The Dashing Miss Fairchild (28 page)

"Oh, what an insufferable man you are, to be sure.” She flounced about and ran up the stairs, wondering if she had taken leave of her senses to go with him, knowing what it could mean.

In short order she returned, her most proper bonnet in place, hands demurely gloved, and a composed expression on her face. They went out of the door, catching sight of the waiting Timms standing respectfully not far away.

"It is not far to Queens Square. If we walk, it shan't take us long. I should rather not use a chair.” Although it would offer distance, she might as well listen to what he had to say. He wouldn't speak with the chairmen all ears.

Surprisingly, he uttered no more than commonplace remarks. The weather, the serious condition of the economy with returned soldiers hunting for work, grain in dire supply, and other equally dismal subjects. Clare absorbed his comments, thinking him to be a man of uncommon sense. At least in matters of this nature.

When they turned down Gay Street to locate the earl's house, her stomach performed peculiar flip-flops, and she discovered her hands to be clammy inside her demure gloves. Her fingers tightened perceptibly on his arm.

"Getting cold feet, Miss Fairchild?” His voice had an oily righteousness she utterly loathed. Her brother sounded like that when he knew he was right.

"Nonsense,” she countered stoutly.

The Millsham butler took a dim view of the pair who presented themselves at the door. Upon receiving their cards, he unbent to allow them into the house, even going so far as to announce them to his master, who was upstairs.

Clare glanced about the small drawing room with curious eyes. It seemed the usual sort one finds in a place to let. Deep red draperies hung at the windows, with the same red covering a backless sofa and several chairs in the new Regency style. The arrangement was definitely uninspired. How fortunate she was to have the house on the Royal Crescent. They heard steps in the hall, and she turned to face Richard. Her composure being severely tested in this hostile environment, she stiffened her spine, tossing him a challenging look.

The door opened and the earl entered, a cold expression on his face that seemed scarcely encouraging to two who hoped to intimidate him.

"Talbot? Miss Fairchild? I confess I am surprised to see you here.” He drew near, but did not invite them to sit down.

Clare thought his manners had suffered greatly since the trip to Millsham Hall.

"Miss Fairchild has been a trifle indisposed for the past day or two. Someone took a shot at her in the Sydney Gardens. Fortunately, he missed. I caught the man and spoke with him before he mysteriously died."

"Really,” interrupted the earl in a bored voice. “I fail to see what this has to do with the."

"Have patience, my lord, and you shall,” Clare said after finding her voice. She had stared at the earl, wondering what possessed a man with his looks and charm to go so far as to murder. Then perhaps, never having been without money, it would be impossible for her to fully understand his motives. As well, she had been so blessed as to circulate in the highest of the
ton.
She clasped her hands together and tried to concentrate on what was being said. Richard had been leading the earl along, teasing him with the knowledge that the hired assailant had talked.

"Aye,” Richard said. “The man insisted you employed him to shoot Miss Fairchild. Your peculiar note substantiates that, did you know? It provides a motive, however repugnant."

"You cannot prove a thing one way or the other if the man is now dead, Talbot."

"There is another witness, and he to a murder."

Although his expression remained unchanged, there appeared a definite uneasiness about Basil Kibbler's eyes.

"Mr. Kibbler, it would seem to me that the climate in France ought to be highly beneficial this time of year,'’ Clare inserted, finding the going too slow for her liking.

"I have not traveled to France."

Hearing the implacable note in his voice, she shrugged, then said, “Italy, perhaps? I am told the food is marvelous.” He ignored her.

"How can you prove there is a witness to this so-called crime you accuse me of committing? You see,” the man's voice grew dangerously quiet, “I did not do a thing."

"One of the stable lads has talked."

Kibbler's face grew ashen. “To whom?"

Seeing that he had convinced Kibbler he told the truth, Richard advanced a few steps, his attitude menacing. “To the proper authority. He was most believable. I daresay it will not be long before you stand accused of murder, Mr. Kibbler."

Clare found it fascinating that the man did not dispute the name in the least.

Richard paused in his speech, then continued, “It is imperative for one so accused to either give proof of his innocence or flee, I believe."

