Lord Darlington's Darling (5 page)

“I hope not so much that I wear out my welcome?”
asked Lord Fielding with a smile.

“You never do, my lord,” said Mr. Crocker.

“And what does Miss Fairchilde think?” asked Lord
Fielding, bending slightly, deferentially, over the
young lady.

Abby threw up a glance at Lord Fielding, a polite smile starting to her face. “Why, of course, you are always
welcome, my lord.”

Lord Darlington dropped the fob. It was obvious to even the greenest intelligence that Lord Fielding was
warning him off from Miss Fairchilde. Lord Fielding
was playing up his favored position with the Crockers,
and with his possessive gesture and words, he made it
clear that he considered Miss Fairchilde to be his own
personal preserve.

Lord Darlington wondered if there had yet been a
formal betrothal, but then thought not. Miss Fairchilde
did not act as though she had been spoken for. She
had not hesitated to accept his invitation to dance the
waltz; nor had Mr. Crocker anything to say against it.
Thus it appeared that Lord Fielding was merely an
established suitor, rather than Miss Fairchilde’s
betrothed.

Lord Darlington toyed with the notion of upsetting
Lord Fielding’s apple cart. He was himself drawn to
Miss Fairchilde, and certainly Lord Fielding’s pomp
ous propriety was a challenge that he found amusing.
Also, there was the Crockers’ air of dislike toward
him. There was nothing like opposition to stir up his
own formidable determination.

His glance fell on Miss Fairchilde’s face. He felt
certain she was a gentle, unassuming creature. It
would be the height of perfidy to play the ardent
suitor only to edge out Lord Fielding and spit in the
eyes of her sister and brother-in-law. No, he had too
often been the butt of cruel jokes in his own lifetime. At Eton, he’d endured harsh ridicule for his given name and his short height. He could never wish to inflict deliberate hurt on an innocent
like Miss Fairchilde.

A shade of anxiety clouded Miss Fairchilde’s green
eyes, and he instinctively responded to it, by saying
reassuringly, “I thank you for the honor of leading
you out, Miss Fairchilde. We shall undoubtedly run
into one another many times over the Season, but for now, allow me to make my excuses. I have neglected
my mother and sister most shamefully this evening.”

“Of course, my lord,” said Abby, the faintest tinge
of rose blooming in her cheeks. She smiled shyly at
him while he bowed over her hand.

Lord Darlington turned to Mr. and Mrs. Crocker
and bid them well. He merely nodded in Lord Fielding’s direction before sauntering away.

The following day Mr. Crocker received Lord Fielding in his study, at his lordship’s request. The
gentlemen were closeted for the better part of an
hour, and when they emerged, they parted with great amiability. Lord Fielding left immediately, while Mr. Crocker, whistling, went in search of his wife. A quar
ter hour later, Mrs. Crocker sent a message to her
sister to join her in the upstairs sitting room.

August was with Abby in the drawing room,
slouched negligently in a chair with the racing journal.
When the butler conveyed the message, he said with
his usual cheerful bluntness, “I suppose Lord Fielding
has finally made an offer for you, Abby. You don’t
mean to marry such a dull dog, do you?”

“Hush,” begged Abby, throwing an embarrassed glance at the impassive butler.

“Tarley knows what’s in the wind,” said August
negligently. He grinned at the butler’s slight cough as
that superior servant exited. “I wonder if Mama ap
proves of Lord Fielding?”

“August, pray!” exclaimed Abby. “Perhaps it has
nothing to do with Lord Fielding at all.”

“Well, you will soon find out, shan’t you?” asked
August, unabashed, as he returned his attention to the
racing journal.

Abby sighed and left the drawing room to her brother. As she went upstairs, she was aware her heart was
pounding just a little faster than usual. She scarcely dared entertain the thought that she had actually re
ceived an offer of marriage.

When Abby entered the sitting room, she saw that both her brother-in-law and her sister awaited her. Instantly she knew something of import had indeed
happened, for they wore identical expressions of
pleased satisfaction.

“My dearest Abby!” Mrs. Crocker stretched out her
hand and invited her sister to sit down beside her on
the striped settee. “You will never guess what has
transpired! It is almost too good to be true, though to
be sure I did think that— however, one mustn’t put up one’s hopes until one is certain,”

Abby shook her head, laughing at her sister. “Me
lissa, you haven’t made a bit of sense since I walked
into the room!”

