Authors: Adrienne Basso

To Wed A Viscount (29 page)

BOOK: To Wed A Viscount

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So with a hopeful heart and a charming smile, Griffin intercepted her carriage the moment it rolled out of the gravel drive.

It took no effort to get the coachman to stop. By the time Faith poked her head out of the window to investigate the delay, Griffin had secured his mount to the rear of the coach.

“Good afternoon, Faith.”

“Griffin!” She lifted her head so suddenly it almost hit the top of the window. “Is something wrong?”

“No.” He walked to the carriage door and leaned nonchalantly against it. Her eyes widened.

“I am on my way out,” she said unnecessarily.

“To see the vicar and his wife?”

She stiffened, then blinked. “How did you know that?”

Griffin's charming smile deepened. “I make it my business to know about things that concern you, my dear.” He resisted the urge to tap his finger to her nose. “I should like to accompany you on your visit this afternoon. If you have no objection?”

A grim expression flashed in Faith's eyes. “I thought riding in an enclosed carriage made you ill.”

“I believe I can tolerate a short journey. As long as John Coachman manages to avoid the larger ruts in the road.”

“I'll do my best, my lord,” the burly coachman promised.

“Faith?”

With wary resignation she inclined her head. “As you wish.”

The viscount climbed into the coach and boldly took the seat next to his wife. The carriage lurched, along with his stomach, but the driver proved true to his word and skillfully avoided the larger dips and bumps.

Faith sat silently. Griffin was very much aware of her sitting beside him. He could feel his own heartbeat thumping in his chest. For several long moments the only sounds were the steady clopping of the horse's hooves and the rattling rhythm of the wheels.

Faith kept her eyes fastened on the passing landscape. He wondered briefly what could possibly be so fascinating. Had she not traveled this stretch of country road a countless number of times?

After a few minutes Griffin realized, with some surprise, that he did not mind the silence. It was not oppressive nor overwrought with tension. It was almost soothing, and preferable, if one considered the tone, direction, and results of the last few conversations he and Faith had undertaken.

Inspired, the viscount reached down and clasped her gloved hand. Faith made a sudden strangled sound deep in the back of her throat. She flexed her fingers, but did not pull away.

Griffin slid his thumb across the palm of her hand and then back again. Faith closed her eyes and shuddered.

The viscount smiled broadly.

Tea with the vicar and his wife was a pleasant, uneventful occasion. The two couples spoke of local events and mutual acquaintances, the fine weather, and the coming spring.

However, as they left, the vicar's wife beamed at them with such patent approval Griffin knew the gossip mill had been churning madly. Most of the village knew that Faith was living away from him, at Mayfair Manor.

Now they would hear that the viscount and his wife were reconciled. Griffin dared to hope that perhaps today they had taken the first step toward making that a reality.

When the coach arrived back at Mayfair, he escorted Faith up the stone steps and deposited her at the door.

“Squire Jordan has promised me first crack at his new foals,” Griffin said in a casual voice. “I would be honored if you would accompany me tomorrow when I make my selections.”

Faith stared at him in some surprise. “I am hardly an expert on horses. You should take Higgins along.”

“I do not need assistance or advice in choosing the animals.” Griffin gave her a lazy, teasing grin. “But I could use some help haggling over the prices.”

Faith took a deep breath. “I shall be ready at noon.”

He tipped his hat politely. And left.

It went on for six days. Trips to the village to savor the meat pies at the Rose and Thistle Tavern, strolls in the wintry garden at Mayfair Manor, even a shopping expedition on market day where he teased her for looking at nearly everything and purchasing almost nothing.

They talked, they laughed, they even argued a bit. They spoke cautiously of the past and optimistically of the future. But they continued to live in separate houses.

The seventh day dawned clear and bright and unseasonably warm. By prearrangement Griffin arrived at one to take his wife riding. She was fashionably dressed in a green velvet riding habit with a small matching bonnet that he thought made her look especially fetching.

But it was her welcoming smile that warmed the viscount's heart.

They started out at a slow trot, following a well-worn path between their properties for nearly a mile. Yet the moment they reached a clearing, Faith dug in her booted heels and made a mad dash across the field. With a startled laugh, Griffin took up the challenge of the race. The element of surprise had given Faith a good lead and it took considerable skill to catch her.

