Rescued By The Forbidden Rake
Mary Brendan
Beholden to an irresistible rogue…When her half-sister goes missing, respectable Faye Shawcross is at her wits end! Convinced her impulsive younger sister has got herself mired in potential scandal, Faye is unsure where to turn to for help – certainly not her upstanding fiancé!The last person she expects to come to her rescue is the very man she’s condemned a rogue, Ryan Kavanagh, the dis-honourable, and disconcertingly alluring viscount! The magnetic Irishman knows he raises Faye’s passions, however reluctantly. He can nip her impending family scandal in the bud, for a price – he wants Faye as his mistress…
Beholden to an irresistible rogue...
When her half sister goes missing, respectable Faye Shawcross is at her wits’ end! Convinced her impulsive younger sister has gotten herself mired in potential scandal, Faye is unsure whom to turn to for help—certainly not her upstanding fiancé.
The last person she expects to come to her rescue is the very man she’s condemned a rogue—Ryan Kavanagh, the dishonorable and disconcertingly alluring viscount. The magnetic Irishman knows he raises Faye’s passions, however reluctantly. He can nip her impending family scandal in the bud, for a price: he wants Faye as his mistress...
‘I’m very sorry to turn up again and bother you, sir,’ Faye blurted as soon as the door had closed.
‘I made it obvious when you were last here that I like being bothered by you, Miss Shawcross.’ Slowly he straightened and turned to face her. ‘In fact, I’m hoping you’ve saved me a journey to Mulberry House to speak to you. If you’re back to tell me you feel the same way about me, I can suggest what we might do about it.’
The irony in his voice couldn’t quite disguise the fact that he meant every word. And heaven only knew she did crave having his strong arms about her again. She knew if he bruised her mouth with his own, as he had before, his fiery passion would eradicate every worry from her head as easily as sunlight dissolved snow.
‘I deduce from your silence that you’re in two minds on it. Perhaps I should help you decide.’ He plunged his hands into his pockets and pinned her down with a dangerously challenging stare.
Faye put down her untasted tea in a rattle of crockery. ‘I bid you to be serious, sir, if you will.’
‘I’ve never been more serious in my life,’ he returned.
His vivid, unsmiling eyes tangled with hers before travelling over her body in a way that caused iced heat to streak through her veins.
‘And neither was I more serious than when I told you I will soon be married.’ Slashes of bright colour accented Faye’s cheekbones. ‘You shouldn’t have kissed me, Mr Kavanagh, and I shouldn’t have...’
Unable to explain herself, she snatched up her hat and gloves from the sofa.
‘You shouldn’t have betrayed your fiancé by liking it?’ he suggested. ‘Perhaps your feelings for Mr Collins aren’t as strong as you thought they were.’
Author Note (#u8cea3a97-8897-5431-9da8-484ee3998bcd)
In my new Regency romance, Rescued by the Forbidden Rake, the heroine is known to be a good young woman. Everybody says so. Faye Shawcross has cared for her younger half-siblings since their feckless widowed mother abandoned them to chase after her lover. She’s also been a constant fiancée to her seafaring future husband.
But sometimes the temptation to stray from the path of righteousness is too strong to resist. Especially when it becomes obvious that duty and selflessness are not appreciated by those benefiting from them. Faye might be sweet-natured, but she is nobody’s doormat!
For years Faye has been content to settle for the quiet life of a country lady, surrounded by pastoral beauty and good friends. When Viscount Ryan Kavanagh turns up in the neighbourhood gossip immediately starts about this handsome Irishman’s licentious ways.
The things that Faye hears about Valeside Manor’s new squire can’t possibly be true...can they? He seems to be the perfect neighbour, helping her out of one tricky situation after another when her younger sister falls in love with a gypsy lad. But has Ryan Kavanagh an ulterior motive where she’s concerned, that proves his devilishness isn’t simply a rumour? And who is he really, anyway?
Faye wants to believe her rescuer sincere, but how can she trust him when he is reluctant to tell her about himself? Should she jeopardise everything she holds dear and take a chance on a future with the wicked Irishman?
I hope you enjoy reading about how Faye and Ryan battle their way through lies and deceit to discover peace and happiness for themselves and their families.
Rescued by the Forbidden Rake
Mary Brendan
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
MARY BRENDAN was born in North London, but now lives in rural Suffolk. She has always had a fascination with bygone days, and enjoys the research involved in writing historical fiction. When not at her word processor she can be found trying to bring order to a large overgrown garden, or browsing local fairs and junk shops for that elusive bargain.
Books by Mary Brendan
Mills & Boon Historical Romance
The Virtuous Courtesan
The Rake’s Defiant Mistress
Rescued by the Forbidden Rake
Linked by Character
Tarnished, Tempted and Tamed
Compromising the Duke’s Daughter
Society Scandals
A Date with Dishonour
The Rake’s Ruined Lady
Regency Rogues
Chivalrous Rake, Scandalous Lady
Dangerous Lord, Seductive Miss
The Hunter Brothers
A Practical Mistress
The Wanton Bride
Visit the Author Profile page
at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk) for more titles.
Contents
Cover (#uda572cc0-63b9-544a-89c0-19b70c6cf37a)
Back Cover Text (#ud85ad988-d079-53c2-bb63-44d84c3191e7)
Introduction (#ue1d6a94b-35d5-52a3-9745-1c37a20e7b83)
Author Note (#uaa693153-bab3-57f1-95ba-439bb6b0ea4f)
Title Page (#u1abb0c19-604b-5ff8-a953-05d9db9932d9)
About the Author (#uab7fd015-5e81-500a-815c-c6b9a65fff0a)
Chapter One (#u1b86e9d0-c24c-54a1-a3cd-94ed17b4e141)
Chapter Two (#u6a0424f1-8534-54c2-ab63-7fff38e561c5)
Chapter Three (#u542f89d4-daad-5d56-ad42-4500390e86c0)
Chapter Four (#u50585e49-1926-56f5-861e-3a74c049143a)
Chapter Five (#u82ed1922-b238-5992-82b0-9ec68edb780d)
Chapter Six (#ueef5f69c-153c-5cc9-8fef-b5b5383cbcdf)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#u8cea3a97-8897-5431-9da8-484ee3998bcd)
‘Our business is concluded, sir. I have made my decision.’
Faye Shawcross abruptly stood up. The sauce of the man! Not only had he advised her to invest in a financial plan that had failed dismally, but he wanted to persuade her to plough what money remained to her into another of his schemes. When she had received his note yesterday, requesting an audience, she had believed he intended to come and beg forgiveness for letting her down so badly. She had even harboured a hope that he might speak of recompense. Not so much of it! Barely had he settled on a chair before proffering a new parchment for signature as though she were a gullible fool.
‘I do not want to seem dictatorial, Miss Shawcross, but I beg you will reconsider my proposal. I’m sure your fiancé would direct you to listen to me, were he here.’
‘But he is not, and neither is his presence required. I need no further time, or advice, sir. I have clearly said I have made my decision and have terminated my contract with you. Goodbye.’
A moment ago Faye had employed the small brass bell on the table by her side; her housekeeper had promptly appeared and was now hovering, awaiting an instruction.
‘Mr Westwood is leaving, Mrs Gideon.’
A barking cough from the servant reminded the man she was ready to show him out.
Westwood had sprung to his feet as Miss Shawcross did, an angry blush burning in his cheeks at her curt dismissal; but he managed to jerk a bow. ‘As you wish; but I make no apology for striving to assist you in restoring your fortunes.’
‘Perhaps you might instead like to apologise for having depleted them in the first place,’ Faye replied coolly, anger and impatience sparking green fire in her eyes.
‘I mentioned to you there was a risk attached,’ he intoned piously.
‘But not quite as fulsomely as you bade me to pay no heed to it. Had I an inkling that my money might disappear within a short while of you handling it, sir, I would not have listened to a word you uttered.’
Westwood’s eyes popped, but Faye was not intimidated by his display of fury. She indicated he should leave with a nod.
Barely had the parlour door closed on his ramrod-straight back when it again opened and a boy hurtled over the threshold.
‘Are we poor?’
‘Of course not, my dear.’ Faye held out her arms to her half-brother, catching Michael into her embrace. ‘We are just not quite as well off as once we were.’
‘I can still go to school in Warwick?’
‘Indeed you can! And I hope to have some better reports from your headmaster when you return in the autumn, young man.’
Michael looked sheepish at the reminder of his misbehaviour. ‘I know I shouldn’t have got into that fight.’
‘No you shouldn’t...but neither should you allow those boys to bully you.’ Faye ruffled her half-brother’s fair hair. She felt guilty that Michael had been mocked by some older pupils when the news circulated about his overdue school fees. The headmaster’s letter had been one of the first indications that all was not well. She had accepted Westwood’s explanation that the matter was just an oversight. How she regretted having been so naive!
But now she had terminated the lawyer’s contract the periodic sum the charlatan had charged to nurture her investments would again be available for essentials. They weren’t poor...but neither were they rich, nor even comfortably off as they had once been. Faye bitterly regretted having employed Westwood; but he had come recommended by the man she was to marry and thus she’d trusted the fellow to deliver what he’d promised. Now she suspected he was incompetent at best and corrupt at worst, but she had no proof that he’d done anything underhand. She’d willingly signed the documents, handing him control of half her father’s bequest. Fighting Westwood in court and losing the battle would certainly end in her destitution. With her younger siblings relying on her she couldn’t afford any such action...and no doubt Mr Westwood was aware of that fact.
At twelve years old Michael had many more years at school; further economies would need to be made if her half-brother were to stay in Warwick. Yet she must be even-handed; she also had her half-sister’s future to consider. As though that young lady were aware of Faye’s reflection she skipped into the room.
‘May we go out this afternoon?’ Claire asked excitedly. ‘I saw the caravans from my window. There are crowds gathering already on the village green.’
‘I saw them, too! May we go?’ Michael interrupted his sister to add his own plea to be allowed to visit the local midsummer fair. The Romanies arrived annually and stayed for a few days to entertain the locals before moving on to another town.
‘Yes, indeed, we shall go and enjoy ourselves; only a few pennies each to spend, though,’ Faye cautioned. She sighed happily; a break from the unpleasant anxiety that had beset them all would be very welcome.
Just a few days ago at breakfast she’d unsuspectingly opened the letter from Westwood, finally admitting the truth. From her spontaneous gasp of dismay the children had learned something was amiss. Faye had been tempted to shield them from the dreadful news. But what use was procrastination when they must know immediately that savings had to be made.
‘I’m going to fetch my new bonnet and stitch some ribbon on it.’ Claire skipped towards the door.
‘Bill Perkins won’t be going, so you’re wasting your time wearing it for him,’ Michael ribbed.
‘I’m not bothered about him anyway...’ his sister retorted.
‘No bickering, if you please,’ Faye reprimanded wryly.
Claire had developed a crush on Bill Perkins after the young farmer rescued her from a ditch. Following a heavy bout of rain she’d lost her footing and slipped down into the sludge. The fellow had a fiancée, but always stopped to pass the time of day with them all.
‘I have been thinking about that trip to town we spoke of.’ Faye’s thoughts had jumped from nice Bill Perkins to another worthy gentleman: a faceless, nameless person her sister—God willing—was yet to meet.
