by Gayle Buck
Mrs. Crocker had come to the sitting room door. She poked a finger into her young brother’s arm. August flinched. “Ow, Melissa!”
Mrs. Crocker paid him no heed. “If Lord Fielding overheard one word of your shouting, August, I shall have your head.”
“Even if he did, he’ll never say so,” said August cheerfully. He added, “I don’t know why you encourage him so, Melissa. I don’t care for him above half.”
“His lordship is a perfect gentleman. He has been very attentive toward Abby,” said Mrs. Crocker with dignity.
“A regular slowtop and caught up in admiration of his station, is what I think,” said August unrepentantly before bounding off in the direction of the kitchen.
Upstairs in her small bedroom, Abby scrambled out of her old gown and thrust her hand into the wardrobe, pulling out whatever she first touched. It was one of the new dimity day gowns that her sister had provided and was very becoming to her. Abby didn’t think of that, however, as she pulled the gown over her head and tried to button up the back with trembling fingers. She hated to be late or enter a room by herself. The knowledge that Lord Fielding was already in the townhouse was enough to throw her into a familiar fluster.
The bedroom door opened and her maid came in. “Miss! You should have rung. When I heard his lordship had called, I rushed up directly to help you.”
“Thank you, Maisie,” exclaimed Abby, relinquishing her struggle to the maid’s competent fingers. “I don’t think I could have managed properly by myself.”
Abby obediently stood still or turned as her maid requested. Bodice buttoned, skirt and sleeves twitched into place, a brush applied hastily to her hair – when the maid had finished, Abby looked in the mirror for a brief second. As far as she could see, she looked as usual. “I’ll do, I suppose,” she remarked.
“You look very nice, miss,” said the maid firmly.
Abby gave a polite smile and a small shake of the head before she started back downstairs.
At the closed door of the sitting room, she hesitated. She could hear the murmur of voices. Her sister and Lord Fielding were conversing. She felt awkward about interrupting them. Taking a steadying breath, Abby opened the door and hovered on the threshold. She saw the tea tray had already been brought in, but that tea had not yet been served. No doubt her sister had informed their guest that Abby would shortly be joining them.
Abby was hoping her sister would notice her, thereby smoothing her late entrance, but Lord Fielding chanced to glance around and was the first to see her. At once he rose to his feet. “Miss Fairchilde! Forgive me, I did not immediately see you.”
Since it was obvious she had committed a faux pas by throwing her caller into the wrong, Abby was embarrassed. With a shamefaced expression, she entered the room. “No! No, it was entirely my fault, my lord. I should have made myself known at once.”
“So you should have,” agreed Mrs. Crocker quietly but with a slightly impatient glance.
Abby felt even worse. Melissa was so rarely out of charity with her. Her sister and brother-in-law, Peter Crocker, had already been so good to her. They had gone to the trouble of sponsoring her come-out last Season and she had repaid them by becoming ill before the Season had ended. They had not said a single reproving word, but instead had brought her back to London for a second Season. The least she could do, thought Abby, was to behave as a proper miss should. Upon the dismal reflection, Abby summoned up what she hoped was a bright smile and held out her hand to Lord Fielding. “I’m most happy to see you, my lord. Your visits are always welcome to us.”
“I shall treasure the friendliness of your greeting,” said Lord Fielding, bowing slightly and carrying her fingers to his lips in a courtly gesture.
Abby felt a blush climb into her face. She glanced quickly at her sister over Lord Fielding’s head and saw that Melissa was smiling. With a sense of relief, Abby realized she had actually done something right.
Lord Fielding straightened, smiling down at her. He was a tall man, rather rangy in build. Abby always felt dwarfed by his lordship’s presence, a feeling that was as much due to his obvious self-assurance as it was to his superior height. However, Lord Fielding had never treated her with anything less than respect and she was grateful for his circumspect behavior. Except for the steady stream of compliments with which Lord Fielding continually plied her with, she had no fears of ever being put out of countenance by him.
“Abby, I was just telling Lord Fielding how we are looking forward to this evening,” said Mrs. Crocker.
