Faith

by Deneane Clark

  Faith bowed her head, unwilling for him to see her tears. Without warning, a handkerchief appeared under her nose. That was all it took.

  Gareth watched as his fiancée buried her face in his handkerchief. Her slim shoulders began to shake. He moved over to sit next to her on the settee and gently pulled her head over to rest on his shoulder. He reached up and smoothed her silky hair. “We’ll think of a way out of this, Faith,” he soothed. “Somehow, we’ll find a way for you to not have to marry me and still keep your reputation intact.”

  At that, Faith’s shoulders began to quake even harder. She pushed away from him, slumped back on the settee, and pulled the handkerchief from her face.

  Gareth shook his head. Again, she was laughing when he’d thought she was crying. Unsure if her laughter was a reaction of hysteria, he sat still, a bemused expression on his face.

  When Faith finally gasped for breath and opened her eyes, she looked at him. His expression was sobering, because she sat up, made a visible effort to compose herself and reached for his hand. “I’m sorry, Gareth,” she managed, then calmed herself a bit. “It’s really not funny at all,” she admitted, a glimmer of a smile still lurking about the corners of her mouth. “I was just realizing how inappropriately angry I’ve been with you. None of this is your fault, you see. As I pointed out last night, I lured you out to the garden and ruined your reputation.”

  “You also pointed out that you were about to relieve yourself of my unwanted attentions,” he added.

  She had the grace to blush. “I can explain that, my lord,” she said. She lowered her voice as though she were telling him the most important secret of her life. “Most people don’t know this about me, but usually I’m really very much in control of things.”

  Gareth fought back a smile and raised his eyebrows. “Really?” he drawled. “I hadn’t noticed.”

  If Faith heard the grain of sarcasm in his voice, she chose to ignore it. “It’s true,” she confided. And the way I’ve been reacting to nearly everything you do has been something I’ve had a great deal of trouble controlling, so I thought it prudent that we no longer interact.”

  She looked down for a moment, then squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and looked bravely into his eyes. “In the last twenty-four hours, I’ve exhibited every emotion I know, and done and said things I never thought I would. But in that space of time, out of everything that’s happened, one thing stands out more than all the others.” His eyes met hers, held them, and she suddenly found she was unable to summon the courage to tell him that she’d been looking forward to seeing him this morning. Instead, she looked down at her tightly clasped hands and forced herself to relax.

  Gareth sensed she was about to tell him something very important, but that for some reason, the moment passed. He waited quietly, hoping she’d look up, hoping she’d speak. When she didn’t, he leaned back and decided not to pursue it. Because what she had done, whether she knew it or not, was far more significant than her words could have possibly been. She’d given him hope. By admitting she could not control her reactions to him, she gave him the reason he needed: the possibility that she might someday love him. They might yet be able to forge a relationship like the one his parents had shared.

  Abruptly, there were voices in the hall. Faith raised startled eyes to Gareth’s rueful ones.

  “It sounds as though my brother and your sister have arrived,” he said with a twinge of regret. Then he took her hand and gave her a slow, encouraging smile. Standing, he drew her up next to him. “I think we can make this work, princess,” he offered, his voice husky.

  Faith looked up into his warm, dark eyes and felt suddenly as if he were the very best friend she’d ever had. She nodded once and let him draw her arm through his as they turned together to face their families.

  Thirteen

  Gareth fanned his cards and considered his options. It was the first time in the four weeks since the announcement of his engagement that he’d found time to meet his friends at White’s for an afternoon of fine spirits and good-natured wagering. Although the wedding preparations were mostly being handled by the Ackerly women, he’d tried to find as much time to spend with Faith as possible.

  His fiancée, instead of softening toward him, had become increasingly distant and wary as the date approached. Several times, when he sensed she’d decided to toss her reputation to the winds and call the whole thing off, he’d found himself scrambling to tease and cajole her into reluctant laughter. He frowned and wondered, not for the first time, why he was working so hard to salvage a marriage that had not yet taken place.

  “Cards not to your liking, Roth?”

