by Gayle Buck
“Exactly so!” agreed Lord Darlington with a quizzing look.
Lady Darlington chuckled. “Very well, Sylvan! You will find some way!”
A companionable silence fell, during which Lord Darlington’s thoughts inevitably strayed back to Miss Fairchilde. He wondered what she would reply if he were to ask for permission to press his suit. Totally involved in his reflection, he almost started when his mother spoke again.
“How comfortable it all is,” said Lady Darlington with a contented sigh. She had returned to the setting of her stitches. “We have scarcely a cloud upon our horizon. You are always such a tower of strength to me, Sylvan.”
“I am honored, Mama,” said Lord Darlington with a small laugh. His abstraction set aside, at least for the moment, he shook out his newspaper open again.
Chapter Ten
While it was too early to say that Abby was falling in love with Lord Darlington, she was nevertheless honest enough with herself to realize her growing interest in him. His company always caused a quickening of her pulse, and he made her feel at once vulnerable and safe. Whenever Abby saw Lord Darlington start toward her through a crowded ballroom, like he was now, her heart always gave a glad leap.
She could not deny that she felt a strong attraction to him. Never had Lord Fielding, nor any other gentleman, engendered such a wave of warmth within her. The marquess had only to look at her and she felt a tingle clear down to her toes. As a result of her reflection, her toes curled inside her slippers.
Lord Darlington bowed over her fingers, murmuring a greeting. Abby smiled up at him. In her quiet voice she said, “My lord, I am happy to see you this evening.”
“I would find any function without your presence to be sadly flat,” said Lord Darlington softly, his eyes looking directly into her own.
Abby blushed fierily, as much at his flattery as at the intensity of his gaze. Strangely enough, she did not feel the least uncomfortable when such compliments came from Lord Darlington as she did when any other gentleman sought to show his gallantry toward her. “Thank you, my lord. That was very prettily said. I believe you have previously met my mother and my aunt?”
Lord Darlington acknowledged the elderly ladies with grace. “Of course. It was at the theater. I trust the performance was to everyone’s liking?”
Mrs. Fairchilde said that she had enjoyed it all very much. “My sister and I are not as often in company as we used to be, and we are quite happy with such treats,” she said.
“Quite so,” agreed Mrs. Paddington. “However, it is the conversation during intermission which gives the perfect élan to such an evening. Do you not agree, my lord?”
Lord Darlington glanced at Miss Fairchilde’s heightened color. He was amused by her aunt’s coy transparency. Suavely, he agreed. “There was never a truer word said, Mrs. Paddington, at least about that particular evening.”
Mrs. Paddington nodded and pursed her wrinkled lips. Leaning toward her niece and speaking conspiratorially in a voice that she obviously thought quiet, she said, “Child, you will be a great fool if you let this one get away.”
As Mrs. Fairchilde began to remonstrate with her sister, Abby’s embarrassment was complete. She scarcely knew where to look, daring only to dart a nervous glance up at Lord Darlington’s face, hoping that he had not been offended. He did not appear to be. On the contrary, he appeared only to be amused.
Abby at once felt better. She gave a tentative smile. It was so like his lordship to overlook what must be considered a striking faux pas, she thought gratefully.
“Are you free for this set, Miss Fairchilde?” asked Lord Darlington.
“Oh, yes,” said Abby happily, quite disregarding the fact that her dance card already had a name scribbled over it for that set. For once in her life Abby was not anxious over what someone else might think of her. She rose at once and put her fingers on the marquess’s elbow. They walked past the gentleman who was supposed to squire her and he stood looking after them with a faintly astonished expression.
As Lord Darlington led her onto the dance floor, Abby said shyly, “You are such a fine partner, my lord. I always enjoy dancing with you.”
Lord Darlington placed his arm around her slender waist and took her hand in his for the waltz. “If compliments are to be dispensed, Miss Fairchilde, I think it fair to say that there is scarcely another lady who waltzes as well as you do.”
As the first strains of the familiar waltz began, Abby felt as though she was floating on air. It seemed but a moment before it was over. She and Lord Darlington walked slowly back, both reluctant to allow the precious time to slip away from them. Inevitably, they reached her vacant seat. Abby gave a tiny sigh.