‘Must we go to London for my debut?’ Claire asked with a pronounced lack of enthusiasm. ‘It’ll be an expensive trip and I’m not sure I want to bother.’ A private smile curved her lips. ‘I might find a husband hereabouts.’
‘Your dowry is still safe and as you are so pretty you will need no costly embellishment like some of the plain misses.’ Faye tried to encourage her sister with a jocular comment. But the praise was justified. Claire was indeed a beauty and regularly drew attention from the lusty youths in Wilverton, the small town about a half-mile distant. Claire had never shown interest in having a local beau before. Yet, oddly, Faye had just seen her sister look like the cat with the cream when talking of finding a mate in the neighbourhood.
It was said that Claire resembled her; Faye believed that her half-sister took after Deborah Shawcross in looks. But they rarely spoke about her late father’s second wife. Even before Deborah absconded to Ireland to join her lover the woman had been an embarrassment.
‘You should have your Season in London, because I know you will have a wonderful time and meet a splendid fellow and fall in love.’ Faye’s confident tone barely lifted Claire’s frown. But it amused Michael and he made much of patting at his yawning mouth, chortling.
‘Aunt Agatha has invited us to stay with her in Hammersmith,’ Faye continued. ‘I’ll write and let her know that we would be pleased to accept her hospitality in the spring.’
‘I’d sooner stay here,’ Michael piped up.
‘You will be safely out of the way at school, young man.’
‘Might I go and stay with Stanley Scott?’
‘I don’t think so, Michael,’ Faye said apologetically. ‘The cost of the fare to Scotland is rather a lot.’ Her brother had received an invitation from his school chum’s parents to holiday with them in Edinburgh until the autumn term.
‘Shall I ask him to come here?’ Michael asked, but not very optimistically.
‘You know we don’t really have the room for guests.’ Faye gave her brother a rueful smile. Mulberry House was small—nothing like the castle in which the Scotts lived—but, that apart, another mouth to feed would be an additional financial burden. Despite her logic and prudence Faye felt mean denying her brother a friend for the holidays.
‘Now if we are to spend an hour or two at the fair later I must get on.’ Faye briskly clapped her hands. ‘I want to catch the post and the shopkeepers in Wilverton must be paid. Mr Gideon warned of rain this evening; we’ll want to be home from the fair before then.’ Their housekeeper’s husband was invariably accurate with his weather forecast.
Having sealed the note to her aunt about preparations for Claire’s debut, Faye counted out the money owed to merchants and put it into her reticule. She was determined to carry on paying bills on time. But news of her reduced circumstances would eventually circulate and she hated the idea of being tattled over or pitied. The Gideons were aware of what had occurred and were as fiercely loyal to Faye and her half-siblings as they had been to her father. But it was an odd truth that no matter how conscientiously confidences were guarded, rumours spread.
* * *
A ride into town on Mr Gideon’s dog cart was always a revelation. As they moved along at a steady pace the elderly fellow kept up a one-sided conversation past the clay pipe clenched between his teeth. Not that Faye was unwilling to add a comment; it was hard to get a word in edgeways. Mr Gideon had employment with several neighbours and was up to date with what went on in the hamlets that encircled Mulberry House, the Shawcrosses’ residence for over one hundred years. By the time the elderly mare pulling the dog cart was drawn to a halt at Wilverton Green’s turnpike, Faye had learned that there was a bad case of scarlatina in Moreton, to the south, that had resulted in one burial so far, and that twins had been born last week in Fairley, to the east. Having expressed her gladness that mother and babies were all doing well, Faye sprang nimbly down to the dusty ground.
‘Shall I wait for you to finish your business and take you back, Miss Shawcross? It be no trouble.’ Bert Gideon had removed his pipe to make that enquiry.
‘It’s kind of you to offer, but I shall have time enough to walk home, thank you.’ Faye shook her light cotton skirts to remove the creases from them and retied the strings of her bonnet. She glanced up at the angle of the sun, judging it to be close to noon. A ride back would have been helpful as she’d promised the others an excursion in a few hours’ time, but she didn’t want to delay Mr Gideon getting to his next job.
‘Don’t be forgetting now that rain’s due.’ Bert clucked his tongue at the mare.
‘Not before we’ve returned from the fair, I hope,’ Faye said, half to herself.
Mr Gideon raised a hand in farewell as the vehicle creaked away and Faye set off to do her errands.
* * *
‘And a very good day to you, Miss Shawcross.’
‘And to you, sir. I have come to settle up and place my order for next week, Mr Bullman.’ Had she imagined a look of relief in the butcher’s eyes as he’d pounced on the cash in her hand?
‘I have some mutton for stewing that you might like for a change and some beef suet that’ll make you a nice dumpling.’ Mr Bullman wiped his bloodied hands on his apron before pocketing his cash.
Had he sounded different...pitying? Faye noticed that he’d certainly collected up the notes she’d put down with unusual zeal. She glanced at his expression and, yes, he did seem to be avoiding her eyes.
‘I won’t have the mutton, thank you. I’ll take my usual order and an extra two pork chops, if you please,’ Faye said crisply.
‘So Mr Collins is back and paying a visit, is he?’ The butcher sounded jolly. ‘I recall you told me your fiancé’s partial to a chop for dinner.’
‘He isn’t calling until next week. I’ll take the chops with the kidneys in them, please. Those will go nicely with fresh beans from the garden and some baked potatoes.’
‘Of course, Miss Shawcross. I’ll have the boy deliver the usual order and two extra chops on Thursday.’
Outside the shop Faye paused, giving herself a talking to. Mr Bullman was a good soul and she was being too sensitive because of her guilt and regrets over allowing Mr Westwood free rein with her money. She glanced back into the shop and saw the butcher deep in conversation with his wife. There was nothing unusual about that, but the way the couple darted surreptitious glances her way caused Faye’s heart to sink. She sighed and walked on. So, news of her losses had circulated, but she wouldn’t answer questions about it.
A few minutes later she had changed her mind. Her friend Anne Holly hailed her, trotting over the rutted road to her side.
‘Oh, my dear, how are you?’ Anne hugged Faye. ‘Is it true you’ve suffered a setback?’
‘How did you find out, Anne?’ Faye huffed a resigned little laugh. ‘Tongues are wagging, are they?’
‘Not maliciously, I assure you; people are sympathetic and Mr Westwood has come in for some very harsh criticism,’ Anne said gently. ‘He has scuttled off quickly back to London.’
‘I’d sooner people let the matter drop. Westwood will only prolong the gossip in defending his part in it all. Who spread the news?’
‘I imagine it came from Westwood’s office. I know the verger and several others travel to London and use that particular firm.’
Faye gave a faintly acid smile. ‘I hadn’t imagined it would happen so soon.’
‘Derek was going to come over and see you this afternoon to condole, but I’ve persuaded him not to.’
‘Thank you...’ Faye said wryly. ‘I will be less prickly about it in a day or two. I feel a fool for wanting to earn more than the bank paid while my money was safe in a vault.’
‘Any person would seek the best return on a deposit,’ Anne protested. ‘You have your brother and sister depending on you so you need to be astute.’
‘I don’t mind providing for them.’
‘Well, if it were me, I’d mind their mother shirking her duty so abominably.’ Anne frowned an apology, knowing she’d said too much.
Faye was niggled by her friend’s comment despite recognising the truth in what Anne had said. Not wanting to bicker, she changed the subject. ‘We’re going to the fairground this afternoon, so your husband would not have found us in. Are you going to come? You’re welcome to join us in eating buns and throwing balls at skittles.’
‘I’d like to, but Derek’s mother has arrived on a visit with his sister and his niece. Sarah is a nice girl, a little older than your Claire, I’d say. She’s making her come out in the spring. The family is well connected; they know some of the ton’s hostesses. My mother-in-law is friendly with Lady Jersey, you know.’ Anne sounded proud.
‘As Claire is coming out next year, too, perhaps the girls could get together before Sarah returns to Essex.’
‘I’m sure she’d like that...’ Anne’s enthusiastic response tailed away and her eyes narrowed on something over Faye’s shoulder. ‘Now there are some people who really have started tongues wagging,’ she whispered. ‘I have heard tales about him that would make your hair stand on end.’
Discreetly, Faye glanced around. A sleek curricle drawn by matching greys had stopped by the drapery shop. The tiger took the reins while the driver jumped down and helped his passenger alight.
‘Who is that?’ The town of Wilverton was off the beaten track for high society and the handsome couple looked to be top notch.
‘That, my dear, is the new master of Valeside Manor.’ Anne inclined closer to her friend to murmur, ‘And the young woman with him is rumoured to be his paramour.’
Faye looked suitably shocked. ‘Well, she is very pretty...if barely out of her governess’s care by the look of her.’ She peeked again at the slender young lady, her raven hair cascading in ringlets to her shoulders. Even at some distance, Faye could tell that her summer gown was of exquisite style. And she was very possessive of her beau, judging by the way she clung to his arm. But the gentleman was watching her and appeared amused by her interest. Quickly Faye averted her face, regretting having stared for so long.
‘He is a bachelor named Ryan Kavanagh and he’s Irish, but nobody is sure of the lady’s identity.’ Anne shielded her moving lips with her gloved fingers. ‘Apparently he has a mistress each end of London, who both drip jewels and drive about in swish carriages.’
‘He is a wealthy fellow then.’ Faye still felt warm from having the stranger’s mocking eyes on her.
‘Indeed, he is. A rich reprobate, Derek’s mother called him.’ Anne tilted her head at the newcomers. ‘That young lady actually lives with him, you know, at the Manor.’ The shocking information was ejected in a hiss.
Faye’s small teeth nipped her lower lip, suppressing a scandalised laugh. ‘Perhaps I should be grateful to Mr Kavanagh: in comparison to his affairs my sorry business barely merits a mention.’
The couple had entered the shop and Faye clasped her friend’s hands in farewell. ‘I must get home and freshen up and change my shoes for the trek over the fields.’
‘Does your fiancé know of your bad news?’ Anne asked hesitantly.
‘He does not... Peter has docked at Portsmouth, but he is not due to visit for a week or so.’ Faye imagined her seafaring future husband would take it very personally, knowing that the lawyer he had recommended had failed her. But Peter had only done what he thought best.
With a wave, Faye set off back the way she had come. As she passed the dusty curricle the smartly uniformed tiger gave her a polite nod. Faye ran her eyes over the fine horseflesh, then speeded up her pace towards home. For some reason she didn’t want to see Mr Kavanagh and his concubine again. She felt a little frisson pass over her. She regretted having humoured the man by staring at him in such a vulgar fashion.
Once out of sight of townsfolk, Faye grabbed her skirts and began to trot along the meadow path, feeling quite joyous as she concentrated on the treat of an afternoon spent at the fair on such a glorious afternoon. The ground beneath her flying feet had been worn in places to bare soil where the locals took short cuts to and from their cottages on the outskirts of Wilverton.
Having spied Mulberry House rising on the horizon, Faye slowed down to appreciate her pretty home and relieve the stitch in her side. It was a whitewashed building topped with russet-coloured clay tiles and the sturdy iron porch was smothered with scarlet roses that had climbed as far as the eaves. Cecil Shawcross had always loved his abundantly planted garden and the scented blooms that rambled on the front of the house and spilled over the trellises to the rear of the property had been his pride and joy.
