Fairchild Regency Romance

by Jaima Fixsen

  If I’m wrong (and therefore mad or hopelessly infatuated) recovery will likely require drastic measures. Walking tour? Scotland?

  It had worked as a cure once before.

  Pocketing his palm-sized notebook, Jasper made his way to the sunlit breakfast parlor. Some blessed soul had restrained the decorators here. It was done up in a soothing combination of white and pale sea green with dreamy watercolors on one wall and a view to the gardens on the other. Tom and Dr. Edwards were down already, seated at one end of the table and discussing Sophy’s examination—not something Jasper cared to hear at any time, but particularly awful when contemplating breakfast.

  Tom, seeing his face, colored and broke off. “Jack, will you wish to ride this morning?”

  Dr. Edwards accepted and helped himself to more eggs. “Morning, Rushford,” he said as Jasper took the seat opposite. Jasper was on his second piece of toast when Miss Edwards slipped in, added one or two morsels to her plate, and sequestered herself at the far end of the table. She ate with concentration, barely looking up. Jasper stared without staring, getting up and walking to the sideboard again, but all this gave him was a view of the top of her head.

  “Laura, would you care to take a turn about the gardens?” her brother asked.

  “Yes, please,” she said, meek as a child of six. Her voice was rough as if from disuse. Jasper frowned. It wasn’t easy to superimpose the features and flair of Gemma Holyrood on this one. He studied her fingers, trying to recall if yesterday they’d looked so red and chapped. Perhaps she’d soaked them overnight in lye and combed soot into her hair. She kept her chin tucked so close he couldn’t get a glimpse of the line of her neck. Long sleeves again, so no hope of spying the elbows. The eyebrows were heavy, drawing together over the nose. Perhaps she’d darkened them. She’d recognize him, wouldn’t she?

  Don’t flatter yourself. Gemma Holyrood always accepted his gifts and his admiration, but never with more than the same pleased smile she gave everyone else.

  Beside him Tom slit open a letter. Jasper watched the message play across his face. “You are not pleased with the cream of your correspondence?” Miss Edwards didn’t react to the quote from She Stoops to Conquer, one of Miss Holyrood’s most acclaimed roles.

  “Magistrate informs me he’s taking very seriously the matter of my stolen poultry,” Tom said, puzzled. “Didn’t know I’d lost any.”

  “I think your mother may have mentioned it,” Jasper reminded him delicately. “Her blue bantam.”

  “Yes. I’d forgotten.”

  Jasper helped himself to sugar, clinking his spoon against his cup.

  Since Sophy was taking her breakfast upstairs these days, she arrived last, dressed for her visit. It was a pretty blue muslin gown with a matching pelisse, but she hesitated in the doorway, fussing over perfectly faultless gloves. Jasper understood immediately.

  “Mater will approve.” He took a last sip of coffee. Her chip straw bonnet with velvet ribbons was an especially nice touch, one his exhaustingly fastidious mother would appreciate.

  “You look ready.” Jasper rose from his seat.

  “I am, but—”

  “Confound your buts!” Jasper cast a covert eye to the far end of the breakfast table where Miss Edwards in demure silence pretended to eat her egg. If she recognized the line from Sheridan’s play she didn’t show it. Best save that puzzle for later, Jasper decided. He smiled at his sister. “Do you wish to go or not?”

  Sophy settled her shoulders with a quick breath. “I do.”

  “Don’t be too long, love.” Tom laid down his letters and glanced over his shoulder to give her a reassuring smile. “You know I pine when you’re away.”

  She laughed, telling Tom he’d survive for an hour or so, but her fingers lingered as they brushed across his shoulder. His hand came up, closed over hers and gave it a squeeze. She bent, whispered something in his ear, then left him to his letters. “Jasper? Is my chariot ready?”

  It was. Jasper helped her inside then settled himself beside her. “Come here,” he said, nudging Sophy closer. “Let me cut the wind.” It wasn’t a sharp breeze but her gown was thin. “There’s a rug by your feet if you need it.”

  She gave him a look.

  They rolled gently over the bridge and down the drive.

  “May we go a little faster?” Sophy suggested. “Don’t you want to amaze me with your fearless handling of the ribbons?”

