The Dashing Miss Fairchild (5 page)

He took her elbow to usher her along from the park. “I believe you need some help, my dear. May I offer my services?"

All at once Clare knew that she wanted nothing more than to depend on this man. He had something none of the other men she had met possessed. The quality was elusive, attractive, yet there. “Yes,” she replied. “I believe I should welcome that very much indeed. Where shall we begin?"

"I believe the first thing necessary is to return this infant to the care of his nurse. Then,” and his voice dropped to an attractive, rich vibrancy, “we ought to make a list."

"A list?'’ Clare wondered if the time spent in the heat of the Indies had affected his brain. “What sort of list, pray tell?"

"You must recall the young angelics who frequented the halls of Almack's the past few years, the ones who married and are off breeding the future of England?” Was there a faint hint of amusement in his voice?

Incensed to be reminded of her spinsterish state, even if it was of her own choosing, Clare stiffened slightly. She glanced down at the Kennet and Avon canal that flowed through the heart of the Sydney Gardens where a painted narrow boat leisurely floated along, then back at him.

Her voice chilling a few degrees, she said, “La, sir, if I could recollect all the young girls who realized their dearest ambition, I should have a memory of note, indeed. However, I daresay that if Miss Godwin and I put our heads together, we might form a respectable listing,'’ she concluded after another look at his face.

"The lad has red hair; that ought to be a clue.'’ He continued to guide her along toward the exit of the gardens, ignoring her momentary pique.

His very presence at her side seemed to offer a shelter from the barbs she fancied might dart her way if she braved the path alone. She quickly forgave him the mention of the young women making come outs, reminding herself she had no one to blame but herself for her position on the shelf.

"I have racked my brain to think of a redheaded girl who might be driven to part with her infant. Alas, I cannot bring to mind one person. Of course, it may be that the father is the one who sports red hair. I am most utterly bewildered."

The frustration that had plagued Clare the days following her surprising acquisition could be quite clearly heard in her tone, not to mention seen in her troubled eyes. Since these were directed at Mr. Talbot when she spoke, he received the full effect of the exquisite blue orbs, desolate with worry. The bewitching face framed in the attractive, and undoubtedly expensive, bonnet of the latest mode captivated his attention for a few moments before he escorted her to where a hackney carriage awaited customers by the garden entrance.

A sudden clearing of his throat preceded his efforts to cheer her. He ushered her into the vehicle, then commenced to console the young lady. So well did he succeed that by the time they arrived at the house in the Royal Crescent, Clare had quite forgotten the snub from the ladies in the Sydney Gardens. She did not even notice the stout figure of her neighbor, Mrs. Robottom, as that lady paused not far away to watch Mr. Talbot assist Clare from the carriage, infant in her arms.

Mr. Talbot paused before the front door where Bennison stood at the ready to escort his lady into the house. “Perhaps I might call this afternoon? That is, if you are free?"

Clare thought of how little there was to do in Bath what with the dearth of invitations. “The only people we know in town are Miss Oliver and her charming aunt, Lady Kingsmill. Oh, and Lord Welby. I fear we are not overrun with guests."

It was galling to be so brutally revealing about her social life, but Clare determined that the renewed friendship with Mr. Talbot should be based upon that notable trait—honesty. She wished for no subterfuge in the relationship, as was customary with young ladies bent upon flirtation. She put all thoughts of intentions and hopes from her mind. She would concentrate on the problem of the moment, then think of other, more intriguing matters later.

No mocking smile quivered on the well-formed lips belonging to Mr. Talbot. Indeed, if anything, he had a trifle grim look about him. “I shall present myself at your door later this day, Miss Fairchild. Together we shall endeavor to solve this mystery.'’ He tipped his hat, again revealing that glorious wealth of dark chestnut hair so modishly cut and arranged, then strode off down the hill.

Clare lingered for a moment before entering the house. What a well-set man, so broad of shoulder and tall of frame. Those unusual green eyes that had turned to hard malachite when confronted with the snobs in the gardens had looked like liquid pools of serenity when gazing down at her. It brought to mind the appeal of a sylvan glade; dreamy, a retreat from the cares of the world where one would be protected from the cruel tongues of the patronizing ladies of local society.

