To Wed A Viscount (4 page)

Faith wrinkled her brow. “Jason is putting his coat on inside out?”

“An old gambler's trick. Wearing a garment, usually a coat, reversed is supposed to turn one's luck.” Meredith gave a long, suffering sigh. “I love my brothers to distraction, but they are impossible at times. I often long for the days when they were younger. Despite their constant misadventures, they were at least easier to control.”

Faith knew Meredith far too well to be startled by those odd words, for it had always seemed as if Meredith was more like a mother than sister to her younger brothers. And while Faith acknowledged that there was much about Meredith to be envied—her noble position, her charm, her looks, her kind heart—the responsibility of her two mischievous brothers was hardly something to covet.

Seeing her opportunity, Faith acted swiftly. “Come along,” she said, linking her arm determinedly through her friend's. “I shall walk you to your carriage.”

The two women walked in comfortable silence and chatted deliberately about inconsequential things. When Meredith was settled inside her father's luxurious coach, she leaned far out the open window and grasped Faith's hand.

“Although I have grave reservations about this wild scheme of yours, I realize that you have your heart set on it. So I wish you every success.” Meredith's gaze wavered. “Who knows? If you marry, you will not only keep Mayfair Manor, you will finally break the spinster's curse.”

The amusement brightening Meredith's face made Faith smile. The spinster's curse had been a joke between them for many years, ever since Faith had become engaged at seventeen yet remained unmarried at age eighteen. And nineteen. And now at twenty-four still remained unwed.

Faith had developed a friendly, though not warm, relationship with her fiancé, but over the years Neville had shown little interest in solemnizing their vows. Though longing to be both a wife and mother, Faith often wondered if either would ever come to pass.

When Meredith had too remained single year after year, the spinster's curse was born. Faith had understood her own single state was due to an uninterested fiancé, yet could never come to terms with the idea that Meredith had not been swept off her feet by a handsome, dashing nobleman long ago.

She knew it hadn't been easy for her close friend. In keeping with the eccentricities of her unconventional family, Meredith had been informed by her parents the year she made her debut into society that she would be expected to find her own husband. If he was a man of wealth and nobility, all the better, but that was not a requirement.

Yet Meredith had never really
taken
to society, and after initially beginning her search eagerly for a soul mate, was disappointed greatly with the men the beau monde offered. By and large they showed far more interest in the size of her father's fortune than her. Or even worse, they showed regard only for her beautiful face, not the mind nor the emotions beneath it.

Though they joked of it, the spinster's curse might hold a grain of truth. If they did not marry soon, they would be well and truly on the shelf.

“I shall write you the moment I return from the viscount's home,” Faith promised.

She smiled and waved as Meredith's carriage pulled away. Then she turned, stiffened her back, and started walking. Around the side of the manor house, through the formal gardens, and off to the meadow on the eastern border of the estate. It was a lovely day. The sky was so bright, Faith had to squint when she looked up.

It had rained earlier, and there was still a fair bit of moisture in the air, as a warm spring mist hung over the fields and woodlands. It collected on the leaves and dripped slowly to the ground beneath, sparkling in the golden afternoon sunlight.

Even walking at a brisk pace, and taking every conceivable shortcut, it took over an hour to reach the front doors of the viscount's home. Yet as she stood staring at the tarnished brass knocker adorning the massive wooden doors, an attack of cowardice seized her. Try as she might, Faith could not remember why this had seemed like such a plausible solution an hour ago.

The need to flee came upon her swiftly, and for a moment she thought to act upon it. Yet somehow her feet remained in place. If she left now, there might not be another chance. Faith knew with certainty that both of the viscount's sisters, Elizabeth and Harriet, were away from home, taking their weekly visit with the vicar and his wife.

That was yet another reason why this was the perfect time to come calling. Above all else, she needed this meeting to be private.

