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.
