than the bank paid while my money was safe in a vault.’
‘Any person would seek the best return on a deposit,’ Anne protested. ‘You have your brother and sister depending on you so you need to be astute.’
‘I don’t mind providing for them.’
‘Well, if it were me, I’d mind their mother shirking her duty so abominably.’ Anne frowned an apology, knowing she’d said too much.
Faye was niggled by her friend’s comment despite recognising the truth in what Anne had said. Not wanting to bicker, she changed the subject. ‘We’re going to the fairground this afternoon, so your husband would not have found us in. Are you going to come? You’re welcome to join us in eating buns and throwing balls at skittles.’
‘I’d like to, but Derek’s mother has arrived on a visit with his sister and his niece. Sarah is a nice girl, a little older than your Claire, I’d say. She’s making her come out in the spring. The family is well connected; they know some of the ton’s hostesses. My mother-in-law is friendly with Lady Jersey, you know.’ Anne sounded proud.
‘As Claire is coming out next year, too, perhaps the girls could get together before Sarah returns to Essex.’
‘I’m sure she’d like that...’ Anne’s enthusiastic response tailed away and her eyes narrowed on something over Faye’s shoulder. ‘Now there are some people who really have started tongues wagging,’ she whispered. ‘I have heard tales about him that would make your hair stand on end.’
Discreetly, Faye glanced around. A sleek curricle drawn by matching greys had stopped by the drapery shop. The tiger took the reins while the driver jumped down and helped his passenger alight.
‘Who is that?’ The town of Wilverton was off the beaten track for high society and the handsome couple looked to be top notch.
‘That, my dear, is the new master of Valeside Manor.’ Anne inclined closer to her friend to murmur, ‘And the young woman with him is rumoured to be his paramour.’
Faye looked suitably shocked. ‘Well, she is very pretty...if barely out of her governess’s care by the look of her.’ She peeked again at the slender young lady, her raven hair cascading in ringlets to her shoulders. Even at some distance, Faye could tell that her summer gown was of exquisite style. And she was very possessive of her beau, judging by the way she clung to his arm. But the gentleman was watching her and appeared amused by her interest. Quickly Faye averted her face, regretting having stared for so long.
‘He is a bachelor named Ryan Kavanagh and he’s Irish, but nobody is sure of the lady’s identity.’ Anne shielded her moving lips with her gloved fingers. ‘Apparently he has a mistress each end of London, who both drip jewels and drive about in swish carriages.’
‘He is a wealthy fellow then.’ Faye still felt warm from having the stranger’s mocking eyes on her.
‘Indeed, he is. A rich reprobate, Derek’s mother called him.’ Anne tilted her head at the newcomers. ‘That young lady actually lives with him, you know, at the Manor.’ The shocking information was ejected in a hiss.
Faye’s small teeth nipped her lower lip, suppressing a scandalised laugh. ‘Perhaps I should be grateful to Mr Kavanagh: in comparison to his affairs my sorry business barely merits a mention.’
The couple had entered the shop and Faye clasped her friend’s hands in farewell. ‘I must get home and freshen up and change my shoes for the trek over the fields.’
‘Does your fiancé know of your bad news?’ Anne asked hesitantly.
‘He does not... Peter has docked at Portsmouth, but he is not due to visit for a week or so.’ Faye imagined her seafaring future husband would take it very personally, knowing that the lawyer he had recommended had failed her. But Peter had only done what he thought best.
With a wave, Faye set off back the way she had come. As she passed the dusty curricle the smartly uniformed tiger gave her a polite nod. Faye ran her eyes over the fine horseflesh, then speeded up her pace towards home. For some reason she didn’t want to see Mr Kavanagh and his concubine again. She felt a little frisson pass over her. She regretted having humoured the man by staring at him in such a vulgar fashion.
Once out of sight of townsfolk, Faye grabbed her skirts and began to trot along the meadow path, feeling quite joyous as she concentrated on the treat of an afternoon spent at the fair on such a glorious afternoon. The ground beneath her flying feet had been worn in places to bare soil where the locals took short cuts to and from their cottages on the outskirts of Wilverton.
Having spied Mulberry House rising on the horizon, Faye slowed down to appreciate her pretty home and relieve the stitch in her side. It was a whitewashed building topped with russet-coloured clay tiles and the sturdy iron porch was smothered with scarlet roses that had climbed as far as the eaves. Cecil Shawcross had always loved his abundantly planted garden and the scented blooms that rambled on the front of the house and spilled over the trellises to the rear of the property had been his pride and joy.
Her eyes prickled with tears as she thought about him. Her half-siblings missed their father, too, but being younger had not had the benefit of his company for as long as she had when he passed away. Her father could be a difficult man; without a doubt he would be angry that part of his bequest had disappeared in a poor investment. But it would be towards Peter Collins that he’d unleash his temper. Peter had proposed to her when she was twenty-one, but another two years had passed before her father eventually agreed to the match. It had been a sadness to her that her father and her fiancé had never really got on.
Drawing in a deep breath, she set off again, trotting towards the side gate that led through the kitchen garden and into the house.
‘Ah, so you’re back at last.’ Mrs Gideon frowned as her rosy-cheeked mistress entered the kitchen. She put down on the floury table the pastry cutter she’d been using. ‘I can see you’ve been dashing about again.’ She poured a glass of lemonade from a metal jug. ‘That’ll help cool you off.’
Gratefully Faye took the tumbler, closing her eyes while relishing the refreshing brew. ‘I have been running, and indeed it wasn’t wise. It is very sultry today...perhaps a storm is on its way.’ Faye brushed a hand beneath the damp blonde curls clinging to her nape.
‘There’s some warm water in the kettle for a wash.’ Mrs Gideon filled a copper pitcher, then found a muslin cloth in a drawer. ‘Your sister is still unpicking her stitching, so I reckon you’ve time enough to take a bath waiting for her to be satisfied with prettifying that hat.’ The woman tutted. ‘Miss Claire’s had that piece of blue ribbon on and off the straw at least thrice.’
Faye took another sip of lemonade, intending to take the drink upstairs with her and finish it while she changed her clothes.
‘Did anybody upset you while you were in town, miss?’
Faye turned back to see Mrs Gideon looking quite severe while forcefully rolling out pastry.
‘Everybody was very polite, Mrs Gideon.’ Faye gave a faint smile. ‘Not a word spoken out of place by the shopkeepers, but I saw Anne Holly and she was kind enough to be blunt and tell me people know what has happened.’ Untying her bonnet, she let it hang on its ribbons, then forked her fingers through her thick blonde tresses. So far Mr and Mrs Gideon had kept their own counsel on the business with Westwood; Faye feared they were too kind and loyal to openly say what they must privately be thinking: that her father would be spinning in his grave at her ineptitude with his money. If the couple were concerned over their employment at Mulberry House since she’d made losses, they’d not brought it up.
‘I meant to say, Mrs Gideon, that I haven’t come to such a sorry pass that I cannot afford to keep you on.’
‘Oh, I know, Miss Shawcross.’ The housekeeper’s