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The answer whispered around her mind, but Faith refused to acknowledge it. That way lay madness, and probably a lot more cocktails than was advisable.
She managed to avoid most of her parents’ questions by hiding in her room until dinner, ostensibly napping. Her father blamed jet lag and let her be, which was a blessing. But Faith knew she’d never sleep until she faced things head-on. So she pulled out her tablet, took a deep breath and checked out the damage.
The blogs and the websites had the news first, as always. The photo of her and Dominic in the lobby of the Greyfriars, looking as if they’d just rolled out of bed, was plastered everywhere. Faith scrolled past, wishing that every glimpse of the picture didn’t make her remember exactly what they had been doing just before it was taken. How his body had felt pressed against hers. How perfect everything had been, for one fleeting moment.
The text below tended to be scant. Nobody knew anything except that she had been seen in London with Lord Dominic Beresford. Which was, she supposed, all there really was to know—especially if Dominic’s PR team had got to work. There was speculation about where she’d been, and whether she was still holed up at the Greyfriars, but that was it for new news.
So, of course, they rehashed the old news instead. Faith buried the tablet under a pile of blankets on the trunk at the end of the bed when she reached that part.
Dinner with her parents was a stilted affair. Dad would try to make jokes, telling anecdotes that grew more obscure and confused with every glass of wine, but neither her mum nor Faith laughed. When he pulled out the whisky after dinner, Faith thought of Dominic and declined.
‘I need an early night,’ she said.
Her mother frowned. ‘You slept all afternoon.’
‘Jet lag, Dahlia,’ Dad said, and Faith didn’t disagree.
She wandered through the halls of the manor towards the main staircase, her gaze alighting on the holes in the carpet, the empty spaces on the shelves where expensive trinkets once sat. In some ways, it was hard not to compare Fowlmere with Beresford Hall. In others...there just was no comparison.
Fowlmere was decaying, ruined. Over. Just like her relationship with Dominic.
Tucked up in her childhood bed, the old feelings of isolation and hopelessness pressed in on her, but she willed them away. She’d escaped from this place once. She’d do it again. This was merely a temporary stop, until everything blew over and she was employable again. That was all.
She would never have to be that Lady Faith again. The girl with no place in the world, whose very home was falling apart around her, whose parents couldn’t see past their own problems to see her misery. She was an adult now, and she got to choose her own life.
And nobody in their right mind would choose this.
The next morning, Faith pulled her tablet out from its cocoon and braved the news sites again. Nothing much new, except a note that Dominic had checked out of the Greyfriars, but with no sign of her. There was a new photo, showing Dominic stalking out of the hotel, dark eyes hard, ignoring every single reporter and photographer waiting for him. Something pulled at Faith’s insides at the sight of him.
How he must hate her right now.
She shook her head. She had more practical matters to worry about. The news would have made it from the Internet to the papers this morning, which meant that her father would read it. And if the world knew she was no longer at the Greyfriars, the paparazzi would be coming here next. She needed to warn her parents, see if they were willing to stick with a ‘no comment’ rule until the reporters got bored. After all, none of them were very likely to want to sit in a field outside a crumbling mansion for more than a day or two, even if it meant getting a photo of the Runaway Heiress.
But before she got further than pulling on her dressing gown against the pervasive chill of Fowlmere Manor there was a sharp rap on the door and a mug of tea poked into the room, followed by her father.
‘Am I allowed in?’
‘Of course.’ Faith took the drink and sipped. Milk and two sugars. She hadn’t taken sugar for years.
Entering, he moved to the bed and sat, bouncing a little on the mattress. ‘I haven’t been in here for a while,’ he admitted. ‘Your mother, she’d come and sit in here whenever she missed you, but I found it easier just to stay away. Much like yourself.’
Faith blinked. ‘She missed me?’
‘Oh, very much. We both did. Not just for the laughing at jokes thing.’ He gave her his trademark lopsided smile. ‘And then when I saw that business in the papers this morning...I understood. No jet lag then, I suppose?’ A blush heated Faith’s cheeks. ‘Shame you couldn’t bring Lord Beresford with you, really. I wouldn’t mind picking his brain on a few subjects.’