Her eyes prickled with tears as she thought about him. Her half-siblings missed their father, too, but being younger had not had the benefit of his company for as long as she had when he passed away. Her father could be a difficult man; without a doubt he would be angry that part of his bequest had disappeared in a poor investment. But it would be towards Peter Collins that he’d unleash his temper. Peter had proposed to her when she was twenty-one, but another two years had passed before her father eventually agreed to the match. It had been a sadness to her that her father and her fiancé had never really got on.
Drawing in a deep breath, she set off again, trotting towards the side gate that led through the kitchen garden and into the house.
Chapter Two (#u8cea3a97-8897-5431-9da8-484ee3998bcd)
‘Ah, so you’re back at last.’ Mrs Gideon frowned as her rosy-cheeked mistress entered the kitchen. She put down on the floury table the pastry cutter she’d been using. ‘I can see you’ve been dashing about again.’ She poured a glass of lemonade from a metal jug. ‘That’ll help cool you off.’
Gratefully Faye took the tumbler, closing her eyes while relishing the refreshing brew. ‘I have been running, and indeed it wasn’t wise. It is very sultry today...perhaps a storm is on its way.’ Faye brushed a hand beneath the damp blonde curls clinging to her nape.
‘There’s some warm water in the kettle for a wash.’ Mrs Gideon filled a copper pitcher, then found a muslin cloth in a drawer. ‘Your sister is still unpicking her stitching, so I reckon you’ve time enough to take a bath waiting for her to be satisfied with prettifying that hat.’ The woman tutted. ‘Miss Claire’s had that piece of blue ribbon on and off the straw at least thrice.’
Faye took another sip of lemonade, intending to take the drink upstairs with her and finish it while she changed her clothes.
‘Did anybody upset you while you were in town, miss?’
Faye turned back to see Mrs Gideon looking quite severe while forcefully rolling out pastry.
‘Everybody was very polite, Mrs Gideon.’ Faye gave a faint smile. ‘Not a word spoken out of place by the shopkeepers, but I saw Anne Holly and she was kind enough to be blunt and tell me people know what has happened.’ Untying her bonnet, she let it hang on its ribbons, then forked her fingers through her thick blonde tresses. So far Mr and Mrs Gideon had kept their own counsel on the business with Westwood; Faye feared they were too kind and loyal to openly say what they must privately be thinking: that her father would be spinning in his grave at her ineptitude with his money. If the couple were concerned over their employment at Mulberry House since she’d made losses, they’d not brought it up.
‘I meant to say, Mrs Gideon, that I haven’t come to such a sorry pass that I cannot afford to keep you on.’
‘Oh, I know, Miss Shawcross.’ The housekeeper’s eyes held a sheen of tears. ‘And much as I want to say I’d keep coming every day if you paid me or not, I won’t upset you by doing it.’ Nelly Gideon wiped her eyes on her rolled-up sleeve. ‘Neither will Mr Gideon, but we wanted to let you know that we won’t hear a word against you or the children.’
‘I know I can rely on you both,’ Faye said huskily.
Mrs Gideon nodded vigorously and set about cutting pastry cases.
Faye suddenly remembered something that might lighten the atmosphere; Mrs Gideon was frowning fiercely while running the rolling pin this way and that.
‘Anne Holly told me that Valeside Manor has acquired a new owner.’
‘Him!’ The housekeeper gave a loud tut. ‘A vicar’s wife had no right bringing that fellow into a decent conversation.’
‘You knew about Mr Kavanagh and his lady friend being at Valeside Manor?’ Faye sounded surprised.
‘Indeed, I did! I hope he’ll soon take himself off to London where the likes of him and her are sure to be better received.’ Mrs Gideon returned her attention to the tartlets she was filling with blackcurrants. ‘What with those Romanies turning up as well we’ve got more than our fair share of rogues in the neighbourhood lately.’
Faye remained quiet for a moment. From her housekeeper’s strong reaction she took it that her friend Anne had not overstated Mr Kavanagh’s ill repute.
‘Apparently he is very affluent. Local people might benefit from his patronage.’ Faye felt an odd compulsion to find something good to say about the new master of Valeside. ‘The manor has been empty for quite some time, it’s sure to need repairs and additional staff. Mr Kavanagh might call on villagers to fill vacancies.’
‘No decent woman would enter that house no matter what pay he offered. The only females likely to benefit from his patronage are those working in the room above the Dog and Duck.’ The housekeeper turned florid, regretting having let her tongue run away with her.
Faye picked up her lemonade and took a gulp. She knew that a couple of harlots entertained clients above the taproom in the Dog and Duck. The hostelry was situated on the outskirts of Wilverton and was shunned by decent folk who supped in the White Hart tavern on the green instead.
Still, Faye felt an odd inclination to give the benefit of the doubt to Mr Kavanagh. ‘He had a very well-behaved team of horses and his servant was nicely turned out, and polite, too. The boy made a point of raising his hat to me as I passed by.’
‘You managed to get quite a good long look at Mr Kavanagh, did you, miss?’ Nelly Gideon asked. ‘Did you see the scar on his face?’
‘He was too far away for me to see more than that he is a tall gentleman with very dark hair. I was talking to Anne across the road and he’d disappeared inside the drapery with his companion by the time I passed his curricle.’
Nelly put down a spoon stained with blackcurrant juice. ‘Got a scar from here to here, he has...’ She striped one side of her face from cheekbone to lip with a forefinger. ‘Duelling over a woman, so I heard. Killed a man.’ She shook her head. ‘It makes me wonder what else might yet come out about his wickedness.’
Faye’s eyes widened, but still she was reluctant to condemn too quickly. Today she’d had a taste of what it was like to be the butt of gossip and it wasn’t pleasant. Despite what her friend Anne Holly had said about people’s sympathy for her, there would doubtless be some private sniggering at her lack of judgement.
‘You’d better keep your distance from the new master of Valeside Manor, miss,’ Nelly said over a shoulder, sliding the tarts into the oven. ‘Your fiancé won’t want you associating with such a rogue.’
‘Who is a rogue?’ Claire had just entered the kitchen, eyes alight with interest at what she’d overheard.
‘The new master of Valeside Manor,’ Mrs Gideon informed darkly. ‘Big handsome chap Mr Kavanagh may be, but he’s got a black heart, so you all stay clear of that place.’
‘Show me your hat then.’ Faye changed the subject, thinking Mr Kavanagh had been a topic of conversation for long enough.
‘What do you think?’ Claire held aloft the bonnet, twirling it on her fingers so the blue ribbons flew out like flags.
‘Very pretty...’ Faye said, picking up the jug of washing water. ‘I won’t be long getting ready, then we’ll get going. A storm’s brewing for this evening and we won’t want to be out in the thunder and lightning.’
* * *
Walking through long, murmuring grass with the warmth of late June on one’s shoulders was one of life’s wonderful pleasures, Faye thought as she picked seeds from her cotton skirts. She watched her brother and sister, chasing to and fro and throwing grassy darts at one another. Faye smiled wryly; her sister was still a child at heart and it was a shame to think of hurrying her to womanhood with a premature debut.
Claire wouldn’t be seventeen until the middle of next year. She’d already said she was eager to be launched before her next birthday rather than wait until the following Season. Faye had worried that her half-sister might not be ready for such an important milestone at sixteen. But things had changed for them all. She could no longer afford to be so finicky.
Faye was obliged to tighten the purse strings on the family kitty and there was no denying that Claire might be better off now under a husband’s protection than her sister’s.
Turning her face up to the golden sunbeams, Faye sighed, loosening her straw bonnet to let the breeze cool her skin. It was easy to feel lulled by the pastoral melody of birdsong and bees swarming nearby.
‘That man’s staring at you. Who is he?’
Faye’s eyes flicked open and she saw her brother, flushed from his game of chase, ambling at her side.
‘His name is Mr Kavanagh,’ Faye said hoarsely, feeling rather shocked to see him again so soon. And at much closer quarters. Mrs Gideon had called him a big handsome man, and indeed he was broad of shoulder and very good looking. She could also see the thin pale mark dissecting his bronzed cheek that her housekeeper had spoken of.
‘We mustn’t have anything to do with him,’ Claire whispered, having joined them. ‘He’s a black-hearted rogue, Mrs Gideon said so, and she knows everything.’
‘What has he done?’ Michael asked, agog.
‘You’re not old enough to know,’ Claire replied, hoping to sound mysterious and knowledgeable.
‘Hush...that’s enough gossip.’ Faye tore her eyes away from a steady, narrowed gaze. She was quite sure that the black-hearted rogue knew they were talking about him.
‘Perhaps he’s a highwayman or a smuggler.’ Michael turned to Faye, eyes dancing with glee. ‘He might be delivering kegs of brandy at dark of night or he might be like Dick Turpin with his own Black Bess.’
‘He is probably quite an ordinary character in reality,’ Faye interrupted, attempting to dampen down Michael’s excitement. She wouldn’t put it past her half-brother to dash across the field and quiz Mr Kavanagh about his dastardly exploits. But she doubted that her description of the man as ordinary was any more valid than were her brother’s fanciful imaginings. Ryan Kavanagh might not be a model villain, but neither was he a tame fellow. She set a brisker pace, hoping the children would run ahead again and forget about their intriguing new neighbour.
‘He must be rich,’ Michael said, content to dawdle. He glanced over a shoulder at the fellow propped against an oak with a magnificent black stallion tethered to a branch by his side. ‘He has a fine horse.’ He frowned. ‘I remember Papa had a similar beast.’
‘He is a beast...’ Claire hissed, determined to shock her younger brother.
‘For goodness sake, turn around and stop staring, you two. Look...there’s a juggler.’ Faye distracted Michael’s attention to the harlequin entertaining a group of youngsters.
They were now close to the fairground and the noise and appetising aromas caused the children to finally lose interest in Mr Kavanagh. But Faye had not. The need to take a peep over her shoulder was undeniable. He had sunk down to the grass with his back against the tree, one knee raised and supporting an elbow. He was smoking a cheroot, she realised as a faint scent of tobacco reached her on the breeze. He turned his head in her direction and Faye quickly whipped her face away, not wanting him to catch her staring at him for the second time that day.
Claire waved at her friend Peggy, their housekeeper’s niece, and with a quick promise not to be gone long dashed away to talk to her. Michael had also spotted a group of chums and loped off in the opposite direction. Left alone, Faye became aware of her heart thudding beneath her embroidered bodice. An odd thrill was shooting iced fire through her veins. When their eyes had fleetingly met Mr Kavanagh had appeared aware of the unsettling effect he was having on her. His subtle smile had annoyed Faye as well as intrigued her. Yet there had been nothing in his behaviour that declared him to be the reprobate he’d been painted. His demeanour alone proclaimed him to be of wealth and status, and he was quietly minding his own business. But why was he here at all? He didn’t seem interested in the fair—in fact, he seemed bored. And then Faye spotted the reason for him idling on the grass. He was waiting for his mistress to finish browsing the fairground stalls.
The lovely young lady was just ahead, making purchases from a vendor and handing over the packages to her maids. Yes, not one but two bombazine-clad servants were dancing attendance on her while her beau waited patiently at a distance for her to sufficiently enjoy herself.