They galloped in tandem, each straining to be the first to pull ahead. In a burst of speed, Griffin managed to nose forward. He heard Faith laugh. The sound distracted him enough that she was able to overtake him. And win the race.

Her eyes were sparkling with excitement as they walked the horses to cool them down, but she was gracious in victory and limited her gloating to a few choice words.

Soon they came upon a small dwelling.

“My goodness, I had no idea this was still standing,” Faith exclaimed.

Griffin considered the whimsical structure before them, a white-columned Grecian temple, designed and constructed by one of his ancestors. He remembered fondly running between those ivy-covered columns and playing in the many alcoves as a child.

“Shall we see if any of the stone statues remain intact?” Griffin asked.

Faith nodded. He tied the horses' reins around a small tree trunk and they climbed the steps together. The interior was in decent repair considering that the temple was open on all sides and thus exposed to the seasonal elements. The tall statues of Greek gods and goddesses were still standing, but the legs of the stone bench were broken and crumbling.

They had no blanket, so Griffin removed his greatcoat and spread it on the floor.

“How gallant,” Faith murmured as she settled herself primly on the edge.

“ 'Tis just a small part in my grand plan.” He sat beside her, focusing fully on her face. “I am certain by now that you have surmised my plan for this past week. I am trying to woo you, my dearest.”

Her left eyebrow shot up in interest. “With gifts? Do you have a jewel box stuffed in your coat pocket?”

“Jewels are for men with no confidence,” he scoffed.

“Flowers perhaps?”

“A rose for true love?” He shook his head. “Too trite and obvious.”

“Sweets, then? You know how I enjoy my confections.”

“Sweets are for boys to give to girls. I am long beyond boyhood and you are very much a woman.”

She lowered her chin, but not before he saw her smile. “Far be it from me to tell you, a confirmed rake and scoundrel, how to successfully woo a woman, my lord. But I do feel compelled to point out that I am not at all impressed with your efforts this afternoon.”

His face was all innocence. “I let you win our race.”

She blustered with feigned indignity and he laughed. Then Griffin twisted around, placing his hands on her face. “Shall I tell you that I love you? Ah, but I have already done that and my words did not make a very good impression. So I shall tell you that you are beautiful. Now, don't scrunch up your face like that, dearest, 'tis not very flattering.”

With effort, Faith lost her scowl.

“I have written you a poem,” Griffin declared.

“Really?” She bit down on her bottom lip to keep from laughing.

He cleared his throat. “
Roses are red, violets are blue, my life is incomplete, without you.”

“Do not tell me you that you composed that entirely on your own?”

“I did. 'Tis a fine piece. A true gem of literary endeavor. Don't you agree?”

“It sounds as if Georgie wrote it. On a day he had a toothache or some other dreadful ailment.” Her eyes twinkled brightly with amusement. “Lord Byron need never fear any competition from you.”

“Then I shall dispense with the rhymes and speak from my heart.”

Griffin bent his head forward, pressing soft kisses along the line of her jaw until he reached her ear. Then he carefully sank his teeth into the plump lobe.

“You are not speaking, Griffin,” Faith said breathlessly. “You are nibbling.”

“I am setting the mood,” he replied. His hand slipped up to Faith's cheek, caressing it softly.

Then he turned and angled her head so he could gaze deeply into her eyes.

“I love you, Faith,” he said in quiet seriousness. “It has taken me far too long to realize it and far too long to say it. But it is the truth. And it is too precious a gift to waste.”

She swallowed and nodded, saying nothing in return. But there was a light of tenderness and understanding and acceptance in her eyes that made his heart lurch with joy.

“We did not marry for love or even affection,” Griffin continued. “Through misunderstandings and your father's blasted will we suddenly found ourselves bound together as man and wife. And for a very long time I thought that was not what I wanted. I thought
you
were not want I wanted.”

He paused. “But I was wrong. You are mine, Faith. Oddly, I cannot envision myself married to any other woman. 'Tis almost as if I have no control over the matter, for my heart has dictated it and I find I have no choice but to comply.

“I have discovered this past week that love is not easy. But loving you is. And I know with true certainty that I want to share my life with you, create a home with you, have children with you. Only with you.”

His mouth hovered over hers. There was a moment's pause before their lips met. Softness, tenderness, gentleness. It was not a kiss of passion, but a pledge of commitment, a promise of love.

