Sometimes it was difficult to remember she’d been untrue. Other times it was all he could do to forget.
A discreet knock on the study door interrupted his reverie. “Come,” he called, reaching for the pen he’d thrown down.
Desmond’s head appeared. “My lord, the Earl of Seth has arrived.”
Gareth grimaced. A visit from his dour elder brother was the last thing he needed. “Show him in, please, Desmond.”
The old man glowered. “He was quite unannounced, my lord.”
Gareth raised his brows at the crotchety servant. “I trust you’ll manage to adjust to the unexpected event. Show my brother in, please.”
Desmond’s head disappeared, but his grumbling carried back up the hall and through the door he’d left ajar. A moment later, Jonathon stepped into the room. Gareth stood but didn’t step from behind his desk.
“Afternoon, Jon. Your trip was uneventful, I hope?”
“I’ve no complaints.” Jon seated himself in one of the chairs facing Gareth’s desk. He glanced at the pile of papers and correspondence. “Business is good?”
Gareth sat down and leaned back in his chair. He steepled his fingers and looked at Jon over the tips. “You came all the way from London to see if business is going well?”
“It seemed a good place to begin.”
Gareth smiled slightly. “Business is fine. I’m going to be needing a secretary.”
“And the renovations?”
“Complete. Would you like a tour?”
“Perhaps later.”
“Mm. Then I have that to look forward to.”
The men lapsed into an uncomfortable silence, and the ticking clock became once more the dominant sound in the room.
Jon cleared his throat. “Would you like to know why I’ve come?
“Not particularly.”
Jon scowled. “I came to talk to you about your wife.”
Gareth gave a wry laugh, picked up his pen, and straightened the papers in front of him. “Then you’ve wasted your time.”
“At the very least you’ll need an heir.”
“I have an heir.”
“Oh?” Jon raised his eyebrows. “I wasn’t aware you had one tucked away.”
“So typical.” Gareth gave his half brother a look of derision. “You automatically assume I’m referring to some illegitimate child, when in reality, I meantyour little Geoffrey.”
“What else would you expect me to think?”
“That’s my point. It’s precisely what I’d expect you to think. Sad, is it not?”
“I didn’t come here to argue, Gareth.”
“No. I’m sure you did not. However, the topic you came to discuss is closed.” Gareth tapped his fountain pen against his forefinger. “I have work to do. Will you be staying?”
Jon nodded tightly.
Gareth rang for Desmond, who appeared so quickly that it was obvious he’d been listening. “Have Mrs. MacAvoy prepare a room for Lord Seth. And inform Cook we have a guest for dinner.” He nodded at his brother, effectively dismissing him. “I’ll see you this evening.”
Dinner was an uncomfortable, quiet affair. Both men ate in near silence, the clinking sounds of their utensils against their plates oddly loud in the long, high-ceilinged dining room. Twice Jon spoke, both times to compliment Gareth on his cook, to which the marquess responded in short, polite sentences.
Inside, however, Gareth was seething. He’d accomplished nothing the rest of the afternoon and had finally given up working. He’d thought a long, bruising ride on Calypso might help, but even in that he was thwarted. The rhythm of the stallion’s galloping hoofbeats both lulled and relaxed him, and the second he succumbed to them, images of Faith laughing, her golden hair tossed by the wind, invaded his mind. Frustrated, he’d turned for home.
By the time he’d cleaned up and descended to the dining room for dinner, his frustration had blossomed into fury—at himself for his inability to control his own thoughts when it came to his wife, and at Jon for invading his solitude. Most of all, he was angry because he could no longer deny the fact that he wanted to know what his brother had come to tell him.
When the last course had been served and cleared, Gareth cleared his throat. “Brandy?”
Jon nodded and rose. The two men left the dining room and crossed the corridor to the study. Gareth poured his brother a generous snifter and himself a glass of port. They sat in a pair of dark, comfortable club chairs.
After a moment’s silence, Gareth spoke. “Tell me.”
