Falling for Chloe

by Farr, Diane

  He hesitated, but only for a moment. Then he gave her that slight, bitter smile again. "I think not, thank you. She would not be pleased to see me."

  He turned to head toward the stairs, but then stopped and looked back at Chloe. "By the by, have you and Gil set a date yet?"

  "A date?" Chloe was genuinely puzzled. Then, as his brows flew up, she understood, and blushed for her slowness. "Oh! That! No, I—no, we have not. In fact, I rather think—that is, I am not perfectly sure—well, I don’t know when we will actually marry. Or—or if!" she blurted, in a burst of candor.

  His brows climbed higher. "Oh. That’s the way the land lies, is it?"

  "Well, yes, I’m afraid so. I mean—well, I don’t know what I mean. It’s just that . . . " her voice trailed off.

  "I hope the glimpse of wedded bliss you have seen in this house has not given you cold feet," he said drily.

  "Certainly not!" she assured him. "I had cold feet long before I saw—that is, I—I have never really wished to marry. I still do not wish to marry. Anyone."

  "Ah. Well, if you should ever change your mind, take my advice and don’t marry for love. Whatever other mistakes you make in your life, do not make that one. Don’t marry for love. I have learned that lesson the hard way."

  Chloe thought she had never seen a man look more despondent than Robert Dalrymple at that moment. The stark despair on his face was very hard to witness. She had seen that expression often, on the face of one dear to her, and it was terrible to see it again. Her heart went out to him.

  "I understand you," she whispered, her eyes blurring with tears. "My mother married for love. And my father for money. Of the two, my father received the better bargain. He got what he wanted. My mother, naturally, did not." Chloe swallowed painfully. "My mother was the unhappiest woman I have ever known."

  He nodded quietly. And then he turned and walked, silent as a ghost, up the stairs to bed. Chloe returned to her sanctuary before the fire, deeply shaken. Robert’s misery had touched her to the quick, bringing back all the saddest memories of her mother. Poor Mama, grieving endlessly for the love denied her. It was ghastly to have been reminded so vividly of her, and of all the reasons why Chloe had vowed she would never, ever, step into the trap that had ensnared her mother.

  The episode had touched her so personally, it took some time before Chloe realized that Robert’s pain had a meaning far removed from her mother’s sufferings. When the notion struck her, she sat suddenly upright in the chair, actually gasping aloud. Robert Dalrymple loved his wife! That was what he meant. And she had irrationally attached her own emotional response to the news—based on the past situation she had known, not the present. What a shatterbrained thing to do! Why, this wasn’t sad news at all. It was good news.

  Unless—was it possible that Tish no longer cared for Robert?

  Chloe nibbled a fingertip, frowning. She swiftly reviewed everything she could recall of Tish’s behavior since she had come to London, but could draw no real conclusion from her observations. She had assumed that Tish’s recklessness was rooted in her reaction to Robert’s aloofness. But was the shoe, perhaps, on the other foot? Was Robert’s aloofness a response to Tish’s wildness? She had to admit she did not know.

  A prodigious yawn seized her. My, she was tired. She had spent almost an entire evening thinking. Who would have believed it was such arduous work? She curled up in the chair once more, drowsily blinking at the clock. Ten past one. Perhaps she should try the novel again.

  That was her last conscious thought until a cold draft stole under the library door, awakening her. She struggled to sit up, disoriented. A soft murmur of voices sounded in the hall, and a stifled giggle. Tish!

  Chloe, still throwing off the effects of sleep, was halfway to the door before she realized that Tish’s escort had come into the hall with her. She halted, unsure whether throwing open the library door would make her look foolish, like an anxious parent awaiting the return of a wayward daughter. The cold draft still swept under the library door, telling her that the front door in the hall stood open yet. She heard Tish say something, and a low rumble of male laughter in reply. Tish must be bidding goodnight to Mr. Choate; he would soon be on his way.

  But the baritone voice continued, and although Chloe could not make out the words, she recognized the voice with a shock. She would know that teasing note anywhere. It was Lord Rival, not the harmless Mr. Choate, who was bidding goodnight to Tish.

