She scanned it. “This Mr. Baldershaw says that from the red-brown colour and bittersweet taste, he believes it’s, in part, a decoction of the poppy. The opium made you sleep, Justin. It also contains liquorice and cloves to make it taste better.”
“Doesn’t work,” Justin said.
Faith grimaced. “He soaked bread with the medicine and fed it to gutter rats. Oh, Lord, they died!” Knowing she might have made a different decision, Faith shuddered, appalled.
Encouraged by Justin’s nod, she continued. “The opium is mixed with sherry to strengthen the effects. He thinks it could have hemlock or deathcap powder, no more than a few grains of either. Oh, here he says, it’s likely Hemlock, which keeps the victim’s mind functioning while destroying his body.”
“The nightmares,” Justin said. “Me tied at the base of a black pit while I watched Beth tumble to her death, over and over again.”
Harris frowned and turned to gaze out the window.
Faith squeezed Justin’s shoulder and he placed his hand over hers. The clock struck the hour, marking Justin’s life, rather than his death, and Faith gave thanks.
“Since the poison did not result in death, Mr. Baldershaw suspects it was made with the spring root of the hemlock. He says it’s much less potent in spring than at any other time of year and only an amateur would make the mistake.” She shook her head. “Thank God for an amateur. These ingredients together, he says, would produce sleep, strange dreams, delirium, and discomfort or pain, depending upon the amounts.”
“It works,” Justin said dryly.
“If taken in larger doses or over a long enough period, death would result,” Faith said with a shudder. “If, after a prolonged period, one were to stop taking it, severe symptoms could result. We know about them. He goes on to suggest the victim might have formed an immunity to one or more of the toxins or a combination of them. He says milk expunges the effects of the poison. Knowing you were given milk often, no one will ever know for certain how or why you survived.”
Harris sat, looking worn. “He didn’t believe you’d been taking it twice a day for so long. When he saw how little was the dose, he thought the person who made it particularly clever, or particularly ignorant. Its having opium in it might help him find where it came from. He’ll ask around but it’ll take time since he must take care. I waited to receive the answer, but it never came. Could have sent a note, Miss Faith, but soon as Baldershaw give me this, I came back so you’d stop dosing him.
“I’m glad,” Justin said. “Anyone could have read the note and we were worried about you.”
“Sorry, your grace. I feared you might be dead, but not worried.” He nodded at Faith. “Thought she was daft. Light, air, cleaning, bathing, changing the curtains, as if that would help, and wanting it done yesterday. Bossy she was, ordering—”
“That’s enough, Harris,” Faith said. “We have to stop Vincent before he tries again. You must return to London to find out who supplies and buys those ingredients.”
“Be careful,” Justin added. “Talk to Baggins at my London house about the accident. Ask what happened when I was brought back to Grosvenor Square afterward. And Catherine’s old nurse—get her name and direction. Cat might have told her something.”
“Harris,” Faith said. “See who found Catherine and Justin after the accident. Vincent’s servants might have answers.”
“Good thought, sweetheart. I wonder if it was Marcus or Grant who found us, or even Gabriel or Carry. I sent a man to alert my friends when Beth went missing. Locate them, Harris, but don’t approach them, yet.”
Harris bowed. “If you please, your grace?”
Justin stood. “Yes, Harris?”
The surprised man paled then all out smiled. “Happy I am to have you back, and better than I thought.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe it.”
“I have much to live for.” Justin brought Faith close.
“Knew it the minute I clapped eyes on her,” Harris said. “I said, ‘the master’d like you b’God,’ and she thought I meant Vincent, and her back went up like a cat.” Harris smiled. “With your permission, your grace, I’ll be on my way ‘s’afternoon.”
“God speed, Harris.”
It was mid-afternoon by the time Faith walked Harris to the stairs. “Have a care, Miss. There’s a bloke downstairs, Hemsted, Vincent’s man, asking questions.”
“Has anyone told him anything?”
“Mostly, they ignore him, being Vincent’s man and all. Them that’s saying anything is so they’ll keep their posts, and that they make up. Take care.” He tipped an invisible hat and left.
Faith returned to the sickroom after telling everyone Justin was failing. He opened his arms, and after learning how close they’d come, there was nowhere she’d rather be.
Later, Vicar Kendrick knocked at her bedroom door, and as far as the household was concerned—after hearing the false news of Justin’s decline—the prelate’s arrival could not have been better timed. Faith welcomed him with enthusiasm.
“My dear Ms. Wickham, you have positively bloomed in your position as nurse to the Duke of Ainsley, but—” He stood back to consider her more closely, his brows furrowed. I must say, I did not expect you to exude radiance in a house about to lose its master.”
Faith knew that she should not be surprised at his censure. She had not been truthful about the reason for his visit. She led him further into the room. “Reverend Kendrick, behold my patient.”
