Falling for Chloe

by Farr, Diane

  "Aye," he said gruffly. "Looks like we’ve made a proper mull of things, between the three of us."

  "You mean Tish and I have made a proper mull of things," said Chloe miserably. "You were right all along, Gil. About everything."

  At that, she finally entered the room and sank onto a chair. She perched tensely on the edge of the seat and twisted her fingers in her lap. "I haven’t been any use whatsoever. I would have done better to have stayed at Brookhollow. I haven’t helped Tish, and I haven’t helped Robert, and, worst of all, I’ve placed you at fiddlestick’s end. Because now all of London knows me as your fiancee." Tears gathered in her eyes. "Had I stayed where I belonged, you might have found a way to end that business, at least. But what will we do now? I’ve been staying as a guest of your sister—and she has been the one introducing me—and I’ve met simply everyone—and now no one will believe that our engagement was none of our doing, because we ought to have said so at the start. And, oh, Gil, I am so sorry!"

  Gil was only sorry that she was sorry. But as long as she was sorry, he could not say so. He ached to comfort her, but feared that if he touched her he would no longer be able to contain his pent-up emotions. He could not even hand her his handkerchief, since he had given it to Tish a quarter of an hour ago. He jammed his hands in his pockets and inwardly cursed his helplessness while Chloe sniffed and wiped her tears away with the back of her hand. The childlike gesture was oddly endearing.

  "Is that why you are going home?" he asked, his voice sounding strained and harsh in his own ears.

  She nodded, gulping. "That, and the fact that it is excessively awkward for me to remain. I can do nothing to help matters, and I am very much in the way. I’m sure it’s painful for Robert and Tish to have me here, watching their marriage disintegrate."

  "I wish I could think of somewhere else for you to go. Somewhere here in town." He clasped his hands tightly behind his back, afraid that they would reach for her in a moment if he did not. "I don’t suppose you would consider going to the Westwoods?"

  "Oh, I couldn’t bear it! Besides, Grandmama washed her hands of me after that dreadful summer when—you know."

  Aye. He remembered very clearly. At the age of seventeen, a rebellious Chloe had been sent, at her father’s insistence, to spend a summer with his mother. It had not gone well. According to Chloe, Lady Maria had spent the entire summer criticising Chloe’s beloved mother, correcting Chloe’s manners, forbidding Chloe to engage in all her favorite pursuits, and attempting to force her into a mold she refused to fit, in order to groom her for a life she did not want. The summer had culminated in an offer of marriage from a man hand-picked by Lady Maria for his title and his supposed ability to control Chloe. Chloe’s scornful rejection of this eligible parti, and the bitter clash of wills that had ensued, had completed the estrangement between Chloe and her autocratic grandmother.

  No, he had had no real expectation that Chloe would consent to stay with the Westwoods. Nor had he any expectation that they would invite her. He sighed. "I thought as much. I wouldn’t have suggested it, but—I do wish you would stay, at least through the Season. Selfish of me, I suppose."

  "Selfish?" A faint smile flickered across her tear-stained features. "You are never selfish."

  A lump rose in Gil’s throat as he gazed at Chloe’s sweet little face. This was the sort of thing, he mused, that made a chap fall for Chloe. Her habit of blurting out whatever came into her head, and the fact that the things that came into her head were simply adorable. Her sweetness was as unthinking and innate as her loyalty, and her optimism, and her sunny temperament, and the thousand other lovable qualities he had taken for granted all his life.

  It was hard to think he might not see her again for months. He supposed he would make a point of going home this summer, where he might see her regularly, but—dash it all—he didn’t like the idea of her going out of reach tomorrow, even so far as Brookhollow. He didn’t wish to be separated from her for a week, let alone for the rest of the Season.

  "I shall miss you, Chloe," he said unsteadily.

  Her wet blue eyes lifted to his. "I shall miss you, too," she whispered.

  The clock ticked loudly in the silence that followed. Gil stared at Chloe’s woebegone face, holding his breath. There was something in her eyes—

  He almost dared to hope—

  It was not the time to speak. Every instinct clamored against it, and yet he could not help himself. He took a deep breath, and plunged recklessly over the precipice.

  "I have thought of a way we could end our engagement," he said.

