Fairchild Regency Romance

by Jaima Fixsen

  Jasper dropped a coin into her outstretched hand and moved away, retracing his steps. So Gemma Holyrood was apparently indisposed… He’d half expected something like this, but instead of the satisfaction of proving himself right, he felt disappointed.

  Mild the feeling may have been, but it dogged him all the way home and most of the way to Suffolk.

  When Jasper rolled his curricle to a neat stop in front of Sophy’s house late that afternoon he was pleased with his time. It was only quarter past five, a new record for him.

  “Jasper!” It was Sophy, wide and ungainly, lurching much too quickly out the door.

  He snapped his watch shut and dived from the curricle. “Madness, my girl!” he scolded, catching her arms. “What in heaven’s name are you doing on your feet?” She looked like a porpoise scarcely able to stand, clumsy now instead of moving with her usual lightning rapidity. Her birdlike wrists were thick, her fingers hot and swollen. Inside his thorax, Jasper felt something wrench.

  “You’ve been suffering,” he said. “Why haven’t you told me?” She was too little, too young for this.

  She laughed. “I’m so glad you’ve come,” she said—apparently all he could expect by way of reply. Marriage seemed to have made his little sister immune to criticism. Overall Jasper didn’t mind, just wished that she’d still heed his.

  “I like what you’ve done with the gardens,” he said. Though maybe it wasn’t the profusion of flowers in the beds, but the tempting benches she’d tucked away beneath the trees. She’d always had the ability to brighten a place. “Henrietta sends her warmest love,” he informed her. “And your nephews a wet raspberry.”

  She grinned. “Laurence or Will?”

  “Whichever is the older one I think,” he said.

  She squeezed his hand. “I do miss her,” she admitted. “But perhaps it isn’t entirely unfortunate they couldn’t come. I shouldn’t have thought this house would ever feel full, but Laurie is something of a presence, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, like the nine-headed hydra,” Jasper said. He frowned, reassessing her size. It still wasn’t quite…believable. “Maybe you should be lying down. In quiet.”

  “I’d never have taken you for such a fusspot!” Sophy wrinkled her nose. “Come inside.”

  He let her steer him into the house, keeping a firm hold of her arm. She smiled, amused by his caution, and gave him a tolerant pat. The servant helped him out of his caped driving coat and carried it away with his whip, hat, and gloves. Jasper took a quick glance in the mirror. Tolerable, if he could just fix that unwanted crumple in his cravat…

  Sophy moved to his shoulder. “If you want to help you could drive me to Cordell tomorrow morning. I’d like to see Lady Fairchild. Tom is willing to bring me, of course, but I thought it might be easier the first time if—”

  He’d rather take a pummeling at the boxing salon than take her to his parents’ home, but Jasper spun around to face her. “You haven’t seen them yet?”

  She shook her head. “We’ve been writing. I get letters every week, but—well, you know how it is. She writes fairly affectionately, so I think she’s forgiven me, but she hasn’t tried to see me…I think she supposes that would be admitting she was wrong about Tom and you know—”

  All this roundabout was making Jasper’s head hurt. “She is wrong,” he said. “So is our father. You aren’t to blame for any of this.” Lord, hadn’t they put her through enough already? He was easy tempered, but listening to her excuses for them made his heart pound and his arms tense.

  “I was willing to lose them for Tom,” Sophy said quietly. “But if I don’t have to…she was always good to me, Jasper, as good as she knew how.”

  That wasn’t saying much. “And Father?”

  “I’m not as fussy about apologies as you are,” she said. “If he’s willing, I’ll meet him part way. Really, if I expected them to grovel—”

  “I would,” he put in.

  “Then I would end up never speaking to either of them again and that would be a pity. They are my family, Jasper, the only parents I have.”

  “I think Sally is wonderful,” he said, reminding her of her mother-in-law.

  “She is. You might not understand, but it means—it means a great deal to me that Lord and Lady Fairchild love me, in their way.”

  No matter what he said, she still thought of herself as the friendless bastard delivered eight years ago to their door. “You deserve better,” he said.

