by Regina Scott
“Thank you for coming out, Mr. Prestwick,” she murmured. “Do you know Mr. Godbert Gresham?”
He bowed, and the gentleman nodded as much as his shirt points would allow.
“Good to meet you, Prestwick,” he rumbled jovially. “Heard many interesting things about you. Capital chap, what. Told Anne to ask you out.”
“Your servant, sir,” Chas said with a nod. So Gresham was allowed to use her given name. A suitor, then?
“I don’t mean to detain you,” Anne continued, drawing his eyes back to her. “I simply wanted to repeat that I was sorry I couldn’t visit today. I had made a prior commitment to Mr. Gresham, you see. Bert’s family lived near our home in Devonshire while I was growing up, so we’ve know each other for years. He’s the closest thing I have to a brother.”
Chas suddenly decided that he liked Bert Gresham a great deal.
“Doing it too brown, Anne, old girl,” Gresham said with a shrug that caused his shirt points to dig into his double chins. “Been sweet on her for years, but she won’t have me. Holding out for bigger game.”
He sounded singularly undisturbed by this statement, and Anne managed a polite smile as if to acknowledge the joke. Chas found himself wondering how true it was. She had gone to a lot of trouble to convince him of her sincere regret if she were a fortune hunter. After all, it was well known he had only a small income from Malcolm. He wasn’t sure what game she was playing, but he was willing to play along for the time being.
“And why shouldn’t she?” he said with a grin to Gresham. “A diamond of the first water, that’s our Anne.” He turned his gaze to her and was surprised to find her regarding him quite closely, as if she wasn’t sure how to take his remark.
Something urged him to reassure her. “Sincerely, Miss Fairchild, I appreciate your explanation of the situation. I look forward to your next visit. Please enjoy your drive.”
She nodded and sat back in her seat. Gresham bid him goodbye and signaled his driver to move on.
Chas reentered the house in a better frame of mind, although the meeting had given him much to think about. Was Anne Fairchild hunting a fortune, or better, a title to go with it? If she was, she hung about with the unlikeliest group--the pompous Hilcroft, bumptious Dent, and popinjay Gresham. And she certainly went out of her way to keep his regard. It made no sense.
He had little time to mull it over for Leslie arrived a short time later for their usual morning ride. He was less than enthusiastic at Chas’ polite refusal.
“I was at your beck and call last night, which was a crashing bore, I can tell you,” he grumbled, slumping down in one of the library chairs, “and now you plan to change your morning as well? You said Mrs. Fairchild is with the countess. Why must you hang about?”
“What if Mrs. Fairchild should take her leave before we return? Or worse, what if she should unwittingly upset Mother?”
“If that happens, you’ll not be much use,” Leslie informed him unfeelingly. “You proved that last night.”
Rames appeared in the doorway, politely coughing to interrupt. “Pardon me, sir, but the countess wishes to know if Mrs. Fairchild can stay to nuncheon.”
“That tears it,” Leslie proclaimed. “You have to go with me now.”
“Yes, Rames, that will be fine,” Chas said, then he turned to Leslie with a grin. “All right, old man, we can go, but not for the usual ride. Change your clothes--I have better sport in mind.”
Obviously intrigued, Leslie hurried to comply.
That was quite enough introspection for one day, Chas told himself as he drove Leslie, now dressed as he was in dark jacket and light-colored chamois breeches, toward Hyde Park in his phaeton. He wasn’t even going to consider why he might want to change his habitual morning ride, one of the few habits he had picked up from his brother, just on the chance that he might be able to see Anne again. He was out for a lark with Leslie, nothing odd about that. Time enough to consider it all later.
It proved to be rather easy to find Gresham’s carriage among the others in the park. It was still early in the day for most of London’s society, so the paths were fairly free of traffic. He was pleased by the look of surprised gratification on Anne’s face as he pulled up beside them.
“Good morning again, Gresham,” he hailed, quickly introducing Leslie. “I’m sorry to intrude,” he continued after all the bows had been taken, “but I was telling Leslie about your coat, and he simply had to see it.”
Gresham beamed as Leslie shot Chas a quick look of annoyance. “An original,” Gresham proclaimed, preening. “Happy to give you the direction of my tailor.”
