Faith (13 page)

“Gareth.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I wish you would always call me Gareth,” he said, then explained. “I haven’t been a ‘my lord’ all that long, you know.”

“All right,” she said, and began again. “Gareth, I would like very much to do my part to help out around here.”

He gave her a steady look. “Right now, princess, your part is to simply get well.”

She shook her head stubbornly. “I think if I rest this afternoon, I should be able to manage dinner for us.”

“You don’t have to do that,” he said, but Faith held up a hand.

“I insist,” she said. “Now help me up and I’ll go rest for a couple of hours. Will you please wake me for tea?”

Gareth stood and held out a hand. With a last sweet smile she took the offered help, allowed him to assist her to her feet, and left the room. Gareth just watched her go, a bemused expression on his face.

Twenty

F
aith hummed happily as she dried the last plate and set it on the shelf at the far end of the room. She tried lifting the tub of wash water to take and pour outside but found she was still too weak. She looked over her shoulder and saw Gareth just coming in from the other room.

“My lord,” she began, then remembered. “Gareth,” she corrected, blushing a bit. The way he was looking at her made her feel both flattered and flustered. “Could you help me lift this?”

He set the book he was carrying down on the table and walked over. Without a word, he lifted the heavy tub and carried it out of doors. She heard the water splash as he dumped it. He came back inside, closed the door, and gave her a steady look.

“It’s time we talked.”

Faith felt her heart leap. “Yes,” she agreed. She spread the cloth she’d used to dry the dishes on the back of a chair. Nervously, she smoothed it so it would dry evenly, then messed it up again by gripping the chair.

Gareth watched, his heart tugging at the little gestures that betrayed his wife’s trepidation. He would have to win her slowly, he mused with a wry smile, reluctantly amused by the irony of the fact that he was now perfectly willing to abide by the agreement he’d struck with her sister.

When Faith delicately cleared her throat, shaking him from his momentary thoughts, he walked across the room and moved the comfortable overstuffed chair a bit nearer the fire. “Sit here,” he offered. “The night air grows chilly.”

Faith sat on the edge of the chair and watched warily as her husband settled on the couch. Tension, almost audible, crackled through the air until she could no longer stand it. “Shall I go first?”

Gareth sat back and crossed his legs. “By all means.”

Faith took a deep breath. “I should have been honest with you as soon as I discovered you were angry,” she began. She paused a moment, considered her words, and plunged ahead. “I didn’t think you’d believe me, and then after a while, I became angry, too.” She lowered her voice almost to a whisper, and Gareth had to lean forward to catch her next words. “I didn’t ask Grace to speak for me.”

“I know that, princess.”

Her head snapped upright. “But you were so upset—,” she began.

“And stubborn and hurt and stupid,” he agreed, cutting in. “It took me a couple of days to realize, but I knew it was out of character for you to do such a thing. You’d have come to me yourself.”

“Grace only meant to help,” Faith explained hastily.

“I know, princess.”

Faith was silent, her mind spinning to come up with a logical way out of this uncomfortable situation. After only a moment, she gave up. “So what do we do now?”

Gareth smiled wryly. “Suppose we didn’t get married.”

“But we did,” Faith pointed out.

“All right, then. Suppose we never went out to Amanda’s gazebo that night.”

Faith drew her eyebrows together, less inclined to interrupt. “Go on.”

“Where would we be?”

Faith’s mind flashed back to the ride in the park they’d taken the day he’d presented her with the bouquet tree. “You’d be courting me, and I’d be discouraging you.”

Gareth leaned back and laughed. “Perhaps. How about we start there, then?” He quirked an eyebrow. “I’ve always enjoyed a challenge.” Standing, he gallantly held out an arm and eyed her with a droll expression.

Faith laughed. “What are you doing?”

“I’m escorting you home, Miss Ackerly.” He tipped his head toward the bedroom and winked.

Faith caught his playful mood and stood also, placing a hand lightly on his arm. Solemnly, they strolled around the couch to the door. There, Gareth turned and brought her hand to his lips.

“Thank you for a lovely evening, Miss Faith.”

She stifled a smile and sank into a graceful curtsey.

“May I call upon you tomorrow morning?”

Faith nodded regally, a hint of laughter in her gray eyes, and turned to walk into the bedroom.

She went through her normal bedtime preparations thoughtfully. The day had been so pleasant, so normal. She smiled softly, looked toward the door, and wondered what her husband was thinking. As she turned down the covers and slipped into bed, she knew a small feeling of regret. With a sigh, she reached for the unused pillow next to hers, wrapped her arms around it, and tucked it under her chin.

Strangely, she suddenly felt quite alone.