Once inside the hall, she handed the baby to the maid with instructions to take him up to Jenny. Then, an abstracted expression on her face, she strolled into the study, stripping off her gloves, tossing them and her exquisite bonnet on the small chair before the fine mahogany secretary along the far wall of the room.

"I see you found a gallant while on your morning walk,” Venetia chided. “I trust nothing improper occurred when you were thus unchaperoned? Or do you feel your advanced years protect you from impropriety?"

"That was unkind, Venetia,” murmured Clare, sinking down onto a large mahogany stool covered with pretty needlework. “There is scarce need for a chaperon at my age while carrying a babe in my arms. I should imagine most people thought it mine.'’ The whimsical tone of voice hid her inward hurt at the malicious nature of the Bath gossips. “And anyway, I have known Richard Talbot for simply ages. We met the spring of my entrance to society. As a matter of fact, he was at my come-out ball. He was much admired by all of us young things, but his lack of sufficiently warm pockets kept all at a proper distance, at the mamas’ insistence, of course. He went away that following summer.” Clare's eyes gleamed with her delight in the change for Mr. Talbot. “He is now possessed of a proper fortune and can stare down any of the dowagers with those wicked eyes of his and be promptly forgiven. I have observed much can be condoned if one has enough money."

"That sort of levity will get you into trouble, mark my words,” Venetia scolded. “That man looks to be calamity in person.” Her derisive sniff added volumes to her words.

"He has offered to help the. I agreed. We shall begin to formulate a list of prospective parents this afternoon. I daresay it could take some time. If you do not wish to join us, I will understand. But, Venetia, your memory of all the doings of the
ton
is marvelously prodigious. How shall we get on without you?"

The sop to Miss Godwin's piqued pride at being left at home while Clare sallied forth to meet such a handsome gentleman was thus soothed. Never mind that Venetia would not have deigned to be in the company of the baby for a short outing, much less a foray to the Sydney Gardens.

"I trust you are correct, dear Clare,” Venetia simpered, batting her lashes in an amusingly coy manner. “I shall attempt to help you solve the dilemma of the unwanted baby."

"He may be temporarily unwanted, but I daresay he is some mother's treasure. Much anguish must tear her heart while she wonders if all is well with her darling."

"You are too fanciful. Women cannot feel such emotions over a there scrap of humanity such as he.” Venetia thought of the often damp and smelly child, and held her vinaigrette to her nose in a practiced and assuredly graceful movement.

Clare studied the young woman she had urged to travel with her to Bath to spend two months in genteel amusements, and decided the time would pass very slowly. Not bothering to answer this last particular bit of utter nonsense, Clare bestirred herself to consult with the housekeeper regarding the gentleman expected that afternoon. There must be tea and sufficient good things to serve with it. Gentlemen, Clare knew, subsisted on more hearty fare than watercress sandwiches and ratafia biscuits.

Venetia remained by the window. After giving the retreating Clare a baleful look, she stared out the window toward Brock Street where Mr. Talbot had disappeared. He was quite, quite handsome. A worried frown settled on her brow.

While Clare told herself that Mr. Talbot was merely serving as a sort of knight-errant to help an old friend now in distress, she studied the contents of her wardrobe with great care before selecting a gown for his anticipated call.

Cornflower-blue jaconet trimmed with cream silk flowers and fragile lace proved just the thing. It looked most feminine. And it made her seem young without being ridiculously girlish or attempting to be overly obvious. After Priddy gave the final hook a pat, then adjusted the skirt a trifle, Clare subsided on the bench of her dressing table to stare at the face in her looking glass.

She quite liked the neat little table with its muslin skirt and pretty candle holders. Best of all, it sat between the room's two windows so that the gentle Bath light illuminated her countenance, telling her that time had not been too harsh. She examined the face before her for lines or signs of fading.

"My hair, Priddy! It is disgraceful. Look at how those curls droop and the color seems so insipid. How I wish I had something more vibrant, like Venetia's chestnut, perhaps.” The wistful words were rung from a suddenly constricted heart.

