Extracting her prize gingerly, she held it aloft and carefully examined it to make certain it had not been damaged in transport. Finally satisfied with the condition of the package, Faith tucked it under her arm, rose to her feet, and headed for the door.
She poked her head out and surveyed the hall. No one was about. Clutching the package firmly in one hand, Faith quietly slipped out of her bedchamber.
She froze when she heard the sound of footsteps approaching, but they turned away before reaching the corridor. Releasing her pent-up breath, Faith glanced at the longcase clock that stood in the hall and confirmed that she had nearly an hour before the maid would return.
Relying on her memory, Faith climbed the stairs to the third level. As a child she had on occasion been a visitor to the nursery, and she assumed it would now serve as the room for Griffin’s son.
A young woman, dressed in a loose gown and clean apron, rose to her feet the moment Faith entered the large, airy room.
“I am the new Viscountess Dewhurst,” Faith announced haughtily. “I have come to visit my stepson.”
The young woman hesitated. Faith was certain the news of her sudden marriage and arrival had spread through the servants’ quarters, but so apparently had Harriet’s disapproval. Yet having come so far, Faith was not about to be denied. Summoning her strength, she stared down at the servant in a superior manner. And prayed the girl would be properly intimidated.
“The young master has just finished his supper,” the servant said finally, stepping aside.
Faith looked beyond her and saw a small boy quietly playing with a set of blocks near a closed window. The servant made a move to call the child, but Faith motioned for her to be still.
Cautiously, Faith approached the boy. He must have heard her drawing near, for he turned suddenly and looked directly at her.
Faith’s heart leaped, and she nearly dropped the parcel she was carrying. He looked so much like Griffin! Somehow, with the confusion of his name she expected the boy to look like her former fiance. But there was no denying that this child was Griffin’s son.
“Hello, Neville,” Faith said softly.
The child’s expression altered. He was not frightened, but definitely wary.
Faith held out the large, wrapped package. “This is for you. I hope you like it.”
“What is it?” the child asked as he took the package and held it tightly in both hands.
Faith smiled. “Why don’t you open it and find out?”
Hesitantly, the little boy looked down at the parcel, then back up at Faith. She nodded encouragingly, and he carefully began peeling away the paper.
Faith was amazed at his control. Most children, nay most adults, would have torn into the wrapping in seconds. But Griffin’s son meticulously pulled back the strips until the gift beneath was revealed.
“It’s a ship,” the boy exclaimed in wonder. He held it up for his nurse to admire. “Just like Papa’s.”
“Does it resemble Papa’s ship?” Faith asked eagerly, moving closer to the child. “I’ve never seen your father’s vessel, but the man in the shop who sold the boat to me said it was a fine example of a trading schooner.”
“Will it float?” the boy asked, running the tip of his finger along the edge of the main sail.
“I’m not certain.” Faith bit her bottom lip, hardly believing she had been foolish enough not to inquire if it was seaworthy before purchasing the toy. “Perhaps we can test it tomorrow. There is a large pond on the edge of the south woods that would make a perfect spot for sailing ships. Would you like me to take you there in the morning, Neville?”
The child wrinkled his nose. “I don’t like being called Neville.”
“Really? I didn’t know. What should I call you?”
“Georgie.”
The servant quickly intervened. “The young master’s middle name is George. Just this week he has asked to be called Georgie. Miss Harriet and Miss Elizabeth have indulged him, but if you prefer, my lady, we shall call him Master Neville.”
“Oh, no.” Faith smiled broadly. “Georgie is a splendid name. I could not have chosen a finer one myself.”
She knelt down and drew closer to the boy. The urge to reach out and give him a hug was strong, but Faith controlled the impulse. He did not appear to be the type of child that would encourage affection from a stranger, and this relationship was far too important to Faith to hurry.
“So, shall we try to sail your new boat tomorrow, Georgie?” Faith asked.
