Lord Darlington's Darling (8 page)

Abby turned to the occasional table to hide her
warming face from her sister. “My word! Two posies!”
she said inadequately, reaching for the cards. She
picked up the one from Lord Darlington and swiftly
read it. A smile lit her face. “How kind his lordship
is!” she exclaimed.

Mrs. Crocker had gone to the mirror to check her
hair and she did not see which of the posies her sister
had picked up. “Yes, I thought so, too. Lord Fielding
is always such a gentleman,” she said. “You must wear
one of the posies with your gown this evening, Abby.”

“Of course,” murmured Abby as she hurriedly
picked up Lord Fielding’s offering. She scanned the
short, flowery note with scant interest. “I shall take
them upstairs with me now, as I was just going up to
take off my hat.”

“We will be leaving for Lady Tarleton’s function a little later than I had originally planned,” said Mrs.
Crocker, turning away from the mirror. “And we
shan’t have August’s company as I had hoped, either,
as he informed me that he is committed elsewhere.”

Abby, at the door with the posies in her hands,
looked back inquiringly. She had already known about
her brother’s engagement, as he had confided to her
at breakfast that he would rather jump into the
Thames than attend a full-dress ball. “Oh, has some
thing cropped up with Peter?”

“He sent word from his club that he will be detained perhaps an hour,” said Mrs. Crocker with a
smile and small shrug.

“I don’t mind arriving a bit later,” said Abby, sud
denly recalling Lady Bethany’s plan for her to spirit a note to the
unknown admirer. “In fact, I wouldn’t mind remaining at home this evening if you and Peter would prefer it.”

“You are such an accommodating dear,” said Mrs.
Crocker fondly. She shook her head. “No, I shan’t
deny you such a treat, Abby! We shall await Peter’s
escort and then we shall go.”

Abby nodded and left to go upstairs and begin her
toilette for the evening. She glanced down at the pos
ies in her hand, but her eyes did not see the one with
Lord Fielding’s card attached to it. She hoped she
would see Lord Darlington at Lady Tarleton’s func
tion so that she could thank him for his thoughtful gesture.

W
hen Abby went downstairs, gowned and coifed,
the posy from Lord Darlington was pinned to the lace slip over her satin gown. In company with
her sister and brother-in-law, she made her way
through the receiving line into the ballroom. She
looked everywhere for Lord Darlington, but did not
immediately see him in all of the crowd of guests.

Lord Fielding came up to greet the Crackers and Abby. His blue gaze went at once to the posy pinned to Abby’s dress, then lifted to her face. “Miss Fair
childe, what means this?” he asked without preamble.

Abby looked at him, surprised by his stiff tone. She was not used to his lordship treating her with anything
less than the most extreme courtesy. “Why, I don’t
know what you mean, my lord.”

“You do not wear my roses,” said Lord Fielding in
a lower voice.

Abby flushed, but she did not falter in meeting his
eyes. For once she found the courage to stand up
against another person’s disapproval. After all, she
had
wanted to wear Lord Darlington’s white snow
drops instead. “No, my lord, I do not,” she said
steadily.

Lord Fielding stared down at her. His expression
was rocklike and his whole manner was offended. “I
do not know how to take this rebuff, Miss Fairchilde.
I thought we had a fair understanding. I assumed
that—well, it must be obvious what I assumed!”

“I—I am sorry, my lord. It was not my intention to
hurt you,” said Abby, dismayed by the strength of his
reaction. She did not like how it made her feel to be
seated while he loomed over her with such a disap
proving air.

“Miss Fairchilde, I believe this is our dance.”
drawled a familiar voice at her elbow.

Abby turned in her chair and greeted Lord Darling
ton’s appearance with instant relief. “Yes! Indeed, my
lord, it is.” Rising at once, she went off with Lord
Darlington with the feeling that she was escaping. She thought she could feel Lord Fielding’s gaze boring into
the small of her back, and she shivered.

As they formed up in the set, Lord Darlington said
quietly, “Are you all right, Miss Fairchilde? Should
you prefer to sit out the set?”

“Oh, no, no! I am perfectly fine now, I assure you,”
said Abby swiftly.

Lord Darlington thoughtfully regarded her before
glancing in the direction from which they had come.
Lord Fielding was still standing where he had been
left and there was a heavy frown on his face. Lord
Darlington drew his own conclusions. He turned back
to his partner, to say softly, “You are wearing my
offering tonight.”

“Yes,” said Abby simply, meeting his gaze with all
the boldness her shy character would allow.

“I am honored,” said Lord Darlington.

The music carried them apart in the country-dance,
but each time they came together, it was as though
they were the only two on the floor. When the set was
over, Lord Darlington offered his arm to her and
Abby did not hesitate. They promenaded slowly about
the dance floor and into the refreshment room, all the
while conversing quietly. It was a good half hour be
fore Lord Darlington returned Abby to her seat, but
she felt as though it had been but a second or two.

Lord Darlington bowed over her hand, promising
to call on her on the morrow, and walked away.

Abby
was brought back down out of her happy haze by a
sharp tug on her arm. She turned to discover her sister
frowning at her. Abby blinked at the anger in her
sister’s eyes. “Why, whatever is the matter, Melissa?
What has overset you so?”

“Can you ask? Lord Fielding has divulged the
whole. Abby, how could you? You are practically af
fianced to his lordship. What possible motive could
you have for refusing to wear his posy tonight?” asked
Mrs. Crocker in a lowered voice. She did not wait for
an answer, but continued, “It took all my powers of
persuasion to bring his lordship around to a better
frame of mind. Even Peter has had to take a hand in
the matter by taking Lord Fielding off to the card
room to divert his thoughts with a hand or two of
whist. He was very much offended, I can tell you!”