  “Certainly not.”

  At this pace it might take a half hour to cover the two miles of road between here and Cordell Hall, but he wasn’t risking speed, not with this cargo. He’d never say it, but she was precious.

  Chapter Seven

  Coming home

  Cordell Hall was sufficiently large and sufficiently weathered—silently announcing itself as the home of persons of lineage and gentility. It had the right number of turrets and inconvenient architectural oddities and a luxurious number of windows, most with the original wavy glass.

  Jasper assisted Sophy from the curricle, noting the nervous flexing of her fingers.

  “I’m as scared as the first day I came,” she admitted.

  “But a little larger,” Jasper said.

  “True.” She smoothed her gown ruefully. “Getting around isn’t too difficult, but sometimes I forget and bump into things. And there’s just no room to breathe.” She smiled. “Not for much longer.”

  This time she didn’t act like it was a concession to take hold of his arm.

  The staff were well trained—much more dignified than the lot at Chippenstone—and the door opened wide with pleasing promptness. After that, dignity disappeared. Jenkins, the perfect butler, beamed and clasped Sophy’s hands, chiding her for not sending word ahead of her arrival, while Sophy joked with Timothy the footman.

  Partway collecting himself, Jenkins gave Timothy a stern look. “You. Hop along. Tell His Lordship and Her Ladyship that Miss Sophy’s come home.”

  Timothy sped up the stairs, hallooing as he went. In seconds Sophy was surrounded by a housemaid who’d abandoned her duster and Mrs. Lawson, the housekeeper, who gathered in Sophy like an octopus until she practically disappeared.

  “Our girl is back,” Mrs. Lawson said. “Did you ever think to see the day?”

  Jasper adjusted his neckcloth, put off by the fussing and wiping of eyes. He almost jumped when Jenkins whispered at his shoulder.

  “It’s good of you to bring her, sir.” Jenkins smiled as he did when he used to jolly Jasper out of the mopes by inviting him into the pantry to polish silver and decant the wine.

  “I drove her,” Jasper said, fiddling with a button on his cuff. “It was nothing.”

  Accepting this statement with a skeptical lift of the brow, Jenkins joined Mrs. Lawson in hustling Sophy to the drawing room. They hadn’t made it past the first bust of marble when they were stopped by a noise from the stair.

  “Sophy!”

  Jasper turned and froze at the sight of his mother rushing downstairs. Without thinking, Jasper moved to catch her. He was used to her colorless complexion, but didn’t think he’d ever seen her as waxen as this. If she didn’t break her neck tumbling to the checked marble floor, he might need to keep her fingers from Sophy’s throat. She looked terrifying.

  “I know it’s too soon—the scandal—” Sophy stammered behind him. “But I missed you and—”

  “My dear girl,” Lady Fairchild said. Tears sprang from her eyes as she swept past Jasper with the force of a summer squall. “Why didn’t you send for me? I’d have come. A single word and I’ll come.” Her hands wafted over Sophy’s cheeks like they were delicate sugar spun frost. “You ludicrous child,” Lady Fairchild said, crushing and kissing her. Jasper wanted to look away, but he couldn’t move.

  “Well!” his mother said, disengaging at last. “I presume someone sent for your father?”

  “I believe he’s outside,” Jenkins put in.

  “Yes, and if you aren’t thrilled to pieces by this new horse of his
, Sophy, I think you’ll break his heart all over again.”

  Jasper snorted, but no one paid him any mind. Lady Fairchild went on as if nothing happened. “Mrs. Lawson? We will have tea. Sophy, I expect we have only a short time before your father comes in and I want all your news first. Then you may speak with him of horses or whatever you please.”

  With an arm around Sophy’s shoulder, she shepherded her into the drawing room. Jasper lingered in the hall, tracing his finger over the surface of the console table, polished so smooth it shone like still water. He didn’t trust himself to speak. He should be happy. Dammit, he was.

  “Will you join them, sir?” Jenkins asked, deferential at his elbow.

  “No.” Jasper produced a smile but more was beyond him. “I’ll leave them be. If they ask I’m walking down to the lake.” He wanted to curse. Or to weep.

