“She’s not,” Titherington said. “Her heart’s beating.” As he realized that fact a rush of elation went through him. She was alive, but he could feel the blood, sticky on her shoulder. “She has only fainted, I think.”
“Faith has never fainted,” Hope said.
“Still, we have to get her to a doctor,” he said, standing with Faith in his arms. The thought came to him, that she was so light. How did he mistake her for a man? “Do you have a lantern in the carriage?” Titherington asked as he stalked to the carriage where he thought to put her. He had to move some stacks of books aside to make room. When he turned he realized that Hope was staring helplessly at the man she had killed, the reality of it finally washing over her.
“Come on,” he said gently. “We need to get Faith to Town.”
“Is he dead?”
Titherington looked at the pool of blood shining in the moonlight. “He is,” he said.
“I killed a man,” she said looking at the blood on her hands.
“He would have killed you, or your sister,” Titherington said gently. He had no idea how to handle the situation only that, Faith needed a doctor. “Let’s go,” he urged, and Hope started back towards the carriage.
“But…” she turned still staring at the men in the road.
“I’ll send someone,” Titherington began, but then he heard hoof beats. “Hurry!” he urged giving Hope a little shove towards the carriage. He picked up the pieces of his cane and the bloody dagger and helped Hope into the carriage. “Can you drive?” he asked as he laid a hand on Faith’s face. She seemed so pale.
“I’ve been driving,” Hope said sharply, and he was pleased that she seemed to get some of her verve back. No doubt the thought that she had killed a man would come back to her in time. It was not something one forgot. He whistled for Demon and then began priming and loading his pistol in case there were more highwaymen following.
Hope took the reins and urged the horses into a run. The carriage was bouncing over the ruts in the road and Oscar could not get a clear shot on the riders. He did not want to waste the shot. He had to wait until they were closer. He took a bead on the leading rider, and Faith’s hand pulled down his arm. “Don’t,” she said. “It’s Simon and Jesse. My brothers.”
Not another highwayman, he thought breathing a sigh of relief. “Not Isaac?” he said. He immediately put down the gun and attended Faith.
“Simon and Jesse are the better riders,” she said. “My guess is they out paced him.”
Titherington looked her over as if he could see every injury when in truth all he could see was the sticky blackness pooling over her shoulder. “Are you alright?”
“My shoulder feels like it has been branded with a hot poker, but yes. I think, that I am in one piece.” Relief flooded him, and being mindful of her shoulder he pulled her into his arms. “I thought I lost you. I never want to lose you, Faith. Marry me,” he said. “Make me the happiest man in the world and become my wife.”
“Absolutely not,” she said.
“What?”
“I will not have a man telling me what to do, Oscar. If I’ve learned anything it is that if I am to write and see my plays published, I must do it myself. No one will stand in my way. I will not allow it. Not you. Not Isaac. No one.”
“You silly goose! I’m not going to stand in your way. I will take you to Maddox myself.”
“I’m not a goose.”
“Of course, you’re not,” he said. “You are a beautiful, smart, wonderful woman and I love you. I want to share every adventure of my life with you. Will you grant me that, Faith?”
“Adventure?”
“Absolutely. I used to think, when I got married I would have to settle down and forgo all of my exploits. None of the women of the Ton seemed to be the sort who would appreciate such escapades, but you my dear, you and I are going to have a life time of adventures together. If you would do me the honor.”
“But as a married woman,” Faith began.
“Well, yes, that may be a problem. I suppose you shall have to be Emerson, time and time again, only whenever necessary, you understand.” Titherington’s eyes twinkled. “I did promise to introduce you in Town. I cannot abide lies. I do keep my word.”
Faith’s mouth fell open. “It would be such a scandal if anyone found out!”
“They won’t,” Titherington said with a shrug, “But if they do, it won’t be the first outlandish tale spread about me. No one will believe it.”
“Oh Oscar, can you forgive me for lying to you?”
“I already have,” Titherington said. “Can you forgive me for being so awful to you at the river? Such actions were uncalled for. I should not have kissed you so.”
She nodded, her eyes bright as he reached out and put his fingers under her chin. “I should have kissed you like this,” he whispered as he slowly caressed her cheek with his thumb. Slowly, gently, he kissed her as he should have done before, a long deep kiss that spoke of his longing for her. It did not matter that she was dressed as a man, she was his Faith, and he loved her.
* * *
Hope continued to urge the horses forward, but it was only a matter of time before the men on horseback reached them. She was relieved to see that it was Jesse and Simon, not highwaymen. They had apparently left Isaac behind, but nonetheless, she knew her brothers were here to retrieve them. There would certainly be a row.
Jesse shouted at her to stop the carriage, and Hope knew she had to bow to the inevitable. She tugged on the reins and the carriage slowed.
Simon was off his horse in a moment. He wrenched open the door of the carriage and cried out. “Unhand my sister!”
“Now, take a moment,” Titherington said with remarkable calm. “I have just asked the lady to marry me, and she has not yet answered.”
“Yes!” Faith cried. “The answer is yes.”
