Redemption of the Duke (11 page)

“You have discussed marriage?” Lady Duncan said, obviously surprised.

“He will not, of course. He is too proud for that. But he has made it clear that he
feels himself beneath me, and will not pursue anything more than friendship. Are my
wishes so unimportant?”

Lady Sophia turned imploring eyes on Faith, who was surprised to be included in this
family conversation.

“Of course your wishes are important,” Faith began cautiously, “but if he has strong
opinions and beliefs, it might be difficult to alter them.”

“But not impossible?” Lady Sophia said with hope.

Faith gave Lady Duncan an imploring glance, but her employer only gestured with her
hand.

“I do not know, my lady,” Faith finally said. “Are not men like us in many ways? Some
men can be reasoned with and others will always hold firm to their first convictions.”

Lady Sophia sat silently for several minutes, sipping her tea. “Very well, I will
hope that Mr. Percy can be reasoned with.”

“Do you plan to persuade the man to ask for your hand in marriage?” Lady Duncan asked,
one eyebrow climbing toward her turban.

“No, not at all. But I will make him see that he cannot do without me.”

“And how can you
make
that happen?” Faith asked, trying to hide her skepticism. “Because if he does not
call on you . . .”

“Oh, he doesn’t need to call upon me. We see each other often enough when he is in
town. And next time, he will see me showing my interest in another man. Perhaps jealousy
will combat his ridiculous class-consciousness.”

“And what about the man you falsely flatter?” Lady Duncan said, frowning. “You have
not given that enough thought.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I will talk to Lord Shenstone about it. We understand each other
well. He will go along with me in the ruse.”

Faith did not think it all a good idea to court another man in public, especially
not someone as jaded as Lord Shenstone seemed to be, but it was not her place to judge
Lady Sophia. She’d never judge
anybody.

She waited for Lady Duncan to object, but the older woman simply cocked her head and
spoke mildly. “Give this deep thought, my dear. You don’t want to do something that
might hurt your family—or yourself.”

“I certainly won’t hurt anyone,” Lady Sophia insisted. “And why would I hurt my brother,
newly returned from a situation he won’t even discuss with me?”

And it was obvious who was hurting in that sibling relationship.

The young woman again turned to Faith. “Your brother was in the army. Did he talk
to you about it?”

Faith was surprised as sadness and frustration warred inside her. Lady Duncan’s eyes
went wide with sudden sympathy, even as Lady Sophia gasped.

“Oh, my dear Miss Cooper, I cannot believe I asked that of you. Do forgive me.”

“Please, there’s nothing to forgive. It was an honest question. But in truth, my brother
and I weren’t close, and his letters from India were infrequent at best. So no, he
did not discuss anything important with me.”

“But if he’d have come home to you, he might have.”

“I don’t believe so, but then again, my brother is nothing like yours. He did not
care about my opinion. But I do know that some men will not bring up tragic memories
for fear of hurting the ones they love.”

“I know. I tell myself that, but . . . I believe he’s hurting himself keeping it all
bottled inside.”

And there was nothing to say to that. Faith knew his secrets, knew his guilt, knew
why he didn’t speak of it. It was strange to know more about the man than his own
sister.

She knew too much about the Duke of Rothford. She hoped it wouldn’t put a strain on
her relationship with the rest of his family.

Chapter 10

T
wo nights later, the duchess hosted her first dinner party since Faith’s arrival,
and Faith was forced to wear a gown of Lady Sophia’s, since the young woman had already
gone to the trouble of having several quickly altered by her dressmaker.

Faith stared at herself in the full-length mirror in her room and felt far too revealed.
Oh, the top of the bodice was a decent height, and the peacock-blue damask was modest,
but it had been more than a year since she’d allowed herself to be so . . . displayed.
She’d gotten used to the layers of petticoats that hid her waist, the old-fashioned
cut and bulk of extra material like armor. Lady Sophia’s “old” gowns were simply from
a season or two ago, and they hugged the newer, lighter corset she insisted Faith
use. The young woman had been so delighted with the effect, even had her own lady’s
maid style Faith’s hair as a learning moment for Ellen, but Faith could not rejoice.

She didn’t want the duke to look at her, to wonder if she was displaying herself for
him after the way he’d touched her. She’d been avoiding him, and she sensed with relief
that he was doing the same.

At last, she could delay no longer and made her appearance in the drawing room to
await their dinner guests. Lady Sophia clapped her hands together upon seeing Faith,
who would have gladly shrunk back out the door at drawing notice.

“Oh, do come here, Miss Cooper!” Lady Sophia cried. “I knew that gown would look wonderful
on you.”

The duchess glanced at Faith briefly, then looked away again with her usual bland
indifference. Faith couldn’t even be offended; the woman treated everyone but her
children the same way.

“You know Frances would love to see you arrayed so prettily,” Lady Sophia continued.
“You really should run up to the nursery.”

