sweet Louisa,
the actress you used to consort with?”
He did, and the memories were uncomfortably erotic. “She’s in the past now.”
“I refuse to allow you to do this to yourself,” Shenstone insisted.
Adam eyed him. “I don’t believe you have a choice.”
“We’ll see.”
Chapter 5
F aith forced herself to relax when she did not see the Duke of Rothford. She saw his
sister, sister-in-law, and mother, but if he was around, he was remaining in the card
room with the other gentlemen. So as she watched Adelia and performed her duties as
occasional sounding board and rest partner—the young woman never liked to be alone!—Faith
also studied the dancers, especially enjoying the gowns of the women. Maybe she should
make a study of fashion as part of her quest to become a chaperone . . .
And then, from across the room, she saw a face from her past. And he was watching
her, too.
Timothy Gilpin, once her childhood friend, and then more.
She had come to him when her brother had died, when they were selling the paintings
off the wall and poverty beckoned. She’d asked him if he would mind if she requested
a letter of reference from his father, a respected baron whose library she’d spent
hours in every day.
But Timothy, then engaged to be married, had thought her request would call attention
to their past relationship. Faith had bowed to his wishes, owing him loyalty since
he’d kept secret their relationship. But without references, she’d been unable to
secure a position a gentlewoman would aspire to.
Did Timothy wonder where she’d gone when she’d left their village? Did he suspect
the lengths she had to go to, in order to survive?
Now he was staring at her a bit wide-eyed, his face its usual paleness beneath his
shock of red hair. And then he inclined his head toward her, and she did the same.
He seemed to take that as permission to approach. After everything they’d once meant
to each other, she wasn’t sure what she felt upon facing him again, except wariness.
She rose to meet him, giving him a faint smile. “Good evening, Mr. Gilpin.”
“And to you, Miss Cooper.” He glanced around. “I had not thought to see you in London.”
At such an exclusive ball, were obviously his unspoken thoughts.
“I am employed by Lord Warburton as a companion to his daughter.”
“Ah, I see.”
They’d once been close friends, and to see now by his smile that he was conscious
of his superior station as the heir to a barony, made her sad.
When the silence stretched out, she said, “I remember that you were engaged.”
“And I did marry.”
“Is your wife in attendance?”
“She is not,” he said swiftly, lowering his brows.
As if he wanted to make sure Faith didn’t meet her. Very well, she understood that.
Or did he know what Faith had had to do to survive after her brother’s death?
No, how could he? She’d moved to another parish, and her mother would certainly never
tell people.
“Well, please give her my congratulations,” Faith said.
Timothy nodded. “My thanks. A good evening to you, Miss Cooper.”
He moved away, and she sat down, feeling a mixture of several emotions, but the predominant
one being relief. What if she’d had to marry that man?
Oh, but in his youth, he’d been a fine companion, eager to run about the village exploring
frog ponds and collecting unusual pebbles. They’d both loved to read, and the hours
in his family library were some of her more precious memories.
And then in their adolescence, they’d begun to see each other as a man and a woman.
Their first kiss had almost been accidental, both of them bent over a particular book
in the library, then practically bumping heads as they turned to discuss it. She wasn’t
even certain which of them kissed the other first. After that, they were different
with each other, aware of feeling an attraction, desperate to be alone to talk, hold
hands, and
the actress you used to consort with?”
He did, and the memories were uncomfortably erotic. “She’s in the past now.”
“I refuse to allow you to do this to yourself,” Shenstone insisted.
Adam eyed him. “I don’t believe you have a choice.”
“We’ll see.”
Chapter 5
F aith forced herself to relax when she did not see the Duke of Rothford. She saw his
sister, sister-in-law, and mother, but if he was around, he was remaining in the card
room with the other gentlemen. So as she watched Adelia and performed her duties as
occasional sounding board and rest partner—the young woman never liked to be alone!—Faith
also studied the dancers, especially enjoying the gowns of the women. Maybe she should
make a study of fashion as part of her quest to become a chaperone . . .
And then, from across the room, she saw a face from her past. And he was watching
her, too.
Timothy Gilpin, once her childhood friend, and then more.
She had come to him when her brother had died, when they were selling the paintings
off the wall and poverty beckoned. She’d asked him if he would mind if she requested
a letter of reference from his father, a respected baron whose library she’d spent
hours in every day.
But Timothy, then engaged to be married, had thought her request would call attention
to their past relationship. Faith had bowed to his wishes, owing him loyalty since
he’d kept secret their relationship. But without references, she’d been unable to
secure a position a gentlewoman would aspire to.
Did Timothy wonder where she’d gone when she’d left their village? Did he suspect
the lengths she had to go to, in order to survive?
Now he was staring at her a bit wide-eyed, his face its usual paleness beneath his
shock of red hair. And then he inclined his head toward her, and she did the same.
He seemed to take that as permission to approach. After everything they’d once meant
to each other, she wasn’t sure what she felt upon facing him again, except wariness.
She rose to meet him, giving him a faint smile. “Good evening, Mr. Gilpin.”
“And to you, Miss Cooper.” He glanced around. “I had not thought to see you in London.”
At such an exclusive ball, were obviously his unspoken thoughts.
“I am employed by Lord Warburton as a companion to his daughter.”
“Ah, I see.”
They’d once been close friends, and to see now by his smile that he was conscious
of his superior station as the heir to a barony, made her sad.
When the silence stretched out, she said, “I remember that you were engaged.”
“And I did marry.”
“Is your wife in attendance?”
“She is not,” he said swiftly, lowering his brows.
As if he wanted to make sure Faith didn’t meet her. Very well, she understood that.
Or did he know what Faith had had to do to survive after her brother’s death?
No, how could he? She’d moved to another parish, and her mother would certainly never
tell people.
“Well, please give her my congratulations,” Faith said.
Timothy nodded. “My thanks. A good evening to you, Miss Cooper.”
He moved away, and she sat down, feeling a mixture of several emotions, but the predominant
one being relief. What if she’d had to marry that man?
Oh, but in his youth, he’d been a fine companion, eager to run about the village exploring
frog ponds and collecting unusual pebbles. They’d both loved to read, and the hours
in his family library were some of her more precious memories.
And then in their adolescence, they’d begun to see each other as a man and a woman.
Their first kiss had almost been accidental, both of them bent over a particular book
in the library, then practically bumping heads as they turned to discuss it. She wasn’t
even certain which of them kissed the other first. After that, they were different
with each other, aware of feeling an attraction, desperate to be alone to talk, hold
hands, and
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