The Brunette Who Stole His Heart

by Tabetha Waite

  Shortly thereafter, the viscount entered the room and, just like the night before at the theatre, his appearance made her almost wish that he was her beau in truth. His dark hair was slightly windblown, and when she stood and he bowed over her hand, she caught a whiff of something absurdly pleasant, like rain and woods. He was freshly shaven and his dark gray attire was impeccable.

  “How are you today, Lady Mercy?”

  Faith swallowed down her regret. “Very well. And you, my lord?”

  He offered her a smile that made her toes curl in her slippers. “Better now that I have the pleasure of gazing upon your lovely face once again.” He shifted his focus to the duchess. “But, of course, you are equally exquisite this afternoon, Your Grace.”

  The duchess sniffed, but Faith thought she saw a bit of approval sparkling in her eyes.

  Westbrook sat down next to Faith, and although they were a proper distance apart, she was still very aware of his presence. The heat emanating from his body drifted over to her and enveloped her as sure as if he embraced her.

  The duchess opened the conversation by remarking on the weather. “It looks to be rather pleasant for your drive.”

  “Yes.” He cleared his throat. “I hope all goes well. I recently purchased a new carriage horse, and he seems rather spirited.”

  Faith was surprised to hear this. From what Mercy had told her of Westbrook, which was very little, she distinctly recalled that he was an expert when it came to horses. Hearing him say that one was “spirited” seemed oddly out of context. But as the teacart was rolled into the room, she put the thought aside.

  The duchess waved the maid away. “Mercy, would you mind pouring for us?”

  “Of course.” Faith rose, grateful to do something that was familiar, for she had performed this routine for her mistress many times. After she asked each of them how they would like it, she handed the duchess her cup on a saucer, and then served the viscount. She was careful not to brush his fingers, fearful that she would spill the hot liquid right in his lap if she did so.

  Once they each had a dessert, Faith returned to her seat with her teacup in hand. It had cream and sugar, just the way she liked it, but Mercy had always teased her about having a sweet tooth when she was the complete opposite. She was glad to see that the cook had made some more of those tempting raspberry tarts, and as she bit into the flaky crust, she closed her eyes in ecstasy.

  ***

  Freddie nearly choked on his tea when he glanced over at Mercy and saw that her eyes were shut and a soft murmur of approval rose from her throat. He couldn’t help but wonder if she would purr like that in bed.

  “Mercy, really. Don’t be vulgar.” The lady’s eyes popped open as she looked at the duchess, who had offered the somber rebuke. “You always claimed you weren’t a fan of sweetmeats.” She lifted a brow. “You would prefer to devour cucumber sandwiches, and yet, you haven’t touched a single one.”

  Freddie glanced at Mercy whose face had taken on a decided ill pallor. She lowered the rest of the pastry to her plate. “I’m sorry, MeMe. I suppose tastes change.”

  The duchess waved a dismissive hand. “You must forgive an old woman for being sentimental. Sometimes I forget that it has been five years since I saw you. A lot can certainly change in that amount of time. Why, you were only a child back then, and here you are, a woman grown.”

  This time, Freddie noticed that Lady Mercy’s cheeks had turned a becoming shade of pink. After that, conversation fell silent as they munched on their respective snacks. He also noticed that Mercy didn’t pick up her pastry again, but chose a cucumber sandwich, although her reaction wasn’t nearly as pleasing as before.

  Shortly thereafter, Freddie looked to the duchess. “If you don’t mind, Your Grace, I should like to take Lady Mercy out for a carriage ride now.”

  “Of course.” She got to her feet, and they followed suit. “This will give me the perfect opportunity to lay these old bones to rest for a time.”

  They parted ways in the foyer as Mercy gathered her straw bonnet and a light shawl. While Freddie wasn’t looking forward to taking up the reins to that death trap he was driving about town, he was eager to spend more time alone with Mercy. He knew he shouldn’t wish for the impossible, but he was still trying to figure her out, and with the duchess looking on like a hawk watching its prey, it was difficult to assess the kind of woman she truly was. He eased his conscience by telling himself that he was simply looking out for Westbrook by ensuring that he made a good match, but he knew that was a lie.

  A groom was holding the reins for him, and after he climbed into the seat, he reached down and helped Mercy up. Only then did he dare to take the leather strips and urge the single horse forward. The butler had assured him it was one of the viscount’s most docile geldings, but it seemed he also knew that someone other than his master was leading him about by the way the horse snorted and tossed his mane almost defiantly.

  However, as he steered them through the traffic at a sedate pace, he began to relax slightly when the horse obeyed his commands.

  “He doesn’t seem that anxious to me.”

  Freddie turned to his companion and lifted a brow. “You know about horses?”

  She shrugged. “I grew up on a farm—” Her eyes abruptly widened, and she quickly amended, “What I mean to say is that the estate had lots of mounts to choose from when I went riding. I began to understand that they each have their own personalities, although they are loyal creatures.”

  “I see,” he murmured. “Do you have any other helpful tips?”

  She tilted her head to the side as though contemplating. Sunlight caught the tendrils of hair that surrounded her face, reminding him of cinnamon.