Long after the scuffling sounds of Gareth preparing for bed in the other room ended, Faith lay sleepless in the large bed, images of her husband filtering through her mind. Every time she reached for sleep, another vision would pop up and disturb her anew. She closed her eyes only to see Gareth bowing to her on a moonlit balcony or comforting her in the hedge maze. Or he was lifting his head after kissing her, his eyes dark with a need she didn’t fully understand.

Faith reached up blindly, grabbed her pillow, and smashed it over her face. But still the thoughts paraded faster and faster: Gareth, grim as he spoke his vows, then rising nude from the bed at the inn. Gareth, bent over her bed with worry, a fire poker in one hand, a dripping soupspoon in the other.

“Bloody hell,” she muttered, and sat up. The moonlight streamed in the window, bathing the room in a soothing, silvery light, at odds with the turmoil inside Faith’s head. Quietly she got out of bed, crept to the doorway, and peeked around the side into the other room. She could hear Gareth’s breathing but couldn’t see over the back of the couch. She tiptoed closer and peered over the edge.

He was sound asleep. Slumber lent a boyish cast to his handsome face, melting away minute lines from the worries of the day. He was smiling slightly, as though his dreams were pleasant. Faith felt the corners of her own mouth tug upward in response.

He slept bare chested, the firelight playing across his skin, casting shadows and highlights upon his shoulders and midsection. His skin was lightly bronzed, and Faith felt a sudden urge to reach down and touch him. She bit her lip and glanced at his face. He hadn’t moved.

Hesitantly, she reached down and lightly touched his stomach with her index finger. The blanket lay at an angle across his lower abdomen, and Faith had another wayward recollection of the one time she’d seen him completely unclothed. Did he always sleep that way? She looked at her finger, resting lightly on his stomach, then watched in disbelief as it seemed to move of its own accord down to the blanket. Cautiously, she slipped the digit under the edge of the covering and began to lift, glancing briefly back up at his face—

She started in shock and dropped the blanket as if it were a hot coal. Gareth was wide awake.

Thoroughly embarrassed, Faith gasped and took a step back. Gareth pinned her in place with his eyes, his expression hungry, and she found herself unable to look away.

“Faith,” he said in a sleep-roughened voice, and held out a hand.

She hesitated a bare moment, then put her hand in his. She felt that odd, tingling thrill shoot up her arm as his fingers closed around hers. He tugged her closer to the back of the couch and sat up, his eyes locked on hers. “Gareth,” she whispered back.

He let go of her hand and put both of his hands on her waist. Effortlessly, he pulled her up and over the back of the couch, nestling her securely on his lap. Faith slipped both arms around his neck and buried her face in his chest. Gareth stroked the tumbled mass of golden curls that cascaded down her back.

“Can’t sleep, princess?”

Wordless, she shook her head and pressed an ear to his chest, loving the comforting warmth, the rough feel of the hair against her cheek, the sound of his steady heartbeat.

“Would you like to tell me what’s on your mind?”

“No,” she whispered, though she knew that was a lie. “I mean…yes,” she hesitantly amended.

Gareth smiled down at the top of her head. “I’m all ears, sweetheart.”

Faith reveled in the deep baritone of his voice rumbling against her ear. She bit her lip uncertainly. It had always been her way to work things out alone, to calmly and logically assess the facts of a given situation, and then to act upon her assessment. Now, for the first time, she was confronted with something that required she work in tandem with someone else—with the man to whom she had pledged her life. The man who held her in his arms.

Gareth patiently waited out her silence, allowing Faith to grapple with her thoughts, feeling instinctively that she was on the verge of surrender. He had to let her take that step alone. After a few moments, she began speaking.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said in a halting voice, “because…" She paused, and Gareth held his breath. Her next words were said in a voice so low that he wasn’t sure he heard correctly. “Because I was thinking of you.”

His heart began pounding with desire, but he said nothing. Softly, he put a finger under her chin and tilted her face up to his. Her gray eyes were huge and frightened. “Tell me what scares you, princess,” he whispered.

A wistful expression crept into their silver depths, momentarily chasing away the fear. She sighed. “Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve wanted to be married. To preside over my own household, to have children.” She stopped, bit her lip. “To be a wife.”

“You are a wife. You’re
my
wife.”

Faith dosed her eyes, then slowly opened them and looked at Gareth, vulnerability shining from their depths. “Your brother adores Amanda. Trevor cherishes Grace beyond all else. I always intended…
hoped,
that is…” Her voice trailed off and she looked down.

“That you would marry for love?”

