Forever Yours (The Forever Series #1)

by Cheryl Holt

  “I can’t wait to be apprised of what they are. In the interim, be aware that if you try to thwart me, I’ll have you and Bertram carted off to jail. Choose wisely, Eugenia. You never have before, but this time you should be a tad more prudent.”

  “I’m not afraid of you.”

  “No, you never were, and look where it’s left you so far.” He strolled out, tossing over his shoulder, “I’ll be here at nine. Don’t be stupid about this. Have your bags packed.”

  She shouted an insult, but he was down the stairs and outside so fast he didn’t hear what it was.

  * * * *

  Faith stood at the building where the Royal Exhibition was being held. She’d purchased her ticket and only had to walk in and immerse herself in the salons full of paintings. She’d yearned to attend for years, but had never previously mustered the courage. For some reason, she was incredibly nervous, as if it might be scary or painful to view the array of talent, all of which she was sure would be better than hers.

  The Exhibition was an annual event where the best artists in the kingdom submitted their work, and the finest pieces were selected for display. There had been a period in her life where she’d considered entering her own work in the competition, but she’d stopped dreaming such foolish dreams.

  If she ever started to paint again—and she probably would—it would merely be a hobby, as was appropriate for a female. She would paint for fun, for sport, but when nothing came of it she wouldn’t grow frustrated. It would be a leisure pursuit and naught more.

  As she dawdled, a line of three ornate coaches rumbled up the street. There were huge crests on the side, designating the important people in them. The drivers seemed oblivious to pedestrians, and they scurried out of the way so they weren’t run over.

  The vehicles halted down the block, and uniformed men—not British soldiers, but foreign ones—stepped out of the front and the rear carriages as if they were guards. A phalanx of them marched to the middle carriage and opened the door. She watched along with the other bystanders, eager to discover who would emerge.

  A stout, unattractive woman climbed out. She was wearing a diamond tiara and was dripping with other jewels. Her cloak was sewn from a heavy purple fabric, indicating royalty, and those closest to her curtsied and bowed. Some even knelt.

  Was she a foreign princess? She must be, and Faith smiled, liking that she would add the encounter to the list of interesting sights she’d witnessed during her trip to the city.

  The princess ignored her audience and peered into the carriage, observing as another person alighted. When Faith saw who it was, she almost fainted with dismay.

  Appearing as dashing and elegant as he’d ever been, Lord Pendergast strutted out and offered his arm to the princess. She grabbed hold, and they turned to the crowd and made an arrogant, courtly gesture, just a tip of their heads to the commoners who were gaping at them. Lord Pendergast whispered a comment in her ear, and she laughed.

  For a moment, Faith caught a glimpse of his expression, and she was astounded to note he was staring at the princess as he’d always stared at Faith. She’d naïvely assumed it was a private look he’d reserved just for her—because he’d adored her, because he’d deemed her to be marvelously exotic. She’d never socialized with him in town so she hadn’t realized he gazed at every female the same way.

  He reached in his pocket, pulled out a pile of coins, and tossed them to the spectators as if they were all beggars and he a rich king.

  My, my, haven’t his fortunes improved…

  In all the years she’d known him, he’d simply been a poverty-stricken viscount whose miserly father had controlled the purse strings. She’d been anxious to save him from that fate, but another woman—a wealthy, royal woman—had given him precisely what he needed. No wonder Alex had thought Faith was such an idiot.

  The soldiers formed a protective circle around the pair, then they promenaded off, and they were proceeding directly toward Faith. Were they attending the Exhibition? What were the odds that they would arrive just as she had herself?

  She ducked behind a pillar, determined he not notice her. The soldiers tromped on by, then Lord Pendergast and his betrothed swept by too. The throng surged, and people were pushing, craning their necks, enjoying the pomp.

  “It’s Princess Sasha and Lord Pendergast!” someone gushed.

  “Aren’t they a handsome couple?” said another.

  “I’ve heard it’s a love match,” said yet another. “Isn’t it romantic?”

