Lord Darlington's Darling (10 page)

“No, nor to mine,” said Lady Darlington, some of
her anxiety allied. “Bethany has not mentioned the
gentleman’s name since we left home. Do you really
think it possible that she would still encourage him if
given the opportunity? Pray recall, my friend Mrs. Montague
found them in a clandestine rendezvous.”

“Oh, I give Bethany too much credit to think she
would rebel in such a stupid fashion here in London.
My basic concern is that Mr. Farnham might decide
to press
his
suit with
her,”
said Lord Darlington.

“Then, you believe he actually followed Bethany to
town?” asked Lady Darlington quickly.

“I suspect it,” corrected Lord Darlington. “How
ever, that is neither here nor there. I care not that
Mr. Farnham has come up to town. After all, it is his
prerogative to travel where he wills. It only becomes
my concern if he approaches my sister, and he has not
done so thus far.”

“I hope he continues to exercise restraint,” said
Lady Darlington. The dowager reflected for a moment and her
somber expression lightened. “I suppose being in Lon
don must offer other temptations besides dangling
after Bethany, or even Miss Fairchilde, to a young
gentleman such as Mr. Farnham.”

“So I anticipate, ma’am,” said Lord Darlington. He
said with the glimmer of a smile, “I only hope that
Bethany does not fall in love with someone else who
is equally unsuitable.”

“Oh, if she does, then we shall find some way to
prevent another misalliance,” said Lady Darlington.

“Exactly so!” agreed Lord Darlington with a quiz
zing look.

Lady Darlington chuckled. “Very well, Sylvan!
You
will find some way!”

A companionable silence fell, during which Lord
Darlington’s thoughts inevitably strayed back to Miss
Fairchilde. He wondered what she would reply if he
were to ask for permission to press his suit. Totally
involved in his reflection, he almost started when his
mother spoke again.

“How comfortable it all is,” said Lady Darlington with a contented sigh. She had returned to the setting
of her stitches. “We have scarcely a cloud upon our
horizon. You are always such a tower of strength to
me, Sylvan.”

“I am honored, Mama,” said Lord Darlington with
a small laugh. His abstraction set aside, at least for
the moment, he shook out his newspaper open again.

W
hile it was too early to say that Abby was falling
in love with Lord Darlington, she was nevertheless
honest enough with herself to realize her growing interest in him. His company always caused a quickening of
her pulse, and he made her feel at once vulnerable and
safe. Whenever Abby saw Lord Darlington start toward
her through a crowded ballroom, like he was now, her
heart always gave a glad leap.

She could not deny that she felt a strong attraction
to him. Never had Lord Fielding, nor any other gentle
man, engendered such a wave of warmth within her.
The marquess had only to look at her and she felt a
tingle clear down to her toes. As a result of her reflec
tion, her toes curled inside her slippers.

Lord Darlington bowed over her fingers, murmuring
a greeting.
Abby smiled up at him. In her quiet voice she said,
“My lord, I am happy to see you this evening.”

“I would find any function without your presence
to be sadly flat,” said Lord Darlington softly, his eyes
looking directly into her own.

Abby blushed fierily, as much at his flattery as at
the intensity of his gaze. Strangely enough, she did
not feel the least uncomfortable when such compli
ments came from Lord Darlington as she did when any other gentleman sought to show his gallantry
toward her. “Thank you, my lord. That was very pret
tily said. I believe you have previously met my mother
and my aunt?”

Lord Darlington acknowledged the elderly ladies
with grace. “Of course. It was at the theater. I trust
the performance was to everyone’s liking?”

Mrs. Fairchilde said that she had enjoyed it all very
much. “My sister and I are not as often in company
as we used to be, and we are quite happy with such
treats,” she said.

“Quite so,” agreed Mrs. Paddington. “However, it
is the conversation during intermission which gives the
perfect élan to such an evening. Do you not agree,
my lord?”

Lord Darlington glanced at Miss Fairchilde’s height
ened color. He was amused by her aunt’s coy transpar
ency. Suavely, he agreed. “There was never a truer
word said, Mrs. Paddington, at least about that partic
ular evening.”

