Faithfully Yours

by Jo Ann Ferguson

  “Aren’t you pleased, daughter?” her father asked.

  “I am surprised.” That much was the truth.

  Her father plucked the invitation from her fingers. “Why? Sir Richard has such a gathering each year, and you are of an age to attend.” With another chuckle, he said, “I have been told there will be many guests from Philadelphia. This is an excellent opportunity for you, Faith. There are many men who have made names for themselves as true heroes and risked so much for the king. Don’t you agree, Kendrick?”

  “An excellent opportunity to meet a true hero,” Sebastian replied with his coolest smile.

  She was caught by his icy gaze. She had so many things she wanted to say, but she could not say any of them. Her father continued with his plans for the exciting evening that would introduce his oldest daughter to the gentility of Philadelphia and to the peers who were serving the king here. Did Sebastian think her affection for him was so shallow that she would toss aside what they shared for a chance to be with a man acclaimed as a hero? As he bid them good afternoon and took his leave, she feared he did.

  Eleven

  Had there ever been a man more foolish than he was tonight?

  Sebastian stepped into a room that was bright with a chandelier that would not have been out of place in one of the elegant houses on Grosvenor Square. The walls in the country house were not as ornate, because the decoration was carved from wood, not plaster. Painted a bright yellow, the walls were the perfect backdrop for the dark furniture that was pushed up against them to leave the floor of the large room open for dancing.

  A pair of violins tried to be heard over the conversation and the laughter. He walked past guests who were talking earnestly, the subject always the same. He would have enjoyed discussing the progress of the war against the rebels, but that was not the topic shared by the many soldiers who had been invited from Philadelphia for this evening’s entertainment.

  The topic was Faith Cromwell. His gaze focused on her. She was dancing with a man who claimed the titles of colonel and marquess. As she curtsied, holding her fan open, he noticed that her silk gown was the perfect shade of green to accent her russet hair, which remained unpowdered. A row of ruffles along the front of the gown curved over her bodice and emphasized the narrow line of her waist. Silk flowers were sewn into the ruffles on her petticoat beneath her wide, split skirt and on the lace drooping down from her sleeves, but he stared at the tiny silk flower that was set at the very spot where her breasts pressed to escape the deep line of her chemise. As she bowed to the colonel and stepped through the pattern of the dance, the candlelight seemed drawn to her, as were the eyes of many of the men in the room.

  Sebastian’s fingers curled into fists by his sides. He wanted to be the one who held her slender hand and who drank in her sweet perfume as the dance drew her near. Grasping a glass, he downed the wine in a gulp. He motioned for it to be refilled as he saw—overseeing all of the room as if he were the host—Cromwell, looking very much the proud papa with a daughter who was about to fulfill his ambitions for more power and respect among those representing the crown. His face was nearly as ruddy as his daughter’s hair, and Sebastian guessed that Cromwell had emptied his wineglass many times already.

  And why not? The man was celebrating a victory that seemed assured. At the end of each set, Faith barely had time to catch her breath before another gentleman escorted her out onto the floor to dance.

  At the sound of his name spoken in a jovial voice, Sebastian looked behind him to see a squat man. Captain Ames had a wit that challenged his fellow officers and a charm that endeared him to the ladies, who soon overlooked his thinning hair and large nose.

  “What are you doing so far from Philadelphia?” Sebastian asked, his gaze flicking back toward the dancers to see Faith now dancing with a major he did not know.

  “I have heard much about Sir Richard’s gatherings,” Ames replied, his voice a deep rumble. “I thought I would see the truth for myself.”

  “And what do you think?”

  “I think these colonials have a grand opinion of themselves, for I have seen a finer assembly in a low tavern in London.” He took a glass from a passing tray. Sipping, he added, “I trust you will be joining us for the colonel’s assembly during the Christmas season.”

  “If possible. My duties here are not done.”

