The Brunette Who Stole His Heart Read online

  The Brunette Who Stole His Heart

  (A Tale of Two Brunettes—Book 1)

  by Tabetha Waite

  Copyright © 2021 Tabetha Waite

  Cover Design by Mandy Koehler Designs

  This title is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever, including but no limited to photocopy, digital, auditory, and/or in print, without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations for a review.

  Also by Tabetha Waite

  Ways of Love Historical Romance Series

  How it All Began for the Baron (Christmas prequel novella)

  Why the Earl is After the Girl (Book 1)

  Where the Viscount Met His Match (Book 2)

  When a Duke Pursues a Lady (Book 3)

  Who the Marquess Dares to Desire (Book 4)

  What a Gentleman Does for Love (Book 5)

  Season of the Spinster Series

  Triana’s Spring Seduction (Book 1)

  Isabella’s Secret Summer (Book 2)

  The Spinster’s Alluring Season (Book 2.5)

  Alyssa’s Autumn Affair (Book 3)

  Korina’s Wild Winter (Book 4)

  Novellas

  Twelve Gifts by Christmas

  Lord Castleford’s Fortunate Folly (Fortunes of Fate #1)

  A Lady’s Guide to Marriage

  A Promise Beneath the Kissing Bough

  Miss Pageant’s Christmas Proposal

  The Scot’s Bairn

  Bedeviling Lord Coxford

  The Brunette Who Stole His Heart (A Tale of Two Brunettes – Book 1)

  Novels

  Behind a Moonlit Veil

  The Secrets of Shadows

  The Piper’s Paramour

  Anthologies

  Heyer Society (non-fiction essays)

  The Young and the Ruined (Various Historical)

  Short Stories

  Love’s Frozen Kiss

  Love Out of the Ashes

  The Magic Shield

  The Journey Toward Hope

  Thistles & War

  Four Calling Cards

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Epilogue

  Dedication

  For Anatolii Reeves who wanted to know when I was going to use him on one of my covers. You are my perfect valet.

  Prologue

  Croydon, England

  June 1818

  “I don’t think this is such a good idea,” Faith Albright protested, realizing that it wasn’t so much a “perfect plan” as her mistress claimed, but rather a disaster waiting to happen where more than just her position as ladies’ maid was at stake.

  “Of course it is.” Lady Mercy Granville said from her dressing table. “Mother says all the time how much we resemble one another, what with our brown hair and eyes. We even have a similar height and build, and we’re the same age.” She shook her head. “Honestly, we could be cousins, or even sisters.”

  “Perhaps. But we’re not twins,” Faith pointed out as she flopped on the bed, her pacing around the chamber having finally run its course.

  Mercy sighed. “How many times must we go through this?” She got up and joined Faith. Taking her hand in hers, she said, “Great-Aunt Mary Ellen is at least eighty-seven, if a day, and hasn’t seen me in nearly five years. She generally spent most of her time in Bath taking the waters for her gout. I was only fifteen when I saw her last. No doubt her memory nor her eyesight are as sharp as they once were. Besides, it’s for a fortnight. Surely you can pretend to be me for that long? With Mother and Father on the continent for holiday the next two weeks, this little escape to Brighton is the only chance I’ll get to live a little before our betrothal is officially announced and I’m saddled to Viscount Westbrook for the rest of my days.”

  She rolled her eyes in disgust. “I don’t know why Father insists on keeping this ridiculous promise to a childhood friend when it’s my life that hangs in the balance. So what if Malcolm Grant was a grand war hero who fought at Waterloo? I appreciate the sacrifices he’s made for England, but God only knows what he looks like now.” She gave a mock shudder. “What if he’s horribly disfigured from his injuries, or worse yet, old enough to be my grandfather? I daresay whenever I ask Father about him, he remains rather closemouthed on the matter saying I’ll find out soon enough.”

  Faith silently admitted that she would despise being in Mercy’s shoes, to have someone control her life to such a degree that they would actually subject her to an arranged marriage, but then, spending one’s life in service wasn’t all that appealing either. Perhaps it would be nice to experience the other side of life for a change. At least she would be able to wear some of Mercy’s lovely gowns and dance the night away with a handsome stranger …

  She shook her head to clear it from such mad inner ramblings. “My lady,” she began slowly. “You know I love you dearly, but I just can’t take the risk of meeting your intended, only to disappoint him. What if he changes his mind about marrying you?”

  Mercy shrugged. “Then I’m free of a union I never wanted in the first place. But not to worry. He will adore you, just as I do. You never give yourself enough credit.” She smiled, her eyes sparkling. “For someone who is named Faith, you certainly don’t have enough of it.”

  Faith sighed. “It’s one of my many weaknesses, I’m afraid.”

  Mercy looked at her directly. “Haven’t you ever wanted to step out of your regular habits and routines and do something daring? Something bold?” When Faith would have opened her mouth, Mercy stopped her. “And don’t tell me that you’re worried about your position here. I told you that I wouldn’t allow you to be dismissed for something I coerced you to do, and I meant it.” She squeezed Faith’s hand. “You’re my best friend. I would perish without your friendship and loyalty.”

