Lord Darlington's Darling (4 page)

Mrs. Crocker looked meaningfully at her, a smile pinned
to her lips. “We
are attending Almack’s this evening, of course.
Lord Fielding has requested to make one of our party,
since he has no previous engagements.”

Abby knew at once what was required of her. She
turned to the gentleman with a smile. “That will in
deed be vastly pleasant, my lord. I shall look forward
to your company.”

“I begin to feel quite one of the family,” said Lord
Fielding with a chuckle.

Abby did not know what to say. She knew that Lord
Fielding had an interest in her. It was obvious to her, even without her sister’s insistence that it was so. She
supposed she would end by wedding Lord Fiel
ding if he ever made an offer for her hand. Marriage was the primary object of being brought out, after all,
and she thought she felt comfortable enough with her single admirer
to accept such an offer. However, his lordship’s easy
familiarity at just that moment left her tongue-tied.

He seemed to realize it because he hastened into speech.
“I trust you will save me a dance, Miss Fairchilde
.” He bestowed another smile
upon her.

“Of course I shall,” said Abby, glad to be able to
assure him of that much, at least. She
was fairly confident of herself on the dance floor, so she didn’t think she would disgrace herself. During the last Season, sev
eral personages had compli
mented her skill and she had heard it often enough to accept what had
been said as true.

“Abby, will you serve, please?” Mrs. Crocker asked.

Abby was very
glad to serve the tea. It gave her something to occupy
herself with and dictated the direction of the immedi
ate conversation. It was a relief that she needed only
inquire her companions’ preferences and pour out the
tea in order to entertain their guest.

When her task
was done, Abby took refuge in nibbling on a biscuit
and quietly sipping her own tea as she listened to her
sister’s and Lord Fielding’s conversation.

His lordship seemed to know everything that was
happening in town. The latest
on dits
rolled easily off
his tongue. Abby marveled that he never seemed
at a loss. Whenever she could, she tentatively offered her little mite, which seemed to please both her sister
and Lord Fielding.

“The Marquess of Darlington has leased a town
house for the Season. It’s said that the Dowager Lady
Darlington is bringing out the youngest daughter, who
is coming straight up to town from a select Bath semi
nary,” said Lord Fielding. He shook his head. “I
thought Lord Darlington to be a cold, indifferent fellow
when I met him last year.”

“I believe we met him, too, rather briefly. I confess that Mr. Crocker and I didn’t find his
lordship to be overly friendly.” Mrs. Crocker
glanced at her sister. “Do you recall meeting the marquess, Abby?”

“Oh, yes. Lord Darlington stood up with me at
Almack’s. He was an excellent partner.” Abby remembered she had liked how his lordship’s gliding steps had conformed so well with her own. She had enjoyed their brief country dance, she thought, smiling.

Abby saw
that her sister was regarding her with mild surprise,
while the slightest frown had pulled down Lord Fielding’s
expression. Hurriedly, she added, “I doubt the marquess would
even recall the instance to mind, for he seemed to me
to be very distant.”

“Undoubtedly that was Lord Darlington’s mistaken con
cept of gallantry,” said Lord Fielding with almost a
snort. “For a little man, he bears himself with decided arrogance.”

“For my part, I pity his lordship’s sister.
Straight out of a seminary as she is, I imagine that she must be very anxious over her come-out,” said Abby. She was
recalling with vivid clarity her own uncertainties and
fear at the beginning of last Season. She thought regretfully that her feeling of inadequacy was not much improved.

Lord Fielding warmly smiled at her. “That’s just
like you, Miss Fairchilde. Your compassion is stirred for a young girl’s circumstances even though she is
a stranger to you.”

Abby didn’t know where to look. She was aston
ished and embarrassed that Lord Fielding had made
so much of her observation. She made a helpless
gesture.

Her sister came to Abby’s rescue by casually men
tioning a mutual acquaintance, turning Lord Fiel
ding’s attention from her. Abby was glad to subside
into her usual quiet attentiveness, only interjecting a
diffident query when she saw that Lord Fielding had
finished his tea. He graciously accepted her offer to
refresh his cup and smiled at her while she did so.

