Chapter Twelve
Faith
The morning sun spills through the curtains, warming my feet under the soft covers. I stretch and reach for Papa, only to find his spot empty. Peering at the clock on the nightstand, I’m shocked to discover it’s half past nine. Why didn’t Papa wake me up?
Oh well. I suppose he has some important business to attend to this morning. During our talk in the sunroom yesterday, he told me that he owned several factories in town, and he also owned and managed a few houses and buildings. Perhaps he had to run a work-related errand. I tell myself that’s all it must be, and that I haven’t been forgotten.
I glance around the empty room, wondering if I ought to return to my own bedroom and get dressed for the day. My bottom tingles in the next moment, and I decide dressing myself is probably not a good idea. Papa had said he always wanted to help me get ready in the mornings.
Glancing down at my body, I blush hard. I’m still naked. He says on the nights we share a bed, I am not permitted any clothing. I shiver, despite the warmth from the braziers.
My nipples stiffen and heat throbs between my legs at the memory of last night.
After kissing me down there, Papa had thrust his huge cock into my cunny. It had stung at first, as if something inside me had suddenly lit on fire, but as soon as the pain erupted, it had started to fade. Then the desire had grown, a spark at first, that coalesced with my desire for Papa to take me as his wife-in-truth, until I ached beyond all reason for him to pound in and out of me.
That’s exactly what he’d done. He’d pounded me. Hard.
He’d growled deep in his throat and started driving in and out of my cunny without restraint. A look of anguish had crossed his face after the first few hard thrusts, and he’d paused to inquire if I was all right, but when I’d begged him to continue and pound me even harder, he’d mercifully obliged my wishes.
With a sigh, I crawl out of bed and carefully tip-toe back to my room, making sure no one is about in the hallway to witness my nakedness. If I don’t put some clothes on, I will be tempted to stay in bed and touch my cunny, which I already know from experience is very much against Papa’s strict rules.
Once in my room, I don my pretty white nightgown, as well as a robe. My stomach rumbles as I venture to the window and push aside the sheer curtains. The landscape is pristine and white, and the sun shines across town and past its limits, glittering atop the snow-covered trees and the mountains beyond. I never really knew so much natural beauty existed in the world until I’d come to live here. Smiling, and thanking God for my good fortune, I turn and make my way downstairs, following the scent of bacon and eggs.
But before I can reach the kitchen, I hear voices in Papa’s study. I pause outside the ajar door, wondering who has come to visit. Putting my ear to the opening, I hold my breath and listen, all the while feeling guilty for spying. But I’m a tad worried about why Papa let me sleep in, and I decide if something is wrong, I want to know about it. Maybe I could even help. I’m his wife now, after all, and it’s my duty to be his helpmate. As good a job as he’s done taking care of me and making me feel wanted, he deserves my support.
The other voice belongs to a man, and I easily pick out his speech from my papa’s.
“You truly wish for the house to be on the wealthier side of town? A house as large as you’re looking for will take some work, I’m afraid,” the visitor says.
“My mind is made up. The largest house you can find. And if you can’t find a house that meets my specifications with a willing seller, then find some suitable land for building. I’ll pay any price. I want this house to be grand and something my wife will approve of,” Papa says.
“Of course, sir. I will return next week with a list of all your options.”
“Thank you, Pembly.”
I turn and rush back upstairs, my heart splintering into a thousand pieces.
So much for the thirty-day trial marriage.
Papa has already decided he wants to get rid of me.
Tears fill my eyes and spill down my cheeks. I sniffle and wipe them away as I hurry into my room. Was he planning this all along? To keep me for thirty days, have his pleasure of me, and then discard me in some huge fancy house? Doubts emerge and churn within me, and nausea rises in my throat. What if Papa wasn’t truthful about his past? What if I’m not really his second wife, but another bride in a long line of women he’s married briefly, only to throw away?
But what does it matter? He’s going to abandon me, just like my uncle and aunt did so many years ago. Old hurts resurface and merge with my newest heartbreak. Hands shaking, I get dressed as fast I can. The snow hasn’t shown any indication of melting yet, even under the sun’s bright rays, so I don two pairs of stockings, my thickest petticoats, and the warmest dress from my closet. A few more dresses had appeared overnight, and I suppose Papa—God, should I even call him that anymore?—had his servants fetch more readymade items from one of the dress shops in town. At least there are two fur-lined cloaks, as well as mittens and several hats. I make my selection and hope it doesn’t snow again anytime soon.