“This evening?” Abby covered her blank thoughts by sinking down on the settee beside her sister and making a timid gesture toward a chair opposite them. “Pray be seated, my lord. You mustn’t stand about on my account, you know.”
Lord Fielding took the chair she had indicated. He smiled at her. “I appreciate your kindness, Miss Fairchilde. It is one of those qualities that one likes best about you.”
Abby smiled politely and murmured so low that even she couldn’t hear what she had said. It was just as well, for she didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t have sounded completely idiotic. With desperation, she turned to her sister. “You were saying, Melissa?”
Mrs. Crocker looked meaningfully at her, a smile pinned to her lips. “We are attending Almack’s this evening, of course. Lord Fielding has requested to make one of our party, since he has no previous engagements.”
Abby knew at once what was required of her. She turned to the gentleman with a smile. “That will indeed be vastly pleasant, my lord. I shall look forward to your company.”
“I begin to feel quite one of the family,” said Lord Fielding with a chuckle.
Abby did not know what to say. She knew that Lord Fielding had an interest in her. It was obvious to her, even without her sister’s insistence that it was so. She supposed she would end by wedding Lord Fielding if he ever made an offer for her hand. Marriage was the primary object of being brought out, after all, and she thought she felt comfortable enough with her single admirer to accept such an offer. However, his lordship’s easy familiarity at just that moment left her tongue-tied.
He seemed to realize it because he hastened into speech. “I trust you will save me a dance, Miss Fairchilde.” He bestowed another smile upon her.
“Of course I shall,” said Abby, glad to be able to assure him of that much, at least. She was fairly confident of herself on the dance floor, so she didn’t think she would disgrace herself. During the last Season, several personages had complimented her skill and she had heard it often enough to accept what had been said as true.
“Abby, will you serve, please?” Mrs. Crocker asked.
Abby was very glad to serve the tea. It gave her something to occupy herself with and dictated the direction of the immediate conversation. It was a relief that she needed only inquire her companions’ preferences and pour out the tea in order to entertain their guest.
When her task was done, Abby took refuge in nibbling on a biscuit and quietly sipping her own tea as she listened to her sister’s and Lord Fielding’s conversation.
His lordship seemed to know everything that was happening in town. The latest on dits rolled easily off his tongue. Abby marveled that he never seemed at a loss. Whenever she could, she tentatively offered her little mite, which seemed to please both her sister and Lord Fielding.
“The Marquess of Darlington has leased a town house for the Season. It’s said that the Dowager Lady Darlington is bringing out the youngest daughter, who is coming straight up to town from a select Bath seminary,” said Lord Fielding. He shook his head. “I thought Lord Darlington to be a cold, indifferent fellow when I met him last year.”
“I believe we met him, too, rather briefly. I confess that Mr. Crocker and I didn’t find his lordship to be overly friendly.” Mrs. Crocker glanced at her sister. “Do you recall meeting the marquess, Abby?”
“Oh, yes. Lord Darlington stood up with me at Almack’s. He was an excellent partner.” Abby remembere
d she had liked how his lordship’s gliding steps had conformed so well with her own. She had enjoyed their brief country dance, she thought, smiling.
Abby saw that her sister was regarding her with mild surprise, while the slightest frown had pulled down Lord Fielding’s expression. Hurriedly, she added, “I doubt the marquess would even recall the instance to mind, for he seemed to me to be very distant.”
“Undoubtedly that was Lord Darlington’s mistaken concept of gallantry,” said Lord Fielding with almost a snort. “For a little man, he bears himself with decided arrogance.”
“For my part, I pity his lordship’s sister. Straight out of a seminary as she is, I imagine that she must be very anxious over her come-out,” said Abby. She was recalling with vivid clarity her own uncertainties and fear at the beginning of last Season. She thought regretfully that her feeling of inadequacy was not much improved.
Lord Fielding warmly smiled at her. “That’s just like you, Miss Fairchilde. Your compassion is stirred for a young girl’s circumstances even though she is a stranger to you.”
Abby didn’t know where to look. She was astonished and embarrassed that Lord Fielding had made so much of her observation. She made a helpless gesture.
