Faith

by Deneane Clark

  Gareth stared at the beautiful girl kneeling next to the flowers and privately thought she would make a far lovelier one, but wisely held his tongue. He didn’t want to frighten her, didn’t want to apply too much pressure. Instead, he busied himself setting out the food while Faith got settled on the cushions.

  The simple meal, as it turned out, was delicious. They ate in companionable silence, and though Faith didn’t consume a great deal, it was evident her appetite was improving. Already the color was coming back into her face, and the sparkle had returned to her gray eyes, making them glint with silvery reflections from the dancing candlelight.

  She set aside her plate when she was finished, staring at the flames in perplexed thought. When Gareth said he was bringing her to Rothmere, she’d assumed it was the name of the entailed estate that went with his title. She looked around at the rustic little two-room cottage. While perfectly lovely, it was certainly not the home she knew the ton pictured for the Marquess of Roth.

  She glanced at her husband’s profile, remembering all the gossip about the estate he was supposedly renovating and the vast fortune said to have come with his title. Her heart went out to him. It was probably all he could do to keep the town house in London for appearance’s sake.

  Another thought occurred to her. She bit her lip and looked down, wondering if she would have to keep house and cook. In Pelthamshire, each of the girls had been given light and easy chores when they were growing up, so she felt rather confident that she could manage the cleaning. When it came to cooking, however, Faith was fairly certain she would be a dismal failure.

  When she looked up she found Gareth watching her intently. She gave him a hesitant smile. “My lord…,” she began.

  “Gareth.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I wish you would always call me Gareth,” he said, then explained. “I haven’t been a ‘my lord’ all that long, you know.”

  “All right,” she said, and began again. “Gareth, I would like very much to do my part to help out around here.”

  He gave her a steady look. “Right now, princess, your part is to simply get well.”

  She shook her head stubbornly. “I think if I rest this afternoon, I should be able to manage dinner for us.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” he said, but Faith held up a hand.

  “I insist,” she said. “Now help me up and I’ll go rest for a couple of hours. Will you please wake me for tea?”

  Gareth stood and held out a hand. With a last sweet smile she took the offered help, allowed him to assist her to her feet, and left the room. Gareth just watched her go, a bemused expression on his face.

  Twenty

  Faith hummed happily as she dried the last plate and set it on the shelf at the far end of the room. She tried lifting the tub of wash water to take and pour outside but found she was still too weak. She looked over her shoulder and saw Gareth just coming in from the other room.

  “My lord,” she began, then remembered. “Gareth,” she corrected, blushing a bit. The way he was looking at her made her feel both flattered and flustered. “Could you help me lift this?”

  He set the book he was carrying down on the table and walked over. Without a word, he lifted the heavy tub and carried it out of doors. She heard the water splash as he dumped it. He came back inside, closed the door, and gave her a steady look.

  “It’s time we talked.”

  Faith felt her heart leap. “Yes,” she agreed. She spread the cloth she’d used to dry the dishes on the back of a chair. Nervously, she smoothed it so it would dry evenly, then messed it up again by gripping the chair.

  Gareth watched, his heart tugging at the little gestures that betrayed his wife’s trepidation. He would have to win her slowly, he mused with a wry smile, reluctantly amused by the irony of the fact that he was now perfectly willing to abide by the agreement he’d struck with her sister.

  When Faith delicately cleared her throat, shaking him from his momentary thoughts, he walked across the room and moved the comfortable overstuffed chair a bit nearer the fire. “Sit here,” he offered. “The night air grows chilly.”

  Faith sat on the edge of the chair and watched warily as her husband settled on the couch. Tension, almost audible, crackled through the air until she could no longer stand it. “Shall I go first?”

  Gareth sat back and crossed his legs. “By all means.”

  Faith took a deep breath. “I should have been honest with you as soon as I discovered you were angry,” she began. She paused a moment, considered her words, and plunged ahead. “I didn’t think you’d believe me, and then after a while, I became angry, too.” She lowered her voice almost to a whisper, and Gareth had to lean forward to catch her next words. “I didn’t ask Grace to speak for me.”