  He shook his head and tossed them facedown on the table. “Fold. The cards are fine. I can’t keep my mind on the game. Now would be an excellent opportunity for both of you to fleece me out of some of my unexpected inheritance.”

  “Mind if we join you?”

  Trevor Caldwell looked up from his cards to see Sebastian Tremaine, the Duke of Blackthorne, standing on the other side of the green-baize-covered table. He smiled in surprised pleasure and stood to extend a hand to his good friend. “Perfect timing! You know new blood is always welcome at this table, especially when it is that of an old friend.” He turned and signaled a footman, who hastened to bring more chairs and take the newcomers’ requests for drinks.

  As the footman hurried off, Sebastian turned and gestured to the silent man who stood slightly behind him. “Permit me to introduce my distant cousin, Lachlan Kimball, Marquess of Asheburton, in town from Scotland for a couple weeks on business.” Sebastian introduced Trevor, then turned to Jonathon and Gareth, who were also seated at the table.

  Gareth looked up from shuffling the cards. “Good to meet you, Asheburton.” Lachlan gave a small nod and took a seat.

  Gareth exchanged a surprised look with Trevor, who shrugged. Of the five men, the Marquess of Asheburton was easily the wealthiest. He was also the most reclusive, seldom leaving his estate in the wild Scottish Highlands. Rumors constantly made the rounds about the secretive marquess. One recent on-dit even said he’d married a poor but beautiful Scottish girl, and that he kept her locked in one of the towers of his ancient castle.

  The quintet sat in silence for a few moments while Gareth deftly dealt a new hand to include Sebastian and Lachlan. All five men sat back, studied and arranged their hands.

  “You’ve been away from town longer than usual, Thorne,” remarked Gareth. Jonathon laid two cards facedown on the table and nodded for his brother to deal him two more.

  Sebastian raised a sardonic eyebrow. “Hunt’s young sister-in-law has been in town far too often lately, I’m afraid.”

  Trevor, Jon, and Gareth laughed. Mercy Ackerly, Grace and Faith’s youngest sister, had a pronounced crush on the duke and was constantly devising elaborate strategies to get Blackthorne to fall in love with her.

  Asheburton gave Sebastian a questioning look. When the duke remained silent, refusing to satisfy his cousin’s curiosity, Gareth gladly jumped in to provide the answers. “Last year, Thorne did his level best to run over Hunt’s youngest sister-in-law with his carriage.” Gareth caught Sebastian’s dampening glower, smirked, and continued. “He was, of course, instantly regretful and stopped the carriage to rush to her aid. When she regained consciousness from the blow to her head, Mercy was smart enough to realize how a rescued damsel in distress ought to act, and as required by all such damsels, obligingly fell instantly in love with our brooding hero.”

  Trevor grinned. “Unfortunately, little Mercy was only twelve at the time.”

  Sebastian finally spoke up. “Nearly thirteen,” he corrected.

  Trevor’s grin widened.

  Gareth looked at Lachlan. “I suspect Thorne now wishes he’d done a better job of running her down, because she’s almost fourteen now and more determined than ever to have hi—”

  “Which is why,” interrupted Jon with a quelling frown at his younger brother, “he shows enormous
wisdom in avoiding her.” He turned to Sebastian. “You should know—,” he began.

  “That we will all be meeting at my town house tomorrow morning at ten o’clock,” interrupted Trevor hastily before Jonathon could ruin the fun. “You’ll both be there, of course.” He nodded to include Asheburton.

  “Of course,” replied Sebastian with a curious look. “What’s the occasion?”

  Trevor raised his brows. “Would you believe you will be attending the Marquess of Roth’s wedding?”

  Sebastian glanced across the table at the man he’d often considered an insolent pup. “Well, young Roth. A title, a fortune, and a wife, all in short order.” He sipped his brandy and pushed back his chair, stretching out his legs. “Appears to have been a banner year for you.”

