by Regina Scott
“Well done, Blythe,” Chas nodded, giving her another guinea. “I think I’ll have a chat with Mr. Beaumont. If you would see the lady into the private parlor?”
He offered Anne his hand to descend, and she took it, brushing against him as she stepped down. Many of the ladies of his acquaintance would have done it on purpose, but she looked genuinely flustered.
“This isn’t necessary,” she murmured shyly. “You don’t have to fuss over me.”
“On the contrary,” he replied, amused, “this is very necessary. You are a proper young lady, and I intend to see that you stay that way. I promise to reunite you with your escort very soon.”
He watched while she followed Blythe into the inn.
When Chas entered a while later, he found his gentlemen friends gathered in the private parlor with Anne and a protective Blythe. He was pleased to find that, although the main room of the inn was dark and dirty, the private parlor was more pleasant, with walls paneled in warm wood and a merry fire burning in the stone hearth. Blythe had apparently taken the lady’s wraps and helped her to a bench near the fire, then served her from a platter of breads, meats, and cheeses. His angel had managed to tack her hair back up in that bun. He found he much preferred it hanging wild about her face.
He was not surprised to find that his friends had joined her, keeping what at first glance appeared to be a respectful distance and demeanor. Realizing Blythe’s charge, they were obviously doing everything in their power to flirt with the lady without the barmaid recognizing it. Their attempts were only succeeding in making the lady laugh.
“Everything satisfactory?” he murmured to Blythe before joining the merriment.
“Such nice gentlemen you never did see,” Blythe returned with a scowl. “Whole bleedin’ room full of jackies, and not one of them inclined to be fresh.”
Grinning, Chas chucked her under the chin and slipped between two of this friends to get closer to his angel.
She had obviously seen him enter and was once again blushing as he sat. He grinned at her, pleased by her success with his friends. An amazing girl, this--first handling Liza, then sitting through a race as calmly as a duchess at high tea, and now holding court in this dismal inn. He watched, amused, as she tried to focus her attention on Herbert Mahlstrom’s ponderous story about his first horse race, all the while glancing in his direction under her lashes as if she wasn’t sure what his scrutiny could mean. He had no intention of making her nervous, but he found it impossible not to watch her. Like a moth to a flame, he thought wryly. Something about her draws me in.
She laughed rather loudly when the gentleman’s story finished, and Chas felt an unexpected burst of jealousy until he managed to convince himself that she did so more from nerves than any attachment for poor round-faced bilious Herbert. He took the opportunity to move a little closer.
“I’m glad to see you enjoying yourself, milady,” he murmured. She returned his smile, making it seem as if it were for him alone, when he knew the others were watching her just as closely.
“You’ve given me very pleasant company, sir,” she assured him, glancing around at his friends, all of whom were looking decidedly moon-faced to Chas. “How could I not enjoy myself?”
“Well, I’m not enjoying myself,” Herbert said with a humph beside him. “What do you mean, Prestwick, keeping a diamond of the first water all to yourself? Unfair, that’s what I call it.”
His other friends quickly chimed in, putting the lady once more to the blush.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen!” he protested laughingly. “I think I have the most cause for complaint. I’ve been out in the cold while you sit here in the company of the lady.”
The lady in question immediately looked concerned. “Are you chilled? There’s still some hot tea, I’m sure.”
She was such an innocent. “Milady,” he assured her, “one moment in your company is all I need to warm me.”
“Oh, well done,” Beaumont quipped, obviously still smarting from Chas’ earlier dressing down. “I must write that one down for future reference.”
To Chas’ surprise, the lady joined in his friends’ good-natured laughter. Mahlstrom, however was not to be deterred from his original course.
“Laugh if you like, but I for one demand an introduction.”
The young lady immediately sobered. In fact, she looked decidedly worried. Her dark eyes gazed up appealingly at Chas, and he ran several ploys through his mind on how to ensure her anonymity.
Besides, he didn’t know her first name anyway.
