumbled like a row of dominoes: the duchess fell back against Lucy, Lucy fell back against Chadwick, and all three landed on the floor while pillows and bedding flew into the air like an exploding linen factory.

Faith landed on the floor on her bum, her plain gray skirts and muslin petticoats tangled with Lady Brayton's black crepe gown and frilly underslips. Behind her, cushioning her body from the stone floor, lay Lucy on a mound of blankets, and beside her sat Chadwick, blinking in confusion.

For several long, swollen moments, no one said a word until Lady Brayton, red-faced with fury, sputtered, “You . . . you . . .” She grabbed the nearest object and swung.

Years of quick reflexes had Faith ducking. Instead of sailing harmlessly through the air, the pillow struck Chadwick against the side of his head. And then it burst. Feathers spewed from one end like ash from a smokestack.

At first, Faith was too stunned to react. She saw Lady Brayton clap a hand to her mouth in equal parts horror and mortification; Lucy gasped. Chadwick spat a feather out from between his lips.

Then to everyone's openmouthed astonishment, Lady Brayton laughed.

It started with a tremble of her shoulders, moved to the quaking of her back and then a very unduchesslike snort. Downy white feathers swirled around them, heavens rain, and angelic peals of laughter built into a choir of song. “Oh, Chadwick, forgive me, I did not mean to hit you,” Lady Brayton gushed. “I meant to hit her!”

Faith wasn't quick enough this time, and the pillow caught her against the shoulder. Again, goose feathers exploded from the cotton slip.

“All right, I've had about all I can take . . .” Consequences flew out of Faith's mind as she grabbed a second pillow and swung.

Lady Brayton squealed and threw her arms over her head and her body to the floor; the pillow caught Lucy on the shoulder and knocked her over.

Roaring with laughter, Lady Brayton flung a blanket at Faith and smacked her in the face.

Peeling the shroud away from her eyes, Faith growled, “You think that's funny?”

And the war began.

Pillows, feathers, blankets, even a few articles of clothing were tossed through the air. Chadwick tried his best to break up the fight, Lucy did her best to encourage Lady Brayton, but Faith and Lady Brayton had eyes only for each other as they raced around the entrance hall of Westborough Manor with downy clubs, sometimes using people as shields, sometimes taking well-aimed blows with cries of, “You call yourself a sporting girl, Miss Jervais?” and “Is that the best you've got, Duchess?”

Sometime during the fray, Scatter arrived and Faith found her back guarded from Lucy, who had given up encouraging her lady and had started walloping Faith from behind.

Then as suddenly as it began, it stopped.

The room grew eerily silent.

Faith glanced up; the blood rushed from her face.

In the doorway stood his lordship, looking like thunder in the flesh.

“West!” Lady Brayton whispered.

“What the bloody hell is going on here, Devon?”

“Nothing.”

“It doesn't look like nothing to me. It looks like a god damn chicken farm blew up in my hall!”

It was as if someone had just stomped on the moment and snuffed it out.

With unfailing sophistication, the duchess unfolded her lithe figure from behind a potted plant and glided toward the baron. “Then perhaps you should speak to your servants about the proper use of banisters.”

The baron looked at Faith, and she blushed to the roots of her hair. Instead of berating her for her mischief, he turned to the duchess, and said, “Indeed. I seem to recall someone who used to love riding down the banisters.”

Lady Brayton's chin shot up. “That was a long time ago.” She started to walk out of the room and tripped over a pile of feathers. “For God's sake, Miss Jervais, get this mess cleaned up before the guests arrive.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

It took only a few seconds for the room to clear of everyone save herself and the lord of the manor. Now she was in for it. Now he would surely call off their agreement and send for a padded wagon to haul her off to Newgate.

“Faith?”

She heard his steps grow closer.

“Would you mind telling me what happened here?”

She couldn't look at him. “I'm, sorry, Baron. This was all my fault.”

“Aye, I'm sure it was.”

And to her utter amazement, she found herself being plucked off the floor, enveloped in his arms, and swung around in a circle.

“And for it, I owe you a debt I can never repay.”

Faith's head spun; feathers dislodged themselves from her hair and landed in his. She blinked, taken aback by the broad smile on his face. “I don't understand.”