by Regina Scott
“Mr. Dent, thank you for a most interesting evening,” Anne told him sincerely. “You did make quite an impression on everyone, and I was glad to have been here to see it. I hope you understand about this other commitment.”
To her relief, his look softened at her words, and his frown eased. “I do understand, Miss Fairchild. Your kindness does you credit. I shall not forget that you stood by me from the first. I hope I may call on you soon?”
“Of course,” Anne said, relieved that he was no longer angry with her. “I shall be eager to hear how the rest of the ton comes to appreciate its newest poet.”
He flushed and promised to see her before the week was out. Then he signaled to his driver to proceed, and Anne stepped away from the coach, pleased that she had been able to save that friendship at least.
It took but a moment to cross the square to a much smaller town house with a single lamp gleaming by its green-lacquered door. The red-brick house was set closer to the street with a graceful stone bridge arching over the area below. Similar arches capped the windows that faced the street. After the Badgerly’s, Anne rather liked the feeling of unpretentious elegance. Leslie ushered them across the arch and up the short flight of stairs, letting them in himself.
He paused in the entry way, peering up and down the corridor as if unsure how to proceed. Anne had time to glance about, finding herself very curious about Chas Prestwick’s home. What she saw actually reminded her little of him.
The house seemed to have been designed and decorated with a rather conservative hand. The entry hall with its floor of inlaid wood had only a small pier table and several well-spaced paintings of pastoral scenes. A polished wooden staircase with simple newels ran straight ahead to the second floor balcony. She could see little of the house beyond. Somewhere a clock struck one. Leslie cleared his throat.
“The household staff appears to be busy elsewhere. If you’d just excuse me a moment.” He darted toward the first door to the left and eased it open to peer inside. Anne watched in surprise as he snapped it shut and smiled rather weakly.
“The family is in the sitting room. Perhaps if we were to make ourselves known?”
“How very nice of the countess and little Chas to not stand on ceremony,” Millicent gushed. “If you think it’s appropriate, Lord Petersborough, by all means, let us announce ourselves.”
Anne frowned. “Are you sure that’s wise? If they’re in the sitting room, the countess can hardly be feeling ill. Perhaps our help isn’t needed after all.”
Millicent looked disappointed, but Leslie quickly shook his head. “Oh, no, Miss Fairchild. I can assure you, that’s not the case. Chas would be very disappointed if you left now.”
Anne wished she could believe him. It would have been delightful if Chas Prestwick thought so highly of her that he would be disappointed by her absence. But the emptiness of the house only reinforced her opinion that something wasn’t right. She started to disagree with him when the sitting room door opened and Chas slipped out.
She was struck immediately by the change in him. Always before when she had seen him he had been engaged in some adventure, animated, confident. Now his muscular shoulders sagged, and his handsome face looked drawn and weary. He looked like a man determined to accomplish some feat that was hopelessly beyond his reach. She had to stop herself from stepping forward to reach out to him.
He saw her then, and his face lit, becoming in an instant the charmer she remembered. “Miss Fairchild, Mrs. Fairchild, how good of you to come.” He kissed Millicent and Anne’s hands in turn, and Anne seemed to be the only one to notice that he held her hand considerably longer than her aunt’s. He clapped Leslie on the shoulder in obvious thanks, and his friend offered him a supportive grin. Then he turned again to Anne and Millicent.
“Ladies, I’m not sure what Lord Petersborough has told you, but the countess is feeling a bit at sea her first night in London. To make matters worse, I haven’t a lady to attend her, as she arrived rather unexpectedly without her usual companion. I thought perhaps a friendly face,” he paused to gaze down at Anne and she felt her face grow hot under the warmth in his eyes, “might ease her concerns. Would you join us?”
“Oh, yes, of course,” Millicent babbled before Anne could answer. “I’d be so pleased to see dear Gwen again.”
Anne looked away from those mesmerizing green eyes to gather her wits. Chas bowed aside to open the door for them.