Her sister came to Abby’s rescue by casually mentioning a mutual acquaintance, turning Lord Fielding’s attention from her. Abby was glad to subside into her usual quiet attentiveness, only interjecting a diffident query when she saw that Lord Fielding had finished his tea. He graciously accepted her offer to refresh his cup and smiled at her while she did so.
“Your company manners are always impeccable, Miss Fairchilde. It is another of your admirable qualities.”
Abby instantly felt herself color up. But she managed a gracious nod to acknowledge yet another offering from his lordship’s stream of compliments. It was fortunate Lord Fielding did not appear to require a reply, since he turned again to Mrs. Crocker with another on dit, because Abby could not think of anything at all to say.
Always correct to a fault, Lord Fielding stayed not a single minute past the quarter hour proper for such visits. When he had left, Mrs. Crocker turned to her sister. She shook her head in resignation. “Abby, I don’t know that I shall ever make an accomplished hostess out of you.”
“I know, Melissa, I am a disappointment to you,” said Abby on a sigh. “I wish I could be more like you. I try, I truly do!”
Mrs. Crocker laughed with amused exasperation. “My dear! Don’t be such a goosecap. I don’t wish you to model yourself after me. I wish you only to be yourself. You have such a sense of fun, but you will never give it rein. And you so rarely speak up for yourself.” She held up an admonishing finger. “I’ll tell you what it is, Abby! You’re too frightened someone won’t accept your opinion or that they will think you’re a noddy. You simply have to be more confident.”
“Yes, I know. I tell myself so, but then I say or do something frightfully wrong, like making Lord Fielding wait on my appearance before he could take tea,” said Abby despairingly.
A smile played over Mrs. Crocker’s mouth. “Oh, there’s nothing wrong about making a gentleman wait a little before making your appearance, Abby. It only whets their appetite if their only object in coming is to see you!” She patted Abby’s arm. “All in all, you did very well with Lord Fielding. I am most satisfied with how this affair is progressing.”
Mrs. Crocker smiled happily. “Mark my words, Abby, his lordship will request permission to pay his addresses any day now! And you’ll like that, won’t you?”
“Of course I shall,” responded Abby stoutly, a tiny sigh escaping her even as she returned her sister’s smile.
Chapter Four
Lord Darlington dutifully escorted his mother and sister to Almack’s, that most prestigious of social portals. He was well aware that even though his sister was still in the sulks, she was nonetheless feeling excited by the prospect of a Season in London. Lady Bethany preferred shopping and discussing the latest modes over any scholarly pursuit. Her permanent removal from Bath, and the select seminary in which she had been a student, was not precisely such a hardship as the young lady had made it out to be.
Lady Darlington had wisely promoted her daughter’s interests and been somewhat successful in turning Lady Bethany’s thoughts from Bath and her unwelcome suitor. Only the close presence of Lord Darlington had brought the thundercloud back to Lady Bethany’s brow, as she recalled how he had wronged her.
Lord Darlington murmured in his sister’s ear as he took her into the dance. “Try to wipe that scowl off of your face, Lady Bethany,” he suggested. “Anyone glancing at you will think that you have a bilious stomach otherwise.”
“I am perfectly well, except that I am with you,” hissed Lady Bethany, nevertheless readjusting her expression as the truth of her brother’s observation struck her. By no means did she wish to put any of the gentlemen in the room off because she felt herself to be martyred.
“Very much better,” said Lord Darlington approvingly. He led her into the country set, ignoring the sulfurous glance she shot at him. Before many minutes into the set, he had the satisfaction of seeing the light of enjoyment in his sister’s eyes and the blooming color in her cheeks. For the moment at least, Lady Bethany had forgotten her woes and was appearing at her best. She was young to be out, of course, but Lord Darlington hoped a few months on the town would suffice to smooth her gauche edges and give her a measure of maturity. Surely such experience would serve to show her the foolishness of throwing her heart after the first gentleman who had ever made up to her.