  At last, Faith gave a long-suffering sigh. Mercy certainly had a talent for manipulation. “Very well. I’ll go to London.”

  Mercy gave a squeal of delight and hugged her in a firm embrace. Faith, on the other hand, just looked toward the ceiling — and prayed.

  ***

  London, England

  June 1818

  “My lord?” Frederick Bartholomew was quite sure that he’d misunderstood his master’s request. “I fear I don’t follow—”

  “Come now, Freddie.” Malcolm Grant, Viscount Westbrook, adjusted the cuffs on his jacket and glanced at his valet with a tolerant expression. “You’re a smart man, more so than many gentlemen of my acquaintance. Don’t act as though you didn’t just hear me ask you for a favor.”

  Freddie cleared his throat. “Well, yes, of course I heard something—”

  Westbrook turned to him fully now. “You’re blabbering. Honestly, I didn’t think it was such a difficult conversation to comprehend. I am planning one last hurrah before I announce my engagement and fulfill my duty to my late father. My mother insists that I honor this ridiculous pact with the Marquess of Newthyme and so I have resigned myself to it. But—” He held up a finger. “—since I have no idea what I’m getting myself into, that doesn’t mean I’m not inclined to have a bit of fun until then.”

/>   Freddie blinked. “So you haven’t even met your betrothed?”

  Westbrook winced. “Not even a portrait.” He walked over and clasped him on the shoulder. “Now you understand my conundrum.”

  “Indeed.” Freddie murmured. “And yet, I fail to see where my impersonation of you will do either of us any good.”

  “Because Lady Mercy is due to arrive in London any day, and I’m to meet with her. You will simply fill the role of escort until my return.” He shrugged. “It’s simple.”

  Freddie lifted a brow. “And you don’t think the lady might be aggrieved that we deceived her?”

  Westbrook smiled tolerantly as he began to tick a list off on his fingers. “First of all, I’m a viscount with a rather tidy income. Any lady would be grateful for more gowns and jewels than she could ever wear in her lifetime. Secondly, this union was planned years ago, so she is rather stuck with me, unless she cries off, whereas the cons of doing so far outweigh the benefits. And third—” He shrugged on his greatcoat. “I can spend the rest of my life atoning for my sins.”

  Freddie admitted that he made a compelling argument, and yet… “What about the fact I know nothing of being a viscount? I have always been in service.”

  “I’m sure you will do a splendid job of it. You’ve worked for me for as long as I can remember really, so I’m sure something has rubbed off.”

  “And the part where I’m not imprisoned for impersonating a member of the aristocracy?” Freddie persisted.

  Westbrook waved a hand. “I won’t allow that to happen. You’re far too valuable to me.” He removed the signet ring from his left hand and held it out to him. “Just remember that your name isn’t Freddie, and don’t linger overlong at the festivities. But if you do, act as though you belong there and you’ll be fine.” He looked Freddie over with a critical eye, as if really seeing him for the first time. “We’re a similar height, build and coloring, and nearly the same age, and it’s not as if I generally rubbed elbows with much of London society. The only gents who would spy the difference are going to Brighton with me.”

  “And your mother?”

  “She isn’t due to arrive from Bath for a fortnight at least. I will be back long before she is.” The viscount lifted a brow. “So do we have a deal? Fourteen days’ worth of courting for a year’s worth of wages?”

  Freddie sighed heavily. Something told him he was making a pact with the devil, but since it was his employer… He bowed slightly. “As always, I’m at your service, my lord.”

  Westbrook grinned broadly. “Capital.”

  As he walked out the door, Freddie stared down at the ring in his palm. He attempted to put it on his pinky finger, but it got stuck halfway. It would likely take a bit of butter to help it slide on his hand. It was surely a bad omen, but there was nothing to be done for it now.

  Nevertheless, something told him an ill-fitting ring would end up being the least of his worries.

  Chapter One

  Faith moved the carriage curtain out of the way and glanced at the bustling city beyond. Vendors were walking through the streets hawking their wares while the soot from the countless chimneys spread a thin layer of black across the rooftops. The streets were slushy with mud and… other things and made for slow travel, especially after a rain.

  She let the curtain fall back into place and tried to calm her nerves. Of course, she had been to London before, but never in the guise of a lady. She clasped her gloved hands together and reached up to make sure the cameo she’d pinned to her dress was still in its proper place. She felt odd wearing the expensive item, let alone the worry about losing it.

  Calm yourself, Faith’s inner voice chided. This ruse would be over before it even began if she allowed too much of her anxiety to show. For the next fourteen days, she was Lady Mercy Granville, not a humble ladies’ maid.

  Even so, when the carriage finally came to a halt on Hanover Square at the residence of the Duchess of Fontaine’s residence, Faith thought she might actually be sick. She pulled her bonnet down as far as it could go, hoping it would shield her face from the lady, but knowing she couldn’t hide forever.