  Was all of London gossiping about them? Gad, if anyone had bothered to apprise her—her brother Alex for instance—she’d have stayed in the country where she belonged.

  The doting duo didn’t stop at the Exhibition Hall, but continued on. The princess was talking in heavily-accented English, and Lord Pendergast was hanging on her every word.

  “You are a very naughty boy, Lord Pendergast,” she cooed.

  He grinned. “Not around you, Your Highness. Around you, I am a perfect gentleman.”

  “My darling little pet,” the princess murmured, but the rest of her remarks were indecipherable. The crowd was too large and tittering with excitement.

  A man rushed up behind Faith, and she was jostled from her hiding spot and shoved into the street. Lord Pendergast had already walked on by, but the commotion caused him to glance back. He was frowning, searching the faces as if hunting for one that was familiar.

  Had he seen her? Would he expect to chat? Would he ask how she’d been?

  The notion didn’t bear contemplating.

  She ducked and raced to the Exhibition Hall. In a blind panic, she handed over her ticket and hastened inside. She stumbled about, climbing stairs and hurrying down halls until she found a room that was empty.

  She staggered over to a bench, and as she eased down she was confronted by a wall of landscapes. There were tears in her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall. She gawked at the canvases, not studying any of them, but debating how long she’d have to remain in the building to be certain he’d left the area.

  It took an eternity to calm herself, and when she did she realized a woman had sat next to her on the bench. She was about Faith’s age, pretty, slender, but attired in mourning clothes, her black dress and bonnet stark against her pale skin and blond hair.

  Faith startled a bit, and the woman inquired, “Am I intruding? If so, I apologize. Would you like me to move?”

  “No, no, I don’t mind. I’m catching my breath.”

  “There is so much beauty displayed, isn’t there?”

  “Yes, so much.”

  “I hope you won’t find me forward, but are you all right? When I came in, you seemed a tad upset.”

  “I’m fine.” Faith paused, then shook her head. She was too disoriented to keep herself from candidly replying. “Actually, I’m not fine. I had an…incident out on the street.”

  The woman blanched with dismay. “What happened? Please tell me it was nothing horrid.”

  “No, it was just…I bumped into someone from my past.”

  “Ah…and it was distressing for you.”

  “Yes, so I’m not really catching my breath. I’m hiding until I can be sure he’s gone.”

  “It’s a he, is it? Did he break your heart?”

  Faith didn’t spend a lot of time around bold females so she was taken aback by the question. Still though, she answered it. “Yes, he broke my heart.”

  “Then I shall hate him forever!”

  They smiled as if they were conspirators.

  The moment might have grown awkward, but a handsome young man entered behind them. He was in mourning clothes too and from his blond hair, thin stature, and facial features, it was clear they were siblings.

  “There you are, Sissy.” His tone was scolding, but playful. “I could have guessed you’d be lurking here again. This vanity of yours will be the death of me.”

  “It’s not vanity if I’ve earned my
accolades.”

  “Of course you would say that.”

  He swept in, looking cheerful and happy and the room was suddenly brighter with him in it. He exuded an endearing sort of charm.

  “Who is your new friend?” he asked his sister.

  “I don’t know. We’ve only just met.”

  “You’re awfully nosy though,” he teased. “I can’t believe you haven’t already learned every detail about her.”

  Faith chuckled at that. “I am Miss Wallace. How do you do?”

  “I am Susan Miller, and this is my brother, Reggie. I let him call me Sissy.”

  “Ha!” he scoffed. “It’s what I’ve always called her. She can’t stop me.”

  He went to the wall of paintings. The space was covered with canvases from floor to ceiling, and he motioned to a landscape. It was a scene of a country cottage with roses falling down a trellis. It was so well crafted that Faith felt as if she could walk into it, and it would be a perfect spot to pass a summer afternoon.

  There was a blue ribbon attached to the corner of the frame which indicated it had survived the initial round of judging and would be a finalist for a cash prize at the end.