  Now nothing would prevail upon Chloe to open that door. She stood, in an agony of disturbed emotions, and unwillingly listened to another minute or two of murmured conversation and stifled laughter—all of it containing a provacative and, to Chloe, extremely distasteful undercurrent of stealth. But at last she heard the closing of the front door and the scrape of a tinderbox, and dared to peep out into the hall.

  Tish was lighting a candle. The task was presenting some difficulty because her hand was none too steady. When the light from the library spilled across the hall, she whirled round, burning her finger.

  "Ouch."

  "Oh, Tish, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you."

  Tish blinked at Chloe in momentary surprise, then smiled. "Did you wait up for me? S-silly!"

  Chloe tried to speak lightly. "Well, after all the things Robert said about this party, and how gloomy you looked while you were getting ready for it, I thought you were embarking on some dangerous exploit. I was half afraid we’d be fishing your lifeless body out of the Thames tomorrow." She held the door to the library invitingly open as she spoke.

  Tish giggled, wandering obligingly in to cast herself on the library sofa. "It wasn’t as bad as that. Bad, but not as bad as that."

  Chloe closed the door carefully behind her and curled up in the chair across from Tish. Tish had brought the pungent smell of alcohol in with her. This would definitely not be the time to talk to her of Robert’s love.

  "You stayed quite late. Was the party agreeable after all?"

  "Oh, it was great fun! At first." Tish squinted sleepily at the fire. "I thought I might not know anyone in the Budleigh set, but I was acquainted with most of the gentlemen there. ’Course, the only lady I knew was Letty Lade." She lifted an unsteady finger to her lips. "Don’t tell Robert! He would say she’s no lady at all."

  "Oh, dear," said Chloe faintly. "But surely you were acquainted with the hostess?"

  Tish struggled upright on the sofa, frowning in concentration. "I must have been. But I don’t recall it. If it weren’t for the invitation, I’d say I’d never met her before tonight. But I must have, mustn’t I? Wouldn’t invite a stranger to her party. Doesn’t make sense." Tish was seized by a sudden yawn. "But then, for all I know, she might have invited all of London," she admitted, still yawning. "There were a great many people there."

  "I wouldn’t have liked that."

  "No. They were a very friendly lot, though." Tish sank back into the depths of the sofa. "Too friendly, some of them."

  Chloe shuddered. "I wouldn’t have liked that, either."

  Tish stifled another giggle with one gloved hand and became a little more animated. "Oh, Chloe, there was the most dreadful creature! Just the sort of female my mama-in-law warned me I would meet—one of these encroaching souls, you know, trying to wheedle her way into my company. She followed me about, boring on forever about her dear friends Lord so-and-so and Lady such-and-such, trying to hoax me into thinking she was hand-in-glove with these persons whom, I daresay, would not recognize her if they saw her on the street! I suppose I will now figure in her conversation as her dear friend Mrs. Dalrymple! And I gave her such a set-down, too—I wish you could have heard me! But mushrooms are impervious to snubs."

  "How ghastly!"

  "Yes. But that wasn’t the worst. That frightful Wilford Yarborough was present. He was the worst." Tish shivered, and crossed her arms as if unconsciously protecting herself. "He hung about, and hung about, grinning at me with that horrible wet mouth of his, and he kept touching me."


  "Good heavens! I thought you told me you had fun? It sounds appalling."

  "Well, the party was fun. The champagne was very good. And George was there, you know, so he finally put Wilford Yarborough to rout. Thank goodness."

  Chloe reflected for a moment on the evils of jealousy. It was certainly an unpleasant emotion to experience. "Did you play piquet?" she asked cautiously.

  Tish shook her head. "Something new." She leaned toward Chloe, her eyes dancing with slightly tipsy mischief. "I had never seen a roulette wheel before. Have you?"

  Chloe now perceived that Tish had spent the evening in some very fast company indeed. Her eyes grew round. "You played roulette?" she asked, awestruck.

  Tish nodded, beaming. "Yes, I did. And I won, too!" Her eyes clouded again. "At first."

  To Chloe’s surprise, Tish’s eyes suddenly filled with tears and she dropped her head in her hands. "Oh, Chloe, what am I to do?" she moaned. "I can’t t-tell Robert. Oh, I am in such a coil!"

  Chloe flew to her friend’s side with an exclamation, and put a sustaining arm around her shoulders. "What is wrong? Tish, what is it?"

