Lightning Unbound: Even Gods Fall in Love, Book 1

by Lynne Connolly

  He stood so close to her that one step back would send her into his arms. He promised safety and security, the bliss of letting someone else worry, for once. She shouldn’t even be thinking it. “There’ll be no need for that. Can he hold his own in a social gathering?”

  “Yes, so long as it isn’t too demanding. After an hour or so, he finds it difficult.”

  “He could eat with us?” His hands moved to her neck, rolling the stiffness away.

  Hot blood surged under her skin, and she stepped away, averting her face until she regained her usual colour. She sat again. He followed and sat next to her, but not too close. Perhaps he sensed her discomfort, her unease at the comfort she felt with him. “His table manners aren’t good. He can’t help it. He seems naturally clumsy, and he cannot keep his mouth closed when he eats.”

  “Hmm.” Lord Ellesmere traced a pattern on his knee with the index finger of his right hand. She felt the gentle pressure as though he was tracing it on her bare skin. “I want to make him known to the ton.” He waited for her response.

  Her response was instantaneous, shocked. “People will laugh at him. He cannot bear that.”

  “Then we must keep him away from those people.” He stopped tracing his pattern and looked at her again, clasping his hands loosely. “We can take him to the opera or the theatre, where we will have a private box. We can take him driving in the park.”

  “He can ride,” she said proudly, despite her reservations about his plan. “He’s a bruising rider, and he loves the sport.”

  “Does he appear well on a horse?”

  “Better than almost anywhere else.” Would this really work? Faith was so used to thinking of hiding, of keeping him safe, this alternative had never occurred to her before. Unwilling to let her hopes rise, where they had been so depressed before, she was nevertheless willing to listen.

  “Good.” He kept her gaze. Faith felt unable to look away, to lose the fascinating contact. Such intimacy, usually not something she looked for, seemed easy with him. He showed no inclination to deride her or George, as so many had done. She could trust him. “My idea is to let the ton see Lord Fordhouse. If enough people come to know him, he will make powerful friends and, Lady Bradley, witnesses. A simple man is no surprise—society has known a few over the years—but properly protected and guided they can do very well. If people see him and know he is sane, then your father will have difficulty proving him mad. He won’t be able to lock him up anymore.”

  “It’s impossible.” She couldn’t understand why he would offer this to her. Couldn’t begin to hope.

  “No, it’s not.”

  She lifted her hand and he caught it, his clasp warm and reassuring, as though he really could solve all her ills. She let her hand rest in his, indulging herself in simple comfort. “We couldn’t afford it. It is very kind of you to offer, and perhaps we might contrive something similar, but not an appearance in society.”

  He frowned. “Please let us do this for you. I have no right to ask it, but I would like to help. If your brother returns to that place, I won’t be able to live with my conscience.”

  She forced a smile. “I couldn’t be so beholden to anyone, sir. If you can help us a little we would appreciate it, but so much is not to be considered.”

  His thumb moved over her palm in a gesture that she felt all through her body, awareness reaching her deep inside. She wasn’t sure he was aware of her, he seemed so deep in thought. “It won’t be so expensive. We already have the house, the opera box and the horses. You’ll both need some new clothes, but that’s about it. Has your brother no estates to go with his title? No money?”

  She shook her head. “There is nothing. It’s a useless title.”

  “I wouldn’t say that.” He stroked her and she repressed a shiver. “It can be made to pay. Accept our hospitality and allow us to escort you to a few places. Do you ride?”

  “I have no riding habit.”

  He grimaced. “That can be arranged.” Watching him closely, she saw something stir in his eyes. They grew warmer, and she watched, fascinated as a slow smile curved his lips. “Allow us to do this for you. I will take a strict accounting of all expenses and send the bill to your father.”

  Shocked, Faith burst into laughter. “Sir, you cannot be serious!”