“Your company manners are always impeccable,
Miss Fairchilde. It is another of your admirable quali
ties.”

Abby instantly felt herself color up. But she man
aged a gracious nod to acknowledge yet another
offering from his lordship’s stream of compliments. It
was fortunate Lord Fielding did not appear to require
a reply, since he turned again to Mrs. Crocker with another
on dit,
because Abby could not think of any
thing at all to say.

Always correct to a fault, Lord Fielding stayed not
a single minute past the quarter hour proper for such
visits. When he had left, Mrs. Crocker turned to
her sister. She shook her head in resignation. “Abby,
I don’t know that I shall ever make an accomplished
hostess out of you.”

“I know, Melissa, I am a disappointment to you,”
said Abby on a sigh. “I wish I could be more like you.
I try, I truly do!”

Mrs. Crocker laughed with amused exasperation.
“My dear! Don’t be such a goosecap. I don’t wish you
to model yourself after me. I wish you only to be
yourself. You have such a sense of fun, but you will
never give it rein. And you so rarely speak up for
yourself.” She held up an admonishing finger. “I’ll tell you what it is, Abby! You’re too
frightened someone won’t accept your opinion or that they will
think you’re a noddy. You simply have to be more
confident.”

“Yes, I know. I tell myself so, but then I say or do
something frightfully wrong, like making Lord Fiel
ding wait on my appearance before he could take tea,”
said Abby despairingly.

A smile played over Mrs. Crocker’s mouth. “Oh,
there’s nothing wrong about making a gentleman wait
a little before making your appearance, Abby. It only
whets their appetite if their only object in coming is
to see you!” She patted Abby’s arm. “All in all, you did very well with Lord
Fielding. I am most satisfied with how this affair is progressing.”

Mrs. Crocker smiled happily. “Mark my words, Abby, his lordship will
request permission to pay his addresses any day now!
And you’ll like that, won’t you?”

“Of course I shall,” responded Abby stoutly, a tiny sigh escaping her even as she returned
her sister’s smile.

Lo
rd Darlington dutifully escorted his mother and sister to Almack’s, that most prestigious of social portals. He was well aware that even
though his sister was still in the sulks, she was none
theless feeling excited by the prospect of a Season in
London. Lady Bethany preferred shopping and discussing
the latest modes over any scholarly pursuit. Her permanent removal from Bath, and the select seminary in
which she had been a student, was not precisely such
a hardship as the young lady had made it out to be.

Lady Darlington had wisely promoted her daugh
ter’s interests and been somewhat successful in turning Lady Bethany’s thoughts from Bath and her unwel
come suitor. Only the close presence of Lord Darlington
had brought the thundercloud back to Lady Bethany’s brow,
as she recalled how he had wronged her.

Lord Darlington murmured in his sister’s ear as he
took her into the dance. “Try to wipe that scowl off
of your face, Lady Bethany,” he suggested. “Anyone glanc
ing at you will think that you have a bilious stomach
otherwise.”

“I am perfectly well, except that I am with you,”
hissed Lady Bethany, nevertheless readjusting her expres
sion as the truth of her brother’s observation struck
her. By no means did she wish to put any of the gentlemen in the room off because she felt herself to be
martyred.

“Very much better,” said Lord Darlington approvingly. He led her into the country set, ignoring the
sulfurous glance she shot at him. Before many minutes
into the set, he had the satisfaction of seeing the light
of enjoyment in his sister’s eyes and the blooming
color in her cheeks. For the moment at least, Lady Bethany
had forgotten her woes and was appearing at her best. She was young to be out, of course, but Lord Darling
ton hoped a few months on the town would suf
fice to smooth her gauche edges and give her a
measure of maturity. Surely such experience would
serve to show her the foolishness of throwing her
heart after the first gentleman who had ever made up
to her.

At the end of the set, Lord Darlington had the satis
faction of knowing his sister would not lack for
partners for the remainder of the evening. Several ad
miring glances had been cast Lady Bethany’s way, and
quickly enough gentlemen of an enterprising nature
secured introductions to the latest beauty to enter Al
mack’s portals.