  Chloe immediately dropped her eyes, but not before he saw something painful flicker in their blue depths. "Oh?" she said.

  The polite note of inquiry sounded less than enthusiastic. Gil told himself that that, in itself, was encouraging. He had believed she was eager to end their engagement. If she was not—

  He plowed ahead.

  "Yes." He found it necessary to clear his throat again. "But I have only been able to think of one way we might end it respectably."

  "Oh." She gave an uncertain little laugh. "That is one more than I have come up with. What is it?"

  Confound it, his palms were sweating. He wiped them nervously on his trousers. "Chloe—"

  By Jove, he had to clear his throat again! "Chloe—"

  A sudden shriek sounded in the hall. Startled, both Chloe and Gil swiveled to look. The library door still stood open, and a blur of lilac dimity flew past their field of vision.

  "Mama!" cried Tish, sounding almost hysterical with joy.

  As one, Chloe and Gil ran to the library door and stared into the hall. Snead stood sourly beside the front door he had opened. Lady Gilliland, majestic in a voluminous traveling cloak, enormous hat, and gloves of English kid, was standing in the center of the hall, enveloping the weeping Tish in a fond embrace. An ancient traveling coach, mud-spattered and piled with trunks, was visible in the street outside. And a chorus of frenzied barking, its shrillness only slightly muffled by the confines of the coach, informed the interested that Lady Gilliland had seen fit to bring her Yorkshire terriers with her to London.

  "Leticia, my own!" uttered Lady Gilliland. "I know you will forgive my foisting myself upon you with no warning. Gil, how do you do? I am not surprised to see you here; I daresay you haunt the house, now that Chloe is in residence." Reaching calmly over Tish’s head, Lady Gilliland extended her hand. Gil walked forth and bowed over it, feeling somewhat dazed.

  "Mother! What brings you to Town?"

  Lady Gilliland’s expression became Sphynx-like in its inscrutability. "Dear boy," she said cryptically, patting him. The hand was extended to Chloe. "Chloe, my love! How pretty you look."

  "Thank you, Lady Gilliland," murmured Chloe, obediently stepping forward to make her curtsey.

  Lady Gilliland’s gaze traveled to the stairs. Her son-in-law had materialized at the foot of them. "Ah. Robert," she observed placidly.

  It seemed to Gil that his mother’s eyes narrowed a trifle, as if something in Robert’s appearance made her thoughtful. She said nothing, however, but moved forward to greet him. Robert stood rather stiffly, and Gil thought he looked pale and tired. No wonder! But Mother was always up to every rig; she would be far too needlewitted to remark on it.

  "How do you do, ma’am?" said Robert, apparently with an effort.

  "Very well, thank you, my dear." She offered him her cheek and, hesitating only slightly, he dutifully kissed it. She shot him another keen glance, but her smile did not waver. "So unconscionable of me to descend upon you like this! But I left home all in a quack; there simply wasn’t time to send word. I trust a brief visit will not discommode you overmuch?"

  "Certainly not," said Robert, although his tight-lipped expression contradicted his words. "You are always welcome here."

  Tish still clung like a burr to her mother’s side. "Chloe is in the best bedchamber, Mama, but—"

  "But I will be leaving tomorrow," interposed Chloe qui
ckly. "Pray do not inconvenience your mother on my behalf, Tish! I can easily quit the room today."

  Lady Gilliland’s brows climbed. "Leaving, my dear? Oh, you mustn’t do that. Only think what an off appearance it would present! If you leave Town the instant I arrive, everyone will assume that you dislike me."

  This view of the situation had obviously not occurred to Chloe. Flustered, she began to stammer a disjointed series of disclaimers and apologies, but Lady Gilliland had already turned her attention elsewhere. "Where is Logan? Ah, Logan, there you are. Have you shown my dear doggies the garden? Yes? Then you may hand them to me, if you please. Pray see to the disposal of my trunks—no, I am not in the least tired, thank you, and it is immaterial to me which bedchamber I am given. Tish will accompany me to the drawing room meanwhile, won’t you, my love? Or shall we go to the nursery? I am excessively anxious to see Bobby, but really, I almost think—yes, yes, my precious widdy doggies! Yes, we’ve arrived! Journey’s end, my sweetings! Journey’s end, my poppets!"