For a moment Faye couldn’t drag her eyes from Ryan Kavanagh’s paramour. She was struck by the young woman’s exquisite and rather exotic looks; the profound darkness of her hair and eyes were set off by the pale gold colour of the fine day dress that encased her perfectly proportioned figure. Her clear olive complexion was protected from the sun by her bonnet brim and a lacy parasol that one of the maids was diligently holding aloft and tilting to and fro. Aware that she had been standing quite still, staring, Faye propelled herself in the opposite direction, determined to forget all about the new master of Valeside and his entourage!
‘Tell your fortune, my lady?’ The voice was pleasantly accented. A weather-beaten face, with sharp dark eyes, was turned up to Faye’s. The woman had plaited tresses resembling a sable snake on her crown and she was extending a hand to take Faye’s palm in hers.
Ruefully Faye shook her head. ‘Thank you, but I’m not sure I’m brave enough to know it.’
The crone gave a gap-toothed smile and grasped Faye’s fingers so she couldn’t escape. The abrupt movement set her hoop earrings dancing against her leathery neck. ‘This isn’t the hand of a coward, though you’ve hurdles in front of you and no denying. You’re certainly of an age to be wed, but aren’t.’ She grinned. ‘And I didn’t know that from your bare fingers as I’ve not seen them yet.’ She pulled off the cotton glove covering Faye’s right hand and examined her palm. ‘But you’ll be happy and loved and give back those feelings to your man. Marriage and children are written for you here.’ She traced a dirty fingernail on a zigzagging path across Faye’s soft skin. Then she paused, frowning before raising her almond-shaped eyes. ‘And your lover is very close by today. He’s here with you...a good man...’
Faye’s fingers curled to conceal her palm and she jerked free. Quickly she handed over some coins got from her pocket. Usually she would have chuckled at such fanciful nonsense and it confused her why she had not. She swiftly moved on, keeping her brother and sister in sight as they mingled with their friends in the crowd. But the gypsy’s words were haunting her mind, urging her to glance back. The old woman had turned to watch her and nodded in a portentous and oddly reverential way. When Faye next tried to find her brother and sister, she found she couldn’t locate either of them in the throng.
Determined to enjoy herself, Faye marched up to a stall and bought some lemon ribbon and pearl buttons for a favourite, but well-worn, gown that would benefit from being spruced up. She wandered on, feeling tempted to purchase a meat pie from a woman carrying a tray laden with pastries. The savoury aroma was appetising, but she decided to resist and wait until the children came back so they could all sit together on the grass and enjoy a picnic. She examined some pretty gewgaws on another stall, then selected a hair comb crafted in tortoiseshell that she thought Claire might like. A pewter inkstand also caught her eyes and she purchased that, too, for Michael to take back to school. She was placing the gifts in her reticule when she sensed a looming figure close by, then a heavy hand was on her arm.
‘Mrs Gideon said I’d find you here...’
Faye spun about at the familiar baritone, then gasped in surprise and pleasure.
‘Peter! I had no idea you were coming. Why did you not write and let me know to soon expect you?’ She chuckled. ‘Had you sent word I would have given you pork chops for dinner, you know. As it is, the butcher’s not due until Thursday.’
Peter Collins grasped her outstretched fingers and brought them to his lips. ‘I wanted to surprise you, my dear.’
‘You have certainly done that.’ She paused. ‘Although I had my fortune read a moment ago and the woman did say my sweetheart was close by... I thought it all nonsense, too.’
‘It is nonsense,’ Peter dismissed, top lip curling. ‘You should avoid such people.’
‘That is easier said than done at a summer fair.’ Faye chuckled. ‘You will stay and dine with us later?’ She smiled up into his hazel eyes.
‘Of course, I’d be glad to, pork chops or no.’ Again his mouth brushed her knuckles. ‘I’m putting up at the White Hart in Wilverton for a few days.’ Peter drew Faye to a quieter spot so they might promenade and chat more easily on the edge of the crowd.
Slipping her hand through her fiancé’s arm, Faye discreetly hugged him, feeling oddly relieved as well as happy to have his company. But there was one thing niggling at her: she had expected some notice of his arrival so she might get straight in her mind how to tell him of her meeting with Westwood. She didn’t want Peter to feel guilty for having put her in touch with the lawyer, yet he was bound to feel disappointed that the best part of her dowry had gone. The Collins family were well-connected gentry, but Peter had told her that his mother complained they were poor as church mice.
‘What is it?’ Peter looked down at her, his smile fading on noticing her frown.
‘Oh...nothing that can’t wait till later. Let’s enjoy ourselves while the sun’s shining. It might storm later, according to Mr Gideon.’
‘Where are the scamps?’ Peter asked, referring to Faye’s siblings.
‘Oh, they’ve gone off to see their friends,’ Faye answered as they began to promenade arm in arm. She nodded to a spot where Michael and a chum were now throwing balls at skittles. Even at a distance she could hear the boys’ whoops of glee.
‘And where is Claire?’ Peter turned his head, seeking her.
Faye also looked about. She came to a halt and pivoted on the spot, but still she couldn’t spot a blue-beribboned bonnet anywhere. She realised it had been some time since she’d last caught a glimpse of her sister.
‘She was chatting with Mrs Gideon’s niece earlier. I expect they have found a shady spot to sit down. It is very hot...’ Despite her explanation, Faye felt a frisson of uneasiness. Claire had said she would only be gone a short while. ‘Michael might know where she’s gone.’
‘There she is!’ Peter drew Faye’s attention to a copse; Claire and Peggy were emerging from between two brightly painted caravans.
Slipping her hand from Peter’s arm, Faye set off towards them, her heartbeat accelerating in alarm. They had the furtive look of people who feared being spotted doing something they shouldn’t.
‘I have been looking for you. Where have you been?’
Claire spun about with a guilty gasp, her cheeks reddening. ‘I...we have only been looking at the ponies.’
Faye glanced at the squat piebald animals tethered to the low branches of trees, sedately cropping grass. ‘You should have said you were going off the beaten track.’ She hadn’t really believed Claire might come to harm on this sunny afternoon, yet still uneasiness prickled at her. As she glanced at Peggy the girl averted her eyes, then excused herself, running back to the stalls with her fiery red tresses flying out behind her.
‘I see Lieutenant Collins has turned up.’ Claire sounded unenthusiastic at the forthcoming reunion with her future brother-in-law. Faye knew that Michael would react similarly. Peter had a lukewarm relationship with her half-siblings, believing them to be obstacles to his marriage. But Faye wouldn’t hear of her brother and sister being nudged aside before they were of an age to be independent.
‘I expect you’ve had your fill of the fair if you’re feeling bored enough to pet the ponies.’ Faye linked arms with Claire. ‘Let’s set off home. While we wait for Mrs Gideon to cook dinner I’ll show you what I’ve bought you today.’
‘You’ve got me a present?’ Claire sounded delighted. Then her expression drooped. ‘Is Lieutenant Collins coming home with us?’
‘Of course! He’s putting up in Wilverton...but will dine with us first.’
Faye was walking ahead with Claire along the narrow earthy track towards Mulberry House. Her fiancé and brother were bringing up the rear and they had been strolling for little more than ten minutes when she noticed Mr Kavanagh and his party descending the hill towards Wilverton.
‘Who is that with Mr Kavanagh?’ Claire whispered, her eyes widening on the sight of the lovely young woman sitting atop the black stallion. The two maids were marching one either side of the fine animal, led by its master.
‘Umm...the young lady is a friend of his I believe,’ Faye said diplomatically, then turned to glance over a shoulder at Peter. He, too, had caught sight of the people descending towards the valley, travelling on a parallel course to their own.
‘Do you know that fellow?’ Peter had noticed the gentleman’s head turn in their direction.
‘We’ve not been introduced. I have it from the vicar’s wife, though, that he is the new master of Valeside Manor...an Irishman, I believe.’ Faye had noticed that the two men were staring at one another in the way fellows did when summing one another up.
‘Mrs Gideon said he’s a black-hearted rogue.’ Claire followed her pronouncement with a mischievous smile. ‘He’s very handsome though.’
‘Is he now?’ was all Peter said, striding ahead and whipping aside the entangling grass with a twig he’d found on the ground.
Faye glanced across the meadow, but Kavanagh and his entourage had disappeared into the valley that led towards Wilverton.
Chapter Three (#u8cea3a97-8897-5431-9da8-484ee3998bcd)
‘I’ve put the chicken and vegetables on the dining table, Miss Shawcross. I’ll be in the kitchen with Bertram, doing mending. Just ring, if you need me.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Gideon.’
Faye and Peter had been idling in the parlour, waiting for their dinner while examining their fairground gifts.
‘Mrs Gideon and her husband could surely go home now the meal is prepared,’ Peter murmured close to his fiancée’s ear, as he helped her to be seated. ‘I’ll gladly assist in clearing away the crockery if it means I get more time alone with you.’
‘You know Nelly’s a stickler for etiquette,’ Faye whispered a rueful reply, unfolding her napkin. Her housekeeper took pains to ensure that her mistress’s reputation was protected even if that meant returning home late, after visitors had left. Mr Collins might be Miss Shawcross’s future husband, but in Nelly Gideon’s mind one observed rules until vows were taken.
As Peter carved the chicken and helped hand around the dishes of vegetables Faye felt a twinge of melancholy that he couldn’t always show such tolerance to her brother and sister. Soon, he would want them out of the way as well so that he could have his fiancée to himself. When it was just the two of them Faye enjoyed his kisses and caresses although sometimes she wondered why she didn’t crave their privacy as passionately as he did.
* * *
‘When must you return to your ship?’ Faye asked when the children had left the table and she had also eaten her fill.
‘In less than a week, I’m afraid.’ Peter put down his pudding spoon and patted his stomach. ‘Your Mrs Gideon always turns out a decent dinner.’
‘She is a boon and I don’t know what I’d do without her or her husband helping us out.’ Faye rang the little bell to let Mrs Gideon know that she could clear the table. ‘If you have finished, we can go and sit in the parlour.’
‘I’d certainly like a little comfort before being ejected by your virtuous housekeeper to the frugal offerings of the White Hart.’ His hazel eyes darkened with desire as he pulled out her chair, then teased her nape with his fingers. ‘I can’t wait much longer for us to be husband and wife.’ His voice sounded rough. ‘Have you contacted that woman yet to advise her you are to be married and she must send for her children?’
‘I have not; as I have said, I’ve no idea whereabouts in Ireland my stepmother is.’ Faye felt a niggling exasperation tighten her insides. Despite her reply never altering, Peter regularly asked her the same question about ‘that woman’ as he called Deborah Shawcross. Faye truthfully did not know her whereabouts and, even if she did, she would not force her brother and sister to go and live with an adulteress who had rejected her own flesh and blood in favour of her lover.
At the time her brother had been just six years old and although Michael had been distraught for a while he now avoided speaking of his mother. Claire, at ten years old, had comprehended what had occurred between her parents and had been so hurt by her mother’s abandonment that she’d professed to hate her.
Humiliated by his wife’s betrayal Cecil Shawcross had dealt with it as best he could, but when it became apparent Deborah was not coming home he had banned any mention of her. They had all sensed that their father’s snapping and snarling was the outcome of him being deeply wounded and had obeyed his wishes. But none of them had forgotten that Deborah Shawcross had turned their lives upside down.