  Ames grimaced. “You show great restraint in staying here in Goshen when I know you are curious about what will be done with the spy your brother captured.”

  Sebastian took Ames by the arm and drew him toward an empty corner. “Rooke has said nothing about his collaborators.”

  Ames ran his finger along his bulbous nose. “I had hoped to be bringing you orders to arrange for a hempen collar for this spy. I see no reason to wait.”

  Sebastian shifted so he could be sure that no one approached, neither ally nor foe. Already Osborne was pestering him to get orders that Rooke be hanged without delay. If he heard Ames’s comments, Osborne would only become more insistent.

  “Caution is necessary,” Sebastian said quietly. “Even loyal colonists were unsettled when that schoolteacher was hanged as a spy in Connecticut. The rebels have made Nathan Hale a martyr. We do not need to offer them another to use in their efforts to bring more traitors to their cause.”

  “That is, unfortunately, true.” Ames sighed. “This war is dragging on too long. I fear there are too many generals involved. If we were allowed to confront the rebels and chase them to ground rather than having our army retreating to Philadelphia for the winter, this war would be over by year’s end.”

  A laugh answered Ames as Cromwell came to join them. Tapping his glass against the captain’s as Sebastian introduced the two men, Cromwell said, “You are soldiers, so you are anxious to face your enemies. I tell you that you need only wait for the cold nights of January. Then Washington’s men will abandon him as they think of their comfortable homes and heated hearths and the women who wait to warm their beds.”

  “You speak with assurance, sir, of a winter that has barely begun.”

  “I was born and raised here, Captain,” Cromwell returned, obviously annoyed at Ames’s comment. “I know well how to read the signs of a winter yet to come. It will be cold and snowy, and winter will become your ally in this war against the rebels.” Taking a drink of his wine, he laughed. “You learn to see and trust the signs when you have lived in Pennsylvania as long as I have.”

  “I hope you are right,” Sebastian said, tilting his own glass toward his host.

  “You shall see that I am.” Turning, Cromwell looked back toward the dancers. “Have you given up this battle, Kendrick?”

  “Battle?” piped up Ames, his eyes threatening to pop from his head. “What battle?”

  Cromwell chuckled. “Not one between foes, Captain, but the even more ancient one between a man and a woman. I thought, Kendrick, that you would not cede the field so readily.” He pointed with his glass toward the floor where Faith continued to dance. “That is my daughter, Faith. She is beautiful—don’t you agree, Captain Ames?”

  Ames glanced at Sebastian, then away quickly as he mumbled something. Sebastian took another sip of his wine. If Cromwell thought to force him into admitting an attraction to Faith with Ames as a witness, his host would learn his mistake.

  Startling Sebastian, for he had not heard her approach, Mistress Cromwell spoke. “Do not chide Major Kendrick. Many men prefer conversation to dancing.”

  “He is not speaking with Faith, either.” Cromwell clearly was too deep in his cups to hold his tongue. “Faith may have her head turned by one of these dashing heroes.”

  Sebastian excused himself as Mistress Cromwell scowled at her husband. Ames scurried past him, making no secret of his determination to avoid being a witness to any scold Mistress Cromwell might be about to give her husband. Wanting to assure Ames that Mistress Cromwell would never forget her manners, Sebastian did not. That might persuade the captain to continue their conversation.r />
  Walking toward where the dancers were finishing the set, Sebastian folded his hands behind him. He did not speak as the dancers flowed around him as if he were a stone set in the middle of a stream. When Faith walked to him on the arm of the man she had been dancing with, he remained silent. He watched as she thanked the man for the dance and then turned to him.

  Holding out his arm, he put his hand over hers as she set it on his sleeve. Was she waiting for him to speak? He noted how the other guests were watching them. The buzz of whispers followed them as he led her out of the room and into the foyer that ran the length of the house.

  “Are you having a pleasant evening?” Faith asked as they walked past a tall-case clock against the stairs leading up to the upper floor.