  *****

  Sophy was too bewildered to speak. She didn’t think she would have managed the walking without Lady Fairchild directing her.

  “Tell me, are you well?” Lady Fairchild asked, settling her on a sofa.

  “I am. The doctor said all is progressing just as it should.” Still amazed by the force and fervor of her stepmother’s greeting, Sophy glanced at the space beside her. Lady Fairchild filled it instantly, keeping hold of Sophy’s hand.

  After the rupture, after months of silence when she used to ride out to look at Cordell from a distance, after careful and guarded letters this was sweet-scented balm—or else she was dreaming. Sophy sniffed, knowing she was lost if she gave into tears. Beside her Lady Fairchild blotted her own eyes.

  “It’s too late to lend you my handkerchief,” Lady Fairchild muttered. “Shall I send for another?”

  “No need.” Sophy swiped at her eyes so her cuffs could catch the moisture. “It’s so good to see you.”

  “Thank you for coming,” Lady Fairchild said, resolutely folding away her handkerchief. “We’ve longed to see you. I think your father’s worn a path through the fields between here and Chippenstone. He—I—we are both so sorry.”

  “We can put it behind us, surely,” Sophy said. “Perhaps we already have.” It surprised her the way Lady Fairchild spoke, linking herself to her husband. The best Sophy had ever seen between them was an armed truce and those tended not to last. Much could change in a year, but it would surprise her if her father’s marriage ever changed that much. You got so accustomed to some things they became certainties. It was a question for another time. She’d come for other reasons. “I wanted to ask you something.”

  Lady Fairchild waited, expectant.

  “I don’t mean to be morbid,” Sophy began, twisting in her seat a little. It wasn’t easy to say. “And I have every expectation of…” Long life and health? That sounded like the yeomanry toasting her father in the local tavern. “I have no reason for alarm. But since I’m soon to be a—a mother I must think of every eventuality and it is possible I might be taken prematurely from my child.”

  The struggle to speak of it left her short of breath. Even now the loss of her own mother colored her thoughts, warning her to be cautious and prepared.

  “You must miss her. Now, especially.” Lady Fairchild took a breath. When she spoke the words tottered feebly, a newborn foal’s first stumbling attempt to stand. “She was such a pretty thing with the most engaging smile. Like yours, you know. I’m sorry she isn’t here for you.”

  Sophy’s eyes filled with water, shutting out velvets and damasks, the paintings on the walls. Her hand winched tight around Lady Fairchild’s fingers. “Will you come? I want you with me,” she said, knowing she sounded desolate and small, but unable to put it any other way.

  “Of course. If you knew how—it’s been such pain, keeping away.”

  Sophy breathed again, steeling herself for the last, the highest hurdle. “Will you be my baby’s godmother? If something were to happen to me, I know—I know you’d do your best for her.”

  “Are you certain?”

  She’d thought of asking Henrietta, but ever since Lady Fairchild’s first haughty and impulsive letter Sophy knew who she wanted it to be. Lady Fairchild was exacting, difficult, and seldom gave way, but she discharged all her duties with honor. She loved even when it warred against her instincts. She would do her best for this baby, just as she had for Sophy.

  Sophy answered with a sharp nod, unable to speak. Lady Fairchild, too, failed to find words. It happened so quick, Sophy wasn’t entirely sure about the swift kiss Lady Fairchild pressed onto her fingers. By the time she caught her eye, their joined hands were back in her lap.

  “Her?” Lady Fairchild asked. “Isn’t Mr. Bagshot to have a son? Well, I suppose I can be trusted to provide a silver rattle in either case.”

  Chapter Eight

  Selling Suffolk

  Jack must have observed how little she ate at breakfast. After Tom’s wife and Mr. Rushford departed, he begged off the proposed morning ride. “If you’ve no objection, Tom, I’d like to take Laura for a walk down to the village. She could use some fresh air.” To her, he added, “Bad night? You look tired.”

  “He’s a terrible flatterer,” Laura said, with a glance at Mr. Bagshot.

  “Travel is fatiguing. Rough roads, strange beds. Admit you are human. Give yourself time to settle in,” Bagshot said. “A walk sounds a fine idea. May I join you?”

