Vaughn was extremely athletic. He caught the parasol as the breeze propelled it in the direction of the river and turned with a laugh while Charity cheered him.
He handed the parasol to Faith. “Thank you, my lord.”
“My pleasure, it would have been a shame to lose it. Such a pretty thing.”
Faith’s cheeks heated. She wasn’t sure why, but the way he looked at her when he said it made it seem he was complimenting her rather than her sunshade.
He turned away and strolled back to inspect Charity’s painting. They were soon in discussion about the shadows on the oak’s trunk.
Faith nibbled her bottom lip. Some years ago, Lord Vaughn had been sent down from Oxford. It must have been something serious. Many young men responded to dares, got up to pranks and were rusticated for a term. But Vaughn had been suspended. She would love to know the reason. Tunbridge Wells had been rife with gossip about him for years, how he had become a gambler and got into debt. How he refused a commission in the army and lived an aimless life in London. There had been little fodder for the gossips since he’d gone to York, however. But something had happened since, she was certain, for his eyes were shadowed despite his smile. His rebellious ways had been a source of fascination, when she’d always been one to obey a command and never dared upset the family. It was a woman’s lot, she supposed with a sigh.
To be honest, her Season hadn’t proved to be as thrilling as she’d hoped, and until this point, she hadn’t understood why. Her childhood had been so uneventful. Safe. Although warned of how dangerous they were, the so-called rakes she’d encountered held no appeal, though she did yearn for excitement and not to have her life mapped out so carefully. If she married Lord Fitzgibbon, she feared excitement was unlikely to come her way.
“I look forward to seeing you all at the hunt ball,” Vaughn said, sounding polite, as if his good humor had deserted him.
“Honor and Edward are coming,” Charity said.
“It will be good to see them. Will you promise me a dance, Lady Charity?”
Charity chortled and flicked back another errant lock, which now had a dab of green paint on it. “I am not yet out, my lord.”
“Then I shall join the line of keen dance partners next year.” He turned to Faith. “And you, Lady Faith?” He cocked a dark eyebrow. “Will you save a dance for me? We might dance a waltz on the terrace, under the moon.”
“And we might not.”
Vaughn might have asked her to dance naked, such a look he gave her. Her body responded in an alarming fashion. She had a strong urge to laugh and agree. How outrageous he was and how easily he stirred her child-like adventurous spirit, which she had wrestled into submission, with just one look.
“In the ballroom then, amongst other sober souls,” Vaughn said.
“Then I shall be delighted, my lord.”
Vaughn’s dog had taken to running along the bank, barking furiously. “I must go,” he said with a bow. “Enjoy your pastoral pleasures, ladies.”
He jammed on his hat and returned the way he came, reaching the other side of the river with graceful ease. His dog jumped up at him with joyful barks, and with a careless wave, he disappeared into the trees.
Paintbrush poised, Charity watched her. “You always had a thing for him,” she said. “It seems you still do. I’ve never seen you so discombobulated.”
Faith fought to guard her heart. Maddening, that the years hadn’t altered how she felt about him. Vaughn was still exciting. His strong, manly grace and unpredictability thrilled her all over again. Such an attraction would be perilous. Her father would never agree to a match with a rake, reformed or otherwise. “I hardly know him. Perhaps it’s more what he represents.”
“Ha!” Charity became absorbed in her painting once more and didn’t require any further explanation, thankfully, for Faith doubted she could have offered one.
****
Vaughn strode back through the woods in the direction of the shooters. They had only a few hours of daylight left. He liked the Baxendale girls. He remembered them from past social events, but he’d thought them young and silly then. Faith had grown pretty he had to admit. An appealing, delicate flower of a girl, with her big blue eyes and fair curls. Doubtless, she’d be married before the year was out. She wasn’t like her stepsister, Honor, not in looks, for Honor had dark hair, nor in nature. Edward’s wife had a way of looking at a man that made him feel he had to come up to the mark, or get a tongue-lashing. A good thing that she so obviously adored Edward.