Basin Kibbler drew himself up, raking Richard and Clare with a frosty glare. “Since I am innocent, I shall prepare myself for that event, sir. I must bid you good day."

"A piece of gross impertinence if I ever heard one! To speak so to us!” she exclaimed as they marched along Queens Square. “Did you notice his eyes? He is guilty."

"He did strike me as uneasy when I claimed we have a witness to the murder."

"Shall you have Timms follow him?” She glanced back to see Timms lingering in the area, unobtrusively melting into the scenery.

"Perhaps. I suspect we shall find out Kibbler's intentions before long."

They crossed Gay Street, Clare intent on discovering what Richard Talbot intended to do next. Absently she observed several ladies on the opposite side of the street, but paid little heed to them.

"I have seen nothing of Miss Godwin,” she reflected aloud. “Although she is the most aggravating woman alive, I still worry about her. It cannot be easy to have your family turn their backs on you, find yourself all dished up, and no place to put your head."

Her subtle appeal for any information about Venetia was totally ignored.

"Lady Kingsmill sent a message that she would like to see you. I suspect she wishes to confirm your continued good health. Miss Oliver must have unduly alarmed her."

"Oh, pooh. We had best go there now, I expect. You do think that Lady Millsham will be all right, even though Timms is away from the house?"

"As we were leaving, I noticed Mrs. Robottom coming toward the house. I fancy she will keep Lady Millsham company. She said she was quite taken with the young widow."

"How lovely.” Clare gave a choke of laughter, not daring to look at Richard lest she compound the problem.

They changed direction after he checked to see if she wished to walk. At her nod, he continued with his comments, then asked, “Are you pleased now that you went to see Mr. Kibbler?"

Clare turned to face Richard, aware of a subtle alteration in his voice. “I own that I was a bit afraid of him,” she said quietly. “I truly believe that man is not right in his head. That can only be frightening."

"Yet knowing that, you insisted upon coming with the?"

"What could he have done? You were there to protect me, after all."

"Woman, your logic nearly unmans me!"

"With Timms watching Kibbler's house, we no longer have a watchdog of our own,” she pointed out in a carefully polite voice as they crossed a busy Milsom Street.

"True. That bothers you? I would have thought an intrepid girl like you would be beyond such things."

"I am not a girl, Mr. Talbot."

He sighed. “I thought we had put that particular nonsense behind us.” He guided her into New Bond Street, ignoring the lure of fashionable shops.

"My age?” she queried, clearly befuddled.

"My name."

She stopped at the corner of Broad Street to give him a narrow look. “I only call you Richard when I forget myself."

"Come, we are attracting attention.” He firmly took hold of her arm, guiding her over the cobbles in an expert fashion.

"I do not understand you in the least."

"That makes us quite even, then."

"I believe I should like a chair for the rest of the way,” she snapped, vastly annoyed that things were not going as she wished.

"No. It is but a short walk from here across the bridge to Laura Place. An intrepid girl like you should...” He winced at the jab from her elbow.

She did not pretend ignorance. “I fail to see why you insist on that odious term. Intrepid, indeed."

"It has a certain appeal."

She disregarded his presence at her side by the simple means of looking in the windows of the tiny, attractive shops on the bridge. Her silence continued up Argyle Street until they came to Laura Place.

Lady Kingsmill required a complete retelling of the episode in the Sydney Gardens. By the time Clare finished, she felt as exhausted as after the incident.

"Well,” prodded Lady Kingsmill, “have you no other news for me?"

"We shall tell you more when Timms gives us news of Mr. Kibbler. For you must know we cannot call him the earl anymore,” Clare insisted.

"That was not what I had in mind,'’ muttered Lady Kingsmill. “Talbot, I'm disappointed in you,” she began, and was ruthlessly cut off by Mr. Talbot, who rose to his feet saying they absolutely must depart.

"That was excessively rude of you,” Clare scolded when they were once again outside before the house on Laura Place.

"It was, wasn't it?” he agreed placidly.

"I believe I should like a chair,
now."
Clare looked about, noting one lone chair across the diamond-shaped area.