“I wasn’t aware that I am constrained to accept only
offerings from Lord Fielding,” said Abby defensively.
“He is not my betrothed, after all.”

Mrs. Crocker, who had started to say something
else, all of a sudden closed her mouth. She stared at
her younger sister for a long, thoughtful moment.
There was a tinge of respect in her voice as she said,
“You are perfectly right, Abby. Lord Fielding is
not
your betrothed. It has been several weeks since he
asked permission to press his suit with you, but he has
not yet made you an offer. I quite see how you must feel.” She reached out and pressed her sister’s fingers. “I shall not scold you anymore, Abby, for I now per
ceive that you are going about the business with a
shrewdness I had not thought to see in you! It will
not do Lord Fielding the least harm to be brought to
understand he is not your only admirer.”

“Melissa, you have quite mistaken the matter,” said Abby hastily. “Lord Darlington is a pleasant acquain
tance, one whom—

“Enough said, my dear sister. By all means, do en
courage Lord Darlington and any others who swim
into your sphere. It will not do the least harm and
will even perhaps touch spur to Lord Fielding,” said
Mrs. Crocker approvingly.

Abby wasn’t able to say anything more to her sister,
for at that instant Lady Bethany came up. Very prettily, she
greeted Mrs. Crocker and begged her indulgence in
taking Abby away to the refreshment room.

With a sinking heart, Abby remarked mildly that
she had already had an ice. Lady Bethany did not heed her.
She drew Abby away from the crowd seated around
the edge of the dance floor. Glancing around to see
that they were not observed, she slipped a paper screw
into Abby’s palm and pressed her fingers shut over it.
“There! You have it now. Pray do not fail me, Abby!”

Abby began to protest. Now that the moment had
come, she wasn’t at all certain she could go through
with it, especially in light of Lady Bethany’s conspiratorial
manner. “Really, I don’t think—”

“There he is! Do you see him, Abby? Mr.
Richard Farnham,” said Lady Bethany dreamily.

Diverted, Abby looked where Lady Bethany had quickly pointed. She saw a slim young gentleman, rather
rakish-looking, standing with his shoulder pressed
against a pillar. His handsome face showed an expres
sion of dissatisfaction and boredom. She glanced
swiftly at Lady Bethany. “Are you certain, Lady Bethany? I
mean, he doesn’t seem at all—”

“Of course he doesn’t appear happy! How could he
be when I have been denied permission to address
him?” said Lady Bethany.

Abby did not correct her friend’s erroneous assump
tion. For now at least, she kept to herself her initial
impression that the object of Lady Bethany’s devotion did
not appear to her to be at all the thing. There was
something about Mr. Farnham, per
haps the negligent way he was standing or his expres
sion, which was off-putting to Abby. Privately she
thought that Lord Darlington probably had very good
reason to keep his impressionable, beautiful sister
away from Mr. Farnham. Perhaps she was doing Lord
Darlington a favor in carrying Lady Bethany’s good-bye
note to her objectionable admirer. That thought con
siderably cheered her and overrode her natural trepi
dation.

“Very well! However, I simply cannot go
smack up to the gentleman. We have not been intro
duced.”

“Have you not?” Lady Bethany was momentarily non
plussed, but she swiftly came about. “There is Cedric
Barthlew. He will do anything for me. Cedric! Oh,
Cedric!”

The young gentleman thus hailed came quickly
over. He bowed punctiliously over Abby’s fingers, but he clung to Lady Bethany’s hand and gazed at her adoringly
while he made his greetings.

“Never mind that, Cedric. I have a particular wish
for you to promenade with Abby and myself around
the dance floor, for I wish to show off my new gown,”
said Lady Bethany, dimpling up at him.

“Nothing could give me greater pleasure on this
earth,” said Mr. Barthlew, promptly offering an arm to each of the ladies.

Slowly they made their way around the periphery
of the ballroom, Lady Bethany and Mr. Barthlew talking casually of this and that, while Abby listened. As the
trio approached Mr. Farnham,
Lady Bethany exclaimed, “Oh! Mr. Farnham! Cedric, I be
lieve you know Mr. Farnham?”

Mr. Barthlew acknowledged that he did and reluc
tantly stopped in his course. In the ensuing few mo
ments, introductions were made. Lady Bethany, giving
Abby a meaningful glance, chose to direct Mr.
Barthlew’s attention to something on the dance floor.

Rightly realizing that this was her moment, Abby
turned to Mr. Farnham. With a wavering smile, she
said in a low voice, “Sir, we haven’t met before. Lady Bethany
has commissioned me to give this to you.”
She fumbled with the paper screw, but she got it into
his hand. She saw the gentleman’s long white fingers
close over the note. A singularly brilliant smile lit up
Mr. Farnham’s face, completely dispelling his former expression, and Abby could suddenly quite see how
Lady Bethany had succumbed to the gentleman.

“Thank you, Miss Fairchilde,” he said quietly.

Lady Bethany and Mr. Barthlew turned back. Lady Bethany
glanced swiftly at Mr. Farnham’s face. Apparently
satisfied that Abby’s mission had been accomplished, she
announced herself to be famished. “Won’t you be a
dear, Cedric, and take Abby and me at once to the
refreshments? I am positive there must be a chocolate
truffle or two tucked away on the table!”

Mr. Barthlew was nothing loath, and he made a
polite excuse to Mr. Farnham. That gentleman bowed,
and with the slightest of smiles acknowledged Abby’s
backward glance. Abby hastily turned her head, glad
that the deed was done and she could be comfort
able again.