Redemption of the Duke Read online

  But did she have faith in herself? What did he sense beneath the cool, unflappable surface of Faith Cooper?

  She turned to stare at Aunt Theodosia, who nodded and put her faintly trembling hand on Faith’s.

  “He told me of his part in your brother’s terrible death, my dear. I was not there, I cannot excuse whatever behavior provoked him—”

  “Arrogance, dear aunt,” Adam said, feeling suddenly very weary. “Arrogance and the belief that other people make mistakes, but not me. That my gut was always right and I should never second-guess myself. But you don’t need to hear my excuses,” he said, looking directly at Faith.

  Her eyes widened even as her gaze stayed fixed within his. He thought she might remain silent, because he was saying the truth, wasn’t he?

  “But don’t you see you’ve done it again?” she demanded, glancing from him to Lady Duncan. “You’re arrogantly believing I need you to rescue me!”

  “But you do—you did.” He leaned forward. “I didn’t act rashly. I’ve given this years of thought. You, a gentleman’s daughter, had to become employed because of me.”

  “No, I took a position because of my brother’s death—and unless you killed him yourself, the world doesn’t revolve around you and neither does the entire blame for his death.”

  He sat back again, staring at her in surprise. “Of course it’s my fault—you agreed with me.”

  “I’ve thought better of it since we first met. My—my grief and anger welled up within me when you told me everything, made me relive his death all over again. Perhaps I would not have fueled your need to assuage your conscience if I’d been allowed to walk away. But no—you wanted more from me. And now you have it. Does it make you feel better?”

  He frowned at her. “This is a trick question.”

  She groaned and got to her feet. “Lady Duncan, I will bid you a good night.”

  “But my dear, will you remain here at Rothford Court with us? I do look forward to spending time with you, to sharing my causes and perhaps passing on the fervor to someone who will appreciate it.”

  Adam watched Faith look down at Aunt Theodosia’s hand, thin, frail, blood vessels like a mark of a long life—and that hand trembled now from age, not from emotion, and somehow that was worse, at least to Adam.

  Faith must have thought the same. She smiled at his aunt. “If you still want my companionship, then yes, I’ll remain.”

  She shot Adam a narrow-eyed look that Aunt Theodosia missed by sitting back and clapping her hands together. And that look said, I have no choice—and it’s all your fault.

  And he was content with that. She could not talk him out of believing he’d done the right thing by assisting her, by bringing her into his own household where he could protect her. Nothing would happen to Cooper’s sister now.

  But as he watched her take her leave, found his gaze dipping to her hips once again, he wondered if he’d done what was best for him. She was not a willful, romantic actress, once his favorite type of woman. She was a gently bred lady living in his household, under his care. He’d once thought such a woman boring, conservative, and uninteresting.

  And yet he had been anticipating their first dinner together, the conversations that might be battlefields. He desired her in a way that crept up on him slowly, so subtle he hadn’t seen it at first, but now he couldn’t deny it.

  But he could never have her, could never dishonor her or her brother’s memory. Maybe that would keep him from acting on impulse, from turning back into the boy he used to be, rather than the man he wanted to be, the man who had a reputation to uphold, the honor of a centuries-old title.

  “Adam?”

  He almost started at the sound of his aunt’s voice. “Yes, Aunt Theodosia?”

  She was watching him intently, then she glanced at the door Faith had just disappeared through. “Be careful, my dear boy. I know you want to help her, and now you have. Let me take care of her from now on.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

  His aunt left, and Adam pushed down his uneasiness.

  Faith had slept fitfully in her new bed, and it wasn’t out of discomfort. She should get up, could see daylight through the curtains, but the maid she’d asked to wake her hadn’t come yet, so she lay there, feeling utterly lazy and almost content. She’d had a hard time falling asleep, still overly alert after the awkward dinner with the Chamberlin family.

