Falling for Chloe

by Farr, Diane

  "I shall call for my carriage," said Robert tonelessly. He departed to perform this task before the footman had a chance to do it for him.

  The footmen carried Tish on a complicated route through the garden and out to the street rather than drag her through the company and disrupt the party. Chloe was grateful for their quick thinking. The last thing any of them wanted was to excite interest among the ton and start tongues wagging more than they already were.

  The ride home was harrowing. Chloe sat beside Tish, facing forward, and Robert sat facing them. No one spoke. No one touched. Robert stared out the window with eyes that obviously saw nothing. He looked extremely grim. Tish stared straight ahead, an expression of utter hopelessness on her face. She looked wretched. Chloe felt herself beginning to tremble with reaction, and was very glad indeed when they reached the Dalrymples’ town house. She stammered a hasty goodnight, whisked herself upstairs to her room, and firmly closed the door. A sleepy housemaid helped her to undress and put on her night rail, then curtsied and departed.

  Chloe heaved a huge sigh of relief to find herself, at last, alone.

  What a monstrous tangle they were in. What a frightful, ghastly, appalling tangle! Her nerves on the stretch, Chloe paced back and forth across the hearthrug in her bare feet, trying to make sense of her chaotic thoughts. She blushed with mortification to think how completely the tables had been turned on her. It was Tish, not Chloe, who was supposed to discover Lord Rival’s duplicity! It was Tish, not Chloe, who was supposed to have her eyes opened! What an idiot she had been, blithely planning how to extricate Tish from the clutches of a rake, foolishly confident that she was less susceptible than Tish to his allure. Why had she believed that? With what evidence? In hindsight, her cocksure naivete, her willful, stubborn blindness seemed almost incredible.

  And what a close call she had had.

  She crossed her arms over her chest, shivering with the horror of it. Thank God she had only felt attraction. Gil was right; the man could have made her love him. And what a terrible fate that would have been. Her mother’s unending sorrow was nothing to what Chloe’s would have been, married to a man like George Carstairs. Horace Littlefield was frequently unfaithful, but at least he did not inspire women with an overwhelming desire to fall at his feet. Lord Rival’s unhappy bride would never know a moment’s peace.

  A dull rumble of shouting penetrated the walls of her chamber. Chloe halted, holding her breath in dread. The deep shouting subsided, then rose again. An answering voice, higher-pitched, also sounded. This voice had a rather hysterical edge. Chloe was deeply thankful that she could not decipher the words either voice was shouting. Next came an unmistakeable faint crash, as of glass or china breaking. Chloe rushed to her bed and scrambled between the clothes, covering her ears with a pillow and screwing her eyes tight shut.

  This had to be the most horrible of horrible nights. How she wished she had stayed at Brookhollow rather than subject herself to this! She had posted down to London, stupidly thinking she could help Tish—what vanity! What breathtaking arrogance! All she had done was put her own foot into the hornet’s nest. She had done nothing whatsoever to pull Tish out.

  Cowering in her bed, hiding from the sounds of Tish and Robert’s row, she wished desperately that Gil were here. Even in her bedchamber, even at midnight, even in her night rail, if Gil were to walk through the door she would run to him. Just as well, however, that this was not going to occur. Her face burned as she pictured trying to explain to Gil the events that had just transpired. What a muttonhead she would appear!

  She would have to tell Gil sometime. Probably as soon as tomorrow. She deserved that humiliation, she supposed. Still, she kicked the coverlet in frustration at the idea of having to confess to Gil just how wrong she had been, and how right he had been. Maddening!

  But he had been wrong, too. Chloe suddenly remembered that Gil had set Jack on to woo her, without saying a word to her about it. Why on earth would he do such a thing? This seemed, to her, a question of far more importance than the state of the Dalrymples’ tumultuous marriage. She instantly forgot the skirmish down the hall and sat up in bed, scowling ferociously at the dying fire.

  So flirting with Lord Rival was a silly thing to do, was it? At least it had had a plausible appearance! What girl in her right mind, and possessed of two good eyes, would jilt Gil for Jack Crawley? What was he thinking, encouraging Jack to wedge his bony self between them?

