Lord Darlington's Darling

by Gayle Buck

  “And you, Sylvan?” She clutched his sleeve, looking up at him with a desperate appeal in her eyes.

  Lord Darlington smiled with an effort. His thoughts were already coursing ahead. “You are my sister. I shall always love you.”

  “Thank you, Sylvan,” said Lady Bethany humbly. She straightened her shoulders. “I shall go upstairs at once to Mama’s boudoir.”

  “I shall take you to her myself,” amended Lord Darlington. He slanted an eyebrow at her. “You may need my support in order to pluck up your courage.”

  “Yes, I have been so stupid,” agreed Lady Bethany. She stopped him, simply by pulling on his sleeve. Her eyes burned in her white face. “Sylvan, find them! Find Abby, before it’s too late!”

  “Never fear, I shall.”

  Lord Darlington swiftly escorted his sister upstairs and placed her into Lady Darlington’s care. Then he called for his swiftest phaeton and four to be readied and to be brought around to the front. Meanwhile, he bestirred his valet to set out raiment suitable for driving and was changed in record time. Scarce a half hour had passed before he flung himself up into the phaeton and drove off.

  Lord Darlington, from further questioning of his sister, had a fair notion what Mr. Farnham’s plans were. However, he curbed his impatience to set off in swift pursuit until he had paid a visit to the Crockers.

  He was in a cold, deadly frame of mind. The butler’s insistence that the Crockers were not accepting visitors that morning scarcely registered with him. By the simple expedient of thrusting aside the butler, he gained entrance to the Crocker town house and went with swift step into the entry hall. He heard raised voices in the breakfast room, a reference to Abby, and pushed open the door without ceremony.

  The occupants looked around at the unexpected entrance. “My lord!” Mr. Crocker was clearly of no mind to observe the niceties. “What is the meaning of this intrusion?”

  “Sir! I did attempt to stop his lordship—!” exclaimed the butler, crowding in behind Lord Darlington.

  Lord Darlington had spied the sheet dangling from Mrs. Crocker’s hand. He nodded at it. His grim expression was magnified by the harshness of his voice. “I see that you have a note, as well!”

  Mr. Crocker stared very hard at Lord Darlington. He waved at the butler. “That will do, Tarley. You may return to your duties.”

  Much ruffled, the butler withdrew from the room and closed the door behind him with a great show of dignity. It was lost on Lord Darlington, who stepped forward with his hand outstretched. “May I, Mrs. Crocker?”

  Mrs. Crocker glanced uncertainly at her husband. “Really, I do not see that—”

  “Give it to his lordship, Melissa. If he comes, as I apprehend he does, about my sister-in-law, then I should like to hear what he has to say,” said Mr. Crocker.

  Mrs. Crocker did as she had been bid, her frown showing clearly that she did not like it. “I cannot imagine that his lordship is in Abby’s confidence,” she said.

  Lord Darlington swiftly read the short note and returned it. “True, ma’am. However, my sister Lady Bethany was admitted to Miss Fairchilde’s confidence with just such a correspondence this morning,” he said in a clipped voice. He turned to Mr. Crocker. “Sir, I make you the compliment of understanding already that I care deeply for Miss Fairchilde. I intend to do all in my power to save her from this reckless action, whether you will it or not.”

  The door to the breakfast room opened. A self-assured voice said, “No need to show me in. I consider myself quite one of the family.” Lord Fielding stepped into the room, smiling and certain of his welcome.

  Mr. Crocker bit out an annoyed exclamation.

  “But why would Abby do such a thing?” asked Mrs. Crocker on a bewildered note, scarcely registering Lord Fielding appearance. “I do not understand, for she never gave any indication of partiality for Mr. Farnham. Indeed, I quite thought she disliked him amazingly.”

  “She has done it because she cherishes some quixotic notion that she can save my sister Lady Bethany from her own folly,” bit out Lord Darlington.

  There was a short silence, while Mr. and Mrs. Crocker exchanged a quick look. It was Lord Fielding who broke it.

  “I flatter myself to be a fairly intelligent man. I apprehend that Miss Fairchilde has behaved in an unwise manner.” Lord Fielding puffed out his cheeks and shook his head. “I am astounded. Indeed, when I recall our last conversation, I am filled with dismay. I had quite thought I had laid to rest Miss Fairchilde’s unfortunate, though admittedly charitable, inclination to go to the aid of a certain hapless female. I gather the female in question is none other than Lady Bethany. Unhappy girl! It is to be hoped, Lord Darlington, that the scandal will be soundly squelched.”