Peter’s frustration that his fiancée had been burdened with caring for her siblings was understandable, but in other ways Faye thought him unreasonable. She would happily marry immediately, but Peter had made it clear that the children could not have a permanent home beneath his roof. Even had Faye not promised her late father that she would see the children safely settled, she loved them too much to ever reject them as their mother had.
‘May I?’ Peter had picked up the decanter on the sideboard in the parlour.
‘Oh, do help yourself,’ Faye replied, settling on the sofa. The children had gone to their rooms as they always did when Lieutenant Collins paid a visit. Now that they were alone Faye knew she had a perfect opportunity to broach the unpleasant subject of her meeting with Westwood. But she was reluctant to spoil their harmony on Peter’s first day back and decided to wait until tomorrow to break news that was likely to create a bad atmosphere. But know about it he must.
‘So, the new fellow at Valeside has moved in lock, stock and barrel with his wife, has he?’ Peter made himself comfortable beside Faye, an arm slung negligently along the sofa’s velvet back as he sipped his port.
‘Oh, you mean Mr Kavanagh. I don’t think the lady we saw with him is his wife.’ Faye gave a tiny laugh. She had not expected the conversation to turn in that direction. ‘According to Anne Holly she is his chère amie.’
‘Is she indeed?’ Peter snorted amusement and took a gulp of his drink. ‘Deuced brass neck of the fellow taking her about with him like that. Ryan Kavanagh, you say, is his name?’ Peter put down his goblet and turned his attention to his fiancée. ‘Never mind about him... I’d sooner think about you and how much I shall miss you when I set sail.’ He leaned forward, brushing his lips against Faye’s. His hands travelled to her slender waist, shifting her closer to him on the sofa as his kiss deepened.
‘Actually, there is something I should say to you, Peter...’ Faye held him off a little. She’d had a change of heart and wanted to get the bad news over with, but he again hungrily captured her mouth with his own.
‘Oh...sorry... I should have knocked...’ Claire garbled out, having burst into the parlour. ‘Michael is unwell; Mrs Gideon is with him. She said to tell you to come and see him.’
Peter cursed angrily beneath his breath and surged upright. ‘I’ll be on my way. I’ll call tomorrow, if I may. Then I shall be in London for a day or two before returning to Portsmouth.’
‘Yes, please do come tomorrow.’ Faye gave her fiancé an apologetic smile. ‘Would you like a nightcap before you go?’ She was also disappointed that his visit had been abruptly curtailed.
Out in the hallway she heard the unmistakable sound from upstairs of Michael being sick. With a resigned sigh and a quick farewell peck on her fiancé’s cheek, she let Peter see himself out.
‘He’s got the bellyache and headache; it’s not the chicken I cooked,’ Mrs Gideon announced bluntly, holding a basin under the invalid’s chin.
‘He’s been scrumping today, he told me so,’ Claire said, wrinkling her nose in distaste before adding, ‘I’m off to bed.’
‘Scrumping, eh? Apples aren’t ripe yet...no wonder he’s got the bellyache.’ Mrs Gideon snorted.
‘I’ll see to him, Mrs Gideon; you and your husband will want to get to your own beds now.’
‘I’ll fetch Master Michael a powder to settle his stomach before I leave.’
‘Have you been scrumping?’ Faye asked when Nelly had left the room.
Michael nodded, screwing up his face as a cramp tightened his belly. ‘Claire shouldn’t have told on me. I don’t tell on her.’
‘What’s to tell?’ Faye asked mildly. She glanced at her brother, but he turned his face away on the pillow.
‘Nothing...’ he mumbled.
‘There now. Get that down you. And stay away from sour apples; you’ve probably taken in a maggot as well,’ Mrs Gideon scolded, handing over a tumbler of milky liquid. She picked up the bowl. ‘I’ll dispose of this and be by tomorrow as usual.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Gideon.’
Meekly Michael did as he was bade, sipping the brew with a grimace before allowing his sister to tuck him up.
Faye was still mulling over what Michael had said about telling tales on Claire. Before quitting his chamber, she asked, ‘Is there something going on that I should know about, Michael?’
‘I’m tired,’ her brother said, pulling the covers right up and closing his eyes.
‘You can rest in bed tomorrow to get over this.’
‘I was going to meet my friends at the fairground.’ Michael made to sit up but fell back, exhausted, against the pillow.
‘We’ll see about that in the morning.’ Faye closed the bedroom door.
A pearly glow was painting the walls of the corridor and she felt drawn to the window to gaze up at the silvery orb decorating the sky. There was still a faint summer light on the horizon and she leaned her warm forehead against the cool glass, observing a fox prowling in the shadowy garden below.
Peter had gone; there was no sign of his horse tethered by the gate. But it was the image of another man and another stallion that was imprinted on her mind as she stared into the twilight.
The look Ryan Kavanagh had given her as he sat on the grass with the superb steed close by was annoyingly unforgettable. She suspected that if he were to discover how affected she had been by clashing eyes with him just twice, that half-smile of his would turn to laughter.
She pivoted away from the moonlit scene, feeling ashamed for having allowed a stranger to push her fiancé from her mind. And there was something else: the niggling anxiety that her brother had been on the point of disclosing something important about Claire. Faye didn’t want to seem to be prying unduly into her younger sister’s life...but she was her guardian and the memory of the guilty look on Claire’s face earlier that day now seemed to warrant further investigation.
With a sigh Faye resolved to speak to her sister in the morning. Feeling suddenly quite weary, she went downstairs to check the locks, as she always did, before retiring.
* * *
The following morning Faye was seated at the parlour table, penning an invitation to Peter to dine with them later, when her housekeeper hurried in to the room.
‘You’d best come and take a look at your brother, Miss Shawcross.’
‘Why? What is it, Mrs Gideon?’
‘I took him up a breakfast tray. Master Michael’s still feeling poorly and I’d say there’s more to it than scrumping.’
Quickly Faye followed her housekeeper’s plump figure up the stairs. Michael had seemed fine when she checked on him before turning in for the night. He’d been sleeping soundly so Faye had blown out the night light she’d left burning at the side of his bed. This morning she’d risen early and gone straight downstairs, not wanting to disturb him.
‘He’s got a fever and I asked him to show me his chest as it occurred to me that when folk congregate at fairs, infections can spread.’
Nelly Gideon had acted as nurse to both of Mr Shawcross’s youngest children and had no hesitation in pulling open the lacings on Michael’s nightshirt to display a patch of red skin on his breastbone. ‘That rash tells me a doctor needs calling.’ Nelly had lowered her voice to an ominous whisper.
A burst of anxiety flipped Faye’s heart over. She sat on the edge of her brother’s bed and put a hand against his forehead. He felt very hot and clammy and she knew that if he did have scarlatina they should get a doctor to examine him straight away. Faye knew enough about infections to suspect the doctor would tell them to keep themselves to themselves for a week or two to prevent it spreading.
‘Would you ask your husband to fetch Dr Reid, please?’ Faye turned her blanching face up to her housekeeper’s furrowed countenance.
Nelly nodded and hurried from the room. The fact that stoic Mrs Gideon seemed alarmed increased Faye’s anxiety and she tried to block from her mind what Bertram Gideon had told her about folk dying of the disease.
Faye got to her feet and smoothed strands of lank fair hair back from Michael’s brow. He seemed half-asleep, but his breathing was noisy. He was young and strong, Faye impressed on herself. And there was a possibility that something less serious could be ailing him.
She rushed to the window and gazed out, seeking the doctor’s pony and trap although she knew it was far too soon for a sighting of the vehicle. But somebody was coming and she recognised the horse and rider...
Quickly she bolted down the stairs.
‘I’m sorry, Peter, but I think it best you don’t come in.’ Faye stood behind the half-closed door.
‘What on earth’s the matter?’ Peter demanded, taking a stride forward as though he might force entry.
‘Michael might have scarlatina. He’s very unwell and has a rash on his chest...’ Faye’s voice tailed off.
Peter immediately stepped off the doorstep. ‘I see; have you sent for the doctor?’
‘Mr Gideon has gone to fetch him. He should be back soon.’
‘I came over to apologise for being grumpy last night.’ Peter raked a lock of brown hair back from his forehead.
‘Well, if you were, it would be understandable,’ Faye said with a strained smile. ‘I hope I did not seem unwelcoming. I look forward so much to seeing you. It is just a shame circumstances are what they are.’
‘I shall leave earlier than planned for London. I had hoped we might dine together again this evening, but it seems we won’t.’
‘I had written you a letter inviting you,’ Faye said ruefully. ‘When will you be home again?’
‘In a few months, I hope. I’m off to Malta. But my application for an admiralty position is under review so nothing is certain.’
‘That’s wonderful!’ Faye pulled the door open, but remembered at the last minute not to rush forward and congratulate her fiancé with a hug.
‘I am only flesh and blood and I want a wife,’ Peter said. ‘You are not a children’s nanny, my dear, but my fiancée.’ He paced to and fro, fingers flexing at his sides. ‘As soon as I have the time I am going to Ireland to find that confounded woman. I’ll search everywhere for her and make her look after her children.’
‘You cannot do that, Peter,’ Faye said, stifling her annoyance. ‘The children don’t want to go to Ireland...and I won’t make them—’ Faye broke off at the sound of a vehicle rattling along. The hunched figure of Bertram Gideon, pipe clamped in his mouth, hove into view. And he was alone.
Faye immediately pushed open the door and sped to meet him. ‘Is the doctor coming soon?’ she gasped.
‘He’s been called out already this morning. Gone to the big house so his servant told me.’ Bert climbed down from the cart and lifted up one of his horse’s back legs, tenderly prodding it.
‘Dr Reid is at Valeside Manor?’
Bert nodded. ‘I’ve left a message with his housekeeper to send him right over when he do get back.’
‘Perhaps they have scarlatina at the manor as well.’ Faye paced to and fro in agitation. ‘Oh, how long will he be, do you think?’
‘I was on me way to Valeside to tell the doctor he be wanted here urgent, but Daisy threw a shoe so I turned around. Getting her and the cart down that hill and up again would have crippled her to bits, poor lassie.’
‘You mustn’t worry too much, my dear.’ Peter clasped Faye’s hands, giving them a comforting squeeze. ‘Your brother was fit as a fiddle just yesterday and eating like a glutton.’ He sighed. ‘I can’t be of much help to you so I’ll leave you be.’ He gave Faye a lingering look. ‘Write to me and we’ll speak more about a trip to Ireland when I return next time.’
‘I will write...and you must take care, Peter.’ Faye smiled weakly. ‘Good luck with your promotion.’
Mr Gideon also watched Peter mounting his stallion and waving farewell. He removed the clay pipe from his mouth. ‘That horse ain’t lame then,’ he said sourly.
Faye knew what Mr Gideon was hinting at: Peter could have offered to go to Valeside Manor and give the doctor a message to save time. People were always wary of coming into contact with disease and would avoid it if possible. Nevertheless, Faye felt disappointed that her fiancé hadn’t offered his assistance in that small way.
‘I’ll get the smithy to take a look at Daisy, then I’ll set off over to the manor and catch the doctor there if there’s still no sign of him.’
‘No! You can’t walk that distance, Mr Gideon.’ Faye frowned at the elderly fellow’s bowed legs. He had difficulty climbing up on to his cart at times due to his swollen joints; he’d never manage to walk over three miles. ‘I’ll go. I can run and perhaps the doctor might turn up in the meantime. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
Chapter Four (#u8cea3a97-8897-5431-9da8-484ee3998bcd)
Valeside Manor was set at the end of a meandering avenue of lime trees that widened, after about half a mile, on to a circle of gravel with a central fountain and wide flagstone treads leading to the house.
