The viscount could only stare at his sister in astonishment. Fortunately, the footman’s arrival saved him from answering. Griffin nodded approvingly as the servant lifted the lids off the silver chafing dishes, inspecting the contents as if he were amazed by what he found.
Once his plate was full, Griffin began eating, casting a subtle eye in the direction of the two women. He glanced from his wife, sitting forward and eager in her chair, to his sister, sitting straight-backed and closed.
Both women abandoned any pretense of eating and instead watched him keenly. He bit firmly into a piece of toasted bread and nearly choked on a crumb.
“Are you all right?” Faith asked with concern.
“Do you need some water?” Harriet chimed in. “Or ale?”
Through watery eyes, Griffin saw both women barreling toward him. “Stop,” he whispered, coughing and gasping for air. He waved a hand at them impatiently. “I have no need of assistance.”
Reluctantly, they backed away and resumed their seats. When he was recovered, Griffin eyed the pair suspiciously. They were like a set of vultures, waiting anxiously for their dying prey to take his final breath before swooping down to fight over the carcass.
What could possibly be the problem now? This obvious solicitous behavior toward him meant each woman was hoping to gain the advantage when presenting her side, and Griffin began to dread the upcoming altercation.
He acknowledged there had been a slight improvement in the relationship between the two women. They both appeared to be making an effort to get along, and were never openly hostile toward each other when there were others present, although Griffin strongly suspected they quarreled often and bitterly when he was not around to witness it.
And nothing could set the powder keg off quicker than a disagreement over young Georgie, for each woman was firmly convinced that she, and only she, had the child’s best interest at heart.
In these four weeks of marriage, Griffin had come to form a pretty good notion of his wife’s character, discovering she possessed one shared trait with his sister. Neither woman liked to be defeated.
“All right, out with it.” Griffin pushed back his chair and scowled down the table at the anxious women. “What is the problem now? You are disturbing my digestion with all your solicitous behavior and attention this morning.”
“Harriet insists upon finding a tutor for Georgie,” Faith promptly replied. “I think it is ridiculous to even consider it at his young age. Perhaps in a few weeks I can begin searching for an appropriate governess who can teach him his letters and numbers.”
“He already knows them.” Harriet slapped her napkin on the table. “Georgie is not an ordinary little boy. He has a quick and inquisitive mind. It should be molded and challenged by a skillful teacher, not left to wither under the direction of a governess.”
“He is too young for a tutor,” Faith insisted. “He needs the gentle but firm guidance of a female. A governess. ”
“Important time is being wasted,” Harriet replied. “ ’Tis criminal to allow that to continue.”
“He is too young for such rigid schooling,” Faith repeated. “We have only just celebrated his fourth birthday.”
Both female heads turned in Griffin’s direction. No words were needed requesting his intervention. He returned their eager stares, deliberately keeping his expression neutral.
“I confess, I have not thought overmuch about my son’s education. However, I shall think long and hard on this matter and let you know my decision once I have reached it,” Griffin said, spreading his hands to emphasize that was the end of the discussion.
Miraculously, neither woman challenged his words. Harriet took a sip of her chocolate and Faith a quick bite of her toasted bread. Perhaps his forceful expression was at last making an impact on their behavior.
The viscount smiled at this fanciful notion. Both women were far too headstrong to be so easily controlled. He supposed each woman felt her position was so strong he would be easily won over to her side, so additional arguments were unnecessary.
Griffin forked in a bite of his cold eggs and suppressed a twinge of guilt. In this particular instance their difference of opinion was easy to understand. His sister knew that Georgie was a by-blow, an illegitimate child who would need every advantage his father could give him to succeed as a man in this harsh, unjust world.
Yet his wife believed the boy was his heir and would someday inherit his title and possessions. She saw no need to start him so early in education, no need to exploit his natural abilities.
“The morning post has arrived, my lady.” With a deferential bow, the butler entered the room and swung a silver tray toward Faith.