The child propped the boat in his lap, seeming to consider the question carefully. Then with a sunny smile replied, “Yes, please.”
Faith answered that grin with one of her own. “Splendid. I will see you in the morning, young man.”
She stood on her feet, reluctant to leave, yet not wanting to push the situation too far.
The little boy’s gaze drifted to her face, and he gave her a puzzled frown. “Who are you?” he asked, with the forthright manner of an inquisitive child.
“My name is Faith,” she said softly. “I am your new mama.”
“Does Papa know about you?”
“Yes.”
The child nibbled the edge of his fingernail thoughtfully. “Then I guess it is all right.”
Unable to resist, Faith leaned over and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. He suffered the attention with good spirits and waved a friendly good-bye as she left. Faith practically floated away from the nursery. Things had gone far better than she had dared to hope.
The successful encounter with young Georgie bolstered Faith’s sagging spirits. She sailed into the dining room dressed in her lovely green gown, feeling confident and renewed. Neither Griffin’s silence nor Harriet’s thinly veiled jibes during the meal had much effect on Faith’s good mood.
Young Elizabeth made a considerable effort to be friendly, a feat that earned her scowls of disapproval from her older sister. But Faith would not be defeated by Harriet’s attitude. She encouraged Elizabeth’s conversation and was rewarded with an occasional remark from her husband.
But once they adjourned to the drawing room, the tension subtly began to grow. Faith became distracted as she began to wonder where her husband was going to be spending the night. In his bedchamber or in hers?
“The hour grows late,” Griffin announced suddenly, crossing the room to stand beside his wife. “ ’Tis time we were abed.”
Griffin held out his hand. Faith rose gracefully to her feet. While she was definitely nervous about being alone with Griffin, it was certainly preferable to staying and being tortured by his sister.
After a solemn good night to Harriet and Elizabeth, Faith took Griffin’s offered hand and allowed herself to be led from the room.
They turned at the top of the steps, following along a corridor that ran the length of the house. The hall was lit by candles in brass sconces that were badly in need of polishing. Faith absently noted that the thick rug beneath her feet could use a thorough cleaning, too.
Finally they arrived at her bedchamber door. Faith turned to face Griffin, and her knees suddenly felt shaky. Would he join her? More importantly, did she want him to?
Yawning, Griffin rubbed his face with his hands. “It has been a rather long, emotional day. I imagine we both need a good night’s sleep.”
“Yes.” She replied automatically, for in truth the last thing Faith wanted was to go into that vast bedchamber alone and try to sleep. She wished she had the courage to reach out and touch him, to tell him what she really needed: to be held tightly in his arms while she slept, sated and exhausted by their lovemaking.
Instead she stared down at the pattern in the carpet as they lapsed into tense silence.
“Good night.”
Faith lifted her head and saw Griffin’s hand reach for the door handle of his bedchamber. Not wanting to be left alone in the hallway, she also gingerly reached for the door to her chamber, holding it tightly for balance.
“Good night, my lord,” she w
hispered, unable to hide the slight edge of bitterness in her voice. “I hope you sleep well.”
The click of a door latch was his only response.
Eleven
It had been there, clearly in her eyes. Desire. Yet Griffin had turned away from it. He could hardly believe himself Griffin Sainthill rejecting such a blatantly sexual invitation. From the woman who was his wife, the one female in the world with whom intimate relations were sanctified by man and God.
Clearly the world had gone mad. Nothing about the evening, or the day for that matter, had turned out the way Griffin had planned.
He had expected Harriet’s disapproval of his marriage, for he was well aware of her dislike of Faith. But he had not been prepared for the depth and magnitude of his sister’s anger and resentment.
The attack had stunned Faith, too, yet she had managed to hold up her end and strike back. Once again he had misjudged his bride. She had looked to him for support and he had given it, but only once. Left to her own devices, Faith had stood her ground.
This hidden depth of strength had served Faith in good stead and made him more curious about her. Yet it also made him even more wary. Experience had taught him that surprises from his wife were not always pleasant.
