by Gayle Buck
Lady Bethany’s breast heaved, while she stared at her brother with amazed fear in her eyes. Her voice choked, she exclaimed, “No! You cannot mean it, Sylvan! It is not true!”
Lord Darlington shrugged indifferently. He walked back around his desk, but did not sit down in the chair. He returned his sister’s appalled regard, and then smiled slowly. “The end of this pretty little tale lies in your hands, sister. One way or another, I will persuade you to give up Mr. Farnham. I think you know me too well not to believe I will do as I have said.”
Lady Bethany shuddered and averted her gaze. In a smothered voice she said, “I hate you. Sylvan! I detest you with all of my being!”
Lord Darlington did not allow his feelings to show. It was not in his plans to reveal how much hurt his sister’s words could inflict upon him. He had long ago recognized loneliness as a constant companion, and he had stoically accepted it. His role being what it was, he had always felt it impossible to relate to his siblings, or indeed, to anyone, on a warmer plane. There was a flicker of memory, of a pleasant face, one whose expression was gentle and undemanding. He suppressed it swiftly. Even Miss Fairchilde must not be allowed to hinder the completion of the moment.
“When has it been otherwise?” he said, not really addressing his sister, but all of those through the years who had spurned him. He had suffered greatly due to his family’s circumstances, his father’s blasted reputation, his own unexpressed rage and resentment and fear that had placed him at the helm of the Darlington fortunes at too young an age. Even the taunts of those at school, making rude fun of his Christian name, had not been easily borne. He still bore the scars on his knuckles of innumerable fights to uphold his honor and prove that the name “Sylvan” was one not to be ridiculed, but rather, one to be respected.
“I shall never forgive you!”
Lord Darlington’s attention was drawn by his sister’s whitened face and the tragic expression in her eyes. He started to lift a hand, but stayed it, allowing the incomplete gesture to fall. “I am sorry for it, Bethany. However, I trust you will not force my hand. Stay away from Farnham.”
Lady Bethany gave a strangled sob and ran to the door. She struggled briefly with the knob and then flung the door open, fleeing out of the library.
Lord Darlington stood where he was, feeling hollow inside. It was a terrible thing when one’s own sister loathed one, he thought, before catching himself up. Firmly, decisively, he strode over to the library door and closed it. Then he turned and walked back to his desk, where his correspondence and business papers awaited.
* * * *
Abby was gratified when she was informed that Lady Bethany had called. She cast a glance at the clock and was surprised to see that it was an hour earlier than the time she and Lady Bethany had settled on for their shopping expedition. However, there was nothing holding her at the town house, since her brother-in-law had gone to his club and her sister was out visiting a close friend. It was but a small task to inform her mother and aunt of where she was going, before she put on her bonnet and ran downstairs lo join her friend.
When Lady Bethany turned at her pleased greeting, Abby was appalled by her paleness. At once, she was all solicitude. “Lady Bethany! What has happened? You look about ready to faint!”
“I believe I am,” said Lady Bethany, drawing her gloved fingers across her eyes. There was a distracted air about her. “Abby! I must talk to you! But not here, where someone may come in at any time!”
“Of course. I shall accompany you immediately,” said Abby.
Within minutes the two friends were in the carriage and bowling along the boulevard. Abby reached for Lady Bethany’s hands, which instantly clasped hers so tightly that she was astonished. She looked anxiously into Lady Bethany’s closed face. “Pray tell me! Something dreadful has occurred, has it not?”
Lady Bethany shot a warning glance forward at the coachman’s back. “I can’t say. I—I should like to take a walk in the park before we do our shopping.”
“Yes, of course. I shall be glad of the exercise,” responded Abby, growing more alarmed by the instant. Lady Bethany’s disregard of servants was well-known to her by now, and for her friend to become suddenly cognizant of listening ears seemed to her more telling than anything else. She therefore agreed readily to Lady Bethany’s suggestion, once they had alighted from the carriage, they walk along one of the less traveled footpaths.
“Now we are quite private, so you must tell me the whole, Bethany,” said Abby.
“Sylvan knows about Richard! He knows everything!”
