Fairchild (26 page)

She was good, Jasper thought, watching her charm both Boz and Andre in turn, who were making cakes of themselves. Not surprising, considering how many balls of fire they were swallowing.
 

Andre was raising his glass in yet another toast. “Your beautiful tits—best I’ve seen.”
 

“I’ll drink to that,” Boz agreed.
 

“Indeed,” Jasper said, following. They were magnificent, it could not be denied.
 

When he set down his glass, the red headed man was standing behind Andre, glowering.
 

“Yous ain’t the only blokes as wants drinks brought to their table.”

“Of course not, good man.” Andre’s eyes were glassy. “There’s another one—where is she? Well, the host can serve you.”

“An if we don’t wants ‘im?”

Warily, Jasper tensed in his seat. They were fuddled, all of them, even the girl, who scowled at the intruder. But that man had shoulders like Atlas; none of them were up to his weight.
 

“I thinks it’s time you swells took yourselves off,” he said, grabbing Andre’s lapels and hoisting him to his feet. Like an eel, the girl darted away, ducking behind the counter.
 

Over Goliath’s shoulder, Jasper saw his friends rising from their seats, anticipatory grins lighting their faces. Boz was standing, slurring protests.
 

“My good man,” Jasper said, stepping forward. “Let’s not be too hasty. Five against three? Those aren’t fair odds. This calls for a friendly wager. You and your friends are dicing. Let me join you. If your roll beats mine, my friends and I will relinquish all claims to the fair —”

“Kate,” Boz supplied.
 

“Wha’s reel-an-quish?”

“We will leave her be.”

Goliath shook his head slowly. “You might win. I’m not a Johnny Raw to take worse odds than I’ve already gots.” His eyes flicked at his friends.
 

“Of course not. But if I win Kate, I’ll buy your drinks. How’s that?” Lord, let him say yes so they could get out of here.
 

“Take it,” urged Goliath’s sharp-eyed friend.
 

“All right then.” Goliath held out a chair for Jasper at his table. Jasper sat down, Boz and Andre standing behind him, flanking each shoulder. Boz at least seemed to realize they were in something of a fix, but Andre was sulking belligerently.
 

“You first,” Goliath ordered.

Jasper rolled an eight. Higher than he’d wanted, but still a decent chance of being beaten. He glanced at the door, suddenly so far away. The other patrons were gathering around, laying their own bets on the contest. Hopefully they wouldn’t stop him and his friends from leaving once the business was concluded.
 

Goliath threw a five and Jasper nearly groaned. He slapped a guinea onto the table and rose. “My consolations.” Kissing his fingers to Kate who was peeking over the top of the bar, he took Andre and Boz’s arms and sidestepped towards the door. Goliath and his friends were still staring at the gold piece shining on the table.
 

“Quickly!” Jasper whispered, hauling his friends out the door. The street was quiet. Not a hackney in sight. Boz swore.
 

“Leaving so soon?” Goliath and his friends spilled out of the tavern onto the street. “How bout’s you and I throw some more?”
 

“I’m afraid I have no more time, my good man.” Jasper did not like to turn and run, but if he stayed, Goliath would fleece him and then mash him to a pulp. He stepped backward and Andre stumbled. Deuce take it.
 

Goliath advanced. “We’ll have a few more throws, right fellows?” They voiced jeering assent.
 

“Really, I’m afraid it’s impossible,” Jasper flustered, dragging Andre to his feet. Why hadn't he thought to bring a pistol?

“Hear that mates? He’s afraid.”
 

Jasper grimaced. They were not going to walk away from this one.
 

A tall figure detached himself from the crowd. “Let them go, Jonas. You can’t afford any trouble. They won’t bother us again.”
 

Hm. His biblical nickname hadn't been far wrong. Goliath-Jonas shook off the man's restraining hand.
 

“Jonas, I’m warning you.”
 

Goliath-Jonas swore loudly, shoving the man aside with force that should have sent him sprawling. Instead, the man danced nimbly to the side. Before anyone could blink, his fist cannoned into the side of Goliath's head. Goliath fell backwards into the crowd.
 