  The three of them set out moments later. Tom Bagshot, to give him credit, was very kind and plainly intent on keeping both Jack and her in Suffolk. “It’s a nice corner of the world,” he said, slowing down so they might take in the view. Admiring the green expanse before her, broken by a tall, white windmill, Laura wasn’t quick enough. Jack spoke first. “Only a fool wouldn’t be content here. You’re a fortunate man, Tom.”

  They passed a cottage skirted by neat rows of cabbages and onions. A man toiled over them, pulling out weeds with a long handled hoe. “Hallo Phipps!” Tom called. The man straightened.

  “Mr. Bagshot, sir. Good day to you.” Phipps smiled as he approached, brushing his sleeve over a sun-browned face. They exchanged a few words and Tom presented him to her and Jack. “I’m persuading Dr. Edwards to take over for Dr. Jamieson. We’ll need a new doctor in these parts.”

  Phipps nodded and said he hoped they would stay. “And how’s Miss Sophy—er, Mrs. Bagshot, I mean.”

  “Edwards?” Tom asked, turning to Jack.

  “Well indeed. I don’t think it will be long,” Jack said.

  Tom promised to bring Phipps’ best wishes to Sophy and they set out again.

  “Good people around here,” Jack said.

  “They are,” Tom agreed. “Took me a while to realize it. We were outsiders, you see, until I married Sophy. But she’s very well liked among the farmers and the villagers, and they’ve been kind enough to extend their goodwill to me. I didn’t use to spend much time here.” He grinned. “You and Miss Edwards won’t have any trouble. They’ll take to you right away. There’s no little anxiety amongst them about Jamieson retiring. I want you here, but it was Sophy’s idea to persuade you to stay. Come on, I’ll introduce you to a few more.”

  After the next house, and a long discussion concerning the householder’s dogs, Laura was beginning to feel superfluous. Jack, she could see, was already feeling at home here. She’d fit in too if she remained the self-effacing sister. That kind of person could disappear anywhere. But suppose she didn’t want to?

  “You see how nice it is? The place is ideal,” Jack whispered when Tom disappeared into someone’s garden to collect a rose clipping for Sophy. “Beautiful and you’ll have friends close by. I can support you quite easily here and you won’t have any troubles with Saltash. I know—” He forestalled her objection with upraised hands. “I know you said he isn’t a problem. But he will be, Laura. I saw him watching you in the green room. As a doctor I felt inclined to warn him of the dangers of apoplexy.”

  “The world would be better off without him,” Laura muttered.

  “My thoughts exac
tly,” Jack said. “So I kept the advice to myself. But there’s no need for you to bait him. Not anymore. He’s nothing to either of us.”

  “Shall we push on?” Tom reappeared with a potted clipping in his hands.

  “Why don’t you go on with Jack,” Laura said. “I’m wearing new boots and my left foot doesn’t like them. I think I should get back to the house before I break out in blisters. I can bring Sophy her rose.”

  “You know the way?” Jack asked.

  “I have eyes,” Laura said. “It’s not difficult.” In such flat country it would be a challenge to lose your way.

  They agreed and Laura set off happy to be alone but also feeling guilty about it. Jack liked it here and she hadn’t told him the truth about Saltash. Perhaps it would be best to accept Tom’s offer. Jack would certainly think so, especially if he knew the whole of it, but she’d never let Saltash intimidate her before. She wasn’t about to start now.

  Despite what she’d said to Jack and Tom she wasn’t in a hurry to get back to the house. Sophy and Mr. Rushford might have returned and it was best to avoid him as much as possible.

  “This is the way to Mr. Bagshot’s house?” she asked a young boy playing by the crossing, just to confirm.

  “Yes, miss. And yonder’s the way to Cordell.”

  She had time on her hands so she took the second way.

  Her luck was out—she hadn’t gone far when she spotted Mr. Rushford beating his way through the field on one side of the road with savage swings of his walking stick. Rooted to the spot Laura could see no place to hide. The nearby hedges weren’t tall enough to conceal her even if she was willing to risk a swipe of his stick. As she turned to dart away the movement caught his attention.

  “Miss Edwards!” he said, surprised.