  And she had to admit—overly alert from being across the table for an entire evening from the Duke of Rothford. He was the powerful center of the family, made so by the deaths of his brothers, true, but she could imagine how it must have been with three young Chamberlin men vying for control. This massive mansion probably hadn’t been big enough to contain them all.

  But now it was just him, the duke, and revolving around him the women, each with her own very unique personality. Faith may have been overshadowed by the forceful women, but she hadn’t minded watching them interact.

  But now that they’d all met and begun to relate, surely things would settle down.

  There was a knock at the door, and Faith sat up and let the blankets fall to her waist. “Come in, Ellen.”

  But Mrs. Morton came in instead, her expression more reserved than the previous evening. “Good morning, Miss Cooper. I do understand your exhaustion, moving to a new household, but I do think from now on you should attempt to join Lady Duncan as she takes breakfast.”

  Faith gasped. “But—I had no idea I’d overslept! Do forgive me, Mrs. Morton. It will never happen again.”

  Mrs. Morton nodded, her expression easing. “You do not work for me, Miss Cooper, and owe me no apology. But I appreciate the offer. I’ll send Ellen to you, since she’ll assist you dressing from now on.”

  “I don’t need the services of a lady’s maid, Mrs. Morton. Believe me, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

  “Lady Duncan insisted, Miss Cooper. Have a good morning.”

  When the housekeeper had gone, Faith jumped out of bed and saw from the mantel clock that it was almost ten o’clock. Her mouth dropped open. She’d never slept so late in her life. And what had happened to Ellen? She hadn’t told Mrs. Morton she’d requested the girl wake her—no need to get her in trouble on Faith’s first full day.

  She pulled a gown from her wardrobe, and was already brushing her hair when Ellen at last scratched on the door. Faith called for her entrance, and the girl walked—no, she sauntered toward the dressing table.

  “Shall I do your hair, miss?”

  “If you could bring me some warm water to wash with, Ellen, that would be a good start.” She hesitated. “I know you are not in my employ, but if you offer to awaken me, please remember to arrive on time.”

  Ellen blinked her pale eyes, and her expression didn’t change. “I didn’t offer to wake you, Miss Cooper.”

  “Then you must have forgotten,” Faith said patiently. “I promise, I don’t need much from you, and I know you have other duties.”

  Ellen didn’t say anything, only bobbed the tiniest curtsy imaginable and left the room. Faith grimaced and continued to brush her own hair. Did the girl think Faith wouldn’t complain because she was barely above a servant herself?

  And she was right, Faith thought grimly. It would not do to get the staff in trouble on her first day at Rothford Court.

  By the time she reached Lady Duncan’s sitting room, where she wrote most of her letters, Faith was feeling flustered. Lady Duncan, ensconced in bed with a writing desk across her lap, glanced up at her, then glanced again, pressing her lips together, probably to hide her amusement.

  Faith knew what she looked like, hadn’t had the heart to tell Ellen her hair-styling skills left much to be desired. A curl was already beginning to slide down her ear in a maddening way that made her want to itch—not that cu
rls ever lasted long in her hair, but Ellen hadn’t listened to her, had simply done what she wanted to do. Perhaps using a turban was a smart idea, she thought, eyeing the elaborate sky-blue turban Lady Duncan wore to match her dressing gown.

  “Good morning, Lady Duncan,” Faith said, sitting down abruptly in a chair beside the bed. “Please forgive me for being late.” She glanced around at the feminine, intricate carving on all the furniture, the soft upholstery, the framed landscapes. This was a comfortable, soothing lady’s retreat.

  “We had not set a time to be together,” Lady Duncan said, eyeing Faith through her monocle as if she wanted to see the hairstyle close up.

  Faith resisted the urge to check her hair. “Perhaps not, but you told me you wrote letters in the morning when you were in residence, and I wanted to be here to help. I promise I will be tomorrow.”

  “Moving to a new home and meeting new people is always exhausting, my dear. And I am no greeter of dawn myself.”

