The Unflappable Miss Fairchild

by Regina Scott

  “If it’s such a short distance, I don’t see why I can’t walk,” she proclaimed stubbornly. “I don’t need to be a burden to either of you.”

  Although she couldn’t see his face well, she could hear the relief in Leslie’s voice. “Could you? I say, Miss Anne, you’re a great gun!”

  “Don’t be an ass!” Chas snapped, though Anne couldn’t tell if he was addressing her or his friend. “That leg could well be broken and shouldn’t bear weight. The lady is coming with me. Leslie, just find that damn lodge of yours quickly.” He heaved Anne up into his arms before she or Leslie could protest.

  So they started off again, Leslie leading, Chas and Anne following. Anne lay stiff in Chas’ arms, miffed that he refused to allow her to help. But as she lay there, she was dimly aware that the trees and brambles seemed less difficult, the woods less menacing and almost peaceful. The world seemed to slowly recede until there was nothing but the tight band of Chas’ arms, the ache in her leg, and the creeping cold. A heaviness settled inside her, gradually spreading until she found it hard even to keep her eyes open.

  “Anne!” Chas’ sharp cry roused her from a pleasant dream in which she was curled up near a roaring fire in the library of the London house. She smiled up at him, his face a pale oval in the moonlight, his green eyes wide.

  “Such lovely eyes,” she thought, and was surprised to hear the words echo in the dark. Had she said them aloud? “Oh, I beg your pardon!”

  “Les!” Even in her numbed state, she could hear the panic in his voice and wondered at it. “Les, get back here!”

  “Here, Chas! I’ve found it. Straight ahead and to your right.” Leslie’s voice rang with triumph.

  The last thing Anne felt was Chas stumbling ahead. Then the dreams took hold once more.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chas stumbled into a clearing, Anne a dead weight in his arms. Ahead, he could see Leslie standing before a black monolith of a building. As he got closer, he could make out a small cottage, perhaps two stories tall, with tiny shuttered windows and a heavy oak door. An oak door with a stout padlock.

  He sank to his knees and lay Anne on the hard earth of the yard. In the moonlight, she looked unnaturally pale, and the oddest smile played on her blue-tinged lips. Even the sight of her in the carriage had been more heartening than this. It was as if she were already heaven bound.

  He rose and joined Leslie before the door.

  “Hazeltine does a good job of securing his property, I must say,” Leslie mused. “Think we can get through that?”

  “We have to,” Chas declared, “or Anne’s done for.” The fear for her safety, the injustice of coming so far only to be denied, and the strain of the physical exertion suddenly burst upon him and, with a wild yell, he hurled himself against the door. He pulled back, ruefully rubbing his shoulder, but was surprised to see that the wood around the lock had splintered.

  “I think you have it!” Leslie cried. “Together!”

  It took only two more blows of their combined strength before the door flew open, and they fell into the lodge.

  Chas scrambled up and ran to get Anne. As he carried her over the threshold, he saw Leslie squatting by a huge stone fireplace. He carried Anne over to it and propped her up gently upon a high-backed, thick-armed carved wooden seat nearby. A moment more and Leslie had lit the fire.

  As the warmth and light grew, Chas looked around. The main floor of the lodge consisted of one large sitting room, with a small kitchen behind the fireplace. Massive open wooden stairs along one wall led to a sleeping loft above. The sitting room was sparsely furnished with several of the large, carved wooden chairs like the one in which he had seated Anne, an oak plank table, and a few chests, which proved to be locked. Antlers, marks no doubt of Hazeltine’s hunting prowess, sprinkled the rough-hewn walls. There was a large brass box near the fireplace, half full of kindling, which Leslie was adding to the fire. As he finished, Chas ordered him upstairs to see if he could find any blankets or warm clothing.

  Chas swung Anne’s chair closer to the blazing fire, the screech of wood legs against wood floor echoing in the nearly empty building. Kneeling before her, he took her hands and tried to chafe warmth back into them. She didn’t stir, nor did the smile he so feared leave her face.