The stranger was beside Jasper in an instant, shouldering Andre's other arm. “Move,” he commanded.
 

Boz ran ahead, Jasper and the stranger dragging Andre between them. The shouts of the crowd behind them were drawing attention from the windows leaning over the street. If people were noticing, they might make their escape.

Around the corner deliverance waited in the form of the most run-down hackney Jasper had ever seen. He’d lay odds six to four the thing wouldn't make it to Mayfair.
 

“Go, or they’ll come after you,” the stranger said. “You shouldn’t flash your blunt around like that.”
 

“What else was I to do, pray?” Jasper grumbled, nodding at the driver and hauling open the door.
 

“You shouldn’t come here. Or if you’re chawbacon enough to haunt this district, bring a pistol. You fools haven’t even got a sword stick between you.”

“I have!” Boz protested, raising his ebony cane and almost hitting Jasper in the face.
 

The stranger stepped into the lamplight and for the first time Jasper glimpsed his face.
 

“I know you,” he said, but dashed if he could remember where.
 

“I’m Bagshot,” the man said. “Your neighbor.”
 

“Ah.” Jasper felt suddenly foolish. He’d seen him once at the park, but had avoided him, because by then his parents had been a fair way to forgetting Sophy’s unfortunate accident. He hadn’t wanted to bring her more trouble by presenting them with this problem.
 

“Stay away from here. Not your crowd,” Bagshot said.

“Is it yours?” Jasper asked, curious.

Tom’s voice was rough. “Yes. I was meeting an old friend.”

Jasper pushed Andre inside the coach and stepped aside to allow Bagshot in.
 

“No, thank you,” Bagshot said.
 

“There’s only one, man.” Jasper said. “And if we break down, which I'm afraid is very likely, I might have need of your fists again.”
 

“Very well.” Bagshot climbed in.
 

Andre was snoring by the time they reached St. James. “I’ll have to help him inside,” Jasper said, with an expression of distaste. “You alright, Boz?” Receiving an affirmative, he allowed Boz to walk away down the street.
 

“Where’s your digs?” Jasper asked Tom.
 

He snorted, not impressed with Jasper’s slang. “You can’t do it right, you know. It puts people’s backs up. I’m not far. I’ll take the hackney the rest of the way.”

Tempted to ask if the slang bothered him too, Jasper bit his tongue. He had been an ass. This was Bagshot’s second favor. He owed the man something. On the pavement, with Andre draped on his shoulder, Jasper turned to the open carriage door. “Bagshot?”

“Yes?” Tom leaned forward, so his face was visible again.
 

“Please accept my thanks.”

“It’s nothing to me. I didn’t want Jonas to get into trouble. His wife and children need his wage. You can thank me by trying not to be such an ass.”
 

Jasper blinked. Well, he’d thought it himself. “Point taken.” He grinned. “May I call on you tomorrow, if I promise not to put up your back?”

Tom frowned, surprised. Jasper pressed on. “Where do you live?" he asked.
 

“Russell Square, but I’m busy tomorrow.” Tom leaned back, disappearing from sight. “If you want to see me, you can come to my office.”
 

Ah, a test. He probably deserved it. “I shall call on you there, at your convenience,” he said. It was too hard to bow, with Andre sliding off him.
 

“I don’t have a card,” Tom said and told him the address.
 

“Goodnight, Mr. Bagshot,” Jasper said and ordered the jarvey to drive on.

It was all for the best, Sophy told herself, listlessly handing round the tea cups. Sinking onto the love seat beside Alistair, she crumbled a biscuit onto her saucer and watched her tea turn cold.
 

“You aren’t going to drink that,” Alistair said, reaching over to take her cup and saucer. “It’s stone cold.” The cup rattled loudly as he swept it aside and set in on the nearby table. Empty handed, Sophy felt her last barricades were gone.
 

“What’s troubling you?” he asked, leaning forward and lowering his voice. “Not Henrietta’s ball still, surely.” Seeing fire kindling in her eyes, he rested a large hand on her own. “It does bother you, then?”