Screwing up her courage, Faith lifted the knocker. Her hasty knock was answered by a stiff-necked butler she did not recognize.

“Yes, miss?”

“I've come to see the viscount. Kindly inform him that Miss Faith Linden has arrived.”

Faith used her best haughty aristocratic voice. It sounded horribly pretentious to her own ears, but succeeded in wiping the look of polite disdain from the butler's pinched face.

She waited until he vanished from the hall. Then, lifting her skirts to prevent any rustling, Faith followed stealthily behind the servant, far enough away so he did not hear her, yet close enough not to lose sight of him.

When the butler opened the door to what she thought was the library, she hurried forward.

“No need to announce me,” she said sweetly to the openmouthed servant, as she strode brazenly past him. “Lord Dewhurst and I are old friends.”

“Miss, you cannot go in there,” the butler sputtered. But it was too late. She was already inside. Short of pulling her out by force, the butler had no recourse.

“Gregory, is that you?” an annoyed male voice inquired. “What do you want now?”

Faith's eyes anxiously scanned the large, cavernous room, searching for the owner of the voice, but she was unable to locate the source.

“Miss Linden is here to see you, my lord,” the butler called out tightly. “Apparently on a most urgent matter.”

“Tell her to go away. I'm busy.”

The butler smirked at Faith and backed out the door without uttering another word.

Perhaps she should return at another time. She would not want to prejudice her case by broaching this most delicate subject at an inopportune time.

“My lord?” Faith glanced up at the ornate ceiling and immediately noticed a large water stain marring the detailed plasterwork. The viscount's voice appeared to be coming from somewhere above her head, but she could not see him anywhere. She cleared her throat. “I apologize for my poor timing, but I must speak with you on a matter of utmost urgency. I promise to be as brief as possible.”

There was no reply. It was as if the disembodied voice had vanished. Only silence filled the air. Faith shivered slightly, not knowing whether to feel hopeful or frightened.

Then suddenly he appeared from behind the floor-length draperies that concealed a tall ladder he must have been standing upon. His dark hair had a mussed appearance. He was dressed informally, wearing only tan breeches, black boots, and a white shirt. Yet despite his disheveled state, he was every inch the omnipotent male. Physically superior, with broad shoulders, long, muscular legs, and an expansive chest.

He had been a cute lad, but his adult face was more than handsome, it was also mature and strong featured. His stance was commanding, as befitted a sea captain, and Faith realized that it was a natural progression to go from a mischievous youth to a domineering man.

There was a distinct flicker of annoyance in his gray eyes, but not a hint of recognition. Even though it had been nearly eleven years since Faith had seen him, she knew Griffin Sainthill on first sight.

“Do I know you?” he barked out rudely.

“My lord.” Faith dipped a low, graceful curtsy. “It has been a long time since we last met.”

Maybe it was her voice. Or her curtsy. Or perhaps he had not been paying attention when his butler announced her name, because something seemed to click into place inside his brain. “Faith?” A slight smile curved the edges of his mouth. “Is it really you?”

“Yes.” A rush of giddy relief swamped her. He
did
remember her. “Forgive me for intruding, but I needed to see you.”

“About the will?”

Faith's mind went blank. She had played this encounter over and over in her head for days, trying to anticipate every reaction, every question, every possible objection he might have so she would be prepared with a retort. Yet she had never even considered such a blunt, cut-to-the-heart opening.

“Ye-yes. The will.”

“I thought as much. I received your note, but I haven't had an opportunity to reply.” His eyebrows rose fractionally. They were as elegant and finely shaped as the rest of his chiseled face. “I had not realized this was such an important matter or else I would have attended to it sooner.”

Faith felt her cheeks grow hot. Caught under his glimmering gaze, the simple speech she had practiced for days promptly disappeared from her mind. She scrambled frantically for something, anything to say.

“I'm sure I shocked your butler with my boorish behavior, but I expected Chambers to answer the door. Where is he?”