The sitting room seemed dark as Anne entered, but then she saw that it was because only a few candles were lit in the finely wrought brass sconces along the walls. The only other light came from the fire. The heavy green drapes on the windows and the dark green furniture emblazoned with gold stitching did nothing to brighten the feeling of gloom.
Sitting on a stool near the fire was a woman with auburn hair held back in a set of elaborate silver combs that reflected the grey of her finely made silk dress. When she turned to look at them, Anne saw that she was very beautiful and that she had been crying.
Millicent hurried forward, holding out her hands. “Gwen, dear, how wonderful to see you again.”
The woman blinked emerald eyes framed by thick dark lashes, and for a moment Anne thought she wouldn’t recognize Millicent. Then her face cleared, and she smiled like a child being handed a new doll.
“Millicent! Oh, it’s been an age! How are you? Please, sit, sit!”
Beside her, Anne heard Chas expel his breath slowly, as if he had been holding it. She couldn’t help glancing at him and catching her eye, he winked. “Another rescue to your credit, angel,” he whispered. Anne felt herself blushing.
She found a seat in a Sheraton chair near the fire and quietly watched her aunt and Lady Prestwick get reacquainted. All sadness had left the lady’s face, and she appeared relaxed and happy. After a quick consultation with Leslie, who then disappeared, Chas leaned against the mantel behind his mother and watched her and Millicent as well.
Anne’s gaze kept straying in his direction. The firelight played on his face, highlighting the gold in his hair and the firm line of his nose and jaw. She noticed that he had a slight overbite, giving his mouth in repose a look of gentleness that was eclipsed by his usual grin. He looked relaxed as well, and she felt a sense of contentment that Millicent’s visit had been able to bring him some peace. Still, she didn’t quite understand what the tension had been to begin with.
The countess stifled a yawn and smiled at Millicent.
“Oh, dear,” Millicent said with a sigh. “I suppose it is late. I should let you retire.”
The countess’ face clouded. “You’re leaving?”
Chas instantly knelt beside her, warming Anne by his gentle manner. “It’s after two, Mother. It’s time for bed.”
The countess glanced at him, then quickly away. “Where’s Mrs. Mead?”
“I understand your companion didn’t come with you,” Chas reminded her patiently. Anne knew she was the only one in the room besides him who realized that the tension she had seen earlier had returned.
The countess flinched, then began fussing with her shawl. “How am I supposed to retire without Mrs. Mead?”
Anne found she couldn’t bear the hopeless look that was creeping back into Chas’ face. “Your ladyship,” she put in gently. Three faces swiveled in her direction, and she almost lost heart. Straightening her shoulders decisively, she continued. “Millicent often helps Lady Crawford get ready to retire. Perhaps she could help you.”
Millicent clapped her hands. “How lovely. We can extend our little chat while we get you settled.”
Lady Prestwick looked doubtful for a moment, then she nodded. “Yes, I think I’d like that.”
Chas threw Anne a quick look of gratitude and rose. “Good. It’s decided then. Let me see you two up. If you’ll excuse us, Miss Fairchild?”
Anne rose and curtseyed as the countess left on Millicent’s arm.
As she returned to her seat and gazed into the fire, the stillness of the room began to
relax her. It had certainly been an eventful night. To her surprise, she found that despite how uncomfortable she had been at the Badgerly’s, her memories of the evening made her smile. Amazing that no matter what happened, Chas Prestwick had a way of infusing the event with adventure. She was very glad he had happened along.
She didn’t remember closing her eyes, but the next thing she knew she had opened them to find Chas sitting opposite her, smiling. She blinked and sat a little straighter, embarrassed that he had caught her napping.
“Is Millicent finished?” she asked, holding back a yawn.
“Not quite,” he replied. “She sent me down to tell you it would be a few moments more.” As if he realized that he was discomfiting her, he looked away from her and into the fire before continuing. “I must thank you, Miss Fairchild, for being so understanding of my mother’s situation. I was at my wits end not knowing how to help her.”
