Faith

by Deneane Clark

  Faith nodded, although she suddenly felt much more like curling up in a ball in the corner.

  The rest of the evening passed in a blur of congratulations, hearty handshakes, and exclamations of surprise. By the time Faith finally found herself safely ensconced in her aunt’s carriage, her hand was sore from being squeezed, and her facial muscles ached from the constant smiling. Aunt Cleo chattered excitedly all the way home, but Faith heard none of it over the steady throbbing of her head brought on by the horrible litany that kept repeating itself in her mind.

  I’m betrothed to a man who doesn’t want me.

  Twelve

  Faith awoke with a start when the door to her room burst open. Before she had time to sit up and scrape her hair from her eyes, Grace streaked across the room and landed with a plunk on the bed beside her.

  “Are you awake?” Her sister’s voice thrummed with breathless urgency.

  Even after a full night’s rest, Faith always had trouble getting started in the morning. Since she’d spent most of the previous night in sleepless thought, finally falling into a fitful slumber as dawn approached, she pulled a pillow over her head, unwilling to accept that it was already time to get up. “I am now,” she mumbled.

  With cheerful disregard for her usual thirty-minute waking ritual, Grace reached out and plucked the pillow from Faith’s face. “No you don’t!” she laughed when Faith threw an arm over her head and reached blindly for the covers. “You’re going to get up and tell me what happened last night.”

  A sudden rush of painful recollection unceremoniously jolted Faith into wide-eyed awareness. She sat bolt upright, then closed her eyes in acute horror and dropped her face into her hands. “Oh, my God,” she moaned. She looked at Grace hopefully through her parted fingers. “It was just a dream, wasn’t it?”

  Amused, Grace shook her head. “I don’t think so. Aunt Cleo was here first thing this morning with a story so wild I can scarcely credit it.”

  Faith could well imagine what her blunt relative had come to say. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and reached for the dressing gown she had draped across the footboard. As she slipped into the garment, she glanced down and wrinkled her nose at the mess Grace had made of her bed. “You’ve rumpled the covers dreadfully,” she complained.

  Grace shrugged and flopped irreverently onto her stomach, propped her chin in her hands, and began swinging her lower legs back and forth through the air with deliberate nonchalance. “Beds are supposed to be rumpled in the morning,” she stated, then frowned. “And stop trying to change the subject. You can either decide to be frank with me and tell me what’s going on, or I shall be forced to accept Aunt’s version as the truth.”

  Faith gave her sister a tolerant look, pointedly turned her back, and walked across the room to the wardrobe. “Think what you wish,” she said calmly, reaching in and selecting a powder blue linen morning gown with piping accents in a vibrant cobalt velvet.

  “All right,” agreed Grace companionably.

  Faith bent to select a pair of slippers from the neat row beneath her dresses. She leaned in to retrieve them.

  Grace watched her sister rummage a moment and continued. “Aunt Cleo says you’ve compromised poor Gareth quite beyond recall.”

  Completely forgetting she’d said much the same thing to Gareth herself Faith, felt her temper snap. She abruptly stood, unfortunately not taking into account the gowns that were hanging all around her. Hopelessly entangled in their diaphanous folds, she lost her balance, grabbed wildly at the air, and fell in a disgruntled heap on the wardrobe floor among her precisely arranged shoes. Too late, her flailing hands found something to grab. Unfortunately, it was only several delicate gowns, which promptly slipped from their hangers to settle about her head and shoulders in billowy clouds of silk, satin, and chiffon.

  Gales of laughter erupted from the direction of the bed as Faith dragged herself from the floor of the wardrobe. She marched across the room to glare at her sister, leaving a trail of dresses and slippers in her wake. “Grace Olivia Caldwell, you get out of my room this instant!”

  Wiping tears of mirth from her eyes, Grace stood up to leave and broke into renewed giggles at the sight of the formerly neat wardrobe. She turned back to Faith just in time to duck and avoid the pillow her sister had thrown. “All right already! I’m leaving,” she said, dodging a second pillow on her way to the door. She opened it and stepped out of firing range into the hall, then stuck her head back inside. “Oh—I forgot to tell you. Gareth sent word that he will be here at eleven o’clock to finalize things.”