“Ah, the very thing. Perhaps if we were to switch places for a time so that you two might discuss it in more detail?”
Gresham happily agreed.
“Oh, well done,” Leslie quipped as Chas drew the horses to a stop. “I suppose I’m to keep the gentleman busy while you dally with the lady. Shabby treatment, if I may say so.”
Chas grinned at him. “You never know. Gresham may have hidden depths.”
“Oh, of course. Most likely he had original underclothing as well.”
Chuckling, Chas tossed the reins to his friend, who suddenly realized he was being given an opportunity to handle Chas’ prize bays and brightened.
Leslie set the phaeton at a sharp clip, obviously enjoying his chance at the reins. Gresham’s driver was hard put to keep up, so that the landau soon lagged behind. Anne sat across from Chas with her hands folded in her lap, gazing out at the bleak winter scenery as calmly as if it were a balmy spring day with all the blossoms in bloom. Her face was hooded, and Chas wondered what had caused her to withdraw. He had only seen the look once before--in the coaching yard of the Hose and Garter Inn. It suddenly dawned on him that perhaps he had been a little too wild for her. He decided to try something more conventional.
“Lovely weather for February,” he began, but even as the words left his mouth, he felt ridiculous. Probably the first time I’ve ever discussed the weather with a woman, he thought.
Anne turned away from the window, her usual serene self. He thought he detected a slight smile. “Surely you did not arrange for this meeting to discuss the weather, Mr. Prestwick.”
Chas blinked, nonplused. “I once thought you might be a sorceress, Miss Fairchild. I’m beginning to think I was right. Tell me, why do you think I arranged this?”
She frowned. “I have been considering it, and I am at a loss, sir. I cannot credit that Lord Petersborough really wanted to know the direction of Bert’s tailor. His clothes are atrocious.”
Chas chuckled. “No, no, not atrocious, original.” He was pleased to see her smile return.
“Yes, they are that,” she allowed. “He does it on purpose, you know. That and speaking in that country drawl. He’s quite brilliant, but terribly afraid of being taken for a bluestocking. Your friend may find himself in difficulties if he attempts to converse on anything of substance.”
He found himself appreciating the way she confided in him. “Leslie might surprise him as well,” he told her. “He’s rather bright himself, for all that he hides it behind a boyish charm.”
“Have you known him long?”
“Since I moved to London, perhaps six years ago. I was the first one to beat him in a carriage race, and we’ve been friends ever since.” As she nodded in understanding, he wondered suddenly whether that might be her game. If she were hunting a title or a fortune, Leslie was well supplied with both. The only son of a marquis, he would someday inherit all. He was notoriously wary of being leg shackled, but if she could worm her way into his good graces through Chas’ regard, she might have a chance. Somehow, he couldn’t believe she could be so manipulative.
“Is something wrong, Mr. Prestwick?” she said. “You have the oddest look on your face. Have I done something to offend you?”
He’d have to be more careful in her presence until he knew better what she was about. “Not at all, my dear,” he said with a cheerful smile. �
�I was just thinking that perhaps you should get to know Leslie a little better.” She looked surprised, which made him feel a little better, but he signaled to Gresham’s driver. “Coachman, see if you can catch up with Mr. Gresham and Lord Petersborough in my phaeton.”
“Shouldn’t be ‘ard, sir,” the coachman called back, surprising him. “They seem to ‘ave been stopped by a gent on ‘orseback. We’ll be comin’ along side in ‘alf a mo.”
Chas leaned over, twisting to see ahead of the landau. Through the wide window in the hood, he could make out the phaeton up ahead but not the gentleman who had stopped it. He sat back, frowning. “I wonder what’s up. Can you see, Miss Fairchild?”
Anne peered out the opening on her side. “I can see a tall gentleman on horseback next to the phaeton. I don’t recognize him.” She leaned back and looked at Chas in obvious concern. “He has a decided frown. I hope nothing’s wrong.”
Chas sighed. “No doubt Leslie took a turn too fast and scared his horse. He has a bad habit on turns. That’s how I won the first race.”
