by Gayle Buck
“And so I did! Abby, do come along! You are attracting attention,” said Lady Bethany in some urgency. The tenseness of her expression lessened when her friend started keeping pace with her again. “Listen to me, Abby, for you are the only one in whom I may confide. Indeed, I am all distracted! I do not know what I shall do if you will not help me!”
Abby was at once sympathetic. “I shall do anything I can, of course! But, Bethany, do you not think that your—your acquaintance with Mr. Farnham is not quite suitable?”
“I do not care a rush what anyone may say!” exclaimed Lady Bethany. She swallowed a sob. “Abby, the worst possible thing has happened! Sylvan saw me with the note. He wrested it from me. His expression when he read it—!” Lady Bethany shuddered dramatically. “Oh, Abby! I don’t know what to do!”
“But surely, Lord Darlington would be delighted to learn Mr. Farnham was giving up courting you,” said Abby.
“If only it had said that! I should feel so much easier!” exclaimed Lady Bethany. Her beautiful eyes flashed. “Richard declared himself unable to give me up, Abby! He truly, truly loves me. He—he wants to see me again. And he suggested we meet at a certain place. That is what my brother read!”
“Oh, dear!” said Abby, not finding any more adequate words.
The two young women had reached the door of the seamstress’s room. Lady Bethany dropped her voice to a whisper. “That is why I simply had to talk to you, Abby. The only thing I could think of was to tear my laces so that we would have an excuse to come off alone like this.” She clutched her friend’s hand tightly. “Abby, I am so very afraid.”
“Of what?” asked Abby, astonished by the trembling sincerity in Lady Bethany’s tone.
“Sylvan intends to hurt him, Abby! I know it!”
Chapter Eleven
There was no more time for rushed confidences, for the seamstress hustled forward and invited the two young ladies to enter the room. In any event, Abby could not have taken anything more in just then. She was startled and taken aback by Lady Bethany’s extraordinary assertion. Her mind fumbled, trying to grasp the significance of what had been said. “But Lord Darlington couldn’t—”
A sharp pain on her ankle made her gasp. Abby was astonished when she realized that Lady Bethany had actually kicked her. She sank down in a chair, rubbing her ankle as she looked up in reproach. Lady Bethany shrugged and made a grimace over the seamstress’s head, who was kneeling on the floor and pinning the torn lace at her skirt hem.
“And so, Abby, you must tell our friend that all our plans have gone awry,” said Lady Bethany brightly. “I shan’t be able to keep our engagement, after all.”
“But, Lady Bethany, I couldn’t possibly—”
Lady Bethany gestured urgently down at the seamstress. Abby stopped speaking, at once cognizant of her near-indiscretion. At the seamstress’s respectful request for Lady Bethany to turn so that she could reach the end of the torn lace, Lady Bethany did so. She looked over her shoulder with a pleading expression. Her bright voice was at complete variance to her face. “Please be so obliging, Abby! I don’t know what I shall do otherwise!”
Abby could not stand against that desperate look. “Oh, very well! But I must tell you that I think you are making too much out of this, Lady Bethany.”
“I assure you, I am not,” said Lady Bethany earnestly. The seamstress got up, and Lady Bethany thanked her prettily, if somewhat abstractedly. “Abby, I—”
The door opened and three other ladies entered, chattering and laughing. Lady Bethany caught up Abby’s hand and pressed it. “Thank you, my best of friends!” she whispered, before she swept out.
Abby stood for just a minute, feeling herself to be somewhat off balance.
“Is there aught I can do for you, miss?” At the seamstress’s question, Abby shook her head quickly and smiled. “I was only wool-gathering,” she said, and exited the room as swiftly as possible.
She looked for Lady Bethany, but to little avail. Abby was not surprised. She had not really expected Lady Bethany to be waiting for her. If she had learned anything about Lady Bethany Hart, it was that the young miss knew the worth of a dramatic entrance or exit.
She soon espied Lady Bethany on the dance floor, being partnered by her brother, August. Lady Bethany was laughing up at him and August looked as besotted as a young man could in the first throes of love. Abby felt a sinking feeling, as concern for her brother momentarily crowded out every other consideration. She hoped August’s infatuation would be of a short duration and that it would not come to a painful conclusion.