Lord Darlington bent over his mother’s shoulder as
she sat in a gilded chair, fanning herself. “What do
you think, Mama? Will it serve?” His gaze was on
Lady Bethany’s laughing, upturned countenance as she was
led into the next set by a tall peer.

Lady Darlington did not pretend to misunderstand
him. The dowager smiled contentedly as she, too, watched her
daughter’s pretty performance on the dance floor.
“I’ve not a doubt of it, Sylvan. Bethany is a trifle
high-spirited and stubborn, as we know all too well.
However, I doubt her heart was so engaged that she
can withstand the flattery and attention of a coterie
of admirers!”

“You relieve my mind, ma’am,” murmured Lord
Darlington, straightening. His gaze fell on a young
lady sitting a little ways off with a stocky middle-aged
gentleman in attendance. For a moment he thought
fully regarded the lady before recalling her name.
“Pray excuse me, Mama. I believe I see someone with
whom I am acquainted.”

Lady Darlington nodded absently, her gaze still on her daughter’s whirling figure.

Lord Darlington sauntered across the floor, speaking to a few
acquaintances as he passed by. With a nod to the
stocky gentleman, whose name momentarily escaped him, he smiled down at the seated lady. “Miss Fairchilde
, is it not? We were introduced last Season.”

“My Lord Darlington!” Abby’s expression was
amazed. Then swift color entered into her face. Shyly, she
held out her hand. “Of course I recall making your
acquaintance. It was here at Almack’s.”

Lord Darlington smiled again, taking her slender fingers and
placing a light salute upon them. Releasing her hand,
he turned to greet her companion and discovered the stocky gentleman sported a
less welcoming expression. He was surprised. He could not think of any reason for Miss Fairchilde’s…brother-in-law…yes, that was it, to be so stiff, but he
rose to the challenge that he perceived in the gentleman’s frowning stare. His drawl exaggerated, he said,
“Mr. Crocker, well met, sir. Have you come up for
the Season?”

Mr. Crocker nodded to the marquess, his glance
flicking over his lordship’s dandified dress. “My lord.
Yes, we are established in London for the Season.”

Lord Darlington indicated the chair beside Miss Fairchilde’s. “May I?” Receiving a reluctant nod from
Mr. Crocker, he sat down and proceeded to make him
self agreeable. He had instantly perceived that Mr.
Crocker held him in dislike, probably because of his air of dandyism, and it amused him to watch how the gentleman struggled to be civil. Miss Fairchilde
did not seem at all adverse to his company, though she
did occasionally glance anxiously upward at her brother-
in-law, who still stood stiffly beside her chair.

Lord Darlington’s sole purpose in acknowledging
his former acquaintance with Miss Fairchilde had been
motivated from politeness and a vague recollection
that she had been a personable young lady. He had meant only to exchange a few civilities before going on his way. Now, however, his sometimes perverse
sense of humor had gotten in the way.

The music was drawing to a close, and soon another gentleman might appear to claim her. Certain he could irritate Mr.
Crocker further, he turned to Miss Fairchilde. “Will
you honor me with the next set, Miss Fairchilde?”

She appeared astonished. “Why—why, of course, my lord! I shall like it very much.”

Lord Darlington stood and held out his hand. With a shy upward glance from beneath her lashes, Abby
laid her fingers in his and allowed him to draw her
up.

With a faint smile and the slightest of bows to Mr.
Crocker, who did not took as though he approved,
Lord Darlington led Miss Fairchilde onto the dance
floor.

He had not known it, but the set was a waltz;
for an instant he was dismayed. He rarely distin
guished any lady with more than a country set. His
instant of hesitation was apparently felt.

Miss Fairchilde cast another glance up at him. “I—
I shouldn’t mind an ice instead, my lord,” she said in
a small voice. “It is very close in here, is it not?”

Lord Darlington’s mind was swiftly made up. He
allowed a smile to touch his mouth. “Perhaps I shall
appreciate an ice more after our first waltz together,
Miss Fairchilde,” he said softly. So saying, he took her
circumspectly into his arms as the first strains played.

A blush stole into Abby’s face. “Thank you, my
lord. You are very kind.”

