Chapter 10
Hawk grabbed the last vacant seats in the bustling tea shop and motioned above the crowd for his brother to join him.
Simon abandoned his own search and began to make his way through the sea of fashionable ladies and gentlemen queuing up for sponge cakes and fresh-made ices. Although spring had finally arrived, it was not a warm enough day to sit outside. Which meant half of London was between these walls.
Hawk sent his brother a hesitant glance out of the corner of his eye. He hoped Simon would not regret accepting the invitation.
Enjoying Gunter’s flavored ices was a perfectly normal activity brothers might do… If they were twelve years of age. But just because neither man had lived the childhood he dreamed of didn’t mean it was too late to do it right.
Before, they had been silent enemies. Although they had not spoken until this past year, they had known about each other since birth. Now they were family.
“Splendid job,” Simon said as he slid into the empty seat across from him.
“As soon as they realized I was a marquess, they couldn’t get away fast enough,” Hawk joked.
When Simon’s jaw tightened, Hawk regretted his words immediately.
Of course his brother would not find humor in such a jest. As the bastard child of a courtesan, worse indignities would have befallen him daily. Although Hawk would never abuse the power of his title, Simon was still getting to know him. Tasteless jests were not the best way to strengthen his relationship with his brother.
“Did you decide on violet or jasmine?” Hawk asked quickly, as if his previous words had not been spoken.
Flower flavors were all the crack this season. Surely that was a safer topic.
“Violet.” Simon glanced over his shoulder at the incredible crush of people. “I considered ordering both, but I am not convinced this establishment has enough ice to last the afternoon.”
“It’s worse in the summer,” Hawk said with a laugh. “The queue stretches all the way outside where those wishing to be seen await their ices in a long line of open carriages wrapping about the square.”
He wondered if that had been the wrong thing to say as well.
Simon had mentioned that he never before tasted Gunter’s famous wares, but that did not mean he had not watched the fashionable set indulge themselves from afar.
He likely did not need Hawk to tell him about the quarter-mile of colorful bonnets encircling Berkeley Square, the gentlemen in perfectly tailored riding outfits leaning beneath the trees, the harried waiters dodging the constant flow of horses and carriages to deliver freshly scooped frozen cream before it could melt.
His brother had probably been one of the many on the outside looking in.
Hawk grimaced. Perhaps meeting here had not been the wisest idea.
But then a waiter appeared with two delicate bowls and Hawk was transported back to his childhood. This had long been one of his favorite places. There was no one he’d rather be sharing it with.
“Bon apetit.” Simon lifted a spoon in salute.
Hawk grinned and did the same. “Likewise.”
He closed his eyes for the briefest of moments to allow the sensation of orange blossom and sweet cream to fill his mouth and his heart. Delicious. He opened his eyes and grinned to see his bemused brother lifting a hand to the back of his head.
Simon winced and gave a lopsided smile. “You warned me.”
“It’s cold,” Hawk agreed with an answering grin. “Go slow and enjoy it.”
A wave of happiness flowed through him. He loved moments like these. A favorite treat, good company. Simple pleasures had always brought him joy.
“How I wish the right gentleman would look at me the way you look at orange blossom ices,” cooed a cloying voice to Hawk’s right. A cloud of perfume enveloped the table. “Capturing the full attention of a man who knows how to savor a treat is every woman’s fantasy.”
He glanced up to see Mrs. Epworth, a young widow who had joined the fast crowd the moment she was done mourning a husband three times her age. The old roué had left his young bride with both money and unprecedented freedom. She now enjoyed pushing the boundaries of scandal at every opportunity.
“The confections here are masterpieces,” he replied placidly, ignoring the shameless flirtation. He was not interested in becoming one of Mrs. Epworth’s many conquests amongst the ton.
“Always so polite.” She batted her eyelashes at him and sighed in mock resignation. “More’s the pity.”