  And, thus cooing to the two tiny creatures now nestled in each arm and still hysterically barking, she sailed up the stairs with Tish trailing in her wake. Robert, Gil and Chloe, standing in the hall below, stared bemusedly after her.

  "She scarcely ever comes to town, you know," remarked Gil, stepping aside to allow a parade of servants carrying trunks, boxes, presents for Bobby, and various canine accoutrements to pass. "I wonder what has brought her here?"

  "Your father’s traveling coach, apparently," said Robert acidly. "Really, I hate to seem uncivil, but I am, myself, preparing to leave town for an extended visit with my own mother. Lady Gilliland could not have chosen a worse time to land, unannounced, on my doorstep! I do wish—" he broke off, seeming to recall where he was and to whom he was speaking. "I beg your pardon, Gil," he said stiffly.

  "Oh, no need!" said Gil cheerfully. "All in the family, dear chap. Besides, can’t tell me anything about Mother I don’t already know. She’s always been like that, you know—carries everything off with a high hand, and there’s never any gainsaying her. She’ll have her way in the end, so we generally let her have it to begin with. Saves trouble."

  Chloe’s pretty forehead had puckered in a perplexed frown. "Yes, that’s all very well, but what am I to do? I had already begun packing—all the arrangements have been made —"

  "Unmake ’em," recommended Gil. "You know Mother. She’ll hammer at you all evening otherwise. You’ll fall in with her ideas eventually, because she’ll somehow make it impossible for you to do anything else. Agree with her now! Then you won’t have to change everything at the last minute."

  "Oh, dear."

  Gil grinned affectionately at her. He felt so confident of Mother’s ability to keep Chloe in London, since she had expressed such a decided opinion on the matter, that an overwhelming sense of relief was buoying his spirits. He shook Robert’s unresponsive hand energetically. "Expect me for dinner, old man," he advised him happily, and departed in a much more cheerful frame of mind than he had enjoyed for some time.

  Lady Gilliland, meanwhile, had succeeded in settling her excited pets and was seated on a sofa in the drawing room, listening with great concentration to her daughter. Tish was pouring into her mother’s ears a stream of impassioned and rather incoherent confidences, accompanied by much uncontrolled weeping. It was all very difficult to follow, but Aurelia thought it best to let the child unburden herself without interruption. She sat in sympathetic silence, therefore, merely patting Tish from time to time and making soothing sounds.

  Although the tales Tish told were disturbing, Aurelia was not surprised by them. She had received not one, but three letters in the past two days warning her that her daughter’s behavior, coupled with her preferred mode of dress, was causing a great deal of gossip and rapidly deteriorating her social standing. If her behavior continued unchecked, Tish would soon find herself beyond the pale. Matters had not been helped by her mother-in-law’s indifference. Had the countess championed her, that might have made all the difference in the world; but as it was, more than one influential hostess was whispering that Robert Dalrymple had made a shocking mesalliance.

  Far from resenting the interference of her well-meaning friends, Aurelia was extremely grateful for their warnings. She swallowed her anger at Robert’s mother, whom she was much inclined to blame for not quashing Tish’s excesses before they had reached this point, and immediately set out for London. She deliberately neglected to send word of her imminent arrival. Aurelia wanted to see for herself how matters stood, without giving Tish and Robert an opportunity to don smiling faces for her benefit.

  Well. It was every bit as bad as she had feared, and very likely worse. Robert had aged ten years, and Tish looked on the brink of a decline. Another woman might have bowed to the inevitable, and taken Tish home in disgrace. Aurelia Gilliland, however, was made of sterner stuff. A baronet’s wife was hardly as powerful as a countess, but after all, she was not a complete nobody. Any steps that could be taken, would be taken.

  Amid Tish’s catalogue of woes, she discerned that Robert had threatened to take Bobby away, and that Tish had morbidly convinced herself that he was serious. Aurelia supposed that he was, in fact, serious, but deemed it best, for the time being, to pooh-pooh the idea.

  "Nonsense, my dear. I shall soon put a stop to that, I promise you! Now sit up, Tish, and compose yourself. You have wept long enough."

