The Dashing Miss Fairchild (11 page)

Turning his gaze from the pretty lady at his side, he studied the man in question a moment. “I believe that is the new Earl of Millsham. One thing to be said regarding riding, is that it so frequently provides Society with new faces. I confess I know little enough about the man. Have you heard anything?"

"Not a word,” replied Venetia, ignoring all that had been revealed in her hearing. She madly fluttered her fan, causing her companion to wonder what the lady would do when it became oppressively warm.

In the next box forward, Clare exchanged a guarded look with Richard. “Do you see what I see?” At his faint nod, she continued, “What do you suppose brings him to Bath?"

"Somehow I doubt it is the waters,” Richard replied a trifle grimly.

"We said nothing about a baby to him. There could be no connection between William and the missing countess that he could know. Could there?” Her voice barely reached him, she feared, for he leaned over to catch her words. His nearness made it difficult for her to think clearly. But then, she had not quite recovered from that shattering kiss of yesterday.

"I scarcely think so. I imagine we shall find out later if that is the case.” He watched the other man who sat alone in his box, disdaining the interest of those to either side of him. Then Richard turned to Clare again. “At any rate, you have received no cuts since we arrived."

"But we came early so as to settle Lady Kingsmill before the crush. Poor dear, she finds it shockingly difficult to move about at the best of times.” Clare glanced at the lady in question, who was complacently nibbling at a selection of comfits provided by Lord Welby.

"Indeed,” Richard said so reprovingly that Clare found it necessary to cover her mouth with her gloved hand to stifle a giggle.

The audience hushed as the curtains parted. The opening scene was well done. Clare found her attention totally captured to the exclusion of the displeasing man who reposed in the box directly across from them.

When the first intermission came, they were all, with the exception of Lady Kingsmill and Lord Welby, ready to stroll about the small area to the front of the theater.

Clare recognized a few of the faces in the crush of people anxious to get a breath of fresh air and exchange views of the performance with their friends.

"I vow this is worse than Drury Lane,” Venetia said with a sniff.

Hesitantly smiling in the direction of one of the ladies she had seen at the concert at the Octagon, Clare was distressed when that good lady looked straight through her, quite as though Clare did not exist.

"I perceive we have our work cut out for us,” Richard murmured just loud enough for Clare to hear.

Glad that the gentleman did not see fit to take to his heels from such a scandalous lady, Clare gave him a grateful look. “I do not know what is to be done. And to think that all my life I have been a model of propriety. I do believe this is one instance where charity has been rewarded by malicious spite.''

Her neighbor, a Mrs. Robottom, Clare had learned, sailed past her with her nose quite elevated. All in all, it was a humiliating experience to be snubbed, ignored as though she didn't exist, and given a decidedly cold shoulder by all but those in her party. With one exception.

"Miss Fairchild, Talbot. Fancy finding you here.” The smooth voice of the new Earl of Millsham as he greeted the Talbot party drew speculative gazes from all those around.

Drawing herself to her full height, Clare gave him a frosty nod. “My lord, one never knows quite who will pop up next in Bath. ‘Tis a vastly amusing place."

"Indeed,” he murmured, taking careful note of the pretty woman with the shining chestnut curls before he bowed, then sauntered back to his box.

Susan Oliver walked next to Venetia as they hurried up the steps to resume their seats. “I believe the earl seemed most taken with you, Venetia,” she said softly. “He certainly studied you long enough. I hear he has no countess. Would you find him of interest?"

"La, Susan,” Venetia simpered, “just because a gentleman looks does not mean he intends to wed. Otherwise the nymphs of Avon Street would all be respectable married women!'’ She spoke quietly but tittered a high laugh that could be heard in the next box.

Susan knew of the disreputable women of Avon Street, but she also knew a lady never mentioned them, even in jest. She cast a questioning look at Clare, wondering if that charming young woman had been wise in her choice of a companion. But then, one never knew about people. She was most pleased to turn her attention to the stage, with asides to the attentive gentleman at her side.

"How did you fare, my dear?” whispered Lady Kingsmill.