  Faith’s arm stopped in midthrow, and her eyes flew to the small clock on the mantel over the fireplace. It read ten forty-five.

  With renewed ire, she threw the pillow. It landed with a harmless thud against the safely closed door.

  It took the combined efforts of Grace’s personal maid and two upstairs chambermaids who’d been pressed into emergency service, but at one minute to eleven, Faith was hurtling down the corridor from her bedroom fully dressed, a lavender satin slipper clutched in each hand.

  She’d chosen the least complicated gown she owned, a lilac chiffon morning dress with short puffed sleeves and a simple scooped neckline. It closed in the back with only two small buttons and had a wide lavender satin ribbon that tied in an easy bow at the back of a high waistline. While Becky rummaged through the mess in the bottom of the wardrobe in search of her shoes, Faith did her own hair, brushing the front and sides away from her face and securing it with a silver filigree clip at her crown. A few moments later, a red-faced Becky emerged from the wreckage of the wardrobe and triumphantly held out the lavender slippers. Faith grabbed them, gave Becky a quick squeeze of thanks, and left the room.

  She stood now at the top of the curving stairs and braced one hand on the newel post to balance as she lifted first one foot, then the other, so she could slide her feet into the soft shoes. She straightened and glanced in one of the small mirrors designed to reflect light from the sconces that hung on the wall in front of them. Satisfied that nothing seemed out of place, she turned and began walking sedately down the steps, completely unaware of the fetching picture she presented.

  Her color was high, thanks to the frantic rush to get dressed, which gave a pleasing tint to her flawless skin. Her posture was as regally erect as ever, and with her hair falling from the silver clip in a luxurious tumble of golden waves and curls, instead of pinned up in its usual prim chignon, she didn’t look nearly as unapproachable as usual. The lilac shade of the gown combined with the earlier excitement did amazing things to her eyes, turning them a startling shade of silver that glowed as though lit from within.

  She reached the bottom of the staircase and paused a moment before stepping onto the ground floor. Holding on to the staircase, she leaned forward and looked to her left. Wilson was standing stiffly by the front door, ready to greet any callers who chose to present themselves, his face so expressionless that Faith couldn’t tell if her own expected guest had arrived. She turned her head to the right and peered down the long corridor, then caught her breath. O’Reilly was stationed just outside the parlor doors, a definite indication that someone was within.

  Her heart skipped a beat. She realized with a touch of surprise that she was actually looking forward to seeing Gareth. She went down the last step and frowned as she walked slowly down the hall toward the parlor. She examined her feelings with consternation, trying to remember when she’d begun to feel this way, but couldn’t come up with an explanation as she approached O’Reilly. This new emotion had come upon her so gradually she’d scarcely noticed it, although she had to admit that Gareth had always had an unsettling effect on her state of mind.

  Deliberately, she shook off her reverie and smiled warmly at the footman. “I understand I have a guest, O’Reilly.”

  He nodded. “Indeed you do, Miss Faith. He hasn’t been waiting long.”

  She leaned forward, lowering her voice a bit. And is he alone, or is my
sister entertaining him?”

  O’Reilly looked surprised by the question, but answered anyway. “He is alone, Miss Faith.”

  Faith’s smile widened and she made the most impulsive decision of her entire life. She reached out and squeezed O’Reilly’s hand. “Please do me a tremendous favor and try to stall the others when they come, would you? I’d like a few moments alone with my guest.”

  The footman nodded, and with a last beatific smile, Faith walked past him into the parlor. Feeling quite daring, she turned and began to close the door. At the last moment, not feeling quite brave enough to shut it completely, she decided to leave it half-open. With both hands still on the doorknob, she took a steadying breath.

  “I’m glad we have a moment to ourselves, my lord.”

  She heard him swiftly suck in his breath, then heard his soft footsteps as he crossed the room. When she felt his gloved hand touch her shoulder, she let out her breath and turned to face him.

