Faith And Her Devoted Duke

by Lynda Hurst

  Faith and Her Devoted Duke

  The Revelstoke Legacy

  By Lynda Hurst

  Love Clean, Wholesome Romance?

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  Copyright © 2018 by Lynda Hurst & Bon Ton Books

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  1

  Imagining she was a pixie sent to wander the human realm alone, ten-year-old Faith Revelstoke wandered through the copse of elm trees, hunting down adventure. She was often alone, given that her two older brothers and older sister would have nothing to do with her. Not because she was merely younger but, brutally, because she was a nonentity to them.

  Humming to herself, she skipped along through the high grass, not quite reaching the tops. With no other children about, she readily amused herself with her favorite pastime: readying herself to at least glimpse her favorite person while out on a walk, Devlin de Chamblay.

  As neighbors, both the Revelstokes and the de Chamblays were well-acquainted with the other. However, neither family had anything particularly nice to say about each other within Faith’s range of hearing. On one occasion, Faith recalled her father boisterously claim in his booming voice, “I’d sooner meet the devil with open arms than acknowledge that demmed Duke. The de Chamblays can hang for all I care!”

  Not quite privy to why there was such enmity between the two, Faith was only aware that the dislike her father had for anyone with the de Chamblay name encompassed the whole of her natural life. All she cared about was the fact that she didn’t share her father’s hostile dislike for their neighbors. Not when their neighbor’s only son was someone she dreamed of taking her away from her desolate family life.

  Having six years above her, Devlin seemed so much manlier than her own brothers. Frederick and James were nineteen and seventeen respectively, but they lacked the noble manners and grace of men befitting their station as an earl’s progeny. Devlin, also a duke’s son, carried himself regally, as though he already owned a kingdom, but without the pomp and hot air. At the tender age of ten, Faith thought she could already detect in Devlin signs of the man he would one day become. And she liked what she could see.

  Drawing closer to the pond that bordered both their lands, but not yet sighting the pond’s waterline, Faith stopped when she heard the newly-deepened tone of Devlin’s voice. Smiling at the chance to view her hero, she was just about to step out to greet him, when she heard a second voice, much higher than his answer him back.

  Curious as any ten-year-old would be, Faith drew farther back behind the sheltering tree to hide but poked her head out cautiously to identify the female to whom he was currently speaking. Turning her gaze a little to the left, she spied Devlin in profile, standing quite close to Emmy Sloane, the vicar’s sixteen-year-old daughter. Despite their equivalent ages, Devlin was already a head taller than Emmy, showing promise of reaching his father’s statuesque height of six feet and four inches.

  “No, you can’t kiss me,” she heard Emmy protest. “I told you I only came here in response to your note. It’s really too bad of you to deceive me like this, making me think you needed my help.” Faith could see Emmy trying to dodge his searching lips while firmly within his grasp as she spoke.

  “But I do, dearest,” Devlin insisted. “Without you here, I could not make up my mind who I wanted a kiss from more: you or Sally.” Faith knew Sally to be the town’s baker’s daughter, and she also knew that Sally was half-in-love with Devlin by the way she sighed and directed moon eyes at him whenever they were in the same vicinity.

  “You beast!” Emmy screeched. “You’re telling me you kissed that slatternly wench when you promised me that I was your one and only!” By this time, Faith was already familiar with Devlin’s rakish ways, no doubt learned by observing his own father’s example. Only, to Faith, it seemed that Devlin was still only just learning the ropes as a rake if the scene she was witnessing was anything to go by.

  Devlin’s lack of contrition served to further anger Emmy, and Faith had to swallow back a snicker at Emmy’s attempts to beat him off with rapid but weak hits from her open palms.

  “Now, now,” Devlin soothed. “I did promise you that I would be your escort for the Midsummer festivities. Remember? And you promised me in return that you would wear my token of affection. I only mentioned Sally to hopefully get you to kiss me when I am just dying to kiss your lips.”

  Faith’s brow raised at the deft manner in which Devlin smoothed things over with Emmy. She had no idea Devlin had such a silver, glib tongue. Already, Devlin’s charm had taken the desired effect in Emmy. Faith watched as Emmy suddenly lost her ire at the assumed slight on Devlin’s part and visibly softened while still in his embrace.

  “Dev, you know how much I want to go to Midsummer with you. It’s just my father is strict, and I can’t have him seeing us together. He’d lock me up until I’m an old maid if he ever found out that we—“

  Devlin took that moment to interrupt her with a kiss that had her protesting the act at first, but once Emmy relaxed enough to enjoy it, then participate, Faith had to look away. Her ten-year-old mind, though young, knew enough to afford them privacy during such an intimate moment. And yet, that same precocious ten-year-old self stubbornly rooted herself to that spot behind the tree, dying to know what would happen next.