* * *
Jesse insisted that he would take the reins of the carriage and Hope, tired beyond all reason, did not argue with him. Their horses were not so well trained as Demon so they tied the horses to the back of the carriage and proceeded into Town where they arrived at Titherington’s grandfather’s house and were welcomed.
Titherington carried Faith up the stairs to the butler’s look of surprise. “Not a word Haysley. Not a word,” Titherington said as he took the stairs two at time, and the butler gave a small bow.
“Very good, Sir,” he said.
Jesse rode for the doctor who pronounced that the ball had grazed the skin quite deeply, but there was little muscle damage. Faith would be fine, barring putrefaction of the wound. He bound it with medicines and told them he would be back on the morrow to change the dressing and be sure she did not become feverish. Oscar did not leave her side. Neither did Isaac once he arrived at the Titherington Townhouse. In the grey hours before dawn the men got to know one another.
* * *
The two gentlemen talked well into morning, but when Faith awoke, Isaac asked to speak with her, and Titherington excused himself.
Titherington said, he would inquire about breakfast and send Hope to her. “My grandfather may have some questions, too,” he said with wry smile.
“Faith,” Isaac began and Faith spoke at the same time.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I said things I shouldn’t have. You are nothing like father, truly, and I did not mean it. It was a cruel and vicious thing to say.”
“I too said things I did not mean,” Isaac said. “Things I should not have said. I guess I still see you and Hope as children, really. It is hard to believe that you are a grown woman.”
“But even grown women are too often under the thumb of their fathers, their brothers or their husbands,” Faith said cautiously.
“I know it is so, and it is not pleasant.” Isaac nodded. “I too was under Father’s controlling hand. I understand; it chafes,” he said. He took a breath and fixed her with a serious look. “If you want to publish these books…write a play for a London thea
ter…I don’t know what I can do, but I will not hinder you.” He grinned at her. “After all, it was Simon and I who outfitted your loft.”
She reached out to hug her brother and he submitted to it. He was a not generally a demonstrative person, but she wanted him to know she loved him. She kissed him on the cheek just as Hope entered the room.
“How are you?” Hope asked.
“Sore,” Faith said seriously, “but I will survive.”
Hope pulled her journal from the pocket of her gown. “I have been busy this morning,” she said. “I rewrote the carriage chase in the new book.” She sat on the edge of the bed and turned the page to show her sister.
Isaac laughed. “I will leave you to it,” he said.
* * *
Epilogue
Faith Baggington and Oscar Titherington were granted a special dispensation without issue and were to be married just one week later in London. It was a small family affair since Titherington’s grandfather was still not well, but he was a sweet man who Faith adored on sight. Faith’s arm still ached a bit, but she was so happy it did not seem to bother her much. The wedding dinner was attended only by the Baggingtons and a few of the friends that Hope had made in Nettlefold, including Lady Ainsworth and Sir Phineas Ainsworth who hugged Faith each in turn.
Oscar took a moment to speak with his friend Edgar who stood up with him, and his friend raised his glass. “A toast to the new bride and groom,” the Baron Torsford said as he put his opposite hand around Caroline’s waist. “May they be as happy as we are.”
“Here! Here!” called the others.
Mr. Maddox came by on the day of the wedding to deliver a mockup of the playbill for the new play and Oscar invited him in to dinner.
“I cannot believe you are leg-shackled,” Maddox said shaking his head.
“On the contrary,” Oscar said. “I do not believe ‘leg-shackled’ is the proper word for our relationship.” He grinned at his wife, resplendent in white and lilac. She wore the silk gown the Nettlefold seamstress, Mary Merton, had crafted for the Baron Torsford’s Ball.
“After all,” she had said. “I never wore it.”
Oscar seemed not to be able to take his eyes from her beautiful feminine form. Even with her cropped hair, he still could not quite reconcile her beauty with the lanky countenance of Mr. Emerson.
“You will see, Titherington,” Lady Torsford said. “Now that you have a new wife to settle you down, you will have no need for crazy antics.”
“Yes,” Edgar said. “I am sure, with the new Mrs. Titherington at your side, you will soon calm down and be a respectable gentleman.”
Titherington chuckled and laid a hand on the baron’s shoulder. “Oh, my friend, you know so little of women, and even less of my Faith.”
“Whatever do you mean?” Caroline questioned.
Faith and Oscar shared a look, and Faith had to laugh.
“I think,” Oscar said raising a glass. “Marriage is the greatest adventure of all.”
“But you will give up your roguish ways,” Caroline said with emphasis.
Oscar replied with a wicked grin and a twinkle in his eye as he looked at his beautiful wife. “I will do, whatever my lady likes.” Oscar gave a gallant bow to his wife and kissed her hand.
“Right now, I would like a proper kiss,” Faith whispered to him, and Oscar complied. “And then?” he asked.
“An adventure,” she said.