  “Do you like it?” he asked Faith.

  “I’m very impressed. Are you acquainted with the artist?”

  “Yes, we’re acquainted.” He winked at his sister. “It is I! Reginald Miller.”

  “You’re very talented,” Faith said, and she meant it.

  He scowled at his sister, appearing exasperated. “May I tell her?”

  “No, you may not,” his sister fumed.

  “I’m betting she can keep a secret.” He peered at Faith, his infectious smile making her pulse race. “Can you keep a secret, Miss Wallace?”

  “Yes, absolutely.”

  He glanced around, ensuring they were alone, then he leaned down and whispered, “My sister is actually the artist, but because she’s a female she can never get anyone to pay attention to her. So I pretend that I have painted her pictures, and I am doing brilliantly. I’ve developed quite a stunning reputation.”

  Faith’s jaw dropped in astonishment. Miss Miller was living the very type of life Faith lived. She was very gifted, but wasn’t taken seriously. Fortunately, she had a brother who was willing to push her out into the world.

  “We have a devious plan.” He was still whispering.

  “What is it?” Faith asked as his sister said, “Will you be silent, Reggie?”

  But he didn’t heed his sister. “I will claim her work as my own until I’m rich and celebrated, then I shall rip away the charade and inform the entire kingdom that she is the true genius. Not I. I can’t brush a stroke.”

  Miss Miller blushed with mortification. “I’m sorry. It was dreadful of us to make you a party to our scheme. It is rather deceitful.”

  “I think it’s a marvelous idea,” Faith insisted.

  Mr. Miller smirked as he said to his sister, “I told you she could keep a secret.”

  Faith stared at them, and she was pondering Fate and how it could engineer such a strange and intriguing encounter. She’d come to the Royal Exhibition when she’d never come previously. She’d fled Lord Pendergast’s vile presence out on the street. She’d run inside, had sat in the smallest, farthest room from the door. And…she’d stumbled on Susan and Reggie Miller.

  It seemed they were destined to be friends. There was the oddest charge in the air, almost as if the moment had been preordained.

  She pointed out the obvious. “You’re in mourning.”

  “Yes, we are.” Miss Miller sighed. “Our dearest mama passed away four months ago. It was a terrible shock, and we’re still recovering.”

  “I was wondering if the two of you would like to have a cup of tea.”

  “I would like that tremendously,” Mr. Miller said, “if I can drag Sissy away from her painting. She can’t stop admiring it—or that blue ribbon.”

  “You can drag me away,” Miss Miller responded, “but I’ll demand to look at it one last time before we head home.”

  “She’s so accursedly proud.” Mr. Miller laughed. “I’ve tried to explain that such pride is a sin, but she won’t listen.”

  Faith laughed too. “It’s not a sin when the pride is warranted.”

  “See?” Miss Miller said to her brother. “Quit being such a pest.”

  They stood and were gathering their things as Faith said, “This may sound incredibly forward, but I was also wondering—since you’ve been in mourning—if you might like to have a holiday out of the city for a bit.”

  “Oh, I would love it,” Miss Miller replied, “but we don’t have any money for frivolities. Mother’s estate is in a legal tangle, and we’re having some financial difficulty.”

  Her brother rolled his eyes. “Honestly, Sissy. Why don’t you simply open the closet and show her where we’ve hidden all our family skeletons?”

  “I’m not about to lie and pretend I wouldn’t enjoy a respite,” Miss Miller said. “It would be such a relief to escape our troubles, and it would take our minds off the appalling episode.”

  Faith had never been overly bold, but she couldn’t tamp down the words that were begging to spill out. It was such an unBritish act, but she said, “I have a quiet, pretty cottage in the country. It’s several hours from London, and there’s an artist’s studio in the back. You could stay for a few weeks. You could paint.”

  Miss Miller gaped at Faith as if she’d posed the most bizarre suggestion ever uttered. Had Faith overstepped? Had she been too brazen? After all, they’d just been introduced. What sort of deranged idiot would tender such a proposal?