Anne shrugged, pleased by his words, but afraid he was overstating her contribution. “Everyone needs help doing something.”
“Some people more than others,” he answered, somewhat cryptically she thought. “I must remember to thank your aunt as well. She has been exceptionally kind to stay so long.”
“I think you’ll find Millcent has an abundance of motherly instincts,” Anne assured him with a smile. “You must watch that she doesn’t attempt to mother you.”
He glanced back at her. “I take it she attempts to do so with you.”
Anne felt her smile deepen as she thought of all the times that night alone that Millicent had patted her hand in reassurance. “With everyone. It’s her nature. You should see her with Aunt Agatha.”
“I’ve never met Lady Crawford, but from what I’ve heard, she would hardly be one to appreciate being mothered.”
“Quite,” Anne said with a chuckle. “They make an interesting pair.”
He leaned farther back in his chair and straightened out a long leg to the fire. “Have you lived with them long?”
“I’ve lived with Millicent most of my life,” Anne replied, surprised by how easy it was to talk to him. “My mother died when I was three. My father was in the Navy; he was killed at Trafalgar. Millicent took me in and raised me in her home in the country. When Lord Crawford died, Aunt Agatha sent for us. I was fifteen at the time.”
“Strange that she hadn’t taken an interest in you until then.”
Anne shook her head. Some part of her told her she ought to take umbrage at his implication that Agatha had had no use for her, but she found she couldn’t. It was something she had wondered about from time to time. Now she told him the answer she had come up with.
“I gather that Lord Crawford was not very fond of children. And I think he must have been rather strict about how his household was run. In any event, we’ve lived with her ever since.”
“I envy you,” he said softly. Anne frowned, wondering why he would envy her her rather unorthodox upbringing. He was quiet for a time, taking the poker and stoking up the fire. Then he seemed to make up his mind. “No one seems to know why my father married my mother. He was over thirty years older, a widower, and not in the best of health. Not the best time to start a new family, and he already had an heir. And she was the governess of his neighbor’s children: no family connections, no dowry.”
“But surely her beauty . . .” Anne started, feeling she had to state the obvious.
Chas grimaced. “Yes, she is beautiful. Now, and even more than, I’m told. And very good at heart. Thoughtful. Gentle. And simple as a newborn babe. I can only conclude that he seduced her and then married her in a fit of guilt.”
Anne shivered, the room seeming suddenly darker. Somehow, she couldn’t see anyone treating the woman who had been in the room earlier so shabbily. “But if she was a governess, surely she can’t have been as simple as you say. She was given charge over children; she must have had some sense. Surely she and your father fell in love.”
He shook his head. “Always the optimist, Miss Fairchild. Perhaps when you get to know her better, you’ll understand what I’m talking about.”
“My father died when I was five,” he continued as Anne watched the firelight highlight the sadness in his face. “My older half-brother, Malcolm, promptly had me packed off to a series of boarding schools. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve visited Prestwick Park, our family estate in Somerset. So you see, I envy you. You had people who wanted to take you in. You had a home.”
Anne yearned to reach out to him. The slump of his shoulders, the lines in his face, the weariness in his eyes called out to her for comfort. She had no idea what to say to him to show him how his story had affected her. She found herself picturing a golden-haired little boy, lost and alone, feeling unloved and unwanted, and she longed to reassure the man he had become.
“She’s sleeping now,” Millicent announced at the door. Chas rose and turned to face her, the grateful host once more. The time for confidences was obviously over. Anne sighed and rose to greet her aunt.
“You are as great a miracle worker as your niece, Mrs. Fairchild,” he proclaimed, kissing Millicent’s hand. “I am forever in you debt.”
“Nonsense,” Millicent demurred, blushing happily. “It was wonderful to see dear Gwen. I promised to visit again while she’s in town.”
“Of course!” He spread his hands. “I hope you will visit often, both of you.”
