The Brunette Who Stole His Heart Read online

  Anne grinned. “Have you chosen a dress to wear this evening, my lady?”

  Faith paused with another bite in her mouth and shook her head.

  The maid nodded and walked over to the wardrobe. She opened the door and inspected the dresses. “Since this is the first time meeting your future betrothed, we need something extra special.” After a moment, she pulled one out and laid it on the bed. “I think this will do quite nicely.”

  Faith walked over and smiled at the selection. The ivory watered silk with the delicate embroidered flowers had always been one of her favorites, although Mercy had never really cared for the design. As such, wearing a lovely gown wouldn’t make her feel like such an interloper. “It’s perfect.”

  After Faith finished her fare, a steady stream of footmen prepared her bath, so that by the time she sank into the water, she was enveloped in a cloud of steamy warmth.

  It was absolute heaven.

  Once she was finished, she sat at her dressing table in a robe while Anne styled her hair into a becoming array of ringlets. Afterward, her maid assisted her into her chemise, stays, petticoat, stockings and finally the dress and shoes. Matched with a pair of pearl earbobs that Mercy had sent along with her, Faith looked in the mirror, surprised at what changes could be made to one’s appearance with the right attire. Less than twenty-four hours ago she had been in Anne’s position, looking at her mistress attired in all her finery, and today she was the lady in the reflection.

  A knock at the door broke through her reverie. A footman stood on the other side. “My lady, the carriage is waiting.”

  Faith summoned all her courage, and with a slight pinch to her cheeks, she descended the stairs and joined the duchess who was already in the coach.

  The lady eyed her with approval. “Very nice, Mercy.”

  Faith inclined her head and remained silent as they made their way to the Theatre Royal on Drury Lane. She didn’t even know what they were supposed to be watching that evening, but her nerves were strung so tight at meeting the mysterious Lord Westbrook that she wasn’t even sure she would be able to realize anything that was going on.

  As they walked into the theatre, Faith was impressed to find the entire interior lit by gas lighting. She’d read that it had been that way since the previous autumn, but she’d never thought she would witness it herself. She had to admit that the effect was rather illuminating in more ways than one. With this introduction, it opened the way for even more technology to surface. Someday the London she had always known would likely be unrecognizable.

  They walked up the grand staircase and headed down a row of boxes that were littered with people who glanced at the Duchess of Fontaine with something akin to awe. Even though the lady had spent most of her time in Bath, a duchess was still someone of note.

  “Ah, here we are.” The older woman moved the curtain aside with her cane and entered the box.

  Faith heard her address Westbrook, and curious, she glanced over her shoulder to see a dark haired man rise from his seat and walk over to them.

  Her mouth went slack, for he was positively… handsome.

  Tall and broad shouldered with dark hair and mesmerizing green eyes, he bowed reverently and spoke in a low, murmured tone to the duchess. He was dressed in muted shades of varying brown, but the simple attire only highlighted his other attributes. In truth, Faith couldn’t seem to drag her eyes away from him.

  However, it wasn’t until he smiled that she, quite literally, went weak in the knees. When his focus shifted to her, she abruptly forgot what she was supposed to say. Thankfully, he saved her from any embarrassment by taking her hand and kissing her bare knuckles. A shiver instantly trailed up her spine.

  “Lady Mercy. It’s an honor to finally make your acquaintance.”

  And just like that, reality came crashing back down. This man was a viscount, not only far above her in status, but he was intended for her mistress. “Lord Westbrook.” She inclined her head politely, even while her spirits plummeted.

  He led her over to the front of the balcony where they took their seats. The duchess sat on the other side of the box, just out of earshot to afford them some privacy, but close enough where Faith’s reputation would be protected by her presence.

  Not sure what to say, Faith withdrew a lorgnette from her reticule. Mercy had given them to her before she’d left the estate. Now, she held them to her eyes and glanced about the auditorium. It looked to be filled to capacity, but she wasn’t surprised. A quick glance at the bill told her that a new play would be performed that evening. It was by an Austrian playwright by the name of Franz Grillparzer entitled Sappho. She could feel the excitement stirring in the air, and she had to admit that it was starting to affect her as well. Not to mention that this would be the first play she’d ever attended.

  As the lights began to dim, the viscount leaned over and whispered in her ear, “You look beautiful tonight.”

  Faith’s face flamed at the compliment. Beautiful was typically not a word that people associated with her, but then, she was the hired help and generally overlooked. “Thank you.” She glanced at him before adding, “You too.” When his mouth kicked up at the corner, she shook her head and amended, “I meant to say you look very…” Her mind scrambled for a proper word. “Nice.”

  He chuckled, and the deep sound warmed her from the inside out. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  Their conversation ceased as the play began, but Faith found that she couldn’t stop smiling. However, as the plot began to unfold before her, the fluttering of butterfly wings began to beat against her ribs once more. The play was about a woman who soon came to learn that her lover preferred the affections of her maid.

  As intermission came upon them, Faith had no doubt that the story wouldn’t end well, for most tragedies seldom had a happy ending. She immediately thought of her own predicament and began to wonder the same.

  “Lady Mercy?”