The door to the private parlor crashed open. Chas and his friends whirled to face it as Julian Hilcroft barreled through the door to stand in the middle of the room, panting. The lady rose to her feet at the sight of him. Although his hair was wild, his blue eyes were chips of ice, his entire body rigid in a towering rage. Even as she paled, Chas was on his feet and moving protectively in front of her.
“There you are!” Hilcroft roared, pointing at Chas. “I’ll see you thrashed, sir!”
The man was obviously out of his mind with fury. Chas had dealt with such anger before. He decided to try calm and reason first. He moved away from his angel to face the distraught Hilcroft directly.
“Now, sir, I can understand how you feel. I was deucedly high-handed. You have my assurance that everything will be put to rights.”
“Put to rights!” Hilcroft shouted. “You stole my carriage and left me to freeze at the side of the road! I’ll see you in Newgate!”
So much for reason. Chas moved to hauteur. He bowed coldly. “That, sir, is your decision. However, if you check the stables, you’ll find your carriage unharmed. I would be happy to make any restitution you think necessary to compensate for your lost time or inconvenience.”
Hilcroft relaxed slightly. Chas realized he had the advantage, but the man’s attitude galled him and he couldn’t help adding as he turned away, “If I were you, however, I would be more worried for my lady’s safety than that of my damned carriage.”
This served to reduce Hilcroft once more to sputtering incoherency, but Chas didn’t care. He turned to gazing down at his angel’s pale face. She looked stunned, but at Hilcroft’s behavior or his own, he wasn’t sure. The desire he had been feeling to protect her strengthened.
“If you would prefer, I could see you home,” he had to offer, raising her hand to his lips. The thought of her with that coxcomb disturbed him greatly. To his surprise, the lady seemed to be trembling, but she gently pulled her hand from his grasp before he be sure. A look of sadness crossed her face, as if she too were upset that Hilcroft would not think to ask after her safety. Then she crossed over to the man in obvious compassion.
She’s much more forgiving than I’d ever be, Chas thought in admiration.
“Thank you, Mr. Prestwick, for all your kindness to me,” she said, “but I have an escort.”
Hilcroft gazed down at her for a moment with a noted lack of warmth, Chas thought, especially considering the lady’s display of loyalty. When he looked up at Chas again, his face could only be called smug. Chas fought down the urge to knock the smile off his face.
She had made her choice. He bowed again, then motioned them to proceed him out the door. He watched as Hilcroft ushered the lady into the main room of the inn, where Blythe brought her wraps.
“Right sorry I am to see you go, milady,” she murmured, watching Anne tie the bows that held the pelisse shut. “And if I may say so, I think you picked the wrong gent.”
Chas quelled a smile as the lady thanked the girl. He told himself that it was for the best. She was far too much the proper young lady to be seen too often with his crowd.
As they left the inn, Chas spotted Leslie hurrying toward them from the direction of the stables. He skidded to a stop and bowed as Hilcroft swept past with Chas angel in tow.
“Sorry, old fellow,” he hissed to Chas, watching Hilcroft make his stiffly formal way across the coaching yard. “I tried to stop him, but he got away from me.
I assumed he must have gone straight for the stables, the way he kept going on about his carriage. It appears he had other property to claim first.”
“The lady isn’t his property,” Chas replied and was a bit surprised by his own vehemence. Leslie must have been as well, for his keen brown eyes narrowed suspiciously, and he glanced again after the retreating couple.
“But soon to be yours, eh?” he mused.
“Not in the slightest,” Chas assured him with a wry laugh. “I’ve been trying to convince myself that she’s out of my reach, Les. I’m not sure it’s working, but I’ve let her go twice now without making an effort to learn her first name or her direction.”
He could hear Hilcroft in the stables, shouting at the grooms. Chas turned back to the inn in disgust. “But I’ll tell you one thing,” he threw back over his shoulder at his bemused friend. “If fate is kind enough to let us meet again, I won’t make that mistake the third time.”
