The Unflappable Miss Fairchild

by Regina Scott

  “And another thing, Prestwick. If I were you, I’d leave other men’s wives alone and tend to my own business. No man should keep his prize pullet in such squalor.”

  Anne, reentering the room, blushed furiously. Chas could feel Gresham bristling beside him.

  Meadows bowed to Anne. “I understand I have you to thank, madam, for whatever humane treatment I received from this bunch. Though a drink of brandy would have been welcome.” He eyed Anne from top to bottom, and Chas felt himself bristling as well. “Should you ever tire of this young jack-n-apes, you come see Jack Meadows. I know how to treat ladybirds proper.”

  Chas took a step forward, but Champworth seized his friend by the arm and dragged him out of the room and the house without another word.

  “Dreadful manners,” Gresham said, watching them go. “One more word, and I’d have been tempted to call him out.”

  “Oh, Bert, really,” Anne said with a sniff. “Neither of them is worth the powder.”

  Leslie clapped his hands. “Well said, Miss Fairchild! I must say, you were a great gun today. Chas is most fortunate to have you as his champion.”

  She smiled at his praise, and Chas wondered again whether she was interested in Leslie. But she did not press her obvious advantage, turning toward him instead. “I can only hope that this business is ended, Mr. Prestwick. I should not like to think that Mr. Meadows will seek you out again.”

  Chas couldn’t help grinning down at her. “Oh, I think it’s ended. Why should I pursue his wife when I obviously have a much lovelier companion?” He watched as her smile deepened. “Sincerely, Miss Fairchild, I also appreciate what you did today. That’s three times now you’ve come to my rescue. I’ve never met a woman like you before.”

  “It was nothing any proper young lady wouldn’t have done,” she replied.

  “That’s our Anne,” Gresham declared, beaming. “Humble to a fault.”

  Leslie, well trained, elbowed Gresham. “What say on that note we take our leave, old man?”

  Gresham frowned but bowed to Chas and Anne and allowed Leslie to lead him out. Chas looked down to where he had unconsciously taken Anne’s hand. Then, decided, he raised his eyes to her face as she stood still looking up at him. “Do you think, Miss Fairchild, if I were to ask Lady Crawford in my most charming manner, that she might give me leave to call?”

  She gasped, blinking her eyes, obviously shocked by the request. She looked quickly away, her hand slipping from his grip. Chas felt as if she had poured cold water on his head.

  “Ah, well,” he joked to hide the hurt. “We black sheep must remember our place in the flock, I suppose.” He managed a bow, wanting only to quit the house as quickly as possible. “Your servant, madam. If you should need me, you have but to call.” He turned to stride to the door.

  Behind him, she gasped again, and he whirled back to her, hope flaring. “Anne?”

  She was staring at the sofa, one hand raised to her mouth. He followed her gaze and saw where the blood had caused a hideous stain. “Is that all? Please don’t give it another thought. I’ll pay for a new sofa.”

  She shook her head. “You don’t understand. My Aunt Agatha can be . . . that is I . . .” she trailed off, her usual calm slipping back into place as if she realized how upset she had looked. “Please forgive me. It’s nothing. Pray don’t give it another thought.”

  He frowned, wondering at the unusual flash of emotion. Then he had a sudden thought. “Are you saying that your aunt will beat you if she discovers what you’ve been doing today?”

  She shook her head sharply. “Oh, heavens no! You mustn’t think that. She would never harm me, not physically.” She looked away again, biting her lower lip.

  No, Chas thought, but I’ll wager she’ll offer a tongue lashing that this angel shouldn’t have to hear. He frowned, wondering if he could replace the sofa without her aunt’s knowledge. The idea had appeal.

  “Can you keep them out of this room until morning?”

  She looked up at him, frowning. “I could try. Why, what do you have in mind?”

  He offered her his most charming smile. “Nothing. Pray, don’t give it another thought.” He bowed over her hand one last time and strode out the door.

  Outside, Leslie was less than enthused by the idea.

  “Consider it a labor of love,” Chas said with a grin at his friend’s protest.