She smiled with delight and lifted the packet of envelopes. Griffin noticed a slight tension begin to fill the air.
“Is there nothing for me?” Harriet inquired tensely.
“Not this morning,” Faith responded cheerfully. “It appears that all three letters are for me.”
Harriet let out a deep, sputtering sigh. Griffin wondered at her odd reaction. Since he had returned home there had not been any letters for his sister. Why should today be any different?
“Who is your correspondence from, Faith?” Griffin inquired. He refrained from extending his hand, even though it was well within a man’s rights to read his wife’s letters.
“Two are from Merry and one is a note from Lady Granville.”
He noticed Harriet gaze disapprovingly at Faith. Since his sister had never in his presence spoken a word against Lady Granville, he surmised it was the mention of Lady Meredith that put her off her mood.
“Lady Granville discusses the upcoming social events among our little ‘quaint local society’ and hints broadly that since I am a new bride, I should be honored to host a harvest ball,” Faith continued.
Griffin waited for Harriet’s retort, fully expecting her to balk at the expense. But she remained silent.
The footman entered carrying another covered dish. Griffin quickly abandoned his cold meal in favor of the fresh, hot fare. Since Faith was still busy with her letters, the servant next approached Harriet.
“Do you wish more eggs and kippers?” the butler asked, a first, second, then third time.
Griffin raised his head. Harriet was gazing off in the distance, her face a study in concentration. The footman stood by her chair, extending the covered chafing dish.
The servant repeated his question, and still Harriet did not respond.
“Harriet!” Griffin shouted.
“What?” She turned her head sharply.
“Rogers has asked you several times if you wish more breakfast.”
Her gaze faltered for the briefest of moments. “Sorry.” She blushed sharply and put a small portion of food on her dish.
Griffin stroked his chin, examining his sister thoughtfully. “Did you sleep well last evening, Harriet?”
“Yes, I slept fine,” she responded with a touch of impatience. “However, I find that I have just lost my appetite. Since I have no lengthy correspondence to read through, I shall go for a ride.”
She pushed back her chair and marched from the room.
“Harriet seems upset,” Griffin commented.
Faith glanced up from the letter she was diligently reading and shrugged. “I noticed no difference in her behavior.” She resumed reading her correspondence.
Griffin shook his head. “Apparently, she was expecting a letter. From whom, I wonder?”
“Her fiancé, I assume,” Faith replied absently. “I know of no other friends or acquaintances she corresponds with on a regular basis.”
“I was unaware that she had been receiving letters from her betrothed. She rarely speaks of him.”
“I suppose she doesn’t have much to say.” Faith wrinkled her nose. “To my knowledge, she has not received any letters this past month, although she apparently writes to him daily.”
Griffin’s chair was located at the head of the table, nearest the windo
w. He glanced outside and caught a glimpse of Harriet walking slowly down the garden path. Her head was bowed, her shoulders hunched, her feet shuffling. If he didn’t know better, Griffin would swear she was crying.
He saw her slip a hand up to grasp the gold locket she always wore around her neck. A gift from her neglectful fiancé? He had never inquired.
“Tell me about this man Harriet is supposed to marry. What is his name? Jonathan Winthrope?”
Faith slowly lowered her letter. “Harriet is engaged to marry Julian Wingate. He has no title, but is a direct descendant, on his mother’s side, of the duke of Shrewsbury and part of the Dorrington family. They are, as you are no doubt aware, most highly respected and admired members of society.”
“I don’t care about his family,” Griffin replied impatiently. “Tell me about the man.”
“I’ve never met him,” Faith said hesitantly. She brushed a stray crumb off one of her letters. “There have been all sorts of stories circulated about him, but I hardly think it fair that I repeat such gossip.”
Griffin’s mouth thinned. Faith showing a loyal, almost protective attitude toward Harriet?
“Is this Wingate fellow really that bad?”