  Lachlan looked from Gareth’s smug face to Trevor’s amused one, then from Jonathon’s grim face to Sebastian’s bored countenance. “All right,” he said finally. “If Thorne won’t ask, I will. Who’s the happy bride?”

  “My sister-in-law,” said Trevor.

  Sebastian pulled in his legs and sat up straight.

  A look of cold revulsion crossed Lachlan’s face. “Did I not hear you say she was only fourteen?” he asked incredulously.

  “Nearly fourteen,” drawled Trevor.

  Sebastian regained his composure. He reached into his pocket for his cheroot case, flipped it open, selected one, and offered the case to Lachlan. “Not to worry, cousin. There are quite enough Ackerly sisters around for me to be assured that Roth is robbing no cradle.” He inclined his head toward Gareth. “Faith, is it?”

  Gareth nodded. Trevor opened his mouth to say something, but Jonathon leveled him with a stern look. “That’s what I wished to tell you, Thorne. The entire Ackerly clan will be in attendance tomorrow—including Mercy.”

  Gareth made a dour face at his brother and signaled a footman to bring his coat. “I would enjoy having all of my friends at my wedding,” he said, standing and shrugging into the garment the footman produced. He paused a moment, looking directly at Sebastian. “Of course, I’ll completely understand if you find Mercy’s presence a bit…intimidating.” As the figurative glove he’d tossed settled lightly to the ground, he tipped his hat to the rest of the men at the table. “Again, good to meet you, Asheburton. Gentlemen.” And with a last challenging grin, he left.

  Sebastian stared at his retreating back and slowly stamped out his cheroot, glancing at Trevor with resignation. “Ten o’clock, did you say?”

  Fourteen

  Faith looked at the apparition in the mirror with a growing sense of unease. The tall young lady staring back looked far too composed and sure of herself to possibly be her own reflection. Not when her hands were cold and clammy, her mouth was dry as cotton, and it felt as though the thousands of butterflies that had recently migrated to the vicinity of her midsection seemed rather inclined to stay there.

  “Bend your knees, Faith, so I can reach the top of your head.”

  Startled from her thoughts, she glanced over her shoulder at Grace, who stood waiting to pin the short ice blue veil around the conservative knot at the crown of her head with a gleaming circlet of sapphires.

  Something in her enormous gray eyes made Grace pause momentarily. “Are you all right?”

  Faith nodded tightly, then paused and shook her head. “No…,” she began, then tightened her lips and closed her eyes. She walked slowly to the bed and sat down on the edge. “I can’t explain, really. This all just seems so wrong.”

  Grace moved quickly to her sister’s side. “Wrong how, Faith?” She sat and clasped both of her sister’s hands.

  “I don’t know,” she replied. “My stomach is queasy, my legs are shaky, my hands are clammy and my head is pounding. It just doesn’t seem as though a bride should feel this way on her wedding day.”

  Grace looked troubled. “I’d hoped you had come to care for Gareth,” she said. “He’s been courting you for the past month.”

  “That’s just it. One moment I do care for him, then the next I’m infuriated beyond reason. He makes me feel so very"—Faith waved her hands, searching for the proper word—“so very disordered. I hate that.”

  Grace sat back and smiled, then had to lean forward to catch Faith’s next muttered words.

  “And I’m frightened.”

  “Of what?”

  Her mind skipped back through Gareth’s daily visits during the last four weeks. Every time she’d managed to work up the courage to tell him of her fears and misgivings, he’d brushed her tentative forays into the topic aside. He either teased her until she laughed helplessly and forgot what she’d meant to say, or if they were away from prying eyes, he’d gathered her into his arms and kissed her into breathless insensibility. “Of Gareth kissing me. I can’t think when he kisses me. I just wish we’d gotten to know one another better before he kissed me. It seems so improper and illogical and…” She trailed off.

  Knowing Faith had no concept of how entirely amusing her words were, Grace stifled the urge to laugh and sat back and thought for a moment. “You’d feel better if you had a little more time to get to know him?”

  Faith nodded.

  “And you do look forward to knowing him better?” Grace persisted.