Hawk did not watch the deliberate swing of her hips as she sashayed away from his table. All her parrying had done was reinforce Hawk’s unceasing yearning for Faith.
He should have brought her here, back when she still loved him. Back when he still could. He rubbed a hand over his face in regret. Their courtship should have been public, not relegated to shadows and stolen moments. Suddenly his flavored ice did not taste as sweet.
Faith probably wondered if the only reason he’d paid her any attention was in the hope of seducing her. She would never believe he had truly intended to wait until he had at least secured permission for her hand before indulging in anything more than heated kisses.
In the end, he had let the moment be ruled by emotion rather than propriety. No doubt he had proved her worst fears true when he failed to appear the following morning with a request to visit with her father.
And now what must she think? Even though he couldn’t have her, he had never stopped wanting her. But she would have no reason to believe such a claim. Especially given that it had been years since last they spoke, and now that her family had money, here he was again.
No doubt that was why Faith had all but leaped from his carriage last night.
“Orange blossom not to your liking?” Simon’s tone was light but his gaze perceptive. “There’s still time to order the violet. Or chase after that woman.”
Hawk shuddered. “No thank you. My interest lies elsewhere.”
But he would not elaborate. He didn’t want to talk about his relationship with Faith with anyone but the woman herself.
Nor did Hawk wish for Simon to think the reason for the date in Berkeley Square was not an earnest brotherly outing but rather a shameless ruse to weasel his way back into the life of a woman Simon counted as a friend.
“How is your new assignment coming?” he asked instead.
Simon’s eyes brightened.
Hawk was sincere in his desire to make up for lost time. His brother was the sort of man he would love to call a friend, regardless of familial connection. Brilliant, successful, kindhearted. Dahlia had married a man anyone could be proud of.
“The hours are less convenient, but the increase in pay is a boon for the school.” Simon’s voice softened. “How are you faring, brother? If you are in need of a little help—”
Speechless, Hawk shook his head in horrified denial.
The last thing he wanted was to accept anyone’s charity. Especially not from his brother.
Even if Hawk were finally desperate enough to beg for spare coin, Simon was in no position to offer any. The man had sold his house to provide for his family. To purchase the abbey that now housed two dozen little girls. Hawk could never take food from children’s mouths.
“Well, I’m here,” Simon said, likely not realizing his presence in Hawk’s life was a balm in its own right. “I should be even better advantaged this time next year if I’m awarded the promotion I’ve heard whispers about.” His eyes lit with excitement. “We will finally be able to make repairs to the school that we’ve been holding off.”
“I am an expert at repairs,” Hawk said. Circumstance had made it so. “If all you need is labor, I am your man.”
“I accept,” Simon said quickly. He set down his empty bowl, eyes twinkling. “Too late to take it back. I and my entire extended family preemptively thank you for your generous offer of unpaid servitude.”
Hawk bowed his head, battling an irrational flash of jealousy at the idea o
f possessing an extended family. How delightful that must be. For the past ten years, all he’d had was his mother. Including Simon in his life had already doubled Hawk’s fortune. Sawing wood and pounding nails could allow him to show his brother that Simon’s needs were as important as his own.
“Are there many repairs?” he asked.
“More than I’d like,” Simon admitted. “My new assignment provides even less leisure time than before, and of course we haven’t the means to purchase much in the way of materials. Faith has been trying to get her parents to donate her dowry to the cause, but I can certainly understand why someone might be reluctant to part with ten thousand pounds. We’ll find a way. We always do.”
Ten… thousand… pounds.
Hawk’s throat went dry. No wonder Faith had distrusted his overtures for friendship. Such a sum would erase the lion’s share of the marquessate’s debt.
He groaned. There was no chance of her believing that she herself was the primary attraction.
Still dazed, Hawk set down his bowl and lifted his eyebrows toward the throngs still awaiting their ices. “Shall we relinquish our seats to the masses?”