Lord Darlington looked down, utterly astounded.
The word
kind
was not one generally applied to him
or his character. As his closest acquaintances had
often complained, he had carefully cultivated a cold,
uncaring, and standoffish manner. Few were privy to
the strong emotions which often surged beneath his
breast. “Kind? I do not think so, Miss Fairchilde.”

“Oh, but you are! You recalled meeting me last
Season and that we had not danced the waltz before,”
said Abby with a swift smile.

Lord Darlington looked down thoughtfully into her
face. An entrancing dimple had quivered into exis
tence beside her mouth, and a smiling light gleamed
in her eyes. Rarely had he been regarded with mingled
trust and admiration. His siblings subjected him to
varying degrees of awe and trepidation; his mother
regarded him with affection; his friends with accep
tance and occasional resignation. In that instant,
though he did not yet know it, a crack started in the
shield protecting his heart.

“You dance very well, Miss Fairchilde,” said Lord
Darlington formally.

“Thank you, my lord,” she said with equal
formality.

The dimple had disappeared, and Lord Darlington found that to be a pity. “Have I distressed you some
how, Miss Fairchilde?”

She glanced up swiftly, her guileless green eyes wid
ening. “Oh, no! How could you have?”

“I only wondered, since that fascinating dimple has
disappeared,” said Lord Darlington quietly.

Abby blushed fierily. She looked away, then back
again very briefly before casting down her eyes. “I—
I don’t know what you mean, my lord.”

“I have a very bad habit of putting people out of
countenance,” said Lord Darlington in rare apology.
“I fear that I am a careless fellow at best. You mustn’t
mind it, Miss Fairchilde.”

“No, my lord,” said Abby. She glanced up through
her lashes again, the dimple once more in evidence.
Lord Darlington smiled again, a spark of warmth in
his usually indifferent expression.

When the waltz came to its inevitable end, Lord Darlington offered his arm to Abby. He met her won
dering gaze with a faint smile. “I promised you an ice,
did I not? Shall I escort you to the refreshment
room?”

Abby cast a quick glance over her shoulder, as
though seeking guidance. Whatever she saw, she de
cided swiftly. She resolutely turned back to the
marquess. “I shall be very happy for your escort, my
lord.”

Lord Darlington led his partner through the open
doors at the end of the ballroom and procured a
lemon ice for her. It was a pleasant few minutes while
they conversed, each discovering topics of interest.
Lord Darlington felt a mild sensation of regret when it was time to restore Miss Fairchilde to her family.

Mrs. Crocker had returned from her own turn on
the dance floor and sat beside her husband, slowly
plying her fan against the heat. Her eyes met Lord
Darlington’s and he was surprised by the assessing
look that she gave him.

“Lord Darlington, it is good to see you again,” she said, giving her hand to him. “I was most astonished
when I returned from the floor with Lord Fielding and
my husband informed me that you had solicited
Abby’s hand for the waltz, for I had not seen you
arrive.”

“I escort my mother and sister this evening, Mrs.
Crocker. I trust that I find you well?” said Lord Dar
lington politely.

“Very well, thank you, my lord,” said Mrs. Crocker.
She indicated the gentleman standing nearby. “Have
you met Lord Fielding, my lord?”

Lord Darlington met the cool gaze of a gentleman
who stood taller than himself by several inches. He
read a challenge in Lord Fielding’s blue eyes. A
musement once more rose up inside him. He bowed
and drawled, “Lord Fielding? Of course, I do recall
now. I believe we met last Season, did we not?”

Lord Fielding bowed. His reply was clipped. “Quite.
Just so.” He laid his hand on the top edge of Miss
Fairchilde’s chair.

Lord Darlington regarded the position of his lord
ship’s hand, absorbing all of its territorial implications, before
he glanced up again at Lord Fielding’s face. The gen
tleman stared back. Lord Darlington picked up one of the fobs that hung at his waist on a satin ribbon
and played with it. With an attentiveness which was not
readily apparent to the others, he listened to Mrs. Crock
er’s explanation that Lord Fielding was an old friend
and had accompanied them that evening as one of
their party.

“We see much of Lord Fielding these days,” said
Mrs. Crocker with a smiling glance in that gentle
man’s direction.