  “If he would talk…” Faith suddenly looked up and narrowed suspicious eyes on her sister’s thoughtful profile. “What are you planning?”

  Grace looked at the clock on the mantel and briskly stood up. “Don’t you worry about a thing. I’m going to go downstairs. I’ll send Amity up to help you.” She walked quickly to the door.

  “Grace,” said Faith in a warning tone.

  Her sibling stopped with a hand on the doorknob. She smiled sweetly. “Shall I send Charity, too?”

  “Heavens no!” gasped Faith. “She’s done nothing but plague me since they arrived. All day yesterday she followed me about, curtsying every few moments and slaughtering Gareth’s title. I think her latest name for me is the Marchioness of Sloth.”

  Grace laughed. “The Duke of Blackthorne arrived about an hour ago with his cousin, the Marquess of Asheburton. Lord Asheburton is so quiet and mysterious that Charity has made it a personal mission to try and goad him into conversation. I think you’re safe from her for a while.” Then she closed the door and disappeared before Faith could stop her.

  You wished to see me, my lady?” The Marquess of Roth strode into the sitting room a mere twenty minutes before his wedding ceremony was to begin.

  Grace turned from the window, through which she’d been watching the preparations. “Gareth,” she said with a warm smile. “Thank you for taking the time to come talk with me.” She glanced once more out the window and cleared her throat. “I’ll come right to the point, as we’ve not much time. I’m afraid Faith has certain…um…” She coughed delicately, then continued, “Misgivings about this marriage.”

  Gareth’s face remained unchanged, although his pleasant smile suddenly seemed a bit brittle. “Misgivings?” His voice was polite.

  Grace wrinkled her nose. “Oh, the usual. Hasty courtship, obligatory engagement, rushed wedding.” She shrugged. “It’s made me wonder, too. I mean, why are you really marrying my sister? Do you even want to marry her?”

  Gareth stiffened. “Why do you ask?”

  “Mostly because she’s my sister. Partly because you’re my friend,” she replied, slanting him a glance. “And then there’s that whole bothersome ‘love’ issue.” She smiled up at him.

  Gareth felt the figurative noose settling neatly about his neck, for he had been haunted by this issue as well. “Are you asking me if I love your sister?”

  Grace searched his tense face and seemed to find what she sought. “No,” she said decisively.

  Gareth felt the rope loosen a bit. It tightened again horribly with her next words.

  “But can she love you?”

  Gareth flinched. It was the same question he’d asked himself over and over.

  He gave Grace a direct look. “I
can’t make her love me, Lady Huntwick,” he admitted.

  Grace pursed her lips thoughtfully. “No, but perhaps you can teach her to.” Musing, she walked a few paces away, then turned resolutely back. “Do you wish to marry my sister? Would you have wished to marry her even were you not in your current circumstances?”

  “You know the answer,” replied Gareth quietly.

  “Would you be willing to give her a gift that will help her through this wedding day with ease?”

  “I would,” he heard himself answer.

  “Then marry her today, but give her time to know you better, time to fall in love with you before…before you consummate your vows.”

  The noose tightened again. Gareth very nearly felt his feet leave the floor. He said nothing, just looked at Grace steadily, wondering how he’d let her maneuver him so neatly into her trap. Was this the sort of thing any other man had been asked on his wedding day? He imagined not.

  Grace watched him for a moment, then blushed hotly and looked away. “I know it isn’t a small request, my lord, but really, my reasons for asking—”

  “I’ll do it.”

  “P-pardon me?” Grace stammered.

  Gareth turned to walk out of the room. “I said I’ll do it,” he repeated. “Go tell Faith I’ve agreed to her request, and let’s get on with this wedding.”

  “But Gareth!” called Grace, then stopped when she realized he was beyond earshot; he’d already stridden from the room. “Faith doesn’t know I asked it of you,” she finished lamely to herself.

  Fifteen

  You did what?” Faith sat down heavily at the dressing table in her bedroom, completely disregarding any possible damage to her wedding gown. Amity sank to her knees and grasped her hand in sympathy.