As Abby made her way back through the crowded ballroom toward her chair, she pondered over all that Lady Bethany had told her. She thought Lady Bethany had almost certainly overstated the seriousness of the matter. Of course, Lord Darlington was probably quite incensed to discover that his headstrong sister was still in contact with a suitor whom he had forbidden her to encourage. And rightly so, Abby reflected. She could well imagine her sister’s and brother-in-law’s reactions if she were to favor anyone as inclined to the clandestine as Mr. Farnham.
With a shock, Abby suddenly realized that she had unwittingly been placed in just such a position. Once her relations came to realize Mr. Farnham’s reprehensible character, they would no doubt chide her quite stringently for acknowledging his acquaintance. However, Abby’s mind boggled at the very thought of her staid brother-in-law threatening Mr. Farnham’s well-being.
That was just the difficulty, Abby thought. She could not conceive how Lady Bethany could ever believe her brother, Lord Darlington, would offer violence to Mr. Farnham. Abby had always found his lordship to be soft-spoken and a complete gentleman.
“There you are, Abby! I trust Lady Bethany’s flounces were repaired to her satisfaction?” asked Mrs. Crocker as her sister came up.
“Oh! Oh, yes,” said Abby, scarcely glancing at her sister as her gaze went to the gentleman who was seated beside her.
Mr. Farnham rose at once. “Forgive me for appropriating your chair, Miss Fairchilde,” he said smoothly. “I availed myself of your absence and have gotten to know your sister and your other relations better. It must be an object with me, since I count myself one of your admirers.”
Abby was tongue-tied, unable to utter anything in the face of such bold audaciousness. In any event, her response was not needed. Mr. Farnham turned to Mrs. Crocker and lifted her hand to his lips. With his gorgeous smile, he reminded Mrs. Crocker that he intended to wait upon her not too many days hence.
“And now, I believe the orchestra is striking up our set, Miss Fairchilde,” said Mr. Farnham, holding out his hand toward her.
Perforce, Abby placed her fingers in his, and his hand closed around hers. Her partner drew her onto the dance floor and escorted her to her place in a set. As he stepped forward, meeting her gloved hand with his own above their heads, he said in a low voice, “I believe you have something to convey to me, Miss Fairchilde.”
Abby glanced swiftly around, at once convinced that someone would overhear. However, no one seemed particularly interested in Mr. Farnham’s statement. “Yes, our friend will be unable to make the planned engagement,” she said in a breathless hurry.
Mr. Farnham’s face registered surprise. The movement of the dance took them apart. When they came together again, he commented, “Indeed! You astonish me, ma’am. What if I say that I do not believe you?”
“But you must!” exclaimed Abby, looking at him with dismay. His handsome face was smiling, but dubiously, as though he suspected her of duplicity. “Sir, you must believe me. Our friend was quite insistent. Her brother—”
Once again, the country-dance moved them apart. However, not before Abby had seen the flash of startled comprehension on Mr. Farnham’s face. She at least had the satisfaction of knowing that he now believed her message could be trusted.
They came together again. Their hands met over their heads as they turned together, facing one another, in a small circle. “I understand you perf
ectly, Miss Fairchilde. Pray convey to our mutual friend my regrets and my assurance that I shall be in touch,” said Mr. Farnham softly.
Abby nodded, but she could not manage to smile. She did not like the gentleman. But more than that, she did not like her role. How much she wished she had never agreed to be Lady Bethany’s intermediary in the first place, for Mr. Farnham’s words gave her the distinct feeling that the star-crossed lovers would drag her deeper into their convoluted machinations.
The country set was the longest Abby had ever experienced. She was incredibly relieved when it ended and Mr. Farnham escorted her back. He exchanged a few words with Mrs. Crocker and the rest of the party, bowed over Abby’s hand, and removed himself.
“For my part, I mislike that fellow,” remarked August. “There is something about him that doesn’t ring quite true.”
Abby couldn’t have agreed more, but she kept quiet.
“Oh, no, no! Mr. Farnham is charming,” said Mrs. Fairchilde.
