The Unflappable Miss Fairchild

by Regina Scott

  Agatha’s fears that the evening would be a bore seemed unfounded, for Millicent, Agatha, and Anne were warmly greeted by their host and hostess. Anne hid a smile at how Millicent’s purple-turbaned head bounced as she gushed over the various Baminger siblings. Anne made the proper responses as she and Agatha were re-introduced to all and took her turn entering the ballroom with the rest of the guests.

  She was pleased to see that the small room had been brightened with the gleam of nearly a hundred candles in a crystal chandelier suspended above the center of the polished dance floor. A trio of musicians sat on a raised dais directly opposite the door; chairs and divans had been pushed back against the satin-hung walls on either side to allow those who were not dancing to sit and enjoy the view. To one side of the musicians were the double doors leading to the music room.

  It was no doubt Millicent’s appreciation of the Baminger children that brought Anne her first dance partner of the evening. Anne found herself on the dance floor paired with the Bamingers’ youngest son, Horatio, a lad two years her junior, who immediately let her know how much a favor he was doing her by being seen in her company.

  “Yes, Miss Fairchild, I thought you a perfect choice for the first dance,” he told her with self satisfaction when the pattern of the country dance allowed them to be close enough to converse. “Mother always said you were the sensible sort. That and being out for three years now, figured you could stand being seen with a fellow like me. Not likely to break your heart on the first dance, like I would some.”

  Anne grit her teeth but managed a smile. She supposed it was a sign of her depression that her answer to him was barely civil. “No, indeed, Mr. Baminger. We sensible types have no hearts to break, haven’t you heard? By all means, flirt all you like. I assure you, it won’t have the slightest effect.” She was thankful that the dance separated them then so that she was spared having to hear his reply.

  Perhaps it would be best if she just avoided society for the rest of the evening. She found a chair away from others and close enough to a potted palm that it hid her from view from at least half the ballroom. Unfortunately, she quickly learned that young Baminger had pointed her out to his friends. With determination, she turned down the next two gentlemen who asked her to dance only to have to endure glares from her Aunt Agatha, who was plainly visible in the dowager’s circle across the room. She knew she would have to think of a plausible excuse later, but the truth was that her nerves felt raw. What she needed was time to understand and deal with her feelings for Chas Prestwick before entering the lists again.

  When she resolutely turned away the third gentleman, Millicent fluttered to her side. “Is something amiss, dearest? Did young Horatio step on your feet?” She tisked appreciatively and lowered her voice. “Agatha is very disappointed to see you sitting out the dances, especially with so many Eligibles in the room.”

  “I . . . I don’t feel well this evening,” Anne whispered back. “Perhaps another time.”

  Millicent looked uncomfortable. “Well, dear, your Aunt Agatha would like me to tell you that you are to dance with the next gentleman who asks.” She looked hopefully at Anne. “Please?”

  “Oh, very well,” Anne said with an inelegant shrug. Millicent patted her shoulder and left, beaming at her success in a difficult situation. What did it matter? She would have to dance sooner or later.

  She was watching the half of the dancers she could see executing the steps of another country dance when a couple moved past her in a promenade. She flinched as she recognized the woman and sat back against the chair in hopes of avoiding similar recognition. Unfortunately, Elizabeth Scanton had seen her.

  The woman pulled her escort up and smiled down at Anne, her canines showing against reddened lips. She was dressed in a burgundy gown that clung to her curves, damped once again, Anne noticed wryly. The gentlemen who eyed her with appreciation as she strolled past didn’t seem to mind.

  “Why, Miss Fairchild, how very nice to see you again,” she purred. “Garvey, have you met Anne Fairchild?”

  Her escort, a tall lanky fellow with short-cropped pale blond hair, a long nose, and prominent front teeth, raised a quizzing glass and squinted at Anne through it. “No, can’t say we have. Friend of yours, m’dear?”

  “Oh, no.” Lady Scanton batted her blacked lashes at him before turning to Anne. “I wouldn’t call us friends, would you, Anne, dear?”

  This is all the evening lacked, Anne thought miserably. I have been patronized, ordered about, and now humiliated. She sought in her mind for some acid wit to throw back at the vixen who stood so smug before her. But before she could think of a suitable retort, Lady Scanton went on.

  “And all alone this evening? How very tragic. But then, I did warn you about the predilections of certain gentlemen. Enjoy the ball, my dear, if you can.” And she swept her befuddled escort back into their walk about the room.

  Anne took a deep breath and tried to remain calm. Her hand itched to slap that dreadful woman across the face. Looking up, she found that several people were peering in her direction. Heavens, had they seen everything?

  Her glance darted to her Aunt Agatha and confirmed her worst fears. Agatha’s eyes were dangerously narrowed, her lips taught, and one toe tapped her displeasure against the polished floor of the ballroom. Even Millicent looked pale as she threw her niece an anguished look. The best thing that could happen right now was for the floor to open and swallow her whole.

  Unfortunately, the country dance was ending, and several gentlemen were heading in her direction. Anne steeled herself to put on a pleasant face.