  Faith usually was, but she stayed quiet, for today was no proof of that.

  “Unlike my nephew,” Lady Duncan added, shaking her head. “He used to be quite the lounger in his youth, not awake until almost noon from late-night revelry. But since his return . . .” She let her words die, and for a moment her eyes were touched with sadness.

  Faith didn’t want to know more about him, didn’t want to encourage his aunt, but part of her employment was providing companionship and conversation to the elderly woman.

  “Surely awakening earlier than before is also a sign of maturity,” Faith offered hesitantly. “As a duke, he has much to do.”

  Lady Duncan seemed to brighten. “That’s true. I would not want to think that he had trouble sleeping at night, although you are one of the rare people in whom he confided why.”

  This was beyond uncomfortable, but Faith could only nod.

  “Plus, I do believe his insatiable need to fence might make him tired enough to fall sleep early at night.”

  “He fences?” Faith said, then inwardly winced. Of course he fenced—he’d been a military officer.

  “He loved it as a boy, and returned home with even more of a fascination with it. He goes to a fencing academy nearly every day.”

  No wonder he seemed in . . . fine physical shape. She thought of the width of his shoulders, the way his trousers fit snuggly to his thighs. And then a blush had her looking anywhere but in Lady Duncan’s eyes.

  “I am not certain how you wish my help with your letters, my lady,” Faith said brightly. “Writing them for you, reading them . . . ?”

  “Today you may read. What do you think?”

  The first letter was to a women’s group that was forming in industrial Birmingham, with suggestions for speakers at their meetings, as well as the best way to advertise their events.

  “You aren’t just a supporter, my lady, but you are active in the formation of like-minded support groups.”

  Lady Duncan beamed at her. “I do my best. How else will women know how to band together and accomplish important things, if we don’t help each other?”

  They spent another hour on the letters, and Faith was more and more impressed by the lady’s convictions. It was wonderful to speak so freely, to be unafraid to voice her own opinions. She and Lady Duncan seemed to relate on a level of deep friendship right from the start. It was refreshing and gratifying for Faith, who hadn’t had many friends, except for the Society of Ladies’ Companions and Chaperones.

  And that reminded her. As she was taking away the writing desk from Lady Duncan’s bed, she said, “I know we have not discussed my hours, ma’am, but might I continue to keep today, Wednesday, as my afternoon off?”

  “Of course, of course, that will do well. I am certain I can find other free times for you.”

  “I have friends I regularly meet. But since it is my first full day, I will not desert you.”

  “But you must! You cannot change an appointment so late.”

  “That is too generous, my lady. It is hardly work to spend time with you.”

  “Good, then you won’t mind accompanying me on a shopping trip in the next hour.”

  “Shopping?” she said doubtfully, thinking of the lady’s advanced age and use of her cane.

  “Do not be fooled into thinking I’m infirm,” Lady Duncan insisted, sliding from bed rather dexterously. “I may need my cane for balance, but my legs are healthy enough to walk, so walk I do, most frequently. You might accompany me occasionally, and we’ll see who has the strongest constitution.”

  Faith smiled. “You seem to like competition. Remind me not to play cards with you.”

  “Oh, you’ll be playing.”

  The two women laughed together.

  “Now go find your cloak and bonnet,” Lady Duncan said. “It’s still winter out there, though the sun is out. We will meet in the entrance hall.”

  And by “we,” Faith found out that Lady Duncan meant the entire household of women, including Lady Tunbridge’s daughter, Lady Frances. The girl, ten years of age, had her mother’s dark hair pulled back in a braid, and the blue eyes of the Chamberlins. She was eager to attend with the ladies, but shy when introduced to Faith, and even shyer when her mother spoke gently to her, correcting her posture. So far, Faith had not heard Lady Tunbridge speak civilly to anyone in the household other than her daughter. As they walked out to the carriage, Lady Sophia took Frances’s hand, and they swung their hands together happily.

