The Dashing Miss Fairchild (4 page)

"But how uncomfortable,” Clare murmured. “But your aunt?"

"My aunt, Lady Kingsmill, is immune to any darts sent in her direction, for she has quite the grandest consequence of any of the elderly ladies in town.” Susan laughed, a pretty, silvery sound, and Clare was very glad they had found each other this afternoon. “I very much doubt I shall be in line for any malicious talk. But what to do?"

"I had thought to obtain tickets for the concert at the Octagon a few days hence. Do you think I shall encounter any trouble over this?” Clare frowned in her concern.

"Not in buying tickets. Your very name insures your welcome."

Clare raised a brow in question. “Welcome? Hardly. I should think they would more likely bar the door than let the in. Why did not one of them come to the to find out the truth rather than jump to conclusions?” Her voice clearly reflected her exasperation with the gossiping ladies of Bath.

Susan shook her pretty head, hazel eyes crinkling with amusement. “What! And miss the chance to share the latest
on-dit
? London is not so very different. There are always those who adore being the first to pass along bad news."

The three women put their heads together over the teacups to see the best way they might reveal the truth of the matter. At the conclusion of tea, nothing had been decided. “You must come again tomorrow, Susan, for we have yet much to discuss."

"Why do you not join my aunt and the for tea instead? I suspect we could use another head in this scheme, and hers is a wise one. You need never worry about her guarding her tongue. She is as close as wax. I rather believe she enjoys baiting the tabbies if she can."

Clare darted a glance at Venetia, wondering if she would tolerate a visit to an elderly lady. She underestimated Venetia, it seemed, for that young lady brightened and smiled. “I think it is a fine idea."

"I agree,” Clare quickly hastened to add. “We shall see you tomorrow, then."

The remainder of the day was spent in speculating about Lady Kingsmill and her influence, or lack of it. If, as Susan had indicated, the lady preferred to nap frequently, she might prove of little help. Still, she might know someone useful. And at this point, Clare was ready to turn to nearly anyone.

The following afternoon saw Clare and Venetia approach the front door of the Kingsmill dwelling in Laura Place with a faint air of trepidation.

It was just as Clare had feared. While Countess Kingsmill still possessed a twinkle in her eyes and uttered murmurs of sympathy to Clare, it was clearly beyond her to exert herself on Clare's behalf, or William's, as the case might be. While the girls sat chatting, trying to find an agreeable subject to discuss so that Clare might not be downcast, the housekeeper entered. This being an entirely female establishment, no butler or footmen were to be found.

"Lord Welby, my lady."

Behind her a portly gentleman attired in the height of fashion some years past entered the room. His neatly powdered bagwig was tied with a flair, and the multitude of brass buttons on his coat shone brightly with polish.

"Welby! Good day, sir.” The countess snapped out her fan to languidly waft it to and fro while she preened slightly at the visitor.

He executed a remarkable bow, considering his girth, then acknowledged the young guests.

Another tray of tea appeared as if by magic. A pile of macaroons soon disappeared from the plate, and Clare suspected they were in part responsible for the weight Lord Welby carried about him.

"Are you enjoying your visit to Bath, young ladies?” His remark was general, but he studied Clare as he spoke.

"Not as much as I hoped,” Clare admitted.

"You do not mean to say there is a word of truth in the tittle-tattle going about town? I refuse to believe a syllable of it, especially now I have met you.” He brushed the final crumb of macaroon from his lap, then again peered at Clare intently.

"You are very kind, sir.” She looked first to Susan, then her aunt. The countess gave a regal nod of her head to indicate that Clare might speak freely.

She revealed the scant details of the story as swiftly as she might, then concluded with her admission about the motive. “What that might be eludes the completely.” She ceased pleating her napkin and set it aside, feeling a bit foolish for airing her views regarding the baby.

"Hm. A bit of mystery to enliven our days. Havey-cavey sort of stuff always did appeal to the. Alas, my dear, would that I might champion your cause. I fear you need a younger knight-errant than I.” He sighed, then exchanged a sad look with the countess, who nodded in reply.