“Every—everything?” Abby looked at her friend in lively dismay. Anxiety on her friend’s behalf was joined by acute dismay that the marquess had somehow become aware of her own deceitfulness. “Does Lord Darlington know about—about my role?”
“Oh, no, no! At least, I do not believe so.” Lady Bethany gave the matter such scarce consideration that Abby’s alarm was barely assuaged. “But what does it matter when I am so utterly undone?”
Abby could have told her that it mattered a great deal to her, but Lady Bethany’s fingers had tightened once more and were digging into her arm, so Abby set aside her own interests once more. “How did his lordship guess? Oh, Bethany, what have you done?”
Lady Bethany gave a shrill, almost hysterical laugh. “It is not what I have done, but what Sylvan means to do! Abby, he as good as told me that he intends to kill Richard if I do not sever the connection.”
Abby shook her head quickly in instinctive denial. “I scarce credit it, Bethany. Lord Darlington would never—”
“Wouldn’t he? You do not really know my brother, Abby. He is the rock upon whom we all lean, but such dependence comes with a price. He cannot bear to be crossed. I have seen that implacable look before today! When Evan was in some sort of trouble last year, and when Sybil had the fever, and—but I need not bore you with all of it! I need only say that Sylvan moves heaven and earth to achieve the results he wishes.” Lady Bethany shuddered and shook her head. “And I know he will do just as he said! Abby, I—I am afraid!”
Abby was more shaken than she cared to admit even to herself. Her companion’s obvious apprehension worked on her own spirits, making her feel quite sick. “What shall you do?”
“What can I do? I must abide by Sylvan’s wishes,” said Lady Bethany bitterly, swiping away tears from her cheeks. She turned completely around, facing Abby. “You must warn Richard for me, Abby!”
Abby shrank from her. “No, I—”
Lady Bethany spoke fiercely. “You must, Abby, for I dare not! You must impress upon him that he must give me up and to stay out of Sylvan’s way. Otherwise— but the alternative does not bear thinking about! Promise me, Abby! Promise me that you will tell him!”
Abby swallowed a constriction caused by fear in her throat. “Very well, Bethany. I—I shall do it.”
Lady Bethany hugged her quickly. Her beautiful smile flashed, accompanying an expression of relief in her eyes. “Thank you! I will never ask anything more of you, ever!”
After a few minutes of walking along the path, Lady Bethany announced that she was quite ready to quit the park. The two young women had discussed the best possible way for Abby to relay Lady Bethany’s message. It was decided by Lady Bethany that Abby would convey a verbal message, for Lady Bethany mistrusted anything committed to writing since her brother had shown himself so percipient.
Abby quaked at the thought of her formidable task. The execution of it might have proven completely daunting, except that Mr. Farnham had established himself as a hangers-on among those few gentlemen who formed her coterie of admirers. She allowed herself to be persuaded by Lady Bethany that she could conceivably speak to Mr. Farnham at a convenient moment during a dance or when he came to leave his card at the town house.
Doubts continued to assail her, however. “But what if he doesn’t ask me to dance or come to call any time soon?” asked Abby, feebly expressing fears of being unable to commandeer Mr. Farnham�
�s attention. Lady Bethany would hear none of it.
“Oh, I am persuaded you will think of something, dearest Abby,” said Lady Bethany, more sanguine than she had been since the beginning of their outing. “Now, let us go do our shopping! I have a most particular desire to purchase a new pair of evening gloves, for mine are becoming sadly shabby.”
Though visiting a glovemaker was of scant interest to her in light of what had transpired, and the fix she found herself in by giving her promise, Abby agreed. She did not wish Lady Bethany to realize that her feet were made entirely of clay.
Chapter Fifteen
During the following week Abby was conscious of Lady Bethany’s questioning gaze everywhere she went, and whenever that damsel had an opportunity to do so, she taxed Abby about the message to Mr. Farnham. Abby began to dread seeing Lady Bethany approach her. It was not a comfortable feeling at all, especially when the other girl began to exhibit some impatience with her ineptitude. “Just tell him!” Lady Bethany whispered curtly on one occasion before sweeping away.
