daughter, you were probably born to it, but I doubt I could manage the “look”. Papa lost all our money when I was still so young, I grew up with no expectations of making a grand match, more comfortable climbing trees and riding in my brother’s old breeches than mastering curtsies and clever drawing-room conversation. But thank you. I’m sure I’ll have occasions I could try out the technique, whether or not I can carry it off.’
Lady Lyndlington nodded. ‘Practise it in front of your glass. I did.’
At the idea of this elegant lady practising set-down looks in a mirror, Faith had to laugh out loud. ‘No! I don’t believe it!’
‘Oh, it’s true. I’d remember the remark that so incensed me, and look into the mirror until I perfected an expression that should have made the glass shatter and vaporise into dust. You must try it.’
Subsiding with a giggle, Faith set aside her cup. ‘Perhaps I will. But now, I’ve taken up enough of your time.’
She rose, and her hostess rose with her. ‘You will come to dinner on Friday?’
‘Yes. I shall be looking forward to it.’
‘Excellent. I think we should be friends. After all, we principled ladies must stick together.’
Drinking in the warmth and encouragement like a wilted plant responds to water, Faith could almost feel her withered optimism and trampled hope begin to stir. ‘That would please me very much.’
‘Until Friday, then.’
After an exchange of curtsies, the ladies parted, Faith returning to her carriage with more anticipation for the future than she’d felt in years
Bless Davie! Not only had he given her a stimulating evening to look forward to, he might have steered her towards something she hadn’t had since she’d been distanced from her sisters.
A close female friend.
If only she could keep them both.
On Friday night, Davie arrived early at Lord Witlow’s town house, already so energised at the idea of seeing Faith again, he’d been more or less worthless in committee that afternoon. Once or twice he’d seen Giles send an appraising look in his direction, from which he’d turned away without acknowledgement. But, arriving as far in advance of the appointed hour, he knew that sooner or later his hostess’s husband was going to take him to task.
Lord Witlow’s butler showed him to the Blue Drawing Room, remarking with a touch of reproach as he directed him to the wine decanter on the sideboard, that, it being so far in advance of the hour for dinner, the host and hostess had not yet come down. Chuckling at that veiled set-down about his poor manners, Davie began pacing the handsome chamber, trying to dispel some of his nervous excitement and anticipation.
As luck would have it, the first to join him in the drawing room was Giles. The look of enquiry on his friend’s face told him that he was about to be taken to task for his renewed interest in ‘the Unattainable’.
Considering that he’d volunteered a few judicious words of caution to his mostly unappreciative friend when Giles was first pursuing Maggie, he figured it was only fair that he suffer Giles’s comments with good grace. Particularly as he knew whatever Giles might say would stem from a genuine concern for his welfare.
‘So, Maggie tells me that you asked her to invite the Duchess of Ashedon to our little gathering?’ Giles asked, confirming Davie’s expectations.
‘Yes. I ran into her unexpectedly a week or so ago. She still...hasn’t found her feet since the death of her husband, and seemed very low. Years ago, when we first met, she had a lively interest in politics. I thought attending this evening would help draw her out of grief, and let her focus on something other than her own cares for an evening.’
‘From what Maggie tells me about the character of the late Duke, I doubt the Duchess is experiencing very much grief.’
‘More like regret for what might have been, probably,’ Davie admitted, advancing to the wine decanter on the sideboard. ‘I understand the Duke...frequently availed himself of the company of other women, particularly after the Duchess had borne him several sons to secure the succession.’ Choosing two glasses, he poured them each some wine.
‘Now that I’ve reconciled with my father and been more or less forced to attend ton gatherings, I’ve had to listen to a lot of gossipy rubbish,’ Giles said, accepting the glass from Davie. ‘One bit, from that fribble Darrow, said the late Duke met his demise while attempting to...copulate with his current doxy while racing his high-perch phaeton. A drunken wager, apparently.’
Shocked, Davie froze, the wine glass halfway to his lips. ‘The devil he did!’ he exclaimed a moment later. Faith told him she’d never enjoyed the attention paid to a duchess. Especially as Ashedon and his women provided so much scandal for society to watch my reaction to. How embarrassing and degrading it must have been to face down that bit of salacious gossip! ‘I hadn’t heard. Poor F—poor Duchess.’
‘Not much to lament about the passing of such a man,’ Giles said acerbically.
‘I don’t believe he ever truly cared for her,’ Davie said, trying to mask the anger that fact always aroused in him. To have been able to claim the beauty and innocence and joy that was Faith, and not appreciate it, was stupidity of such colossal proportions he could never forgive it.
Why couldn’t that gift have been tendered to a man who would have treasured it? Not him, of course—it could never have been him—but surely there was some man of suitable birth and station who could have loved her and made her happy.
At least now she was free of the husband who hadn’t. He squelched the little flare of excitement that resonated through him. Free, maybe, but not for you.
Ah, but a man could dream, couldn’t he?
He surfaced from that thought to find Giles frowning at him. ‘Maggie told me two days ago that you’d asked her to invite the Duchess tonight, so I made sure Ben and Christopher were occupied elsewhere. You ought to tell them, before they find out from some other source, that you’re...involving yourself in her life again. I’ll make sure they don’t harass you about it. But...be careful, Davie. Don’t let yourself hope too much from this.’
‘I’m not!’ he assured Giles—and maybe himself? ‘If I can help her break free from the unhappiness of her life with Ashedon that will be enough.’
‘Will it?’ Giles asked, giving him a penetrating glance. ‘I’m not sure how much she can “free” herself from that life. Don’t forget, Davie, she’s a rich widow, her oldest son now the Duke, her minor children protected by a trust. Her family may well have further plans for her.’
A fierce protectiveness rose in him as the austere, disapproving face of the Dowager surfaced in his mind. ‘As long as she has a say in making those plans, rather than have them imposed on her.’
‘As long as you remember it’s not your place to determine that.’
‘I just want to stand her friend. She has few enough of them.’
‘Well, here comes one