“Excuse me?” Lady Tunbridge said coldly, eyeing Faith. “My daughter is not to be disturbed
so late in the evening because of a
companion’s
fancy. She needs to learn to treat servants with the polite and appropriate distance.”

“Faith is not a servant, Marian,” Lady Duncan stressed with exasperation. “And it
wasn’t her idea, was it?”

Faith wished she could step right back out of the room. She didn’t like calling attention
to herself. She hovered in the doorway, wondering how she could get out of the evening,
almost wishing she were back at the Warburtons washing Adelia’s underthings.

“Good evening, ladies,” said the duke, right behind her.

She froze, glancing back over her shoulder. He was too close, so tall and broad, and
she felt overly exposed with her fashionable gown. His arrogance might let him think
she’d dressed up for
him.
If he looked over her shoulder, could he see down her—

She quickly stepped to the side to allow him entrance, and although he gave her a
second glance, all he did was nod in passing and greet his mother with a kiss on the
cheek.

Faith let out a shaky breath and wished for a corner to hide in. But the guests started
arriving as if on cue, including Lord Shenstone. She saw Lady Sophia sizing him up,
preparing to propose her scandalous attempt to make Mr. Percy jealous. The young woman
was only distracted by the arrival of her friend, Lady Emmeline.

The dinner went well, and the men seated on either side of Faith treated her much
more respectfully than at the last party she’d attended in her dowdy clothes. Though
the duchess had made certain all knew she was Lady Duncan’s companion, they still
conversed with polite interest, and she tried to relax.

The duke glanced her way once or twice, but he seemed a master at portraying indifference.
And perhaps it
was
indifference. She’d made it clear he was to keep away from her—maybe he was unused
to such rejection and was now dismissive of her. It was as it should be. But her stomach
was tight with nerves and even disappointment, which made her terribly disappointed
in herself.

When the gentlemen joined the ladies in the drawing room after dinner, she was sitting
near Lady Duncan and her friends, safely out of the way. She was able to watch Lady
Sophia move easily through the men, bantering, laughing, and all of it without seeming
like a flirt. She had a gift for putting people at ease that Faith admired. Lady Emmeline,
aided by the duchess, remained within Rothford’s circle, lovely in pink silk, looking
upon him with an expression of happiness, if not outright worship.

But there was one gentleman, Lord Fillingham, who even Lady Sophia had a difficult
time enjoying. He drank to excess, commented too loudly on subjects he should not,
and began to pester the duke about how the army had improved his fencing.

“Shenstone says you quite defeat him every time,” Lord Fillingham said, his dark hair
falling over his forehead untidily. “I can understand that, of course, being that
Shenstone does not have a high degree of skill.”

Lord Shenstone was talking with Lady Sophia, but he heard this and looked over her
head. “Fillingham, you and I have never had the pleasure of fencing,” he said with
faint sarcasm. “How disappointed I am that you are so quick to judge.”

Lord Fillingham ignored him. “Come, Rothford, tell us of your prowess with the sword.”

“I am a cavalryman, Fillingham,” the duke said coolly. “I need not explain my skill.
But perhaps it’s time to call for your carriage.”

People were looking at them both, whispering together in low voices.

“My carriage?” Lord Fillingham said, gesturing widely. “Why, the night is young, is
it not? I think you want to distract all your guests from my challenge.”

“There’s a challenge in there somewhere?” Rothford asked, his lips quirked in a smile
that never touched his eyes.

Faith saw Lady Duncan stand up, bracing herself on her cane as if to march toward
her nephew’s adversary. Faith hurried to her side.

“My lady, perhaps you should let the duke handle this,” she said in a low voice.

“Yes,” Lord Fillingham said, rounding on her, “let’s let the duke handle this.” Over
his shoulder, he said, “I’m challenging you to practice your skills on me, Your Grace.”

But he kept looking at Faith, which she found confusing and embarrassing.

“Then come to my fencing academy tomorrow. We have all the equipment we’ll need, and
all the space to exercise, will we not?”

“No, not tomorrow, tonight. Do you not agree that it would liven up a dull dinner,
Miss—what is your name again?”

She took a deep breath. “Miss Cooper.”

“Of the barrel-making Coopers?” he asked, laughing at his own joke.

She heard Lady Duncan draw in an angry breath, but Faith put a hand on her arm.

“My ancestors probably did make barrels, my lord. And they bettered themselves to
become gentlemen. So I have deep pride in my name.”

And suddenly the duke was there, standing between her and Lord Fillingham as if the
man had threatened her with bodily injury instead of attempting an insult.

“Very well, I accept the challenge,” he said, mixing both affability and steel beneath
his words. “Let’s roll back the carpets and delight our audience.”

She opened her mouth to stop him, but suddenly realized she had no authority to do
so and should certainly not call any more attention to the fact that he’d been offended
on her behalf. It was a minor slight—he should have ignored it. Now he had the members
of his family frowning their bewilderment at him, and Lady Sophia glanced at Faith
in confusion.