  “Thorough man, our Lord Hazeltine,” Leslie reported, reappearing. He tossed a worn wool blanket, obviously meant for horses, to Chas. “This is all he left for the mice, besides a couple of Holland covers. Too bad the hack was too precariously balanced to risk getting a few lap robes. I should have grabbed one from the curricle before it left. A minute while I check the kitchen.” He disappeared out of the firelight.

  Chas carefully wrapped the blanket around Anne’s head and shoulders. She sighed but gave no other sign that she was even aware of his presence. He was still wondering what to do next when Leslie came back.

  “No food either. I don’t want to alarm Miss Fairchild. Perhaps we should . . .” he nodded toward the far side of the room.

  “You can speak freely. Miss Fairchild is beyond concern.” Something of his fear must have sounded in his voice, for Leslie glanced at him, and then quickly at Anne. His eyes widened.

  “That cinches it, Chas. I’m going overland to Hazeltine Hall. Can’t be more than another five miles or so. With any luck, I’ll meet the search party on its way here.”

  “Les, you can’t. The temperature is falling, and you don’t know your way. You’ve a better chance staying here.”

  “I disagree. Think, Chas. If I stay, and help doesn’t arrive soon, Miss Fairchild may die. If I go, I may bring help sooner. Let me do this, Chas. Isn’t it time I did something all on my own? Besides,” he added with a grin, “if I leave you two alone, you will have won your suit.”

  Chas frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  “You and Miss Fairchild, unchaperoned in the wilderness, for hours. You’ll have to marry her.”

  Chas wasn’t sure if he should hit Leslie or thank him. The anger must have showed in his face, for Leslie stepped back.

  “Damnation, Les, I don’t want to win her that way! I thought you’d understand. I would far rather win her because she loves me!” Leslie started to respond, but Chas had had enough. He suddenly wanted nothing more than to be alone with his thoughts.

  “Go on, you clunch. Make yourself a hero. It’s far more likely that Miss Fairchild will prefer your suit to mine. Just bring that rescue party back here as quickly as you can.”

  Leslie saluted. “Yes, sir. On my way, sir.” He took one last look at the blazing fire and strode out the door.

  Chas gazed down at Anne, slumped in the chair. Now that they were alone and the fire was spreading its warmth through the room, he felt weariness wash over him. He was no closer to winning Anne then when he’d first met her. An accident was hardly an act to endear him to her, but her welcome had been decidedly chilly. She clearly had no use for him. Why did he keep forcing his attentions where they were not wanted?

  He shook off his dark thoughts and went to double-check the wood box, confirming that it was half full. Never having had to ration wood, or even make his own fire, he found he had no idea how long it would last. He turned back to Anne and leaned against the mantle, watching her. Her breathing seemed shallow in the quiet room, quick and faltering. Surely she should have woken by now.

  He felt a twinge of annoyance. Wasn’t he good for anything? Carrying her through the woods had been a struggle for every muscle in his body, but he had looked at it as a kind of penance. The lodge had been a goal; if he could just reach it, the penance would be done. Well, he had risked all and reached his goal, and the penance continued. Leslie was out risking his life to save them, and Anne lay unresponsive, perhaps beyond help. And what was he doing?

  Who was he trying to fool? He knew why he kept pestering her with his suit. He was in love with her. His life would never be right again unless she were there to share it with him. He peeled off his great coat and knelt beside her
. “Anne? Can you hear me?”

  She didn’t move, but he thought he detected a change in her breathing. He picked up her hand and was alarmed by how cold it still felt.

  “All right, my girl, it’s plain we must warm you up.” He kept up a steady stream of conversation as he carefully lifted her from the chair and into his lap. “Amazing weather this time of year, don’t you think, Miss Farichild? Oh, that’s right, we’ve discussed that before, haven’t we?”

  The day in the park seemed years ago. He took the musty horse blanket and wrapped it around both of them, leaving his arms free. “Or how about the old ‘I was dining with his Majesty last week and I said, “Prinny, old boy, your excesses simply must be trimmed. Fourteen thousand pounds for the linens in Brighton Pavillion, ee gad, man, what were you thinking? Oh, they’re of silk died to match the royal colors? Well then, a bargain!”‘“ He draped his opened great coat over the front of them.