I don’t bother packing anything. I’ll leave in the clothes I’m wearing. Hopefully, there will be at least one suitable job posted in the town square by now. I don’t want Papa’s charity and I don’t wish to return to the orphanage, a newlywed already estranged from her husband. I would have to leave there in but a few days, anyway, due to the overcrowding.
When Papa first offered me this deal, I accepted, but only under the belief that we’d both try our best to make the marriage work. He doesn’t seem to have any desire to even try. Not if he’s already planning for my house.
I feel like the biggest fool.
Last night, I had begged him to take me, pleaded for him to pound me harder and make me his. But to what end? To wake up and learn he’s already betrayed me? Surely, the meeting with the man in his study had been arranged ahead of time. Yesterday, or even the day before.
Yes, he’s been planning this from the very start.
Damn him. Damn him to the depths of hell. I can barely see through my tears as I rush downstairs. I don’t pay attention to the shocked maid I pass in the foyer, and I keep running even as the butler calls out my name.
Cold wind swirls against my face, and I clutch the cloak so it doesn’t fly off.
The front walkway has been cleared of snow, but the street is a dirty path of slush. Still, I don’t pause. I run as if my life depends on it. I refuse to be abandoned again. Especially by a man who tricked me into thinking I might find happiness and love with him, and all the things I never had growing up—a caring Papa, loving guidance, and a safe place to call home.
Before I turn at the end of the street, I think I hear him calling my name in the wind.
But I don’t stop. I can’t stop.
There’s no turning back now.
It’s over.
* * *
Kington
“Why the fuck didn’t you stop her?” I glare at my butler, who has served me faithfully for many years. I run a hand through my hair and pace the length of the foyer.
“I am sorry, sir. I did not realize she was running away at first. I thought she meant to go into town, and I was calling after her to offer the use of a carriage. But rest assured, we will find her, sir. We have over two dozen guardsmen out combing the streets. She will turn up soon.”
Worry and fear clutch my heart, as well as a deep panging sense of betrayal. The pain is almost severe enough to double me over. Each breath is a struggle; the feeling of loss is so profound.
Faith has run from me.
She no longer wants me as her papa or her husband, so much so that she’s left without a goodbye and without packing anything. She doesn’t have a penny to her name.
Where the hell has she gone?
She hasn’t returned to the orphanage, or the man I have stationed there would have found her and brought her home already. I have another man watching Madame Angelic’s brothel as well, though I doubt she’ll seek refuge there.
Fucking hell. I reach for my coat.
“Master Kingston,” Mrs. Summers says. “You have only been home a few minutes. Stay a bit longer to warm up and have a bite. I’m making vegetable stew, and it’s just about done.”
I can’t stay. I’ve only stopped by the house now to check in and make sure Faith hadn’t returned on her own. If she’s not here, I can’t stay. I’ll roam the streets all night looking for her if need be.
I won’t rest until I know she’s safe.
My heart lurches. Even though she doesn’t want me anymore.
“I’m going to start on the southern end of town this time, and work my way back here,” I tell the butler as I turn my back on Mrs. Summers. “If you hear anything, find me at once.”
“Yes, sir, of course. Good luck.”
Bracing myself for the cold wind, I rush back outside and resume the search for my sweet Faith. On my way to the southern end, I spot several guardsmen also searching, going in and out of buildings and knocking on doors. None of them have heard anything yet. As I peer down every street and alley, I try to understand what went wrong. I’d thought Faith enjoyed last night as much as I had. She’d begged me to claim her, trembled under my touch, and cried my name over and over again. She’d fallen asleep in my arms, her expression one of pure bliss.
Was she angry I was late waking her up? I run a hand through my hair and dismiss this possibility. Whatever her reasons, whatever has happened that’s changed her desire to continue in our marriage and our dynamic as Papa and little girl, I intend to get to the bottom of it.
But what matters most is that my sweet girl is happy and safe, and she’s likely neither while out on the streets, in the cold, perhaps in a treacherous part of town. Rage simmers through me. I’m furious at her for putting herself in danger.
Where the fuck is she? I finish walking every street and alley on the southern end of town, but she’s nowhere to be found. With a sigh, I pause in the town square and gaze at the dazzling lights on the large Christmas tree that must have been erected this morning.
Then I spot movement beneath the boughs of the tree. At least, I think something is shifting. The sun is setting and dark shadows are spilling through the streets, so perhaps it’s only a trick of the light, but I head closer and closer, drawn as if pulled by a higher force.
I step over the short gate that circles the tree, crouch down, and lift one of the boughs, only to find myself staring straight into familiar light blue eyes.