  Tish raised her eyes, bleared with alcohol and tears, and uttered tragically, "I wagered my garnets. And I lost them."

  Chloe’s eyes darted, horrified, to her friend’s bare neck and earlobes. "Merciful heavens. Oh, Tish, don’t cry! We’ll get them back."

  "We can’t get them back. I lost them in fair play! How can I get them back?"

  "Well—can’t you buy them back? Redeem them?"

  Tish’s face crumpled in shame. "I haven’t any money!" she wailed. "I lost it all. I won’t have a p-penny until next quarter-day!" She thumped the arm of the sofa in a rage of frustration. "Stupid, stupid, stupid! I don’t deserve to live."

  "Oh, hush! You mustn’t say such things. It’s not as bad as all that, is it? You can’t be the only woman who has wagered her jewelry and lost."

  "No, but I must be the only Dalrymple who has done so!"

  Chloe found herself with nothing to say in reply to that. She patted Tish silently and handed her the handkerchief she had tucked in her sleeve.

  Tish sniffed, mopping her eyes. "Robert’s mother was right," she said dolefully. "He ought never to have married me. I am a disgrace to the family. And I did so want to be a good wife." Her eyes filled with fresh tears.

  If this was Tish’s ambition, she did not seem to be going about it correctly. But Chloe did not suppose this was the correct moment to point that out.

  "Poor Tish! We must think how best to tell him. I will help you, if I can."

  Tish bounced upright, her wet eyes wide with horror. "Tell Robert? I would rather die!"

  "But, Tish, Robert will know just what to do! I cannot help you; I haven’t a clue how to get your garnets back. And only think, if you say nothing to him, and one day he sees jewelry he gave you on some other woman—why, that would be worse than anything!"

  Tish shuddered, gulped, and buried her face in her hands with an inarticulate moan.

  Chloe placed her arm round Tish’s shoulders again. "If you go to him tomorrow and explain exactly how it was, and tell him you are very, very sorry, and promise never to do such a thing again—"

  "He will be so angry," Tish whispered miserably. "He told me not to go to that wretched party."

  Chloe sought for something encouraging to say. "He told you not to go because he must have known the sort of party it would be. He may have expected that something like this would occur. Why, perhaps he will not be surprised at all, and will be so touched by your contrition that he will forgive you at once."

  But Chloe’s flight of optimism did not inspire Tish with hope. The stubborn look was creeping back into her face. She pulled away from Chloe abruptly. "I will not apologize to Robert. The garnets were mine, weren’t they? It’s no business of Robert’s what I do with them."

  "But, Tish—"

  "No! Not another word." Tish’s eyes blazed with sudden anger and she fairly leaped off the sofa. "Don’t tell me what to do! Why is everyone always telling me what to do? First Robert, then Gil, and now you—ordering me about—advising me—correcting me—lecturing me! Well, I won’t have it! I won’t! I can’t bear it another instant!"

  Chloe, utterly confounded, watched helplessly as Tish stormed out of the room.

  Chapter 13

  Chloe did not sleep well that night. Her dreams were uneasy, filled with a sense of impending disaster and haunted by the echo of Lord Rival’s mocking laughter. After tossing restlessly in her bed for several hours, pummelling the pillows and tugging her coverlet this way and that, she eventually gave it up and faced the day, dragging herself downstairs to a late and solitary breakfast. Robert Dalrymple had left the house and Tish was still abed. Chloe was moodily sipping her second dish of tea when she heard Gil’s voice in the hall.

  In a flash, she set down her teacup and flew joyously out of her chair, ignoring propriety to rush to him. Since she was the only member of the household who was up and dressed, she was half afraid the servants would turn him away. Fortunately, she arrived upon the scene before this disaster could occur. There Gil stood, hat in hand, not a hair out of place, and wearing a very beautiful morning coat. He looked splendid, and she had never been so glad to see anyone in her life. Were it not for the quelling presence of the Dalrymples’ butler, she believed she must have hugged him.

  Gil forestalled her by crossing the hall to her side and casually dropping a light kiss on her cheek. "Hallo, Chloe," he greeted her. "Starting a new fashion?"

  He indicated the egg-stained napkin in her hand. A sputter of laughter escaped her. "Will it catch on, do you think?"