  Leslie groaned. “We’ve done some odd things in our time in the name of amore, Chas, but this is ridiculous! Where do you propose to find this twin sofa?”

  “Shouldn’t be hard,” Gresham told him practically, in the act of getting into his carriage. “Seemed the type many of our parents bought years ago. Wouldn’t be surprised if we had one up in the attic.”

  But it was not to be that easy. Taking their leave of Gresham, who had to return home for his much-delayed nuncheon, Chas and Leslie trundled from one end of London to the other in search of a sofa that would be a copy of the one in the Crawford House sitting room. One was plumb colored not plumb flowered, another rosewood, not oak, still another camel-backed instead of straight. Chas found he had plenty of time between stops to reflect on his motives for such an escapade.

  Why on earth was he going out of his way to help a woman who had just refused his advances? And rather proper advances at that. He tried to convince himself that all this work was for the rather perverse delight of replacing Lady Agatha Crawford’s sofa without her knowledge. The little Anne had said of her, and Gresham’s suggestions of her sour disposition and tendency to criticism, made him itch to cross wits with her. Every time he thought of the two aunts complacently sipping tea on a sofa he had switched, he smiled. It would be a rather good joke between himself and Anne.

  Which made him realize that he fully intended to see her again, despite her rejection and any objections her aunts might have. Somehow he would overcome her obvious reservations. He felt more relaxed in her company than with anyone he had ever met, including Leslie. She had thrice seen him at his worst, yet still accepted him, even seemed to enjoy his company. He couldn’t say that about anyone he had ever known, even his mother. Anne had a unique way of making him feel valued, for himself and no other reason. When he was with her, he felt somehow clean, better than perhaps he actually was. He knew he could never do anything that might disappoint her.

  Twice during the afternoon he stopped by the Prestwick town house to make sure his mother was all right. Once Rames assured him she was napping, and the other time he escaped after finding she was taking tea with his brother. He didn’t feel like meeting Malcolm just yet, although he knew that, by prolonging the moment, he was most likely making it worse. He focused instead on performing the service for Anne.

  It was evening before they found a proper sofa in a waterfront warehouse. They waited in the cool February night in a hired lorry just down the circle from Crawford House and debated how they should proceed. They were pleased to find a carriage arrive to take the ladies out. By the way they were dressed in velvet cloaks and long gloves, Chas knew they would likely be gone for some time. It was only a matter of minutes before they were hauling the sofa up the front steps and into the house.

  “‘Ere, what you think yer doin’?” a dark-haired young housemaid cried as they paused inside the threshold. Leslie grinned at him ruefully.

  “I thought they didn’t have servants,” he muttered.

  “Must have been out with the aunts,” Chas murmured back. Then, to the maid, who stood barring their way in her starched white, hands on hips and glaring, “Out of the way, girl. Lady Crawford will not thank you for delaying this delivery.”

  She wilted under his glare, but held her ground. “‘Er ladyship never said nothin’ about no delivery this evenin’.”

  “She wasn’t aware we’d be here so soon. Now, stand aside. This blasted thing is heavy.” He elbowed past the girl, backing into the sitting room. Leslie followed with his end. The girl stood watching nervously, but she said nothing while they placed i
t near the other and moved the old one out of the way. When they picked up the other and began to leave, however, she let out a squawk.

  “And just where d’you think yer going with that one?” she demanded, once again barring their way.

  But Chas had had a few moments to think. “We’re taking it away to be reupholstered, of course. We are loaning that one to her ladyship while we work on this one. We shall return for it when we have this one done.”

  “Yer loanin’ a sofa?” The girl frowned.

  “My dear girl, would you have Lady Crawford sit on the floor?” At Chas’ high-handed tone, Leslie coughed back a laugh. Chas frowned at him, but the girl was once more moving aside.

  “But what am I to tell ‘er ladyship?”

  That stopped Chas for a moment, but he was far too used to thinking on his feet to let a slip of a maid stop one of his plans.

  “Why, nothing of course. Our contract is with Miss Anne Fairchild. You will tell her the sofa has been delivered, as promised.” And he whisked out the front door as fast as the sofa and Leslie’s laugh-convulsed body would allow.