Chapter Three
Anne sighed as they headed back toward London. A cloud had passed over the sun, the air seemed more chill, and she had never noticed before that Julian’s horses were such slugs. Julian himself seemed just as dull, sitting stiff and proper beside her, not even attempting conversation. Stealing a look at his face, shuttered and cold, she felt chilled, and a little guilty.
She had so enjoyed herself, but it was probably wrong to feel that way, knowing what it must have cost Julian in pride. His new carriage forced into a race, himself abandoned. Little wonder he was too angry to consider her safety. To him it could only have been a nightmare; to her it was another memory to be cherished. Chas and his friends had made her feel accepted just as she was. That felt surprisingly wonderful. She only wished she could feel that way every time she went out in Society.
She thought of Agatha then and realized what the adventure would cost her if her aunt ever found out. At the very least, she’d have to endure another nasty scene, one she very much doubted she could survive with any sort of tranquility. Then she realized that Agatha might find some way to force her to marry Julian, pretending to salvage her reputation. She felt even colder in side at the thought. Could she ask him to keep it a secret?
“That was quite an adventure,” she tried, hoping to gauge his feelings by his response.
“Quite,” he snapped, profile rigid. “You will do me the honor of not mentioning it again in my hearing.”
His vehemence surprised her. Could it merely be his pride or was something else troubling him? Julian Hilcroft, jealous? It wasn’t possible.
“Of course, Mr. Hilcroft,” she assured him, determinedly pleasant. “I hope you will do me the similar honor.”
He glanced over at her, eyebrows raised in surprise, then back out over the horses. “I rather thought you enjoyed yourself.”
Anne chose her words carefully. Whatever was troubling him, she didn’t want to make it any worse. “I suppose one can’t help but get a bit caught up in the atmosphere of a race. I’m very glad no one was seriously hurt.”
“Yes, there is that,” he replied. “If I may say, Miss Fairchild, Mr. Prestwick was quite right about one thing. I should have been more concerned about your safety. A young lady of your upbringing alone with a degenerate like Prestwick. The damage to your reputation could have been irreparable. You can, of course, trust me to remain quiet about the entire affair.”
“Thank you,” Anne managed, wishing instead she were a man so that she could call him out. Oh, that she had been feeling guilty for hurting his feelings! The man had none, or he couldn’t possibly be so cavalier about wounding hers! How dare he insinuate that Chas Prestwick was anything less than a gentleman! How dare he think that she would behave in a manner that would damage her reputation.
Had she not been chaperoned from the moment she got to the inn, even if it had been by someone inexperienced like Blythe? And all the gentlemen had behaved so well. And if he had ever had the courage to race, he would know that Mr. Prestwick would have other things on his mind besides ruining her reputation. She longed to slap that smug smile off his face. Instead, she kept still, knowing that she had to keep the secret from her aunts, and Julian’s good-willed silence was the only way.
She forced herself to sit primly and make polite conversation on the ride back to Crawford House. She allowed Julian to hand her down even as Henry, her aunts’ man-of-all-work, hustled out of the house to help. Julian made to follow her into the house. Schooling her face to firmness, she turned and put a hand to his chest.
“Mr. Hilcroft, considering how our ride went, I hope you will understand that I do not feel up to company at tea today.”
Julian blinked, but otherwise his face was impassive. “Of course, Miss Fairchild. I quite understand. Another time.” He bowed, then turned back to the carriage, his bearing stiffly formal. This time she did hope she had hurt his feelings. She fought back the guilt that unkind thought caused her, telling herself firmly that he deserved it.
But she found she couldn’t let him go on such terms. She turned again, but Julian was already urging his horses forward. With a sigh, she followed Henry back up the short walk to the house.
She only remembered her Aunt Agatha’s expectations of her drive with Julian as she watched his carriage disappear around the park of St. Mary’s Circle and heard the tap of her aunt’s cane in the corridor. Anne turned away from the parlor window, where she stood in hopes the fading sunlight would warm her, and reminded herself to be polite but firm.