  An answer suggested itself. A monstrous, terrible answer.

  Chloe grew very still as she considered the possibility that Gil found her so unattractive, he believed that his gawky, kindly, rattlepated friend was a good match for her. He probably lumped them together in his mind—thought of them both as plain and puddingheaded. The perfect couple.

  She hugged her pillow forlornly, blinking back tears. No, she would not cry. She would not. If that was Gil’s opinion of her—even now, when she knew she looked better than she ever had in her life—why, there was nothing she could do about it. If he did not find her pretty now, he never would.

  This avenue of thought proved ineffective in stemming the tide of tears. If anything, it made them flow faster. But why? she argued with herself. What did it matter, after all? Gil’s friendship with Jack was unaffected by Jack’s homeliness. His friendship with Chloe would be likewise unaffected. Why did she want Gil to feel something different for her than he felt for his other friends?

  Oh, no.

  A thought, even more monstrous than the one before, began to rear its ugly head. Impossible! It was impossible. Chloe struggled to fight the idea, to force the notion back into the deep, unthinking recesses of her soul where it belonged. She almost cried aloud, Get back! She was not even aware that her tears had stopped as she panted, terrified, wrestling with the absurd, ridiculous idea that she might feel something for Gil that—

  But this was nonsense. Gil was her best friend. It had never mattered at all that he was male and she was female. Neither of them had, even once, given the snap of their fingers for . . .

  It had never crossed their minds that . . .

  Why, she was tired, that’s all. All sorts of mad ideas occurred to a tired mind. She would lie down, and go to sleep, and banish this terrible notion. By morning, she would blush to think she had ever, for one moment, considered . . .

  She lay hastily down. The house was completely silent. When had Tish and Robert’s row ended, she wondered? She stared tensely into the darkness and forced her body to relax. She would think of something else. She would think of anything else.

  Chloe closed her eyes and began determinedly counting sheep. She had slept so little the night before, and was so completely worn out, that despite her unruly emotions she somehow drifted off. When next she opened her eyes, sunlight was streaming through the chinks in the draperies.

  She found Tish in the breakfast room, sipping black coffee. She looked so pale and unhappy, Chloe’s heart went out to her. It was impossible to speak of anything while the servants crept about, discreetly filling their cups and replenishing the platters on the table in a silence that would have done credit to a house of mourning. Naturally, the entire staff was aware that their master and mistress were at outs. If Chloe had heard the row last night, it was a safe bet that at least some of the servants had heard it as well.

  Chloe was wondering how best to broach the subject of ending her London visit and returning to Brookhollow, when a tiny sound caught her attention. She glanced at Tish, who had been listlessly going through her morning’s correspondence. Tish was staring disbelievingly at a sheet of hot-pressed paper clutched in one hand, while her other hand traveled, as if unconsciously, up to her throat. Fortunately, the door closed at that moment behind Snead. The two girls were momentarily alone.

  "What is it?" asked Chloe anxiously.

  Tish looked up, appearing rather dazed. She gave an uncertain laugh. "Well, I—I am not sure, but I think—" She set the paper carefully down and hunted swiftly through her
stack of invitations. A very odd expression settled upon her features. "Chloe," she whispered, "I think I am being cut."

  "Cut?"

  "Yes. It is the most extraordinary thing, but I—I have not been invited to Lady Selcroft’s rout party. I have a note from an acquaintance expressing the expectation that she will see me there, and, indeed, I have heard others mention it, but—but I am quite certain that I haven’t received an invitation. Lady Selcroft is a very old friend of my mother’s, so I hardly think—" She stopped, swallowing hard. "Perhaps there has been some mistake."

  "Oh, yes, of course there has been! It must be merely an oversight."

  "Except that—oh, Chloe, there are so few invitations here! Much fewer than there should be, this time of year. And two of them—" Tish hung her head, her cheeks flushing scarlet. "Two of them are from Mrs. Budleigh."

  Chloe sat in shocked silence. She did not know what to say. Tish dropped her head in her hands, weak tears beginning to slip through her fingers. "It’s all of a piece. I am ruined. Oh, what am I to do?"