Jon carefully hid his relief that his brother was finally taking an interest. “There’s speculation,” he said.
“There’s always speculation. It will pass.”
Jon lit a cheroot and inhaled, then blew out the smoke rather grimly. “I agree. But not before they rip Faith to shreds.”
The port was doing nothing to ease Gareth’s tension. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I suppose you expect me to do something about that?”
Jon gave him a withering look. “She’s family. You married her. Yes, I expect you to do something about it.” He waited, watching his brother.
Strumming his fingers on the arm of his chair, Gareth thought about everything. He thought about the vandalism, which had stopped with Faith’s departure. He thought about her reaction when he’d accused her of having a lover, and knew a twinge of regret. She’d been shocked, stunned. His mind had so easily leapt to the conclusion that she had a lover, he’d tried and convicted her with virtually no real evidence. Had he been mistaken?
“She may not allow me,” he murmured.
Jon watched the emotions play across his brother’s face and wisely pressed his advantage. “They think you’ve abandoned her, so right now she’s merely an object of pity. I don’t think she’s even aware of it yet.”
Pain slashed Gareth’s features, but he said nothing. His brother sighed.
“It’s only a matter of time before she’s viewed as fair game by the more unscrupulous members of Society. She’s not equipped to handle that, Gareth. One misstep, even with Grace and Amanda standing by, and her reputation will be in tatters. She needs you, Gareth, whether she’ll allow it or not.”
“I don’t think need is the correct term,” Gareth replied, “but I understand what you’re saying.” He tossed back the remainder of his port and stood. “I’d rather conduct interviews for a secretary in London in any case. I’ll be ready to leave in the morning.” He set his glass on the mantel with a firm thud and strode from the room.
Jon watched him go, pensive. He was suddenly very, very happy Amanda’s maiden name was not Ackerly.
Thirty-one
Afternoon, Lady Seth.”
Surprised, Amanda looked up from the letter she was writing, a delighted smile brightening her face. “Gareth! Jon told me you’d come to London to look for a secretary.” And for your wife, she added silently.
“Yes. I’m to begin conducting interviews in the morning.” He stepped into the drawing room and looked around. None of the furniture looked as if it would be remotely comfortable for a man of his size, so he selected a love seat that appeared fairly substantial and sat down, feeling rather like a great, hulking beast gingerly picking his way through a china shop.
“Well, I’m happy you’re here.” Amanda looked at him curiously but said no more, sensing instinctively that her brother-in-law had something specific to discuss and was searching for the best way to begin. She was not disappointed.
“I’d like to talk to you about Faith.”
Amanda tilted her head and smiled. “What about her?”
“Do you see her often?”
Amanda hesitated, torn between a wish to bring her friend and her brother-in-law back together and loyalty to Faith, who had expressly stated she did not wish to have anything to do with her husband. “I see her a few times a week,” she finally admitted.
“Ah.” Gareth nodded. He glanced around the room a moment and looked again at
his sister-in-law. “Is she…doing well?” He kept his voice even, and his eyes were inscrutable.
Amanda gave him an assessing look, wondering again what had happened in their short marriage to bring Gareth and Faith to this point. Faith had been provokingly reticent, saying only that they were “unsuited.” It did not appear Gareth would be any more forthcoming. Unless…Amanda bit her lip, hiding a smile as an idea dawned. Unless he was provoked.
“Faith,” began Amanda, her tone light, “is having a lovely visit with her sister. It was really very kind of you to understand how terribly bored she was out in the country with only you for company.”
Gareth raised a brow. “Bored? That’s what she said? That she was bored at Rothmere?”
Amanda barely kept her face composed. “Well, I don’t know that she used those precise words. I think I might have inferred that she was bored when she said that you were ‘dour and not at all disposed to amusement.’ Which,” she added pointedly, “I found difficult to reconcile…until now. You’ve not even smiled at me once since you arrived!" She watched Gareth carefully.