  Lord Darlington and the Crockers had equally been held by astonishment at Lord Fielding’s revelation. Lord Darlington recovered first. “My lord, what know you of this business?” he asked between clenched teeth.

  “Why, enough to know it isn’t any business of mine,” said Lord Fielding firmly. “I recommended Miss Fairchilde wash her hands of the affair, but I perceive she has not followed my advice.” He shook his head over it and added heavily, “I came today to cry pardon with Miss Fairchilde. We had quarreled over this idiotic nonsense and she uttered hasty words, which I am certain she must by now regret. In short, Miss Fairchilde sent me to the roundabout.”

  “And very wisely, too,” said Mrs. Crocker warmly, her eyes alight with anger. “How dare you advise my sister in such a way, over such a weighty matter? Poor Abby! And poor Lady Bethany! Really, my lord! I am quite disillusioned by you.”

  Lord Fielding looked surprised. “But I assure you, Mrs. Crocker, I intended it all for the best. We could not have Miss Fairchilde involved in scandal over a hurly-burly female who thought so little of her reputation as to contemplate elopement!”

  “My lord, let me remind you that you speak of my sister,” said Lord Darlington in a deadly, quiet voice.

  Mr. Crocker looked quickly at the marquess. What he saw in Lord Darlington’s face made him intervene quickly. “Lord Fielding, you will say nothing of this day’s events.”

  “Quite,” said Lord Fielding emphatically. “I want nothing to do with it.”

  “Peter, my patience is all at an end!” exclaimed Mrs. Crocker, regarding Lord Fielding with something like loathing.

  “I couldn’t agree with you more, my dear.” Mr. Crocker firmly took Lord Fielding’s arm. “Allow me to show you out, my lord. I am persuaded you will understand. We have a bit occupying our minds just now and it is not convenient to visit with you.”

  “Of course! My feelings are all with you and Mrs. Crocker, sir. I shall call again later, when I shall be assured of finding Miss Fairchilde at home,” said Lord Fielding.

  “You do that,” said Mr. Crocker, ruthlessly thrusting Lord Fielding through the door and setting up a shout for the butler. “Tarley, his lordship is just leaving. Pray show him out.”

  When he turned back into the breakfast room, he shut the door decisively behind him. Mr. Crocker came toward Lord Darlington, his hand outstretched. “I shall not inquire the details, my lord, to spare you embarrassment on behalf of your sister. I have not much liked you, Darlington. But you prove yourself a friend in our time of need, at least.”

  “Certainly more than that worm of a man!” exclaimed Mrs. Crocker, flashing a glance at the breakfast room door.

  “I intend to be more than a friend to Miss Fairchilde,” said Lord Darlington shortly. “I set out at once, sir.”

  “And I with you,” said Mr. Crocker at once.

  Lord Darlington looked at him, then suddenly smiled. “Very well, sir! Let us be off. My phaeton is at the door. I stayed so long only to learn what you might know and to apprise you of my intentions.”

  “To the chase, then!” Mr. Crocker shouted for his butler again, demanding his hat and greatcoat. While these items were being fetched, he turned to lift his wife’s hands to his lips, one after the other. “I
shall bring her home safely, Melissa,” he said quietly.

  Mrs. Crocker’s eyes were awash with tears and her smile wavered. “I know you shall, my dear one.” She turned to Lord Darlington. “Godspeed, my lord.”

  Lord Darlington bowed. He waited impatiently for Mr. Crocker to hastily don greatcoat and hat before striding out of the town house. He leaped up into the phaeton. Mr. Crocker climbed in on the opposite side. Lord Darlington cracked his whip, and the team set off.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  At first there was no conversation between Lord Darlington and Mr. Crocker, each man being caught up in his own silent thoughts. In addition, Lord Darlington was concentrating on his driving. At that early hour the traffic was light in the fashionable quarter of London, but as the phaeton passed quickly through the streets there began to be a steady flow of dray wagons and coaches and other conveyances of produce and merchandise. Tight-lipped, a frown of abstraction between his brows, Lord Darlington handled his high-spirited team with expert hands. Once, as the phaeton nipped neatly between a ponderous mail coach and a wagon with but inches to spare, Mr. Crocker exclaimed, “Bravo!”, giving credit where it was due.