“Well?” her aunt demanded in the door.
“Mr. Hilcroft did not come up to scratch,” Anne reported, praying her half-truth would be enough. “I have decided to ask him to stop calling, as you suggested.” There, that had been nicely worded. She kept her head respectfully bowed, but watched her aunt through lowered lashes, unsure of her reaction.
Agatha vented a sigh of obvious vexation and hobbled to the sofa across from Anne. Lowering herself onto it, she frowned up at her niece.
“And what, pray tell, do you propose to do now?”
Anne knew she shouldn’t be surprised by the question. It was a version of the theme her aunt had been harping on for months. What was she going to do about attracting more eligible suitors? How would she encourage them to offer? When was she going to find a proper husband?
“What is there to do?” Anne said with a tired shrug. “I will continue through the Little Season and on into the Season, I suppose.”
“You suppose,” Agatha said, eyes flashing. “You will have to do better than that, girl. I intend to hear the banns read before this Season is out.”
Anne sighed. “Aunt Agatha, I can only do so much. The gentlemen have to show interest before I can encourage them.” The picture of Chas and his friends clustered around her at the inn, faces flushed, obviously enjoying her company, came to mind, and she had to force herself not to smile. If only she could generate that kind of interest in a more proper setting!
But at balls, she felt so awkward, so out of place. The other girls always seemed so much more elegant, poised, charming. They were all so much better at the flirtatious badinage everyone expected her to utter. Little wonder her suitors consisted of Julian, Mortimer, and Bert. She suddenly wasn’t sure she wanted to go through it all another Season.
Agatha was not willing to let the subject go. “And encourage them you will, those that are eligible. I shall be much vexed if I see you resort to hiding behind a potted palm again, my girl. And don’t think you can play cards with Millicent all night either. I have obviously taken too light a hand with you. From now on, you will be guided by me.”
Anne struggled to contain her temper, reminding herself once again how little she liked these scenes. Perhaps if she just agreed for now, she could think of a more useful approach later. Besides, she knew deep down that Agatha was right: something must change if she was to marry. “Yes, Aunt Agatha,” she murmured demurely.
“A shame that the ton is so thin of prospects just now,” Agatha mused, showing no si
gns of letting her go so easily. Anne fought to keep looking pleasantly complacent. “Have we anything planned before the Baminger ball in two weeks?”
Anne started to shake her head, then paused. There had been one invitation, which Agatha would surely refuse. Still, it was worth a try.
“Actually, Mr. Dent asked me to attend a poetry reading at Lady Badgerly’s.” She purposely did not add that it was to be Mortimer’s poetry that was to be read. The last thing the poor dear needed was for her aunt to make some disparaging remark next time he called, what with him being so nervous about his first public reading.
“I have no use for Mr. Dent, as well you know,” her aunt said with a sniff, and Anne’s hopes faded. “Lady Badgerly, however,” Agatha continued, frowning thoughtfully, “is known to be well connected. I daresay a number of worthy gentlemen will be there. You may go.”
“Thank you,” Anne replied, biting back anything else she might have wished to say.
She beat a hasty retreat. How strange that twice in two hours that she had been forced to thank someone when she would have much preferred to give them a severe dressing down. At times like these, she regretted that she took after Millicent much more than she did Agatha.
The next few days passed with some normality, with the only noticeable change being Julian Hilcroft’s absence at the tea table. Anne could only surmise that his anger at her had not cooled. She was relieved that she didn’t have to face him again, but, in truth, she found the time passing slowly. The sunny day of the race had been replaced by the more familiar cold grey winter days, overlain by thick, cloying fog, forcing her to remain indoors.
The occasional visit by her other suitors and friends failed to cheer her. She found her thoughts drifting with annoying frequency toward memories of the Hose and Garter Inn, but even those depressed her, as she realized that she would most likely never see Chas Prestwick again. She looked forward to the poetry reading as relief from her doldrums.