  A footman came out to open her door, and as the carriage was unloaded, she walked up the steps to be greeted by the butler. He was a middle-aged man with thinning hair and a rather stoic personality. “Good day, Lady Mercy.”

  Faith remembered just in time not to curtsy and merely inclined her head in acknowledgement. The sound of a cane striking the floor drew Faith’s gaze toward the staircase, where an elderly lady in fashionable attire was making her descent. She knew very little about the widowed duchess, other than the fact she was as rich as Croesus and spent little time in the city. She was in London now with the single purpose of chaperoning her great-niece, or rather, who she believed to be her great-niece.

  Faith remembered what Mercy had said, to keep her chin up and bow down to no one, for she had to play the part of the daughter of a marquess, but even she couldn’t resist the urge to dip into a slight show of respect for such a lady. “Your Grace.”

  The older lady chuckled. “My dear, little Mercy. Has it been so long that you don’t remember calling me MeMe when you were a child? I was, after all, the only Grandmama figure that you ever knew.”

  Faith was glad to see that the duchess wasn’t quite as fearsome as she imagined her to be, but if Mercy was closer to the lady than she had led her to believe, that could be a problem. Already, she’d missed a key point in their relationship. “Of course,” she amended. “How silly of me to forget, MeMe. It’s good to see you again.”

  As they embraced fondly, Faith felt a prickle of guilt for deceiving her, but she reminded herself that she was doing this solely to appease her mistress.

  The lady held her at arm’s length and studied her closely. It was all Faith could do not to fidget under her direct stare. “You seem a bit… different from what I recall.” She smiled. “But I am nearly eighty-eight and it has been five years since I last saw you. Time changes us all.”

  “Indeed.” Faith murmured.

  “I suppose you’d like to freshen up a bit before your outing this evening.”

  Faith froze. “Outing?”

  “Don’t tell me you forgot that we are to meet Lord Westbrook at the theatre?”

  Her heart instantly began to pound furiously. She thought she might have had a bit more time to acclimate herself to the role of society debutante, but apparently that was not to be. “I fear I did.”

  The duchess waved a hand. “Well, you have had quite a bit on your mind of late, no doubt.” She frowned. “I was rather surprised when you wrote ahead and told me that your ladies’ maid had to tend to a sick relative, but not to worry, I enlisted the help of Anne to assist you.”

  As if on cue, a young blond woman clad in a black and white uniform appeared.

  “Please show my great-niece to her chamber.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.” The maid started up the stairs and led Faith down the hall to the second door on the right. She opened it and stood to the side while Faith walked inside.

  Her first thought was immaculate. Granted, as Lady Mercy’s ladies’ maid, she was used to such grand furnishings. However, her room was on the third floor and rather plain. This room was decorated in shades of light blue and white with elegant furnishings — an oak wardrobe, dressing table, writing desk, and even a four-poster bed on a raised dais. A screen was in one corner of the room and she imagined the copper tub behind it. How lovely it would be to soak for as long as she wished in perfumed, rose-scented water!

  To think that for the next two weeks she would be sleeping in such lovely surroundings while her every whim was catered to, would have felt like a holiday if it wasn’t for the fact she would constantly be worrying about making a misstep.

  “Can I get you anything, my lady?”

  It took Faith a moment to recall that the maid was addressing her. “Some tea would be nice.”

  The girl bobbed a curtsey and quit the room, le
aving Faith to inspect her surroundings at length. She walked over to the wardrobe and opened the door to see that her borrowed gowns were already hung up in a neat row of rainbow silks and delicate muslins. No doubt her dressing table would be the same, for Mercy’s traveling trunk was already at the foot of the bed.

  She moved to the screen and saw that indeed, a tub was lying in wait for her to sink into its steaming depths. She sighed inwardly just thinking of what awaited her.

  She circled the rest of the room, trailing her finger along the edge of a delicate ormolu clock sitting on the mantel, finally pausing at one of the floor length windows with its heavy velvet, cornflower blue drapes. They were pulled back to let in the sunlight so she had to shield her gaze from the glare.

  She watched the traffic below for a time, wondering at each of the passersby, from the impeccably dressed ladies and gentlemen to the more modestly attired commoners. People from all walks of life shared the streets of this city, and yet, very few of them mingled with one another, keeping strictly to their own class for fear that they might overstep or lower themselves to speak to someone deemed unworthy.

  Faith herself had never understood the diversity, for every single person below had their own story to tell of heartbreak and joy. Class didn’t separate you from human emotion, even if some might frown upon it.

  When Anne returned with a tea tray, she set it down on the dressing table. “I took the liberty of adding a few treats for you. Cook makes the best raspberry tarts.”

  “Thank you. That was very thoughtful of you.” Faith couldn’t resist biting into the tempting pastry and groaning in delight as she did so. “You’re right. These are delicious.”