Lord Darlington's Darling (12 page)

Lord Darlington murmured civilly and drew Abby
away from her relations. She had not said anything in
response to her sister’s teasing manner. Indeed, he
gathered that she was as greatly taken aback as him
self at Mrs. Crocker’s unreserved affability. “To what
do I owe your sister’s approval, Miss Fairchilde?”

Abby glanced quickly at him, then gave a gurgling
laugh. “Oh! She has decided I am acquiring a court. Y
ou are but one of the feathers in my cap, my
lord!”

“Well, that is baldly honest,” remarked Lord Dar
lington. He slanted a smile at her. “I am glad Mrs.
Crocker appears to have thawed slightly toward me,
for I wish very much to figure as a feather in your
cap.”

Abby felt slow, delicious heat slide into her face.
“You must not say such things, my lord!”

“Shouldn’t I? Odd, I fear I must contradict you on
this point, Miss Fairchilde,” said Lord Darlington.

“My lord, I—” Abby started to reply, but all
thoughts flew out of her head when her gaze alighted
on the dowager and Lady Bethany, who were obviously exiting
the ballroom. “Why, where are Lady Darlington and
Lady Bethany going?”

Lord Darlington’s voice chilled slightly. “My sister
has the headache. She has begged my mother to take
her home.”

Abby glanced quickly at his face. He was not look
ing at her, but in the direction of his sister. There was
a distance in his expression she had never seen before. “I . . . see. I am sorry Lady Bethany is feeling poorly.” She
uttered the polite civility without great attention as her
own emotions suddenly plunged into chill waters. She
had aided and abetted Lady Bethany’s clandestine commu
nications with Mr. Farnham and as a result her friend
was in disgrace.

Abby’s memory replayed Lady Bethany’s desperation and
wild assertion that her brother would attempt bodily
harm to her suitor. Abby could not give it credence
then, but for some reason the marquess’s sudden withdrawal served to underscore Lady Bethany’s fears. Uncom
fortable for the first time in Lord Darlington’s
company, Abby was afraid she might blurt out some
unwary word that would at once lead him to suspect
her own role as go-between.

“You have grown strangely silent, Miss Fairchilde,”
remarked Lord Darlington.

Abby looked up quickly, meeting his intent expres
sion. She glanced swiftly away. “I—I have had such a
vastly exciting evening, my lord. If I am quiet, it is
because I have been given so much to think about.”

“I quite understand. It is a weighty matter when a
lady begins to acquire a court,” said Lord Darlington
with a faintly teasing note in his voice.

“Just so, my lord,” said Abby. She saw with relief
that their leisurely promenade had led them to the refreshment room. “Shouldn’t we procure some ices
before the orchestra strikes up again? I—I have a
partner for the next set, you see.”
Lord Darlington glanced at her, a tinge of surprise
in his eyes. As Abby watched tremulously, his expres
sion smoothed.

“As you wish, Miss Fairchilde,” he said, almost indifferently.

In short order Lord Darlington and Abby had got
ten the ices and returned with them to Mrs. Crocker
and the two elderly ladies. The refreshments were re
ceived with gracious thanks.

Lord Darlington bowed and took himself off. His
last glance was frowning as he looked at Abby’s
averted head, but he said nothing.

Abby thought she would be glad when Lord Dar
lington turned and walked away, but there was a
squeezing about her heart that was very uncomfort
able. Her gaze followed him, until Lord Fielding brought himself to her attention and she was taken
out onto the dance floor.

Abby wished heartily that she could go home and
think. She didn’t know what to do. She had gotten
herself tangled up in subterfuge that was being played
out against a gentleman whom she honored most
highly. She felt a decision was inexorably being thrust
upon her, and that was whether her friendship with Lady Bethany was worth jeopardizing her treasured ac
quaintance with Lord Darlington.

There was one thing she could do, Abby reflected
with unusual decision. Lady Bethany was not the only one
who could claim she had the headache.

Without any loss of lime, Abby informed her sister
that she was not feeling well. Mrs. Crocker was mildly
surprised, but she did not demur at leaving the ball
before the early-morning hours. “Though I don’t mind in the least my duties, I have missed Peter dreadfully this evening,” she confided.

“And I can scarcely keep my eyes open another
minute,” said Mrs. Fairchilde, expressing her own agreement to an early withdrawal. Mrs. Paddington
grumbled, but it was seen that she, too, was weary
enough to wish to return home.

Abby felt she was the biggest liar in nature, and all of her relations were incredibly accommodating and
kind. Foremost in her thoughts, however, was Lord
Darlington. She had treated him more selfishly than
all the rest, even if he did not know it. She hoped he
never knew of her perfidy. However, she dimly realized that
it was but a matter of time before her role was discov
ered by accident—perhaps some blurted reference by
herself or Lady Bethany.

Abby shivered at the thought of the condemnation
which must surely arise in the marquess’s breast. She en
tertained the vague notion that she should confess.
But her character was such that she shrank from act
ing so boldly.

Abby left the ball without a decision being made,
other than she must not help Lady Bethany in the future,
and with a vague hope that Lord Darlington would never hear how reprehensibly she had acted.

Abby slept late the next morning. When she finally
went downstairs, it was to find the rest of her family
already assembled in the breakfast room. She bent to
kiss her mother’s cheek and smiled apologetically all
around. “I am sorry to come down so tardily.”

