Lord Darlington's Darling

by Gayle Buck

  “Of course you may, Mama. I have never yet stinted in clothing for you or my siblings, have I?” asked Lord Darlington with a hint of impatience.

  “Of course you haven’t! It is just that I know how expensive a Season shall be, and I don’t wish to—”

  Lord Darlington gently took his mother’s hand and escorted her to the door, repeating his reassurances. “I have matters well in hand, Mama. You may rest easy. I shall not allow us to run the bustle too hard.”

  “You are such a comfort, Sylvan,” said Lady Darlington as she parted from him.

  Lord Darlington waited, his hand resting on the doorknob, and watched until his mother was well on her way upstairs. Then he signaled a footman who was on duty in the hall. When the servant came over to him, he said quietly, “Pray convey my compliments to Lady Bethany and request her to join me here in my study. And bring in the tea.”

  “Yes, my lord.” The footman hurried away to carry out his orders.

  Lord Darlington stepped back into his study, a frown creasing his dark gold brows.

  Chapter Two

  A few minutes later there was a knock on the panels of the study door. When Lord Darlington called permission, the door opened and a young damsel entered. She paused in the doorway, one slender hand still on the brass knob, while her intelligent hazel eyes met her brother’s in a direct gaze. “You wished to see me, Sylvan?”

  “Yes, pray come in.” Lord Darlington watched as his sister closed the door and walked across the study toward him, observing with fresh eyes what a lovely girl she was. Lady Bethany Hart was nearly as tall as he was himself, which by no means made a beanpole of her, since his own inches were scarcely above average, and she moved with an innate grace that was as apparent on the dance floor as it was in the way she gestured with her hands when she was most animated. She had the same dark gold hair that he did, but while Lord Darlington ruthlessly suppressed the natural curl in his hair, hers was allowed to spring into a most becoming halo of curls. Her skin was translucent with a touch of rose in her cheeks and lips. Lady Bethany was a beauty, there was no doubt, he thought.

  “Why do you stare at me so, Sylvan?” asked Lady Bethany as she came to stand in front of the desk. She clasped her slender hands in front of her in a relaxed fashion. If she was ill at ease, there was no sign of it.

  “I was just thinking what a beauty you are, Bethany.”

  A blush rose in her flawless, pale complexion and she regarded him with surprise. “What a very nice thing to say!” Her expression gathered a hint of suspicion. “I am not used to such compliments.”

  “At least from me?” asked Lord Darlington dryly, his smile a little twisted. He rose from his chair and walked around the side of the desk, sliding onto the corner of it so that he sat facing her with one booted toe swinging.

  “I—I don’t know what you mean,” said Lady Bethany with an air of bewilderment.

  Lord Darlington laughed. “I’m a poor brother, indeed, when a simple compliment from me throws you into confusion.”

  “Oh, no, no! You are the best of brothers. You have always been such a support to Mama and have taken the greatest care of all of us,” said Lady Bethany hurriedly.

  “I’m glad to hear you say so, for I intend to continue doing it,” said Lord Darlington. He saw the question in his sister’s eyes, but turned away from her when he heard the door open. “Here is tea. Will you pour for us, Lady Bethany?”

  “Of course,” said Lady Bethany, a puzzled frown creasing her delicate brows.

  The footman set the tea tray on the table between the wing chairs and quietly left the room. Lord Darlington led his sister in formal style, placing her hand on his elbow and walking with her over to the wing chairs, where he seated her before taking the chair opposite.

  Lady Bethany stared across at him. “Now I know something is untoward, Sylvan. You have never treated me like a real lady before.”

  “Perhaps I haven’t seen you as being grown-up before,” said Lord Darlington deliberately.

  Lady Bethany blushed again. She served the tea and offered some of the biscuits to her brother. When he refused them, she made her choice and took a nibble of the sweet. She looked thoughtfully at her brother, and then set down her cup and the biscuit. “I can’t bear the suspense, Sylvan. Pray, pray tell me why you have invited me to share tea and have been so kind and—and—“

  “Generally behaved more civilly than I usually do?” suggested Lord Darlington.