“I’ll give the fellow that much, at least,” murmured August. He bent to kiss his mother’s cheek affectionately. “I am off to the refreshment table. May I bring something back for anyone?”
“Not just now, dear. In fact, you must not wait on us anymore, but go off and enjoy yourself,” said Mrs. Fairchilde. “I am certain we don’t need an escort any longer, do we, Melissa?”
“If August wishes to desert us, who am I to put a rub in his way?” asked Mrs. Crocker, amusement glinting in her brown eyes.
“Thank you, ma’am,” said August with such obvious appreciation that it drew laughter from his female relations. He left with a light step.
“Well, I see August is not so besotted by Lady Bethany Hart that he is reluctant to leave us,” said Mrs. Crocker.
“Ah, young love.” Mrs. Fairchilde sighed, shaking her head. “When did my little boy grow up?”
“Obviously when you were not looking,” said Mrs. Paddington.
With her mother’s reference to love, Abby instantly wondered where Lord Darlington was and began to look around for him. She saw that he was engaged in conversation across the room. Abby glanced down at her dance card, hoping to see Lord Darlington’s name, and with a leap of her heart saw that he had penciled in another set.
Abby looked up, a smile hovering about her mouth. Her gaze fell on her beautiful friend, who was being that instant squired past her about the floor. At sight of Lady Bethany, all of her pleasure dimmed, and her anxious reflections again took possession of her mind. Nothing in the conversation among her relations could dispel her thoughts.
Abby was exceedingly glad when a gentleman past his prime came up to claim the next set. She wanted very much to forget Lady Bethany and Mr. Farnham. Even though she tried to banish all troubling reflections in conversing with her elderly partner, nevertheless she could not quite forget. Since she was not thinking of herself, her manner was less shy than it might otherwise have been, and she was able to respond to her partner’s gallantry without her usual shyness overtaking her.
Abby was astonished when, after the set, her partner complimented her on her sensible conversation and promised himself to call on her later in the week.
Mrs. Crocker stared after the gentleman’s retreating back in an astonishment equal to her sister’s. “My word, Abby! I believe you are catching on!” she exclaimed in amazed accents.
“Oh, dear!” exclaimed Abby. The very possibility that she might have attracted yet another suitor frightened her. She did not think she would be able to juggle many more. It had been easy when it was only Lord Fielding. Then Lord Darlington had entered her sphere, her dreams had begun to be disturbed, and Lord Fielding had started to display evidence of jealousy. “Whatever shall I do?”
For some reason, Mrs. Crocker found her sister’s reaction exquisitely funny. She laughed, saying, “Do! You silly goose! For goodness’ sake, Abby, enjoy this small taste of popularity! Why, I never thought to see you do so well this Season. Mama, Aunt—have you ever seen the like? Abby has begun to acquire an actual court!”
“Abby is an attractive little thing,” said Mrs. Fairchilde fondly.
“For my part, I never thought to see that mousy head of hers take,” said Mrs. Paddington bluntly.
Abby laughed, some of her inner tension at once eased by her aunt’s stringent honesty. “Thank you, Aunt! You have greatly relieved my mind!”
“You talk a great deal of nonsense, Abby!” said Mrs. Crocker. “Ah, here is Lord Darlington! My lord! I know that it is not I or my mother or aunt whom you have come to see. Abby, his lordship is desirous of a word with you. Why don’t you promenade around the ballroom for a few minutes, while the orchestra has stepped down? My lord, if you will be so good to bring some ices upon your return, I shall be eternally grateful. It is exceedingly hot this evening.”
Lord Darlington murmured civilly and drew Abby away from her relations. She had not said anything in response to her sister’s teasing manner. Indeed, he gathered that she was as greatly taken aback as himself at Mrs. Crocker’s unreserved affability. “To what do I owe your sister’s approval, Miss Fairchilde?”
Abby glanced quickly at him, then gave a gurgling laugh. “Oh! She has decided I am acquiring a court. You are but one of the feathers in my cap, my lord!”
“Well, that is baldly honest,” remarked Lord Darlington. He slanted a smile at her. “I am glad Mrs. Crocker appears to have thawed slightly toward me, for I wish very much to figure as a feather in your cap.”