* * *
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by Isabella Thorne
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The Duke’s Daughter ~ Lady Amelia Atherton
by Isabella Thorne
Book 1 of
The Ladies of Bath Collection
* * *
1
With a few lines of black ink scrawled on cream parchment, her life had changed forever. Lady Amelia had to say goodbye, but she could not bear to. She sat alone in the music room contemplating her future. Outside the others gathered, but here it was quiet. The room was empty apart from the piano, a lacquered ash cabinet she had received as a gift from her father on her twelfth birthday. She touched a key and the middle C echoed like the voice of a dear friend. The bench beneath her was the same one she had used when she begun learning, some ten years ago, and was as familiar to her as her father’s armchair was to him.
Lighter patches on the wood floor marked where the room’s other furniture had sat for years, perhaps for as long as she had been alive. New furnishings would arrive, sit in different places, make new marks, but she would not be here to see it. Amelia ran her fingers across the keys, not firmly enough to make a sound, but she heard the notes in her head regardless. When all her world was turmoil, music had been a constant comforting presence. Turmoil. Upheaval. Chaos. What was the proper word for her life now?
She breathed in a calming breath, and smoothed her dark skirt, settling it into order. She would survive; she would smile again, but first, she thought, she would play. She would lose herself in the music, this one last time.
* * *
Two Weeks Earlier
Lady Amelia looked the gentleman over. Wealthy, yes, but not enough to make up for his horrid appearance. That would take considerably more than mere wealth. He leered at her as though she were a pudding he would like to sample. Though it was obvious he was approaching to ask her to dance, she turned on her heel in an unmistakable gesture and pretended to be in deep conversation with her friends. Refusing the man a dance outright would be gauche, but if her aversion was apparent enough before the man ever asked, it would save them both an embarrassment. She smoothed her rich crimson gown attempting to project disinterest. It was a truly beautiful garment; silk brocade with a lush velvet bodice ornamented with gold and pearl accents.
Lady Charity, one of Amelia’s friends in London, smiled, revealing overly large teeth. The expression exaggerated the flaw, but Charity had other attributes.
“That is an earl you just snubbed,” said Charity, wide-eyed. It both galled and delighted Lady Charity the way Amelia dismissed gentlemen. Lady Amelia did not approve of the latter, she did not take joy in causing others discomfort. It was a necessity, not a sport.
“Is he still standing there looking surprised?” Amelia asked, twirling one of her golden ringlets back into place with the tip of a slender gloved finger. Looking over her shoulder to see for herself would only confuse the man into thinking she was playing coy. “I am the daughter of a duke, Charity. I need not throw myself at every earl that comes along.”
“Thank goodness, or you would have no time for anything else.” Charity’s comment bore more than a tinge of jealousy.
Lady Amelia’s debut earlier this Season had drawn the attention of numerous suitors, and the cards still arrived at her London townhouse in droves. Each time she went out, whether to a ball or to the Park, she was inundated with tireless gentlemen. If she were a less patient woman, it would have become tedious. Gracious as she was, Amelia managed to turn them all down with poise. Lady Amelia’s father, the Duke of Ely, was a kind man who doted on his only daughter but paid as little mind to her suitors as Amelia herself; always saying there was plenty of time for such things. Her debut like most aspects of her upbringing was left to the professionals. What do I pay tutors for? He had said, when a younger Amelia had asked him a question on the French verbs. There had been many tutors. Amelia had learned the languages, the arts, the histories, music and needlepoint until she was, by Society’s standards, everything a young woman should be. She glanced across the hall to that same father, and found him deep in conversation with several white haired men, no doubt some of the older lords talking politics as they were wont to do. She flashed him a quick smile and he toasted her with his glass.
Fath
er had even indulged her by hiring a composer to teach her the piano, after she proven herself adept and eager to learn. If any of these flapping popinjays were half the man her father was…she thought with irritation.
Lady Patience, the less forward of Lady Amelia’s friends, piped in, “Men are drawn to your beauty like moths to a flame.” Her voice had a sad quality to it.
“I’m sure you will find the perfect beau, Patience.” Amelia replied.
“Yes, well, you might at least toss them our way, when you have decided against them.” Charity said. She peeked wide eyed over her slivered fan which covered her bosom with tantalizing art. Amelia’s eyes were brought back to her friends and she smiled.
While Charity was blonde and buxom, Patience was diminutive, yet cursed with garish red hair. The wiry, unruly locks had the habit of escaping whatever style her maid attempted, leaving the girl looking a bit like a waif, frazzled and misplaced at an elegant ball like the one they were attending. Though her dress was a lovely celestial blue frock trimmed round the bottom with lace and a white gossamer polonaise long robe joined at the front with rows of satin beading.
Charity’s flaws were more obvious, apart from her wide mouth. She had a jarring laugh, and wore necklines so low they barely contained her ample bosom. The gown she was wearing extenuated this feature with many row of white scalloped lace and a rosy pink bodice clasped just underneath. It bordered on vulgar. Amelia intended to make the polite suggestion on their next shopping trip that Lady Charity perhaps should purchase an extra yard of fabric so she might have enough for an entire dress.
The Lady to Match a Rogue: Faith Page 22