Abby felt her spirits to be depressed. She knew that if their roles were reversed, Lady Bethany would already have managed in some way to have a few private words with Mr. Farnham. But try as she might, Abby could not overcome her overly cautious nature. She wanted to be certain of not being overheard and that was a very difficult thing when one was always surrounded by relations or a circle of acquaintances. Of course, Mr. Farnham was usually to be found at the functions that Abby attended, and he at times came up to convey his compliments. However, Abby felt suppressed equally by the surroundings and by her dislike for her role as messenger. In addition, whenever she saw Lord Darlington or had the opportunity to speak with him, she felt so guilty as to sink into the floor. If it were not for the promise she had made, she would have told Lady Bethany that she had changed her mind and shunned her responsibility as messenger.
At last, feeling that she could no longer stand the position in which she found herself, Abby made what was for her a bold move. As Mr. Farnham bowed over her hand one evening, she pressed his fingers meaningfully, saying, “I hope you will call on us one day soon, sir.”
Straightening, Mr. Farnham looked at her with a sort of speculative surprise in his eyes, but he was too well mannered to allow his expression to betray his mild astonishment. “Of course, Miss Fairchilde. In fact, I hoped to find you at home tomorrow at tea, if that will be convenient?”
“Most convenient, Mr. Farnham,” said Abby a bit breathlessly, still shocked by her own boldness.
Mr. Farnham smiled and moved away.
Lord Fielding, who had witnessed the encounter though had not been close enough to be privy to what was said, watched Mr. Farnham go with a heavy frown on his face. When he came up to Abby, he said by way of greeting, “Miss Fairchilde! I trust that fellow was not annoying you?”
“No, of course not,” said Abby, hoping that her guilty feelings did not show in her expression.
“I must inform you that I do not like him, Miss Fairchilde. I do not like him at all,” said Lord Fielding with strong approbation. “I wish you will not encourage Farnham to hang about.”
Abby glanced up at his lordship in some surprise. “Why, my lord!”
“You are no doubt astonished at my plain speaking,” said Lord Fielding, nodding. “But I consider myself to be in a somewhat favored position, so you will agree I have some right to make known my wishes on certain matters.”
Abby was thrown into dismay and confusion, especially since Lord Fielding had taken her hand as he had spoken and was now regarding her with a grave smile. “My lord, pray let us say no more about it!” she said hastily, trying unobtrusively, so as not to give offense, to retrieve her hand. However, his lordship seemed not to take the hint and did not free her.
“No, we shall not on that head,” said Lord Fielding, his expression easing into an indulgent expression. “However, I have something of particular importance to say to you, Miss Fairchilde. I trust I may find you at home tomorrow?”
“As to that, I cannot really say, my lord,” said Abby, temporizing and hating herself for it. “I think I might be home at tea, but—but I believe my sister wishes me to accompany her tomorrow on several errands.”
“Tea?” Lord Fielding seemed to consider, before shaking his head. Regretfully, he said, “I fear such lack of privacy that must attend tea will not suit my purpose at all. I shall call on you later this week when I may be assured of finding you alone, Miss Fairchilde.” Lord Fielding bent nearer, still holding her hand. His pale blue eyes held unaccustomed warmth. “I am fairly certain you know why I wish to speak to you, Miss Fairchilde. I—”
“Miss Fairchilde, Lord Fielding.” Lord Darlington’s greetings interrupted their impromptu tête-à-tête, for which Abby was profoundly grateful. “Miss Fairchilde, I have come to escort you into supper.”
“Oh! Of course, my lord,” said Abby, gladly accepting. She fleetingly looked up at Lord Fielding’s sudden frown. “Until later in the week, then, my lord?”
“Yes, indeed,” said Lord Fielding. He realized then that he still held her hand, and he released her. A slight flush of annoyance mounted into his face as he met the marquess’s quizzical glance. “Your servant, Miss Fairchilde.” He pointedly ignored Lord Darlington and marched away.