  “Really, Miss Fairchild, I’d thought you to be better skilled at the art of dalliance. I relate a very amusing story about the Prince Regent and you cannot say a word. What’s that, you’re overcome by my wit? Well, that’s more like it.” He paused and watched the firelight play on her pale face. He tucked a strand of hair back behind her ear. “Oh, Anne. Can’t you at least speak to me?”

  The only sound was a log shifting in the fire.

  “Damnation, woman! What must I do to get your attention?” He gasped her shoulders, and her head lolled back. Moving her against his chest, he cupped her chin in one hand, bent over her and seared her lips with a kiss that bespoke all his frustration, all his fear, and all his love.

  It was a few moments before he realized that Anne’s arms had moved up around his neck, and her lips were responding with just as much feeling. He broke off and stared down into her eyes. “Anne!”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Anne found it a delicious way to wake. From a dream composed of light and cold, she had been roused by a kiss that spread warmth though her entire body. She found herself gazing fondly up into Chas’ handsome face. His eyes were wide with surprise, but she also quickly noted lines of fatigue. His hair was damp along his brow from the sweat of his exertions; it curled in dark gold wisps around his face. His cravat was askew, and his shirt points beyond repair. He had never looked more dear to her.

  She became aware that she was seated in his lap and flushed. Glancing about, she took note of the dark room and the fire. Leslie was nowhere to be seen.

  “Don’t just sit there, my girl,” Chas quipped. “Speak to me.” His tone was avuncular, but she could see the worry in his eyes.

  “What is it you want me to say?” she asked, suddenly shy.

  “Tell me you’re all right.”

  She smiled reassuringly. “I am reasonably well. Thanks to you. This, I take it, is the lodge?”

  Chas then explained their situation and Leslie’s attempt to get help. While she listened, she became fully aware of how close he held her, of his chest against her ribs, of the chair against her lower back and the scratch of the old blanket against her neck. The warmth she felt had less to do with the fire and more with his proximity.

  And what was she to do now? Aunt Agatha’s words flitted through her mind. She was supposed to be on her way to Bath to catch a wealthy husband before her reputation caught up with her. If her reputation had been bruised before, it would now be beyond repair. She could explain the innocence, the sheer necessity of the act of being alone with him, but it would do little good. A proper lady did not spend the night alone with a man who was not her husband. She was damaged goods. Agatha’s earl would never want her now.

  Yet, gazing up at Chas, the firelight flickering red in his hair, she found she couldn’t despair. Cuddling against him felt so safe, so right, that somehow it all had to come out in the end. He had finished speaking and was watching her with narrowed eyes as if unsure of her response. And why should he be sure, she realized suddenly, after the way she had behaved at their last meeting? A wave of shame washed over her, and she dropped her eyes from his.

  “Anne,” he said quietly, shifting in the chair. “I know that you had found my suit unwanted. . .”.

  “At the time I very much wanted it,” she interrupted. “It was your suggestion of a carte blanche I found impossible to accept.” When he looked at her surprised, she looked down shyly. “Much as I would have liked to.”

  He opened his mouth to respond, then quickly shut it again. He regarded her quizzically. “My dear, you have the unique ability to completely catch me off guard. We seem to be talking at cross purposes. Whatever has passed between us, I wanted to reassure you that I will do the honorable thing and ask for your hand.”

  The warmth she had been feeling abated. Was he saying he would marry her only to save her reputation? While she had been contemplating her future without a reputation, she suddenly found its potential salvation repugnant. Where was the declaration of love, the vows of undying devotion? Was she trading her hopes of a marriage d’amour for a marriage de covenence once more?

  “That isn’t necessary,” she murmured, turning to watch the fire. “As Leslie pointed out earlier, the accident was not your fault. I should hate to see you saddled with a loveless marriage because of it.”

  He recoiled as if she had dealt him a blow. “Forgive me, madam. I should have realized that even dishonor was preferable to marriage to me.”