Mrs. Paddington nodded and pursed her wrinkled
lips. Leaning toward her niece and speaking conspira
torially in a voice that she obviously thought quiet,
she said, “Child, you will be a great fool if you let
this one get away.”

As Mrs. Fairchilde began to remonstrate with her
sister, Abby’s embarrassment was complete. She
scarcely knew where to look, daring only to dart a nervous glance up at Lord Darlington’s face, hoping
that he had not been offended. He did not appear to be. On the contrary, he appeared only to be amused.

Abby at once felt better. She gave a tentative smile.
It was so like his lordship to overlook what must be
considered a striking
faux pas
, she thought gratefully.

“Are you free for this set, Miss Fairchilde?” asked
Lord Darlington.

“Oh, yes,” said Abby happily, quite disregarding
the fact that her dance card already had a name scrib
bled over it for that set. For once in her life Abby
was not anxious over what someone else might think
of her. She rose at once and put her fingers on the
marquess’s elbow. They walked past the gentleman who
was supposed to squire her and he stood looking after
them with a faintly astonished expression.

As Lord Darlington led her onto the dance floor,
Abby said shyly, “You are such a fine partner, my
lord. I always enjoy dancing with you.”

Lord Darlington placed his arm around her slender
waist and took her hand in his for the waltz. “If com
pliments are to be dispensed, Miss Fairchilde, I think
it fair to say that there is scarcely another lady who
waltzes as well as you do.”

As the first strains of the familiar waltz began, Abby felt as though she was floating on air. It seemed but a
moment before it was over. She and Lord Darlington
walked slowly back, both reluctant to allow the pre
cious time to slip away from them. Inevitably, they
reached her vacant seat. Abby gave a tiny sigh.

Lord Darlington gracefully handed her into the
chair. Then he raised her fingers to his lips. “I shall
treasure all our waltzes together, Miss Fairchilde,” he
murmured for her ears alone.

“As shall I,” she replied with unthinking honesty.
She did not realize the full scope of her boldness until
she saw the kindling light in his gaze. She cast down
her eyes in a confusion of emotions.

Abby’s next partner was Lord Fielding. He was disgruntled that he had a mere country-dance when the
Marquess of Darlington had been honored with a waltz. H
e had a good many things to say under his breath
as he led her out.

It was not a comfortable set from Abby’s point of
view. His lordship several times attempted to strike
up a conversation with her, only to be interrupted by
the constant shift of partners in the fast country set.
By the time the dance was ended, Lord Fielding’s
usual unflappability had been impaired.

“Miss Fairchilde, I should like to talk to you,” said
Lord Fielding forcibly.

“Of course, my lord,” said Abby, glancing up at
him inquiringly. “What is it you wish to say to me?”

He paused on the floor, making her stop with him.
He gathered one of her hands in both of his and
looked down at her upturned face from his great
height. “Miss Fairchilde, as you know, I hold you in
high regard.”

Abby felt a sinking in the pit of her stomach. Surely
Lord Fielding had not chosen this moment and this
place to make a declaration to her. She could not let
him, she simply could not. She said hastily, “Oh, there is my sister, waving to me. I must go to her, my lord!”

She slipped free from her erstwhile partner and
started back toward her chair. Taken aback, Lord Fiel
ding stammered agreement and closely followed her off of the floor.

August Fairchilde was handing his elder sister to her chair. He turned just as Abby precipitously ar
rived, Lord Fielding in tow. He caught the expression on her face. With what his favorite sister thought a lamentable
lack of tact, he said, “My word, Abby, you look like
a hunted rabbit.”

Abby cast him an anguished glance, at once afraid
that Lord Fielding was close enough to have heard.
“Shush, August!”

August’s mobile brows flipped upward. He
glanced with comprehension at Lord Fielding, who
quickly closed the distance between himself and Abby.
August frowned thoughtfully, again glancing at his sis
ter as she sought her seat.

Mrs. Crocker greeted Lord Fielding with a smile
and a friendly greeting, holding out her hand to him.
“My lord! August was squiring me on the dance floor, or otherwise I would have spoken to you earlier. How
good of you to interrupt your conversation with Abby
to recognize me.”

Lord Fielding bowed over Mrs. Crocker’s hand. Always circumspect in his manners, he gave a polite nod to August Fairchilde when he had straightened. “It is
always a pleasure to speak with you, ma’am. I do not
see Mr. Crocker?”