“Surely Lord Petersborough isn’t dangerous,” she said with a frown. Chas couldn’t tell whether she was concerned that he was maligning her intended or whether she was merely worried about the safety of her friend Gresham. He had no time to find out for the landau was coming up alongside the phaeton. His own carriage sat so much higher than Gresham’s that he still couldn’t see the gentleman. He could, however, hear him, and a chill ran through him.
“I have no quarrel with you, sir,” he was saying to Gresham in cold fury. “Lord Petersborough and I are well acquainted, and he can vouch for my right to inquire after the owner of this ridiculous vehicle that nearly ran me off the road.”
“As I happen to be holding the reins, my lord,” Leslie replied heatedly, “I see no reason to respond. Your quarrel can only be with me.”
Chas sighed, knowing he couldn’t let Leslie take all the blame. With a wry smile to Anne, he slid past her and stepped up into the phaeton. “Cut line, Les,” he murmured with a touch on his friend’s shoulder. “It’s me he wants.” He looked down at the man, noting that his dark blue riding jacket and fawn pants were spotless, his black short-cropped hair smooth for having just been run off the road. His blue eyes were blocks of ice in a cold, aristocratic face. Something clenched in his chest. “Isn’t that right, my lord?”
The gentleman shook his head. “At least you have the decency to step forward instead of hiding behind your friends.”
Chas gave him a mocking bow. “As always, your compliments quite turn my head.”
The gentleman gripped the reins so hard that he set his stallion dancing, its nostrils flared in a snort, its sharp hooves flailing. Chas’ pair were immune to the behavior of other horses, he knew, and Leslie could handle them even if they did decide to bolt, but Gresham’s driver was obviously less skilled. One of the greys reared in the traces, and the others flinched back, causing the landau to shudder violently.
“Anne!” Chas and Gresham shouted at once. Chas leapt up beside the driver, and Gresham clambered down to try to soothe the horses. In the few moments it took to get them under control, Chas felt his temper rising. What if she’d fallen? What if she’d been knocked unconscious? As soon as he felt it was safe, he jumped from the seat and dashed to the opening in the carriage. “Miss Fairchild, are you all right?”
Gresham was panting at his elbow. “Is she all right?”
Anne’s face appeared in the opening, pale, with her bonnet askew, but her usual serene look on her face. “I’m fine, Bert, Mr. Prestwick. Just a little shaken. Are the horses all right?”
Chas heard Gresham expel a breath even as he did. He opened his mouth to reassure her, but the voice of the one who had caused all the trouble broke in.
“I might have known that all this came about because of one of your dalliances with a light skirt.”
White hot anger seared through Chas even as Anne gasped and Gresham paled. He leapt back up on the phaeton, for once ready for a confrontation.
“I could cheerfully call you out for that,” he snarled. The man looked surprised, and in the driver’s seat, Leslie gaped. Gresham clambered up beside him.
“I’ll second you, old man,” he declared, glaring at the gentleman.
“No, please!” Anne cried, and Chas turned to see her hanging onto the edge of the landau, white-faced.
“Please?” she begged him as if the anger she must see in his face scared her. Much as he would have liked an outlet for it, he found he couldn’t go against her wishes. He bowed to her and turned back with narrowed eyes. “It appears I will settle for an apology to the lady.”
The man eyed him for a moment then inclined his head in Anne’s direction. “My apologies, madam. I’m not used to seeing a lady in such company. We’ll talk of this further, sir.” Before Chas could reply, he wheeled the stallion and galloped off.
“When you promise sport, you provide it,” Leslie quipped.
“What a bounder!” Gresham exclaimed. He clapped Chas on the shoulder. “Well done, Prestwick! Gave as good as you got. Proud to have been with you, what Anne?”
Chas shook himself and looked back at Anne, feeling suddenly sheepish at his reaction.
She was watching him, her grey eyes dark with concern. “I’m very glad you didn’t call him out, Mr. Prestwick,” she murmured. “I would hate to be the cause of bloodshed.”
“Nonsense!” Gresham declared before he could answer. “Scoundrel deserved it! Can’t get away with calling our Anne a light skirt, eh what, Prestwick?”
