by Mary Brendan
Ryan realigned his jaw and shook his head with a resigned grunt at having got what he deserved.
‘And what of your happiness?’ he asked coolly.
‘I am happy with Peter...very happy...’ Faye avowed.
‘Are you indeed? Why approach a stranger for help, then?’
Faye moistened her pulsing lips with a tongue tip.
‘God in heaven! Don’t do that!’ he growled, throwing his head back with a strangled laugh.
‘Do what?’ Faye asked warily.
‘That...’ He ran his thumb over her pillowy scarlet lips, collecting the warm dew.
‘Let’s talk of your Mr Collins then.’ He turned abruptly from her, walking away. ‘I imagine he is not aware you’ve been seeking my protection instead of his.’
It was a direct and pertinent enquiry that made Faye go white and stutter, ‘I...I would naturally prefer to seek his assistance rather than yours if I could, sir. Unfortunately Mr Collins is at present far away in Portsmouth...or he might already have set sail for the Continent. I have no other kin to call on other than an elderly aunt and a stepmother who abandoned us all. But I understand your reluctance to risk upsetting my fiancé by taking on his role.’
‘I’ve already said I’ll gladly upset your fiancé, my dear.’ Ryan turned to her. ‘The question is, why are you risking upsetting him? Or perhaps you’re intending to keep all this bad business from him, are you?’
‘Of course, I would not want to hurt him! And I would not want to keep secrets either,’ Faye said hoarsely. ‘My fiancé will understand why I accepted the help you offered once he knows the circumstances.’ Faye felt her heart flutter and jump. She’d just lied. Peter might well be furious that she was obliged to the local rogue for her own safety and that of her sister. But she had no intention of telling him about Claire’s disgrace unless there was no option but to do so. He had demanded time and again that she discover Deborah Shawcross’s whereabouts in Ireland and send her brother and sister there. Faye had intended to let Peter believe that she had taken his advice. ‘My fiancé cannot give me any practical help as he is many hundreds of miles away.’ Faye pulled on her gloves. ‘Good day to you, sir...’
‘He’s closer than that.’
‘What do you mean?’ Faye paused with her hand on the doorknob. Suspicion was needling her skin as she slanted a glance at him and recognised savage satisfaction darkening the sapphire of his eyes.
‘Your fiancé is in London...close enough for you to call him home should you want him rather than me to assist you.’
She tutted disbelief and would have opened the door, but his cool scorn stopped her.
‘You don’t believe me?’
‘I am afraid I do not, sir. Mr Collins was going to London, but only for a short while. By now he would have travelled on to Portsmouth.’ She frowned. ‘Has somebody reported seeing him?’
‘I’ve seen him. I returned from town this afternoon. I had business in Cheapside yesterday and observed him with another man, entering a tavern.’ He watched the disbelief in her beautiful green eyes transform to wariness. She didn’t want Collins to know anything about this debacle with the Lees. She didn’t believe her fiancé would help in the way she needed him to so wanted it all kept secret...and that gave Ryan hope that, despite her declarations to the contrary, she didn’t love the man in the way she said she did.
‘You must be mistaken, sir,’ Faye finally ejected in a shocked voice.
‘I think not; I know him and I know Westwood.’
‘Peter was with Mr Westwood?’ Faye’s mind was immediately racing ahead, wondering if Peter had somehow found out about her losses, then tracked the lawyer to his London office to have it out with him. Westwood deserved to be taken to task, but she didn’t want a public scene made over her.
‘My fiancé has used Mr Westwood’s services in the past; perhaps an urgent appointment delayed him in London.’
‘You also employed Westwood.’
Faye shot him a sharp glance. ‘Please don’t you be coy now, sir. You may speak plainly. I know my situation is common knowledge in Wilverton.’
That caused him to smile and pace to the window. ‘You’ve told Collins about your financial situation, I take it?’ Again satisfaction curved his mouth as he stared out, waiting for her to reply. Perhaps they had been engaged for a ridiculously long time, but it seemed she still didn’t trust him enough to confide in him about much at all.