Mrs. Crocker clasped her hands together in an un
usual show of emotion. “It is just that I do not know
whether I am on my head or heels.”

Abby stared at her sister, a smile still hovering
about her mouth. “I don’t recall ever seeing you in
such transports before.” She slid a laughing glance at her brother-in-law. “Except when Mama told us that
Peter had offered for your hand, of course!”

Mrs. Crocker blushed. “Hush, Abby! You’ll give
Peter a swelled head.”

Mr. Crocker laughed from his place standing beside
the mantel. “You must pardon Melissa just this once
for giddiness, Abby. The thing of it is, you see, is that
Lord Fielding paid me a visit earlier this morning. You
can imagine for what purpose.”

Abby looked from her brother-in-law to her sister, taking in the expectancy in their faces. She felt a sinking sensation. “You mean,
August was right and Lord Fielding has indeed made
an offer for me?”

“August! What does he know about anything, I
should like to know,” said Mr. Crocker with an indul
gent laugh. “He has his mind set on nothing but
youthful follies.”

Mrs. Crocker smiled at her spouse. “Very true,
dearest. But in this instance August has been un
usually perceptive. At least—well, there is no other
way to put it, Abby. August was only partially
right.”

“But . . . has Lord Fielding offered or hasn’t he?” asked Abby, her confusion showing in her slightly
creased brows.

Mrs. Crocker shook her head quickly. “Not pre
cisely, no! However, his lordship did request permis
sion to pay his addresses to you, Abby.”

“Oh!” Abby waited to see what she might feel at
the news. She supposed that she was pleased, for she
felt a mild sensation of gratification. But then there was also that odd fluttering feeling in her middle. “I am pleased, of
course. But it is not the same as an offer, is it?”

Mrs. Crocker’s expression instantly registered compassion as she regarded Abby’s face. She thought she
understood her sister’s lack of excitement. “Oh, Abby!
You mustn’t take it so.”

“No, it isn’t an offer, of course,” corroborated Mr.
Croker, frowning thoughtfully. “You are quite right
to be disappointed, Abby. I must admit to a bit of
letdown myself. I had expected Lord Fielding to come right to the point. After all, he has been dangling after
you for weeks.”

“I am sure his lordship knows his own business best,
Peter,” said Mrs. Crocker hastily, reaching out to pat
her sister’s arm in a soothing fashion. She glanced meaningfully at her husband.

Mr. Crocker caught his wife’s warning gaze and said
quickly, “No doubt Lord Fielding has matters of busi
ness or some such thing to take care of first. I
shouldn’t worry about it, Abby. His lordship will
come around.”

“Of course he shall. Don’t be anxious for anything,
Abby,” said Mrs. Crocker, her face relaxing again into
a smile. “No doubt Lord Fielding will wish to make
an announcement in time for a June wedding. In the meantime, I wish you to simply enjoy yourself this Season.”

“I shall do just as you say, Melissa,” said Abby,
responding to her sister’s smile with one of her own. She had long since discovered that a smile eased one through all kinds of awkward moments.
“Have you informed Mama of Lord Fielding’s request?”

“I shall do so on the instant,” promised Mrs. Crocker.

Abby nodded. She rose from the settee. “If you and
Peter don’t mind, I should like to go away and think for a while.”

“Of course, dearest,” said Mrs. Crocker quickly, the
look of mild compassion coming once more into her
eyes. “We completely understand, don’t we, Peter?”

“Quite! It isn’t every day that a gentleman like Lord
Fielding makes known his intentions,” said Mr. Crocker
in a congratulatory tone.

Abby quietly agreed to it and left the sitting room.
She made her way toward her bedroom, the slightest
pucker between her well-formed brows. It was so very
odd. Her sister and brother-in-law were obviously de
lighted for her. She wished she could honestly say
she was just as delighted for herself. Perhaps there
was something wrong with her, or perhaps she simply wasn’t of a very passionate nature. The strongest emo
tion she had felt upon hearing that Lord Fielding had
at last decided to pay his addresses to her was glad
ness. And that was only because her sister and
brother-in-law had done so much for her, and it was
wonderful that she could repay their many kindnesses
by marrying well.