Faith’s eyes touched him, then glanced away She cleared her throat. “The tales that have been repeated in my hearing paint Mr. Wingate in a most unflattering light, portraying him as something of a rake, a man given solely to his own pleasures.” Faith paused, inclining her head. “Actually, his unsavory reputation is not unlike your own. That is, before you reformed your wicked ways and became a respectable married man. ”
“And a viscount,” Griffin added with a smirk. “Let us not forget my noble title. Wingate may come from a noble background, yet he lacks a title. That could be his main problem. Becoming a viscount has made all the difference in the eyes of many in society and this community.”
“It has, my lord. ’Tis also the sole reason I married you,” Faith responded promptly. With a wrinkled brow and pursed lips, she lifted her china cup and took a delicate sip of the hot liquid. “To become a viscountess.”
Despite her pinched expression, Faith’s voice was light and humorous. Griffin had difficulty controlling his bark of laughter.
“You sold yourself short, my dear,” he said with a grin. “If you had waited a bit longer, you might have landed an earl. Or even a duke.”
Faith burst out laughing. “The only way I could have caught a duke for a husband is if he were a very slow runner and I possessed a very large net.”
Almost against his will, Griffin found himself joining her merriment. He marveled anew at how his vast experience with women gave him no advantage when dealing with his wife. He was as puzzled by her as ever. She could laugh at herself, joking so openly with him about catching a husband, despite the wall that firmly existed between them because of her duplicity surrounding the circumstances of their own marriage.
Griffin searched for the anger that always consumed him when he allowed himself to dwell on Faith’s lies, but it did not come as quickly or strongly. Was he finally starting to forgive her, in his heart as well as his mind?
He glanced at his wife. It was no surprise that these four celibate weeks of married life had not diminished her feminine appeal. More and more he found it difficult to banish her from his thoughts, whether he was awake or asleep.
Faith intrigued him, yet he deliberately kept a physical distance from her. Why? Because he feared the consequences if he succumbed. Whatever happened between them, he was determined not to become a slave to his own senses.
“Tell me more about Wingate,” Griffin demanded, knowing he should be worrying about the sorry state of his own marriage, not fretting over his sister’s relationship. Yet somehow it seemed far easier and more appealing to face someone else’s problems. “If he marries Harriet he shall be our relative.”
Faith instantly sobered. “If? Do you doubt his sincerity?”
“I question it.”
A frown slowly formed in Faith’s eyes. “Most of what I know of him comes from Merry. Mr. Wingate offered for her during her first season, but she turned him down flat. She told me he had a way of staring at her that made her feel singularly uncomfortable.”
“I cannot fault the man for being interested in Lady Meredith. She is a stunningly beautiful woman.”
Faith thrust her eyes downward, but not before he saw the flash of pain and anger. She set down her cup on the saucer so loud it rattled. “Yes, Meredith is a goddess of womanhood, beautiful and wise and worthy of worship by all men. Including you.”
“Jealous?”
She opened her mouth wide, then abruptly closed it. Griffin picked up his cup and downed its remains in one gulp. Faith was still sputtering, no doubt wrestling with the perfect retort, so he used her confusion to take a closer look at his wife.
She was wearing a simple morning dress, pale yellow in color, that fit tightly across her bosom. Her hair was styled simply atop her head, and there was a most becoming flush on her cheeks. Poets would never write sonnets to her beauty; artists would not beg to immortalize her loveliness on canvas. Yet Griffin was aware of this woman, his wife, with every single fiber in his body, even though the length of the cherry-wood dining table separated them.
“Nothing to say, Faith?” Griffin teased, when she failed to reply.
“I have decided it would only inflate your already impossibly large ego to dignify your ridiculous notion of jealousy by commenting upon it,” Faith said haughtily, her chin tilted at a challenging angle.
“Coward.”
“Braggart.”
