“I know,” Lady Torsford said with a sigh. “My sister-in-law does sometimes speak hastily. I will speak to her and make her see her mistake. She is used to getting her way and I am afraid that she has had quite a time of it lately.”
Faith could not imagine what sort of trouble the spoiled Mary-Elizabeth might be having, but it really was not her concern.
Lady Torsford continued. “She is learning, albeit slowly. Please do not think too harshly of her.”
Faith promised to put the matter from her mind, but she could see that her sister was still shaken.
Lady Torsford patted Hope’s shoulder. “I do promise that the rumors will fade in time, when you are better known. I understand these things, you see? Do you think a school teacher marrying a baron was well-received by all at first? I can assure you it was not. Yet the baron and I muddled along through the worst of it together and now it seems as if no one is bothered in the least. Not even Mary-Elizabeth, though she was not kind to me at first. We warmed to one another and I like her quite well enough when she is willing to be civil. Chin up, my dears, for you have a friend in me.”
“And me as well,” Lady Ainsworth added. “Do come and visit.”
Both agreed that they would.
The twins made the return journey with mixed feelings. Of course the row was enough to cause a stir about town if it became known. Yet, the kindness and protection offered by the Baroness Torsford and Lady Ainsworth bolstered their spirits.
“You were right,” Hope admitted after a few long miles of silence. “We are still the baggage.”
“But you were right as well,” Faith replied. “We have allies now, and it will do no harm to make an effort to earn more.”
“And strengthen the ones we have,” they said simultaneously. They both laughed.
“I have an idea for a new scene,” Faith said.
“So do I,” Hope replied, and together in the bumping carriage they began to share their musings.
5
The following afternoon Faith and Hope set off to work on their latest story at the old storehouse. As the day wore on, Faith could see her twin was quickly becoming exasperated. Restless and unfocused, Faith was doing little more than looking over Hope’s shoulder, rather than actually helping with the writing of their most recent pages.
“Stop it,” Hope said giving Faith a little shove so she could not hover and read over Hope’s shoulder.
Faith circled the storeroom and her thoughts turned on the handsome Mr. Titherington. She wondered what he was doing on this fine day. She meandered between the open window and back to Hope.
“Stop pacing,” Hope snapped. “What is wrong with you?”
“I just cannot seem to keep my mind on the story,” Faith said shamefacedly. Her spirit was too full of thoughts and energy that needed to be related, but her mind would not settle on a single plot.
“You are too full of vigor,” Hope said. “Go for a walk and stop wandering about. Hopefully, your muse will follow. Come back when you have something to add.”
Perhaps her sister was right. Faith left Hope working in the old storehouse and began her walk. She set upon the path, though with some reservation. Without thought, she found herself at the crossroads to the path where she had met Mr. Titherington. It was not a-purpose; she was sure. Her feet just seemed to take her there. Would she see him again? She wondered. Surely, Jesse was not correct in his teasing. She did not hope to meet Mr. Titherington along the path. She only wanted to go for a walk to clear her head and bring her muse back to her as Hope had suggested.
Besides, she had warned Mr. Titherington that the lane was private, and now that he had been warned, he should know better than to trespass. Still, her heart leapt at the thought.
She had not made her encounter known to any except Jesse as she was well aware that her oldest brother Isaac, the rigid and honor bound new Viscount Mortel, would not be happy she met with a gentleman alone no matter how it had occurred.
Why had she not told Hope? She told Hope everything and her twin was also transparent with her. What was it then about Mr. Oscar Titherington that she wanted to hold close to her heart? She wondered if she should hurry back to the storehouse before the gentleman in question happened along, but no. She would not hide away for fear of crossing paths on a remote country road.
She refused to allow the chance meeting with a gentleman of ill repute to keep her bound and shackled, afraid to leave the manor. She was done being fettered by any man. She was a free woman. She could do as she pleased.
She had stopped at a bend in the road where a fine covering of wildflowers had sprung forth as if overnight. She again considered going back to the storehouse, but she had nothing to offer Hope and their story. Crouching amongst the greenery she set about the task of picking a small bouquet to serve as decoration in their humble writing loft, though not enough to leave any patches that would signify the flowers had been plucked.
From over her shoulder she heard the gentle clip clop of approaching hooves that had her frozen in her tracks. Was it him? Who else would be along this path? She released one long, steadying breath and continued about her task, refusing to be bothered. She would not look up. There was no need to leap out of the way for there was plenty of room in the lane and the rider’s pace was much more at ease than Mr. Titherington and his stallion. It might not be him, and yet her heart soared at the possibility. She would not even bother to look over her shoulder, for some innate sense told her that it would be the same gentleman and her face warmed with a blush. She would not encourage these chance meetings.
“Ho!” Mr. Titherington said with a smile as he drew Demon up beside her. The horse tossed his dark mane and reached out a probing nose toward her, but was restrained before he made contact.
“I had hoped our paths might cross again,” Mr. Titherington crossed the reigns in his lap, released them, and settled his hands in a nonchalant manner upon the pommel of the saddle. The horse stood obediently.