  “If I was choosy with my affections I’d be as lonely as you are. Who is there to love if you only take those who’ve made no mistakes?” It stung, though she said it half-teasing. “I’m sorry,” she said, her eyes contrite.

  “No,” Jasper said. “I forbid you to be. If you are forgiving and apologetic and stand this close, I’ll singe your wings. So they are both still at Cordell then?”

  Sophy nodded.

  “I’m surprised one hasn’t killed the other and dropped the body into the lake,” Jasper said. He looked about him, but there was no Sally, no Tom appearing on the wide stairs. Sophy had cornered him alone. This was important to her.

  “I want to see Lady Fairchild and I’m tired of this ridiculous waiting. I have something I wish to ask her,” Sophy said. There was no dissuading her, not when she had that set to her chin, so he relented with a smile. She always did insist on going her own way.

  “Very well. I’ll take you wherever you wish to go so long as Tom approves, even into the terrifying maw of my mother’s drawing room. I shall suffer afflictions—blighting glances, a lecture—but I can endure any trial for your sake. How is Tom taking things by the way?”

  “If he can stand it, so can you,” she said.

  The impending birth or the in-laws? Maybe she meant both. Jasper held her at arm’s length, studying her. The ungainly bulge looked comical on her, but her eyes were bright and unshadowed. Tom took good care of her, which pleased Jasper, but he didn’t know that she should be permitted to climb stairs. Before she reached the first one, he took her arm.

  “I know how to make use of the bannister,” she said, her hand sliding along the gleaming marble. He made a noncommittal noise, watching her slippered feet. Her dress was too long and she climbed slowly, spending her breath.

  “I can’t ever seem to get enough air,” she admitted, pushing against her belly.

  Jasper stopped. “Is that a corner? What have you got in there—a bureau?” As he watched a lump slid from one side of her belly to the other.

  “A foot.” She winced. “Maybe an elbow.”

  “No horns?”

  She grinned. “Time will tell.”

  The pause had given her back her breath and they climbed the rest of the way. Jasper lingered at the top, pretending to pick a piece of lint from his sleeve.

  “I don’t know if Tom and Lady Fairchild will ever be friends,” Sophy began.

  Jasper snorted. “I shouldn’t think so.” Folly to wish for it. His mother and Tom Bagshot were as likely a pair as Napoleon and the Tsar of Russia.

  “Jasper.” It was her own familiar smile she used, but her eyes were sad. “Are you angry on my behalf or your own?”

  “I think it’s actually my nature,” he said, evading her with a glib answer. “I’m a beastly fellow, always have been.”

  She could forgive if she chose—he couldn’t very well stop her—but he didn’t have to like it or trust his parents. He wasn’t convinced they deserved to be forgiven after forbidding Sophy’s marriage and casting her off. The way he saw it they’d earned every one of their regrets. He’d grown accustomed to the heat of the vengeful little fire he’d nourished so long on the coals of their pangs. It wasn’t well done of him, but he wasn’t like Sophy, gifted with a kind heart. He was like his parents: vindictive, selfish, and proud. Sophy might share Lord Fairchild’s unruly copper-colored hair, but she took after her mother.

  Jasper hadn’t reached nine when his governess, Miss Prescott, disappeared, but he’d never forgotten her. You
outgrew boyish adoration—thank God—but you didn’t forget caring and sympathy and the person who kissed you when you ripped up your knees. Impossible, unless you were a much worse fellow than he.

  “Tom about?” Jasper asked, more than ready for a new subject. “Or did you feed him to the lions?”

  “He’s waiting for you. In the library.”

  Jasper made a face. “I was hoping you’d feed me.”

  “I will,” she said. “If only to fatten you for the lions. Come on.”

  Sophy brought him to his brother-in-law in the library where she introduced him to a pile of sandwiches, which he promptly reduced to smears and crumbs. Between bites Jasper enquired after Tom’s business, confirmed he had no objection to Sophy visiting Cordell Hall tomorrow and (after Sophy left) warned Tom again that if any harm ever came to his sister he’d beat the tar out of him.

  “You’re welcome to try,” Tom said, smiling as he set aside his brandy. Tom was good with his fists and had a punishing right Jasper wouldn’t mind seeing demonstrated on someone besides himself.

