Falling for Chloe

by Farr, Diane

  George laughed aloud from pure enjoyment as he watched her go, her pale gown a flash of light against the rustling darkness of the foliage. It was rare that anything or anyone made him laugh out loud. But what an odd amalgam of contradictions this girl was: frankly duplicitous, mysteriously transparent! Foolish and clever. Sweet and tart.

  He wondered again if this odd and intriguing child might make a tolerable wife. He was inclined to believe she would. He generally found blondes unappealing, but apart from that minor detail Chloe was a pretty little thing. And his discreet inquiries had confirmed that she was, in fact, a considerable heiress. Mistress of her own fortune, too, which was unusual.

  And now he had another valuable piece of information. Whatever her relationship to Sylvester Gilliland might be, it wasn’t romantic. Until a few moments ago, Chloe Littlefield had never been thoroughly kissed. He was sure of it.

  Chapter 12

  Chloe was afraid she would feel awkward and embarrassed when next she saw Lord Rival, but, to her relief, when she and Tish encountered him in Hyde Park the next day, he took pains to put her at her ease. He certainly did not seem to think any worse of her for her dreadful display of wantonness. If anything, he treated her with more deference than before. But then, just as she was beginning to breathe easier, a moment came when Tish’s attention was drawn away to greet an acquaintance—and he took advantage of the opportunity to wink at her! She blushed fierily, but had to own that his audacious gesture gave her a secret thrill. It would have been rather lowering, she supposed, had he pretended that their encounter never happened.

  She tried in vain to think of a way to open a conversation with Tish about Lord Rival, and then was taken completely by surprise when Tish introduced the topic herself. They were sitting at breakfast together, and Chloe had just swallowed a mouthful of tea when Tish suddenly said, "And what do you make of our George?"

  Chloe choked. When she recovered her breath she gazed at her friend, eyes watering, and saw that Tish was laughing at her.

  "He’s a handsome fellow, don’t you think?" Tish said teasingly.

  "Yes," said Chloe faintly, still coughing a little.

  Tish sighed dreamily over her teacup. "I just adore him," she gushed. "Those eyes!" She rolled her own eyes, for emphasis. "And the wicked things he says! Makes one feel—oh, I don’t know—pretty, I suppose."

  Chloe stared at her friend. Tish seemed completely unselfconscious. There was no hint of shame in her confession.

  Tish looked expectantly at Chloe. "Well? Don’t you think so?"

  "I? Well, I—yes, I do." She hesitated, unsure of her ground, then plunged ahead. She dared not mention the kiss. Not yet. But it would be a relief to inform Tish of at least one important fact. "You know, Tish, you are not the only woman to whom he says wicked things. He says them to me, too."

  But instead of looking vexed, Tish smiled the smile of a conspirator. "Oh, I’m sure he does! George is never at a loss."

  Chloe must have had a very queer expression on her face, for Tish burst out laughing. "My poor Chloe! I forget how inexperienced you are. Does he shock you?"

  "Sometimes," said Chloe cautiously.

  "Well, do not let him see it! He will only become more outrageous." She sipped her tea contentedly.

  Chloe was baffled. "But, Tish, doesn’t it—doesn’t it bother you, that Lord Rival says outrageous things to me?"

  Tish looked surprised. "No. Why should it?"

  "Well, I—I thought he was a particular friend of yours."

  "Oh, yes! Certainly he is. But George will flirt with any presentable female, you know. He doesn’t mean anything by it."

  Now, what was she to make of that? Chloe, feeling unaccountably nettled, struggled to keep her temper. For a woman who professed to adore Lord Rival, Tish seemed utterly unperturbed by his attentions to other women! Was she so sure of his regard? If so, Chloe had very good reasons for believing she was mistaken! But what would it take, to shake Tish out of her complacency? Chloe was severely tempted to blurt out the story of the kiss George had given her. That ought to wake Tish up!

  But what if it didn’t?

  Before she could think of a way to delicately probe further, the door to the breakfast room opened to admit Robert Dalrymple. Chloe saw him hesitate for a fraction of a second before entering, almost as if unsure of his welcome. Robert was a broad-shouldered, sandy-haired young man with a distinct air of breeding, and had completely captured Tish’s heart a few years ago. It pained Chloe to see the reserve with which Tish bade her husband good morning, and Robert’s distant nod as he seated himself at the head of the table and shook out his napkin.