  “I have it on good authority that the next dance will be a waltz,” a familiar voice said beside her. Anne looked up in amazement into Chas’ smiling green eyes. “Will you do me the honor?”

  He was holding out his hand. Anne stared at it, afraid that it would evaporate if she touched it. She glanced back up at him, and his smile deepened. A weight lifted from her heart.

  “I would be delighted,” she declared, putting her hand in his and rising. Chas took her in his arms and whirled her out onto the ballroom floor as the first strains of music began.

  Thank goodness Aunt Agatha had had the foresight to hire a dance master. Anne easily melded her steps to Chas’. Of course, never in Agatha’s wildest dreams (if Agatha ever gave herself over to anything but the most proper dreams) would she have imagined Anne dancing the waltz with someone like Chas Prestwick.

  He had obviously had more experience with the waltz than several hours with a dance master. From the beginning, he held her with an easy grace that kept her body intoxicatingly close to his. The people, the room, even the music seemed to recede until there was only his face so close to hers, the hard line of his body brushing against her, and his arm about her waist. He was smiling at her with the most tender of smiles, and it was hard to tell whether it was the smile or the movements of the dance that made her heart beat faster. Her earlier miseries disappeared, and she smiled back at him in delight.

  All too soon she became aware that the dance was ending, and suddenly a face leapt out of the crowd--Elizabeth Scanton, mouth gaping like a trout. Meeting Anne’s eyes, her mouth snapped shut, and her eyes narrowed in determination. Anne could feel the hairs at the nape of her neck rising. The woman meant trouble, for herself or Chas, she wasn’t sure. She only knew she felt a desperate urge to run away.

  “Please, don’t let go!” she whispered to Chas, thinking to keep him safely on the dance floor. Perhaps, if they could just go on dancing, she could keep all her problems at bay.

  Whether he caught the apprehension in her voice, or thought her request originated elsewhere, he seemed to understand. “Your wish is my command,” he whispered back, and before she knew what he was about, he had maneuvered her off the dance floor and through the double doors into the Baminger’s music room. He let her go long enough to latch the doors behind them, then strode back to her. His steps echoed on the hard wood floors and the cluster of brass mus
ic stands nearby, gleaming in the faint moonlight from the windows on the far wall.

  “Now we won’t be disturbed,” he murmured, drawing her to him. Anne wasn’t sure what he meant to do, but, to her amazement, she found herself being summarily kissed. Her surprise quickly gave way to the warmth spreading through her. His hands on her waist molded her to him, gentle, as if to reassure. The warmth kindled to a fire, and she fitted her body against his, reveling in the feel of muscle against satin. This time, she promised herself, he would not turn away from her.

  The latch on the door rattled, and Chas raised his head and swore softly. Then he looked down at Anne, his passion a banked fire in his eyes.

  Anne gazed back at him, feeling as if she had entered a dream. Was this really Chas Prestwick looking at her that way? More to the point, what was she supposed to do now? There was only one proper place this could go. Yet he continued to look at her as if he had never seen her before, and she suddenly felt unsure. She gently disengaged herself and stepped back, trembling.

  “You have me at a disadvantage, sir,” she heard herself say primly to hide her confusion. “I was under the impression that you found me less than acceptable to join the list of your conquests.”

  He stood a little stiffer, but the fires in his eyes remained. “You are mistaken, madam. It is I who am less than acceptable.”

  Now what did he mean by that? Was he referring to her aunt’s preference that she marry above her station? Why was it suddenly so hard to say what she thought?

  “You are much better at this game than I am,” she said with a sigh. “May we not speak plainly?”

  “I had thought to do so, but I find myself at a loss with you standing there in the moonlight like some Greek statue.” He ran a hand through his hair. “This is harder than I expected.”

  Anne’s head came up. That was it--there was only one explanation. He had come to offer her a carte blanche. And he was finding it deucedly difficult at the moment. Well, she wasn’t going to make it any easier for him. It hurt to think that Agatha had been right, that that was all he wanted from her. She had failed after all. “Then perhaps we should continue this conversation at another time,” she replied haughtily, moving past him toward the door. “I’m not sure I want to hear what you have to say.”

  He grasped her by the shoulder and pulled her back into his arms. “Damnation! Do you pretend you feel nothing for me? Your kisses call you liar.”

  Anne struggled in his grip. “Let me go! You know nothing of what I feel!”

  Abruptly, Chas released her. “I believe you are right.” She staggered back from him, upsetting a music stand. The sharp rattle rebounded in the empty room. He looked as cold as she felt, his head high, his eyes glittering like green ice. Seeing the sardonic expression on his face, she could well believe that he was the heartless rake Agatha claimed him. He was a stranger to her. She hung her head to keep him from seeing the tears that stung her eyes.

  The sound of a door opening broke the lengthening silence, and Anne turned to see Millicent entering through what was obviously a door from the main corridor. She tiptoed into the room, wringing her hands. “Oh, my dears, such a to-do! Whatever were you thinking?”

  When neither answered, she went on. “Anne, dear, it just isn’t done! First the waltz and then disappearing like that. Everyone is whispering.”

  Anne sighed. As if it wasn’t enough that her heart was breaking. “I’m sorry, Aunt Millicent.”