  “I just knew you’d feel the same way I do, Miss Ackerly!”

  Faith felt the color drain from her face when she realized the man now holding both her hands in a painful grip was not Gareth. It was Lord Horatio Grimsby. And he was looking at her with an expression of such triumphant satisfaction that Faith greatly feared he intended to kiss her!

  Quickly, she pulled her hands from his, stepped neatly around him, and walked across the room to put some distance between them. She turned and jumped in startled surprise when she found him once more standing right behind her. Her eyes darted nervously to the half-closed door, and she took another step back.

  “H-have you been offered refreshment, my lord?” Her stammering voice seemed loud in the awkward silence.

  Horatio stepped closer. “The second you stepped into the room, my beauty, I was refreshed.” Faith looked at him in horror. He reached for her hand, looking rather pleased with himself after that poetic speech. She gulped and nimbly stepped aside, her mind searching furiously for a means of escape that would not be impolite. “Faith, my sweet, you needn’t be so modest. I heard you tell the footman you wished to be alone with me.”

  She managed to quell a horrified gasp. “Perhaps, Lord Jameson—” she began.

  He took another step forward, the light glinting off his spectacles. “You needn’t explain. I heard the rumors about last night, of course, but I didn’t credit them at all. I know that you, of all people, would never act as impulsively as the gossips say you did with someone like Gareth Lloyd.”

  Faith put out a hand and backed away as he continued to advance. She tried again. “Perhaps, Lord Jameson, you should speak with my brother-in-law.” She sat down with a thump as the backs of her knees came into contact with the settee.

  Horatio was on his knees before her in an instant, taking her hand. “I’d rather speak with your father.”

  “That won’t be at all necessary,” came a curt voice from the hallway. The Marquess of Roth stood filling the doorway, an expression of stony displeasure on his handsome face.

  Gareth had gone home immediately after the ball and spent a sleepless night pacing the library, trying to reconcile the fact that he was going to marry a woman who didn’t care for him, something he’d sworn he would never do. But he was optimistic by nature. By the time the sun rose, he’d managed to convince himself that, although Faith admittedly didn’t love him, there had already been a great deal of feeling between them. And where there was feeling, he knew there was hope of love.

  He’d arrived at the Caldwell town house in a lighthearted mood. Wilson had opened the door and informed him that Faith was in the parlor. His step light, he’d approached O’Reilly, who stood outside, a horrified look on his face. Gareth smiled at him nonetheless and reached around to push open the half-closed door. Incredibly, the diminutive footman stepped in front of him just as Gareth caught a glimpse of Horatio Grimsby.

  Roughly he’d moved O’Reilly aside and pushed open the door further to see Faith seated across the room, her hands clasped in those of Horatio, who knelt before her in a pose that could only mean one thing.

  Faith surged to her feet at the sound of Gareth’s voice, knocking Lord Jameson, who was also trying to stand, squarely on his rump. Her absurd burst of unexpected pleasure immediately faded, however, as she noticed the look on her fiancé’s face. Coloring hotly, she looked down at Horatio, who was on his hands and knees, reaching under the settee and peering about as though looking for something. His hand slid along the floor under her skirts and suddenly grasped her ankle.

  With a gasp of shocked outrage, Faith pulled her ankle free and stepped back…right onto the spectacles for which Horatio had been searching. Chagrined, she bent down and picked them up. The frame was askew and one lens was cracked. Horatio stood.

  “I’m so sorry, Lord Jameson…,” she began. But no further words came to her. She bit her lip and solemnly handed the spectacles over. The earl took them without a word. He straightened the frame as best he could, put them on, bowed stiffly to Faith, and turned to leave.

  Nodding briefly to Gareth as he passed him in the doorway, he said, “Good day, my lord.”

  Gareth nodded back. “Jameson.”

  The earl’s footsteps retreated down the hall. Gareth and Faith heard the front door open and close. Seconds passed. They stood without speaking, tension growing between them until it was almost palpable.

  O’Reilly appeared in the doorway behind Gareth, an apologetic look on his face. Faith saw him and abruptly shook off the spell of silence. “It’ll be fine,” she assured the worried servant.