“Not this evening. He declared himself to be worn to
the bone with all of our flighty entertainments and
elected to a quiet dinner and evening,” said Mrs.
Crocker with a chuckle. Her brown eyes gleamed with
amusement. “My husband is exceedingly forbearing,
my lord, but he is not made to be a chaperone.”

“Indeed, what gentleman is?” said Lord Fielding
politely.

“Exactly so, my lord. I am fair worn to the bone
already, and I stepped into Peter’s shoes scarce an
hour past,” said August with a sigh as he leaned over
Abby’s chair, half shielding her from Lord Fielding’s
sight.

“Ungallant, August,” said Mrs. Crocker with a
chuckle.

Abby plied her fan, striking up a conversation with
her mother and aunt. She was acutely aware of Lord Fielding’s several glances in her direction, but she pre
tended not to see. Mrs. Crocker, aided now and again
by August, held a lively discourse with his lordship
for several minutes.

When Lord Fielding had bowed himself off, Abby
turned with a sigh to her sister and brother. “Thank
you!”

“For what, you goose? I could see you had been
put out of countenance. I knew you would only color
up and become tangled in your own periods if I were
to draw you into the conversation,” said Mrs. Crocker.
She eyed her sister with speculation. “Whatever did
his lordship say that put you all about, Abby? I’ve never seen you leave a partner so precipitously.”

“Don’t pry so, Melissa,” said August with an un
usual sharpness.

Mrs. Crocker stared up at him, open astonishment
in her eyes. “Why, I am not prying. I am merely
interested.”

Abby looked from August’s expressive grimace to
her sister. She did not know what she should say. She simply couldn’t tell her sister she had been afraid that
Lord Fielding was about to declare himself, not when
it was expected by her relatives that she would accept
Lord Fielding. Not when she was unable to explain how
her feelings had changed since she had first agreed to
consider Lord Fielding’s suit.

“I—I was merely being foolish,” she said lamely.

“No doubt,” said Mrs. Crocker dryly. “I shall be
glad of it when you acquire company manners, Abby!”

“Why don’t you let Abby alone? She does all
right,” said August hastily.

“Of course she does. I just don’t wish her to squan
der her chances,” said Mrs. Crocker. She eyed her
brother with a gathering frown. “What has gotten into
you, August?”

“Oh, pray stop!” exclaimed Abby, distressed by the
burgeoning quarrel.

August shrugged and relented. “Oh, very well!”

Mrs. Fairchilde had been listening and now she
took a hand. “That will be enough from you, as
well, Melissa.”
Mrs. Crocker threw up her hands and shook her
head.
With a gentle smile, Mrs. Fairchilde patted Abby’s
arm. “Never mind, my dear. I am certain everything
will come about just as it should,” she said soothingly.

Abby wanted to cry out that she simply wished to
be left alone. But she didn’t. She was too cowardly to
speak what was on her mind and in her heart.

At that moment the small party was approached by
Mr. Farnham. The gentleman produced
an elegant bow. Then he smiled. It was a dazzling
display of excellent teeth. Mrs. Crocker blinked. Mrs.
Fairchilde and Mrs. Paddington seemed equally struck to silence. August regarded Mr. Farnham with a spec
ulative light in his eyes, while Abby regarded the gen
tleman much as one would a snake that had risen up in the path.

Mr. Farnham was oblivious to everyone but Abby,
yet he did not appear to notice her open dismay.
“Miss Fairchilde! I am so happy to further my acquaintance with you. Imagine my delight when I saw you this evening. I felt that I must at once pay my
respects.”

He had somehow gotten possession of Abby’s hand.
She did not know how because she had not extended
it to him. “Mr. F-Farnham, what a surprise,” she
stammered.

“Do you know this gentleman, Abby?” asked Mrs.
Crocker, somewhat sharply.

Mr. Farnham did not wait for Abby to respond, but
at once transferred his attention to Mrs. Crocker. He
gently closed Abby’s fingers about a small folded
paper. “Alas, not nearly as well as I should like,” he
said mournfully. “The truth is that we were briefly
introduced to one another by a mutual acquaintance only this week.”