  “You couldn’t stop this madness?” Jasper asked. “My parents will only hurt her again. And insult you.”

  Tom shrugged. “She wants this. Whatever happens, she’s got a home to come to and arms to cry in. She misses them more the closer we come to the birth.”

  That hurt him, Jasper saw. “I’ve heard the condition makes females even more irrational,” he said. “This must be a symptom. Henrietta says she weeps over novels. Sophy will get over this. Really, I think one meeting will cure her of the notion. It only took a few meetings to convince me I’d happily trade your mother for mine. How is she by the way?”

  Tom laughed. “Top of the trees and you know it.” Sally Bagshot had never been happier with her son married and her first grandchild on the way. “Expect she’s sitting with Sophy, making sure she rests.”

  “Someone has to. Should she really be using the stairs?” Jasper asked.

  “If you can stop her… My mother wanted to give you time with your sister. She said she’d see you at dinner.”

  “When’s that?” Jasper’s eyes dropped to the empty plate. Travel always made him ravenous.

  “Eight.”

  Jasper raised his eyebrows. It was a late hour for the unfashionable Bagshots.

  “You aren’t our only company. Means I have to dress for dinner,” Tom said, his frown telling Jasper what he thought of that. “Friend of mine, John Edwards. Jack. He’s a physician. I want someone on hand I trust.”

  Jasper nodded approvingly.

  “He’s just back from overseas so I told him to bring his sister. They’ve been a long time apart. I’m hoping he’ll take up the practice after Jamieson retires. We’ll need a new doctor in the district. He’s a good sort, so don’t play any airs with him.”

  “Would I ever?”

  Tom laughed, a rough bark Jasper couldn’t resist answering with a smile.

  Tom waved him away. “I’ve work to do and I expect it will take you half a day to change.”

  “My dear fellow, there’s plenty of time.” Jasper consulted his watch. “There’s a good two hours. I can manage, if I sacrifice my shirt points.”

  Jasper traipsed upstairs to his usual room where his bags and valet waited. He might jest with Tom about his fastidiousness (and Tom’s lack of it), but he was perfectly capable of achieving a respectable transformation in three quarters of an hour, slightly less if it was truly urgent. Tom might be able to slap himself together in under ten minutes, but that was lamentable not praiseworthy. Sophy’s husband had his good points, though—he wasn’t as unfazed about the impending birth as he pretended and had invited a physician friend to stay. A neat solution and Jasper liked him the more for it.

  Jasper dressed with care in his best linen. Sophy and Tom wouldn’t care a fig about the arctic peaks of his shirt points or the sublime cut of his coat, but Tom’s mother would notice and recognize the compliment. With time still before dinner, Jasper sauntered downstairs hoping to find Mrs. Bagshot. He’d appreciated the chance to greet Sophy alone, but was looking forward to greeting the elderly lady. Jasper was fond of her grey-haired, cushiony person; she was blessed with sweetness, shrewdness, and good sense. She wasn’t in the drawing room, or the Egyptian salon with its crocodile-legged furniture and bright, overly gilded walls—an absurd fantasy, like a setting straight from the stage.

  Jasper picked up a newspaper and made himself at home stretching out his legs and crossing them on the sofa. Nothing interesting in the society items—just the usual snippets about wives misbehaving and an update on a stale divorce. To make up for the dearth of scandal the editor had put in a piece about Thomas Ward, the boy supposedly born of an incestuous affair between Princess Sophia and her brother the Duke of Cumberland: a decade-old controversy and not worth stirring up in Jasper’s opinion. At this point who cared if the boy was fathered by Cumberland or General Garth? Jasper lowered the paper and considered the copy of The Castle of Otranto on the nearby table, but decided to leave it alone. He’d read most of The Mysterious Mother and one gothic novel by Walpole was surely enough. His ears pricked at an interruption, prompting a smile of relief. The door clicked open and someone entered with a quick, light tread.

  “They should paint you after you’ve had the baby, lounging here like Cleopatra,” he said without turning around.