“Our friend appears to be vexed over some trifle or other,” remarked Lord Darlington. He glanced at Abby’s face as he walked with her toward the dining room. “I suspect he has reason enough, for I should feel the same if some fellow commandeered you from my company.”
Abby blushed and bit her lip to keep from smiling. It was a pleasant thing to be flirted with by this particular gentleman. “You are nonsensical, my lord.”
“Not at all,” said Lord Darlington. He steered her into the dining room and, speaking softly for her ears alone, said, “Do you mean to have him, my dear?”
Abby looked at him quickly, startled. “My lord!”
Lord Darlington did not seem to appreciate the impropriety of his question. “He won’t do for you, you know. His lordship is by far too puffed up in his own consequence to know how to appreciate you properly.”
Abby felt her face to be burning. “My lord, I implore you, do not put me to the blush.”
“It is already too late,” said Lord Darlington with a laugh. “You blush quite becomingly, more than any other lady of my acquaintance.”
“How well I know it! It is a mortification to me, indeed,” said Abby, sighing.
“Why should it be? So many have lost the naiveté which you so delightfully exemplify,” said Lord Darlington. He pulled out a chair and offered the seat to her. “I find your blushes . . . adorable.”
“Oh!” Abby slipped into the chair. She did not know what to say or, if it came to that, where to look. She dared not meet her escort’s glance, suspecting that she would be even more put out of countenance by his expression. There was that in his voice that was a caress, and which set her pulses to pounding. He had pushed in her chair and was still half-bent, his head almost at a level beside her shoulder. If she turned her head just so, her lips would very nearly touch his.
“Allow me to drop a word of caution in your ear, dear ma’am. Lord Fielding is at least worthy of your notice. Not so Mr. Farnham.”
That name acted like a douche of cold water on her, steadying her seesawing emotions. As Lord Darlington took the seat beside her, Abby turned her head and looked squarely at him. With a fair assumption of dignity, she said, “My lord, do you dare to question whom I choose to associate with?”
“Not at all,” said Lord Darlington suavely, his glance flicking toward her from under narrowed lids. His dark eyes were impenetrable in expression. “I merely give you friendly warning. Mr. Farnham is perhaps not so honorable as one might like.”
“I believe I am not without protection, my lord,” said Abby in gentle set-down.
Lord Darlington understood her precisely, as could be seen by his faintly mocking smile. “Ah, I ha
ve been stung, indeed! I shall take better care in future, believe me!”
Abby shook her head, smiling. She attended to her other partner for a few moments, conversing with greater ease than she might have done a few weeks previously, but her thoughts were never far from her passage with Lord Darlington. When she was able to turn back to him, she said, “My lord, since you have brought up a certain gentleman’s name, I should like to talk to you for just a moment regarding him.”
Lord Darlington’s brows rose. “Indeed, Miss Fairchilde?”
Abby almost disbelieved her own temerity, but the last meeting she had had with Lady Bethany was vivid enough in her mind to cause her to press on despite how cowardly she felt. “Is he truly so very bad, my lord? I know many who—who have not the least objection to Mr. Farnham.”
Lord Darlington regarded her thoughtfully. There was a certain grimness about his mouth. “And you are one of them, Miss Fairchilde?”
“Pray do not misunderstand me, my lord! I am hardly acquainted with the gentleman,” said Abby quickly.
The tension in his lordship’s expression dissipated. “I am glad to hear that, at all events,” he said. “I know only what I have heard, Miss Fairchilde. The gentleman is a hardened gamester and possesses a few other peccadilloes that make him quite an unsuitable parti.”
“Yet he is received everywhere,” said Abby.
“Not everywhere, Miss Fairchilde,” said Lord Darlington dryly. “What is your interest in Mr. Farnham?”
Abby cast her gaze at his face, trying to read his expression. His eyes were inscrutable, however. “I have none, my lord. However, Lady Bethany—”
“I understand you, ma’am! All too well, I fear,” said Lord Darlington. His mouth curled unpleasantly. “Did she put you up to this?”
Abby denied it swiftly. “Of course not! Lady Bethany is my friend, however, and she has been so desperately unhappy that—”