It was an imposing crenelated edifice flanked on either side by heavily timbered wings, extending like arms to embrace manicured lawns and parterres.
Determined not to be spotted dashing up to the front steps like a hoyden, Faye had kept to the shelter of the ancient limes. When so close to the manor’s huge oaken doors that she could feel a cool mist on her hot face she came to a standstill, catching her breath.
Leaning her back against the bole of the nearest tree, she watched the fountain droplets glistening with rainbow light as they sprayed high into the air. Her body was trembling with the exertion of running up hills and down dales, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She dried her perspiring hands on her skirts, then attempted smoothing her wild fair hair into the pins at her nape. Her bonnet had long ago loosened to drape down her back on its ribbons. She guessed she looked a fright, but something more important than that was bothering her. There was no sign of the doctor’s pony and trap in front of the house; she prayed she’d not had a wasted journey and that he had parked in the stable courtyard at the back of the building. With a deep inhalation she set off to find out because she had no intention of banging on Mr Kavanagh’s door for no reason.
‘Is it me you’re looking for, Miss Shawcross?’
Swinging about with a startled gasp, Faye stared up into a pair of the deepest blue eyes she had ever seen. For a moment she was tongue-tied, overwhelmed by the striking sight of him astride his magnificent horse. He was handsome...breathtakingly so...but it was the awful knowledge that he must have been watching her for some while that made colour flood her complexion. He had come up through the trees as she had and the blood pounding in her ears from running had deafened her to his approach. The idea that he’d seen her haring in and out of the woodland with her skirts lifted high about her knees was mortifying.
‘Do you want me?’
His lilting Irish accent was making his rephrased question seem more intimate than it was, Faye imagined as she felt her blush deepen.
‘I’m looking for the doctor, sir,’ she managed to utter crisply. ‘We were told he came here earlier. Is he inside?’ She skittered backwards as Mr Kavanagh dismounted and started towards her. ‘You should keep your distance, sir; I think my brother might have scarlatina. It spreads quickly, you know.’ She glanced at his house, wondering if those inside were under quarantine. ‘Has somebody here got scarlatina? Is that why you sent for Dr Reid?’
‘The physician was called to treat a groom who’d tumbled off a nag. There’s no infection that I know of.’ He plunged his hands into the pockets of his long leather coat, continuing to pace her way.
‘I see; is Dr Reid still here? I must speak to him urgently.’
‘He’s gone. I’ve just passed him on the road to Wilverton.’ He jerked his dark head towards the town.
Faye felt her heart sink. ‘Thank you, sir, for telling me.’ She gave a farewell nod, but it seemed he had no intention of letting her go yet and changed direction as she did.
She avoided him, feeling overpowered by his thrilling virility, but then swung about, angry at herself for allowing him to fluster her. She was a betrothed woman of twenty-five years, guardian to two children, not a green girl acting shy with a boy. ‘You should stay back from me, sir...scarlatina is a nasty illness,’ she said firmly.
‘I know it is. I had it when a lad and lived to tell the tale. It holds no fears for me now.’
‘You are indeed lucky, then. The idea of one of my family having the disease terrifies me.’ Faye sketched a little bob. ‘I’m sorry to have bothered you, sir.’ She set off again, walking, but intending to break into a run as soon as she was out of sight.
‘Are you going to Wilverton to find Reid?’
‘I’m heading home, sir.’ Faye sent that over a shoulder, then turned about, pacing backwards. ‘The doctor already has a message to come immediately to Mulberry House.’ Whichever way she stepped either his muscular body or that of his stallion seemed to be blocking her path, preventing her marching on.
‘I’ll give you a ride home on horseback. It’ll be quicker; you look too exhausted to run another step.’
‘No! That is, I thank you kindly for the offer, sir, but there is no need.’ Faye felt her face prickle in embarrassment; he had watched her haring about then.
‘Surely there is a need; you must be gravely concerned about your brother to risk visiting this den of iniquity in search of the physician.’
So he was aware the neighbourhood was agog with talk about his domestic arrangement. From the arrogant slant to his mouth Faye gathered he was quite impenitent about it.
‘My brother’s health is all I care about, sir; nothing else is of any consequence.’ Having piously implied uninterest in his affairs she felt a fraud; just a day or so ago she’d avidly listened to Holly describing Valeside Manor’s roguish new owner.
‘That’s settled then; you’ve no time for gossip and I’ve the time to get you quickly back to your brother’s side.’
His velvety Gaelic drawl made goosebumps prickle on Faye’s nape; she couldn’t deny that the prospect of the three-mile hike, when she was already weary, was a daunting one.
When he beckoned she hesitated only fractionally before going to him, barely flinching as he touched her forearm and drew her closer. Now she couldn’t avoid looking at the expanse of tanned skin exposed by his loose shirt collar, or becoming aware of a pleasing male scent of leather and tobacco. Fleetingly she raised her eyes to the thin white line that crossed his cheek, marvelling that it was less of a disfigurement than an enhancement to his raffish character.
Two large hands abruptly girdled her waist, lifting her atop the stallion with such ease and speed that she gasped. Seconds later he’d swung up behind her and turned the mount’s head in the direction of her home.
Had she wanted to speak to him on the cross-country gallop that took them flying over streams and hillocks it would have been difficult with the breeze whipping the breath from her mouth. Her stiffly held torso gradually relaxed and she allowed herself to nestle against his chest with her bonnet brim protecting her face from the elements. She had never ridden on a horse capable of such acceleration and she felt in equal part terrified and exhilarated by the thrill of it. As though guessing her mixed emotions, he put a knuckle beneath her chin and tilted up her face, displaying a flash of white teeth in a smile as he read her expression. One strong arm came in front of her and encircled her shoulders in a way that was oddly possessive as well as protective.
Reining in the horse to a slower pace, he pointed to the east. The doctor’s pony and trap was on the skyline, heading in the direction of her home.
‘Take me to him, if you will, sir. Dr Reid will let me ride with him and save you the remainder of the journey,’ Faye said while constantly pulling strands of fair hair away from her face, whipped there by the wind.
‘You’re not a bother to me... I’ll gladly take you all the way...if you want...’ His lips were close to her ear, his breath warm against her skin.
Her hesitation was enough to make him spur the stallion to a trot. A short while later Mulberry House was visible and Faye felt a peculiar pang of sadness to be almost home.
‘Thank you for your assistance, sir.’
‘My pleasure...’
He reined in the coal-black stallion at the top of the garden and dismounted. Without warning he lifted her down, keeping his hands fastened on the tops of her arms.
Feeling awkward beneath his brooding stare, Faye managed a little bob, then wriggled free. His long fingers encircled her wrist, stopping her turning away.
‘Don’t believe all you hear about me, will you now, Miss Shawcross?’
‘How do you know my name, sir?’
‘I made it my business to find out.’
Faye moistened her lips with a tongue flick. He’d owned up to being inquisitive about her with a boldness born of arrogance, she imagined. It had been good of him to bring her home, saving her legs, but she knew nothing about him other than what two people she trusted had told her. According to Anne Holly and Mrs Gideon, Ryan Kavanagh was rumoured to be a shameless reprobate. And she would do well to remember it, Faye impressed upon herself. Handsome and charming he might be...but she should heed her housekeeper’s words and keep a safe distance from him. She certainly couldn’t trust Kavanagh. And neither should his young mistress. Fleetingly Faye met his dark blue gaze; the hint of sultriness that she’d heard in his voice was reflected at the backs of his eyes. He didn’t know her, yet he desired her, despite having his concubine waiting for him at the manor.
‘Thank you for bringing me home, sir,’ Faye said huskily then turned and walked quickly towards the house.
‘Miss Shawcross...’
Faye pivoted about.
‘Is your brother sporting a rash that he scratches?’
‘He is, sir...the rash on his chest drives him mad.’
‘There was ragwort growing around the fairground by the river.’
‘Ragwort?’ Faye echoed in confusion.
‘It irritates some people.’
Faye frowned and took a few paces towards him. ‘You think my brother’s ailment might be from a plant rather than from an infection? Why didn’t you tell me that earlier?’
He mounted the stallion, a private smile twisting his mouth. ‘You know now. If that’s what ails your brother, the Romanies will have a cure for it if your doctor doesn’t.’ He dipped his head and a moment later was galloping away.
Faye hurried into the house to find Mrs Gideon and Claire rushing to meet her.
‘Was that who I think it was?’ Mrs Gideon hissed in alarm, her hand pressed to her heaving bosom.
Claire’s eyes were dancing in merriment. ‘Bad Mr Kavanagh gave you a ride home. Why didn’t you ask him in? I’d adore meeting him. How wicked is he?’ she demanded to know.
‘Is Michael any better?’ Faye asked, trying to still her racing heart following the excitement of her encounter with Kavanagh. She had vainly hoped that if he let her down at the top of the garden her return might go unnoticed. ‘The doctor will be here shortly, we spotted him on his way.’
‘Michael isn’t as feverish, but the rash still troubles him,’ Mrs Gideon informed her before resuming her interrogation. ‘Did that brute force you up on to that beast with him?’
‘Of course not! I was tired and Mr Kavanagh kindly offered to save me the walk home. By the time I arrived at the manor, Dr Reid had gone from there so it was a fool’s errand.’
Faye started quickly up the stairs.
‘You’d best hope your fiancé never gets wind of you being so close to that wretch. He’ll jilt you for sure.’ Mrs Gideon followed her mistress up the treads, shaking her head.
‘Mr Kavanagh was simply making sure I didn’t fall off during the ride. He was a perfect gentleman and very obliging.’
‘I’ll bet he was...’ Mrs Gideon muttered.
‘He’s devilishly handsome,’ Claire chortled, skipping to keep up with them as they dashed along the landing.
‘Handsome is as handsome does,’ Nelly interjected with a finger wag.
With a sigh Faye entered Michael’s chamber. Her brother indeed appeared brighter. She sat down on his bed, taking his hands in hers and giving them a squeeze. ‘You look a bit better now. Did you and your chums go down by the water at the fairground yesterday?’
Michael nodded. ‘We were feeling hot so stripped off and went for a swim in the river.’
‘Did you lay on the grass afterwards?’
‘I had a fight with Edward.’ Michael cautiously mentioned Mrs Gideon’s nephew, known to be a bully.
‘What was the scallywag up to, then? I’ll have my brother speak to him. And Peggy’s no better. I’ve a mind to snub the lot of them, kin or no.’ Nelly looked grim.
‘If you did have a fight, it seems no harm’s done,’ Faye quickly interjected. Nelly’s comment about her niece had brought to mind the moment she’d seen Claire and Peggy creeping out of the copse at the fairground.
‘Doctor’s here,’ Mr Gideon called up the stairs, alerting them to the fellow’s arrival.
‘What’s this about, then?’ The physician put down his bag and approached the invalid to examine him.
Dr Reid was a nice gentleman who had taken great care of Faye’s father in his final weeks. He’d also done his best, years ago, to save her mother’s life, so her papa and Mrs Gideon had told her. Faye couldn’t remember that sad time as she’d only been five years old when her mother had died of a winter chill.