"I might have done better were you at my side,'’ Clare replied with a touch of humor. “I fear my own consequence is sadly lacking. I vow it is most humbling to discover my family name means nothing here, only what some gossip has seen and reported."

"There must be something that can be done,” Lord Welby said in an undertone so that others would not reprove him for creating noise while the play resumed.

The others nodded, each reflecting on the caprice of Society, not to mention gossips.

Clare decided to remain with Lady Kingsmill during the second intermission. “It is not worth the effort, I thank you,” she replied in answer to the invitation from Mr. Talbot.

"I believe I should like to stay with Miss Fairchild,” added Susan with a nice show of support. “But I would welcome a glass of lemonade above all things.” She bestowed a dazzling smile on Lord Adrian, who hastened to obtain her desire.

Venetia seized the opportunity to separate herself from the others, declaring herself in need of air. She found the person she sought, then imparted her information with a succinctness Clare would have found amazing.

"Dear lady,” Sir Henry said in apology when he at last located her, “I feared you had been carried away, for you seemed to disappear in the twinkling of an eye. I am relieved to find you safe and unharmed.” He took care to guide her back up the steps to where the others waited.

"Whatever could happen in Bath?” Venetia said with a dismissive shrug, her eyes alight with a pleased glow.

While the others had been off obtaining lemonade, Clare had sat utterly miserable in the Talbot box. She sensed the dark looks from ladies around the theater. The whisperings behind fans and gloved hands might be about others, but she felt the gossip directed at her, especially with all the nods and looks that went along with it.

Even the jolly company of Lady Kingsmill and Susan could not lift her spirits. If things did not improve soon, Clare would shake the dust of Bath from her feet and visit her sister. Sara might not be thrilled to have an unknown infant thrust upon her, but she would never censor Clare for doing her duty.

"That is what is so frightfully annoying,” Clare said to Richard in an aside as all were getting settled for the final act. “I ought to be praised. Not that I feel insulted for being ignored rather than snubbed, if you know what I mean.'’ She gave him a confused grin.

"We shall think of something, my dear Clare,” Richard whispered in her ear under the pretext of adjusting her shawl.

Whatever the ending of the play might have been, it was good that Clare was not quizzed about it. The particular attentions from Mr. Talbot had her in a flutter that would not be stilled. Could he be serious? A gentleman simply did not address a lady, even one nearly on the shelf, as “my dear Clare” unless he meant it. She peeped at him from the corner of her eyes, wondering and wondering until she realized it had quite driven the other mystery and the resultant snubs from her mind. Was that what he intended? If so, she thought it vastly unfair for him to use such strategy. However, she couldn't utter a word, for no matter what, she would look a fool.

Lady Kingsmill insisted they all troop over to her house for macaroons and other delights following the play. Perhaps she intended to cheer Clare. They all agreed. Venetia entered her sedan chair looking remarkably pleased with her evening. At least she and Susan had seemed to enjoy themselves.

Clare and Richard were the last to depart. She watched the others heading in a line across the bridge, the linkboys carrying their torches of pitch and tow to light a path through the darkened streets. The fiery glow of the torches lent a festive touch to the black night. Each party streaming from the theater, whether on foot or in sedan chair, was led by a linkboy waving his torch high in the air as they fanned out across the city. “Like a festival,” she commented to Richard as he saw her tucked into a sedan chair.

He had looked about the area, searching for the Earl of Millsham, wondering if his suspicions regarding the earl's sudden appearance in Bath might have foundation. But he had disappeared, leaving Richard no wiser as to his direction or plans.

At Lady Kingsmill's house, they gathered in her drawing room, which was lit with at least a hundred candles. Clare watched the others for a moment. She rather liked Lord Adrian Grove. He had the look of an eager puppy about him, that is true, but he also had a measure of resolve, with an air of maturity that could only please Lady Kingsmill. Clare suspected it was the elderly lady's fondest wish to see her beloved niece well settled. Lord Adrian would do admirably.