  Chapter Nine

  Anne found it impossible to concentrate on the opera. She’d had no time to stop and think in days, and she very much needed a moment to clear her mind. This morning’s adventure had been the most amazing so far, and the coupe de grace had been when Chas had asked to call on her. What could it mean? Chas Prestwick, adventurer, nonpareil, falling in love with someone calm, retiring, plain? There had to be some other explanation.

  She was so focused on her own thoughts that she wasn’t even sure what Agatha had elected they see that evening. Whatever it was, the trilling arias were less inspiring than she would have liked. They failed entirely to keep her from brooding.

  He had wanted to call on her! She could feel her cheeks redden and her pulse quicken just thinking about it. And what had she done? She had been so surprised that he could only take her stammering as a refusal. She had seen the pain in his eyes, quickly hidden. If she could only see him again, perhaps she could explain.

  Explain what? Even if she could tell him she would like nothing more than for him to call on her, Agatha would never permit it. And she owed a great deal to her aunt: a home, sustenance, education. All Agatha wanted in return was for her to marry well. That hadn’t seemed such a difficult thing to accomplish, until now.

  And what did Anne want? All notions of romance aside, she had thought she wanted a quiet life with home, husband, and perhaps children. She could achieve that by going along with Agatha’s demands. Did she really want to marry someone like Chas Prestwick, or was she just getting swept away by the spirit of adventure? Was she drunk on the wine of romance to think she might actually have captured his heart? She simply wasn’t sure anymore.

  As the first act drew to a close, she glanced guiltily over at her aunts. Neither seemed the least aware that her attention was not where it should be.

  “Truly lovely,” Millicent was thrilling. “Didn’t you think so, Agatha, dear?”

  “The soprano was flat,” Agatha intoned. “I can only hope for improvement in the second act.”

  “Yes, yes, well, what did you think Anne?”

  Anne was saved from answering by a knock at their box door. She hurriedly moved to respond. But when she opened the door and looked into those green eyes, all she could do was stare.

  Chas Prestwick bowed. “Good evening, Miss Fairchild. I thought I might pay my respects to your aunts.”

  “Yes, of course,” Anne murmured, bewildered. She stepped aside, and he moved past her into the box.

  Chas Prestwick in full evening dress was as always an impressive sight. The black coat and white satin breeches emphasized his lean frame. While she’d heard of gentlemen who owed their silhouette to their tailors, she doubted that hard line of muscle hinted in his shoulders and legs as he moved was the result of artistic padding. The lamplight glinted off his tawny hair, highlighting it with gold and making his green eyes glitter like emeralds. As Anne watched, bemused, he bowed over first Millicent’s then Agatha’s hands.

  The latter raised her pince-nez and regarded him haughtily. “Do we know you, young man?”

  “Oh, Agatha, you must remember little Chas Prestwick,” Millicent chided, beaming. “The earl’s son?”

  Agatha eyed him. “Second son, I believe?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Chas said, but Anne could feel his warmth cool.

  Agatha dropped her pince-nez to her chest and returned her gaze to the stage in dismissal. “Pity.”

  Millicent stepped into the breach before Anne could. “Pity we didn’t see you earlier. Then we could have invited you to sit with us.”

  “Doubtless Mr. Prestwick has better ways to spend his time,” Agatha said, implying that she certainly had better ways to spend hers.

  Chas grinned at Anne over Millicent’s head, and she felt herself blushing. “Oh, I can think of nothing better than to enjoy the opera with three such lovely young ladies.”

  Millicent tittered appreciatively. Agatha humphed. Chas turned his attention back to Anne.

  “Tell me, Miss Fairchild, would you take a turn with me while we await the second act? Perhaps a glass of negus?”

  “Anne isn’t thirsty,” Agatha snapped. Anne felt herself blushing, frustrated at her aunt’s high-handed manner. She opened her mouth to tell him she would be glad for his company, but Millicent once again parried the blow.

  “Well, I am,” she declared, causing Agatha’s eyes to narrow. “Be a pair of dears you two, and fetch refreshments for Agatha and me.”