  “I thought you were a veritable connoisseur of horseflesh?”

  He laughed, hoping it didn’t sound too forced. “I might have… embellished my abilities a bit to impress you.”

  This time it was her turn to laugh, and the sound was like the sweetest melody he’d ever heard. “I don’t see why that would be necessary. We’re practically betrothed, even if you haven’t actually said the words.”

  He lifted a curious brow. “You still don’t think that you should be courted?”

  She shrugged. “Not when the arrangements have already been made. What would that accomplish?”

  “That’s a very… logical viewpoint you have, Lady Mercy. Most of the ladies of my acquaintance would not turn down the opportunity to be lavished with flowers and jewels.”

  She eyed him steadily. “I’m not like most women.”

  “Yes,” he murmured. “I’m beginning to see that.”

  Chapter Three

  Faith didn’t remember when she’d had a more pleasant afternoon. Not only did she enjoy the viscount’s company, for he acted as though he was generally interested in what she had to say, and she never quite tired of looking at him. She loved it when a gust of wind caught his hair and tousled it and the way his eyes sparkled when he attempted to tease her. He was a man she was quickly coming to realize would be a wonderful match for Lady Mercy.

  She withheld a sigh, for she didn’t wish for anything to mar this perfect day. She wanted to hold it tight in her heart and remember a time when she had actually been courted by a true gentleman.

  “Blast!” Faith heard the curse and saw Westbrook jerk on the reins at the same time a small boy ran out into the street to catch a stray ball and narrowly missed being trampled by the viscount’s horse. However, while disaster had been avoided for the child, the gelding was agitated by the sudden stop and threw his forelegs in the air with a distressed whinny of disapproval.

  She glanced at her companion and could tell that he was struggling to keep the horse from bolting, so Faith didn’t even think, but merely acted. She gathered her skirts with one hand and jumped down from the phaeton. She heard the viscount shout at her, but she ignored him as she rushed up to the horse and snatched the bridle. Using a firm touch, she drew the horse downward so his feet remai
ned on the ground. Then, with her hands on either side of his head, she began to coo softly at him.

  Since the disruption had caught the attention of a few passersby, she glanced up and saw a fruit seller standing nearby. “May I have an apple?” she inquired.

  The gentleman tossed her the red fruit and she held it out to the gelding. He sniffed her offering for a moment and then he took the treat and began to munch.

  “There you go. That’s better, isn’t it?” She rubbed the side of his neck and continued to speak softly to him until he stopped shifting his feet against the ground and his breathing slowed, and his unease finally ceased.

  She walked over to the fruit seller and took a coin out of her reticule. “Thank you.”

  As she returned to the phaeton, the viscount helped her back up. Once she was seated, she looked at him to find he was staring at her with something akin to awe. “That was… brilliant.”

  The compliment made her blush. “I wouldn’t say that. I just drew from my experiences working with skittish animals.”

  Without a word, he handed the reins to her.

  Her eyes widened. “Really?”

  He nodded. “I think you’ve earned the right.”

  Faith had never driven such a fashionable vehicle, although she used to drive her parents’ wagon to the village often enough. She sat up straighter and took the leather straps in hand. “Walk on,” she told the gelding firmly. Without hesitation, the horse did as instructed.

  The wheels rumbled over the cobblestones without further incident, all the way back to the duchess’ townhouse. There, Faith handed the reins over to the groom, who came out to meet them. The viscount was quick to step down and offer his assistance, which she accepted. She hadn’t noticed it before, but his hands were rather warm and strong. But then, she’d been too occupied worrying about making a misstep and giving away her true identity. She’d nearly bungled everything with that little slip of the tongue about the “farm” where she had grown up. She would have to be more careful in the future.

  When Faith thought Westbrook would release her, he didn’t. She lifted her gaze to find him looking at her rather intently. “Thank you, my lady. You saved us from sure disaster with your quick thinking.”

  She shrugged. “It was nothing.”

  He shook his head and said softly, “Not to me.”

  There was a brief pause that followed where his gaze drifted to her mouth. She held her breath, thinking that he might actually try to kiss her, but when the door opened it was enough to make him release her and take a respectful step back and climb into the phaeton.

  Faith watched his retreat until he’d disappeared down the street, and then she walked up the steps. She handed her bonnet and shawl to the butler and then headed up to her chamber. Deep in thought, she absently shut the door behind her and walked over to the bed to sit down and contemplate her departure from the viscount. If she had read his intent correctly, and he had been about to kiss her, this wasn’t good.

  Not at all.

  This was only the second day of their acquaintance and there were still a dozen more to go. If he was already starting to think of making advances toward her, it could easily lead to catastrophe — especially since she wouldn’t have minded if he had followed through.

  ***

  Freddie sat at Westbrook’s desk and contemplated the invitations before him, wondering which ones he thought he could manage. While a ball was inevitable at some point, he winced just thinking of trying to perfect the steps of the waltz. With any luck, Lady Mercy wouldn’t care about dancing. She’d certainly surprised him in many ways thus far and they had just met the day before. And as he’d dropped her off he’d nearly given into the impulse to kiss her.