Lord Darlington gracefully handed her into the chair. Then he raised her fingers to his lips. “I shall treasure all our waltzes together, Miss Fairchilde,” he murmured for her ears alone.
“As shall I,” she replied with unthinking honesty. She did not realize the full scope of her boldness until she saw the kindling light in his gaze. She cast down her eyes in a confusion of emotions.
Abby’s next partner was Lord Fielding. He was disgruntled that he had a mere country-dance when the Marquess of Darlington had been honored with a waltz. He had a good many things to say under his breath as he led her out.
It was not a comfortable set from Abby’s point of view. His lordship several times attempted to strike up a conversation with her, only to be interrupted by the constant shift of partners in the fast country set. By the time the dance was ended, Lord Fielding’s usual unflappability had been impaired.
“Miss Fairchilde, I should like to talk to you,” said Lord Fielding forcibly.
“Of course, my lord,” said Abby, glancing up at him inquiringly. “What is it you wish to say to me?”
He paused on the floor, making her stop with him. He gathered one of her hands in both of his and looked down at her upturned face from his great height. “Miss Fairchilde, as you know, I hold you in high regard.”
Abby felt a sinking in the pit of her stomach. Surely Lord Fielding had not chosen this moment and this place to make a declaration to her. She could not let him, she simply could not. She said hastily, “Oh, there is my sister, waving to me. I must go to her, my lord!”
She slipped free from her erstwhile partner and started back toward her chair. Taken aback, Lord Fielding stammered agreement and closely followed her off of the floor.
August Fairchilde was handing his elder sister to her chair. He turned just as Abby precipitously arrived, Lord Fielding in tow. He caught the expression on her face. With what his favorite sister thought a lamentable lack of tact, he said, “My word, Abby, you look like a hunted rabbit.”
Abby cast him an anguished glance, at once afraid that Lord Fielding was close enough to have heard. “Shush, August!”
August’s mobile brows flipped upward. He glanced with comprehension at Lord Fielding, who quickly closed the distance between himself and Abby. August frowned thoughtfully, again glancing at his sister as she sought her seat.
Mrs. Crocker greeted Lord Fielding with a smile and a friendly greeting, holding out her hand to him. “My lord! August was squiring me on the dance floor, or otherwise I would have spoken to you earlier. How good of you to interrupt your conversation with Abby to recognize me.”
Lord Fielding bowed over Mrs. Crocker’s hand. Always circumspect in his manners, he gave a polite nod to August Fairchilde when he had straightened. “It is always a pleasure to speak with you, ma’am. I do not see Mr. Crocker?”
“Not this evening. He declared himself to be worn to the bone with all of our flighty entertainments and elected to a quiet dinner and evening,” said Mrs. Crocker with a chuckle. Her brown eyes gleamed with amusement. “My husband is exceedingly forbearing, my lord, but he is not made to be a chaperone.”
“Indeed, what gentleman is?” said Lord Fielding politely.
“Exactly so, my lord. I am fair worn to the bone already, and I stepped into Peter�
�s shoes scarce an hour past,” said August with a sigh as he leaned over Abby’s chair, half shielding her from Lord Fielding’s sight.
“Ungallant, August,” said Mrs. Crocker with a chuckle.
Abby plied her fan, striking up a conversation with her mother and aunt. She was acutely aware of Lord Fielding’s several glances in her direction, but she pretended not to see. Mrs. Crocker, aided now and again by August, held a lively discourse with his lordship for several minutes.
When Lord Fielding had bowed himself off, Abby turned with a sigh to her sister and brother. “Thank you!”
“For what, you goose? I could see you had been put out of countenance. I knew you would only color up and become tangled in your own periods if I were to draw you into the conversation,” said Mrs. Crocker. She eyed her sister with speculation. “Whatever did his lordship say that put you all about, Abby? I’ve never seen you leave a partner so precipitously.”
“Don’t pry so, Melissa,” said August with an unusual sharpness.
Mrs. Crocker stared up at him, open astonishment in her eyes. “Why, I am not prying. I am merely interested.”