  "Bound to," he assured her. "I say, are you really breakfasting? I could toddle round again in a half hour or so."

  But Chloe impulsively clutched his hand. "Don’t go," she begged. "I am quite alone, and feeling so dismal! Besides, I need to talk to you."

  "Yes, I received your note—at long last." Gil glanced at the butler, who still hovered nearby, stiff with disapproval. "No need for you to hang about, Snead. Miss Littlefield can show me to the breakfast room," he said outrageously.

  The butler visibly swelled with emotion. "H’if you will be so good as to follow me, sir," he uttered, "H’i will show you to the morning room."

  "That won’t be necessary," said Chloe hastily. "Mr. Gilliland may join me in the breakfast room if he wishes."

  "I do wish," said Gil firmly. "And I hope there is a ham."

  Snead bowed, his expression of sour incredulity expressing to a nicety his opinion of Young Persons who insisted on behaving with an informality bordering on licentiousness. He stalked silently before them to the breakfast room and held the door open while they entered, then pointedly left the door open behind him as he retired. Chloe sank back into her chair, quite cowed by this treatment, but Gil grinned and cheekily closed the door on his way to the sideboard.

  "Oh, Gil, do you think we ought? Snead already does not approve of me," said Chloe nervously.

  Gil, helping himself to buttered eggs, cocked a knowing eyebrow at her. "It’s not you, Clo. It’s Tish he dislikes. You and I are equally in his black books; we are connections of hers."

  Chloe was amazed. "How is that possible?"

  "Oh, it’s always that way with these family retainers. Snead has been a member of the Dalrymple household since he was in short coats, I daresay. Sides with the countess on everything."

  "The countess," repeated Chloe thoughtfully. "Tish said something last night about her mama-in-law disapproving of Robert’s marriage. It’s true, then? I thought she was merely overwrought when she said it."

  "No, it’s true enough." Gil seated himself across from Chloe and shook out his napkin. "Had her eye on some other female for Robert. Took a pet when Robert chose Tish instead. Our family’s fairly well-connected, but nowhere near well enough for her la’ship. Very high in the instep, Robert’s mama."

  This was disturbing news. Chloe rested her chin on h
er hands, her forehead puckering, and absently watched Gil dig into the buttered eggs and ham. Tish’s recklessness, even if her motive was merely to gain Robert’s attention, had obviously raised doubts in his mind about the wisdom of marrying her. If, in addition to the unfortunate example his wife’s behavior set daily before him, Robert heard her constantly disparaged by his family, it was a miracle that he still spoke of loving her.

  "What was it you wanted to say to me?" asked Gil, momentarily between mouthfuls. He continued to eat steadily, washing everything down with black coffee, while Chloe poured into his ears the tale of Robert and Tish’s row the previous morning, Tish’s attendance at a very fast card party against her husband’s wishes, Robert’s admission that he had married Tish for love, and Tish returning from her party inebriated, and missing her garnets. She discovered within herself an odd reluctance to tell Gil that Lord Rival had escorted Tish home, so she omitted that detail and finished her story. She then searched Gil’s face anxiously for some clue to his opinion, but he seemed oddly expressionless.

  "Gil, what do you think we ought to do? Can you get Tish’s garnets back for her? I will gladly lend her the money if you know how it can be accomplished."

  Gil methodically wiped his mouth, pushed back his chair, rose, and walked to the window. He stood for a moment staring into the street. Chloe pressed her palms together and waited, holding her breath. When he did not immediately reply, her heart sank. "Are the garnets gone forever, then? Oh, dear! I thought surely you could find a way to redeem them."

  "I probably could," he said slowly. Then he looked at Chloe, his gaze troubled. "But I don’t believe I will."

  Chloe’s mouth formed an astonished O. "You won’t? Why not?"

  "Been giving it a deal of thought lately. Know what I think? I think we’re behaving like a pair of dashed busybodies."

  "What!"

  "I don’t mind our helping Tish out of the basket—well, that’s why I asked you to come to London! But I draw the line at meddling in her marriage. Have a notion we might do more harm than good. And as for helping her to deceive Robert—no. I won’t do it. Tish lost those garnets through her own folly, and she can dashed well face the consequences. I believe a crisis will do her more good than any rescue we can devise."