  “I wasn’t going to say that,” said Lady Bethany with dignity. A mischievous gleam shot into her eyes. “Though I must admit, the thought did cross my mind.”

  “You are a baggage, Bethany,” said Lord Darlington without heat. His sister took the less than complimentary description in stride, giving a gurgling laugh. Lord Darlington sighed. Pleasantries now aside, it was time to revert to his ogre persona.

  “I had a visit from Mama earlier,” he said casually, setting aside his cup and dabbing at his mouth with a linen napkin.

  Lady Bethany nodded, sipping at her tea again. It was well-known that the dowager often looked in on her eldest son. “Mama has seemed rather pensive today. I hope you were able to raise her spirits.”

  “I think it fair to say that when she left me, she was feeling significantly better,” said Lord Darlington. “And it is due to our discussion that you have discovered yourself to be my guest at tea.”

  Lady Bethany’s eyes rounded, then narrowed. “Oh, dear! You are toying with me, Sylvan. I do detest it when you do that! What did Mama say?”

  “I’m certain she would have conveyed the happy news herself at once, except that she was too caught up at the thought of hiring a seamstress,” said Lord Darlington, inspecting his perfectly manicured nails.

  “I shall scream with vexation if you do not stop! What are you and Mama up to?” demanded Lady Bethany, completely forgetting her biscuit and tea.

  “Mama has decided it’s time for you to be brought out,” said Lord Darlington. He waited for his sister’s reaction and he was not disappointed.

  Lady Bethany shrieked. She sprang up, her eyes alight with delight. “Oh, Sylvan! Is it really true? Am I really to be brought out?”

  At her brother’s nod, she danced a little around her chair. “I am so glad! You cannot imagine! The other girls at the seminary shall be green with envy when I tell them! I shall go to the Pump Room and the subscription balls, and be invited to all manner of picnics and—“

  “Do not forget the court of admirers who will be dangling after you,” said Lord Darlington, watching her with the faintest of smiles.

  Lady Bethany laughed, blushed, and agreed to it. “Oh, Sylvan! You cannot imagine how much this means to me!” She blew a lighthearted kiss at him. “I must go at once and talk to Mama! She will know precisely what gowns I shall need and everything!” She flitted toward the door.

  Before she reached it, Lord Darlington said, “I imagine you will cut quite a dash in London this Season.”

  His sister spun about, all of her former exuberance suspended as she stared across the room at him. “London? Why—why, I quite thought you meant Bath.”

  Lord Darlington rose from the wing chair and sauntered back toward his desk. “Why would you think that? Mama has suggested a London Season and I have agreed to it.” He cynically regarded his sister, who appeared stunned and as though she was trying to think of what to say. “Oh, are you thinking of the cost?”

  “Yes! Yes, that is it precisely,” said Lady Bethany, grasping quickly at his suggestion. She came back toward him. “Cleo and Sybil had only the short season and— and winter house parties. I—I don’t want or need a London Season, Sylvan. I can come out in Bath and do very well, I assure you.”

  Lord Darlington sat back down on the edge of his desk. He thoughtfully regarded the toe of his well-polished boot for a moment before he spoke. “Much as I appreciate your sacrifice, Bethany, it is quite unnecessary. I have already assured our mother that you, at least, shall be able
to have a full London Season.”

  “But I would much rather come out in Bath!”

  His sister’s voice held a note of desperation that made his lips tighten. Lord Darlington looked up, and his eyes were hard. Coldly, he asked, “No doubt it would be more convenient for Mr. Farnham if you did so?”

  Lady Bethany gasped and paled. She stared at her brother for several seconds, before swift color flew into her face. “I don’t know what you are talking about.” She clasped her hands together tightly, defying him with her gaze.

  “Don’t you? Then shall I tell you?”

  “No! I won’t listen! You—you think you know, but you don’t!” exclaimed Lady Bethany.

  “I know you fancy yourself in love with this fellow.”