‘I doubt your brother has got scarlatina; I’d expect to see his tongue looking strawberry red and his cheeks flushed, too.’ Dr Reid tapped a finger thoughtfully against his mouth. ‘His fever’s faded.’ He held a hand against Michael’s forehead.
‘He’s been scrumping lately,’ Mrs Gideon announced helpfully. ‘And fighting.’
‘I believe he might have rolled on ragwort after swimming in the river,’ Faye added.
‘Scrumpy belly and irritation from the ragwort together with a summer chill from going swimming is what I reckon has laid you low, young man.’ Dr Reid started packing away his things, turning to Faye. ‘If he’s not properly back on his feet in a day or two, send for me again.’
Faye and Mrs Gideon exchanged a beam of relief.
‘I expect a day of rest and fasting will put your belly right. The apothecary might have something to soothe those spots,’ he told Michael, pulling the covers up over him.
‘Or the Romanies have a cure, I believe,’ Faye said.
Mrs Gideon turned a shocked look on her mistress.
‘Mr Kavanagh told me they do,’ Faye explained. ‘It seems he was right about the rash.’
‘Was he now!’ Mrs Gideon breathed. ‘I’ll send Bertram to the apothecary ’cos we don’t want anything off the likes of them.’
‘It is true that itinerants treat their own ills quite successfully.’ The doctor sounded quite unperturbed at the idea of using a gypsy remedy.
‘Please come into the parlour before leaving, Dr Reid. Have you time for tea?’
‘I must get off straight away and there’s no need for me to come into the parlour, Miss Shawcross. I was barely here a few minutes and nothing much wrong, so there’ll be no charge.’
The doctor knew about her financial mishap and was offering to waive his payment, Faye realised. ‘That’s kind of you, sir, but I insist if you’ve no time to take tea that you do stop long enough to collect your fee.’
Once the doctor had gone with the money she’d pressed on him, Faye opened the parlour window to let in a rose-scented breeze. It was another glorious midsummer day, Faye thought, gazing towards the spot at the bottom of the garden where just a short while ago Ryan Kavanagh had taken her from his horse. The memory of that ride home seemed dream-like now and it was only Mrs Gideon’s censorious expression that told Faye she had indeed flown over meadows on a black stallion with the new master of Valeside.
‘I promised your father always to do my best by you, miss, so there is something I feel duty bound to say...’ Nelly put down the tea tray she’d just brought into the parlour.
‘You want to scold me for accepting a lift from Mr Kavanagh,’ Faye pre-empted. ‘But he was helpful and I’m grateful. In fact, I should write and thank him, especially for hinting at what ailed Michael.’
‘Isn’t him you need to thank for that!’ Mrs Gideon huffed. ‘That hussy of his will be the one knows gypsy lore.’
‘What do you mean?’ Faye frowned. ‘They’re gentry from London, aren’t they?’
‘Maybe they are...but folk are saying she’s a Romany and from the look of her I’d say that’s true.’
The beautiful young woman certainly looked exotic enough to have foreign blood. It was a depressing thought that the master of Valeside would take a young gypsy girl as a paramour when he was attractive and wealthy enough to choose a woman closer to his own age and station in life. ‘Wherever the knowledge about ragwort came from I’m grateful to have it if it helps Michael.’ Faye changed the subject. ‘Where is Claire?’ She looked out of the window to see if her sister had gone into the garden.
‘Miss Claire went with Bertram to Wilverton. She said she was bored so she’s gone for a ride to the apothecary with him to fetch Michael some lotion.’
Chapter Five (#u8cea3a97-8897-5431-9da8-484ee3998bcd)
‘Tell Miss Claire to hurry inside or her tea will be stewed in the pot.’
Bertram had been pulling off his boots by the kitchen door when his wife called out to him.
‘The young miss is stopping in town with Peggy,’ he replied, padding to settle wearily on a kitchen stool. Unaware of his wife glowering at him he flexed his toes in his woollen socks and sipped his tea.
‘Stopping in town with Peggy?’ Nelly barked. ‘Who gave her leave to do such a thing? Did you?’
Bertram frowned at her from beneath his bushy brows. ‘’Course it weren’t me, woman. Miss Claire said her sister knew she was to meet up with Peggy this afternoon.’
Bertram pulled from a pocket the bottle of lotion he’d got from the apothecary shop, placing it on the table and trying to ignore his wife’s muttering.
‘Oh, I was just bringing the tea to the parlour, Miss Shawcross.’ Nelly had noticed her mistress on the kitchen threshold.
‘Did you say my sister has remained in town with Peggy?’ Faye asked, frowning.
‘Miss Claire said she had your permission,’ Bertram began defensively.
‘Well, she did not, but no harm done,’ Faye said, with more insouciance than she felt. She didn’t want to increase the friction between Mr and Mrs Gideon who, though devoted, she was sure, constantly bickered about their respective families.
Although it was wrong of her sister to tell fibs, Faye understood Claire’s restlessness. Sometimes she, too, craved to roam the outdoors in fine weather, or to have a relaxing time with friends free of constraints of family duty. Claire was now sixteen years old and if they were contemplating her come out then she was more adult than child. She deserved a degree of independence and to be allowed to choose her friends. Faye was not a snob, but she realised that some people—Mrs Gideon in particular—might think her sister was becoming too friendly with a girl who might be a similar age but was beneath her class.
‘Bertram will go and get her as soon as he gets those boots back on.’ Mrs Gideon sent her husband a thunderous look.
‘I expect she’ll be back home under her own steam for supper,’ Faye said lightly. ‘She’s made the trek before. No need to rush back to Wilverton for her just yet.’
Bertram gulped down his tea, then clattered his empty cup down on its saucer, hoisting himself to his feet with the aid of the table edge. ‘No rest for the wicked,’ he mumbled, keen to escape his wife’s company. ‘I’ll get that vegetable patch turned over ready for sowing,’ he added. ‘Rain’s on the way and ground could do with a good soaking.’
Faye picked up the lotion and went upstairs to see her brother.
‘Yesterday you sounded cross when Claire let on that you’d been scrumping. But by telling us about it she assisted you in quickly getting the powder you needed to soothe your gripes.’ Faye began dabbing Michael’s rash with a piece of lint soaked with lotion. ‘If I asked you to tell me about something important that might help Claire, though she might not want me to know it, you would do so, wouldn’t you?’ She noticed that her brother avoided her eyes as she tended to him.
‘Michael?’ Faye grasped her brother’s chin, turning him to look at her. ‘What is it you know, but don’t want to say?’
‘Peggy put her up to it,’ Michael blurted out. ‘Edward told me that it wasn’t Claire’s fault.’
‘What wasn’t Claire’s fault?’ Faye felt a jolt of uneasiness. So something had gone on; she hadn’t imagined the guilty looks the two girls had been sporting at the fairground.
‘Peggy had been making eyes at one of the gypsy boys and Edward said he’d punch him.’ Michael chewed his lower lip. ‘I said I wasn’t getting into a scrap and went off swimming with Samuel Wright. Edward called us cowards, that’s why I had a fight with him on the grass and fell on the ragwort.’ He fingered the red bumps on his chest.
‘How has your sister got involved in any of this?’ Faye removed Michael’s hand from the rash he was scratching.
‘Peggy’s scared of Edward so she sent Claire to tell the boy to stay away or else he’d get thumped.’
‘I see...’ Faye said, standing up. And she did see. Peggy might try to enlist Claire’s help again this afternoon, as a go-between. Faye realised that Mrs Gideon would be horrified to know her niece was encouraging a gypsy swain. The lad would soon be gone though, travelling on with his kin in their colourful caravans.
Unwilling to let her brother see her agitation, Faye laced his nightshirt, tucked him up, and went out of the room.
Pacing on the landing, she wondered if the best thing would be to send Mr Gideon to Wilverton to fetch Claire back. Or to keep fuss and questions to a minimum, she could go herself. She knew where Mrs Gideon’s brother lived, but didn’t want to create a mountain out of a molehill. It was likely she might turn up and find the girls doing nothing more exciting than sitting on the grass, making daisy chains for their hair. And then she’d feel a fool for spoiling their innocent fun.
It was at times like this that she wished she had someone to turn to for advice. But, even were her fiancé still in the vicinity, she would try to sort out the matter herself, she realised. Peter would be sure to be critical and intolerant of Claire’s behaviour. Peter’s parents, impoverished or not, were sticklers for keeping up appearances. They wouldn’t like their son’s future sister-in-law consorting with riff-raff.
Peering out of the landing window, Faye could just glimpse Mr Gideon, shirtsleeves rolled back, digging over the vegetable patch. It would be an inconvenience for him to have to pack up his tools and harness the pony and trap. But Faye knew that if she didn’t seek out her sister and satisfy herself Claire wasn’t in trouble, she’d not have a minute’s peace.
She pounced on a valid excuse to make the trip to town herself: Anne Holly had sent a note, informing her that her husband’s relations were returning to town in a day or two. She’d suggested that Claire might like to get to know Sarah before her niece returned home. Faye had been on the point of declining because Michael had suspected scarlatina, but now the doctor had called and given his verdict, there was no longer a need to shut themselves away. Faye decided she could pay Anne a visit to thank her for the invitation and set a date to take tea at the vicarage. It would be nice for Claire to make a new friend, especially as they were due to make their debuts together. More at ease, Faye went downstairs to tell Mrs Gideon she was going out.
‘I’ll fetch Bertram to drive you.’
‘There’s no need, Mrs Gideon. I’m quite capable of taking the pony and trap out; I’ve done so on many occasions.’
‘But he’s only digging over and won’t mind.’
Faye pulled on her cotton gloves, giving the woman a smile. ‘I’ll not stop long with Anne Holly. Please don’t wait for my return. You and Mr Gideon must get off home at the usual time. If you’d just leave the stew pot simmering on the hob, that will do fine. No need to fret about Michael; he is feeling much better and itching to be back on his feet.
‘If you say so, miss,’ Nelly Gideon grumbled. ‘Will you bring your sister back with you?’
‘Yes...of course...unless she is already on her way home and we miss one another.’
Faye hurried out of the kitchen door before her housekeeper could find a reason to stop her. Luckily Bertram had left Daisy in harness, probably in readiness to collect Claire later that afternoon.
Bertram eased his weary spine by bowing backwards, hands on hips, as Faye passed him with a wave. Mrs Gideon had come to the kitchen door to watch her leave and Faye noticed that the couple wore matching frowns as she slowly drove herself away from Mulberry House.
They were fine people, loyal and caring, but sometimes their protectiveness seemed stifling. Faye had felt freer when her papa was alive and relying on her assistance. She knew that the Gideons took seriously their vow to Cecil Shawcross to keep a watchful eye on her and her siblings. But she was quite capable of coping on her own and, as kindly as she could, she must make the Gideons see it, too. From a young age she’d had no doting mama to fetch and carry for her, and much as her father loved her, he had allowed her her independence in order to get on with his own business. She had roamed far and wide when not under her governess’s care. Edwina Sharp hadn’t lived with them, but had driven her little gig from Moreton village every day to tutor her, then returned to care for her elderly parents. They were all gone now. Mr and Mrs Sharp had died within weeks of one another, and as though unsure if her duty were done, their daughter had followed them to the family tomb at Michaelmas the same year.