Slowly she nodded, then swiftly looked up, her expression earnest. “I know it isn’t fashionable, but I want more than balls and emeralds, gowns and allowances. I didn’t grow up rich, but I grew up happy, and happiness is far more important to me than money.” Faith looked around the small room and confided, “I was actually pleased to find out that you live in a small home, that all the talk of your vast fortune was gossip and speculation.”

Gareth saw the sincerity in her face and felt something wrench inside him. He wanted nothing more than to protect and coddle and spoil this young woman he had married, to fulfill her wishes for the mere recompense of her smile. With almost any other girl, such a task would have been easy. Jewels, gowns, pretty horses, the comforts of money. This girl wanted love. And she had very nearly said she didn’t think she would ever have that with him.

He cleared his throat. “Don’t you think you could love me, Faith?” He smiled to hide the importance of her answer.

Faith bit her lip again. Gareth had asked his question in a rather offhand voice, and his smile was as warm as ever, but something in his eyes told her that her next words meant more than he cared to admit. She pushed herself up off his chest and sat upright, her legs still across his lap. Not entirely certain how to answer, she tilted her head and considered. What she already felt for this man was strong. But what was it? Was it the beginnings of love?

Gareth watched his wife closely as she sat, her brow furrowed, biting her lip. The silence between them grew. He tilted his head in the same direction as hers, leaned forward, and tried to catch her eye. He bit back a chuckle. She looked exactly like a little girl unsure if she was in trouble or not. She raised her eyebrows and chanced a look back at him out of the corner of her eye. At that, Gareth could no longer hold back his laughter.

Faith looked indignant. “It isn’t funny, my lord!” she said in a reproving voice. “I was trying to find a way to spare your feelings.”

Still chuckling, he settled back against the pillows, pulling her down and nestling her in front of him. “Don’t worry about my feelings, princess,” he whispered, drawing the blanket over them. “You
will
learn to love me.”

With a content little sigh, Faith wriggled a bit to get comfortable and dosed her eyes. Within moments she had drifted off to sleep in her husband’s arms.

Twenty-one

G
areth awoke alone on the couch and listened for a moment. All was still, silent. He could sense, even without getting up to go look in the other room, that Faith was not in the house. Rolling onto his back, he smiled broadly, contemplating the deep pleasure he was going to take in wooing his wife. He laced his fingers behind his head, pictured long walks in the sun, picnics by a shady brook, and quiet evenings spent reading by the fire.

Eventually, his thoughts turned to the fact that she had no idea of his fortune. A small pang of guilt struck him. Faith hadn’t just resigned herself to being a country wife to an impoverished aristocrat; she was almost
embracing
the role. And though he certainly hadn’t meant to mislead her into that way of thinking, the knowledge that she did think thus was incredibly endearing. It charmed him that although she did not love him, she hadn’t married him for his money He grinned. The look on her face when she realized the truth would be priceless.

Gareth relaxed for another moment, then sat up and swung his feet to the floor, the blanket draped carelessly across his lap. He ran a hand through his tousled hair, stopped, and looked toward the open window, smiling as Faith’s modulated voice reached his ears. She was talking to someone—a man—and they were coming closer. A moment later, he recognized the voice of Dr. Matthew Meadows.

He contemplated making a run for the bedroom and then realized he’d never make it in time. Quickly he rearranged the blanket to cover his naked midsection and sat back just as the door opened.

“I think he’s still asleep, Dr. Meadows,” Faith was saying in a low voice as she opened the door. “But I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you.” She took several steps into the room and stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Gareth sitting and smiling at them. The basket of cut wildflowers she carried landed on the floor with a thud.

Matthew walked in right behind her. He looked curiously over her head, registered the fact that Gareth was obviously nude beneath the blanket, and glanced down at Faith, who was blushing. Silence stretched between them all, grew thick in the small room. Matthew finally cleared his throat to remind his hosts that he was there.

Faith visibly jumped in reaction to the unexpected sound. She mumbled something about needing to cut some more flowers and began backing toward the door. She stepped on Matthew’s foot, stammered an apology, and pushed past, elbowing him in the midsection in the process. Her blush deepening visibly, she fled the cottage, quite forgetting both the basket and the scissors with which she’d been snipping her prizes.

Matthew watched her go with a puzzled expression, then turned and quirked an eyebrow at the marquess, who smiled broadly.

“Good morning, Meadows,” Gareth said pleasantly. He sat back comfortably on the couch and crossed his bare ankles.

Matthew smiled. “I believe you just frightened my patient away, my lord,” he said.

Gareth chuckled. “Remember this day, Meadows,” he said. “You are one of the few people in all of England ever to have seen my wife flustered.”