A lone tear forged a path down Faith's cheek. Her heart, nay her very soul, had recognized the difference.

“Ask me,” she whispered brokenly in his ear. “Please, ask me.”

Griffin drew back. There was a heartbeat of silence. “Will you come home with me? Today? And spend the next fifty or so years waking by my side each morning?”

“It would be my greatest pleasure.” She searched his face and met his eyes with a loving promise. “For I find that I am very much in love with you, and try as I might I cannot imagine surviving the next fifty years without you beside me to drive me witless.”

Epilogue

Hawthorne Castle
3 Months Later

“Papa! You must come at once. Mistletoe is stuck in a tree and Aunt Elizabeth won't let me climb up and get her!”

Griffin lifted his head lazily from his wife's lap. They were sprawled comfortably beneath the shade of a towering oak, with the remnants of a picnic lunch sharing a portion of the blanket they were reclining upon.

The sky was a brilliant blue, dotted with a few puffy white clouds floating on a gentle spring breeze. It was quiet, save for the chirping of insects and the occasional hum of an adventurous bee. And the boisterous antics of Georgie.

Griffin turned and saw his son circling the base of a large tree, hopping excitedly from one foot to the other, while his two aunts tried to distract him.
Fat chance.
Griffin smiled.

“The cat will come down from the tree when she has decided it is time,” the viscount called out loudly.

Faith giggled. “I think that poor kitten scampers away whenever it can, trying to avoid all the attention Georgie lavishes upon her.”

“Most likely.” Griffin smiled.

“But she might get hurt,” Georgie whined.

Griffin propped himself up on one elbow. “Then you may help Higgins bandage her up and she can sleep in a box beside your bed so you may take proper care of her.”

There was a long pause. “Really? Mistletoe could sleep in my room?”

“If necessary.”

“Oh, Griffin, what a thing to promise the child. Now he will constantly be imagining that poor cat is ill so he can take care of it.”

The viscount sat up. “He has to catch her first. Fortunately she is a very nimble and quick animal.”

Faith laughed again. “You are incorrigible,” she mused affectionately.

The viscount shrugged philosophically. He lazily arched his back, enjoying the serenity and contentment of the afternoon. Placing his fingers inside one of the smaller baskets, Griffin pulled out a handful of small, red strawberries.

“Would you like one?” he asked his wife as he once again reclined on the blanket. “Or is your stomach still giving you trouble?”

“Please don't remind me,” Faith bowed her head and flushed with embarrassment.

It had been a most humiliating start to the day. The nausea and queasiness had come upon Faith so suddenly this morning she had time only to throw off the bed linen, lean over the side of the bed, and grab for the chamber pot.

Since she had not eaten anything that morning there wasn't very much to expel from her stomach, but she had retched and convulsed for what felt like hours.

Between bouts of heaving, she had shouted, cried, and pleaded with her husband to go away. But the viscount would not leave her to suffer in peace. Instead he had calmly and quite offhandedly pulled the heavy strands of damp hair off her neck, tucking them behind her ears.

Then he climbed on the bed beside her, held the chamber pot with one hand, and rubbed her back soothingly with the other. When finally the shuddering ended he had settled her upright against the pillows, disposed of the meager contents in the pot, and wiped her face and forehead with a cool, clean cloth.

By then Faith had felt too limp and drained to protest. Upon her request, Griffin had opened their bedroom window to let in some cool, fresh air and brought a glass of water so she could rinse out her mouth.

And then he had the gall to tell her, with a most sincere and tender expression, that she was the most extraordinary, remarkable, beautiful woman in the world and he loved her beyond reason.

Faith had promptly thrown her damp cloth at him.

“The post has just arrived, my lady,” a dignified voice said. “Since there were several letters I thought you might like to read them out here.”

Faith scrambled to an upright position and lifted the neat packet from the silver tray. “Thank you, Gregory. That was most considerate of you to walk all this way.”

“It was no trouble at all.” The butler bowed low, then began the considerable walk back to the castle.

Griffin popped a berry into his mouth, rolled onto his back, and gave his wife a considering look. “What exactly have you done to Gregory? He is even more stiff-backed and formal than the stuffiest town butler.”

Faith smiled mysteriously, remembering the threat of sacking him without a reference. She had flung it out in the heat of emotion, but it had made a lasting impression. Ever since that incident, Gregory had been the most respectful of servants.

