by Gayle Callen
“She will be living with us here, yes. I’ve already discussed it with your son.”
“I never thought you’d admit to needing help, Aunt Theodosia,” said the thin, brittle woman standing near the window, her elaborate hairstyle seeming to defy physical laws.
“Marian, this is Miss Cooper. Lady Tunbridge is the duke’s sister by marriage.”
“A pleasure, ma’am,” Faith murmured, feeling pity for the woman whose husband had died.
Lady Tunbridge nodded coldly and went back to looking out the window. The duke’s young sister was introduced last, and she rose to her feet to give Faith both her hands, as if they were equals in Society.
“Miss Cooper, I am Lady Sophia. What a pleasure it is to meet you.”
Faith couldn’t help giving the woman a warm smile. “It is the same for me, Lady Sophia.”
“Now you must not feel neglected,” Lady Sophia said in a conspiratorial voice, her eyes twinkling at Lady Duncan. “My aunt Theodosia is quite proud of her independence. You might end up reading away your days, waiting for her to need your help.”
Lady Duncan waved a hand, with a “Pshaw,” but she seemed pleased with the observation.
“I’ll gladly keep her company if that’s all she wishes,” Faith insisted, “just in case she needs something of me.”
“Quite obliging, aren’t you?” Lady Tunbridge said. “But then, you’re being paid for the position.”
“Marian,” Lady Duncan said coldly. “Not everyone is as fortunate as you are.”
“I, fortunate?” the woman shot back. “I am a widow whose husband died tragically. Where is my good fortune?”
The duchess frowned and kept reading her book, even as Faith schooled her features to impassivity.
“I believe you had many fine years with my nephew,” Lady Duncan said sternly, “and the result is a beautiful daughter. Will she be joining us for dinner?”
“Of course not,” Lady Tunbridge said with exasperation. “She has many years left in the schoolroom. She ate in the day nursery with her governess. I will see her before she goes to bed.”
Lady Duncan and Lady Sophia exchanged a glance that seemed to pity the little girl. But Lady Tunbridge had already turned back to the window and missed the exchange.
And then with no fanfare or introduction, the Duke of Rothford stepped into the drawing room. Faith didn’t know where to look, so aware was she of their improper, private conversations, her anger at his highhandedness—and how very masculine he was in a room full of women. His light brown hair was rumpled, as if he’d run his hands through it. She couldn’t believe he was nervous upon facing her—no, he’d gotten what he wanted.
And when his blue eyes alighted on her, she kept herself from flinching by sinking into another deep curtsy.
Lady Tunbridge made a muffled sound very like a snort, then turned away again.
“Adam, we have a new member of our household,” Lady Duncan said. “Shall I introduce you?”
Faith knew the coincidence would be too great for the duke not to be involved, but perhaps Lady Duncan did not know they’d already met. Faith took the reins into her hands so he couldn’t make things worse than he already had. “The duke and I have briefly met, my lady. He once called upon Miss Warburton. I was her lady’s companion,” she explained to the others in the room. Not a lie, but not the whole truth either.
“Adam,” Lady Duncan continued, “Miss Cooper is my new companion.”
Rothford gave her a brief nod, his smile pleasant but distracted, as if politeness were necessary, but nothing else. As if he didn’t really need to notice her. Part of her was relieved—if he could carry this off, then maybe she wouldn’t have to leave with no position to go to—but part of her was offended.
And why was she offended? She certainly didn’t want the duke to treat her as anything other than his aunt’s companion, a woman who meant nothing to him. She’d never wanted to be the symbol of his guilt he’d made her out to be.
Or did she want him to notice her because he was an attractive man? And that was ridiculous. She’d seen many attractive men, and she was beyond their notice, a creature from the wallflower row along the ballroom. And he was a duke, for heaven’s sake, the highest aristocracy next to royalty. Now that his conscience felt appeased, he would stop noticing her, too. He already had.