Richard hailed the chairmen, then tucked Clare inside, waving her off with a sigh of relief. Once she had reached the Pulteney Bridge, he strode off in the same direction, taking a different turn when he reached the far side. Within minutes he had reached Queens Square to confer with Timms.

"He has fled? Just like that?"

"You sound disappointed, my love.” Richard took her hand, leading her to the sofa in the drawing room where he pulled her down beside him.

"No, not in the least.” But she suffered a vague feeling of being let down somehow, as irrational as that might seem. She knew comfort from Richard's hand until she recalled it was highly improper for her to be sitting alone with him and holding hands like a pair of besotted lovers.

"I thought you might be glad to know he hightailed it for the coast sometime after we left his house yesterday. His baggage looked suspiciously heavy for its size. I fear Lady Millsham will find he dipped badly into the coffers of the estate."

"But he is gone?” She searched his face to assure herself he told the utter truth.

"I believe it is safe to assume he will not return to Millsham Hall."

"I see.'’ This meant no more ruined bonnets, no mad drives across the countryside with Richard, no more stealthy trips on the canal. How deadly dull!

Richard leaned back, keeping a firm hold on that dainty hand, thus forcing Clare to join him, although she didn't seem aware of his maneuverings.

"He had a passenger with him who might interest you,” he added casually.

"Who?” She studied the clasped hands, wondering if she ought to quibble with him about his presumptions. If it hadn't felt so good and so right, she might have been so inclined. However, since their adventure was concluded, there was every chance she might not see him again, what with her being nearly on the shelf and he continuing in his preposterous ways.

"Miss Godwin entered his coach, and a great number of trunks belonging to the lady were placed in the boot and on top along with his."

Clare sat up in amazement. “You jest, sir!"

"At least that's better than Mr. Talbot. I think."

"Will
you be serious?"

"I have been trying, but you are singularly uncooperative, my love."

She ignored his digressions. “But Venetia! Going with Mr. Kibbler? Impossible!"

"I saw it myself. Joined Timms over in Queens Square when he sent word of activity."

"But she continually plagued me with the need to be proper! She thought it grossly indiscreet for me to drive with you, even with Priddy along! Well, I never."

"I can only hope so, my heart's delight."

"Richard, you confuse me."

"Ah, we make progress."

Steps in the hall brought Clare to her feet. Lady Millsham entered the drawing room, the sound of her greeting covering the muttered imprecations from Mr. Talbot.

Clare led Lady Millsham to a chair, urging her to sit down, while ignoring the disgruntled form of Mr. Talbot. “We believe Mr. Kibbler has decamped for the coast, it is to be hoped for France or wherever he intends to live now. He left the house on Queens Square."

"So suddenly? How can you be certain?” She turned to face Richard, knowing the information would come from him.

"I watched them pack up the baggage and depart. My man will follow them until he discovers their intent."

Lady Millsham proved quicker than Clare. “They? You mean Mr. Kibbler and his servants? Or did someone join him?"

"Actually, Miss Godwin went with him.” Clare peered anxiously at Lady Millsham, wondering how she would react to this bit of scandalous news.

The young widow gave Clare and Richard an irrepressible grin. “Oh, how delicious. I know it is quite shocking, and I am wicked to laugh, but she was always one for being proper, and now she...” Lady Millsham looked at Clare, then Richard.

They all burst into quiet laughter. Lady Millsham leaned forward to where the others sat close by on the sofa.

"I vow it will be wonderful to return to Millsham Hall.” Placing one hand on Clare's arm, the other on Mr. Talbot's capable hand, she added, “I do not know how I can ever sufficiently thank you both for all you have done for my son and me. Rest assured the new seventh earl shall know of his great debt to you."

"Please, do not refine upon it,” Clare urged, near tears what with feeling the end of her association with Richard in sight and the conclusion of the drama with Lady Millsham upon her. Clare had grown fond of the brave young widow. Her feelings regarding Richard, she buried under a pile of good intentions.

Lady Millsham stayed them both with her hands, looking embarrassed but determined, “Once we get word that it is quite safe for us to return to the Hall, I should like you to go with me. As much as I long to be there, I dread facing that place alone. I do not know if I can trust anyone at the Hall again. Dare I ask that of you after all you have done so far?"