Faith shifted her position so she could relax against the tree trunk while reading her correspondence. With a contented sigh she stretched out her legs, crossed her ankles, and began thumbing through the pile in her lap.

“Oh, my goodness.” Her breath caught in surprise. She pulled a missive out of the pile, turning it over and over in her hand. “There is a letter for Harriet!”

Faith and Griffin stared at each other for a long moment. “I'll get her.” The viscount sprang from his prone position and hurried off.

“Have you finally come to get Mistletoe down from the tree, Papa?”

Faith only heard Georgie's question, not her husband's answer. She was still too amazed by the extraordinary sight before her to think of much else.

Griffin and his sister arrived posthaste. Wordlessly Faith handed Harriet the parchment. The other woman blushed furiously, then carefully broke the seal.

“It's from Julian,” she announced breathlessly. Griffin inhaled sharply. “We assumed that, Harriet. What does he say?”

There was no response. Griffin reached out and gave his sister a gentle shake. “What does he say?”

“He is coming home,” she whispered in amazement. Harriet raised her chin and broke into a wide, dazzling smile. “Julian is returning to England. He should be here within the month.”

“That is very good news,” Faith said sincerely. “We shall all look forward to meeting him. And planning your wedding.”

“My wedding.” Harriet turned startled eyes toward Faith. Her voice became soft, almost shy. “Do you think we could have it here?”

“This is your home. We would be delighted to host your wedding. Isn't that right, Griffin?”

“Naturally.” The viscount smiled at his sister. “Do you think I would be so foolish as to pass up an opportunity to give you away, Harriet?”

They all laughed. Then, without warning, Harriet threw herself forward and wrapped her arms so tightly around Griffin's neck she nearly choked him. “Thank you,” she whispered.

He hugged her. “All I really want is for you to be happyâas happy as I am.”

“I shall try.” Harriet sniffed loudly. “There is so much to do. I must write back to Julian at once. He has included his new town address.” She stepped out of her brother's embrace, lifted her head, straightened her shoulders, and marched toward the house.

“Well, it looks as though we are finally going to meet the elusive Mr. Wingate,” Griffin mused. “I just hope I can keep a civil tongue in my head. I have not been overly impressed with howâ”

Griffin abruptly ceased talking and knelt beside his wife. “My God, Faith, is everything all right? You look shocked. Are you in pain? Is it the baby?”

The sheer panic in Griffin's voice jolted Faith out of her stupor. “No, nothing is wrong with me. I'm fine.” She held out the single sheet of parchment she had just finished reading. “ 'Tis Merry.”

Griffin snatched the letter from Faith's nerveless fingers and quickly scanned the contents. He smiled briefly. No wonder his wife was acting so oddly.

“Now I understand why you quickly lost the bloom of color in your cheeks. This is most shocking news.” Griffin whistled loudly. “Our dear Lady Meredith has gotten herself married. Rather suddenly, I would say. I cannot help but wonder at the reason for such haste.”

“Do you know him?” Faith asked, still trying to take it all in. Merry a wife! When she had always protested so vehemently against matrimony. It did not seem possible.

“I've never met the groom, but I am well aware of his reputation.” Griffin took a deep breath. “He is certainly not the type of person I would expect her to choose.”

“I never thought she would choose any man.” Faith rubbed her temples vigorously. “We have received quite a parcel of news this afternoon. You must remind me never to read the mail while I am standing up or else I might injure my head as I fall into a dead faint.”

Griffin continued to read the letter. “Merry has sent us her husband's London address and hopes we shall come to call on them when we arrive in town. I suppose she assumes we will be accompanying Elizabeth when she makes her coming-out this season.”

“I was going to write to Merry at the end of the week and explain why we will be staying at home,” Faith proclaimed with an ironic twist in her voice. “My heavens, it certainly promises to be a diverting social whirl this year. I'm almost sorry we are going to miss all the excitement.”

“Don't fret, my love. There will be other seasons.” With a wicked gleam in his eye the viscount reached out and lightly caressed the slight roundness of her stomach. “We have far more important matters keeping us at home.”

Faith smiled. She leaned forward and gave him a warm, tender kiss. “Aren't we the clever pair?”

Griffin's arms encircled her tightly. She could feel his chest rumble as he laughed with pure joy. “Yes, we are, my love. And so very lucky, too.”

BOOK: To Wed A Viscount

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