“Is there a problem, my lord?”
Startled, Griffin glanced up and saw his valet hovering near the doorway. He had been so lost in thought he had not even heard the servant enter the room.
“A problem? No. Why do you ask?”
“Forgive me, but you were scowling so fiercely I thought that something was terribly wrong.”
Feeling somewhat self-conscious, Griffin stared at the servant without saying a word. Apparently, his passionate thoughts about Faith were not as easy to conceal as he’d believed. Even when she was away from him, he was unable to get her out of his mind.
Griffin tried schooling his features into a more neutral expression, then decided to hell with it. The servants would gossip no matter what he did.
A thoughtful frown creased the valet’s forehead. “Did you require my assistance in preparing for bed, my lord?”
“No.”
The servant nodded, then moved to the large bed. He removed the coverlet and drew back the sheet. “Shall I prepare a warming pan for the bed linens? It was a warm day, but there is a chill in the night air.”
Griffin grimaced. His valet was trying to be subtle. Naturally the staff would be taking a keen interest in the newly married couple—and their sleeping arrangements.
“A warming pan is unnecessary,” Griffin declared.
The valet nodded again and began to busy himself brushing the traveling coat Griffin had worn earlier in the day Griffin stared hard at the man until he raised his head. With a flick of the wrist, the viscount signaled he wished to be left alone.
The valet hesitated a moment, then bowed politely and took his leave.
Griffin moved to stand by the window, the one located farthest away from the door that connected to Faith’s chambers. He sighed and shoved back the heavy draperies to stare out into the darkness. ’Twas a clear night, but the sight of the brilliant moon did not bolster Griffin’s spirits. On this strange and unsettling eve the stars seemed cold, distant, and unfriendly.
Shaking his head at his fanciful thought, Griffin abruptly closed the curtains, then began to slowly undress. He removed his jacket, then loosened the knot of his cravat, and removed his waistcoat and shirt. Instead of neatly hanging the garments in his armoir, he tossed them over the edge of a chair, deciding that would give his valet something to occupy his time in the morning.
Straightening, Griffin drew in a breath. His bare chest swelled as he drew in another. It didn’t help. He still felt restless and unnerved. On edge. He glanced briefly at the connecting door, then deliberately looked away.
Nothing but trouble waited for him on the other side of that door.
Though he had drunk a fair amount at dinner, a brandy seemed in order. Fortunately, a decanter had been left in his room; Griffin had no desire to call for his valet again and even less to be seen wandering about the house at this hour in search of alcohol.
Lips compressed, he poured himself a portion, then swirled the liquid languidly in the large goblet. Though he tried to prevent it, his mind filled with thoughts of his wife.
Was she still preparing for bed, or had she already slipped between the crisp sheets? Wearing a sheer nightrail, perhaps? Or better still, wearing nothing at all. His mind spun with heated images. It would take only a few short steps to bring him to her side. Her eyes and attitude had clearly indicated she would not turn him away. She would not deny him a place in her bed.
That might alleviate the constant ache in his groin, but it could never relieve the doubts in his mind. This was the one time in his life where Griffin was determined not to let his cock do his thinking for him.
Sleeping with Faith would cloud, not clear the issues in his mind. First and foremost they needed to spend time together or else they would never cease misunderstanding each other.
Yet he was honest enough with himself to admit he still wasn’t ready to completely let go of his anger. And he did not trust her. At all.
So here he sat. Alone. What a pathetic, sorry state of affairs. Marriage, Griffin concluded as he took a large swallow of his drink, was a vastly annoying institution.
“Look how swiftly she sails,” Faith cried out with excitement. She hitched up the skirt of her gown and ran along the uneven ground on the bank of the pond. “I think we’ve finally put those pesky sails to rights, Georgie. The boat barely tips at all. Why, at this rate she’ll be across to the other side in no time.”