  Tish was so much in the habit of obeying her mother that she actually sat upright and heeded this crisp admonition. Aurelia ran her eyes over her critically. "You are grown quite thin, and you are much paler than I like to see you. I daresay it is the fashion to be slender, but I fancy you have gone a trifle overboard. You do have a fatal tendency to go to extremes, my love."

  "I know it, Mama," said Tish listlessly. Her dejected and apprehensive aspect indicated that she clearly expected to receive a severe scold from her mother. And so she would, but not immediately. The exigency of this hour called for deeds, not words.

  Aurelia rose, and adjusted her tippet briskly. "Well! I see little sense in sitting about, weeping and wringing our hands. Matters have clearly reached a crisis, and swift action must be taken. We shall tackle your difficulties one at a time. Go and splash some water on your face, my dear, and change your clothes. We are going to pay some morning calls together—not, I am afraid, very amusing ones, but I trust we may be able to repair at least some of the damage you have done."

  Tish blinked. "I—I never pay morning calls."

  Just as she feared. Aurelia drew herself up to her full, imposing, height and fixed Tish with a baleful glare. "Leticia Dalrymple, you were not reared in the Antipodes! You have just been telling me that you believe hostesses are dropping you from their invitation lists. How can you wonder at it, if you do not adhere to the most basic conventions? Why, even if your conduct were otherwise quite unexceptionable, which it clearly has not been, you would find yourself courting disaster by pursuing such a course." Her foot tapped impatiently as she watched a painful blush creep up her daughter’s neck. "How many rules have you broken? Have you taken Chloe to be presented?"

  "No, Mama. But Chloe does not wish to be presented. She—"

  "Chloe’s wishes are entirely beside the point. You ought to have insisted! Why did you not? I am much inclined to believe that all your troubles are rooted in want of firmness. Had you shown just a little resolve, a little tenacity of purpose—"

  "Oh, Mama, I cannot order Chloe about! She—"

  "Well, I can. I shall speak to her the instant we return. No presentation, and yet you have been taking her with you to party after party! Really, Tish! I am extremely vexed with you."

  "Yes, Mama." Tish hung her head like a child.

  "When is the last time you issued invitations?"

  "Invitations? For—for what?"

  "For anything, child! Do people dine with you? Do you hold rout parties, or card parties? You haven’t the space for dancing, of course, but—" She stop
ped, her nostrils flaring with displeasure. "Well. I can see by your face that you do not entertain."

  "No, Mama." The words came out in a whisper.

  A dreadful pause ensued, wherein Aurelia struggled to quell her emotions. When she spoke, she spoke carefully. "Leticia, I do not wish to minimize the seriousness of what I fear has been grossly improper behavior on your part, by leading you to believe that I ascribe your social ostracism solely to your neglect of etiquette. From what you have told me, I believe you to have been at fault—grievously at fault—in your public behavior, your private neglect of your marriage, and your encouragement of Lord Rival’s attentions. But I will say that to crown your indiscretions with carelessness, is doubtless adding significantly to your dilemma! If you have alienated and offended the arbiters of society, through nothing more than simple laziness and inattention, you have indulged in folly that borders on the suicidal! If you do not court these women, if you do not dispose them to think kindly of you, who will stand your friend? Who will intervene to shield you from gossip?"

  Tish, not unnaturally, was drooping wretchedly beneath this blistering onslaught. She was well aware that her mother addressed her as "Leticia," and spoke in flowing periods, only when she was deeply moved.

  Aurelia watched her squirm, listened to her halting apologies, and was satisfied that Tish made no attempt to defend her conduct, and offered no excuses for it. She supposed the consequences of Tish’s behavior were providing sufficient punishment, and sent her off to don something chaste and tasteful, suitable for accompanying her mother on a round of calls upon those persons who were most likely to prove useful—houses where Tish alone might have met with polite denials that the hostess was at home, but where, accompanied by Lady Gilliland, she might gain entrance. Aurelia trusted that her own influence, small as it might be, coupled with Tish’s meek and newly-humble demeanor, might do much to soften the hearts of those women whom Gil irreverently apostrophized as "the Beau Monde biddies." Aurelia meant to waste no time in reassuring these women that Tish’s conduct had fallen once more under the influence and protection of someone able to direct it into proper channels.