  “Why not? My father would take great pleasure in dunning him. Let me tell you something about my father.” Faith thought it was time she retrieved her hand from his grasp, but when she tried to slip it away he gripped it firmly. Her shocked gaze met his. He smiled again, and she felt better, leaving her hand where it was. “My father is a man bent on control, on power. I won’t hide it from you, he won’t do this from any altruistic impulse, but he will not harm your brother in any way. He’ll willingly take on the task of keeping your father busy. It would put him in the way of asking for favours.”

  There’d be a price to pay. “What kind of favours?”

  “Votes in Parliament, his support in the House. He can find a pocket borough for George that he can control. Believe me, he’s paid a lot more for such favours in the past.”

  He grinned, and she shared his amusement, not attempting to hide her smile. “It would cost a large amount just to get me dressed in the right clothes. I couldn’t take that from you.”

  He shrugged. “Very little. You may borrow jewellery from us. We’ll regain your portion from your father. Who inherited your late husband’s estate?”

  “A distant cousin. He doesn’t wish to know us.” She smiled tentatively. “May I consider it? I need time.” She had a shrewd idea how much was involved, far from a paltry sum. To make even a respectable showing in society would cost a great deal of money. Was Parliamentary favour worth that much? There was a grain of truth in Ellesmere’s story of his father’s desire for control. Even in the fastness of her father’s and her husband’s houses, she’d read about the duke’s activities in the newspapers. He brought court cases against all his neighbours, spoke at every important debate in the House, but was too controlling to ally himself to any important faction for long.

  “It will give me time to mention the matter to my father,” Ellesmere said in response to her request. The corner of his mouth kicked in a half smile. “If I told him too much he would grasp it with both hands and you would have no choice in the matter.”

  “Does he control you?” she asked before she could put a stop on her unruly tongue.

  His half smile turned to a full one, one that showed a measure of self-satisfaction. “He tries.”

  “He still tries to control you?”

  Ellesmere shrugged. “He never stops. That is one of the reasons I can help you. I can resist him without too much disruption; I know the methods. You will allow it? You will let me help you?”

  His face held only query. Faith could see nothing else, no interest for her personally. Why should she see that? Her family didn’t have the kind of power his wielded, or the wealth. She was attractive, not beautiful, and couldn’t hold a candle to the beauties thronging society. He was tall, handsome, strong and well-connected, the kind of man she had dreamed of once but now knew better than to expect. Firmly she tried to put her wayward thoughts aside. “Very well. But only for George’s sake. The next time Father will take him away where I will never find him until he is dead.”

  She stood. Immediately he got to his feet and held out his arm. “I hope you’ll enjoy some of this,” he said. “You’re far too strained and worried. Hopefully we’ll eradicate that look.”

  For a fleeting moment, their gazes met and melded, softening in intimacy. He leaned towards her, bending his head and then just as quickly straightened. It had been too quick for Faith to think, too fleeting to be anything but a passing fancy. Still, he had, for a very brief span of time, wanted to kiss her. It made her feel better. Head high, she walked back to the house.

  Chapter Four

  The campaign started the next day when the mantua maker called. Faith hadn’t realized until she rec
eived the summons to visit Lady Deborah in her room that the woman was even there, much less that she was the main recipient of her attentions. Soothing her raging conscience with the thought that the bills would go to her father, she allowed the maid to strip her outer garments away and submitted to the ministrations of Madame Cerisot.

  The mantua maker had brought assistants and a large box filled with samples of fabric, some of which Faith turned aside as far too costly. “Has Madame been presented at court?” the mantua maker asked.

  A court mantua would cost a fortune and was far too old-fashioned to wear to other functions. Faith had no intention of falling into that trap, although it tempted her when she thought of her father’s face when he saw the bill. “No, madame, I have no expectation of that in the immediate future.”

  Behind Cerisot, Deborah shrugged. “You may use mine if it becomes necessary. The thing takes far too much space in my clothes press.”