‘I’ve not had a chance to speak to him on the subject, but if you are correct in seeing them together then I imagine word has reached him from another source,’ Faye rattled off. ‘My fiancé has probably delayed returning to Portsmouth to have it out with Westwood. He will make him apologise at least.’
‘Perhaps he should apologise to you for allowing you to put your faith and money in his friend’s hands.’
‘You seem to know a lot about a matter that is none of your concern. Besides, they are not friends, but business acquaintances.’
‘Rather like us, then...’ Ryan said drily. ‘Or we would be if we could but agree on terms.’
‘Indeed...but as we never shall it only remains for me to thank you for what you have done so far and tell you I need nothing more from you.’
‘Unfortunately, I don’t feel that way about you.’
‘I’m sure you will, sir,’ Faye said sweetly. ‘Once you have had your desire for diversion met elsewhere.’ She couldn’t look at him; she knew if she did he’d be laughing at her. None of it was serious to him. Whereas for her, every look, every touch he gave her was of such importance that it was a brand on her memory and she hated him for it.
She banged shut the door and hurried along the corridor towards the vestibule.
The butler showed her out and she descended the steps speedily with her skirts held away from her flying feet. But she had no need to fear he might prevent her escape.
As she flicked the reins over the back of his horse she took a glance at the house. All was quiet, nothing stirred. All Faye could hear was her heart in her ears. All she could feel was the trickle of hot salt water on her cheeks. When out of sight around the bend in the drive, she dashed away her tears, then let the light patter of rain wash clean her complexion. He had been right on that, too...the clouds had rolled in to blot out the sun.
She set her shoulders as she turned on the uphill road to Mulberry House. She knew she had a grave task in front of her now, trying to keep Peggy’s spite contained until she could get Claire safely away somewhere to let the matter die down. She had hoped to ask Kavanagh to make some enquiries about her stepmother’s whereabouts as he’d said he and Ruby were off on a visit to Ireland soon. If he’d agreed, she’d then have spoken to her sister about writing to Deborah Shawcross. The least Claire could do after causing such trouble was try to tolerate a short sojourn in Ireland with her mother. Whether the woman would have agreed to have her on a visit, of course, was another matter. But now, following her confrontation with Kavanagh, it seemed that the idea would wither without being tested. Without him helping her find Deborah, she’d have no address to write to.
Faye could see some sense in what she’d impetuously chosen as a solution. Deborah Shawcross, whether the woman liked it or not, had a responsibility to Claire and, that apart, it would be good if old family rifts could be put behind them. It was doubtful that they would ever all be friends, Faye knew that, but lifelong enmity with her stepmother wasn’t what she wanted either. And she doubted that Claire and Michael did either, in their hearts.
Chapter Twelve
A few days later Faye had just finished breakfast when the postman arrived bearing two letters.
One she opened immediately, guessing it was from Mr and Mrs Scott. She scanned it, sighing in gladness. Finally some good news! The Scotts would be delighted to have Michael to stay and
had generously sent a carriage to collect him, due on the morrow.
The other note she slipped into her pocket, recognising it as bearing Peter’s handwriting. She wanted to wait for some peace and quiet later to savour his news.
‘Michael!’ Faye waited at the bottom of the stairs for her brother to respond to her summons. As soon as he appeared on the top step she flapped the parchment.
Michael needed no further encouragement to hurtle down the treads, hollering, ‘I may go to Scotland?’
‘Indeed you may, young man and very soon.’ Faye struggled from her brother’s bear hug. ‘Your friend’s parents have sent a coach for you. It will be here tomorrow.’ Faye ruffled her brother’s fair hair, realising that he was quite overcome with gratitude. ‘You’d best get packing.’
‘Thank you,’ Michael mumbled gruffly. Then with a whoop of joy he bounded back up the stairs, unintentionally barging Claire out of the way as she met him on the landing.
‘He’s going on holiday, then.’ Claire sounded envious. ‘I wish I was. I’m hungry...’ she added and headed off towards the kitchen.