They launched into a spirited conversation, and Griffin soon found himself feeling a flood of rising desire. He watched as well as listened to Faith as they bantered, enjoying the way she emphasized her point by moving her hands in a graceful arc high in the air.
She leaned across the table, and Griffin caught the clean, freshly washed scent of her hair. Lavender. His stomach muscles contracted sharply as he imagined removing those pins and running his fingers through the heavy silk tresses.
He closed his eyes briefly, remembering the softness of her naked flesh, the fullness of her breasts as he caressed them, cupping the roundness in his palms whilst his fingers tantalized the dark nipples into provocative hardness.
Griffin’s lack of attention on their conversation brought it abruptly to a halt. Faith glanced at him with a pleasant, almost intimate smile. The viscount stood.
Breakfast was finished. He had a pile of papers awaiting him in his study, but Griffin was having great difficulty pulling himself away He had no real reason to stay except that he wanted to see Faith, wanted to be near her.
“Business calls,” Griffin announced suddenly, moving away from the table. “I hope you have a pleasant day. I will see you at dinner this evening. I shall be gone from the estate for the majority of the afternoon, so do try and avoid a hair-pulling argument with Harriet.”
He bowed stiffly, then rushed from the room, in much the same manner that he had arrived. Just to prove to himself that he possessed the strength of will to do it.
Faith exited the house through the ballroom doors at the rear, deliberately going in the opposite direction as Harriet. The sun had risen higher, but the air felt moist. Glancing upward she saw a streak of low-lying clouds marring the blue sky. There would most likely be rain by the afternoon. She worried that Griffin would get wet on his errands, for she knew he would ride his horse instead of taking a carriage.
Faith paused when she reached the edge of the formal gardens and sat on a stone bench, facing the last of the summer blooms. Already the air felt cooler. Summer was nearing its end—the fall harvest would soon begin.
It gave her a sudden sense of sadness to gaze upon the withering flowers. Their beauty was wilting, turning brown and crumbling into dust. Soon they would be nothing more than compost for next year’s crop of new buds.
The sun felt warm on her shoulders, and Faith closed her eyes briefly
. Rising so early this morning had been difficult, and the lack of sleep was already starting to take its toll.
A high warbling sound interrupted her dozing. Curious, Faith lifted her head and noticed a small bird with a short dark beak perched on a nearby branch. It looked oddly familiar. She sat very still and it came closer, taking a short nervous hop in her direction. She smiled and fumbled in the pocket of her gown, searching for the crust of bread she had taken from the table for just this purpose.
“You must be the pretty little bird that Georgie has been feeding,” she cooed, holding up the tempting treat.
Tilting its head, the small creature darted forward, blinking its tiny black eyes. Faith laughed, and the bird skipped back in fear.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I did not mean to frighten you. I am well acquainted with the feelings of terror and helplessness and would not wish that upon any living creature.”
Faith placed a crust of bread on the edge of the stone bench, then walked carefully away, leaving the bird to enjoy its bounty in peace.
Several other birds flew around in circles above her head and swooped down to join the feast. She quietly left that section of the garden and ventured toward the ornamental fountain that Georgie enjoyed sloshing his hands in. Whenever his Aunt Harriet was not around to scold him.
It was an idyllic spot. Quiet and peaceful. The soft breeze was scented with the last of the season’s roses, and she inhaled appreciatively. Faith followed the path, deliberately clearing her mind of the morning’s event.
She would not dwell upon Griffin’s unusual behavior at breakfast. For the most part he seemed to grudgingly tolerate her presence in his home. He left her mostly to her own devices, involving himself only when it was necessary to settle a dispute between her and Harriet. An event Faith had quickly learned he heartily despised.
They met at the evening meal most days and occasionally took tea together. They politely discussed the events of their day, the events of the estate, the gossip from the village. As much as Faith disliked Harriet, she was honest enough to admit that without Griffin’s two sisters in the house, it would be as quiet as a tomb.
To Wed A Viscount Page 18