  He inquired politely as to the girls’ plans for the day, but did not display any real interest in their comings and goings. His life seemed completely separate from his wife’s. No wonder George had been able to make such inroads in Tish’s affections! Her husband had obviously withdrawn from her. And Tish must always have someone to love.

  Chloe frowned abstractedly at the tablecloth, tracing the pattern in the linen with the edge of her teaspoon. She wished she were better acquainted with Robert Dalrymple. It was impossible to speak frankly to him, but she would dearly love to know what had distanced him from his once-adoring wife. For all she knew, it was Lord Rival’s attentions that had angered Robert.

  If that were so, it was doubly important that she lure the rascal away from Tish. She could not help glowing a little at the thought. The more she thought about George’s kiss—and the memory did seem to intrude fairly frequently, at the oddest moments—the more she wondered if she might have been a bit hasty in dismissing outright the idea of marriage. Perhaps it contained compensations of which she had been unaware.

  Chloe was roused from her musings when she gradually realized a quarrel was brewing over her head. She looked up to see Tish smiling over-brightly at her husband.

  "Well! What’s sauce for the gander is sauce for the goose. I shall follow your example, Robert, and amuse myself as I see fit. I believe I shall attend Mrs. Budleigh’s party tonight."

  A muscle jumped in Robert’s jaw. "Mrs. Budleigh? Can it be possible? Are you actually acquainted with that woman? Who, may I ask, had the effrontery to introduce my wife to Mrs. Budleigh?"

  Tish shrugged, assuming an air of indifference. "I don’t recall precisely. One meets a score of persons every week during the Season; I cannot remember every introduction! But I must have met her somewhere. She has sent me an invitation to her card party, and since it appears I will not have the pleasure of your company, I mean to go. I daresay it will be very diverting."

  Robert set down his fork, tight-lipped. "If that is your idea of an evening’s entertainment, I can tell you it is not mine."

  "No? But I’m sure I need not hesitate to attend the party without you. Nothing new in that!" Tish’s assumption of nonchalance was rapidly crumbling.

  "And what of Miss Littlefield? Will you leave your guest alone all evening? I knew you had become a hoyden, but I did not think you had sunk so far."

  Two spots of angry color were flaming on Robert’s cheeks, and Tish’s eyes were flashing daggers. Chloe was uncomfortably aware that the combatants had completely forgotten her presence.

  Tish snapped her fingers at her husband. "Pooh! An almond for a parrot! Chloe will not grudge me one evening. Besides, she may come along, if she wishes."

  "Good God! Have you lost all sense of decency? If a tenth of what one hears is true, Mrs. Budleigh’s parties are nothing to inflict upon a green girl."

  "Why, how stern you are," marveled Tish. "And while I am at Mrs. Budleigh’s, what sort of party will you be attending?"

  "You need not concern yourself with that. It will be a gentlemen’s party."

  "Yes! Cards and tobacco and drinking, and everything carried to excess! But apart from the cigars, it will be not so very different from Mrs. Budleigh’s party, will it?"

  Chloe cleared her throat self-consciously. Tish and Robert turned startled eyes up
on her. "If—if I might excuse myself," she said in a small voice, "I think I should write a letter to Mr. Fanshaw this morning. I left him in charge at Brookhollow, you know, in my absence."

  "Oh, certainly," murmured Tish, sounding rather dazed. Robert merely turned a dull red and gazed at his breakfast plate. Chloe fled.

  Although she thus avoided hearing the end of the quarrel, the upshot was painfully apparent. Tish soon marched into the morning room, where Chloe was writing her letter, and, with angry tears glittering on her lashes, announced her resolve to attend Mrs. Budleigh’s card party that evening. Chloe had never heard her mention the invitation prior to this morning’s row with Robert, so she feared that Tish’s whole object in going was to defy her husband. It seemed there was something disreputable about this party. And after hearing the things Robert had said about Mrs. Budleigh, Chloe was absolutely certain she had no desire to attend it herself.

  She looked up from her letter, consternation in her face. "Oh, Tish, must we go?"