There was an appetising aroma of freshly baked biscuits and usually Faye would have followed her sister and also gone to sample one. Instead, she returned to the parlour and sat down to read her other letter. As she unfolded it she was mulling over what Claire had just said about wanting to get away from the area. A tap on the door interrupted her and she folded Peter’s letter as Claire entered with a plate of biscuits for them to share. Aware that her sister was bearing a peace offering, Faye smiled and took one.
‘I’ve been thinking...’ Claire said, in between chews. ‘It might be best if I went away for a while. Peggy can’t blackmail me for my new hat if I’m not around. And I doubt she’ll bother blabbing either if she knows I won’t be here to be upset over the gossip.’
‘She already has blabbed. I overheard talk in the draper’s...’ Faye briefly explained.
‘The minx!’ Claire cried. She looked agitated. ‘So everybody will know about me and Donagh?’
‘Not everybody will believe what Peggy says,’ Faye said calmly before her sister became overwrought. ‘What had you in mind when you say “get away”?’ She wanted to quickly follow up Claire’s earlier comment as it tied in closely with her own thoughts.
Claire sighed. ‘Well, I haven’t many options. It is either a case of throwing myself on Aunt Aggie’s mercy or...on my mother’s.’ She shrugged. ‘And of the two, my mother owes me her support far more than does my aunt.’
‘Indeed she does; if we could find out where Deborah is, you would like to go to Ireland?’ Faye felt pleased that her sister had come up with the same solution to the problem.
‘I’m not sure I’d like to go...’ Claire sighed. ‘But I should go. I know I’ve caused bad trouble and I deserve to suffer to put it right,’ she said in a rather martyred tone.
‘Well, I can’t deny the truth in that,’ Faye replied bluntly.
She knew they wouldn’t be able to hide away in Mulberry House for ever, avoiding questions. When she had returned home after her emotional battle with Ryan Kavanagh, Mrs Gideon had told her that the vicar and his wife had called in her absence. Faye knew what they wanted to talk about and had been grateful for the reprieve. She had still been feeling jittery, not least because she understood there were benefits—both personal and practical—to be had from Kavanagh’s proposition.
It was not fancy clothes and jewels or the security he provided occupying her imagination and putting a tingle in her blood, but the memory of his passion...and then she hated herself for being so weak. She had known her future husband since she was a child and couldn’t understand how a stranger had, in a short while, made her feel confused about her future with Peter. She enjoyed her fiancé’s company; she liked having his kisses. But Ryan Kavanagh could make her chill with excitement simply by looking at her. A single touch from one of his long fingers could cause a fiery sensation to melt her bones, the like of which she’d never before experienced. And it frightened her to feel that way, as though she’d no will of her own.
But it wasn’t just about the wonderful way he made her feel...she knew that he wasn’t judging her for having been negligent with Claire. He understood her dilemma because he’d faced a similar problem with Ruby. He knew what it was to have the task of guarding a girl burgeoning into womanhood. Yet sympathy and understanding was something that she doubted she would have got from the man who wanted her as his wife. With a quiet sigh Faye realised that she wished she’d not parted company so frostily with Ryan Kavanagh because she’d appreciated his advice and support. Her mind was snapped back to the present by a pertinent question from her sister.
‘How can we find out where my mama is? You won’t send me overseas on my own, will you?’
‘I shall accompany you there, of course, and eventually bring you home again,’ Faye answered.
Claire looked reassured. ‘So how will we find her?’
‘I shall have to put some thought into that. I’d rather not make the journey and hope for the best,’ Faye replied.
Claire approached the door as they heard their brother dragging his trunk across the floorboards overhead. ‘I suppose I should go and give Michael a hand as I won’t see him for a while.’