  “I know that, princess.”

  Her head snapped upright. “But you were so upset—,” she began.

  “And stubborn and hurt and stupid,” he agreed, cutting in. “It took me a couple of days to realize, but I knew it was out of character for you to do such a thing. You’d have come to me yourself.”

  “Grace only meant to help,” Faith explained hastily.

  “I know, princess.”

  Faith was silent, her mind spinning to come up with a logical way out of this uncomfortable situation. After only a moment, she gave up. “So what do we do now?”

  Gareth smiled wryly. “Suppose we didn’t get married.”

  “But we did,” Faith pointed out.

  “All right, then. Suppose we never went out to Amanda’s gazebo that night.”

  Faith drew her eyebrows together, less inclined to interrupt. “Go on.”

  “Where would we be?”

  Faith’s mind flashed back to the ride in the park they’d taken the day he’d presented her with the bouquet tree. “You’d be courting me, and I’d be discouraging you.”

  Gareth leaned back and laughed. “Perhaps. How about we start there, then?” He quirked an eyebrow. “I’ve always enjoyed a challenge.” Standing, he gallantly held out an arm and eyed her with a droll expression.

  Faith laughed. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m escorting you home, Miss Ackerly.” He tipped his head toward the bedroom and winked.

  Faith caught his playful mood and stood also, placing a hand lightly on his arm. Solemnly, they strolled around the couch to the door. There, Gareth turned and brought her hand to his lips.

  “Thank you for a lovely evening, Miss Faith.”

  She stifled a smile and sank into a graceful curtsey.

  “May I call upon you tomorrow morning?”

  Faith nodded regally, a hint of laughter in her gray eyes, and turned to walk into the bedroom.

  She went through her normal bedtime preparations thoughtfully. The day had been so pleasant, so normal. She smiled softly, looked toward the door, and wondered what her husband was thinking. As she turned down the covers and slipped into bed, she knew a small feeling of regret. With a sigh, she reached for the unused pillow next to hers, wrapped her arms around it, and tucked it under her chin.

  Strangely, she suddenly felt quite alone.

  Long after the scuffling sounds of Gareth preparing for bed in the other room ended, Faith lay sleepless in the large bed, images of her husband filtering through her mind. Every time she reached for sleep, another vision would pop up and disturb her anew. She closed her eyes only to see Gareth bowing to her on a moonlit balcony or comforting her in the hedge maze. Or he was lifting his head after kissing her, his eyes dark with a need she didn’t fully understand.

  Faith reached up blindly, grabbed her pillow, and smashed it over her face. But still the thoughts paraded faster and faster: Gareth, grim as he spoke his vows, then rising nude from the bed at the inn. Gareth, bent over her bed with worry, a fire poker in one hand, a dripping soupspoon in the other.

  “Bloody hell,” she muttered, and sat up. The moonlight streamed in the window, bathing the room in a soothing, silvery
light, at odds with the turmoil inside Faith’s head. Quietly she got out of bed, crept to the doorway, and peeked around the side into the other room. She could hear Gareth’s breathing but couldn’t see over the back of the couch. She tiptoed closer and peered over the edge.

  He was sound asleep. Slumber lent a boyish cast to his handsome face, melting away minute lines from the worries of the day. He was smiling slightly, as though his dreams were pleasant. Faith felt the corners of her own mouth tug upward in response.

  He slept bare chested, the firelight playing across his skin, casting shadows and highlights upon his shoulders and midsection. His skin was lightly bronzed, and Faith felt a sudden urge to reach down and touch him. She bit her lip and glanced at his face. He hadn’t moved.

  Hesitantly, she reached down and lightly touched his stomach with her index finger. The blanket lay at an angle across his lower abdomen, and Faith had another wayward recollection of the one time she’d seen him completely unclothed. Did he always sleep that way? She looked at her finger, resting lightly on his stomach, then watched in disbelief as it seemed to move of its own accord down to the blanket. Cautiously, she slipped the digit under the edge of the covering and began to lift, glancing briefly back up at his face—

  She started in shock and dropped the blanket as if it were a hot coal. Gareth was wide awake.