  "Yes!" Tish flung herself onto a sofa, scowling. "At least, I must. You need not, if you don’t wish to."

  "Does—does Robert accompany you?"

  "No, he does not, and I don’t care!"

  The addition of that unnecessary information fairly shouted that the opposite was true. Chloe set her pen carefully down, not looking at Tish’s face. She feared Tish would see the pity in her eyes. "Well, I had rather not go, if you don’t mind. I’m frightfully sorry, Tish, but you know I have no head for cards."

  "Very well," said Tish indifferently.

  Chloe stole a glance at her friend, hoping that her own refusal had helped Tish change her mind. After all, it would be unmannerly to leave a guest to her own devices all evening. Not that that would matter between such old friends as Chloe and Tish. But at the very least, Chloe staying at home and Robert going to his own party would leave Tish with no one to accompany her. And a lady could not jaunter about the town alone.

  Tish was staring abstractedly at the fire, her shoulders tense and her hands playing nervously with the fringe of one of the sofa pillows. Chloe watched Tish’s face for a moment, worried by what she saw there. "Tish, you cannot go alone," she said tentatively.

  Tish offered her a brittle smile. "Mr. Choate will take me up in his carriage. I have already sent round a note. So, you see, you need not apologize for declining the invitation. Suit yourself! It is a matter of complete indifference to me whether you come along or not."

  And with this, Tish flounced out of the room. Chloe stared after her in dismay. Worse and worse! Really, it was enough to make one wish one had stayed safely at Brookhollow, to be thrust into the midst of such a sticky situation! The last thing Chloe wanted was to find herself plunged into the middle of a marital dispute. Besides, her loyalty to Tish made her want to take Tish’s side in the quarrel, and she could not. She was too much in sympathy with Robert.

  Chloe’s immediate instinct was to turn to Gil. She had no clear idea what he could do, but she felt sure he would think of something. At any rate, it would make her feel better to pour the story into his sympathetic ears. Just being in his comforting presence would, even if it did nothing for Tish, make her feel better. So she sent one of the footmen round with a note for him, and settled in to wait.

  Gil did not appear. Chloe finally confronted the footman, and was informed that the note had been dutifully left, but that Mr. Gilliland had been from home when it was delivered. Her heart sank. All she could do was possess her soul in patience and hope that he would return to his flat betimes. If he did not receive her note in time to intervene, she would have to face the task of dissuading Tish herself. It was a daunting thought.

  The hours crawled by. Dinner arrived, with still no word from Gil. Dinner was a silent, strained meal. Mr. and Mrs. Dalrymple exchanged only as many words as were necessary to direct the servants and complete the rituals of a multi-course meal, and Chloe felt unequal to the task of maintaining a conversation without the assistance of her hosts. No one ate much. The food must have seemed as tasteless to Tish and Robert as it did to Chloe.

  She reluctantly decided that she must make a last-ditch effort to convince Tish not to go. She peeped into Tish’s dressing room just as Tish, beautifully gowned, was completing her toilette by leaning into her looking glass to fasten her earrings. Chloe was a little surprised to see that instead of Tish’s maid, Bobby and his nurse were present. Tish’s eyes met Chloe’s in the mirror as she entered, and Tish smiled. She looked more relaxed than Chloe had seen her all day.

  "Come in, Chloe! Quite the family party, as you see." She waved a hand to indicate the child and his nurse, a diffident young woman scarcely older than Tish herself. The nurse ducked a shy curtsey as Chloe closed the door behind her. Freed momentarily from Nursie’s grasp, Bobby ran toward his mother on sturdy little legs, crowing with delight. Tish scooped the child up and kissed him with a resounding smack. He instantly struggled to get down and she set him on the floor again, laughing.

  "Men are fickle creatures," she remarked, turning back to her mirror. As if contradicting her statement, Bobby threw his plump arms around his mother’s knees and clutched as much of her as he could reach.

  "Up," he demanded. But his nurse quickly seized him, gulping an apology to Tish, and bore him to the opposite end of the room. Bobby roared his disapproval of this treatment.