Her patient had been seated, and hidden by the high back of her settee, facing the hearth, as it was, its back to her door.
Justin stood, revealing himself, and extended his hand. “Gabe, it’s been too long.”
“Ainsley!” In the way of old friends they embraced, more or less, stiff backed, hard slaps and all that. Faith smiled inwardly at the emotion-filled, yet unemotional, male ritual.
“I must say, Faith, you led me to believe … and not ten minutes ago, the housekeeper said….” Vicar Gabriel Kendrick looked from his friend to the parishioner for whom he had
“This house would surely have lost its master had you not sent Faith to me. I thank you.”
Vicar Kendrick turned to her. “Another credit to your nursing skills. A miracle of sorts, I think. Congratulations, my dear.”
Emotion welled in Faith. “Would that they could all be so successful.”
Her spiritual leader patted her hand. “I know, my dear. But cease blaming yourself for your grandfather. It was never your fault, because it was never in your hands. You’re doing the Lord’s work in the way He asks. Do not accept responsibility that is His,” he admonished.
“Well,” Justin said. “It must have been His plan that I survive, for Faith has given me more than my life.” He embraced her shoulder, and his friend’s smile vanished. “See here, Ainsley—”
Faith stepped forward and touched the Vicar’s arm. “Please, sit, and let me explain what’s transpired since I arrived.”
“I asked Faith to send for you,” Justin said, “because we wish to marry, and we’d like you to perform the ceremony.”
It was hard to tell if the vicar was shocked or relieved, Faith thought. “No one can know about our marriage, not even my parents. Justin’s life is in danger and you must keep our secret.”
“Your parents will never forgive me.”
“They will, for Faith’s life is also at risk,” Justin said. “I do not speak idly. The threat is ruthless.” Justin took a paper from Faith’s bed stand. “Here is Lord Ponsonby’s direction. Though he can be trusted, simply tell him that during a moment of awareness, I asked Faith to marry me to care for my young daughter, and please ask him to keep our secret. As Magistrate, he can secure a special license. I want this marriage to be above reproach. I’ll take no chance with a havey-cavey affair.”
The Vicar nodded. “A special license will eliminate the need for the banns to be read or to hold the ceremony in a church or chapel. Other details must be dealt with, however,
but I will deal with them in short order and return on Friday.”
After Faith rocked Beth, she found Justin by his bed. He’d turned back the covers. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
The freezing rain clicking against the windows added to her unease. “I think we should sleep in our own rooms.”
Justin’s surprise turned to contrition. “Of course. I didn’t mean to presume, but in my heart, we are wed.”
“We are not,” she said. “And it is only be a marriage of convenience.” He’d even made that clear to the Vicar. They would marry for Beth’s sake, and no other. Sadness held her in its grip.
He frowned. “Last night—”
“Was an indiscretion it would be wrong to repeat.”
“It did not seem indiscreet,” he said. “But beautiful.”
She turned from the entreaty in his eyes to look out the window. They were on a course that could be as destructive as the carriage accident, their “marriage” the runaway vehicle. Without care, it would crash, and they would shatter.
But if they travelled with care, they might—perhaps—journey peacefully. “Please,” she whispered, not daring to look at him.
He stepped behind her, because his struggle to come to her on his own had not been a silent one. When he slipped his arms around her, his hands at her waist, her resolve faltered. “Let me hold you while we sleep,” he whispered, his lips caressing her ear.
She allowed herself the luxury of leaning into him and closed her eyes to savour. He was a warm hearth on a winter night, a shady tree in the summer sun. But a hearth needed tending, or it might smoke, a tree pruning, or it might die.
Reluctantly, she faced him. “It wouldn’t end there.”
“I hoped you wouldn’t realize that.” He trailed his fingers along her cheek and down.
With determination, Faith stepped away. “Good night.” The memory of his grimace would be a cold companion in her lonely bed tonight.
During the days that followed, Faith resisted Justin’s sensual assaults. She loved him, but couldn’t speak the words for fear of silence. She wanted him to trust her, but he never would.
For Beth’s sake, the marriage must take place, but the road they would travel in life must be constructed with care, or their journey would end in disaster. A physical union, while beautiful, could break a marriage without the proper foundation. She considered mutual trust to be the strongest groundwork. And it must come first.
On Friday morning, with Justin’s directions, Faith went to his parents’ apartments—with the excuse of seeking blankets—to fetch his father’s clothing so he might dress for their wedding. Vincent had likely taken over his old apartment—for no one would want his father’s ostentatious lair, not even Vincent.
But the Vicar didn’t return Friday. His note said Ponsonby was in Scotland for a month. On what was to have been their wedding night, Faith was hard put to ignore the desire in Justin eyes. But she was resolved. Trust first, intimacy second.
That night, she dreamed that when the Vicar pronounced them married, Justin kissed her. And when she opened her eyes, he was kissing her in fact…in her bed! She fought succumbing to the sensuality in his look and the promise in his touch. “What are you doing here?”