  Thoroughly embarrassed, Faith gasped and took a step back. Gareth pinned her in place with his eyes, his expression hungry, and she found herself unable to look away.

  “Faith,” he said in a sleep-roughened voice, and held out a hand.

  She hesitated a bare moment, then put her hand in his. She felt that odd, tingling thrill shoot up her arm as his fingers closed around hers. He tugged her closer to the back of the couch and sat up, his eyes locked on hers. “Gareth,” she whispered back.

  He let go of her hand and put both of his hands on her waist. Effortlessly, he pulled her up and over the back of the couch, nestling her securely on his lap. Faith slipped both arms around his neck and buried her face in his chest. Gareth stroked the tumbled mass of golden curls that cascaded down her back.

  “Can’t sleep, princess?”

  Wordless, she shook her head and pressed an ear to his chest, loving the comforting warmth, the rough feel of the hair against her cheek, the sound of his steady heartbeat.

  “Would you like to tell me what’s on your mind?”

  “No,” she whispered, though she knew that was a lie. “I mean…yes,” she hesitantly amended.

  Gareth smiled down at the top of her head. “I’m all ears, sweetheart.”

  Faith reveled in the deep baritone of his voice rumbling against her ear. She bit her lip uncertainly. It had always been her way to work things out alone, to calmly and logically assess the facts of a given situation, and then to act upon her assessment. Now, for the first time, she was confronted with something that required she work in tandem with someone else—with the man to whom she had pledged her life. The man who held her in his arms.

  Gareth patiently waited out her silence, allowing Faith to grapple with her thoughts, feeling instinctively that she was on the verge of surrender. He had to let her take that step alone. After a few moments, she began speaking.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” she said in a halting voice, “because…" She paused, and Gareth held his breath. Her next words were said in a voice so low that he wasn’t sure he heard correctly. “Because I was thinking of you.”

  His heart began pounding with desire, but he said nothing. Softly, he put a finger under her chin and tilted her face up to his. Her gray eyes were huge and frightened. “Tell me what scares you, princess,” he whispered.

  A wistful expression crept into their silver depths, momentarily chasing away the fear. She sighed. “Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve wanted to be married. To preside over my own household, to have children.” She stopped, bit her lip. “To be a wife.”

  “You are a wife. You’re my wife.”

  Faith dosed her eyes, then slowly opened them and looked at Gareth, vulnerability shining from their depths. “Your brother adores Amanda. Trevor cherishes Grace beyond all else. I always intended…hoped, that is…” Her voice trailed off and she looked down.

  “That you would marry for love?”

  Slowly she nodded, then swiftly looked up, her expression earnest. “I know it isn’t fashionable, but I want more than balls and emeralds, gowns and allowances. I didn’t grow up rich, but I grew up happy, and happiness is far more important to me than money.” Faith looked around the small room and confided, “I was actually pleased to find out that you live in a small home, that all the talk of your vast fortune was gossip and speculation.”

  Gareth saw the sincerity in her face and felt something wrench inside him. He wanted nothing more than to protect and coddle and spoil this young woman he had married, to fulfill her wishes for the mere recompense of her smile. With almost any other girl, such a task would have been easy. Jewels, gowns, pretty horses, the comforts of money. This girl wanted love. And she had very nearly said she didn’t think she would ever have that with him.

  He cleared his throat. “Don’t you think you could love me, Faith?” He smiled to hide the importance of her answer.

  Faith bit her lip again. Gareth had asked his question in a rather offhand voice, and his smile was as warm as ever, but something in his eyes told her that her next words meant more than he cared to admit. She pushed herself up off his chest and sat upright, her legs still across his lap. Not entirely certain how to answer, she tilted her head and considered. What she already felt for this man was strong. But what was it? Was it the beginnings of love?