The doctor sat down in the chair across from him. “Well. Now I find myself at loose ends. I actually came to ascertain how your wife was recovering from her bump on the head. I see the scratch on her cheek is healing nicely. She likely won’t even have a scar.” He looked over his shoulder at the door again. “Do you think she will come back in?”

Gareth shook his head with a smile. “My wife is no coward, but I believe she’ll wait until you leave before she kills me.”

Matthew nodded sagely. “Most prudent. No witnesses.”

Gareth laughed. “Prudence,” he stated, “is one of Faith’s most endearing qualities.”

The doctor propped one booted ankle on his knee and gave Gareth a probing look. “I knew you’d gone to London with vague thoughts of finding a wife, but I didn’t expect you to accomplish it in such short order.”

Gareth raised an eyebrow. “Well,” he admitted, “as to that, Faith will be the first to tell you that she compromised me quite beyond recall.”

Matthew snorted. “Somehow I doubt that.” When Gareth smiled but didn’t elaborate, Matthew waited a moment, then changed the subject. “How is reconstruction on Rothmere coming along?”

Gareth shrugged. “I haven’t had a chance to make it up there yet. I was planning on walking up in the early afternoon with Faith.” He frowned. “After I tell her the estate exists, that is.”

Matthew looked incredulous. “Surely she doesn’t think
this
is your home?”

Gareth looked a bit sheepish. “Actually, that’s precisely what she thinks. I only realized she had that impression last night.” He sobered as he thought again of how little they really knew about each other.

Matthew gave his aristocratic friend another long look and stood. “I have other patients I’ve promised to call upon this morning,” he stated. “But I’m happy to have found the marchioness so well recovered.”

Gareth started to stand, but Matthew waved him off. “I’ll see myself out, thank you,” he said with a pointed look at Gareth’s blanket.

Gareth watched the physician leave, then got up and walked to the bedroom to get dressed. As he passed the open window, he heard the sudden sharp sound of a breaking twig and the scuffling sound of running feet. Smiling inwardly, he stepped over to the window and looked outside, although he already knew he wouldn’t find anyone out there. Sure enough, all was quiet.

Two hours later, he was torn between worry and annoyance. Faith hadn’t come back after he’d heard the twig snap at the window, although she had to know that Matthew had left. The window was on the same side of the house as the door, so she’d more than likely watched him leave and crept back to peek in and see what Gareth was doing.

His annoyance grew again, then abruptly waned. She probably knew he’d heard her at the window. Perhaps she was out there, embarrassed to come back in and face him. A sudden vision of Faith sitting outside on a rock, biting her lip, invaded his mind. A bit chagrined at his annoyance, Gareth walked out the front door to look for her.

Ignoring the drive that wound through the woods for nearly a mile and ultimately led to Rothmere, he opted instead to take a small path that ran along the edge of the woods to a small brook. There was a bridge there, and a small clearing. Gareth was fairly certain he would find Faith sitting there, fighting some small internal battle.

Three minutes after Gareth disappeared down the path, Faith walked out of the woods and back inside the small cottage. As soon as she entered, she felt the looming emptiness of the dwelling. Gareth wasn’t there. She bent and picked up the basket of flowers she’d dropped on the floor earlier, fingered their forlorn petals, and sadly gathered the wilted things together and threw them away.

Feeling strangely morose, she looked around the small room, contemplating her reaction to being here by herself Loneliness was a new feeling for Faith, who had always, even as a child, valued time spent in solitude. She walked toward the bedroom, trailing her fingers along the back of the couch where she’d slept with Gareth the night before.

As she entered the bedroom, she glanced at the unmade bed and found herself yawning. Suddenly, the rumpled covers looked very inviting, so with a sigh Faith kicked off her slippers and stepped out of her simple morning gown. Clad in only her chemise, she climbed into the bed and burrowed down into the softness, hugging a pillow to her chest.

She yawned once more, murmuring, “If I go to sleep, Gareth will be back sooner.”

With that oddly comforting thought, she blinked once and drifted off.

Gareth returned to the house nearly an hour later, now genuinely worried. He’d combed the woods near the stream but had found no sign of Faith. He did find what looked like the remnants of a fire from a recent campsite and made a mental note to hire a man to patrol the grounds for trespassers.

He took a last look around the small clearing and jogged up the road to Rothmere. He didn’t pass her on the way, however, and none of the men working on renovations to the estate remembered seeing a young blonde woman at any time that morning. He even climbed up and joined the roofers, hoping he would be able to see her from the greater height. He was able to make out the roof of the caretaker’s cottage, nestled between the trees nearly a mile away, but his wife wasn’t in sight.