Abby looked from August’s expressive grimace to her sister. She did not know what she should say. She simply couldn’t tell her sister she had been afraid that Lord Fielding was about to declare himself, not when it was expected by her relatives that she would accept Lord Fielding. Not when she was unable to explain how her feelings had changed since she had first agreed to consider Lord Fielding’s suit.
“I—I was merely being foolish,” she said lamely.
“No doubt,” said Mrs. Crocker dryly. “I shall be glad of it when you acquire company manners, Abby!”
“Why don’t you let Abby alone? She does all right,” said August hastily.
“Of course she does. I just don’t wish her to squander her chances,” said Mrs. Crocker. She eyed her brother with a gathering frown. “What has gotten into you, August?”
“Oh, pray stop!” exclaimed Abby, distressed by the burgeoning quarrel.
August shrugged and relented. “Oh, very well!”
Mrs. Fairchilde had been listening and now she took a hand. “That will be enough from you, as well, Melissa.” Mrs. Crocker threw up her hands and shook her head.With a gentle smile, Mrs. Fairchilde patted Abby’s arm. “Never mind, my dear. I am certain everything will come about just as it should,” she said soothingly.
Abby wanted to cry out that she simply wished to be left alone. But she didn’t. She was too cowardly to speak what was on her mind and in her heart.
At that moment the small party was approached by Mr. Farnham. The gentleman produced an elegant bow. Then he smiled. It was a dazzling display of excellent teeth. Mrs. Crocker blinked. Mrs. Fairchilde and Mrs. Paddington seemed equally struck to silence. August regarded Mr. Farnham with a speculative light in his eyes, while Abby regarded the gentleman much as one would a snake that had risen up in the path.
Mr. Farnham was oblivious to everyone but Abby, yet he did not appear to notice her open dismay. “Miss Fairchilde! I am so happy to further my acquaintance with you. Imagine my delight when I saw you this evening. I felt that I must at once pay my respects.”
He had somehow gotten possession of Abby’s hand. She did not know how because she had not extended it to him. “Mr. F-Farnham, what a surprise,” she stammered.
“Do you know this gentleman, Abby?” asked Mrs. Crocker, somewhat sharply.
Mr. Farnham did not wait for Abby to respond, but at once transferred his attention to Mrs. Crocker. He gently closed Abby’s fingers about a small folded paper. “Alas, not nearly as well as I should like,” he said mournfully. “The truth is that we were briefly introduced to one another by a mutual acquaintance only this week.”
“I see,” said Mrs. Crocker thoughtfully. She slanted an inquiring glance at her sister.
Abby’s thoughts were a tangle. She intuited at once that Mr. Farnham had given her a note for Lady Bethany. The small scrap seemed to burn a hole right through her glove. Abby didn’t want it. She did not know what she was going to do. She couldn’t very well give it back to him without engendering just the kind of attention she most disliked.
“Cedric Barthlew made us known to one another,” she said hastily. Clumsily, she pretended to be looking for her handkerchief and managed to drop the note into her silver-knotted reticule.
“I had hoped Miss Fairchilde might have a dance still free on her card,” said Mr. Farnham, still smiling. His eyes held a glinting expression as he watched her tuck away the note.
Abby’s first instinct was to fib and say her entire card was filled. Under the combined gazes of her family, however, (all of whom knew very well that she had several places open), she was unable to utter the falsehood. She examined her card quickly. If she must stand up with Mr. Farnham, it would be so much better to offer him a country set. With relief, she saw one was open. “I have a country-dance,” she said, trying for a polite tone.
Mr. Farnham took her card and penned in his name on the appropriate line. He bowed, and after a few ingratiating words, he took himself off.
“Well!” Mrs. Crocker turned to her sister with a speculative expression in her brown eyes. “I did not realize you were becoming such an adroit flirt, Abby.”
Abby flushed. “It is nothing of the kind,” she retorted with more spirit than was her wont.
“Pray do not be unkind, Melissa,” said Mrs. Fairchilde reprovingly. “I for one am very proud of Abby for attaching such a fine-looking gentleman. On the basis of a chance meeting, too! It is very wonderful.”
“Hmph! I like that young buck Darlington the best of them all,” said Mrs. Paddington.