  Chloe rose from her place at the breakfast table and came round to sit by Tish, placing an arm across her friend’s shoulders. "I cannot advise you," she said, with difficulty. "I know so little of these things. Indeed, I—I have lately discovered that I know even less than I thought I did."

  Tish sniffed, and mopped her eyes with her serviette. "Even that is my fault," she said drearily. "I ought to have done things properly, and taken you to be presented, and given parties in your honor, and—oh, Chloe, I have made a mull of everything. I wanted you to have a good time, and I wanted to m-make Robert love me again, and I wanted ev-everyone to admire me, and I have behaved like a complete ninny all S-Season!"

  Tish’s wail of despair wrung Chloe’s heart. "Oh, Tish, no! I have had a good time. I’ve had a wonderful time. And everyone does admire you. Why, I’ve seen the way they all crowd round you! And Robert loves you—"

  But at that, Tish broke into heart-rending sobs and completely buried her face in her breakfast napkin. Between sobs, she gasped, "We have—agreed—to live apart!"

  This was dreadful enough, but then Tish lifted her face, swollen and tear-stained, and said, "Robert is t-taking Bobby away."

  "No! Oh, Tish, he mustn’t!"

  She shook her head despairingly. "There is nothing I can do. A man’s children belong to him, not to their mother. That is the law."

  "But—but why? Robert cannot wish to rear a small child!"

  "He says he will take Bobby to his grandmother. He d-doesn’t wish for Bobby to grow up under m-my influence." Tish gulped, and her fingers twisted the napkin convulsively. "I have been a bad wife. He fears I will be a bad m-mother, as well."

  Chloe took a deep breath, and expelled it on a sigh. "Tish, you know I will always stand your friend. Give me a round tale, if you please! Have you been a bad wife? I could have sworn you loved Robert when you married him."

  "Of course I loved Robert! I love him still." Tish’s face crumpled again. "I could never love anyone but Robert."

  Chloe was bewildered. "But Gil told me you were cast into despair at the notion that Robert might separate you from George."

  Tish stared uncomprehendingly at Chloe’s puzzled face. "Wh-what made him think such a thing?"

  "Why, you told him you cared for George so much that you threatened to put a period to your existence if you were parted from him—"

  Tish interrupted impatiently. "From Robert. Gil would have it that Robert might pack me off to Bath, and I told Gil that if he sent me away, it would be the end of everything, and—" Tish’s red-rimmed eyes filled again. "And so it is. How could Gil think I cared for George? I told him in so many words there was nothing in that!"

  "Oh, dear."

  "But none of that matters now. I behaved as if I cared for George, and that has ruined everything." Tish’s shoulders slumped in defeat. "I only wanted to—to make Robert jealous. Just a little. He—he stopped sitting in my pocket while I was increasing. I was so ill, and I suppose I was often cross with him, and he was afraid of hurting me, or hurting the baby, I suppose—and—well, he fell into a habit of keeping his distance. And then, after Bobby was born, he—he simply—drifted away. I thought—" Tish blushed vividly. "I thought if other men seemed to admire me, Robert might—might look at me again. I never wanted anything serious to happen with George. George understood that, but it seems he is the only person who d-did."

  Chloe felt even more foolish now. Even Lord Rival had understood matters more clearly than she had! He had told her Tish was not deeply infatuated with him, and Chloe had not believed it. But he had been right. She had misunderstood even Tish, whom she thought she knew so well. What a terrible lesson in humility Chloe was learning! It seemed she had been wrong about everything and everyone.

  "But—last night?" inquired Chloe hesitantly.

  Tish covered her face with her hands again and shuddered. "There is no excuse for last night. If you must know, it was George who won the garnets from me."

  "Good gracious!"

  Tish looked up and sighed. "Yes. But I had always thought of him as a friend, you know. And he offered to give them back to me, so I—I suppose I hugged him. And there you have it."

  "Oh, what a chapter of accidents!"

  "Yes," said Tish dully. She looked drained and worn. Chloe could not wonder at it, with the emotional storms poor Tish had had to weather lately.