  Judging by the sounds the two young lovers were making, Faith gathered that they were vastly enjoying themselves as there were no signs they were going to stop. Faith suppressed a sigh after realizing that there was no way she could now leave without embarrassing herself, Devlin, and Emmy. It was getting dark, and she belatedly realized she was going to miss the dinner bell if she didn’t leave soon.

  Without warning, her stomach protested loudly at its empty state, and because of her close proximity to the kissing couple, both were startled out of their embrace.

  Devlin released Emmy, shielded her behind him, and called out, “Who’s there?”

  Now flushing to the roots of her red hair, Faith refused to answer. She was mortified that her stomach chose that moment to betray her presence. And if her hero Devlin were to find her there, there would be no more chance encounters in the future, for he would surely go out of his way just to avoid her.

  In her young mind, her only option was to bolt. And if she was quick enough, maybe they wouldn’t recognize her.

  She catapulted herself towards the shadowy cloaking of the trees and brush, hoping against hope that she wouldn’t be caught for an eavesdropper. Behind her, she heard Emmy exclaim, “It’s the Revelstoke girl!” At Emmy’s shout, she heard a heavier crash through the trees and without looking back knew Devlin was giving chase.

  Her much shorter limbs could only carry her so far before Devlin’s strong, athletic ones caught up to her. Her fatal mistake was to look over her shoulder, where Devli
n had reached out to almost grasp her sleeve, but running full tilt as she was, she failed to notice the low branch at her knees and went flying headlong into the dense foliage.

  Devlin meant to save her from falling but had only managed to catch himself from tripping over her sprawled form just in time. Poor Faith scrambled to quickly recover herself to try to continue running, but the sharp pain in her ankle prevented her from making any headway in her escape. Flopping back down onto the forest floor, Faith resignedly stayed put and awaited Devlin’s inevitable blistering over her behavior.

  Two fat tears that were just as much of shame as they were also of pain leaked from her eyes unbidden. Faith didn’t cry like other girls her age; her tears noiselessly fell down her childishly round cheeks and onto her lap.

  Devlin looked down on Faith’s bowed head and observed not for the first time that the girl was roaming the countryside alone with no protection. What she was doing spying on him and Emmy, he couldn’t begin to guess, but felt a little put out that she interrupted their little interlude. However, things were getting a little too heated with Emmy, so he was a tiny bit glad that Faith’s stomach had chosen that moment to growl before he lost his head.

  Chasing her through the trees wasn’t his intention, but he had always had a soft spot for wee Faith Revelstoke, and he didn’t relish the thought of her coming to any harm while trying to run away from him, especially on such uneven terrain. He hadn’t counted on Faith’s nimble movements to lead him on a merry, albeit short, chase.

  And now, he hadn’t a clue what to do with her, as crying females weren’t in his repertoire of experience. He supposed he should inquire as to her welfare.

  Leaning down, so he was level with her gaze, he asked, “Are you all right?”

  In lieu of an audible answer, Faith shook her head. Suddenly in awe that her hero was actually deigning to speak to her after her unseemly behavior, she couldn’t quite find her tongue to speak to him.

  Gently, as if not to spook her, he asked, “Can you tell me where it is you’re hurt?”

  Collecting herself to be calm, she took in a hiccupping breath before answering, “M-my ankle. It hurts something fierce.” She pointed to the offending joint, and Devlin reached down to gently take hold of her left foot to better inspect the damage.

  Her stockings were torn at the knees as a nasty result of scraping against the rugged forest floor. Blood had already welled at the abrasions there, but what caused him the most concern was the difference in size between her two ankles. The injury already was swelling and required a professional assessment. By this point, he had already decided the swiftest course of action he could manage.

  “Faith, I’m going to take you to Mr. Ben’s house. It’s closest, and he can fetch the doctor straight away.” Mr. Ben, also known as Ben Trucott, was the Prestonridge groundskeeper, who lived just on the edge of Prestonridge land. His wife, Meg, was a cousin of the town’s only doctor and would know best where to reach him at this hour.

  Before Faith could reply or protest, Devlin had swept her slight weight into his arms and marched towards the Trucott’s cottage. Ever the hero in her eyes, Faith felt secure and protected while in his arms, bringing her to feel apologetic for eavesdropping earlier. With great strength of character for her age, she steeled herself for the inevitable apology she owed him.

  “Devlin?” she prodded, as if to gauge his mood.

  “Mmhm?” he toned out distractedly. He was busy trying to balance her in his arms while also trying to navigate through the narrowly dispersed trees.

  “I’m sorry. About spying on you and Emmy. I knew it was wrong.” She hung her head in shame having to admit out loud her wrongdoing to the one person she respected.

  “Hmm. If you knew it was wrong, why did you do it?” He didn’t sound to her as though he was angry. Faith thought he sounded rather cheerful for someone who should be accepting her apology.