  “I am in love! I am!” Lady Bethany realized instantly that she had given herself completely away. Furious tears started to her eyes. “I don’t care what you say, Sylvan! I won’t go to London! I won’t! I am going back to Bath.”

  “So that you can throw yourself into the arms of a gazetted fortune hunter,” said Lord Darlington contemptuously.

  “Richard isn’t a fortune hunter. If anyone has said so, they are mistaken!” said Lady Bethany hotly.

  Lord Darlington pounced. “Richard? Since when does a young girl address a man who is not her relative with such intimacy?”

  “We’re in love! Nothing you do or say can change that!” declared Lady Bethany. She took an involuntary step backward as her brother leaped away from the desk and strode up to her. But she was steady enough when he grasped her chin and forced her to look him squarely in the eyes.

  “Bethany, have you allowed this man to seduce you?” demanded Lord Darlington.

  She recoiled as though bitten. “Of course not! How can you suspect me of that? Or him, either! I tell you, we are in love. We intend to be wed!”

  “Thank God for that much,” said Lord Darlington, releasing her. “I should have to take a horsewhip to him otherwise.” He started to turn away, but she grasped at his arm.

  “Sylvan! You don’t mean that? You can’t mean it!” Her eyes were dark pools of alarm in a whitened face.

  For a long moment, Lord Darlington regarded her, expressionless, before he said deliberately, “I meant every word I have said.”

  Lady Bethany dropped her hands from his arm as though she was burnt. “You are a brute!” she gasped.

  “You’ll go to London for the Season,” said Lord Darlington with finality. He met her defiant gaze, and his twisted smile played about his mouth. His sister’s eyes wavered briefly, then steadied again as she lifted her head.

  “I shall run away.”

  “Then, I will have no alternative,” said Lord Darlington with a negligent shrug.

  “What do you mean?” asked Lady Bethany, eyeing him with considerable trepidation.

  Lord Darlington took not a step toward her. Nor did he move in any other way. Yet there was suddenly a shimmer of danger in the room that Lady Bethany was quite positive she saw.

  “I shall thrash Mr. Richard Farnham to within an inch of his life.” His voice was implacable, and there was such coldness in his eyes that it made his sister shiver. For several heartbeats, brother and sister faced one another.

  At last, Lady Bethany made a small helpless gesture. “Very well. I shall go to London for the Season.”

  “Thank you, Bethany,” said Lord Darlington quietly.

  “But I hope you rot in hell!” she flashed before she spun about. Wrenching open the door, Lady Bethany fled in floods of tears.

  Lord Darlington wearily sighed. He felt old. Glancing about the study, he suddenly felt hatred, too. The day his father had died, the dignified room had become his cage.

  With a long, lithe stride, he crossed to the door left standing open by his sister and exited the study. He slammed the door shut behind him.

  Chapter Three

  Miss Abby Fairchilde finished arranging the pale pink and yellow roses just as her sister entered the sitting room. Abby turned, one blushing stem held in her hand. “There you are, Melissa! I’m quite proud of my arrangement. Do you not think it brightens the room?”

  “Very pretty, Abby,” said Mrs. Crocker with a smile. “I have just come down from Mama’s front parlor, where I set out that beautiful bowl of creams and reds which you did earlier. I’m saddened to say the roses were only briefly admired. Mama and our aunt are deeply involved in a game of loo.”

  Abby laughed, her green eyes sparkling with amusement. “Loo! Then we may be assured to hear nothing more of them until dinner.”

  Mrs. Crocker agreed, saying humorously, “I don’t believe they even knew I had left them, even though I kissed both before I did so.” She walked over to her sister, her skirt softly swishing across the carpet, and plucked the rose away from Abby’s unresisting fingers. “I do appreciate how you have made arrangements for all of the rooms, Abby, but we mustn’t forget the time. Lord Fielding is coming to tea this afternoon.”

  Abby’s glance flew to the polished ormolu clock on the mantel. She gasped in dismay. “Melissa! You should have told me sooner. I look a positive fright. I’m wearing my oldest gown and I dripped water all over my skirt, too!” She tried to smooth out her faded muslin gown, but without effect.