“Unfortunately,” Simon agreed. He rose to his feet. “Much as I’d prefer to get back in line and sample every flavor.”
“Next time,” Hawk promised as he led the way back to his carriage. But it was likely to be his last visit to a tea shop for quite a while. He could not afford to repeat even an extravagance as small as this very often. If he reinvested his recent earnings with Gideon, there wouldn’t be any spare coins left at all.
When his aging horses pulled the carriage alongside the school for girls, Hawk expected his brother to leap down, bid his leave, and hurry inside to his wife. Instead, Simon took him by surprise.
His dark brows lifted expectantly. “You will come inside, won’t you?”
Hawk blinked. This was Simon’s first free afternoon in a fortnight. Surely he wished to spend it with his family. “I don’t want to intrude—”
“Poppycock.” Simon laughed. “Family cannot intrude. You’re welcome under our roof any time.”
Warmth infused Hawk at his words. “Just long enough to pay my respects to your wife, then.”
Simon grinned and led the way.
Dahlia was bent over the desk in her study when they reached the second floor.
Simon kissed her forehead. “Give me just a moment, if you don’t mind. I’ll check to ensure the hearths are lit for the evening.”
The moment her husband quit the room, Dahlia leapt up from her chair and jabbed a finger into Hawk’s chest. “Worthless rogue! I don’t know what you said last night to upset her so, but if you hurt her again I will find the closest sharp instrument and gut you.”
Hawk held his palms up in peace. “I swear I will not harm her.”
Dahlia glared for a moment longer, then dropped her hand. Her gaze was sharp and considering. “You cannot speak to her for another quarter hour. Story time is sacrosanct.”
Hawk stared back blankly. “It is?”
Dahlia sat back down at her desk and turned away as if she had already allotted him all the time he deserved. “Third door on the left. You can peek in from the corridor so that you do not distract the children.”
Hawk hurried to the corridor. He found the room with little trouble. It was full of Faith’s voice and hushed energy as she read aloud from within a circle of two dozen rapt faces.
How he wished he were among them at her feet. He had missed the sound of her voice, the pleasure of reading a book aloud. Her students were more than fortunate to have her. He smiled to himself at their enthralled expressions.
Most of the girls wore identical outfits of plain dresses and simple pinafores. One of the children, however, was dressed fine enough to match the crowd he had just seen in Gunter’s.
Hawk frowned. He could not imagine someone donating such expensive fabric and precision handwork to a boarding school for indigents, but Dahlia’s skill with exacting charity from the beau monde was unparalleled.
Faith was also dressed as finely as any lady of the ton. Her elegant day dress was just practical enough to fit her environment. The added soft blue hue brought out the peaches and cream of her complexion and contrasted beautifully with the soft shimmering brown of her hair.
Hawk would never tire of gazing at her. Faith would be a vision no matter what she wore. But watching her from the shadows felt like the same endless torture of reaching for her in his dreams only to jerk awake empty-handed. He could not have her in fantasy or reality. But nothing could stop him from longing for her.
Her smooth, animated voice stuttered to a shocked halt when her eyes flicked toward the cracked doorway and she glimpsed him watching.
Embarrassed heat crept up Hawk’s neck at her obvious horror. He had meant to stay and talk to her, but that was clearly not something she desired.
He stepped back into the corridor and out of her line of sight. If she wished to speak with him, she knew when and where she could find him. He would not shoehorn himself into anyone’s life.
No matter how much he yearned for her.
Chapter 11
Faith clutched a pristine edition of The Mysteries of Udolpho in her lap and thanked her stars for Bryony Grenville.
Were it not for Dahlia’s younger sister, Faith never would have received an invitation to one of the fashionable set’s exclusive book clubs.
Strictly speaking, she still had not received an invitation. She was here as Bryony’s guest. Seated in the drawing room with a dozen women of far more varied backgrounds than Faith would’ve dreamed the beau monde could tolerate.