“I retired him to the country. He was far too old to still be in service. Gregory is from the London house. I sold it before I came to Hampshire and brought as many of the servants here as I could afford. In hindsight, I'm not sure why I thought I needed a stiff-backed butler. He would be of far greater use to me if he could swing a hammer.”

“Is that what you were doing up on the ladder? Hammering something?” Faith asked, impressed by the notion. She remembered her father supervising the workers, but she could not recall ever seeing him actually doing any of the physical labor.

He smiled faintly. “I was inspecting the ceiling. The wood and shingles are completely rotted. It will take more than my limited skills to fix it properly.”

“Then I shall send a crew of workers over from Mayfair Manor tomorrow. There are many skilled men on my estate who would be pleased to help.”

She suspected he was a man who would not take charity. Even from an old family friend. But he surprised her by accepting her offer with a quiet nod of thanks.

He indicated two blue-cushioned chairs set before the unlit fireplace. “Shall we sit?”

She sank down into the chair, gingerly testing the springs. It was not as uncomfortable as it looked.

Faith surveyed the rest of the room, and her confidence slowly trickled back into her. The front foyer had boasted a highly polished parquet floor, lovely vases of fresh flowers, and dust-free furniture. But back here it was a totally different matter.

Faded carpets, water-stained ceiling and walls, mountains of dust. The house reminded Faith of a beautiful piece of fruit that appears so perfect and appetizing until it is cut open to find a brown, rotten mess inside.

It was years since she had set foot inside this castle, but the rumors she had heard were apparently true. It had been badly neglected and needed major renovation. Faith smiled. She could provide both workers and funds to repair the house and would do so gladly, if she were married to the viscount.

Faith swallowed hard as she tried to envision herself married to this powerful, virile man. The very notion made her suddenly relieved she was sitting down, because her knees started quivering. Although an unmarried woman, she knew something of what happened between a man and a woman.

Neville had never been inclined to show her much affection, and she had not minded overmuch. Yet some rare feminine instinct told her that Griffin would be more forthcoming and earthy in his physical desires.

As if reading her mind, he announced suddenly, “I have shown an abominable lack of courtesy in welcoming you to my home. Pray, permit me to remedy that at once.”

Then he reached for her hand, bent low, and kissed her knuckles with all the courtly aplomb of a true dandy. She had removed her gloves before knocking on the door and could feel his warm breath stirring the fine hairs on the top of her hand. Her heart seemed to miss a beat.

Raw panic seeped from a place deep inside her, but Faith conquered it. If she was bold enough to approach this man and ask him to consider marrying her, then she certainly needed to be bold enough to accept a polite kiss on the hand.

Faith took a long, shuddering breath and told herself sternly to stop acting like a silly girl. True, she might be considered intelligent for a woman, but she had grown up in the country, sheltered from the rakish antics of men like Griffin Sainthill. Yet that did not mean she was incapable of holding her own in his company.

“Tell me what you know of the will,” she said breathlessly, feeling a need to steer the topic back to the purpose of her visit.

He seemed confused for a moment but recovered quickly. “I understand in situations such as yours, when an intended groom dies before the wedding, it is customary to return the betrothal ring, especially if it is a family heirloom. However, Neville's will specifically requested that you keep the ring, and I wanted to assure you that I have no objection.”

“Neville's will?” Faith was shocked. She was unaware that her fiance had even made a will. As for the ring, it was sitting at home in her jewel box, precisely where it always was, since she rarely wore it. “You misunderstand, my lord. When I spoke of a will, I was referring to my father's will.”

“Your father's will? How could that possibly concern me?”

“I need a husband before the year ends or else I shall lose ownership of Mayfair Manor. I was hoping you might consider it.”

The viscount stared at her for a long moment, then broke into hearty laughter. “I always did enjoy your odd sense of humor, even when we were children. I'm pleased to find that you still possess it, in abundance I might add.”