The other male guests started talking in happy tones as they stripped off their coats
to move furniture and roll back carpets. The duke returned from somewhere with a set
of blades, which he held out to Lord Fillingham.

“Your choice, sir, even though you challenged me.”

“And I’ll take you up on that, Rothford.” He chose one and slashed it through the
air, making Lord Shenstone step back. “Ah, the safety tip already buttoned on. You’re
taking no chances.”

“There are ladies present, after all,” the duke replied blandly. “The sight of your
blood might bother them.”

Lord Fillingham just laughed. “Who wishes to be my second?”

“This isn’t a duel,” Lord Shenstone said, frowning. He glanced at the duke. “Are you
certain this is a good idea? He might have overimbibed.”

“He hasn’t,” the duke answered, even as he stripped off his coat, encouraging the
titters of the women. “I remember him drunk. No, he’s been hinting at this ever since
I returned, and tonight he crossed a line. If he wants to be so publicly put down,
I’ll gratify him.”

The duke gave her one brief glance that she felt clear to her toes. He wouldn’t have
agreed to the challenge but for the silly slight against her, she was certain. What
was he thinking to call attention to her like that?

“Oh, this will be fun,” Lady Duncan said, rubbing her hands together gleefully.

Faith almost gaped at her. “Fun? Someone could be hurt.”

“Pshaw, my nephew won’t allow that to happen.”

Surely Lady Duncan knew what he was capable of, but Faith felt a little sick inside.
She stayed beside the elderly woman, who could barely stand still, she was so excited.

And then the two men stepped out into the center of the floor and faced each other.
Lord Fillingham grinned, and even the duke offered a faint, confident smile. Then
they both raised their swords and stepped back.

“Shouldn’t they be wearing padding of some kind?” Faith murmured.

“The tips are covered—do you see that?”

Faith didn’t care—the edges of the rapiers were sharp, weren’t they? But she couldn’t
say another thing. Otherwise she’d sound far too nervous on the duke’s behalf.

And it was soon obvious there was no need. He met Lord Fillingham’s sword with confidence,
parrying each thrust, even jumping a low swing once, to the oohs of the onlookers.
The steel clashed and rang out, and soon he was driving Lord Fillingham back across
the room, until the man was bent backward over the grand piano.

And then the duke stepped back and waited for his opponent to right himself. That
seemed to make Lord Fillingham angry, for he ran and slashed, and Rothford neatly
stepped aside, then caught him by the arm when he would have fallen into the audience.

Rothford held his arm from behind and said something quietly into his ear.

Lord Fillingham nodded, and when the duke released him, he kept his sword low and
bowed stiltedly. “You have won, Your Grace. I cannot deny your prowess with the blade.”

The duke nodded, then put his hand out for the sword. Lord Fillingham offered it to
him hilt first. As the duke took the swords out of the room, Lord Fillingham forced
a grin and stared about him.

“We put on a good show, did we not? Come, lads, let’s set the duchess’s drawing room
back to rights.”

He led the men in replacing the carpet and furniture, but the other guests did not
stay long. By twos and fours they left, giving Lord Fillingham pitying looks, off
to spread the news of the latest little scandal. Faith watched as the duke spoke to
several guests, including Lady Emmeline, who breathlessly praised his skill and swore
she’d never seen two men in combat.

“We weren’t in combat,” he said shortly. “True combat is far more uncivilized, desperate,
and bloody.”

One of the last to leave the room was Lady Duncan, who seemed to want to offer consolation
to her nephew, though she didn’t understand his grim mood.

“You did nothing wrong, Adam,” she assured him. “Put on a good show when that lout
wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

The duke glanced at Faith and away, and she knew in her bones he put on that “show”
because of her.

She was escorting Lady Duncan upstairs when the woman said, “Oh, drat, I left my needlework
in the drawing room. Will you fetch it and leave it on the table outside my room?
I fear I will be falling into bed before you can return. Such excitement!”

By the time Faith walked back into the drawing room, only Rothford was there, leaning
against the mantel, a drink in one hand as he stared at the coal grate.

He looked up and met her gaze. “Forget something?”

She nodded and searched several sofas and chairs until she spotted it, then held the
needlework up.

He took a healthy swallow of his drink, looking back into the hearth. And for some
reason, she couldn’t make herself leave.

“Your Grace . . . are you well?”

He nodded, glanced up again, then for the first time that evening, perused her gown
in a leisurely but bold manner. She inhaled at the sudden heat that seemed to make
her corset too tight.

“I couldn’t say it earlier, but you look lovely in that gown.”

“It is a gift from your sister. I promise, it was not my choice, but she insisted—”

“And she was right to insist. You needed garments, and the improvement is striking.”

She lifted her chin. “I do not want to look striking.”

“I know. But you were striking even in ill-fitting gowns.”