The Fairfax parlor was simple, but clean and elegant. The plain silver tray on the table in the center of the room laden with fresh tea and lemon cakes.
But the best part, the thing that Faith loved the most, was the heated argument raging over whether Udolpho was truly Radcliffe’s greatest Gothic romance, or if the novel were no more substantial than the exaggerated imagination of its heroine.
The ladies talked over each other to make their points.
Disappointment that scarcely a third of the novel took place in a Gothic castle, raptures at the sequence in Italy, which everyone agreed was one of the most romantic of countries, rolling eyes at the heroine’s unprovoked fainting spells which occurred so frequently as to be laughable.
It was heaven. Faith had always dreamed of finding a group such as this. Of finding herself amongst a fellowship of women who valued each other’s minds more than their titles. Now that she was here, she hoped to return again and again.
But her presence today was not due to her own recognizance. Faith struggled to think of what she could do to ensure a return invitation of her own.
Thus far she had yet to express any of her views aloud. More correctly, she had yet to speak at all. Faith was not shy with her family, not shy with the Grenvilles, not shy when she spoke for hours in front of a group of two dozen schoolchildren.
But this was something else. A dream so close to her grasp it was in danger of popping.
She gripped her book tighter in her lap. If she spoke out of turn, she and her unfashionable opinions would be roundly rejected. There would be no more book clubs.
However, if she remained quiet, she would be completely forgettable. An opinionless mouse would not receive a second glance, much less an invitation to return.
The question was achieving just the right balance to join the conversation.
“I think there should have been more kissing,” announced Bryony with her characteristically scandalous flair.
“Kissing!” exclaimed Lady Roundtree. “In a romance novel?”
“That wouldn’t be gothic, but scandalous!”
“But perchance a better ending, no?”
“Imagine if she kissed him instead of fainting…”
“Then he would never have preferred gambling!”
“What say you, Miss Digby?” Bryony twisted toward Faith, he
r eyes laughing at the lively discord she had sown. “To what lengths should our dear Emily have gone to ensure Valancourt be more attracted to her than to the gaming tables?”
“None,” Faith said, far more vehemently than she had intended. “If he is not sufficiently charmed with who and what she is, he does not deserve to take more from her than she is ready to give.”
“Well said!” Mrs. Fairfax clapped her hands together. “If only the rakes of London were half as wise as Miss Digby.”
Faith sagged in relief that her outspoken opinion had been accepted.
“I’ve a splendid idea!” Bryony banged her spoon against her saucer for attention. “We should have Miss Digby select the next title. Her library is even larger than Prinney’s, and she has read every single book in it.”
“Oh, is it true? If so, I am vexingly jealous,” Mrs. Fairfax said in delight. “Do say you will invite each of us over to browse your wonderful collection.”
“I… That is… If you like, you are more than welcome,” Faith stuttered. “Although I am not certain any library can be half as wonderful as Miss Grenville would have you believe.”
“Not true,” Bryony countered with sparkling eyes. She held up her palm to the blond woman on Faith’s other side. “Just ask Mrs. Turner.”
Mrs. Turner blushed. “I knew my husband was The One when I discovered he had built a library just for me.”
Faith smiled shyly. “It sounds like you chose very wisely.”
“Do you spend every afternoon enjoying the fruits of his labor?” Mrs. Fairfax asked.
“I used to,” Mrs. Turner replied, seeming chagrined. “But now that the children are older, I find myself dedicating an extraordinary amount of time to determining whether increased tutorage or finishing school would afford them the greater benefit.”
“Dreadful to decide, is it not?” Faith blurted before she could stop herself. “Both are splendid choices with strikingly different advantages. The hiring of governesses and tutors allows one to select each instructor with great care and provide the child with one-on-one attention, whereas finishing school grants them a plethora of group activities, the chance to make friends, the ability to learn and grow with others.”
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