  Gareth watched his wife closely as she sat, her brow furrowed, biting her lip. The silence between them grew. He tilted his head in the same direction as hers, leaned forward, and tried to catch her eye. He bit back a chuckle. She looked exactly like a little girl unsure if she was in trouble or not. She raised her eyebrows and chanced a look back at him out of the corner of her eye. At that, Gareth could no longer hold back his laughter.

  Faith looked indignant. “It isn’t funny, my lord!” she said in a reproving voice. “I was trying to find a way to spare your feelings.”

  Still chuckling, he settled back against the pillows, pulling her down and nestling her in front of him. “Don’t worry about my feelings, princess,” he whispered, drawing the blanket over them. “You will learn to love me.”

  With a content little sigh, Faith wriggled a bit to get comfortable and dosed her eyes. Within moments she had drifted off to sleep in her husband’s arms.

  Twenty-one

  Gareth awoke alone on the couch and listened for a moment. All was still, silent. He could sense, even without getting up to go look in the other room, that Faith was not in the house. Rolling onto his back, he smiled broadly, contemplating the deep pleasure he was going to take in wooing his wife. He laced his fingers behind his head, pictured long walks in the sun, picnics by a shady brook, and quiet evenings spent reading by the fire.

  Eventually, his thoughts turned to the fact that she had no idea of his fortune. A small pang of guilt struck him. Faith hadn’t just resigned herself to being a country wife to an impoverished aristocrat; she was almost embracing the role. And though he certainly hadn’t meant to mislead her into that way of thinking, the knowledge that she did think thus was incredibly endearing. It charmed him that although she did not love him, she hadn’t married him for his money He grinned. The look on her face when she realized the truth would be priceless.

  Gareth relaxed for another moment, then sat up and swung his feet to the floor, the blanket draped carelessly across his lap. He ran a hand through his tousled hair, stopped, and looked toward the open window, smiling as Faith’s modulated voice reached his ears. She was talking to someone—a man—and they were coming closer. A moment later, he recognized the voice of Dr. Matthew Meadows.

  He contemplated making a run for the bedroom and then realized he’d
never make it in time. Quickly he rearranged the blanket to cover his naked midsection and sat back just as the door opened.

  “I think he’s still asleep, Dr. Meadows,” Faith was saying in a low voice as she opened the door. “But I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you.” She took several steps into the room and stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Gareth sitting and smiling at them. The basket of cut wildflowers she carried landed on the floor with a thud.

  Matthew walked in right behind her. He looked curiously over her head, registered the fact that Gareth was obviously nude beneath the blanket, and glanced down at Faith, who was blushing. Silence stretched between them all, grew thick in the small room. Matthew finally cleared his throat to remind his hosts that he was there.

  Faith visibly jumped in reaction to the unexpected sound. She mumbled something about needing to cut some more flowers and began backing toward the door. She stepped on Matthew’s foot, stammered an apology, and pushed past, elbowing him in the midsection in the process. Her blush deepening visibly, she fled the cottage, quite forgetting both the basket and the scissors with which she’d been snipping her prizes.

  Matthew watched her go with a puzzled expression, then turned and quirked an eyebrow at the marquess, who smiled broadly.

  “Good morning, Meadows,” Gareth said pleasantly. He sat back comfortably on the couch and crossed his bare ankles.

  Matthew smiled. “I believe you just frightened my patient away, my lord,” he said.

  Gareth chuckled. “Remember this day, Meadows,” he said. “You are one of the few people in all of England ever to have seen my wife flustered.”

  The doctor sat down in the chair across from him. “Well. Now I find myself at loose ends. I actually came to ascertain how your wife was recovering from her bump on the head. I see the scratch on her cheek is healing nicely. She likely won’t even have a scar.” He looked over his shoulder at the door again. “Do you think she will come back in?”

  Gareth shook his head with a smile. “My wife is no coward, but I believe she’ll wait until you leave before she kills me.”