The abigail frowned at her mistress. It was quite unlike her to rail at her looks. They were far superior to most young women's. Usually Miss Fairchild calmly accepted what she saw, and instructed Priddy to freshen her hairstyle before she drifted off to do whatever amused her. Today was different. Priddy determined to nose about to discover what was afoot. Why the sudden care about an appearance that was always immaculate and polished?

"Fetching blond curls and pretty blue eyes are quite the thing, my lady,” declared Priddy with a good deal of satisfaction. “You look not a day older than when you made your come out."

This statement seemed to lift her mistress out of whatever doldrums she had fallen into, for she brightened at the words and allowed Priddy to complete the careful arrangement of the blond curls with a matching blue riband.

"You are a dear, Priddy. Take yourself off to have a rest while Miss Godwin and I entertain my guest this afternoon. When in the Sydney Gardens, I encountered an old friend who has offered to assist with locating the parents of little William.” Mr. Talbot had been more in the line of an acquaintance, or possibly a safe flirt, since both knew their relationship had limits. Clare blithely ignored this bit of history and floated from her bedroom across the hall to the drawing room.

Here she was shortly joined by Venetia, who loudly complained about Jenny and the baby, not to mention Priddy, being housed so close to her. Priddy, quick to smooth the path for her beloved mistress, hastily offered to move her belongings up to the attic floor. Regarding Jenny and the baby, Clare balked.

"It is the outside of enough if you insist that child and his nurse be forced to dwell in the top-most floor. I strongly suspect he is of the gentry. Possibly even higher rank. How would your tender sensibilities feel if you were responsible for that dear baby being relegated to the attic?"

"Dear Clare, that is easy for you to say. You are not the one who must listen to him cry. He is but two doors away from the. He ought to be in a nursery, or at the very least the attic.

"He is directly above the. I hear him. But he is a good lad, and Jenny tries her best.” Clare admitted to no one that she would likely banish the infant to the attic if she were not afraid for him. As absurd as that seemed, she wanted the baby close by. And Jenny had undertaken to keep him silent as best she could. His outcries were brief, though Clare had found it difficult on occasion to return to sleep when awakened at three in the morning.

Bennison saved the afternoon by announcing Mr. Talbot just at that moment. Venetia smiled and fluttered her long dark lashes at him. Clare drifted across the room with outstretched hands to greet him with all the gracious warmth a gentleman could desire.

It was the first time Richard had met Venetia Godwin. Although she had graced Almack's and all the requisite balls, she had never been a part of his circle. A younger son of the wealthy Earl of Knowlton, he had lived in elevated company even if his own pockets had not been deep. Miss Godwin, while of decent enough lineage, had not quite the same connections. Nor the monied background. Clare Fairchild had both money and proper ancestry. She also possessed something else. Precisely what it was, Richard was not prepared to say at the moment. But deep within him something stirred he could not deny. He didn't even wish to explore it right now.

"I know you are here to work"—here Clare made an adorable little grimace—"but we shall have tea and become better acquainted before we do such a dreadful thing. Providentially for us, Miss Godwin has agreed to help. You see, she has a remarkable memory. We are indeed fortunate."

Clare drew Venetia forward only to be required to take several deep breaths as that lady proceeded to flirt outrageously with Mr. Talbot. Happily, he seemed to ignore her attempt.

"La, sir, I have seen you often enough in past years. It is lovely to discover you have done so well.” Venetia fluttered about, settling on the nearest chair.

Clare smoothly guided the gentleman to a chair by a rather pretty Pembroke table laid for tea. She neatly sat herself across from him, congratulating herself on her cleverness. Then she berated herself for the same trait. She was to find Willy's parents. Nothing more. For the present, at least.

After the hearty tea, which substance quite surprised Richard, accustomed to his mother's more delicate fare, they began to discuss the problem facing them.

Removing a notebook from his pocket, Richard glanced about the room. “May I suggest we remove ourselves to the charming study downstairs? As I recall from a hasty glance as I entered the house, it has an excellent desk, though small. I trust we shall find it just the thing for our needs."