Unaccountably, Sophy felt tears threatening at the corners of her eyes. She gave a short nod, looking across the room, but Lord and Lady Fairchild had moved to the opposite corner with Miss Matcham, their heads bent over an open book of engravings resting on the table.
 

“I’m sorry, Sophy,” Alistair said, for once seeming sincere. “I didn't mean to embarrass you. I was pleased. Don’t you know that inexperience is exactly what a man looks for in a wife?”

She was speechless, unable to muster the bravado of Henrietta’s ball and the masquerade. He was earnest, his eyes assured, with just a hint of lurking amusement.
 

“You know I’m not trifling,” he said. “I promise, next time I kiss you it will be better. You’ll like it.” He swept his index finger over the back of her hand.
 

Her mouth went dry. “I don’t know what you expect me to say,” she said at last.
 

“Nothing now,” he said, smiling. “You haven’t met my mother yet.”
 

“I’m to pass muster first?” Sophy asked, sounding waspish.

“I don’t anticipate any difficulty. You already belong in this family.” She was cornered. Surely that was why she felt so pettish. She ought to be thrilled.
 

“Why did you stop speaking to me?” she asked.
 

He shrugged. “To make you jealous of course. It pricks my pride, you know, that it didn’t work, but my aunt tells me it will improve my character to have to earn the affections of my wife. I must say, I am quite of the same mind.”
 

He was so glib, she wanted to scream.
 

Miss Matcham’s carriage arrived. Glad for the removal of her unwanted but necessary guest, Lady Fairchild escorted her from the room with a creditable imitation of disappointment. “So soon? You must watch for me in the park. Give my best love to your dear mama.”
 

Taking advantage of Lady Fairchild’s brief absence, Sophy disengaged her hand from Alistair’s and rose.
 

 
“So early, Sophy?” her father asked, crossing the floor towards her.

“I’m afraid if I stay longer I shall be quite overcome,” she said. “Early rides and late evenings take their toll.”

“I’ll escort you upstairs,” he said, taking her arm. “Forgive us, Alistair. I’ll be back before long.”

“What is it father?” she asked, once they were out of earshot.

“Only my good wishes. I’m happy for you, my dear.”

In spite of herself, a faltering smile crossed her lips. “I am glad, sir.”

At her door, she turned to him, desperate to share some of the truth. “I do not think that I love him.”
 

For a moment he made no reply. “Sophy—” he began.

Her throat burned. “I know you would not want me to marry him if he were not a good choice, but what will I do if I cannot love him?” He would have some answer, some salve for her.

“You are young and sweet-natured. You will learn to love him.” He did not meet her eyes.
 

“Lady Fairchild did not learn to love you,” she mumbled.
 

He smiled, a tight grimace, not exactly amused. “You are more complaisant and know how to content yourself. Nor is Alistair such a fool that he cannot learn from my mistakes.”

“Is that the best I can hope for?” Sophy asked.
 

“Not at all. I hope for much better between the two of you. But if love is not to be, I do not think you will be unhappy. Alistair is an honorable man who will respect you.”

“You found love with my mother.”
 

“For a time,” he agreed, a little needled. “But you know it was impossible. Love like that usually is. I think it might be the impossibility that makes us feel it at all.”
 

“Yet you both took the chance.”
 

He regarded her sternly. “It was a mistake. Your mother was an innocent lady. If I had not been somewhat broken myself, I should never have done it.” He hesitated. “Is there someone you think you love?”

Before she could decide what to answer, he spoke again. “Your mother would not want you to make her choices. Nor would I permit it. You are precious to me and to Lady Fairchild. We want the best for you, and Alistair is the best.

“You have a bit of the dreamer in you, is all. I did my share of dreaming too. But you mustn’t hope for something that may be impossible or you will find no peace. I think you will do well with Alistair. He is a handsome man, is he not?”

“Too handsome,” Sophy said. “I’ll lose my head.”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” He gave her a quizzical glance.
 

“Only if I knew that he loved me back.”

 
Her father sighed. “I cannot promise you happiness. No one can, though Heaven knows I wish I could.” He laid a gentle hand on her chin. “I have become a prudent man, but I would lay my money on Alistair. With him I think you can find what you seek.” He kissed her forehead and left her at her door.