“Nonsense, my dear. I am certain none of us be
grudge you the rest,” said Mrs. Fairchilde.

“Of course not,” agreed Mrs. Crocker, smiling at
her sister from over the rim of her teacup. “However,
I will remind you that we have a few calls to make
this morning, Abby.”

Abby slipped into her chair and began her breakfast.
“I shan’t keep you waiting, Melissa,” she promised.

The butler entered, carrying a small beribboned box
and laid it beside Abby’s plate. “This was just deliv
ered for you, miss, along with a note.”

Abby was startled. She looked at the box, but did
not reach for it. “For me?”

“Well, open it, girl!” exclaimed Mrs. Paddington.
“Something as pretty as that won’t bite.”

Abby laughed and agreed. She opened the box,
which proved to be an excellent assortment of chocolates. Her heart was pounding with anticipation as she picked up the folded note. Hoping the token had come
from Lord Darlington, she said, “I wonder whom it
could possibly be from?” She opened the note, her
eyes going at once to the signature, and she gasped.
“Why, it is from Mr. Farnham!”

“Let me see, Abby,” said Mrs. Crocker, extending her hand.

Abby gave the note into her sister’s keeping, a
frown creasing her brows. It came as a distinct shock
that Mr. Farnham had recognized her in such a
fashion.

“It is a very tasteful note,” said Mrs. Crocker, after
making herself mistress of its contents. She handed it
to her spouse.

“Why, how nice of Mr. Farnham, Abby,” said Mrs.
Fairchilde.

Mrs. Paddington nodded her own approval. “It’s
about time you got yourself another admirer or two.”

“But Mr. Farnham isn’t an admirer of mine!”
He’s—” Abby abruptly stopped, appalled at how near
she had been to betraying Lady Bethany’s confidence.

August had opened the box of chocolates and
plucked one out to sample with critical pleasure.
“Whatever else this Farnham fellow is or isn’t, Abby,
I like his taste in chocolates.” He took out another
chocolate and bit into it with relish. “You ought to encourage him a little if he is going to send candies.
That’s better than a silly posy any day.”

“Now, August, flowers are very nice, too,” reproved
Mrs. Fairchilde. She turned to her daughter. “You
must have made quite an impression upon Mr. Farn
ham, Abby.”

“Quite! Abby, you sly puss! You must tell us all
about your newest beau,” said Mrs. Paddington.

“Mr. Farnham is not my b-beau!” stammered Abby,
flushing hotly.

Mr. Crocker, having read the note and passed it
back to his wife, had said nothing, but he wore a deep
frown all the while. After throwing a comprehending
glance at Abby’s burning face, Mrs. Crocker said
firmly, “Certainly you must thank Mr. Farnham,
Abby. And for the rest of us, I believe we may all
leave off teasing poor Abby about the gentleman.”

Mrs. Paddington twitched her shawl into place over
her shoulders, remarking, “What a pity my sister can
not send you to your room any longer for imperti
nence, Melissa.”

Mrs. Crocker laughed, regarding her annoyed aunt with fondness. “Indeed, I do feel for you, Aunt. How
ever, Abby no doubt appreciates my efforts on her
behalf even if you do not!”

“Indeed I do!” said Abby.

Nothing more was said, for which Abby was thank
ful. She hoped that would be the end of Mr. Farn
ham’s attentions. Indeed, she could not imagine why
he had sent her anything at all. Unless, of course, it
was his way of thanking her for her help in acting as the
go-between himself and Lady Bethany. If that was it, and Abby could see no other explanation, then she
need not concern herself anymore over Mr. Farnham,
she thought with relief.

Abby’s easy dismissal of the gentleman proved to
be short-lived. From that date forward, Mr. Farnham appointed himself as one of her stoutest admirers. He consis
tently stood up with her to dance, sent her small trib
utes, and generally made himself agreeable to her and
her relations, until Abby did not know what to think.
Matters were not helped that Lord Fielding began to regard Mr. Farnham in the light of a rival and made pointed comments on several occasions that let Abby
know of his displeasure.

Mrs. Crocker shortly voiced her own misgivings in
a private moment. “From the little I can discover
about Mr. Farnham, he has few if any prospects. There
is something unsavory in his character besides, but
Peter will not divulge it all to me. In short, I would
not wish you to encourage Mr. Farnham, Abby
.”

“No, oh, no! I shan’t,” responded Abby with haste.
“You need not be anxious on that count, Melissa.”

However, apparently Mr. Farnham needed no en
couragement to continue to make Abby an object of his
gallantry. His pursuit discomfited Abby, especially when
Lord Fielding, who had previously directed all of his dislike toward Lord Darlington, showed a rather re
markable animosity toward Mr. Farnham and could not
resist addressing barbed comments to the gentleman.

As for Lord Darlington, he merely surveyed Mr.
Farnham with a sort of cold indifference, though with
a peculiar gleam in his eyes as he played with one of the fobs dangling at his waist.

Abby knew that the marquess did not like Mr. Farnham, and she trembled from trepidation whenever the
two gentlemen met. However, unlike Lord Fielding,
Lord Darlington did not reveal his feeling so openly.
He did not indulge in sniping exchanges, but always main
tained his polished civility. If there was more of a
drawl in his voice than had been there before, it was
probably only Abby’s quick ear that heard it and real
ized its import.