Sir Henry was another kettle of fish entirely. More a man of the world, he handled Venetia with an amused tolerance, as one might a spoiled child. That he saw her as nothing more than a slight dalliance was obvious to Clare. She wondered how Venetia felt. No doubt she would spout more of her man-hating nonsense. Nothing she said made sense in view of her actions. And as the proverb went, actions truly did speak louder than words.

Richard brought Clare a glass of excellent sherry, then drew her to a chair far from where Lady Kingsmill held court.

"I have been doing a bit of thinking about our problem."

"As I see it,” Clare retorted politely after taking a sip of sherry, “the problem is mine alone. I did not see you being cold-shouldered at the theater."

"Clare,'’ he said with a warning glance. “Or is it to be Miss Fairchild again? I thought we were in this mull together. I do want to help, you know."

"Forgive the, I am a complete peagoose. I fear I have become addled in the brain. I have tried to seek a solution, but until we find our Mysterious Countess, I do not know what to do. Have you considered that if William is the son of Jane, Countess of Millsham, he is the true seventh earl? That would be good reason to do away with the child, and for her to wish him safe, if she felt him in jeopardy."

"I agree. I have an idea. You will think it utter stupidity, I've no doubt. But think of it, please, before saying no."

"Very well, I promise."

"The worst of the gossips is that neighbor of yours. Correct?"

"Mrs. Robottom? I believe so. I suspect the fastest way to get news about Bath would be to enlist her help. But we want the opposite."

"We also want information. Who would be the most likely to know the previous Earl of Millsham and his dear little countess? I suspect she would. We can wait, but after tonight, I am hesitant to do that. Those replies may take an age to get back to us. I don't suppose you mentioned urgency in your letters any more than I did."

"True,” she admitted. “I would give a great deal to know what prompted the present earl to show his face at the theater this evening."

"As would I,” Richard quietly added. He felt uneasy. It was a sensation he had observed before in times of danger, when something dire was about to happen. He had ignored it yesterday, believing them to be safe on an English country road. And Clare had nearly been killed. He would not willingly place her in that sort of danger again.

They were drawn into the general conversation the moment Lady Kingsmill observed their intimate and worried chat to be over. Although she said nothing directly, Clare sensed she sympathized, and that brought a good bit of comfort.

When the party broke off, Clare urged Richard to go directly to his place in the Edgar Buildings, denying any hazard might be lurking in Bath. He would not hear of such a thing, which bolstered her spirits immeasurably.

"I shall see you safely into your house first. I could not sleep without being sure you arrived home unharmed."

The linkboy's torch sputtered as Richard assisted Clare from the chair before her house. “I shall see you in the morning, and we can proceed with our plan?"

"Actually, I am not certain what you intend, precisely. But I shall be here.” She slipped into the house, then peeped out the study window to watch him walk along the street. The glow of the link torch gave his figure an ominous look, and she shivered. Was she being fanciful? Or was he? Yet she had not imagined that hole in one of her favorite bonnets. She had taken a good look at the damaged straw and tossed the bonnet away in the ditch, not wishing to ever see the thing again.

What if she ended up with the same fate as her bonnet? Could the countess be in hiding because she feared the same? Being done in? And had she possibly hidden her son in Clare's carriage because she suspected he was in danger for his very life?

Clare slowly walked up the stairs to her room, then on an impulse continued up to the next floor where she peeped in on little William.

Jenny was sitting in the rocker nursing the baby. A candle provided dim light so he would return to his sleep with no problem. Relieved, although she couldn't imagine he was in danger here in the house, Clare smiled at Jenny, then returned to her room.

The following morning, Clare paced the wooden planks of the study with uneasy steps. Thankfully, Venetia was off on some errands. She had insisted she needed no maid along at her age, and besides, she merely wished to pick up a book at the circulating library. And possibly an ell or two of coquelicot riband.

When Richard was shown into the study, Clare gave him a guarded look. “Good morning, sir."

"Miss Fairchild.” His eyes mocked her prim behavior with a warm, teasing look, and Clare felt her resolve sail out the window.

"Very well. Richard. How do you propose we go about enlisting Mrs. Robottom's help? And what makes you think she will even let us in her house?"