Dinner was announced before another word could be said—the butler had obviously been awaiting the duke—and the family entered the private dining room in no formal order. Lady Duncan took Faith’s arm and brought her near the far end of the table, and gestured for her to sit beside her. The duke sat at the head, of course, his mother on his right, his sister on his left. Lady Sophia sat on the other side of Lady Duncan, and across from her, Lady Tunbridge.
Course after course was served, and Faith listened to the flow of conversation, even as the exquisite taste of each dish seemed to cause a little burst of awareness in her mouth. The food was far superior to the Warburtons’. There had never been an extravagance of money when she was growing up, so as an adult out in the world, she’d first noticed the differences in the variety of foods. She had to go on long walks to keep her figure.
And she was still obsessed by the food, the crimped cod and oyster sauce, grilled mushrooms and partridge breasts at the duke’s table.
“Miss Cooper?”
She suddenly realized that the duke himself had spoken her name, and she looked up from her plate, wide-eyed. “Yes, Your Grace?”
He must have called her name more than once, for Lady Duncan gave her a friendly, amused smile to counter Lady Tunbridge’s disdain.
And then she was the focus of the duke’s blue eyes, which revealed nothing but polite interest, when recently they’d smiled into her own with wicked deliberation.
“Miss Cooper, since you were working as a companion for another family you must have made quite the impression for Aunt Theodosia to be so bold—because she’s never bold,” he added, smiling at his aunt.
Faith felt awkward, guessing he’d put her up to it. And she certainly hadn’t made the right kind of impression on him!
Lady Sophia tried to reassure her. “Aunt Theodosia is the boldest woman I know. She’s been to Egypt—twice! Nothing can stop her once she sets her mind on something.”
“Miss Cooper and I had a lovely discussion about the place of women in Society,” Lady Duncan said, a napkin tucked into her neckline. “I immediately knew we would relate well to one another.”
“Are you still fixated on this women’s-rights issue?” Lady Tunbridge asked, frowning.
“Do you not care that we cannot control our own property?” Lady Duncan demanded. “That we cannot vote for our country’s future, that a man can beat his wife and be within the law, but beat his friend and be arrested?”
“It has always been like that,” Lady Tunbridge said, pointing with her spoon, “and yet we women find a way to get what we want.”
“Not the vote,” Lady Duncan said. “Not the property that was mine. When I married, my husband was granted all of my property—not my dower property, of course,” she said in an aside to Faith. “And then he died without issue, and all of the land that was mine went to his heir. Yes, he could have provisioned better for me, but we never thought he would die so young.”
“He had sixty years,” said the duchess for the first time. “I don’t believe he was all that young.”
Lady Duncan sighed, her wrinkled face relaxing into a reminiscing smile. “He seemed young to me.”
“He only seemed foolish to the rest of us.”
Faith could have sworn Lady Tunbridge mumbled those words, but Lady Duncan only cupped an ear and said, “Eh, what?”
Lady Tunbridge blinked at her. “Nothing.”
The duchess’s stare at her stepson’s late wife was conf
used, but it cleared as she turned back to Lady Duncan. “You had us to help you, Theodosia.”
“And I was one of the lucky ones,” Lady Duncan insisted, then beamed a smile at her nephew. “And you’ve all been good to me. But not every woman is so lucky. And that is just criminal.”
“But not a crime,” Lady Sophia said on a sigh.
“It should be, do you not agree, Miss Cooper?” Lady Duncan asked.
Faith glanced at the duke, uncertain of her place here. He’d wanted to hire her to soothe his guilt, but she was still closer to a servant in this grand household. How freely could she speak?
But then again, it wasn’t her choice to be here after all—the duke had taken away her choices, because as a man and a peer, he could.
Clearing her throat, she spoke calmly. “I do believe women should have the same rights as men. Of course, some men treat their wives well, but too many do not.”