“Hurry!” Georgie called out in delight. The little boy eagerly grabbed Faith’s hand and tugged. “I want to catch the ship before it smashes into the ground.”
Breathless and laughing, Faith let herself be swept along through the high grass, weeds, and muddy soil, as the two raced to beat the toy ship. The child’s joy was contagious, and it did her sore heart a world of good to be carefree and relaxed for a few brief moments.
She and young Georgie had been coming to this very place for an entire week, and it had been the one bright spot in her otherwise trying daily routine.
It had also been the secret part of her morning ritual. Only the nursemaid who cared for the boy knew of these special outings, and Faith jealously guarded this rare, private time alone with the child.
“Here it comes!” With a squeal of delight, Georgie crouched low and snatched the boat out of the shallow water.
He held it close against his chest, and rivulets of dirty pond water trailed down the front of his formerly clean shirt and knickers.
“Shall we send it across again?” Faith asked as she gently tugged the toy from the child’s arm.
She pulled the lace handkerchief from her pocket and made a feeble attempt at brushing him clean. The boy tolerated her fussing with good humor, but her efforts only smeared the dirt further. With a resigned smile, Faith put away the handkerchief.
Georgie knelt in the mud and tried launching the boat. It moved a few feet away from shore, then bobbed its way back.
“Why doesn’t it work? Is it broken?”
Faith pushed the hair out of her eyes and stared across the small pond. “We are trying to sail her against the wind. That’s why the boat keeps coming back. We’d best walk around and launch her from the same spot.”
“I’m tired of walking. Let’s go in the big boat.”
Faith turned to where the child was pointing and saw that an old rowboat had been pulled high on the small bank and tucked behind a clump of bushes.
“Oh, dear.” Faith could instantly understand the allure of the small craft. To a young boy, it represented adventure and excitement. To her it posed only a safety hazard. “I don’t think we are allowed to use the boat, Georgie. After all, it isn’t ours.”
But the child wasn’t listening to her halfhearted protests. He bounded toward the small boat with
all the enthusiasm of a puppy let loose from the kennel. By the time Faith joined him, Georgie had scrambled inside and was trying to hoist one of the solid oars.
“There are two benches. One for each of us to sit on,” he announced with enthusiasm. “Look, I can do the rowing.” He won his struggle with the clumsy oar and raised it triumphantly. Faith ducked quickly to one side to avoid being smacked in the head, but Georgie was too excited to notice. “Can we go for a ride. Please?”
“But it isn’t ours,” Faith repeated weakly. “It’s wrong to take things that don’t belong to us.”
“Aunt Harriet says that Papa owns everything on the estate. Is this part of the estate?”
Faith was tempted to lie. It would be the easiest solution and would avoid a lengthy argument. “This area is part of Papa’s land, but that means the boat belongs to Papa. Not to you. Or me.”
“But Papa loves me. He says so all the time. He won’t care if I use his boat.” Georgie frowned thoughtfully, resting his chin on his linked hands. “Doesn’t he love you, too?”
Faith was momentarily speechless. Leave it to a child to get to the heart of the matter so quickly and easily. “ ’Tis not a question of love,” Faith said. “We must ask permission before we use the boat. We cannot assume that your Papa would allow it.”
Faith could see the boy struggling to understand her words. “I know Papa would let us,” he said softly. The look of pure longing on that angelic face was almost impossible for her to resist.
Faith chewed her bottom lip. The pond was smooth as glass, completely calm. It shouldn’t be difficult to row the small craft across, even with Georgie helping. The problem was, she couldn’t swim a stroke. And she wasn’t overly fond of water unless it was in her bathtub.
Perhaps they could just pretend to row. Gingerly, Faith climbed into the small craft. Georgie gave her a wide smile of delight and scooted over to make room.
He thrust the oar out the side and slammed it into a small tree. Faith laughed and positioned the oar properly. “If you are going to row us across the lake, you must practice,” she declared.
To Wed A Viscount Page 16