  Chas bowed stiffly. “My apologies as well, Mrs. Fairchild. I had thought that Anne and I had something private to discuss. Apparently, I was wrong.”

  He left it hanging in the air, an open invitation to correct him. But she couldn’t do it. She simply couldn’t be the woman he wanted. Millicent answered for her.

  “Oh, I am sorry.” She moved to lay a hand sadly on Chas’ arm. “Dear boy, you know how fond I am of your mother, but you must understand. You and Anne can never have anything er -private to say to each other. Lady Crawford would never stand for it. I hope I make myself plain.”

  Anne winced as a mask on indifference slipped over Chas’ face. He bowed again. “Very plain, madam. Be assured, I shall not trouble you again.” He started toward the door.

  She couldn’t leave it like this. He had to understand that even if she had to reject his offer, she still cared, would always care. “Chas, wait!”

  He never paused. He threw open the door to the corridor. Anne saw Leslie Petersborough, among others, waiting outside.

  “Come on, Les,” she heard him say, dealing Lady Baminger’s party a societal death blow. “This evening is dull beyond words. Let’s find better sport.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Neither Agatha nor Millicent said a word all the way home. Anne was glad not to have to converse. Once again, she was appalled by her own behavior. She wanted only to escape to her bedchamber and try to sort out her feelings. But as she sat in the dark carriage, the silence grew until she wasn’t sure which was worse, the renewed pain in her heart, the fear of what dangerous exploit she might have driven Chas to based on the last look on his face, or the brooding silence of her aunts. She glanced at Agatha to find her aunt glowering at her with narrowed eyes. She decided she had to speak to Agatha the minute they reached home.

  Agatha, however, took the initiative as Henry opened the carriage door for them at the curbside. “Don’t let the carriage go,” she said crisply as he handed her down. “I want you to go to Chathams on Market and hire a hack for tomorrow. I want it at the door at daybreak, do you hear? Anne will be leaving for Bath immediately.”

  “Yes, Lady Crawford,” Henry murmured, even as Anne froze in the act of alighting. She shook her head to clear her thoughts and allowed Henry to hand her down. He handed down Millicent in turn, then clambered back up on the box. Anne heard the carriage clatter away as she followed her aunts into the house.

  An anxious Bess met them at the door. “Is everything all right, yer ladyship?” she asked, curtsying as Agatha and Millicent began peeling off their gloves and cloaks. “Yer back right early.” Anne handed her her cloak with what she hoped was an encouraging smile, which Bess started to return.

  “Never you mind, girl,” Agatha snapped. “I’ve told you before, the fact that I chose to retain you among the others I was forced to let go should not give you the impression that you have special privileges in this house.”

  “No mum,” Bess whispered, blanching.

  Anne frowned at Agatha’s unnecessary cruelty, knowing it was meant for her.

  “Take these upstairs,” Agatha continued, “and begin packing my niece’s things. You and she are leaving for Bath first thing in the morning.”

  Bess bobbed again, cast Anne a frightened look, and scurried upstairs.

  “In the sitting room, Miss,” Agatha commanded, moving ahead of her with Millicent trailing in her wake.

  Anne shut the door behind her and turned to face her aunts. Agatha stood gaunt and forbidding before the fire that Bess must have started as they arrived. The growing flames turned Agatha’s dark silk gown to blood. Her face was shuttered and drawn, but her grey eyes glittered. Her hands clenched and unclenched on the knob of her ebony cane. She had never looked more like a witch.

  Anne straightened under the gaze, the fires of rebellion heating within her. Could she count on no one for support? Did no one care for her pain? “You needn’t look at me as if I were some kind of hideous creature you found in your cellar,” she said proudly. “I’m very aware that my behavior this evening was quite beyond the standards you set. There isn’t anything you can say to me that I haven’t already said to myself.”

  “You think not?” Agatha clipped. If she was impressed by her niece’s show of bravado, she didn’t show it. “What, pray tell, is your assessment of your conduct this evening?”

  Anne took a deep breath. “I accepted an offer to dance with a gentleman I knew you found unacceptable. I waltzed without the permission of my hostess, I allowed myself to be alone
with a gentleman of questionable reputation and stayed with him in a locked room without your permission.”

  “A neat cataloguing,” Agatha responded. “I shall give you the results. Your reputation is in shatters, and no gentleman of any worth would dine to pay you court. In short, you allowed yourself to be swayed by a handsome face, a pair of broad shoulders, and ready tongue with no substance behind them. You might as well become a courtesan.”

  Millicent, who had been sitting silently on the sofa, caught her breath. “Oh, Agatha, that is too cruel!”

  Anne could feel the blood draining from her face. “I cannot believe things are that bad. Surely I have comported myself well enough in the past that this will be viewed as no more than a temporary aberration.”

  “As usual, you see only the best possible outcome,” Agatha said. “I have no doubt my assessment is closer to the truth.”

  Anne shrugged, suddenly too tired to care. “It matters little. I cannot be what you want, Aunt Agatha, no more than I can be what he wants. By trying to please you both, I have most likely lost the only man I shall ever love.”