When Abby reached her bedroom, she pulled the
bellpull for her maid. Upon her tiring-woman’s en
trance, she requested help in changing into a walking
dress. “I have a few books I wish to return to
the lending library,” she said.

The maid nodded and swiftly effected the wardrobe
change. It was not unusual for Miss Fairchilde to go on
such errands. She would be accompanying her mistress,
naturally, for it would not do for a young lady such as
Miss Fairchilde to ride about the city unchaperoned.

Within a few very short minutes, Abby and her
maid stepped into the carriage which she had requested to
be brought around from the stables for their excur
sion. It was a short ride to the lending library, and
her errand was swiftly accomplished.

Abby’s thoughts
were preoccupied by Lord Fielding’s no doubt flat
tering request. His lordship had established a habit of
taking tea with the Crocker ladies about three times
each week, so she would probably have the op
portunity of expressing her gratification to that gentle
man that same afternoon.

Suddenly, as she faced the prospect of returning to
the town house to discover his lordship arrived for
tea, she felt quite nervous. Abby quickly made up her
mind to extend her outing. “I believe I should
like to look for some new ribbons for that straw,” she
said to her maid and proceeded to give directions to
her driver for a milliner’s shop.

The maid directed an astonished glance at her mistress but said nothing. It was a queer start for Miss
Fairchilde, who normally did not care overmuch for shopping for fripperies. Usually Mrs. Crocker decided
what was needed and what was not in her younger
sister’s wardrobe.

When the carriage stopped outside the milliner’s
shop, Abby and the maid stepped down to the walk
way. The street was congested with carriages. An
equally large number of pedestrians filled the walk
ways on either side of the avenue. Abby, who had
never acquired the knack of feeling at ease in crowds, was glad when her maid remained close beside her as
they made their way across the busy walk into the
milliner’s shop.

The bell above the door rang upon their entrance.
At once an attendant approached them. Recogniz
ing Miss Fairchilde as a frequent patron, the woman inquired what the young lady desired. Abby had often accompanied
her sister and had bought a number of parcels on several
occasions, but this was the first time she had ever been
shopping without Mrs. Crocker’s guidance. For an instant she felt a flutter of panic, but then her common
sense reasserted itself. She was perfectly capable of ar
ticulating a simple request. “I should like to look at
the ribbons, please.”

The attendant bowed and ushered Abby, trailed by
the silent maid, over to an extensive selection of the
ribbons.

As Abby was with difficulty trying to make a deci
sion on just the right shade of pink ribbons for her bonnet, a quick gurgling laugh followed by an ani
mated voice caught her ear. She looked around to see
a young girl with a very well-dressed, handsome older
lady.

The girl appeared to be about seventeen and was
already ravishingly pretty, possessed of lovely hazel
eyes set in a heart-shaped face and a flashing smile.
Her modest bonnet hid all but the wisps of gold curls
which framed her face, yet Abby was quite certain the
girl was one of those few fortunate enough to have
been born with gorgeous hair.

“Oh, Mama! Would it not make up a perfectly di
vine domino?” asked the young lady with a yearning
note in her voice as she fingered a length of sumptuous brocaded silk.

“Now, Bethany, you know perfectly well that I can
not sanction such an expensive, unnecessary purchase,”
said the older lady in a reasonable tone. “At least,
not without Sylvan’s express permission. We must be
guided by him.”

“Oh, Sylvan!” The young lady made a grimace as
she reluctantly dropped the swath of silken fabric. “If
it were left to my brother, I should be made to go around in rags.”

“Bethany, that is unfair,” said the older lady reprovingly. “Sylvan has always made certain we are all
well dressed.”

The younger lady had the grace to appear chastened. The faintest color tinged her cheeks. “I am
sorry, Mama. It is just that I wish we did not need to
apply to Sylvan for everything. It quite takes the fun
out of shopping when we must first decide if Sylvan
would approve!”

Abby thought she had eavesdropped enough and
started to move away, a bunch of ribbon in her hand.
A flurry of skirts rustled behind her, but she paid no
heed. She was therefore astonished when a small
gloved hand shot past her and snagged a bunch of
ribbons from in front of her.

“Only look, Mama! The perfect shade for my para
sol,” exclaimed the young lady.