  However, in short order the metropolis was left behind and the hunters turned onto the Great North Road. The 200-mile highway to Scotland and Gretna Greene, where a fleeing couple could be wed over the anvil, was then speeding past beneath the phaeton’s flying wheels.

  Mr. Crocker spoke the question that was uppermost in both their minds. “How much of a start do you think they have on us, Darlington?”

  “I wish I knew. Several hours, perhaps,” replied Lord Darlington shortly.

  “Abby’s bed was not slept in,” remarked Mr. Crocker colorlessly.

  “Ill-tidings, sir,” said Lord Darlington, feeling a sinking in his heart. Then black fury suddenly rose up inside him, pushing aside the faltering of hope in his breast.

  “We shall find them! We shall come up in time!” He spoke grimly from between clenched teeth.

  With a flick of his wrists, he put the horses into a faster pace. The team was fresh. The horses could run awhile before he was forced to pull them in and steady them for distance.

  “I doubt Farnham will have horses exchanged at every post,” observed Mr. Crocker hopefully. “I heard he is none too plump in the pocket. A bad gambler, they say.”

  Lord Darlington flashed a wolfish smile at his companion. “Then we are assured of a speedy outcome!”

  Mr. Crocker regarded the marquess for several seconds. “What do you intend, my lord? With Farnham, I mean?”

  Lord Darlington glanced at him. Quite coldly, his expression one of ice, he said evenly, “I daresay I shall kill him.”

  Mr. Crocker smiled slightly and took a firmer hold on the seat railing.

  The conversation lagged after that. Mile after mile swept by. The pale sun rose higher as mid-morning approached. At every village and posting house and tollgate, word was sought of the runaways. There was enough gleaned from stable hands and gatekeepers to keep them on the scent. Twice, they discovered that Mr. Farnham had called for a new team.

  “But they ain’t anything like these ‘uns, m’lord,” said a stable hand, admiring Lord Darlington’s team. “Slugs, they were.”

  Lord Darlington relayed this bit of news to his companion.

  “Good,” said Mr. Crocker, climbing back up in the phaeton and settling on the seat. He felt refreshed by the pint of ale that he had tossed back in the taproom while Lord Darlington had put his questions. “Perhaps they’ll throw lame.”

  “That would aid us, indeed,” said Lord Darlington with the hint of a smile.

  Eventually, Lord Darlington was forced to exchange his team for another. Though the job horses were not the sweet goers that his own had been, they were well enough.

  Mr. Crocker brought out his pocket watch and consulted it. “At the rate we have been traveling, we must have gained on them. I estimate we should come up on them at any time. We’ve been at it for six hours.”

  The phaeton rounded a bend in the road, and Lord Darlington swerved the team, narrowly missing an overturned chaise. As they passed, he saw that the hind axle had been splintered in half. “Someone had a nasty tumble,” he remarked coolly.

  Mr. Crocker twisted his head to look backward at the deserted wreckage. “Do you think it is possible-?”

  “We shall see at the next village,” said Lord Darlington.

  As the village came into sight, he slowed the team and looked for a posting house or inn. Quickly enough, he found it. The inn was tucked back from the road, the wall surrounding it garmented in a profusion of wild honeysuckle. Lord Darlington smartly tooled the phaeton into the yard and stopped before the door. He jumped down and strode toward the entrance. Mr. Crocker followed more slowly, stiff from sitting so long.

  Even before Lord Darlington entered the dim, cool taproom, he became aware of a commotion of raised voices somewhere inside. He went swiftly in, his glance keen for all around. There was no one in the taproom, an unusual circumstance for that time of day. But he found a motley group crowding around the stair bottom. An excited babble informed him of the shocking scandal that had taken place just a quarter hour before.

  Lord Darlington pushed swiftly through the crowd and bounded up the stairs, his heart pounding. On the landing, he shouldered his way through the open door. He stopped on the threshold, held back by astonishment and a rush of relief.

  Abby was calmly binding a rough bandage onto Mr. Farnham’s shoulder, which was bloodied through the rent in his shirt. The gentleman leaned his head limply against the chair back, his mouth tight-set in a whitened face. A bowl of bloody water was set on the table, along with a pile of dirtied strips of linen. Beside it was laid a long-barreled, silver-mounted dueling piece.