"Pity the fellow who was supposed to lease the house where you are now failed to arrive on time. Dashing sort of man, just the type you need. Blame the if I can think of his name.'’ He bestowed an apologetic look on Clare, ignoring the pouting countenance of Venetia completely.

Lord Welby might be old, but the perverse Venetia enjoyed the attentions of every male in sight, even as she declared how miserable males were in general and how much she detested them. Clare had ceased trying to untangle Venetia's reasonings in that regard.

"Do you believe my countenance might be restored if I reveal the identity of the babe, or lack of one, to the quidnuncs?” At the nods of agreement from both the elders, Clare countered, “I fear that such a move might endanger his life. Surely it must be something drastic to force a mother to part with her son? No, as much as I would desire to be free of the stain on my name, I cannot jeopardize that little boy. He is a very dear child, you know."

"Most worthy,” murmured Lord Welby, taking an enormous white handkerchief from his coat pocket and blowing his nose. He wiped his eyes, then said, “Blame the, if you ain't a good girl. We shall have to think of some way to help you."

Come the time to depart, they were no closer to a solution. Lord Welby suggested he linger in the coffeehouses and about the post to see if there might be any news floating about. That seemed the best idea anyone possessed.

The following morning, Clare decided she had had quite enough of the entire matter. Jenny was looking a trifle down pin, and Clare boldly announced she would take the baby for an airing in Sydney Park.

"Do you really think you ought?” Venetia timidly inquired, hesitantly taking a step in the direction of the stairs down to the ground floor. “I daresay I might go with you.” This was said with such a distinctly reluctant air that Clare immediately shook her head.

"I believe ‘tis bad enough you live with the. I will not have you feeling put upon.” Besides, it seemed Baby William had taken an unreasonable dislike to Miss Godwin. Whenever she came into view, he was wont to cry until she disappeared. It seemed Venetia's feelings regarding him were reciprocated.

Clare wrapped Willy up well, though the day was fine enough. One never knew about the weather. Just when one was set to enjoy sunshine, a cloud would come up to spoil it all. There seemed to be a great many clouds around Bath these days.

Rather than take the carriage, Clare ordered a chair to take her to the gardens, feeling she was not quite ready to brave the crowds going to and from the baths just yet. It was pleasant enough, and the baby seemed to enjoy the chair very much indeed.

Once there, Clare paid the men, then strolled into the gardens, intent upon finding a bit of pleasure in the day.

The baby was extremely well behaved. He gurgled and cooed with great good nature when she showed him the pretty flowers and the lanterns that were lit at night.

She was about to sit down for a bit of rest when she espied a gentleman she had not seen in ages. He caught sight of her at the same time, and Clare wished for a moment that she had left little Willy back at the house with Jenny and Priddy. There was nothing to do but brave it out.

She nodded graciously at his elegant bow. “Mr. Talbot, how nice to see you after all this time."

"Miss Fairchild, I am flattered beyond words that you remember the.” His green eyes danced with humor until the significance of the babe in her arms sank in. The warmth of his smile faded, and Clare decided she must explain the circumstances to him. She had been quite fond of Richard Talbot, and was sorry when financial problems that often faced a younger son forced him to seek his fortune overseas.

"Please join the on the bench over there. I fear I am unaccustomed to carrying this young lad, and he is heavier than I anticipated.” She nodded to her left, hoping her chic bonnet would not suffer in the move.

"He is not your own?” came the cautious words.

Clare shook his head, relieved the matter was going to be so easy to approach. She had an instinctive trust of this man. In spite of those dancing green eyes and the sun highlighting his chestnut hair in a dashing manner when he swept off his hat in greeting, he had a look of solid dependability about him.

She then related the tale of the stopover at the Castle Inn in Marlborough, ending with Lord Welby's offer to watch the post and listen at the coffeehouses.

Mr. Talbot chuckled at the tale, shaking his head at the predicament she described. His admiring look did much to restore Clare's feeling of worth.

"I daresay it is a horrid mix-up, with a nursemaid running off or some such thing. I can only hope that someone steps forth to claim him soon."

"Surely a lad his size doesn't require much?” Mr. Talbot studied the infant with an indulgent eye.