Faye felt some relief that progress was being made on a way to minimise the scandal that was brewing. She picked up Peter’s letter and quickly scanned the few paragraphs of news. His promotion was imminent, he wrote, and he also reminded her that he had not forgotten his vow to travel to Ireland when next on shore leave. He had underscored a sentence expressing his desire to be her husband without further delay because he loved her dearly. At one time reading of Peter’s devotion would have caused little butterflies to circle her stomach and perhaps a poignant tear to sting her eyes. From the age of fourteen she had been sweet on Peter Collins. At five years her senior he had shown little interest in her until he came down from university. The Shawcross family, being friends and neighbours, had been invited to the Collins’s to celebrate Peter’s graduation. Faye recalled swelling with feminine pride that the man she’d secretly wanted for two years couldn’t take his eyes off her that evening. He had strolled with her in the garden after dinner and beneath a starry sky she had received her first ever kiss when just sixteen. From that moment she had decided she wanted to marry Peter Collins.
By that time Peter’s elder sister had married and moved away and shortly after Peter also left the family home to embark on his naval career. But he’d liked returning to his childhood home in Hertfordshire and had boasted that one day the house and acreage would be his. Much to Peter’s disgust, his father had sold the estate and moved away to the coast.
But since Kavanagh’s arrival in the neighbourhood everything had changed. When Faye lay in bed in the blissful state between sleep and wakefulness, it was no longer her fiancé that she fantasised about. Neither were the male features that floated across her mind fair and pleasantly attractive; they were dark and starkly beautiful with eyes of deepest blue that seemed to bore into her soul from between lengthy black lashes.
Faye abruptly stood up, a small frustrated cry rasping in her throat as she attempted to shake off her obsession with the master of Valeside. No matter what he had done for her so far, he had blatantly revealed himself to be a lecherous opportunist, she reminded herself. He had masqueraded as a friend while using her various misfortunes against her. And he had lied to her about seeing Peter with Westwood. If her fiancé were in London, he would surely have mentioned it in the note he’d sent her. If Kavanagh thought to undermine her trust in her fiancé to get her into bed, the ploy would not work.
The soft sounds and scents of summer smoothed the frown from Faye’s brow as she stepped closer to the window. The blowsy roses were batting against the glass in a gentle breeze and a few bees were whirring industriously to collect
nectar from the lemony blooms. The good weather would be gone far too soon, she realised. Once Michael had set off she knew she would need to turn her full attention to her sister’s predicament. She knew nothing of Ireland or its language, but somehow must discover where Deborah Shawcross had set up home. It could not be so difficult! Faye exhorted herself, pushing up the sash to pluck an unfurling rosebud. Holding it by the stem, she breathed in its perfume.
‘Mr and Mrs Holly are on their way. I’ve just spotted them from the landing window, driving over the brow of the hill.’ Mrs Gideon had come into the parlour to deliver her warning. ‘Shall I say you’re indisposed, Miss Shawcross?’
Mrs Gideon, in common with everybody else in Wilverton had heard of her niece’s spite towards Claire. Outwardly the woman contained her anger to a permanent pursing of her lips. But Faye had heard her housekeeper muttering to herself that she’d ‘swing for the girl, and gladly...’
‘I’ll receive them, Nelly.’ Faye placed the rose stem on her desk and gave her housekeeper a wry smile. ‘Best get it over with,’ she murmured to herself. Before Nelly quit the room she asked, ‘Has your husband brought Daisy home yet?’ Every day, Faye had sent Mr Gideon to the manor to return Kavanagh’s horse and collect Daisy, and on each occasion her servant had returned with the sprightly gelding, plus the news that her pony was still recuperating.
‘Bertram brought the gelding back again. Mr Kavanagh’s groom said he’d get in trouble with his master if he let Daisy go before she was fit and ready, and he wasn’t to take back the gelding till then.’
The rat-a-tat on the door made Mrs Gideon raise her eyebrows. ‘Still time to tell them you’re under the weather, if you want.’
Faye gave a rueful smile. The vicar’s wife was her good friend and had staunchly championed her in the drapery. Nevertheless Faye intended to keep the meeting as brief as possible without being impolite. They were preparing for Michael’s trip to Scotland so had a valid reason to do so.