Page 14 of Leap of Faith
“And when they are married and gone?” He held up his hand. “You will have your cottage in Bath.” She had no idea how she would herself be besieged. He suspected she would next think she could chaperone her sister and watch from the dowager’s seats. If Satterlee had followed his instructions this time, his plan had already been set into motion. Miss Whitford would meet her match in his mama.
He smiled as she stepped over to where the repast had been spread out on a blanket. His friends stood and made a great show of seating her and preparing a plate of food for her.
Dominic made up a plate for himself and ate in contemplative silence. Miss Whitford had no idea just how unwelcome his guardianship of her was.
CHAPTER4
It was very late by the time they reached London, and even though she had read, played chess and cards, napped, and been idle in a carriage for the entire day, Faith was still exhausted and ready to seek her bed. To her surprise, however, they pulled up at an unknown house instead of the Pulteney.
They pulled to a stop, and a footman opened the door, but Lord Westwood was there to hand them down. Faith hesitated, but took his hand, very conscious of how the touch of him made her feel very odd. She looked up into his meadow-green eyes, with cheeks and a jaw that looked chiselled by a master sculptor. His lips were pursed in a habitual, careless irreverence.
“Where are we?”
“Westwood House. My mother resides here. I have arranged for you to stay with her whilst you are in London instead of a hotel.”
Faith stopped. “We could never impose so!”
He raised a questioning brow at her, and she was reminded of how she’d unwittingly done that very thing to him. She felt heat rise to her face and neck.
“You will be more comfortable here than in a hotel, I assure you. I wonder why Satterlee didn’t think of it. Come! Let me introduce you to my mother. She is expecting us.”
Faith paused while he handed Hope out as well, and stood looking in wonder at the magnificent house before them. It was a square mansion of Portland stone several storeys high, with large columns supporting it and a pediment bearing a coat of arms surrounded by intricate carvings.
“Where are your friends?” Hope asked, looking around to see if they were out of sight.
“They have departed to seek their own homes. They bid me wish you adieu, and will call on you soon.”
“You do not live here as well?”
Lord Westwood glanced at her, baffled. “I prefer to keep my own house.” Without further elaboration on the subject, he escorted them into the house. The door was opened by an imposing-looking butler who clearly felt his own consequence. “Welcome, my lord.”
“Hartley,” his lordship acknowledged. “This is Miss Whitford and Miss Hope.”
He bowed. “Her ladyship awaits you in the saloon.”
“We will show ourselves up.”
“Very good, my lord.”
Lord Westwood led them up a beautiful marble staircase, the walls of which were adorned with statues and paintings that glowed by candlelight, then through a beautifully carved wooden door into a room that was quite the opposite of what had graced his lordship’s hunting box. The walls were white panelled with gilt, and groupings of cream upholstered chairs surrounded low tables. Marble fireplaces at either end of the room held a blazing fire, and next to one of them, in a high-backed chair, sat a handsome woman not above perhaps five and forty years, who was surveying their entrance critically.
Lord Westwood released them and bent over his mother and kissed her cheek dutifully. “Mother, may I present Miss Whitford and Miss Hope Whitford?”
They curtsied deeply.
“Come here and let me have a good look at you.”
Faith very much disliked being brought out like a horse before auction, but since she was at the woman’s mercy, who in all likelihood had also been told, not asked, what to do, she complied.
The lady looked to her son. “There will be riots, you understand quite well, do you not?”
Faith and Hope glanced at each other with confusion.
“Perfectly,” he replied, and the lady smiled at him.
“I suppose that was your plan. And there are three more, Satterlee tells me? What are their ages?” The latter was addressed to Faith.
“Patience is eighteen, my lady. Grace is seventeen next month, and Joy is fifteen.”