  “Yes, please,” Agatha said tightly. “Millicent and I have matters to discuss.” Millicent cringed, but Anne was glad to see that Chas had either not noticed or was too polite to acknowledge it.

  “I would be honored, ladies,” he said. “Miss Fairchild?”

  Grateful to escape, Anne slipped her gloved hand onto his arm, and together they left the box. As soon as the door was safely closed, she stopped him.

  “Mr. Prestwick, I must apologize for my aunt. She can be most condescending, even belligerent. You must understand—she has her heart set on me marrying nothing less than an earl, and I’m afraid she treats anyone else, whether friend or suitor, as beneath her notice.” She could feel the tension in his arm relax. “She truly means no harm.”

  He smiled down at her in a way that made her heart start to beat unaccountably fast. “It’s a relief to know it’s not just me. Normally I wouldn’t have presented myself to your aunts without some notice. But I was feeling rather full of myself.” His smile became rueful. “I suppose I needed to be taken down a peg or two.”

  “Nonsense,” Anne replied. The thought that anything her aunt might have said could hurt him made her suddenly angry. “I believe I warned you about Agatha’s tongue this morning. You have to let her slights roll off you, or you’ll soon find yourself feeling rather small.”

  He took both her hands in his. Anne shivered involuntarily.

  “If I thought she was as sharp with you, I’d . . .” He shook himself and dropped her hands. “I beg your pardon. I seem to have forgotten my manners this evening. Shall we fetch those refreshments?”

  Anne nodded, sorry to see him become the polished gentleman, and they made their way down the wide staircase to the refreshment area. As he elbowed his way through the crowds near the refreshment tables, she wracked her brain trying to think of something to say to restore his good humor. But the crowds were so dense she soon lost her grip on his arm. As she’d never gone for refreshments before, she could only step back and wait for him along the wall.

  She was surprised to see how many well-dressed gentlemen with ladies on their arms were promenading up and down the twin arching staircases or milling about in the foyer. It was more entertaining than the singers! She was watching one particularly dashing couple when someone grabbed her arm and spun her about.

  “I must congratulate you, my dear,” Elizabeth Scanton purred as Anne gasped in a
breath. The lady’s ivory gown clung to her figure, and her Titian hair was dressed in pomaded ringlets. “You had me completely fooled. Tell me, did you and Chas have the whole thing planned, or did you plot the little scene in the library all by yourself?”

  “I . . . I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Anne said, tugging on her arm in an attempt to pull away. “I never met Mr. Prestwick before that night.”

  The woman’s grip turned painful. Her fingers pinched the exposed flesh at the back of Anne’s upper arm. Despite herself, Anne winced.

  Lady Scanton’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t try that innocent act on me, girl. I saw the two of you together. You may think you’ve won, but he’ll soon tire of you. You simply don’t have what it takes to entertain a man like Chas Prestwick for long. Mark my words.”

  She let go with a sharp squeeze that drew a gasp of pain from Anne and slipped away into the crowds as suddenly as she had appeared.

  I will not cry, Anne told herself sternly. I will not give her the satisfaction. I have done nothing wrong.

  Then why did she feel so miserable?

  She was concentrating so hard that she nearly jumped when Chas reappeared at her side. “There you are. I thought I’d lost you.” His smile quickly faded. “What is it, Anne?”

  “Nothing,” she lied. “I dislike crowds, don’t you? Shall we go?”

  She linked her arm in his and attempted to lead him back to the box. He allowed her to reach the corridor outside it before pulling her up short. “Anne, your arm is trembling. Something has upset you, and I want to know what it was.”

  He set the two glasses on a small decorative table near the wall and took hold of her arms. “Did someone in the crowd accost you?”

  His concern would be her undoing. Anne struggled in his grip. “No, I’m fine. Please let me go.”

  “Very well, I . . .” he stopped, but as she turned she heard him suck in his breath. Looking back over her shoulder she saw him staring at her arm. One touch and she could feel the welt, no doubt an angry red, where Lady Scanton had pinched her. Anne groaned.