  “Er, I don’t really know,” she lamely replied. She didn’t want to give him the real reason for why she stayed and listened. If he knew that she was there solely for a glimpse of him, she would expire from the humiliation of just his knowing how pathetic that would sound to his ears. Instead, she gave out, “It was an accident. I was just playing, looking for flowers for a crown I planned to make, when I thought I heard your voice.”

  “Do you mean to tell me it was by chance that you came across Emmy and me?”

  “Yes,” she nodded fiercely. “Will you forgive me?” With pleading eyes looking up at him, she desperately wanted him to forgive her so that she could selfishly look forward to their future chance encounters with a clear conscience.

  “You’re forgiven,” he said amicably. “On one condition.”

  “Anything,” she foolishly piped up, eager to make amends.

  “You must never tell anyone you saw Emmy and me today. No one can ever know.”

  Faith remained silent at this. Keeping a secret as a favor to Devlin wasn’t what she thought he would ask of her, but if it was to keep things harmonious between them, she was resigned to do so.

  “Faith, I need you to promise me.”

  “Uh, yes, I promise. I won’t tell a soul.”

  By this point, Devlin had reached a clearing where the Trucott’s cottage sat near the end of the drive leading towards Prestonridge Manor.

  “Here we are, Faith,” Devlin announced. Drawing closer to the front door, Faith felt a little bereft that she would no longer enjoy the thrill of being held in Devlin’s arms, surrounded by his warmth.

  Before he could raise his hand to knock, the door burst open and a kindly-looking gentlewoman bustled out. “Oh!” Meg Trucott exclaimed, no doubt at the sight of Faith’s bloodied knees and overly large ankle. “What’s happened to her, milord? Watching through my kitchen window, I saw you coming up this way with the wee lamb. Is she badly hurt?”

  Faith turned shy at the sight of the older woman. Being known as one of the Revelstokes, she was suddenly nervous how she would be received while Devlin looked on. Thus far, she had only experienced disdain from the locals in passing, and at times, outright snobbery and hostility from those who knew them here in the country.

  She quickly changed her demeanor, relaxing as she realized Mrs. Trucott had only concern for Faith’s present state written all over her. Devlin was speaking over her head, but she wasn’t paying attention to what was being said. The pleasure of being held by him should be enough to last her a lifetime, but now that it was about to come to an end, she was going to concentrate hard on relishing every second in his capable arms.

  While Devlin related most of what transpired to lead Faith to Meg’s door, Faith, however, didn’t fail to notice he discreetly left out the more sensitive details of how they came to meet earlier. Inwardly shrugging at his deliberate omission, Faith rather liked that he left Emmy’s name out of the account.

  Once Devlin finished his version of events, with a clucking tongue, Meg gestured them inside the house where there was a fire merrily crackling on the hearth and the delicious aroma of a stew simmering there.

  “Put her there by the fire so I can have a better look,” Meg said, pointing to a wide chair by the hearth. “What’s your name, love? Just so I know to whom I am addressing.” Faith’s nerves came to revisit, and she now expected to be refused help once Meg discovered her name.

  Devlin promptly placed her upon the masculine-looking chair where Faith noted it was wide enough for another of her to fit alongside her. As a born and bred gentleman, he made the introductions while busy at hand with situating Faith comfortably as possible. “Meg, this is Faith Revelstoke. Faith, this is Mrs. Trucott, Mr. Ben’s wife.”

  With her identity out in the open, Faith expected a sneer from her neighbor’s employee. But instead of the snubbing she expected, Meg just smiled down at her with an affection that young Faith had never experienced before.

  Patting her head before bustling about gathering supplies, Meg replied, “It’s a pleasure to meet a pretty young
girl like you. I’m just Meg. No need for us ladies to be so formal.” Faith relaxed at the kindness in her words.

  Out of duty as Faith’s current caretaker, Devlin shoved the nearby footstool closer to her and slowly lifted her injured ankle to rest atop it. Duty done, Devlin stood back behind the chair to let Meg take a closer look.

  With Devlin out of the way, Meg knelt to carefully inspect Faith’s hurt ankle, gently turning it this way and that. It stung Faith a little at her ministrations, but she liked how gentle a touch Meg had with her.

  Faith, trembling, asked, “Is it broken? Shall I be lame forever?”

  Meg kindly replied, “Dear child, nothing so serious as that. You needn’t fret so over a turned ankle. It may hurt now like the devil, but we’ll cool it down enough to bring down that wicked swelling.”

  Devlin, who hovered behind while observing Meg’s work, piped up, “Will she need a doctor to take a proper look?”

  At his impertinent question, Meg pursed her lips, obviously biting back a quick retort. “No,” she replied pointedly. “I’m the next best thing, as my cousin, ‘the doctor’, is in the next town over assisting with a birthing. A turned ankle as mild as this just needs proper rest.”