  He leaned back in the leather chair and put his arms behind his head. He stared at the ceiling and wondered how he might manage to get through the next several days without falling prey to even more of the lady’s charms. Things were moving way too quickly and entirely in the wrong direction. While the Viscount of Westbrook should be fond of Lady Mercy, the valet, Freddie Bartholomew, should not.

  He swiped a hand down his face with a light groan. Unfortunately, he was forced to endure the lady’s company until his master returned. The only thing he could do was continue to remind himself that Mercy wasn’t his affianced, that she was promised to another, and even if she wasn’t, she was too far above him in station to obtain. Surely he wasn’t so vain that within two days’ time he was already slipping into the role of master of the house so quickly.

  As he glanced around the room, he winced, for he was certainly making himself comfortable in the viscount’s study. He got up and decided that what would bring him back to reality would be to perform some of his usual duties.

  He headed for Westbrook’s bedchamber where he’d been instructed to make use of the viscount’s things during his absence to entertain the guise that they were one and the same, but now it was time to work on some of the projects he’d been neglecting.

  But when he opened the door, he saw one of the housemaids, Darla, puttering about the room with a dust rag. Freddie stopped short, but she had no such hesitation. She paused and offered a slight curtsey. “My lord.” She giggled.

  He barely refrained from rolling his eyes. “What are you doing? I was coming here to starch some of the viscount’s cravats and—”

  She shook her head. “Oh, no. You mustn’t.”

  He frowned. “Why not? It’s my job as the valet.”

  “Not since the master is gone. Braxton told us all to act as though you were Westbrook himself, as that was his express wishes during his absence.”

  “That doesn’t mean I should shirk my duties.”

  She shrugged, unconcerned. “Then you should talk to Braxton about it.”

  Freddie grumbled under his breath, but he went off in search of the butler who was in charge of the entire household, even if the chores Freddie performed were personal services to his employer.

  He found the butler downstairs in the pantry where he had just instructed several maids and footmen in the polishing of the silver. As he finished his lecture, he turned and saw Freddie.

  “A word, if you please, Braxton.”

  “Of course. Come with me to my office.” The middle-aged butler might act with reverence above stairs, but down here in his domain, things were different. Here, he was the master, and while Freddie might be the ‘acting’ lord upon the viscount’s absence, he was still just the valet.

  He sat down and began to write some things on a list. He didn’t even glance up and all pretense was gone from his tone when he asked, “What can I do for you, Mr. Bartholomew?”

  “I was curious why my duties have been stripped from me.”

  The butler sighed in impatience and set aside his quill. “Lord Westbrook instructed us to treat you as if it were him in his current absence, so that is what I shall do.” He eyed him directly. “While I imagine sleeping in the master’s bed would be going above what he has intended, resuming your current tasks at this time wouldn’t be advisable.”

  Freddie crossed his arms. “And why not?”

  “Because if the lady, or more importantly, the Duchess of Fontaine, were to drop by unannounced, it would be difficult to explain why you were doing something as demeaning as seeing to your own clothes. It would raise a lot of questions about the master—”

  “About that,” Freddie interjected. “What happens when Lord Westbrook returns and goes to call on Lady Mercy and it’s noted that there is a marked difference in her suitor’s appearance?”

  The butler frowned. “That is not our concern. The viscount has assured me that he will tell the lady his reasons that brought about the deception of you taking his place, and I have no cause to doubt what he says.”

  “But what about the lady herself?” Freddie prodded. “Don’t you think she might be injured to learn that—”

  “Again,” the butler said firmly. “It is not for us to judge the viscount’s act
ions. If you are unhappy with your current position, you are more than welcome to turn in your resignation once Lord Westbrook returns. Until then, there is no further discussion. You agreed to this proposition, and I will see that you follow through with it until the end. Now, you’re dismissed.” With that he picked up the quill and returned to his correspondence.

  Freddie considered remaining and arguing the point further, but since it would obviously be futile, he headed back upstairs and marched into the study. After riffling through the invitations, he chose one and then scribbled a quick note. He rang for a footman and handed him the missive. “See that this is delivered to the Duchess of Fontaine’s residence immediately and wait for a reply.”

  Freddie paced the study anxiously until the man returned. He handed him a note and for a moment, he was struck by the faint scent of roses. He broke the seal and read,

  I should love nothing more than to join you this evening, my lord.

  —M

  Freddie had promised Lady Mercy a musicale performance and he wasn’t one to go back on his word. And since he had been coerced into this role of viscount, so that the real Westbrook could go to Brighton without a care in the world, Freddie would ensure that he was the best viscount that there ever was.

  ***

  Faith nearly expected a lightning bolt to strike her down for signing her reply to the viscount with Mercy’s initial. She was finding that the more time she spent with Westbrook, the worse her spirits became. Just as the musicale that evening was everything she could have wished for and more, but he was also an attentive escort, making sure that her every need was met.

  Would she care for some air? Was she comfortable? Would she like some refreshment?

  Faith couldn’t even remember a time when someone had cared about her wellbeing to the point they were fawning over themselves to please her, but that was exactly what the viscount was doing. If possible, he was even more conscientious than he had been the previous evening.