His expression remained neutral, though he felt an unexpected twinge of pain at the way Faith had described him to Amanda. “Yes. Well. I was rather consumed with completing the renovations,” he said. Clearing his throat, he added, “I imagine she has attended social events with you?” A muscle twitched in his jaw.
“Yes, of course she has,” Amanda replied, watching as Gareth began strumming the fingers of his right hand on his thigh. “And she’s just as popular as ever, of course.” She beamed. “You’d really be so proud of her. Quite the sought-after dance partner, our Faith.”
His fingers abruptly stopped their movement, and Amanda looked up to find her brother-in-law staring at her intently. She hastily averted her eyes.
Gareth noted the guilty look on her face and wondered what she was hiding. “I stopped by the Caldwell town house on my way here. I was informed that they weren’t home.”
“No. They went to Pelthamshire for a few days. I think they plan to return this evening.” Amanda said a quick little prayer that Faith had changed her mind about staying in the village and was planning to return with Grace and Trevor. “We are to meet them at the Rutherfords’ ball. Care to join us?”
A ball. Gareth almost grimaced. Coming face-to-face with his wife under the watchful eyes of Society did not appeal for a number of reasons, but he did have to admire the pragmatic aspects. She’d be far less likely to simply ignore him if they were surrounded by hundreds of people. The ever-correct Marchioness of Roth could be counted upon to put her best face forward in all circumstances.
Yes. The more he considered it, the more he realized going to the ball was the better option. An announced visit to her sister’s home could be avoided; an unexpected meeting at a public event would put her squarely into his hands. His mind made up, Gareth thanked his sister-in-law for the invitation and agreed to attend, then took his leave.
The problem with his wife handled for the moment, at least in his mind, Gareth spent the ride back to his town house reading through the letters of recommendation he’d received about the men he would interview in the morning to fill the position of his secretary. The candidates all seemed reasonably qualified. He’d already dismissed out of hand any letter glowing with effusive praise for the applicant, concentrating instead on those which outlined in spare, precise words competence and organization. He wanted someone brisk and efficient. Not someone likeable.
The carriage slowed as it approached his home. Gareth tucked the letters under his arm and prepared to disembark, pondering this recent gravitation toward simplicity. Certainly it was at odds with the fun-loving prankster he’d been less than two years ago. He nodded at the footman, who opened the door and put down the steps, and walked slowly inside.
The tree he’d given to Faith in lieu of flowers stood in the foyer, mocking him, and he realized his life change had begun with his wife long before he’d even imagined she might be his; the blistering setdown she’d delivered at her sister’s wedding had stuck with him. The inheritance had followed shortly thereafter, and all its responsibilities. He had been forced to mature.
He reached out and touched one of the tree’s carefully manicured branches, still adorned with the silly ribbons he’d ordered. Perhaps, he thought to himself, he had become a shade too serious.
Thirty-two
As it turned out, Gareth found it ridiculously easy to slip into a good mood. Amanda’s lighthearted, easy banter was soothing, her laughter infectious. And though Jon remained as distant as ever, Gareth felt more relaxed than he’d been in months.
He should have known better.
Not ten minutes after they arrived, Lady Cleo Egerton bore down on him like a ship at full sail, the ever-present feather in her garish turban bobbing along helplessly above. Gareth felt his smile falter as he watched her approach, keeping one eye on the ebony cane she had been known to wield without mercy. He opened his mouth to offer her a carefully polite greeting, but she never gave him a chance.
“You.” The single word was an undeniable accusation.
Gareth inclined his head deferentially. “My lady.”
Cleo clicked her tongue, disappointment etched across her lined face. “I had high hopes for you after Huntwick so thoroughly botched things with Grace.”
Gareth raised an eyebrow. “I’d hardly call a successful marriage botched.’”
She pounced triumphantly. “So what would you call an unsuccessful marriage?” She raised her eyebrows and gave him a scathing look, the undeniable reference to his own marriage unspoken.
His eyes turned cold. “Typical,” he responded, refusing to take the bait.