Chas managed a smile at Gresham’s magnanimous sharing of the lady. “No indeed, Mr. Gresham.”
“Call me Bert, old man! We should be friends! Like the knights of old, what! Battling the dragon for the lady fair.”
“Hardly a dragon,” Anne said with a smile. “Still, I wonder who he was. He did seem to know you, Mr. Prestwick.”
Chas gave a wry laugh. “Oh, he knows me all right. That, Miss Fairchild, is the esteemed Earl of Prestwick, my brother, Malcolm.”
Chapter Seven
Anne settled back against the brown leather seat of the landau, relieved that Chas had accepted Bert’s offer that they all travel back to his family’s town house together for an early nuncheon, sending his phaeton home with Bert’s groom. It gave her more time with him, and it kept him away from his brother, giving them both time to reflect. She only wished she had a little time to reflect as well. To think that he had been willing to do his brother violence to protect her name. This was romance stretched a bit too far.
Under her lashes, she peered at him as he sat diagonally from her next to Leslie. Bert had thrown the hood back on the landau so that he might converse with them while driving. His broad back in the tartan plaid made a colorful backdrop for Chas and Leslie. Chas was his usual charismatic self again, but she couldn’t forget the murderous rage she had seen in his eyes. Part of her was thrilled that he would rush to protect her, the other part recoiled from the intensity of his anger. She wanted to say something to him, but she had no idea what.
“Quite an adventure, what?” Bert was calling back. “Suspect this sort of thing happens to you quite often, Prestwick.”
“Bert!” Anne protested, appalled.
“No, he’s right, Miss Fairchild,” Chas replied with uncharacteristic quietness. His eyes seemed to challenge her to disagree, and she found that she couldn’t, not after all the times she’d seen him. “Trouble seems to be drawn to me like filings to a magnet.” Anne flinched at the weariness in his tone.
“And glad we are of it!” Leslie put in beside him. Anne frowned at his insensitivity, but he ignored her to continue, clapping Chas on the shoulder. “Let’s face it, old fellow, our lives would be a misery of boredom without you to stir things up.”
“Hear, hear!” Gresham chimed in. “Best of fellows, that’s what I say.”
Chas took their praise with what Anne considered a rather sad smile. “Thank you, gentlemen. But per
haps we’d better consider what the fairer sex thinks. What do you say, Miss Fairchild? Do you find my . . . wildness invigorating?”
She met his eyes straight on, refusing to worry about what Leslie or Bert might think. “Yes, I do, Mr. Prestwick. Although, as I said earlier, I would hate for you to come to harm on my account.”
“No worries on that score, my dear,” he murmured, and she was once again forced to look away from what she saw in his eyes.
“There you have it,” Gresham declared. “We are in agreement, Prestwick, so you must believe it.”
Chas smiled. “Yes, I suppose I must.”
Leslie was frowning beside him. “I hate to spoil this delightful conversation, but I believe we’re being followed.”
Gresham swiveled to look back, and Chas leaned to see beyond Anne. She tried not to succumb to the temptation to turn as well.
Bert frowned. “The older gentlemen in the black curricle?”
Leslie nodded. “They’ve been behind us since the park. Recognize them, Chas?”
Chas sat back, looking thoughtful. “Champsworth’s the one driving, isn’t it? The one with the balding pate and the slack jaw? I’m not sure of the other.”
“Never met them,” Bert said with a shrug. “Sure of it.”
“Have a look, Miss Fairchild,” Leslie suggested. “He’s familiar, but I can’t place him.”
Grateful for the excuse, Anne turned and peered back. What she saw made her turn swiftly around to face the gentlemen, her stomach doing a flip-flop. “I know the one with the sharp features and grey overcoat. His name is Meadows. He married an acquaintance of mine last Season.”
Chas and Leslie exchanged glances. “Letitia Meadows, I’d wager,” Leslie said.
Anne frowned. “Yes. How did you know?”
Again he and Chas exchanged glances, and she suddenly felt annoyed at how easily they excluded her.
Chas tapped Bert, who was peering backward again, on the hip to get his attention. “I’ll have to ask you to stop the coach, old man. Looks like we’ll have to dine another day.”