  "Mercy on us!" exclaimed Tish, rummaging swiftly through the drawers of her dressing table. She unearthed a paper of sweetmeats and handed one to the nurse. Bobby’s howls swiftly subsided. Tish smiled apologetically at Chloe. "I see so little of him during the day, you know, that I miss him terribly. I’m afraid I rather spoil him when I do see him."

  "I would, too," admitted Chloe. "I do envy you little Bobby. He’s such a poppet! Does he always help you dress?"

  "Oh, yes! Just at the end. He chooses which jewels I should wear." Her nose wrinkled comically as she fastened a garnet necklace round her slender throat. "And then I put them back and choose for myself!"

  It was past Bobby’s bedtime, so Tish soon bade him farewell, watching rather wistfully as Bobby was carried from the room. "There goes one man who truly loves me," she said, half to herself. She caught Chloe’s sympathetic look and smiled wryly. "I am feeling sorry for myself tonight. Pray do not regard it. I will recover my temper by morning." With a little sigh, she picked up a hairbrush and began carefully repairing the damage Bobby’s parting caress had inflicted.

  Chloe sank onto a spindle-legged chair by the dressing table and watched her gravely. "Must you go to this party tonight? I don’t believe you really expect to enjoy it."

  Tish shrugged. Her expression became guarded. "I suppose I will like it well enough, once I am there."

  "If you stayed here with me, you could teach me piquet. Or help me improve my wretched whist game," offered Chloe coaxingly. "And then we could attend the next card party together."

  The hairbrush faltered for a moment, but then Tish shook her head and continued working. "I am already dressed. And I daresay Mr. Choate will arrive at any moment. It’s far too late for me to change my mind."

  "You could plead a headache."

  Again Tish hesitated, but then her face hardened. "No. I have said I am going, and I am going."

  Chloe knew better than to coax or argue once Tish’s mulish streak had asserted itself. She said no more, but her mind was far from easy. Tish’s cheerfulness had vanished with little Bobby, and it was plain that she shrank from the duty her own stubbornness had imposed upon her. She no more wanted to go to Mrs. Budleigh’s party than Chloe did. But go she would, and nothing could prevent her.

  The house seemed very silent once Tish had gone. Chloe settled herself in the Dalrymples’ small library with a novel chosen at random from the shelves. She had a cozy fire and a loudly ticking clock to keep her company, and the library was directly off the entrance hall. She was determined to sit up until Tish returned, and wanted to be within earshot of the front door.


  At first, it appeared that staying awake would be easy to accomplish. Her nerves were on the stretch. Chloe’s mind tugged and worried at the tangle her affairs were in, going endlessly round and round the various difficulties she faced. The novel was powerless to divert her from her problems, and for a long time she stared, unseeing, at the fire. A dreadful feeling of foreboding stole over her, worsening as the evening wore on. She hoped it was only the effect of silence, and darkness, and isolation in this rather depressing little room. Disaster seemed to be hanging over her head like the sword of Damocles, and she knew not when the sword would fall, nor what form the fatal blow would take.

  The room grew colder. Chloe curled her small body in the chair before the fire, throwing a shawl across her lap. This must have made her a little too comfortable, for the clock chiming twelve caused her to jump, startled. She realized it had woken her. She sat up, stretching, and became aware that footsteps were crossing the hall outside the library door. Was it the sound of Tish entering the house that had actually awakened her? Chloe tossed the shawl aside and darted to the door, almost sick with relief. But when she threw it open, it was Robert Dalrymple whose startled face greeted hers.

  "Oh!" stammered Chloe, taking a step backward. "I—I thought you were Tish."

  His smile was strained. "I thought the same. I saw the light under the door, and hoped—she is not here, then? No. Of course not." The candle he held lit Chloe’s face, which apparently was telling him everything he needed to know. He suddenly looked very tired. "I take it she went to Mrs. Budleigh’s party," he said dully.

  "Yes," said Chloe, feeling foolishly guilty. "She has not yet returned."

  "No, I suppose not." He heaved a small sigh. "I would not be home at this hour myself, had I not left my party early. It was—dull." He smiled bleakly. "Or perhaps it was I who was dull. At any rate, I left it. Good night, Miss Littlefield."

  He bowed, and would have gone, but Chloe put out a swift hand to stop him. "Will you not wait up for her? The library is quite comfortable."