  The viscount’s voice broke through to her consciousness. By his expression, it wasn’t the first time he’d said her name. “Yes?”

  “I wondered if you’d like some refreshment?”

  The idea of sending something down her throat right now seemed rather impossible, but a few minutes of privacy to compose herself was certainly in order. “That would be lovely. Thank you.”

  He took his leave and the duchess spoke up with a knowing gleam in her eye. “It seems the two of you are rubbing along well.”

  “He’s very… nice.” Good lord, Faith, is that the only word you can think of to describe him?

  “That’s promising, indeed.” The lady returned, obviously pleased.

  Thankfully, the rest of the conversation lapsed as two ladies entered the box to converse with the duchess, leaving Faith time to sort out her own thoughts. She wondered if perhaps a visit to the ladies’ retiring room would be in order. Thus, she rose and caught the duchess’ eye, letting her know where she was going. The lady nodded and Faith rushed to the back of the box, escape but a few steps away.

  However, as she pulled back the curtain, she nearly collided with the viscount, who was just returning. Instinctively, she put her hands up in front of her and ended up with her palms resting on his chest. The jolt of awareness that shot through her was instantaneous, the firm muscles she could feel beyond his clothes rather… nice.

  She quickly lowered her hands as he juggled two cups of punch. “Is something wrong, my lady?” he asked.

  “No, I just needed to… get a breath of fresh air.” She could hardly string more than a handful of words together her senses were so scrambled.

  “Shall I escort you?” he offered.

  She shook her head. “No, I’m fine. Thank you.” With that, she scurried around him and walked down the hall.

  Faith found a shadowed alcove and slumped against the wall and put a hand to her forehead. She could tell panic was starting to set in, so she took several deep breaths and waited for her pulse to return to normal.

&nbs
p; How in the world was she supposed to continue this charade for another fourteen days? Dear Lord, she was a mess just thinking of returning back to that box!

  She tapped a finger against her lips. Maybe she could plead a headache and leave early. But then, what ailment could she invent next?

  She closed her eyes. It would likely be best to wait and play that card when she had to attend a ball. She had no idea how to dance, and something as simple as the waltz could easily expose her for the fraud she was — if she didn’t mess things up before then.

  Oh, Mercy, how could you do this to me?

  Her mistress had made it all sound so easy, practically effortless, but Mercy had seemed to forget that while she was going to school to learn how to comport herself like a society lady who would eventually run a house full of servants, Faith was working on a farm in East Sussex and trying to help her parents feed and manage five younger siblings.

  Faith had made the right decision by leaving home and taking a position as a ladies’ maid, but her experience with the opposite sex was limited to a few shy glances from the son of the innkeeper. She had no idea how to flirt or make proper conversation without stammering.

  “This is going to end in disaster,” she muttered to herself. But since she couldn’t very well hide from her “intended” all evening, there was nothing to do but return and weather the storm.

  She had made her decision by agreeing to Lady Mercy’s plan. She supposed she had no choice but to accept the consequences of her actions.

  Stiffening her backbone, she marched down the hall and returned to the viscount’s box.

  Chapter Two

  Freddie tapped a finger on his leg, but then forced himself to stop. What might be keeping Lady Mercy? The lights had already dimmed to signal the second half of the play.

  Either way, he was rather annoyed that Westbrook had failed to tell him much about his betrothed. Granted he’d never seen her before, but surely he’d been told something, like the fact that she was as skittish as a rabbit. He’d seldom met a woman that was as uncertain about her reception as his lovely companion for the evening.

  And rather lovely she was. Freddie admitted that he’d had a difficult time not staring at her. With her heart-shaped face, pert nose, and expressive brown eyes, she looked about as genuine as any lady he had ever met. She was certainly not like the women the viscount talked about, nor was she as high-tempered as those he had met. If he could just get her to let down her guard a bit, he imagined that he would find a rather intelligent woman beneath. How refreshing it would be to have a simple conversation with a member of the opposite sex. All the females he knew were interested in nothing beyond carrying gossip below stairs, something he’d never approved of.

  For all of his faults, Westbrook had been a fair employer over the years, and while not many people believed him to be honorable, he knew the man behind the mask, the one he kept concealed from others for fear that he wouldn’t be accepted for his true self. In agreeing to Malcolm’s plan, he rather hoped that his employer would discover the same man that Freddie saw each day.

  Freddie could tell when Mercy returned by the way the box filled with her sweet scent. She was like a rare rose in the midst of a plain hedgerow. She sat down beside him as primly as before, but this time, she turned to him with something akin to determination in her gaze. Perhaps there was a bit of spirit in her, after all, and he’d been too hard on her. After all, this was her first meeting with her affianced. It was only natural she would be on edge.

  He handed her the punch he’d kept for her and lifted a brow in silent query.

  “Thank you. I am rather parched.” She smiled, and it was as if someone had delivered an unexpected blow to his solar plexus. He glanced away and turned his attention to the stage where the performance was starting again.

  However, when he thought to ask her if she was enjoying the play so far, he made the mistake of turning his head at the exact instant her small pink tongue darted out to catch a stray droplet of punch.