"Besides the wet nurse we found for him, there is an astonishing amount of laundry to be done each day. For one so small, he has the house topsy-turvey.” She gave William a fond look, making it clear she was teasing and truly enjoyed the baby.

Richard Talbot studied Clare for a few minutes as she fussed over William. She seemed as lovely as he remembered from their encounters at various London balls and soirees. There was a fresh charm about her, from her pert blond curls and aristocratic little nose right down to the dainty foot that peeped from beneath the hem of her fashionable pelisse.

He wondered why she had never married, for surely it could not have been for the lack of suitors. A fellow could scarce get near the lady a few years back, and he doubted if things had changed overmuch.

"You surprise the,” he said, giving voice to his thoughts. “I expected you to be married, and that lad your own."

Clare blushed as she hadn't in years. Flustered as a green girl, she said, “I am scolded by my family ever and anon for placing myself on the shelf, sir.” She made a pretense of checking William, tucking the flannel blanket about his chin.

"Well, I, for one, am quite pleased to see you in a blessedly single state.'’ He chuckled at her surprised glance, so revealing.

Her long lashes fanned over warm cheeks at his laugh and what he implied by his words. Goodness, she was as bad as a Bath miss, to feel so upside down, so allover queer. Just because a devastatingly handsome man tells one he is glad she is unmarried does not mean anything serious.

"I might say the same for you,” she began, then realized immediately how that must sound. “That is, I am surprised you are yet unmarried. You were much sought after, as I recall."

"Until the mamas determined I had not a feather to fly with. Leastways, only a very small feather."

"You sound remarkably tranquil about the matter. I gather you must have landed on your feet wherever you went.” She patted the baby where he snuggled against her shoulder, smiling at Mr. Talbot as she rubbed her cheek against the fine wool.

His reply was lost a moment as he observed the sensual movement of her face against the soft fabric. Her eyes had a dreamy quality to their gentle blue, and he wondered why some man had not claimed this lovely creature for his own long before this. Did she have any notion how appealing she looked with the babe in her arms? A man might get ideas, very permanent ideas, just looking at her.

Clearing his throat, he continued his explanation. “I went to the family plantation in Jamaica. With a spot of good fortune, I was able to expand our holdings there and increase the profits. When my father died, I discovered he had willed the entire place to the. I have managed to do well enough."

Clare liked his modesty, for another could have bragged about his wealth. Richard Talbot revealed as much by what he didn't say as by what was uttered.

"I had hoped to do well enough in Bath, myself,” she teased. “I fear this young man has put paid to my ambitions. The quidnuncs have had a glory day with the
on-dit
of an unmarried lady and an infant."

"No!” he replied, shocked that any taint of gossip should be placed against the lovely woman who had always been above suspicion of impropriety in years past. He shook his head, unwilling to believe the ladies of Bath could be so silly and blind. “Did no one inquire as to the truth of the matter?"

"There's the rub. I suspect there may be a secret motive for placing the baby with the. How can I broadcast my innocence without putting him in danger, be that the case?"

Richard found it utterly absurd to even think she might be right about the whole matter. Surely one of the women would decry the gossip as being ridiculous?

At that moment, Clare decided she had best get home before one of the tabbies saw her with Mr. Talbot and added to the gossip. Rising, she bowed her head, unable to shake his hand or curtsy. “Thank you for the lovely visit, sir. I trust we shall meet again while you visit in Bath."

"I lost my lodging because of a delay and have been put to finding another place to live. But I am settled in the Edgar buildings now and surely will seek you out at your address."

Pleased he was to pursue their friendship, Clare informed him of their direction. She was surprised at his reaction.

"Oh, ho, so you are the ones who took my house! Well, I must say, I'd rather you than anyone else."

"Most handsome of you, sir. We are in your debt."

Just then Clare saw two of the women she had seen at the millinery shop. Raising her chin, she gave them a cool, defiant look. She was cut quite dead.

At her side, Mr. Talbot stiffened, incensed that anyone could be so rude to one he knew to be of the finest quality. He bestowed a searching look on her lovely face as she tried to conceal her hurt. He was not one to jump into a controversy without due consideration, but he had known Miss Fairchild sufficiently well to also know her to be a remarkably fine person. She deserved better.