  Then Miss Miller grinned. “Well, that, Miss Wallace, would be a little slice of Heaven. I heartily accept your gracious offer.”

  “I should warn you that I have my own brother, and he’s a scandalous character. But he’s mostly over at the main house on the property so we would rarely see him.”

  “Ho-ho!” Mr. Miller crooned. “A scandalous character? They’re my very favorite type of person. When we can rub elbows with the infamous or notorious, why would we want to be bored to death by socializing with tedious dullards?”

  “Reggie! Be silent!” Miss Miller chided. “I’m trying to make a good impression, and you’re not helping.”

  “I feel as if it’s written in the stars that we be friends,” Faith told her. “I can’t let you walk away without our committing to a rendezvous in the future.”

  “Are you sensing that perception too? I’m so glad. I thought perhaps it was just me. It already seems as if I’ve always known you.”

  Miss Miller slipped her arm into Faith’s, and they strolled out together, with Mr. Miller bringing up the rear.

  “Does your invitation include her brother?” Mr. Miller asked. “Since we’re practically strangers, I can hardly allow her to trot off without me.”

  Faith glanced back, and she noticed his eyes were blue and merry—and kind.

  “Yes, Mr. Miller,” she said, “my invitation definitely includes you.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Abigail walked up the steps to the manor, and the butler must have been watching for her. He whisked the door open before she could knock.

  “I’m here for an appointment with Mr. Wallace,” she told him.

  “Yes, Miss Henley, we’ve been expecting you. Or should I call you Lady Abigail?”

  “Miss Henley will be fine.”

  “If you’ll come this way, Miss Henley?”

  He was extremely polite and professional, not evincing the slightest hint that he’d previously espied her inappropriately kissing the lord of the manor. But then, a title wiped away many sins.

  For a moment, she tried to remember those heady days when she’d been so reckless and out of control. In light of all that had occurred since then, the whole affair seemed completely bizarre, as if some other negligent woman had done all those things.

  He
gestured for her to enter, then he started off. She trudged after him, feeling very much like someone marching to the gallows. She was in no hurry to reach her destination.

  From the morning she’d been released from jail, she hadn’t spoken to Alex. He’d conducted a cursory interview with her where he’d asked about Miss Robertson and Mrs. Pennywhistle, then he’d left his town house and hadn’t returned. Faith had escorted them to Wallace Downs, but he hadn’t traveled with them. Nor had he arrived later on.

  They’d spent the past three weeks recuperating from their ordeal, and she’d wanted to inquire as to where he was, but ultimately she’d decided it wasn’t any of her business. In her short tenure at the estate, she’d wasted entirely too much time pondering him, and such tomfoolery only led to tragedy and ruin. She wouldn’t engage in such nonsense ever again.

  Finally though, Alex was back at Wallace Downs, and he’d sent a message to the cottage, demanding she attend him. She was about to be fired so she’d prepared with great care, eager to appear like the smart, educated, and elegant young lady she’d been raised to be.

  She was wearing one of her own gray outfits though, and not any of the clothes he’d purchased for her. Those wretched clothes had created colossal problems. They’d been fetching and stylish, and they’d made her forget her place in the world. She was simply a governess who taught other people’s children to earn a wage.

  Once he terminated her, she was terrified over what would happen next, but she was determined that he not witness any upset or dismay. Would he kick her out immediately? If so, her farewell with the twins would be painful, and she’d already packed her bag. There would be no delay in her departure.

  They approached the library, and the twins were in the hall. They’d sneaked off earlier after apprising her they had a surprise, and she would find out what it was very soon.

  As if it were a special celebration, they were attired in their new dresses, their hair brushed and braided, their petticoats starched and swishing when they moved.

  They might have been little princesses or little blond-haired, blue-eyed dolls, and she suffered a wave of nostalgia as she wondered what her brother, Hayden, would have thought of them, what her deceased mother—their grandmother—would have thought. She was certain they’d have loved the two girls as she loved them.