  Gareth quirked an eyebrow at her, not realizing O’Reilly was there. “I’m afraid I would describe the sight of my fiancee of less than twenty-four hours being proposed to again right under my nose as something other than ‘fine.’”

  Faith drew herself up stiffly. “I wasn’t speaking to you, my lord.” She returned her attention to O’Reilly. “Please have one of the maids bring refreshments, then kindly inform Lord and Lady Huntwick that the Marquess of Roth has arrived.”

  O’Reilly nodded. He caught the baleful glare of the marquess and gratefully scurried away.

  Faith stood still, her chin up and her hands clasped loosely in front of her as she watched Gareth walk slowly across the room to stand before the tall windows. He looked out across the gardens, tapping the tip of his forefinger thoughtfully on his lips. “You’re not as calm as you appear, Faith,” he remarked, his tone even.

  She refused to allow him to bait her. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, my lord.”

  He turned to stare at her. “That serene facade of yours, that calm, unruffled demeanor you continually present to the world is really nothing but a sham, isn’t it?”

  Faith’s lips tightened imperceptibly.

  “Deep inside,” he continued in a soft voice, “you’re really just a quivering mass of pent-up fury—aren’t you, princess?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “And I’d imagine the thing you’d most like to do is to walk across the room and slap my face right now, isn’t it?” Gareth took a step away from the window and looked pointedly at Faith, whose hands were no longer clasped loosely in front of her; they were now clenched so tightly into little fists at her sides that the knuckles were white. He smiled ruefully. “I rather thought so,” he said.

  Faith took a deep breath and forced herself to unclench her hands, silently willing her pounding heart to slow. Unbidden, her mind returned to the optimistic thoughts she’d had before entering the parlor. Resolutely, she pushed those thoughts from her mind. The memory of how stupidly she had looked forward to seeing Gareth would only serve to further infuriate her.

  Her fiancé watched her struggle to regain her composure, his stomach tightening convulsively. He’d hoped, on his way over to the Huntwick town house, that some miracle might have occurred during the night, that somehow Faith might have become happy they were to wed. Instead, he was forced to watch her attempts to hide her revulsion at simply being in
the same room with him.

  “I have to apologize for this whole fiasco,” he supplied in an even tone. “My brother is rarely so impulsive.”

  “No,” agreed Faith, her voice frosty. “I rather assumed he had left that particular character trait to you.”

  Gareth’s jaw clenched. “You don’t have to marry me, Faith.”

  Faith raised delicate brows. “Of course I don’t, my lord,” she replied in a voice laced with sarcasm. “My options are certainly open, aren’t they? Shall I list them all for you?” Despite herself, she felt her anger rise when he didn’t respond. She tossed her head and took a small step forward, holding up a single, slim finger.

  “One,” she began in a tight voice. “I can marry you to salvage my reputation.” She held up another finger and took a longer step in his direction. “Two: I can decide not to marry you, and by so doing allow myself to become an object of scorn the gossips will rake over the coals for years to come.” She smiled sweetly and took another step. “Option two has the added benefit of dragging my family’s good name through the dirt, ruining any future marriage prospects for myself, and possibly keeping my younger sisters from being accepted in Society.” She held up a third finger and stalked the rest of the way across the room until she stood directly in front of Gareth, her three raised fingers directly in his face. “Three, my lord…,” she said, her quavering voice betraying her loss of control. “Do you even know what option three is?”

  Gareth said nothing, reacted in no way, but a twitching muscle in his clenched jaw betrayed the fact that he’d heard her.

  Faith glared up at him for another moment, then dropped her hand and turned away, feeling suddenly deflated. “There is no option three, my lord,” she said quietly. “I was awake most of the night trying to find it.”

  “So was I,” said Gareth. He stepped forward and placed his hands on her shoulders, gently turning her to face him. She lifted gray eyes huge with unshed tears. At the sight, he was instantly and completely defeated. Quietly he led her back to the settee, waited for her to sit down, and settled awkwardly in a chair facing her.