“I did promise to call tomorrow morning,” Millicent replied hesitantly. “If you don’t think that’s too soon?”
“Not at all,” he assured her. He glanced over at Anne, and she thought she saw hope in his eyes. “Will you come as well, Miss Fairchild?”
She hated to disappoint him and cursed the fact that she’d promised to go driving with Godbert Gresham that next morning. “I’m afraid I am otherwise engaged,” she replied sadly.
He looked away. “A pity. Well, we shall enjoy your aunt’s company instead.” He strode to the bell pull and gave it a sharp yank. “You’d probably like to retire as well. I’ll have the carriage brought around. I’m sure you’ll understand that I must remain here in case the countess needs me. I’ve arranged for Lord Petersborough to escort you home. He’ll be with you shortly.”
He bowed, all stiff politeness, and Anne frowned at the change in him. Had she managed to hurt him with her simple refusal?
He strode to the doorway, calling back over his shoulder, “Thank you again, ladies, and good night.” He was gone before she could reply.
Chapter Six
Chas found it impossible to sleep. He kicked off the bedclothes and stretched out on the lawn sheets, laying on his side to watch the fire dying in the grate. What had possessed him to drag it all out like that? Those stormy grey eyes had seemed so innocent, her intense concentration so flattering that he had just prattled on like some five-penny gossip. Why should he be surprised that she suddenly had no desire for his company?
Somehow, he’d thought she would be different. She of all people wouldn’t see in him the sordid reflection of his father’s indiscretion but the individual who was Chas Prestwick. He should have know better.
It was ever thus. He sighed, tossing onto his back to stare at the frescoed ceiling. He had blamed Malcolm for years for separating him from his mother, thinking that she would love and understand him. He remembered how bitterly disappointed he had been when he finally got to spend a week in her company to find that even she seemed to see only the bad in him. She watched him as if she was constantly waiting for demon horns to sprout. All those years growing up, Malcolm’s stiff formality and endlessly high expectations had been no substitute for the acceptance he craved. In the end, it was the wildness they all seemed to fear that had won him the few friends he had.
He had protected himself by cultivating a reputation for not caring for convention, of not seeking Society’s approval. He’d defied the wrath of dukes and princes. Now here he was worrying about what a snippet of a girl thought about him and feeling vulnerable for
the first time in years. Somehow, he had to find a way to seal up the hole she’d found in his armor.
He got little sleep that night and was not in the best frame of mind to breakfast with his mother. Still, he managed to make it through the meal without upsetting her or himself. He was congratulating himself on that feat when Rames came to announce the arrival of Mrs. Fairchild.
He didn’t particularly care for the surge of hope as she entered and he looked for Anne behind her, nor the deflation when he saw she was alone. He told himself that one night was too little to cure whatever was ailing him, and he should be more patient with himself. He rose and greeted Anne’s aunt with more composure than he felt and turned to leave her to chat with his mother.
“Oh, wait, please, Mr. Prestwick,” Millicent said, rushing to stop him. “Anne is out in the carriage. She wondered if you could come out for a moment. She wishes to speak to you.”
This time he didn’t even try to quell the eagerness. “I’d be delighted.” He bowed and hurried out.
His eagerness faded when he saw that she wasn’t alone. He didn’t recognize the heavy-set young man opposite her in the hooded landau, although he had to smile at the fellow’s outfit. Even though it was a typical grey February day, with the temperature still somewhat chilly, he wore a cutaway coat in a tartan plaid, a brilliant red waistcoat, and emerald pantaloons. His shirt points were so high that they framed his round face like bird wings, giving the curious impression that his head was about to take flight. He had a likable smile, Chas decided, as the gentleman beamed at him.
Then Anne leaned forward and he had eyes only for her.
She looked tired, and he had the absurd thought that she too might have had a difficult night. She was wearing the same grey pelisse he had seen on the day of the race, and a rose-colored bonnet that framed her face and clashed horribly with her companion’s tartan. Although she smiled in welcome, her grey eyes looked concerned.
