Page 92 of Leap of Faith
“Should one not taste the meal before adding salt, Grandmama?”
“Food always needs salt, and I would think you’ve had plenty of time to sample!” she retorted. “Enough with your ridiculous metaphors. Well?”
“I can hardly make love and woo a lady whilst she is caring for an invalid sister.”
“Ha! I knew it”! Her tone and the gleam in her eyes were full of satisfaction.
“And besides, you can hardly expect me to make a declaration while she is still under my guardianship.”
“Pooh!” She waved her hand dismissively. “A few days here and there matter not. Do you think the day the conservatorship ends no one will know you’ve been wanting her? Even you are not that stupid, my boy!”
“It is a matter of honour, Grandmama,” he said, restraining his voice from the growl he’d rather use.
“I am too old to wait for your niceties and notions of honour!”
“At this juncture, I cannot even say whether she would accept me. She’s had other offers.”
His grandmother began to laugh and cackled herself into a coughing fit. She beat her hand against her chest, then ended with a contented sigh. “You really believe that, do you?”
“Miss Whitford is very reserved with me,” he found himself confessing. “Occasionally, she leans on me for support, but that is only because she needs the comfort of a broad shoulder from time to time. She has shown no more affection for me than she might an elder brother, had she one. I do not know how she managed for so long by herself. She could not have been more than a girl when their parents died.”
“One becomes accustomed by taking things day by day.”
Her gaze became distant, and he knew she was speaking from personal experience. The dowager’s lot had not been an easy one despite her privileged position.
Dominic stood and went over to examine a yellow rose to give her a few moments. He twisted one from its stem and brought it to his nose. She would not thank him if he saw her become emotional.
He waited until she cleared her throat. “If she’s reserved with you, then you must convince her to be otherwise. Perhaps your reputation precedes you.”
“My reputation?” He turned back and looked at her with his brows raised.
“Don’t get on your high horse with me, Westwood. I am telling you no more than the truth.”
Dominic was well aware of his reputation, but he never toyed with innocents. Those he flirted with knew exactly what he was about and had no expectations. It still made him cross to hear that his own grandmother thought he was no better than he ought to be.
Then he could not repress the guilt he felt when he thought of Jemima Taylor. He had deliberately flirted with her in full view of theton—and Faith—the night of their ball. It had been as much to fool himself as to fool theton. But had that ruined his chances with Faith?
He ran a frustrated finger around the edge of his neckcloth, which suddenly felt as if it were squeezing the life out of him. How odd that marriage was referred to as the parson’s noose when it was the thoughts of losing Faith that made him break out in a cold sweat.
Knowing his grandmother was watching him with immense satisfaction, he forced his thoughts back to the present. “What would you have me do? I can hardly propose to her in such a situation!”
“No, but you can make it clear to her how she is very different from one of your flirts.”
“I have never treated her like one of my flirts, as you so vulgarly put it!”
She scoffed at him. “You most certainly have not. One of your flirts at least expects…”
“Enough!” he commanded before she could finish. He was tempted to cover his ears. He treated Faith with honour and respect, and perhaps a little flirtation, but only because he enjoyed bantering with her. Was he really no better than that? “I am doing what I can to make myself pleasing within the confines of being responsible for her.” It had been devilishly difficult, at that. Frankly, he felt he was deserving of sainthood.
CHAPTER22
With Joy out of immediate danger, Faith continued to sleep in the dressing room at night with the door open, but she allowed others to remain with Joy for short intervals during the day. Thus far, Joy still slept a great and was not her usual ebullient self. When Faith presented her concerns, the doctor proclaimed this to be in the normal way of healing from a kick to the head and having been immobile in a bed for over a week.
Lord Westwood had been all that was good and kind during this time of trial. Had she not experienced it for herself, she might not have believed him to be capable of such kindness. Their friendship had grown into comfortable camaraderie, yet there had been no more moments where she thought his feelings to be no more than that of a sister. He coaxed her from the sick room for an hour or two each day for walks or rides; but no hints of love or flirtation accompanied them. Faith could not but wonder why Lord Westwood remained at Taywards when he could return to Town and all his entertainments—and flirts.
For her sanity, she wished he would go. Every moment, every day, he was near she felt it would be that much harder to be away from him. Perhaps if he left now, she could bear it.
It was time to write to her sisters to inform them of Joy’s progress that day, and she went to her chamber to do so. When she returned, she overheard voices.