  Glad to receive Lady Deborah’s promise of the loan, but certain she would never be called upon to take her up on the offer, Faith allowed Cerisot to poke her with pins and posed while she was measured in every imaginable place. While a maid helped her to put her own clothes back on, she listened with mounting horror to the order Lady Deborah was calmly placing. “Perhaps the blue silk as another evening gown. That shade of blue suits her exceedingly well, and it will also appear well when she is in powder.”

  “May I suggest a pattern of twining vines on the robings?” Cerisot said. “We can weave small amethysts into the design. They should catch the light beautifully.”

  Faith stepped forward and picked up the fabric sample. It slipped through her fingers like cool water, the best quality in a breathtaking forget-me-not shade Faith loved. “If we are too extravagant, Father will have grounds to refuse payment,” she said.

  She gained Cerisot’s attention immediately, the woman’s face turning speculative. She reached out to push away the more costly fabrics, but Lady Deborah prevented her from returning them to the case by covering her hand. “That is of no concern. I’m sure my father will get his money’s worth.” She addressed the mantua maker directly. “My father will see to your bill, madame, and apply to Lord Pendford directly. You need not worry about your payment.” Calmly she turned back to the samples and picked a swatch of dark crimson cloth. “Should you like this for your riding habit, Faith? I feel sure this colour will become you.”

  Cerisot turned her attention to Faith, narrowing her eyes to study her. “May I speak honestly?”

  “Of course,” Faith said.

  “Your complexion is pale, my lady, but your cheeks are pleasantly tinted. Your hair is your greatest beauty, and I would advise that you only powder when you cannot avoid the necessity. That particular shade of chestnut is all the rage recently, thanks to the Duchess of Hamilton.” The lady who used to be Elizabeth Gunning, who had taken London by storm a few years ago. Now a duchess. Not that Faith had that kind of statuesque beauty, and her skin, though fashionably pale, had not the porcelain-fine quality of the duchess’s. She strongly suspected Cerisot of the most blatant kind of flattery. “Your figure is excellent, although some might consider you a trifle on the short side. I would advise that your shoes all have good heels, the higher the better.”

  “All the better to trip with,” Faith said gloomily.

  Cerisot ignored her remark, concentrating her attention on Faith’s appearance. “I would not load the gown with decoration but keep it elegantly simple. The fabrics must be the best to make for that, and the lace fine. You should wear your hair simply, my lady, with perhaps a curl or two to tease your shoulders. Your bosom is adequate and your shoulders plump enough to show well.” Immediately, Faith felt like covering herself with the heaviest gown she owned. She was aware of her inadequacies; she didn’t need any jumped-up mantua maker to tell her.

  Wisely, she kept quiet and allowed the talk to go on around her but did her best to reduce the number of garments Lady Deborah seemed to be ordering. Not to mention decorative lacy aprons, petticoats, stomachers—with embroidery or echélles of ribbon—cloaks and the lace. Lace was so very expensive, Faith had hoped to curb the cost by ordering thread lace, but Lady Deborah was adamant when she ordered ruffles of Brussels and Méchlin, blond and point, to embellish the sleeves of the gowns and frill around the necklines. “Nonsense, Faith, nothing is as obvious as skimping on lace. If nothing else is of good quality, a woman may often escape comment if her lace is good.”

  She idly wondered when she had progressed to “Faith” and recalled Lady Deborah requesting her to drop her title, just as though they were the best of friends. She still felt more reticent towards Deborah, but she presumed that was only to be expected.

  Finally Cerisot took her leave, well pleased with her order, and promising to deliver the items as quickly as possible. Deborah smiled. “I have enjoyed this morning so much. I often mourned the lack of a sister so I could help her dress. It has given me a great deal of pleasure to help you.”

  She took Faith’s hands and led her to the sofa at the foot of the great bed, where a maid had placed a tray. “Gerard told me of the plan and promised to confront Father about it this morning.” She lifted the pot and poured two dishes of tea. “We should be able to hear the row from here.” She didn’t appear daunted. Unlike Faith.