“Here, here,” said Lady Duncan, lifting her wineglass as if in a toast. She took a deep sip. “Ah, that goes down well.”
Faith smiled at her, then looked around the table. The duchess looked bored, Sophia approving, Lady Tunbridge disdainful, and the duke—she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to read from his expression. She might well be a very interesting insect, so far beneath him was she in Society.
But she had to admit that thought did not do justice to the man who thought he was helping her.
Who thought he knew best, she reminded herself.
He’d thought that once before, and men had died. Had he not learned his lesson?
“Where are you from, Miss Cooper?” Lady Sophia asked, leaning forward to see Faith on the other side of her aunt.
“The far north, my lady, a small village near the Scottish border.”
“You came very far for the opportunity of a position,” she responded.
“I was hired by the Warburtons in Durham, and came south with them for the Season.”
“So you are relatively new to our fair Town,” Lady Sophia said with obvious delight. “Are you enjoying it?”
“It has pleasant entertainments, of course, but it is so very crowded.”
“And let’s not forget dirty,” Lady Tunbridge added.
“You could remain in the country, Marian,” the duke pointed out.
“Even the dirt is better than such a solitary life year round,” the woman conceded.
“Do you prefer the country, Miss Cooper?” Lady Duncan asked.
Faith smiled. “It’s what I’ve known the most of. Please do not take offense, Lady Tunbridge, but I do enjoy the peacefulness, the scents of the garden, my hands in the dirt—”
“Don’t forget the farm odors,” Lady Tunbridge interrupted.
“I don’t even mind those.”
“Wait until you see Rothford’s country seat this autumn,” Lady Duncan said, patting her arm. “It is so restful and lovely, you will never want to leave.”
Lady Duncan was making plans for months ahead, when Faith still didn’t know if she could work for a man who’d manipulated her. But it would be Lady Duncan she’d be spending time with, she reminded herself, not the duke.
“Do you have family, Miss Cooper?” Lady Sophia asked.
Trying not to feel tense, Faith answered, “I do, my lady. My widowed mother still lives in our village.”
“And you probably provide some of her support,” the young woman said with sympathy.
Faith nodded.
“Any siblings?”
She didn’t look at the duke, she couldn’t, because suddenly she thought that his sister still had him, and Faith had no brother to grow old with.
“My brother died serving in the army, Lady Sophia,” Faith said quietly, “just over two years ago.”
And then she felt a new grief, of being unable to speak of his regiment, for all would know he’d served with the duke, and that Faith’s employment could be no coincidence.
The young woman inhaled. “Oh, dear, I am so sorry to remind you of your sorrow, Miss Cooper.”
“I am not alone in having lost loved ones, Lady Sophia, especially not as this table. I know you all understand how I feel.”
And although her words had been about the three widows sitting at the table, she couldn’t help noticing that the duke set down his fork just after picking it up, then took a healthy swallow of his wine. She almost felt like she was throwing her brother’s death in his face, but she hadn’t been the one to bring it up—nor should she feel bad for discussing it.
But guilt and remorse were powerful emotions, and she’d felt them herself. She wanted to hold on to her anger over her brother’s death, but she couldn’t. The duke hadn’t wanted him to die, hadn’t deliberately made it happen.
But that didn’t mean she could forgive him for forcing her out of one position and into another.
The conversation drifted to other topics, and Faith ate mostly in silence, glancing at the duke on occasion. This was her first time seeing him interact with people other than herself. He seemed so polite and friendly with all the women of his household, even tolerant of Lady Tunbridge. He was the one they deferred to, but he did not allow that to make him seem arrogant. No, he hid that part of himself well, maybe even from himself. His sister and aunt genuinely liked him, and his mother seemed to dote on his every word, asking about the women he’d recently danced with as if they were all future marriage options.
“He can’t marry most of those women,” Lady Tunbridge said. “He’s avoiding the ones he should be courting, and dancing with the ones who only exact pity.”