  "You must be wishing me at Jericho," said Chloe sadly. "I came to London intending to help you, Tish, but I think I have done more harm than good. I shall make arrangements to return to Brookhollow on the morrow."

  A bitter half-smile twisted Tish’s mouth. "This can’t be comfortable for you," she admitted. "I am so sorry, Chloe." Her half-smile faded, and her voice sank to a whisper. "I am sorry. For everything."

  Chloe, with a heavy heart, spent the rest of her morning making the necessary arrangements for going home. She dashed off a note to Gil apprising him of her plans, sent a footman out to purchase two bandboxes and an additional trunk to hold her London purchases, set a maid to repacking the trunks she originally brought, arranged for a post-chaise, and busied herself sufficiently to keep her thoughts at bay. She was standing in her bedchamber, knee-deep in stacks of neatly-folded garments and drifts of tissue paper, and directing the disposition of her hats, when Snead appeared in the open doorway. He delicately averted his eyes from the spectacle of feminine trappings spread all round the room, fixed his gaze on the middle distance, and coughed.

  "Beg pardon, Miss Littlefield, but Mr. Gilliland is h’asking to see you."

  Chloe, much harassed, looked up and blew a curl out of her eye. "Botheration!" she muttered.

  Snead’s upper lip lengthened in disapproval. "Shall I send him away?" he inquired frostily.

  "No, no! I will come down, of course. Where is he?"

  "H’i took the liberty of showing him to the library."

  "Pray tell him I will be with him directly."

  Snead bowed, his professional equilibrium restored by her return to propriety. "Very good, Miss."

  Chloe hopped over a pile of petticoats and chemises to reach the looking-glass and peered distractedly at her reflection. She ran her fingers quickly through the worst of her tangles, retied the riband that threaded through the curls, and trotted downstairs to the library. She felt unaccountably nervous. It is only Gil! she reminded herself firmly, banishing, as best she could, the odd thoughts she had had about him lately.

  But then she came round the corner and stepped into the library, and there he was.

  He was just the same as he always was, just as he always had been. He was handsome and funny and clever and kind, but Gil had always been handsome and funny and clever and kind. Why did her heart leap and swoop and flutter like a hummingbird at the sight of him?

  And how long has this been happening? she thought, confused and frightened. For now she realized that this was not the first time that the sight of Gil had affected her this
way. She had been ascribing her increasing pleasure in his company to their long-standing friendship, and the newness of her friendship with everyone else in London. But there was a tender edge to this happiness she felt, this elation at the mere sight of him. Her delight was out of proportion, she now perceived. In fact, it was dangerous. Foolish!

  She clutched the doorjamb, feeling suddenly almost faint. Too many conflicting feelings swamped her: joy, and longing, and panic. And pure embarrassment. What an idiot he would think her, if he discovered how she felt! And Gil always discovered how one felt.

  Oh, dear. High time she went home.

  Chapter 16

  Gil, standing by the fireplace, heard the rustle of a skirt in the doorway behind him and turned. Chloe stood on the threshold of the library, one white hand gracefully touching the doorjamb. She looked so lovely that he had to clear his throat before he could speak.

  "Hallo, Clo," he finally managed. "You look just like a sunbeam."

  She was wearing a butter-yellow half-dress over a white satin slip, and with her golden hair threaded with a yellow ribbon she did, indeed, give the impression that a ray of sunshine had entered the somber confines of the room. She hovered in the doorway, though, as if poised for flight.

  "Hallo, Gil," she said faintly. "Did you get my message?"

  "Yes. I couldn’t make it out, as usual, so I popped round to inquire." He paused, and tried to remove the emotion from his voice. "Tish tells me you’re leaving tomorrow."

  "Oh. You’ve seen Tish, then." Chloe took a step into the room, then halted. He noted, with a pang, that she looked almost nervous of him.

  "Yes. I say, Clo, I’m awfully sorry about yesterday morning," he said in a rush. "Don’t know what came over me. I shouldn’t have carried on like I did; daresay it gave you a fright."

  "Oh! That," said Chloe, her cheeks turning faintly pink. "No, I—I understand perfectly . . . now. Did—did Tish tell you what happened last night?"