Cleo remained undaunted. She leaned closer and squinted into his eyes, then nodded. “You’ve decided to do something about this silly arrangement, I see.” She tucked her cane under her arm and reached up to straighten her turban. “Good.”
Amanda watched the entire exchange with amusement, keeping a careful eye on Gareth. The change in her brother-in-law’s demeanor now from that during their conversation in the early afternoon hadn’t escaped her notice. It was clear he’d been thinking things through, a character trait he’d had for years. Whatever his plan, it wouldn’t involve rash or thoughtless behavior.
“The Earl and Countess of Huntwick!”
At the shouted announcement from the butler at the top of the stairs, Amanda looked away from her brother-in-law and held her breath as Trevor and Grace appeared. They paused and began descending. She let out her breath a moment later when Faith stepped into view.
“The Marchioness of Roth!”
Gareth felt a sense of calm envelop him, a feeling that began in the center of his chest and spread outward, as he watched his wife begin her poised descent. His eyes softened to a warm chocolate, and he took an inadvertent step in the direction of the stairs before he realized he had done so. Stopping, he looked around to see if anyone had noticed, and caught Amanda’s eye. Her expression was sympathetic.
Slightly annoyed with himself, Gareth looked back at the entrance. Faith had gained the ballroom floor and joined her sister and brother-in-law in greeting guests nearest the stairs.
Trevor’s eyes swept the room and widened in surprise when they landed on Gareth. He inclined his head toward Faith and Grace, then nodded imperceptibly when Gareth shook his head, tacitly agreeing that they were not to be told he was here yet. Not that it could be kept from them for long.
Across the room, Horatio Grimsby had also seen Faith’s entrance, and quite aware of her husband’s presence, was carefully watching everything. He’d noted the arrival of the Marquess of Roth with a mixture of irritation and dismay. That the man had come to collect his wife stood to reason. No man, especially not one of such power and standing, enjoyed the world speculating about his private affairs…and Faith hadn’t exactly been cautious in exhibiting how she felt about him. No, the more Horatio thought about it, the more he realized he was
going to have to find an opportunity to warn Faith about the need for her to conceal her feelings for him. The last thing he needed was to be maneuvered into a situation that required him to be up before dawn, facing her husband with pistols at twenty paces.
His eyes darted between the two groups, gauging his moment. It came when the Earl of Huntwick bowed over his wife’s hand with an affectionate smile and took his leave of the sisters. Horatio watched the earl make his way through the crowd toward Gareth, then turned his attention back to Grace and Faith. They had linked arms and were strolling in the opposite direction. Faith appeared not to have noticed her husband was in attendance.
Quickly, Horatio moved to intercept the pair, catching the ladies just as they reached the edge of the dance floor. “Evening, Lady Roth, Lady Huntwick.” He pushed his spectacles back up the bridge of his nose and bowed slightly.
Faith smiled at him. “Good evening, Lord Jameson. I trust you’re enjoying the ball?”
Grace smiled at Lord Jameson, too, but it was a more distant, polite smile. She’d meant to talk to Faith about the fact that Horatio’s attentions were becoming a shade too marked, but hadn’t had a chance to speak to her alone during their short stay in Pelthamshire, and it was certainly not a conversation she wished to have in front of Trevor. Faith had no idea she was being anything except friendly to a man who didn’t seem to enjoy much kindness from others. Jameson, in Grace’s opinion, was taking advantage of her sister’s gentle charity.
“Might I trouble you for a dance, Lady Roth?”
Faith kept a smile on her face while searching desperately for an excuse. None surfaced, however, so she resigned herself to a single whirl in the cause of duty. “Thank you,” she said graciously. “That would be lovely, my lord.”
Grace rolled her eyes and looked around the room for someone to talk with while her sister danced. She nodded at several acquaintances and broke into a genuine smile when she saw Amanda Lloyd standing with a group near Aunt Cleo. But when she looked to Amanda’s right, she sucked in her breath and reached back blindly for Faith’s arm, unable to take her eyes off the group across the room.
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