August slanted a startled glance at his aunt, then looked at his sister’s revealing face. He pursed his lips in a soundless whistle.
Mrs. Crocker’s brows rose. She looked again at her sister. “The marquess? Has his lordship been making himself agreeable, Abby?”
“Very agreeable,” said Abby with a hint of defiance.
“You need not eat me,” said Mrs. Crocker mildly.
August gave a crack of laughter, swiftly changing it into a cough as several pairs of eyes turned his way. “Something in my throat,” he mumbled.
Abby did not heed her brother, having at once felt contrite over her spurt of temper. “I am sorry, Melissa! It is just that—-I scarcely know what will happen next!”
Mrs. Crocker chuckled. “I can well imagine your feelings, my dear! First Lord Fielding, then Lord Darlington, and now this Mr. Farnham. I never thought to see you so sought after.”
“Before you know it, we’ll be tripping over a slew of admirers at the town house,” said August flippantly.
“Oh, how nonsensical you are!” exclaimed Abby, nevertheless pleased by her brother’s somewhat blind affection. She shook her head at August, but soon a disquieting thought occurred to her. Somewhat wistfully, she asked, “Is it so very bad to attach a few suitors?”
“Of course not! But we mustn’t let the object of the Season to be forgotten,” said Mrs. Crocker, shaking her finger.
Abby nodded. “Of course.”
“Oh, do not be hammering at her all the time, Melissa,” said August, all of his easy humor disappeared.
“But Melissa is quite right, August,” said Abby. With a sigh she said, “I must be credibly established.”
Mrs. Crocker smiled reassuringly, “Pray do not look so anxious, Abby. Look, here is Lady Bethany to give your thoughts a different direction.”
August turned quickly. His fair face became burnished with a faint touch of red. “Lady Bethany!”
“Mr. Fairchilde!” Lady Bethany curtsied gracefully, then fastened her laughing gaze on her youthful admirer. “I trust you intend to dance with me before the evening is quite over!”
“Of course! I mean, I shall be happy to dance with you!” exclaimed August, flushing deeply. All saw that he was supremely pleased.
Lady Bethany turned her attention to the ladi
es and thereafter bestowed only a word or two more on August, but Abby noticed it was enough for her brother. Even though she smiled, she hoped that August was not deeply enamored of Lady Bethany Hart, since that damsel had placed her affections on quite another gentleman.
With the reflection, she was reminded of Mr. Farnham. Lady Bethany’s appearance had indeed given Abby’s thoughts a turn, but it was not a comfortable one. As soon as could be managed, Abby slipped the note to her friend. She was glad to be rid of it. Lady Bethany’s quick smile and glowing eyes were scant reward for her uneasiness. Abby hoped Mr. Farnham had written his good-bye, and there would be no more notes.
Lady Bethany soon flitted off, announcing her intention to seek out her mother, but Abby rather suspected her friend would find a private alcove first in which she could unfold the precious note from Mr. Farnham.
Her suspicions proved correct, for after several more minutes, Lady Bethany came back to beg that Abby be able to bear her company to the seamstress’s room. “I have torn my lace, as you can see, and Mama has scolded me grandly for it,” said Lady Bethany gaily.
Mrs. Crocker laughed. “Take Abby with you by all means, Lady Bethany. She has been quite abstracted ever since her last turn on the floor. I should like it if you bring her back in a more sociable frame of mind.”
Lady Bethany also laughed and playfully nipped Abby’s arm with her fingers. “Oh, do come with me, Abby! I detest having to stand still while my laces are sewn up with no one to talk to!”
“Very well,” said Abby, not at all adverse to leaving her sister’s chaperonage. Mrs. Crocker’s eyes were sharp. She did not know how much longer she could hide the depth of her agitation of spirits. As soon as they were out of earshot, Abby confided, “Lady Bethany, Mr. Farnham has asked me to stand up with him!”
“Oh, that’s famous! For I did not know how I was to contrive a second meeting between you, so that you could give him a message from me,” said Lady Bethany.
Abby stopped dead. She eyed her friend in acute dismay. “Lady Bethany! You said it would be but the once! You told me that you wished to relate your good-byes lo him!”