  They rode in the largest coach of the estate, with the ducal insignia displayed on the side. On Regent Street, that insignia seemed to clear the way for them, and many people pointed at them from the pavement as they disembarked. Faith was used to being anonymous in a crowd, and it was disturbing to feel stared at. It didn’t help that she was self-conscious about her hair, which the bonnet only worsened. She caught little Frances trying not to stare at her, and once, giggling behind her hand.

  But Faith didn’t mind. It was best that she be thought older and out of style. She hadn’t realized she might not like being so on display with the duke’s family, and it reminded her that Timothy Gilpin was probably still in town. She didn’t want to give him any reason to think about her, to wonder why she had to run away to London to take a position, rather than simply stay home.

  They walked along Regent Street, spending the most time in their dressmaker’s shop, but also visiting a milliner, a cobbler, and a bookshop. Faith wasn’t required to do much of anything except offer an occasional opinion, and it was relaxing.

  The strangest thing was that every time she was on the street, she had a prickly feeling at the back of her neck, an . . . awareness that something wasn’t quite right. She’d look around but see nothing more than other shoppers enjoying their day, ladies strolling arm in arm, gentlemen carrying their parcels, the occasional servant scurrying to a waiting carriage. She kept dismissing this foolish notion, but every time they reached the street again, it came back. Faith had the unusual sensation that someone was watching them—but of course, people were always watching aristocratic families. She simply wasn’t used to it. And she never could discern one single person with his eyes on them, so at last, she forced it from her mind.

  “Oh, it is Rothford!” the duchess suddenly exclaimed, waving at her son and a friend, who were about to enter a coffee house.

  Faith slipped quietly to the back of the group, where she preferred to be anyway. The two men crossed the busy street and approached the ladies. She wanted to feel indifferent toward the duke’s arrival—good Lord, she lived with him now—but she could not. There was something about him that drew the eye, that made one think of vitality and fitness and . . . oh very well, his handsome features could surely make a lady swoon. But not her, of course.

  Everyone knew everyone else, until the duke’s friend spied her.

  “And whom do w
e have here?” he asked.

  She could feel his gaze touch on her ugly hair, her bulky clothes, and instead of being embarrassed, she felt safe in her subtle disguise.

  Lady Duncan said, “Lord Shenstone, may I introduce my companion, Miss Faith Cooper.”

  Faith curtsied. Lord Shenstone had the arrogance of a man who knew his good looks and his situation of birth gave him all the advantages he would ever need. He had reddish-brown hair that curled about his head, and the darkest eyes, which seemed unreadable. They should show happiness, but she couldn’t be certain. He was more slender than the duke, but she did not assume that meant him to be weaker.

  “Lord Shenstone and my nephew have been friends since their days at Eton,” Lady Duncan continued.

  “Friendship—is that what they’re calling our years apart these days?” Lord Shenstone said with sarcastic amusement.

  The duke smiled. Faith felt him glance at her only briefly, and she was relieved.

  “Your letter-writing skills were sorely lacking,” Rothford said to his friend.

  “But I thought of you often.” Lord Shenstone turned to Lady Duncan. “If you needed a companion, ma’am, why did you not ask? I have so many cousins I know not what to do with them.”

  Like they were all pieces on a chessboard for his amusement, Faith thought, keeping her annoyed frown at bay. But apparently, she was more transparent than she thought.

  “Ah, your new little servant is not impressed with me, Rothford.”

  She felt her cheeks heat, but how could she defend herself without making things worse?

  “Miss Cooper is not my servant,” the duke said.

  His tone was a bit too sharp, and she wanted to wince—and she wanted to stare at him in surprise. His mother did that for her, and perhaps that was worse.

  Lord Shenstone laughed. “I did not know being a servant was such a bad thing.”

  “I cannot imagine you wanting to be a servant,” Lady Sophia said, lifting her chin.