  “Oh no, I don’t wish to cause any conflict between father and son. I would rather take George back to Vinegar Yard.”

  Deborah handed Faith her tea. “No, you couldn’t, or you would have to take James with you. It hasn’t passed your notice how much those two have taken to each other?”

  Faith sighed. “No, it has not.” James was totally different from the superior beings Faith’s father had provided for George. When her brother had appeared at the breakfast table neatly shaved and dressed, his hair tied back in an orderly queue, Faith breathed a sigh of relief. At last, someone who knew how to handle her brother, realized that kindness and patience went a lot further than punctilious courtesy. “George has told me how much he likes James. Before this, I was the only one he wanted to help him. He is clumsy—I suspect it forms part of his condition—but our father constantly scolded him for it, which only served to make him worse.”

  “It would. There is nothing more guaranteed to distress a person than to constantly draw attention to their faults.”

  Faith regarded Deborah narrowly, thinking the lady knew too much not to have been a recipient of such treatment. Deborah laughed. “Yes, our father is critical of us, but he remembers to temper the criticism with praise, when he thinks we merit it. That makes one much more desirous to please him.”

  “Indeed it would,” Faith agreed. She couldn’t remember her father praising her about anything. He constantly criticized her appearance, her lack of ability to find herself a husband, her disinterest in fashionable affairs. When she tried to please him by voicing a considered opinion on anything important to him, her father responded by admonishing her to mind her own business and not concern herself in matters far above her understanding. If she hadn’t been so disturbed by his continuing cruelty to George, Faith might have become a self-pitying wreck.

  “I hope my brother can persuade our father.”

  As if on cue, someone tapped on the bedroom door and answered when Deborah called out, “Come.”

  It was Gerard. It astonished Faith to see him in his sister’s bedroom, and perceptive Deborah understood. “My dear, I have levées here once a week. Half of London has traipsed through this room.”

  Gerard smiled and, at his sister’s gesture, took a chair close to the sofa where they sat. She poured him some tea and handed it to him. “Have you told Papa?”

  “I have.” His gaze went to Faith and he smiled reassuringly. It seemed to her a very private smile, just for her. She was imaging things. She turned her attention back to her tea.

  Gerard took a sip of his own brew and placed the dish and saucer back on the table. “It seems that Father has his own dispute with Pendf
ord.” He grinned at his sister. “Another of his court cases, but Pendford does not accept his authority in anything. He seems to take umbrage at every turn. So it seems our father isn’t as averse as he seemed to opposing Lord Pendford. I believe he’ll be very pleased to do him an ill turn.” He picked the dish and saucer and took another sip. “I persuaded him that flaunting you in public would infuriate Pendford. He is delighted. He says if Pendford cannot do the right thing by his children, he will. We made the mistake of appealing to his sense of charity and fairness, Deborah. We should have brought this matter to him a different way. Still, it has done the trick. He’s looking forward to your first appearance in society.” He gave Faith a quizzical glance, one so quick she hardly caught it, full of a meaning she couldn’t understand. “So am I.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” she began. “I must express my deep gratitude to you, and the hope we can pay you back one day. If this keeps George out of my father’s reach I’ll owe you more than money.”

  His eyes locked with hers in a grave and intimate way. “Perhaps one day I’ll call that debt in.” He smiled easily, and the moment was broken when he looked away to his sister. “I can see this season will be a great deal more amusing than the last one.”

  “Indeed,” Deborah said, regarding her brother and her new friend with an indulgent smile. Too kind, as if she pasted on her kindness with her clothes in the morning. No, Faith thought, that was her overactive imagination. It wasn’t Deborah’s fault that Faith found her a trifle overwhelming and sensed rather than noticed anything. Faith still couldn’t believe this was happening to her, and she was looking for events to take a wrong turn. That must be it.