“Had you?” Faith wondered aloud. Finally, she stood and turned toward him, but made no attempt to give any sign that their meeting was welcome.
“She speaks,” he teased her.
“I should not speak to you at all. We are not properly introduced,” she said. ”How do you find yourself once again on a private lane?”
“Like you, I thought myself unlikely to come upon another, but I had hoped.” He flashed her a cheeky grin as he dismounted. “Would you not say my approach much improved this day?”
She had to agree. He had his horse under his control and did not run her down, but she did not relent. “I thought I had informed you already that this lane is closed to all save the residents of Mortel Manor and Middle-Nett cottage?”
“Yes, you did,” he replied. “As the most passable route to town for each of us I should think that we are set to happily cross paths quite often.”
Faith crossed her arms about her breast and looked up at him with an exaggerated glare determined that she would not pay him the compliment that he expected, but she could not keep her austere face. “I am not on my way to town,” she said.
“Then you were just out for a walk and happened upon this path.” He smirked at her.
“Yes.” She would not give him the satisfaction of thinking that she was looking for him or hoping to come upon him.
“Now, that we are twice met, will you still not give me your name?”
His hair had fallen into his eyes and he looked so expectant that she had to smile. The answering grin on his face told her that he was already far too pleased with himself. She ignored his entreat and thought instead why was he on this path? Then the truth occurred to her.
“Do you mean to say that you come from the cottage?” she asked.
“Most certainly,” he replied. “I have let the place through the season at least, though I have a hold for the entire half-year if I am so inclined.”
Faith bit her lip for though it was a satisfactory answer, she was not
sure that she pleased to hear it. The cottage and the manor each bordered several of her favorite walking paths, most importantly one that led to the abandoned storehouse that she and her sister so adored. He would be about, and might discover their secret place.
“So you are in residence at the cottage,” she said slowly. It was really too close for comfort. She felt herself give a little shiver at the thought and her heart was beating entirely too fast for a simple walk. “Well, that would explain why Mr. Porter would not sell the parcel to my brother this past autumn,” she mused. “It has not been let for several years, and Isaac had thought to purchase it and make some improvements before opening it once again.”
“Your brother…” Mr. Titherington raised his fingers to his chin in thought and Faith found that she did not care for the knowing gleam in his eye. “That would make your brother the Viscount Mortel and you…” he stared at her for a long while. “You must be one of the Baggington sisters.”
“Must I?”
“Yes. I am sure of it. If your refuse to give me your name, I fear must be forced to use the nickname the town speaks of…” He paused.
“You would not dare.” Faith narrowed her eyes at the man.
“Call you Baggage?” He shrugged nonchalant, though there was a gleam in his eye. “What choice do I have, Miss Baggage?”
Faith huffed and turned away. “You are unkind, sir.”
He tugged at the lead of his horse and followed her. “Then, I pray you, give me your name.”
“As you have guessed, I am Miss Baggington.”
“But which of the sisters? You must be the most beautiful of them all; I am sure. The incomparable, Miss Temperance?”
Faith laughed at the absurdity of the suggestion. Temperance, the eldest of the Baggington daughters and arguably the most well-known by name, was a renowned beauty. The twins were only secondary in their fame due to the shock of their identical features. Still, Faith doubted that anyone in town would recall either of their Christian names, nor recognize them when seen apart. Though her brother had hoped to remedy such isolations in the future, the family was still in the beginning stages of reestablishing their social interactions, although Faith had to say, Hope made great strides in the attempt.
Still, the ability to name even one of the nine Baggington children was an impressive feat as the daughters at least, had rarely been allowed to venture forth from the manor during all of their childhood years. She recalled that Mr. Titherington had spent enough months in Nettlefold to know most of the locals by name, even those who were only whispers of a reclusive sort.
“Temperance was wed recently to one Mr. Crauford,” Faith revealed without any further information to her person.
“Of the Pepperton Viscounty?” Mr. Titherington said with a nod. It appeared that he was well studied with the identification of members of the peerage.
“His son and heir,” Faith corrected.
“What merry news!” He grinned. Faith could not tell if he was merely an excellent actor or if he was really not at all fazed that the gem of the town had been married before he had even had a chance to meet her for himself. “That would make you one of the other daughters, then. I apologize, but I have no acquaintance and do not know you all by name.”
He was still waiting for her to make the introduction, a strange concept; yet there was no one else to make it for her. If they were to continue to cross paths then she might as well get it over with, she thought. Although, Jesse and certainly, Isaac would rather she not speak to the gentleman. What did she wish? She wondered.
Faith was drawn from her thoughts when Demon’s Reach turned his head and gave her a gentle push to get her attention. No doubt he was looking for more apples. He sniffed the wildflowers she held and she pulled them away lest he think they would do for his snack.
“Yes, we have already met,” she said to the horse. He tossed his mane with satisfaction and to the amusement of the lady and his master. Faith could tell that Mr. Titherington had not been fooled by her redirection of the conversation. A lesser gentlemen might have allowed it but, like Faith herself, Mr. Titherington was observant and not one to stand down to a challenge.