Once on the rutted road with the balmy breeze at her back Faye felt her tension ease. The pony settled into a trot and she loosened the reins. As she passed the brow of a hill she had a clear view of Valeside Manor nestling in all its glory in the valley below. She turned her gaze from it, concentrating on the road ahead; it seemed the more she learned of the new master of Valeside the less she ought to like him. A gentleman with a young Romany concubine and a careless attitude to what people thought of his morals was surely not somebody she should find charming and attractive. And yet...she did.
Faye urged Daisy to a faster pace, annoyed with herself for allowing such a fellow into her head when her fiancé should have first claim on her thoughts. She pondered on the lack of an opportunity to discuss her financial losses with Peter. He had left unnecessarily early for London; had he known that Michael didn’t have scarlatina they would have spent a few more precious hours together.
Approaching Wilverton Faye turned the trap at the turnpike, heading along the dusty main road towards the row of thatched cottages at the far end where Mr Miller lived with his children. Slowing down in front of the last cottage in the row, Faye caught sight of Edward Miller scything the grass and whistling as he worked. Of Claire or Peggy there was no sign. Edward stopped what he was doing to tug at his forelock.
‘Miss Shawcross,’ he mumbled in greeting, coming to the gate. ‘The doctor called on you, didn’t he? Is Michael ailing?’
‘He is getting better now, thank you, Edward.’
‘We heard he’d got spots on him.’ Edward took a cautious step back. ‘Is it something catching?’
‘Luckily it is not. The ragwort he rolled on after swimming gave him a rash.’ Faye gave him a stern look. ‘You had a fight with him yesterday at the fairground. You should know better. You’re a good few years older than my brother.’
‘Weren’t all my fault,’ Edward blustered, glancing about. ‘Have you come to speak to my pa about it?’
‘Not this time...but if it happens again, I will,’ Faye said flatly. She felt sorry for Mr Miller, widowed many years ago and coping alone with his four children. Peggy was the eldest at fifteen and Edward a year younger. ‘I’ve come to take my sister home. Is she inside with Peggy?’
‘Ain’t seen Peggy or Miss Claire this afternoon.’
Faye gave him an old-fashioned look. ‘If you know where my sister is, please tell me.’
Edward shook his head sending his sandy fringe flopping into his eyes. ‘Honest...ain’t seen ’em, Miss Shawcross. Peggy went out this morning to do chores for Mrs Bullman like she always do every day. Ain’t seen her since. And ain’t clapped eyes on Miss Claire since the fair. I’ve been helping Pa indoors ’cos his knees are bad.’ He jerked his head towards the wonky open doorway that led into the cottage. A girl of about seven was stationed there, sucking a thumb.
Faye knew that the butcher’s wife paid Peggy to help out in the shop in the mornings. But it was possible Peggy had met Claire later on.
‘I know about the gypsy boy you were going to punch because he was making eyes at Peggy,’ Faye said quietly. She didn’t want members of Edward’s family overhearing her, but Edward had to tell her more about what had been going on between the Miller children and the gypsies. Since her sister had got embroiled in it, it affected her, too.
Edward blushed and fidgeted. ‘His pal was after Miss Claire,’ he rattled off. ‘I reckon you should thank me for scaring ’em off, Miss Shawcross.’
Faye believed he was telling the truth and in an instant she felt her niggling anxiety over her sister’s whereabouts explode. Claire might have a more personal involvement with the gypsy boys than she’d imagined. Quickly Faye banished that awful thought from her head. Claire could be silly, but she’d never play such a dangerous game.
‘Do you want me to go and find them?’ Edward meekly offered.
‘I expect my sister has already gone home. It’s supper time soon.’ The tone of the youth’s voice indicated that he, too, suspected an upset might be brewing. Faye climbed aboard the trap, her heart feeling leaden. From a corner of her eye she saw Edward resume scything. She hoped he had not put too much store on her questions. If a rumour spread about Claire Shawcross and a gypsy boy, her sister’s reputation would suffer. With Claire’s come out in the offing they couldn’t risk a breath of scandal spoiling their plans.
Faye forgot about visiting Anne Holly and turned the trap to head home. She slowed down by the butcher’s shop, but the shutters were already closed for the day. It was midsummer and still sunny, but she guessed the time to be gone six o’clock. At the back of her mind whirred a fervent prayer that her worry was unfounded and her sister was already at Mulberry House. Yet...she feared Claire was not.
With a gasp of relief Faye glimpsed the unmistakable sight of Peggy’s bushy auburn tresses bobbing along further along the street. Faye pulled Daisy to a halt, then jumped down and hurried towards her.
‘Is Claire in the shop?’ Faye tilted her head to see past a few customers congregated in the doorway of the confectionery shop. The merchant kept his premises open quite late in the summer months to sell to those playing games on the village green.
‘Haven’t seen your sister, Miss Shawcross,’ Peggy said, edging away.
‘Are you sure about that?’ Faye lowered her voice to demand, ‘Have you and Claire been meeting some gypsy lads on the sly?’
‘Don’t tell me pa, will you, Miss Shawcross?’ Peggy whimpered. ‘He’ll take the stick to me back.’ She dodged past, running towards her home.
Faye was no mean sprinter and quickly caught up with her; grasping her elbow, she whipped the girl around. ‘You had better tell me where Claire is, or I’ll come home with you now and you can tell your father and me everything that has gone on.’
‘We went to the fairground earlier. I came back, but Claire stayed with Donagh because they’re packing up to travel on and she wanted to say goodbye.’
‘Donagh?’ Faye echoed with subdued alarm.
‘Donagh Lee is the chief’s son. He’s keen on Claire...’
‘Is she keen on him?’ Faye whispered, her mind jumbling with all sorts of imagined disasters.
Peggy nodded. ‘I told her to come back with me or she’d get in to trouble. But she said she’d stay just a few more minutes, then head home. They were by the copse where the ponies are tied up.’
‘Thank you, Peggy.’ Faye could feel the prickle of shocked, angry tears as she hurried back to the trap and climbed on board. At the back of her mind whirred a constant mantra. How could you be so stupid and selfish, Claire? How could you?
As she set the trap to a fast trot out of Wilverton her heart was thudding crazily beneath her bodice. She clung to the hope that her sister had gone home and was impatiently waiting for her to return so they could eat supper.
Home or not, Faye knew that she would tear a strip off her sister. She prayed that Peggy and Edward would keep what they knew to themselves in case their father found out they’d also risked trouble with the gypsies.
As the trap bumped and rattled over dry ruts Faye saw that her fiancé and Anne Holly had a point when warning her that the burden of her siblings might prove to be too much for her to cope with. She put up her chin, instilling fresh courage. She must not let this calamity intimidate her, but draw strength from it. Then in the spring when her sister went to London Claire would surely find a husband.
Faye blinked anxious tears from her lashes and flicked the reins, urging the pony on. Too late, her vision cleared and she tried to avoid a pothole just a yard or two from Daisy’s front hooves. The animal veered left to avoid it and the trap tilted precariously, then bounced up and down. It landed with a crunch as a wheel buckled and Faye was flung from her seat. She landed on the parched ground on her back with enough force to knock the breath from her body. For a second or two she was lucid enough to be furious at her own carelessness and then the sky above spun and turned black.
Chapter Six (#u8cea3a97-8897-5431-9da8-484ee3998bcd)
‘Miss Shawcross? Can you hear me? What in the name of God’s happened here?’
The urgent questions filtered into Faye’s mind through the drumming in her forehead. She tried to rise, but every limb seemed under attack from fiery pain and she sank back to the earth with a groan.
‘Stay still now...let’s see if you’ve broken anything.’
Faye felt the pressure of long firm fingers investigating her limbs in a swift scientific manner. Her collarbone and shoulders were also subjected to a smoothing massage, then two strong hands slipped beneath her shoulders, easing her upwards.
‘Look at me...do you recognise me?’
A strong hand grasped her chin as it started to sway towards her chest.
‘Open your eyes and look at me.’
The rough command penetrated her daze and Faye obeyed, blinking until a dark visage ceased shimmering like a mirage and she was staring into a pair of piercing blue eyes. ‘Mr Kavanagh...’ she murmured, then gasped as a pain shot through her from attempting to get up.
‘Be still...let me help you...’ He’d been squatting by her side, but now rose, drawing her gently to her feet with him.
‘I don’t think you’ve broken anything. But you’ll ache like the devil for days.’ He touched a finger to a bloody scratch on her ashen cheek. ‘I take it you hit that pothole. Your animal is injured. Your rig’s in a bad way, too.’
Faye stumbled around to see the trap listing dangerously to one side. But it was the sight of Daisy favouring a front leg that made a sob burst from Faye. The little pony had served them well over many years and she had hurt Daisy. The reason for her reckless speed burst into her mind like a thunderbolt and all else was forgotten.
‘I must get home, sir,’ Faye implored. ‘There is an emergency. She attempted to throw off his restraining hands to stumble on in the direction of Mulberry House. She’d managed only a few steps when her knees buckled.
Ryan caught her sinking form, swinging her up into his arms. ‘You little fool. Are you after killing yourself? You’ve suffered a bad accident and should thank your lucky stars you’re not in a worse state. A doctor should take a look at you.’
‘I have no time for that. Put me down, I beg of you, sir.’ Faye squirmed in his unrelenting hold. ‘It is critical that I reach home. It will be the worse for us if I do not.’
Ryan had been carrying her towards his horse, but he came to an abrupt halt, gazing down into her tortured expression.
‘What’s put you in such a panic that you’d risk your life flying along in that little contraption?’
Faye pushed tangled blonde locks from her brow and squeezed shut her eyes. ‘I can’t tell you, sir. It is a private matter concerning my family.’ Faye felt tears prickle behind her lids. ‘Would you take me home, please, so that I may deal with it without delay?’
‘If you don’t take care of yourself, my dear,’ he replied in measured tones, ‘you won’t be able do anything at all to help your family.’ Ryan put her carefully atop his horse, holding her trembling form in position while swinging up behind and anchoring her spine to his chest.
Faye knew he was right; her unwise race to find Claire before she caused an outrage had resulted in a fresh problem. As Kavanagh turned the stallion towards the meadow she was aware that he wasn’t allowing the horse its head as he had on their last ride together; a jolting gallop would be agony for her bruised bones.
Mulberry House hove into view and never had Faye felt more relieved to see that Mr and Mrs Gideon had not obeyed her and gone to their own home situated along the lane. The couple were stationed in the kitchen doorway.
The sight of her mistress being returned home on horseback by Kavanagh for the second time caused Nelly to rush forward to confront him over it. The scolding died on her lips as she noticed her mistress’s pallor and the smear of blood on her cut cheek.
‘What in heaven’s name have you done to her?’ she whispered, aghast. ‘Bertram! Come here this instant,’ she yelled for her husband’s protection.
Mr Gideon shuffled up on his arthritic legs, shovel in hand.
‘Your mistress has had an accident on the road,’ Ryan explained, dismounting and helping Faye down. Undaunted by Bertram shaking the shovel at him, Ryan strengthened his grip on Faye as a wave of giddiness made her totter.
Nelly crossed herself, elbowing Ryan aside to embrace her mistress. ‘Oh, what next! Is Miss Claire hurt, too? Where is she?’
‘Is my sister not home?’ Faye gasped in dismay, disentangling herself from her housekeeper’s hug.
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