He remembered Faith as being a feisty young girl. It appeared she was now intent on marrying to please her father. Vaughn supposed he couldn’t expect Faith to stand up to her parent, the way Honor had. Baxendale would have allowed Honor more leeway, as Honor was not his child. Baxendale had married Honor’s mother after her first husband killed himself, having gambled away his estates. He would not be so tolerant with Faith.
There was little point in wondering why Faith Baxendale had changed. He needed to focus on opportunities offered him. Vaughn’s friendship with Miss Crispin had ended months ago, and strangely, he now struggled to get a clear picture of her. It was as though she’d mirrored back his emotions without ever revealing much of herself. Had her decision to marry another man merely been a blow to his pride? He was learning more about himself as he grew older, and some of it was painful. None of his brothers suffered from the same growing pains. The rockiest road seemed destined to lie with the youngest Brandreth. And much of it his own making. He sighed. Older and wiser now, he wanted get on with his life, which was difficult without the necessary blunt to bring about his dreams. What could he offer a young woman such as Faith, for example, until he was better settled? That he should even ask himself this question was surprising, for a union between them at this time was impossible. One day he would have his inheritance and breed thoroughbred horses. Until then he’d endeavor to keep his nose clean and convince Chaloner he had changed. But he couldn’t tamp down his impatience to take life by the scruff of the neck and shake it.
Chapter Three
When the footman announced Faith’s stepsister and brother-in-law had arrived, Faith rushed into the parlor where Honor was pulling off her hat. “Honor!”
“Dearest.” Laughing, Honor welcomed Faith’s exuberant embrace. “Is it so very long since we last saw each other?”
“Hullo, Edward.” Faith rose up on her toes to give her brother-in-law’s cheek a kiss.
Edward’s intelligent green eyes studied her. “Is there something amiss, young Faith? You seem out of sorts.”
Edward’s sympathetic inquiry made her realize how on tenterhooks she’d been. “Father urges me to marry Lord Fitzgibbon,” she said. “I feel I’m being rushed into a decision.”
“La, Faith. Father will give you time.” Honor smiled. “He is so fond of you. He wishes you to be happy.”
“I want him to approve of my choice. I couldn’t bear to be cut adrift from the family.”
“Now how could that happen?” Honor said with a laugh and a shake of her head.
“What’s wrong with Fitzgibbon?” Edward asked. “Have I missed something?”
“You approved of Lord Gillingham also, Edward,” Faith said, narrowing her eyes.
“That’s true.” Edward ran his hands over his hair. “Nice fellow, too, Gillingham. I believe I’ll leave you two ladies to discuss it. I can offer little by way of advice. A man is somewhat de trop.”
Honor smiled fondly at him. “You are quite right, my love. Both are good men. But Faith doesn’t love them.”
“Love, eh?” Edward hurried to the door. “Well, that is another matter entirely.” The look he gave his wife was nothing short of smoldering as he exited the room.
“See?” Faith grinned. “Is it unreasonable for me to want what you have?”
“Oh no, dearest. You must insist on it,” Honor said, her cheeks pink.
“Vaughn has come home for the ball,” Faith said casually.
&
nbsp; Her sister’s brown eyes widened. “Has he? You have seen him?”
“Yes, Charity and I were sitting by the river when he came out of the woods with his dog.”
Honor studied Faith carefully. “Still handsome?”
“Yes.” Faith sighed. “Even more so.”
Honor leaned forward and took Faith’s hand. “Dearest, I am your champion in anything you choose to do, but I would hate to see you hurt. Father would never approve of Lord Vaughn.”
“I doubt it matters. Vaughn showed little interest in me.”
“Edward did mention Vaughn had been seeing a lady in York. But if nothing has come of it, he will likely fall under your spell, for most men do. Do not, I pray, encourage him.”
“I didn’t…I wasn’t.”
“Of course you didn’t, not deliberately. It’s not in your nature to toy with a man’s affections, dearest. But sometimes just the thought fits the deed. And your loyalty and affections, once engaged, are unshakeable.”
Faith shrugged. “I believe I would be out of my depth with Lord Vaughn.”