  He froze. While he was a man with desires like any other male, he was generally able to control his urges. Right then, that wasn’t the case. His cock stirred with lustful interest as he took in every aspect of her. From the way she swallowed, the delicate way her throat worked, to the soft curve of her jaw and the creamy softness of her skin, he was quite enthralled.

  The blood pounded in his ears to match the insistent ache in his groin. He was so distracted that it took him a moment to realize that she was speaking. “Pardon?”

  She looked at him curiously. “I asked if you were well. You groaned just now.”

  “I did?” Freddie resisted the urge to pull at his cravat. He quickly glanced at the stage where the lead actress was getting ready to throw herself on the mercy of her lover. “It’s just so poignant, don’t you think?”

  Dear God, I sound like the worst sort of dandy.

  She considered the scene and said, “I suppose.” She leaned toward him slightly, giving him a view of the shadowed valley between her breasts. “Personally, I prefer a musicale to a dramatic play.”

  “Do you?” Did my voice just crack? He cleared his throat. “In that case, my lady, I will have to check my invitations and ensure that you are treated to one. Since it is the height of the Season, I don’t see a problem with finding delights aplenty.”

  He gritted his teeth. Just stop talking.

  Instead of appearing amused by his statement, she seemed to mull over the idea. “I should be glad to join you, my lord.”

  For some reason, that made Freddie more pleased than it should have. After all, it wasn’t as if this lady was his betrothed. She was meant for Westbrook, so he would be wise not to start liking her too much.

  After the play was over, Freddie escorted the lady and the duchess to their carriage. Once they were safely inside, the older woman said, “Can we expect you for tea tomorrow afternoon?”

  He bowed politely. “I should like nothing more.” He lifted a brow at Mercy. “And perhaps a ride through the park afterward? Weather permitting, of course.”

  “Yes. I’d like that.”

  As the carriage rolled away, Freddie hailed down a hackney and headed home.

  When he arrived at the viscount’s residence, he walked in the front door, which Braxton held for him. “I trust your evening was productive?” the butler inquired. Of course, everyone in the household knew his current role, per their master’s instructions.

  “Indeed. I’m going for tea tomorrow and perhaps taking the lady riding.”

  “Then I will see that the phaeton is ready when you decide to depart.”

  Freddie paused. “The phaeton?”

  “Indeed. It is the best choice, the perfect vehicle to see and be seen.”

  “But… I would have to drive it myself.”

  “Yes,” the servant agreed blandly.

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ve never driven a carriage myself.”

  “Then, as I see it—” The man smiled with something of a smirk. “There’s no better time to learn.”

  ***

  Faith sat in the parlor the next morning, waiting patiently for the viscount to arrive. She had to admit that she’d been eager with anticipation all morning. It looked to be a rather pleasant sunny day, and she wanted nothing more than to take advantage of it. It was one of the things she enjoyed about the Newthyme estate at Croydon. Thankfully the marquess and his wife liked it as well, for they only packed up the household to travel to London for brief excursions during the holiday season. For that reason alone, it was why her ruse as Lady Mercy had any hope of succeeding. Her mistress wasn’t ever in town long enough for people to remember what she looked like.

  After this little charade was over, it would be up to Lady Mercy to convince people she’d been here the entire time. But then, Faith would be relegated to the role of ladies’ maid once again, so it would likely be a rather easy task to accomplish, for who would believe that she had been masquerading as som
eone else all this time?

  She sighed and leaned her head back against the settee just as the duchess walked into the room. “Don’t slouch, dear,” she chided gently and Faith sat up straighter.

  The older lady sat down across from her and laid her hands atop her cane. For the first time, Faith noticed the elegant mother of pearl design. “That’s a lovely cane.”

  She lifted a brow. “It is, isn’t it? It must be why your father chose it for me.”

  Faith had no reply to that, so she merely allowed the silence to lapse. She glanced down at her hands clasped in her lap and brushed an invisible piece of lint from her white muslin dress. It was embroidered with tiny violet flowers and another item that Mercy had easily discounted from her wardrobe.

  “I’ve never known you to be so quiet, Mercy.”

  She looked up and rummaged in her brain for something that her mistress might say. “I suppose I’m just nervous about seeing the viscount again.”

  The lady chuckled. “I’m afraid you’ll have to get used to that. He is to be your husband. But I suppose a bit of pre-marital strain is expected in a new bride.”

  Faith didn’t recall Mercy even being proposed to yet, but she decided not to bring that up, for it was naturally expected that she would wed Westbrook. However, that did make her wonder about the woman across from her. “Were you overset when you were about to marry the duke?”

  “Oh, no.” She smiled. “I was groomed from the time I was an infant to marry and marry well. I always knew my place. And I had a good life with James before his death. My only regret is that I wasn’t able to bear him any children, but his nephew has inherited the title and he was always fond of Jacob. Although, when he might settle down is yet to be seen.”

  Faith mulled this over as the butler stepped to the doorway and announced, “The Viscount of Westbrook.”

  The duchess said, “Please show him in and see that a tea cart and refreshments are brought in right away.”

  The servant didn’t even reply but bowed and did as he was told.