At the end of the set, Lord Darlington had the satisfaction of knowing his sister would not lack for partners for the remainder of the evening. Several admiring glances had been cast Lady Bethany’s way, and quickly enough gentlemen of an enterprising nature secured introductions to the latest beauty to enter Almack’s portals.
Lord Darlington bent over his mother’s shoulder as she sat in a gilded chair, fanning herself. “What do you think, Mama? Will it serve?” His gaze was on Lady Bethany’s laughing, upturned countenance as she was led into the next set by a tall peer.
Lady Darlington did not pretend to misunderstand him. The dowager smiled contentedly as she, too, watched her daughter’s pretty performance on the dance floor. “I’ve not a doubt of it, Sylvan. Bethany is a trifle high-spirited and stubborn, as we know all too well. However, I doubt her heart was so engaged that she can withstand the flattery and attention of a coterie of admirers!”
“You relieve my mind, ma’am,” murmured Lord Darlington, straightening. His gaze fell on a young lady sitting a little ways off with a stocky middle-aged gentleman in attendance. For a moment he thoughtfully regarded the lady before recalling her name. “Pray excuse me, Mama. I believe I see someone with whom I am acquainted.”
Lady Darlington nodded absently, her gaze still on her daughter’s whirling figure.
Lord Darlington sauntered across the floor, speaking to a few acquaintances as he passed by. With a nod to the stocky gentleman, whose name momentarily escaped him, he smiled down at the seated lady. “Miss Fairchilde, is it not? We were introduced last Season.”
“My Lord Darlington!” Abby’s expression was amazed. Then swift color entered into her face. Shyly, she held out her hand. “Of course I recall making your acquaintance. It was here at Almack’s.”
Lord Darlington smiled again, taking her slender fingers and placing a light salute upon them. Releasing her hand, he turned to greet her companion and discovered the stocky gentleman sported a less welcoming expression. He was surprised. He could not think of any reason for Miss Fairchilde’s…brother-in-law…yes, that was it, to be so stiff, but he rose to the challenge that he perceived in the gentleman’s frowning stare. His drawl exaggerated, he said, “Mr. Crocker, well met, sir. Have you come up for the Season?”
Mr. Crocker nodded to the marquess, his glance flicking over his lordship’s dandified dress. “My lord. Yes, we are established in London for the Season.”
Lord Darlington indicated the chair beside Miss Fairchilde’s. “May I?” Receiving a reluctant nod from Mr. Crocker, he sat down and proceeded to make himself agreeable. He had instantly perceived that Mr. Crocker held him in dislike, probably because of his air of dandyism, and it amused him to watch how the gentleman struggled to be civil. Miss Fairchilde did not seem at all adverse to his company, though she did occasionally glance anxiously upward at her brother-in-law, who still stood stiffly beside her chair.
Lord Darlington’s sole purpose in acknowledging his former acquaintance with Miss Fairchilde had been motivated from politeness and a vague recollection that she had been a personable young lady. He had meant only to exchange a few civilities before going on his way. Now, however, his sometimes perverse sense of humor had gotten in the way.
The music was drawing to a close, and soon another gentleman might appear to claim her. Certain he could irritate Mr. Crocker further, he turned to Miss Fairchilde. “Will you honor me with the next set, Miss Fairchilde?”
She appeared astonished. “Why—why, of course, my lord! I shall like it very much.”
Lord Darlington stood and held out his hand. With a shy upward glance from beneath her lashes, Abby laid her fingers in his and allowed him to draw her up.
With a faint smile and the slightest of bows to Mr. Crocker, who did not took as though he approved, Lord Darlington led Miss Fairchilde onto the dance floor.
He had not known it, but the set was a waltz; for an instant he was dismayed. He rarely distinguished any lady with more than a country set. His instant of hesitation was apparently felt.
Miss Fairchilde cast another glance up at him. “I— I shouldn’t mind an ice instead, my lord,” she said in a small voice. “It is very close in here, is it not?”
Lord Darlington’s mind was swiftly made up. He allowed a smile to touch his mouth. “Perhaps I shall appreciate an ice more after our first waltz together, Miss Fairchilde,” he said softly. So saying, he took her circumspectly into his arms as the first strains played.