“Mm. I look forward to seeing him again. But even if he has changed his ways, Father would not want you to marry a younger son with no real prospects.”
“But, Honor, you did.”
“I know, dearest.” Honor smiled. “But I am his step-daughter. Father will want something better for you.”
“What man could be better than Edward?”
Honor laughed. “Indeed! Perhaps, in this case, we are wiser than Father.” She sobered. “But you have been infatuated with Vaughn for years and must ask yourself what it is about him that attracts you. Rakes have great success with women because they offer excitement. Often to a lady’s dismay and, in some cases, ruin, when they discover rakes have nothing of real value to offer, certainly not love.”
“But I don’t believe Vaughn was ever a rake!”
“Perhaps not, but he has proved to be of a less-than-stellar character in the past, has he not?”
“As are many younger sons who don’t suffer the same pressures as the heir. But once they find their calling, they often settle down and become responsible men.”
“You are determined to defend him. I shan’t argue. I promise to make my own assessment of his character. But what I might say on your behalf would do little to help your cause.”
Faith bit her lip, annoyed with herself. Why was she defending Vaughn? Her emotions confused her.
Honor rose. “Now I want to see what you are wearing tonight.”
“Oh, Honor, I have the most divine dress, powder-blue satin with rows of old lace. You will love it.”
****
Chaloner’s valet, Jones, assisted Vaughn into his tight-fitting, blue long-tailed coat of superfine. The valet stepped back, clothes brush in hand, with a nod of approval.
“Excellent, Jones.” Vaughn patted his perfectly tied cravat. In the mirror, the light caught the emerald he always wore on his little finger. A present from his father many years ago. His father’s death had rocked him, perhaps more than his brothers, who were older, their lives more established, but he refused to use that for his sorry final year at Oxford. Kicked out on his ear, his life had gone downhill from there. At least until John gave him a job running his horse stud. Breeding horses was Vaughn’s passion. And because he enjoyed it, he was good at it. He had the stud working in clockwork fashion when John and Sibella returned home from London.
He frowned as he left his bedchamber and headed to the main staircase along the draughty corridors of the Brandreths’ ancestral home. He could not have remained in York forever. It was time for him to forge ahead with his own plans.
Strains of Bach drifted out from the ballroom. Vaughn entered to find sets gathering for a quadrille. He skirted the floor, greeting guests, and approached his mother, the Dowager Marchioness of Brandreth, where she sat surrounded by ladies of a similar age. She smiled.
“Vaughn. How very well you look tonight.” She turned to the lady beside her with tall ostrich feathers in her hair. “Does he not, Liza?”
Lady Price fluttered her fan as her gaze roamed over him, making him want to tug at his cravat. “Indeed he does.”
“Mama, Lady Price.” He bowed. “Please excuse me, I must speak to Edward.”
He found Edward drinking champagne and talking to Chaloner. “Not dancing?” he challenged his elder brother. “Surely, as the host, you should invite a lady to dance the quadrille with you?”
“Quite right,” Chaloner said, taking the bait. “Lavinia expressed a desire to dance; now where has she got to?”
As Chaloner wandered off in search of his wife, Edward raised his eyebrows. “Neatly done. But to what purpose?”
“I wished to talk to you.”
“And I you. It’s good to have you back, Vaughn.”
“I told John I shan’t return to York. He has engaged an excellent manager.”
“Because of this business with Miss…what was her name?”
“Lord no, that was months ago. I need to find my feet in my own enterprise.”
Edward frowned. “I wish I could finance you, Vaughn. I know you’ll do well, but unfortunately just now—”
“I don’t expect you to. That’s not what I want.”
“Oh?”
“Help me convince Chaloner to borrow against the Trust and release my inheritance into my hands.”
“I will put in a good word for you, of course. But I can’t see our brother agreeing at this point in time.”
Vaughn frowned. “He doesn’t trust me.”
“You need to prove yourself,” Edward said.
Frustrated, Vaughn shrugged. “How the devil can I do that?”
“Why not settle down and marry?”
“I considered marrying Miss Crispin, at one point, but that didn’t change his attitude.”