  “I have had the opportunity to speak with colleagues I have not seen since I left Philadelphia months ago.”

  “Months?”

  “Your father’s house was not my first stop.”

  “I do not wish to speak of the war … again.”

  “You don’t?”

  “I just said that.” Faith snapped her fan open, then wished she had not when one of the spines creaked ominously. If it broke, she would not be likely to get a replacement. Her father had bought this one from a peddler who had come from Baltimore. “Why do you want to talk about the war?”

  “I have no interest in speaking about the war. ’Twas you who was asking questions regarding my duties.”

  She shuddered. “I would think you would be grateful that you have survived the battles fought during the fall.”

  “I might be if I had had the chance to confront Washington and Lafayette and their men on the battlefield.”

  “You didn’t fight in any of those battles?”

  He shook his head. “I was busy with other tasks that my superiors needed done.” He clasped his hands behind his back again. “Duties that were necessary to bring an end to this war, but duties that were guaranteed to bring little personal glory.”

  “Is that the only reason you bought your commission? To obtain glory?”

  “Not the sole reason, but the earls of Kendrick have been heroes of the realm many times in the past.”

  She sat on the wooden bench by the clock. “Being a hero can come at a very high price.”

  “Or it can simply happen.”

  “Now you are speaking of your brother.” She looked at the snow drifting past a window in a small room on the other side of the foyer from the ballroom. “To be honest, Sebastian, I do not think it takes much of a hero to capture a man who has broken his leg and cannot escape.”

  He laughed. “Your point is well-taken.”

  “So stop being grim.”

  “Another point well-taken.” He bowed toward her. “May I offer you an invitation?”

  “To what?”

  “A Christmas gathering in Philadelphia. When a friend reminded me that our mutual colonel is planning a party for the holiday, I realized that I would enjoy it much more if you attended with me.”

  “In Philadelphia?”

  “Do you have a reason not to go there?”

  Faith shook her head, not trusting herself to speak. She had often imagined going to Philadelphia. Father and Mother had last traveled there almost five years ago. When they had returned, her mother had told her of the bustling streets and the harbor. She had described the shops and the carriages and the merchants, and Faith had wanted to see it all. But that had been before the war began.

  Grasping her hands, Sebastian brought her to her feet and led her into the small room. The voices disappeared as he closed the door, which blended with the dusty blue walls, its raised panels matching the ones running between corner cupboards. Painted plates set on them added a rainbow of color throughout the room.

  Before she could see more, Sebastian whirled her into his arms. Gentle, eager nibbles along her jaw infused her with an ache that began deep within her. When his tongue caressed her eyelids, she whispered, “Sebastian, please don’t.”

  “Don’t?” he asked as quietly. His breath curved along her ear, seeping into her brain, and setting every thought aflame. “Do you ration your kisses?” He bent and pressed his mouth against the curve of her neck.

  “We should not be in here alone. Not with the door closed.”

  “That is quite true. If someone opened that door and discovered you in my arms, it soon would be known that you enjoy my kisses.”

  Faith turned away before his teasing words and the even more beguiling warmth of his rakish smile could tease her into risking her reputation more. Knowing that she should throw open the door and return to the other room, she walked toward the pair of settees arranged in front of the hearth.

  “A chess set!” she exclaimed when she saw what was set on the table between the settees.

  “You act amazed.”

  “I am. The last time Sir Richard called, Father defeated him quite soundly at chess twice in the same evening. Father used the same gambit in both games.”

  “I assume from your comments that you play.” His breath brushed her nape, but she had already known that he was standing behind her. Every sense she possessed had told her that. He did not need to touch her. Her skin tingled in anticipation of his being close.

  “Yes.” She picked up one of the ivory pieces and ran her finger along the smooth edges of the sculpture.

  “How well?”

  “I am the best in my family.”

  Again he laughed. “Are you willing to risk that distinction?”

  “Against you?” When he nodded, she set the pawn back on the board. “Can you challenge me at chess?”