“You should be proud of me,” he said. “I walked all the way from my room, alone. But my legs are tired and shaking. Let me lie down and rest, before I fall and hurt myself.”
His hand and arm trembled; he did need to lie down. Faith scooted to the far side of the bed, but his condition was not so dire as to keep him from pulling her into his arms. “Justin Devereux! Where is your nightshirt?”
“I thought you could keep me warm.” He kissed her.
Faith’s determination was sorely tested. Resolute, she pushed from his embrace and rose from the bed.
“The devil, Faith.” Justin raised himself on an elbow. “Where in blazes are you going?
“To sleep in your bed.”
She shook her head at his groan. This was going to be a long month.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Within the hour he would wed. Again. With more trepidation than he would like—battle scars, he’d wager—after six long weeks of waiting, Faith would finally become his lawfully wedded wife.
He placed his father’s lapis stickpin in his linen neck cloth. Nothing to fear from marriage. Not with Faith. He was glad the day had arrived. Happy. Jubilant. And he had Vincent to thank. He grimaced. Fancy having Vincent to thank for anything.
Upon that incredible thought came another. Fancy considering thanks rather than blame. Justin supposed that somewhere deep inside, he’d always known Faith was different. Had she not proved it in so many ways?
Yet, too near the surface for comfort pressed a niggling fear. Panic, it was called. Experience—the kind that left a bitter taste in a man’s mouth, on every level.
Taking a deep breath, consigning uncertainty to the devil, Justin faced his old school chum, a scoundrel of a vicar, though he supposed Gabe might have changed. Or at the least, he understood the sinners in his flock better than most shepherds.
“What think you, Gabriel? Am I a fit bridegroom for so beautiful a bride?”
“Aye, and permit me to compliment you on your bride. Faith has a selfless spirit. She is as beautiful within as without.”
“A diamond of the first water? A veritable paragon?” Justin asked, hiding his tease.
His friend’s back stiffened. “Indeed, your grace.”
“Cut the defensive stance. You are a bit prejudiced in her favour?”
Catching the humour, Gabe chuckled. “Well….”
When Faith came in, Justin knew he was not the only man struck by the sight. Lights danced in the emerald of her eyes. Her porcelain skin, which he could nearly feel beneath his fingertips, was tinged by her charming blush. Her raven hair shone in streaks of near blue in the candlelight. Her gown of ivory silk with pink rosettes and sash, accented a waist so tiny, and breasts so full, he ached to explore. He had to fist his hands to keep from reaching for her.
Faith nearly lost her breath at Justin’s perusal. “Do you like the gown? It came with the rest of … my new clothes.”
“I like you in it.” Justin kept his heated gaze so trained on her, Faith warmed to the point of catching fire.
The Vicar cleared his throat, stifling desire, cutting the tension. “You look beautiful.” He kissed her hand.
Grateful, Faith turned from her brazenly-handsome bridegroom in fawn pantaloons and azure tail-coat, shaken by such a mad dash back to sanity from the sweet rush of carnal urgency.
“It’s fortunate you and your father were of a size,” she said to Justin, her voice so normal, she appreciated the deception.
He kissed the inside of her wrist. Currents raced from there to unimaginable places. Lord, she needed to get hold of herself.
“Thank you,” he said, and she didn’t remember why.
His clothes. Now she remembered. “Vincent could never wear your father’s things.” She prattled and knew it.
“He favours my mother.” Justin’s odd, suddenly detached voice caught her attention. Of Vincent, Justin spoke with passion. Of their mother, he could barely gather a modicum of interest.
“You rarely speak of her.”
He tilted his head. “I hardly knew her.” A simple fact.
Much as his answer shocked her, she saw it as another reason for his inability to trust. How she wanted to heel him.
The Vicar coughed. “Shall we proceed with the ceremony?”
By her hearth, the Vicar spoke the words that bound her to Justin for eternity, while the blustery breath of winter rattled the battlements in protest. December the 15th, 1819.
The vicar cleared his throat. “I can’t remember when a wedding meant so much. Take care of her, my friend, or you may find yourself the object of my wrath.”
“I can take you and we both know it.” Justin’s smile gave her a glimpse of the lad he might have been.
“Ma
ybe when we were boys.” The vicar, too, for that matter. “Be good to her. Be good to each other.”
“We will,” Faith said. “Imagine me, with a husband of noble character.”
“You deserve nothing less,” the vicar said. “Neither you.” He slapped Justin on the back once more.
“Thank you, Gabe. I wanted only you to perform the ceremony.”
“I only wish Faith’s parents could share our joy. I pray they forgive me for keeping this from them.”
“They will be happy you were here for me.”
The vicar nodded solemnly, doubtfully, and opened his bag. “I pray so.” He took out a familiar tome, the parish register, in which was inscribed her birth. She touched it. Home.
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