Gareth climbed down and sent one of the workers to the village to locate Dr. Meadows. As the man set off at a run, Gareth began the easy jog back to the cottage to change into riding gear. His greatest fear was that her head injury had been worse than Matthew supposed, that she had wandered off somewhere, entirely forgetting who or where she was. Gareth had heard of that happening and had seen men with similar injuries do incredibly odd things during his time in the war.

He reached the cottage and strode inside, tugging his shirttails out of his trousers on his way to the bedroom to change. He walked directly to the wardrobe, pulled out the first pair of breeches he saw, and selected a comfortable shirt to match. Reaching into the bottom of the wardrobe, he pulled out a pair of riding boots, tossed everything on a chair, and shrugged out of his shirt.

His mind was spinning. She’d probably wandered into the village, he told himself, and was perfectly safe in the bosom of some kindly family. Mentally cursing himself for not going there first, he grabbed his riding boots and headed for the bed, intending to sit on the edge while he changed.

He took two short steps and stopped. Instant relief flooded through him when he saw the slight form curled beneath the covers, her back turned toward him, her long golden hair spilling across the pillow and off the side of the bed. He took another step in her direction, then heard hoofbeats coming rapidly up the short drive from the direction of the village. Sighing, Gareth walked through the living room and stepped outside to find Matthew securing his horse to a post.

“What has happened?”

“It’s fine now,” Gareth replied. “I misplaced my wife for a time, but it appears she decided to come home while I was out looking for her.

Matthew gave Gareth an odd look. “And why did you summon me, your lordship? I’m a physician, not a Bow Street runner.”

Gareth looked sheepish. “I thought her head injury might have caused her to become disoriented.”

Matthew privately thought that the marquess himself seemed a tad disoriented, but wisely kept his thoughts to himself. “Where is she now?”

“Asleep in bed.”

“Well, since I’m here and you frightened her off before I could examine her this morning, I suppose I’ll have a look.” The doctor followed Gareth inside and to the bedroom.

Faith had rolled onto her back while the men were talking outside, but she was still sound asleep. Matthew gingerly felt the much diminished lump on her head and ran a finger lightly across the almost-healed scratch on her cheek. He tilted his head and leaned down to listen to her deep, even breathing. Gareth stood silently watching. Matthew looked at him and cocked his head toward the living room.

“She’s fine, your lordship,” the physician said in a low voice when they were in the other room. “The swelling is almost completely gone, there is no infection in the scratch on her cheek, she’s sleeping peacefully, and there appears to be no memory loss. I really don’t think you have anything further to worry about.” He grinned suddenly. “Unless you plan to climb on the roof again, as the man you sent told me you’ve already done. With your record of construction-related injuries, my lord, you’re lucky you didn’t fall and break your neck.”

Gareth smiled and walked him to the door. “The outdoor repairs to the manor are nearly finished. All the roofers are doing now is detail work on the eaves. Most of the remaining work is inside.”

“Well, I’ve no doubt you’ll manage to require my services even so,” said Matthew wryly. “Please give my regards to your wife when she wakes, my lord.”

Gareth watched his friend mount and ride off in the direction of the village, then turned to go inside. A flash of silver under one of the windows caught his eye. Curious, he walked over to get a closer look. It looked like a stud from a man’s shirt, so highly polished he knew it couldn’t have been there very long.

Gareth squatted and reached to pick it up, but froze. The ground beneath the window had just been turned in preparation for planting and was still damp and soft from the recent rains. Clearly outlined, just to the left of the window, was a man’s boot print. In the middle of it was a broken twig.

Gareth stood, the shirt stud in his hand, and scanned the trees surrounding the house, already knowing there would be nothing for him to see. He recalled the sound of the twig breaking he’d heard at the window that morning, a sound he’d attributed to Faith’s standing at the window looking in. He thought, too, of the abandoned camp in the woods near the stream. With a last glance into the woods, Gareth made a fist around the stud, went inside, and closed the door.

He carefully placed the stud on the mantel over the fireplace and quietly made his way back to Faith’s side. She hadn’t moved, so he pulled a chair to the side of the bed and sat down to wait for her to awaken, his mind switching from the disturbing topic of the unexplained footprint to the disturbing topic of his marriage.

His eyes traveled the length of his wife’s body beneath the covers. Somehow, things had gone badly for them from the beginning. His lips tightened as he thought about the first conversation they’d ever had, then softened into a smile as he recalled the waltz they’d shared on that moonlit balcony. Since that one shared moment, they’d continued their dance—but now they danced around one another like wary opponents in a fencing match.

Not anymore, Gareth silently resolved. One way or another, he would find a happy resolution.