  “We shall see.” Sitting on one of the settees, he asked, “Shall we?”

  “Now?”

  “Unless you are afraid that I will discover you have simply been boasting.”

  She smiled. “No, Sebastian. I am not afraid of you besting me.”

  “Maybe you should be.”

  “I do not think so.”

  He laughed. “You are very sure of yourself, Mistress Faith Cromwell.”

  “Are you as sure of yourself, Major Sebastian Kendrick?” She touched the top of the bishop. “Are you willing to make this a game of chance?”

  “It is already. You have a very small chance of defeating me.”

  “Do you want to wager on that assumption?”

  He put his finger over hers and slid it along the smoothly carved piece. At the same time, another finger stroked her other hand, sending a heated arc from his skin to hers and back again. “What do you wish to lose?”

  Ignoring the desire that erupted through her as his gaze warned her that what he wanted was her as his prize, she kept her voice steady. “If I win, you must leave our house and Goshen.”

  “You wish me to leave you?”

  Pulling away from his intriguing touch, she said, “For the good of the folks around here, yes.” She folded her hands on the edge of the table. “Your search for smugglers has unsettled everyone so that I swear someone will turn in an innocent soul just to be rid of you.”

  “So you believe Rooke is innocent?”

  She shrugged, although her shoulders were stiff. “I do not know enough of Mr. Rooke to judge if he is innocent or guilty.”

  “He says he has called often at your house to sell his tin wares. He seems to know much of you.”

  “What he told you were lies. Why would you believe him about anything?”

  “That is an excellent question.” Sebastian tapped the edge of the board. “Also an excellent question is why you expect me to dictate to my superiors what I should do.”

  “I have no doubt you could persuade them to heed you.”

  “You give me too much credit, Faith.” He chuckled.

  “If you do not wish to play—”

  He put his finger against her lips. “If I am going to risk the rage of my colonel by arguing with his orders, you must make this wager worth my while.”

  “I thought you wished me to travel to
Philadelphia with you for that gathering.”

  “I do, but I want something more when I am risking a court-martial if I disobey orders.”

  Dampening her dry lips, she whispered, “What do you want?”

  “You.”

  A flame burst forth to send fire along her cheeks. As Sebastian’s hand covered hers, her mind became blank. How well did Sebastian play chess? Even if he was not very skilled, his very suggestion that they become lovers had unsettled her. A single mistake, and she could lose the game.

  “If you would prefer not to play,” he said, “I must ask you to excuse me. I would gladly spend the night with you, but otherwise I should excuse myself to be certain that my men are ready for the morrow.”

  His raised brow dared her to make a choice she longed to make. Only to herself had she been able to hide how much she longed for his kisses. His caresses stripped her of every rational thought. She wanted more. Closing her eyes, she knew she had been stupid to suggest this wager. Yet, to turn back now …

  “All right, Sebastian,” she said. “If I win, you shall leave. If you win, you will have my company tonight.”

  His hand reached across the board to tilt her chin back so her gaze was caught by the hunger in his. “Sweet one, I want more than your company.”

  “I know.” Her voice was no more than a whisper.

  “I want you to be sure of what you are wagering.”

  “I am.” She drew back and took a steadying breath. “I do not plan to lose—as long as you do not cheat.”

  “I shall not need to. Go ahead. Make your move. The sooner this game is over, the sooner I can collect my prize.” His fingers inched along her arm.

  Shaking them off, she disregarded him as she studied the board with each move. Other games she played with her family were nothing but casual pastimes, but, for her, chess was to be fought as seriously as the war around them. By the third move, she discovered that Sebastian was an accomplished player. She should have guessed that he would not risk losing, especially since he wanted her. Pleasure at the thought of losing to him tempted her, but she ignored it. She must not let him—or her own longings—distract her. Picking up her bishop, she slid it across the board to threaten Sebastian’s king and his queen.