“Now that we have been at least partially introduced, Miss Baggington, and I have not run you down upon the path, would it still be too forward to walk you into town? We might share each other’s company.”
Faith hesitated. She had not intended to walk as far as the bridge. The structure which had been fashioned out of riverstone marked the entrance to town. Once crossed, the lane opened to reveal the main street of the small country town of Upper Nettlefold and all of the prying eyes within. Faith glanced back to the gentleman. Her thoughts must have been easily read upon her features for she did little to conceal them.
“You are afraid to be seen in my presence,” he concluded. It was a statement, not a question, and Faith felt guilt and remorse all at once. She, with all her family’s troubled history, should not be one to judge another. “I understand.” He ran his fingers through his hair in a way that left it tousled. She was beginning to learn that it was a nervous habit and in some small way, endearing. “It would not do well for your reputation to be seen with… well, with me.”
Faith found that, for all his hard bearing reputation, his features were surprisingly soft and expressive. She could see his every thought as they played across his face. He understood her plight, and was neither surprised nor upset. At the same time, there was a low level frustration and confusion that caught her off guard. Perhaps, if he really was trying to amend his ways, he was finding it difficult to begin when opportunities to do so were denied based solely upon his past. He could have no way of knowing that her decision was multifaceted.
“I was actually about to turn back,” she lied. She waved the wild flowers in the air. Demon’s nose followed the bouquet with interest. “I have a delivery to make.”
“I shall not call your bluff and dare you to it,” Mr. Titherington teased with a gleam in his eye, “for you have the fortune of holding evidence in your palm. Still, I hope we might meet again.”
“Perhaps,” she offered in her best imitation of Hope’s encouraging tones. “Though, it would be better to happen in town, after a formal introduction.”
He nodded and mounted his horse, turning Demon back towards the village.
She called after him. “If you do see me upon the lane… you should just pass on by. It is the proper thing to do!”
He did not turn back toward her, but she could hear his laughter in the distance as he urged Demon into a trot.
Suddenly, Faith had a myriad of ideas for Cassondra and her captain. She hurried back to the storehouse.
6
A week passed and Faith made another foray into town pausing at the bookstore to browse. She had not thought that she would hear word from the printer so soon, but the widow, Mrs. Pears rushed forward, a letter in hand. Faith wanted to scold the woman for gossiping about her cousin, the writer, but she found she was too excited to do so. The woman waved a letter under Faith’s nose.
“This came for you, Miss Baggington. It is from the printer in London.”
Faith took the letter, momentarily noting the fine parchment. “It is for my cousin,” she explained; although she wanted to tear the missive open of the spot. She restrained herself.
“Of course.”
“And he is none too pleased to find himself the object of gossip. He is a very private man.”
“I am sorry,” the woman apologized. “It is only so exciting to have a writer and a playwright in our town.”
“I am sure.” Faith hesitated a moment and wondered if the book seller had any idea that her cousin was non-existent. She put the letter in her pocket and took her time to look about the store. She bought some fine stationary which she could use to write to her married sisters, and then she walked calmly to the door although the letter was burning a hole in her pocket. She did not think she could manage to walk all the way home to read it
.
Instead, she strolled into Morgman’s general store. The narrow aisles, piled with goods, were just the thing to hide oneself. The bell on the door chimed above her head to announce her arrival. Faith was happy to see that the store was teeming with activity. Normally she would avoid places where clusters of shoppers congregated, but today the cover of the crowd brought her peace. Sometimes it was easier to be private in a crowd, and this was just such a time. She made a quick scan of the room contemplating where would be a good spot to read her letter.
There was a selection of wooden ornaments piled high. The intricate items were carved by Mr. Morgman himself and then painted by his wife and daughters. The skill was remarkable. Mr. Morgman could have sold these in London if he had so wished. Still, he preferred to remain in Nettlefold with his family. Faith’s eyes had settled upon an elegant circle with tiny pieces cut from it center so that, from afar, it looked like an oversized snowflake that had been frozen in time. The item had been painted in white with pale blue accents that caught the light. The item and the piles of trinkets obscured the corner from view. It was the perfect spot. Faith struggled a moment to open the letter. She then removed her gloves to be able to pull the pages apart. She began to read.
Dear Mr. Arthur Emerson,
Faith paused. To be addressed so, seemed strange. She had not thought of receiving letters, and she was glad he wrote to the bookshop and not to her home. What would Isaac think of such a thing? She did not want to consider.
The printing is almost completed, and I would like to know if you intend to come to London to acquire the books or if you would prefer to have them delivered to you in Upper Nettlefold.
She had not thought of such a thing. She only expected the books to be delivered to the bookshop. Now she was uncertain. She bit her lip as she continued reading.
I am a friend of the Baron Torsford and plan to travel to Nettlefold in a fortnight. I am sure you know the baron as he is a prominent member of the Nettlefold community. If you, perchance, do not I would be happy to provide introduction. If you prefer, I can simply bring the printed volumes with me on my trip.
The Lady to Match a Rogue: Faith (The Baggington Sisters Book 4) Page 5