Abby felt slow, delicious heat slide into her face. “You must not say such things, my lord!”
“Shouldn’t I? Odd, I fear I must contradict you on this point, Miss Fairchilde,” said Lord Darlington.
“My lord, I—” Abby started to reply, but all thoughts flew out of her head when her gaze alighted on the dowager and Lady Bethany, who were obviously exiting the ballroom. “Why, where are Lady Darlington and Lady Bethany going?”
Lord Darlington’s voice chilled slightly. “My sister has the headache. She has begged my mother to take her home.”
Abby glanced quickly at his face. He was not looking at her, but in the direction of his sister. There was a distance in his expression she had never seen before. “I . . . see. I am sorry Lady Bethany is feeling poorly.” She uttered the polite civility without great attention as her own emotions suddenly plunged into chill waters. She had aided and abetted Lady Bethany’s clandestine communications with Mr. Farnham and as a result her friend was in disgrace.
Abby’s memory replayed Lady Bethany’s desperation and wild assertion that her brother would attempt bodily harm to her suitor. Abby could not give it credence then, but for some reason the marquess’s sudden withdrawal served to underscore Lady Bethany’s fears. Uncomfortable for the first time in Lord Darlington’s company, Abby was afraid she might blurt out some unwary word that would at once lead him to suspect her own role as go-between.
“You have grown strangely silent, Miss Fairchilde,” remarked Lord Darlington.
Abby looked up quickly, meeting his intent expression. She glanced swiftly away. “I—I have had such a vastly exciting evening, my lord. If I am quiet, it is because I have been given so much to think about.”
“I quite understand. It is a weighty matter when a lady begins to acquire a court,” said Lord Darlington with a faintly teasing note in his voice.
“Just so, my lord,” said Abby. She saw with relief that their leisurely promenade had led them to the refreshment room. “Shouldn’t we procure some ices before the orchestra strikes up again? I—I have a partner for the next set, you see.” Lord Darlington glanced at her, a tinge of surprise in his eyes. As Abby watched tremulously, his expression smoothed.
“As you wish, Miss Fairchilde,” he said, almost indifferently.
In short order Lord Darlington and Abby had gotten the ices and returned with them to Mrs. Crocker and the two elderly ladies. The refreshments were received with gracious thanks.
Lord Darlington bowed and took
himself off. His last glance was frowning as he looked at Abby’s averted head, but he said nothing.
Abby thought she would be glad when Lord Darlington turned and walked away, but there was a squeezing about her heart that was very uncomfortable. Her gaze followed him, until Lord Fielding brought himself to her attention and she was taken out onto the dance floor.
Abby wished heartily that she could go home and think. She didn’t know what to do. She had gotten herself tangled up in subterfuge that was being played out against a gentleman whom she honored most highly. She felt a decision was inexorably being thrust upon her, and that was whether her friendship with Lady Bethany was worth jeopardizing her treasured acquaintance with Lord Darlington.
There was one thing she could do, Abby reflected with unusual decision. Lady Bethany was not the only one who could claim she had the headache.
Without any loss of lime, Abby informed her sister that she was not feeling well. Mrs. Crocker was mildly surprised, but she did not demur at leaving the ball before the early-morning hours. “Though I don’t mind in the least my duties, I have missed Peter dreadfully this evening,” she confided.
“And I can scarcely keep my eyes open another minute,” said Mrs. Fairchilde, expressing her own agreement to an early withdrawal. Mrs. Paddington grumbled, but it was seen that she, too, was weary enough to wish to return home.
Abby felt she was the biggest liar in nature, and all of her relations were incredibly accommodating and kind. Foremost in her thoughts, however, was Lord Darlington. She had treated him more selfishly than all the rest, even if he did not know it. She hoped he never knew of her perfidy. However, she dimly realized that it was but a matter of time before her role was discovered by accident—perhaps some blurted reference by herself or Lady Bethany.
Abby shivered at the thought of the condemnation which must surely arise in the marquess’s breast. She entertained the vague notion that she should confess. But her character was such that she shrank from acting so boldly.