  The innkeeper was volubly expressing his distress and disapproval at such goings on in his house, even as he was expertly cleaning away the signs of the debacle. “Now, miss, as I’m telling you, I won’t have it. No, whatever I’m paid for the trouble you’ve caused! You’ll have to leave, both you and the gentleman. Wicked, is what I call it!”

  “Cease, fool,” said Mr. Farnham wearily but as though he had no hope of being attended to by the innkeeper.

  “I assure you, I am leaving on the next mail,” said Abby calmly, putting a last knot in the bandage.

  “No, you are not,” snarled Mr. Farnham, lifting his head to glare at her. He grasped her wrist unkindly with his good hand. “Do you think this alters things?”

  “On the contrary,” said Lord Darlington, moving leisurely forward. “Everything is changed.”

  Abby spun, her wrist still tethered. Mr. Farnham looked quickly around, his brows snapping together. “Darlington! What do you here?”

  Abby said not a word. Her hand fluttered to her breast as she stared wide-eyed at the marquess. Her face went white, then pink.

  “Unhand her, Farnham,” said Lord Darlington with deadly quiet. His dark eyes were hard and glinting.

  Mr. Farnham gave a sharp laugh and flung Abby’s wrist from him. “Do you want the doxy, then, my lord? Then take her!”

  In one bound, Lord Darlington smashed his fist into that sneering face. Mr. Farnham flew backwards, the chair crashing to the floor.

  Lord Darlington reached down and slipped his hands about his enemy’s throat. “You are a dead man!” His fingers flexed like steel. Mr. Farnham flopped, tearing at the ruthless hands but to no avail. Choking sounds issued from his convulsing mouth. The man’s face purpled. Dimly, the marquess felt someone tugging hard at his shoulders

  “Here, now! Darlington! The man’s wounded. Cease, you madman!”

  The mists of blind rage receded slightly. Lord Darlington allowed himself to be dragged off of his victim. He was breathing rather quickly. He never turned his narrowed eyes from Farnham, who had slumped against the table and was pulling in air with great gasps.

  Shocked, with a hand knuckled at her lips, Abby had watched Lord Darlington
’s primitive attack on Mr. Farnham. His ferocity had frightened her, but not in the way she had expected. Some subliminal portion of her mind approved of the marquess’ fury, recognizing it to be a righteous one.

  “You deserve to die, Farnham,” said Lord Darlington in a low, cold voice. “I shall see to it, I promise you!”

  “Of course he deserves to die. But not here, not now,” said Mr. Crocker quickly.

  At her brother-in-law’s matter-of-fact tone, Abby gave a shaking laugh. Lord Darlington would fight for those whom he loved, to the death if need be. She knew with every fiber of her being she could implicitly trust him. It warmed her to the depths of her heart.

  The innkeeper, thrown into shock by the display of sudden violence, suddenly found his tongue. He bleated, “No, indeed, my lord! Not here, I pray you! Take the gentleman down to the other end of the village, to my rival’s house, and kill him there! Let my rival suffer loss of reputation, not me!” It was doubtful that anyone paid particular note to the innkeeper’s almost tearful plea.

  Lord Darlington turned a contemptuous shoulder on Mr. Farnham and found Abby. He took her nerveless hands and smiled down at her. There was not the least need for words, for she gave a muffled sob and flung herself into his arms. He kissed her ruthlessly and thoroughly, crushing her in his embrace.

  Mr. Crocker regarded this shocking display with admirable sangfroid. He addressed Mr. Farnham. “If I were you, I’d seize the opportunity. You’ll want to go to ground, of course. Allow me to suggest an extended journey to foreign parts.” He picked up Mr. Farnham’s coat by the collar, rather distastefully, and held it out.

  Mr. Farnham pushed himself to his feet and snatched his coat out of Mr. Crocker’s hand. With a malevolent glare, he muttered, “I am well rid of her!”

  As he pushed past, Mr. Crocker stayed him by the simple expedient of grabbing the gentleman’s wounded arm. Mr. Farnham gasped and nearly doubled over. Mr. Crocker smiled, not pleasantly. A considerable hardness clouded his eyes. “I give you fair warning, Farnham. If I hear a whisper, even the shade of a whisper, about my sister-in-law or Lady Bethany, I shall come after you myself.”