  “Chas!” Despite herself, she cried out as the flinty mask of scorn he wore so often in public slipped over his face. She simply couldn’t stand it. There had been so many unkind words, too many assumptions of guilt. She’d had enough of the game.

  “Chas Prestwick,” she said, reaching up and taking his face, warm in the firelight and scratchy with a day’s growth of beard, into her hands. “If it were up to me, I’d have accepted an offer of marriage the first night we met. I might even have accepted a carte blanche!” As his face softened, she added, “If memory serves, I did ask for one on the way home from the theatre the night after the shooting. I was under the impression that you had found the proposal less than interesting. When I said a loveless marriage a moment ago, I meant a marriage in which you felt no love for me. Am I making myself clear?”

  He was eying her as if he was afraid to believe what he heard. “No, madam, you are not. Are you saying that you love me?”

  “Oh, Chas.” She smiled up at him. “I love you desperately.”

  He murmured her name as he pulled her more closely. The kiss that had wakened her had been warming; the kiss that followed made her feel as if she were on fire. Like so many of the things he had introduced her to, his kisses were like nothing she had imagined, sweet and fiery at the same time like honey warmed by a flame. She felt like a child who had been deprived of candy: his honeyed kisses satisfied a craving deep inside her and all she wanted was more.

  With a thunderous crash, the lodge door was heaved open. A blast of icy air whipped through the room. Instantly, Chas was on his feet, tumbling Anne to the floor as he put his body protectively in front of her to shield her from whatever was coming. She gasped as her knee shot pain through her

  Leslie appeared in the doorway, grinning wildly. Behind him others crowded. “I’ve found the search party!” he declared. “We’re saved!”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chas knew he ought to rejoice. They were safely ensconced in Hazeltine Hall. Anne was bundled into a feather bed piled high with comforters and blankets, warm bricks at her feet, and a similar warm bed awaited him. A physician had already examined Anne’s leg and wrapped it in cloth, proclaiming it merely a bad sprain. He had plied her with laudanum, and she had fallen asleep immediately. Even Chas’ curricle and the hired horses were safe, Bess and the coachman having made it to a coaching inn where word had been sent to Hazeltine Hall.

  Lord Hazeltine himself had been leading the search party and was quick to assure Chas that they could stay as long as needed. Indeed, their arrival had proven the most interesting event of
a fortnight’s house party, with all of the guests he had seen so far offering solicitations for their full recovery. In short, everything was fine, and Chas was annoyed.

  He pictured Anne as he had last seen her, her dark lashes fanning cheeks still red from the cold and the whipping branches. His emotions tumbled over inside him. He was profoundly thankful that she was safe. He was awed by the fact that she had declared her love for him. He was chagrined that tonight’s contretemps would force their marriage, and all he really wanted at the moment was to take her into his arms again.

  He was exhausted, but sleep eluded him. Instead of luxuriating in the canopied bed, he was sitting restlessly in a winged-back chair with a comforter wrapped around him, staring into the fire. He almost wished he had agreed to the drought of laudanum the physician had offered. Random thoughts kept floating through his mind, surrounded by a nagging sense of urgency. He supposed it was the residual of the purpose that had kept him moving through the woods, but he couldn’t quite make himself believe it. There was something he had to do, some task left undone, but his sluggish mind refused to deal with it. He ran his fingers back through his hair, trying to focus his thoughts.

  There was no question he would have to offer for Anne now, and no chance she would refuse him, not after tonight. Much as he looked forward to making her his wife, he couldn’t help wishing it had been under other circumstances. She deserved so much more than to be forced to wed him, of all people. If only there was some way he could come to her with a clean slate, all the disagreements and disappointments of his past swept away.

  Might as well wish for the moon.

  He must have fallen asleep, for he woke to see the faint rays of a rising sun pushing through an opening in the drapes of the bedchamber window. The urgency of the night nagged at him anew, and he knew what he had to do. Much as he would have liked to stay, he knew he had to go home. He had to make peace with Malcolm. It was the only way to be at peace with himself, and with Anne.