“The apothecary’s daughter? Chaloner would hardly approve of that union. No one did in fact. Did you intend to turn your back on all of us? Whisk the girl off to Gretna Green?”
Vaughn shook his head, surprised not to feel the smallest pang of regret where Miss Crispin was concerned.
“You have not been entirely reliable in the past. Why should Chaloner believe that any money he might give you won’t end up on the gambling tables?”
“That’s a bit brutal, Edward,” Vaughn said with a scowl. “I have no intention of visiting gambling hells. I’ve become a sober member of society.”
“Then show him. Begin tonight.” Edward swept out his arm. “There are many charming young ladies who would be delighted by your attention, and some with a healthy dower. Look around this ballroom. What about Miss Green?”
Vaughn turned to where Miss Green executed her steps in her white gown. “Miss Green tends to laugh rather a lot,” he said gloomily. The sound put him in mind of a pony their sister, Sibella, once had.
“She is attractive and cheerful at least,” Edward said.
“Mm.” A graceful lady danced past them negotiating the intricate steps of the quadrille. Her trim form in pastel blue was decidedly attractive…he didn’t recall hearing her laugh and suddenly wanted to. “Faith Baxendale has grown into a beauty.”
“Yes, but Faith isn’t for you. Baxendale has settled a generous dowry on her. He will never consider you. He aims high.”
“I daresay he does. She’s very pretty.”
“She is almost engaged,” Edward said with a sharp glance. “I am exceedingly fond of young Faith. I want to see her happy.”
“Fitzgibbon?”
“He has been to see Baxendale.”
“Lord Baxendale has granted his suit?”
“He has.”
“It’s a fait accompli then.”
“It does appear so,” Edward said.
“Well, she promised me a dance,” Vaughn said. “And I intend to claim it.”
“Dance with all the young ladies,” Edward said with a smile. “Banish that frown and enjoy the evening.”
Chapter
Four
Faith tried not to let her gaze wander in Vaughn’s direction as he moved around the ballroom. It was difficult, for he was so tall and his broad shoulders in his dark blue coat so very splendid he drew the eye. She forced herself to concentrate on the dance. Lord Fitzgibbon’s gaze followed her through the steps. He looked like a puppy anxious to please. Faith wanted to please him, her parents, everyone, but a tiny voice in her head warned that, with the wrong man, life could prove long and dreary, and while everyone else might be happy for her, she would not be happy herself.
Lord Fitzgibbon led her from the floor and rushed off to fetch her lemonade. Honor was quizzing Mrs. Browne about her receipt for potted lobster, and Faith was alone when the waltz was announced.
Lord Vaughn appeared before her. “I believe you promised me a dance, Lady Faith.”
Faith felt that tingling in the pit of her stomach again as his bold gaze roamed over her. “I did, my lord.”
Behind Vaughn’s shoulder, Lord Fitzgibbon stood holding the glass of lemonade, his mouth open. Well, Fitzgibbon did not have any right to her yet, and as her father was not present to object, she took Vaughn’s arm and they joined the dancers on the floor.
Vaughn gazed down at her. “You’re not going to marry that mincing milksop, are you?”
“That’s hardly your affair, my lord.” Faith wasn’t sure what upset her most, Vaughn’s brazenness or his description of Fitzgibbon. Lord Fitzgibbon did not mince, but she did wish he might cut the apron strings. Perhaps once married….
“That’s showing some spirit,” Vaughn said approvingly. His vibrant green eyes grabbed her gaze and held it. “But you know I’m right.”
She raised her chin. “I certainly do not. Who would you suggest I marry then, anyone here tonight?”
Vaughn glanced around the floor. “Lord Brocklehurst?”
Faith choked. “He is close to fifty.”
“Mm. Sir William Forest?”
She firmed her lips, fighting a grin. “Hardly.”
“Perhaps not. Forest is hard on wives. He’s just buried his third. Dear me. Not much to choose from, is there?” Vaughn said regretfully. He placed his arm around her waist and took her hand as the musicians struck up. “Perhaps you’d better have me.”
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