  Silence. Jasper turned the page and glanced over his shoulder, wondering why Sophy wasn’t laughing—and found it wasn’t her. Of course not. Her footsteps didn’t sound that softly, not anymore. “I beg your pardon,” Jasper said as he set aside the paper and vaulted to his feet. “I heard someone come in and assumed it was my sister.” He gave an elegant bow, but it didn’t appear to mollify the lady. She stared at him in a fixed way like she’d been cornered by something truly horrifying.

  It was true that a well-mannered fellow would have risen for any female, sister or not, but in the country at what he’d thought was essentially a family party…well, Dr. Edwards’ sister was either a stickler or painfully unused to society. “I’m Jasper Rushford,” he said, hoping to convince her he wouldn’t pounce.

  She nodded, but didn’t offer her name or come any closer.

  “You must be Miss Edwards,” he said, unwilling to play the correct game and run away, waiting for a formal introduction at dinner. He liked coming to Sophy’s house where rules were unknown or ignored. Escaping the tiresome code was one of his chief pleasures here, not that he’d ever admit it.

  “You think Mrs. Bagshot as Cleopatra?” she asked, finally thawing enough to speak.

  “The younger one,” Jasper explained. “But I’d kill to see the elder in the role.”

  She cracked an involuntary smile. “Goodness no. It’s a much better part for you.”

  Perhaps not a stickler after all? She had a charming smile. “Does that mean I have your permission to resume my attitude of decadent recline?”

  She glanced swiftly at the open door. “Yes. But I recommend exchanging the newspaper for a better prop.”

  “Excellent notion. I’d exchange this newspaper for almost anything—nothing but drivel and tepid scandal today. Perhaps you could massage my feet and peel grapes for me.”

  “I’m afraid I haven’t the right costume,” she said, stiffening.

  True enough. There were better things than that dark blue stuff to set off those chestnut curls. The clothes looked…wrong for her, though they were perfectly appropriate for her station. Maybe females of the middle class always looked like that.

  “Have we met before?” Jasper asked, tilting his head, hoping it would improve his study of her. There was something in the shape of her face, the angle of her chin…

  “We haven’t yet,” she said, schooling her face to blankness so swiftly it made him blink. “Excuse me.” She moved for the door.

  “Fine, fine,” Jasper said, annoyed he’d lost her. “I’ll wait until you’re presented at dinner.” He would wink at her if there were
grapes with dessert. With a smile he sprawled back on the sofa, reaching out a languid hand for the newspaper. His attention wouldn’t fasten onto the tight rows of print though, or even the cartoons and advertisements. He was thinking about Miss Edwards and the strange way she’d left him and what it was about her that seemed so oddly familiar.

  Chapter Five

  Ill winds that blow no good

  Laura marched down the hallway and rapped on her brother’s door.

  “Come—”

  Before he could finish she barged into his chamber. “I have to get out of here.”

  “What’s happened?” Jack set down his watch chain and the fob he was struggling to latch onto it.

  “Your friend’s brother-in-law. Did you know he’s a regular at the theatre?” Let Jack unravel the rest.

  He sat down, thumping against the high mattress. “Did he recognize you?”

  “He asked me if we’d met before.”

  Jack winced.

  “He was reading the paper,” Laura continued. “What if some mention of Gemma Holyrood jogs his memory? I’m going back to London.”

  “You can’t. We just arrived.”

  “Then you’ll have to tell your friend who I really am.” What a disaster that would be.

  “I don’t think Tom would mind…” Jack began.

  “And his brother-in-law? His wife?” They weren’t the same kind of people as Tom and his mother. Anyone could see that.

  “I’m more worried about the village,” Jack said.

  Of course. His future patients. They wouldn’t want their wives and daughters attended by the brother of an actress. “Then I have to go. We’ll invent something.”

  “What? A dying relative? Tom thinks we haven’t any. And neither of us has gotten any letters.”

  Laura leaned against the dressing table and folded her arms. “It’ll be odd I grant you, but what of it? I’m not needed here. It’s you they want.”

  “They’re trying to be kind to me. They know I’ve just come back. They don’t want to steal me away from you.”