Faith almost flinched. She was one of the ones he pitied, for her wallflower status as well as because of her brother’s death.
“Everyone enjoys dancing, whatever their status,” Lady Sophia said coolly. “I think it’s wonderful that Adam is dancing with so many women who truly appreciate it.”
“He never did that in his youth,” Lady Tunbridge pointed out slyly.
“You can actually speak directly to me,” Adam said in a dry tone. “I am sitting right here. And yes, I’ve matured in the army. It tends to do that to a man. I’m trying to make up for the mistakes of my past.”
Faith kept her gaze on her plate.
“You have nothing to make up for,” the duchess insisted. “You were a young man then—we were all young at some point. You were the heir to a dukedom, and that makes a man feel—” She suddenly broke off, and her pale cheeks reddened.
“He was not the heir,” Lady Tunbridge said tightly, “much as you always wished otherwise. My late husband was. He should have been the duke.”
The room was full of strained silence.
“I misspoke,” the duchess said quietly. “Forgive me.”
But Lady Tunbridge rose to her feet with stiff dignity and walked out of the dining room.
Lady Sophia said, “I’ll go to her, Mama, if you don’t mind.”
The duchess was in the process of draining her glass of wine, then lifted the empty glass to her daughter as a permission of sorts. When Sophia had gone, the duchess stood up and said, “I will retire to my room to nurse my aching head.”
She kissed the duke on the forehead as if he were a little boy, then lightly touched his shoulder. “I am so glad you’re home,” she whispered fiercely.
He touched her hand, then let her go.
Faith was left alone with the countess and her nephew. “I’d like to talk to you in private, Lady Duncan.”
The footmen were waiting at the door to clear the table, and both Faith and the countess rose to their feet.
“Don’t bother leaving,” the duke said, and with a hand gesture sent away the footmen, who shut the doors behind them. “I imagine you have some things to say to me, as well?”
Chapter 7
Adam almost felt guilty at how much he enjoyed watching the many expressions of Miss Faith Cooper. He guessed she thought herself so very calm and professional, but for some reason, he could read every emotion that crossed her face and, strangely, so much of it was by the tilt of her head. Her head sank back in awe at the home he used to take for granted; her chin dropped as if to hide her uneasiness dining with a duke’s family when she came from a humbler background; she held her head rigidly to control anger and indignation whenever she looked at him. Spots of color bloomed in her cheeks, and her gray eyes flashed almost silver in the lamplight. With her heightened emotion, he was surprised to find her pretty, when he’d thought her quite plain upon first seeing her in Hyde Park. She had this way of tilting her head up when intrigued, as if she was ready to face the world to appease her curiosity. But he was beginning to think she took great pains to seem other than she was.
“Your Grace,” Miss Cooper began coolly, “I—” Then she faltered, glanced at Aunt Theodosia again, then let out her breath. “Oh very well, I could ask these questions in front of you both. Lady Duncan, how did you come to hire me? And please do not say we simply had an easy conversation and think alike.”
“But we do, of course,” Aunt Theodosia said, smiling almost innocently. “I took an almost instant liking to you from the moment . . .” Her voice faded.
“From the moment the duke pointed me out,” Miss Cooper finished for her.
“Yes, I did that,” the duke said, lounging idly back in his chair. “You would not see reason, insisted on keeping that position with the Warburtons—who took advantage of you—just because it was I who wanted to offer you help.”
“You are a powerful nobleman, Your Grace,” she said between gritted teeth. “Do you not think it looks suspicious for you to help me?”
“You know that’s not why you rejected my help. My aunt knows as well—I told her everything.”
Although he hadn’t told his aunt how he felt lighter, more aware of everything, whenever he was near Miss Cooper—Faith. Even if only in his mind, he liked to think of her name, for it evoked her to him. She kept the faith of her brother’s memory; she fulfilled her mother’s faith in her by supporting her at great cost to her own dignity.