  Mrs. Crocker smiled and shook her head. She reached out and tucked a stray curl behind her sister’s small ear. “You never look a fright, Abby. At times, however, you do resemble a rather startled mouse.”

  Abby accepted her sister’s fond observation. She knew she was not a great beauty. Her hair waved very prettily, but it was a nondescript mouse-brown; her eyes slanted upward in an interesting fashion, but her mouth was too generous; and though she possessed a neat figure, she had often wished to be more buxom. “I must go up and change. Lord Fielding may be here at any moment. I shouldn’t like him to find me in a wrinkled, wet gown.”

  “No, indeed! One naturally wishes to appear at one’s best when an admirer comes to call.”

  Abby blushed. A smile trembled on her lips. “Pray don’t tease me, Melissa. Lord Fielding seems to like me well enough, of course, but—“

  “My dear, his lordship likes you well enough to faithfully call nearly every day,” said Mrs. Crocker. “And why shouldn’t he? You are a sweet innocent and you will make a beautiful bride.”

  Abby felt fiery heat burn her face. She pressed her small, elegant hands against her cheeks. “Oh, I do wish you would not put me out of countenance!”

  Her sister laughed at her, her shrewd brown eyes holding a fond expression. “You are such a silly, Abby. You came out last Season and even though we had to take you home before the end, I quite thought you were on the town long enough to get over your ridiculous shyness.”

  “I know I’m silly,” agreed Abby readily. “But I’m not like you or August or dear Peter. I—I don’t know how to talk in company. My tongue seems to become glued to the roof of my mouth. And when people pay me compliments, I just know they’re simply being kind. I am not a beauty, Melissa, and I have very little else to recommend me.”

  Mrs. Crocker reached out with both arms and hugged her younger sister. “There! That ought to tell you something. You have a good, tender heart, Abby, and everyone who meets you can see that. You haven’t an enemy in the world because you try to be everyone’s friend.”

  A tall youth bounded into the sitting room. He looked like a brown stag with his unruly hair and long limbs. “Hullo! Are you still messing with all those roses, Abby? I say, that’s a vastly pretty arrangement. One of your best, I should think.”

  “Why, thank you, August,” said Abby, pleased. She liked her brother tremendously. His carelessly tossed words were easy to accept because she knew August to be as honest as bright sunshine.

  “Where have you popped up from, August?” asked Mrs. Crocker in a tolerant fashion.

  “I’ve just come in for a few minutes. Wilson and Bligh are waiting for me. We’ve come up with the best notion, Melissa! But I can’t stop to tell
you about it, for I have to go down to the kitchen to get a few meat pies from Cook. I’m famished and so are the fellows,” said August, already turning toward the door. He turned back, the slightest frown on his face. “I did want to mention something to you. Oh, I know what it was! I just saw Lord Fielding coming up the street. I thought you might want a little warning, Abby.”

  “Oh! Thank you, August! Indeed, I am very grateful to you!” exclaimed Abby, rushing past her brother toward the door. “I must run upstairs at once and change. Melissa, pray give Lord Fielding my regards and . . . and—well, you will know just what to say!”

  “Yes, my dear, I’ll know just what to say,” said Mrs. Crocker on a laugh.

  As Abby started up the front stairs, her brother emerged from the sitting room and shouted up after her, “You had better run faster than that, Abby. I imagine his lordship is already coming up the steps!”

  The front knocker sounded. The butler emerged from the nether regions into the entry hall.

  A breathy shriek sounded from the landing. Abby clutched the banister as she looked down. “Oh, August! Don’t allow him in yet. Wait until I’m out of sight, I pray!”

  “I shan’t let him in at all. I’m for the kitchen,” said August loudly. He thrust out his hand, catching the butler’s attention. With a quick gesture of his chin toward the stairs, he said, “Wait a moment, Tarley.”

  The butler followed the young man’s glance and the slightest of smiles touched his face. “Of course, sir.” Slowing his steps, he marched in a stately manner toward the front door.