Fairchild Regency Romance

by Jaima Fixsen

  The stranger was beside Jasper in an instant, shouldering Andre's other arm. “Move,” he commanded.

  Boz ran ahead, Jasper and the stranger dragging Andre between them. The shouts of the crowd behind them were drawing attention from the windows leaning over the street. If people were noticing, they might make their escape.

  Around the corner deliverance waited in the form of the most run-down hackney Jasper had ever seen. He’d lay odds six to four the thing wouldn't make it to Mayfair.

  “Go, or they’ll come after you,” the stranger said. “You shouldn’t flash your blunt around like that.”

  “What else was I to do, pray?” Jasper grumbled, nodding at the driver and hauling open the door.

  “You shouldn’t come here. Or if you’re chawbacon enough to haunt this district, bring a pistol. You fools haven’t even got a sword stick between you.”

  “I have!” Boz protested, raising his ebony cane and almost hitting Jasper in the face.

  The stranger stepped into the lamplight and for the first time Jasper glimpsed his face.

  “I know you,” he said, but dashed if he could remember where.

  “I’m Bagshot,” the man said. “Your neighbor.”

  “Ah.” Jasper felt suddenly foolish. He’d seen him once at the park, but had avoided him, because by then his parents had been a fair way to forgetting Sophy’s unfortunate accident. He hadn’t wanted to bring her more trouble by presenting them with this problem.

  “Stay away from here. Not your crowd,” Bagshot said.

  “Is it yours?” Jasper asked, curious.

  Tom’s voice was rough. “Yes. I was meeting an old friend.”

  Jasper pushed Andre inside the coach and stepped aside to allow Bagshot in.

  “No, thank you,” Bagshot said.

  “There’s only one, man.” Jasper said. “And if we break down, which I'm afraid is very likely, I might have need of your fists again.”

  “Very well.” Bagshot climbed in.

  Andre was snoring by the time they reached St. James. “I’ll have to help him inside,” Jasper said, with an expression of distaste. “You alright, Boz?” Receiving an affirmative, he allowed Boz to walk away down the street.

  “Where’s your digs?” Jasper asked Tom.

  He snorted, not impressed with Jasper’s slang. “You can’t do it right, you know. It puts people’s backs up. I’m not far. I’ll take the hackney the rest of the way.”

  Tempted to ask if the slang bothered him too, Jasper bit his tongue. He had been an ass. This was Bagshot’s second favor. He owed the man something. On the pavement, with Andre draped on his shoulder, Jasper turned to the open carriage door. “Bagshot?”

  “Yes?” Tom leaned forward, so his face was visible again.

  “Please accept my thanks.”

  “It’s nothing to me. I didn’t want Jonas to get into trouble. His wife and children need his wage. You can thank me by trying not to be such an ass.”

  Jasper blinked. Well, he’d thought it himself. “Point taken.” He grinned. “May I call on you tomorrow, if I promise not to put up your back?”

  Tom frowned, surprised. Jasper pressed on. “Where do you live?" he asked.

  “Russell Square, but I’m busy tomorrow.” Tom leaned back, disappearing from sight. “If you want to see me, you can come to my office.”

  Ah, a test. He probably deserved it. “I shall call on you there, at your convenience,” he said. It was too hard to bow, with Andre sliding off him.

  “I don’t have a card,” Tom said and told him the address.

  “Goodnight, Mr. Bagshot,” Jasper said and ordered the jarvey to drive on.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Complications

  It was all for the best, Sophy told herself, listlessly handing round the tea cups. Sinking onto the love seat beside Alistair, she crumbled a biscuit onto her saucer and watched her tea turn cold.

  “You aren’t going to drink that,” Alistair said, reaching over to take her cup and saucer. “It’s stone cold.” The cup rattled loudly as he swept it aside and set in on the nearby table. Empty handed, Sophy felt her last barricades were gone.

  “What’s troubling you?” he asked, leaning forward and lowering his voice. “Not Henrietta’s ball still, surely.” Seeing fire kindling in her eyes, he rested a large hand on her own. “It does bother you, then?”

  Unaccountably, Sophy felt tears threatening at the corners of her eyes. She gave a short nod, looking across the room, but Lord and Lady Fairchild had moved to the opposite corner with Miss Matcham, their heads bent over an open book of engravings resting on the table.

  “I’m sorry, Sophy,” Alistair said, for once seeming sincere. “I didn't mean to embarrass you. I was pleased. Don’t you know that inexperience is exactly what a man looks for in a wife?”

  She was speechless, unable to muster the bravado of Henrietta’s ball and the masquerade. He was earnest, his eyes assured, with just a hint of lurking amusement.

  “You know I’m not trifling,” he said. “I promise, next time I kiss you it will be better. You’ll like it.” He swept his index finger over the back of her hand.

  Her mouth went dry. “I don’t know what you expect me to say,” she said at last.

  “Nothing now,” he said, smiling. “You haven’t met my mother yet.”

  “I’m to pass muster first?” Sophy asked, sounding waspish.

  “I don’t anticipate any difficulty. You already belong in this family.” She was cornered. Surely that was why she felt so pettish. She ought to be thrilled.

  “Why did you stop speaking to me?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “To make you jealous of course. It pricks my pride, you know, that it didn’t work, but my aunt tells me it will improve my character to have to earn the affections of my wife. I must say, I am quite of the same mind.”

  He was so glib, she wanted to scream.

  Miss Matcham’s carriage arrived. Glad for the removal of her unwanted but necessary guest, Lady Fairchild escorted her from the room with a creditable imitation of disappointment. “So soon? You must watch for me in the park. Give my best love to your dear mama.”

  Taking advantage of Lady Fairchild’s brief absence, Sophy disengaged her hand from Alistair’s and rose.

  “So early, Sophy?” her father asked, crossing the floor towards her.

  “I’m afraid if I stay longer I shall be quite overcome,” she said. “Early rides and late evenings take their toll.”

  “I’ll escort you upstairs,” he said, taking her arm. “Forgive us, Alistair. I’ll be back before long.”

  “What is it father?” she asked, once they were out of earshot.

  “Only my good wishes. I’m happy for you, my dear.”

  In spite of herself, a faltering smile crossed her lips. “I am glad, sir.”

  At her door, she turned to him, desperate to share some of the truth. “I do not think that I love him.”

  For a moment he made no reply. “Sophy—” he began.

  Her throat burned. “I know you would not want me to marry him if he were not a good choice, but what will I do if I cannot love him?” He would have some answer, some salve for her.

  “You are young and sweet-natured. You will learn to love him.” He did not meet her eyes.

  “Lady Fairchild did not learn to love you,” she mumbled.

  He smiled, a tight grimace, not exactly amused. “You are more complaisant and know how to content yourself. Nor is Alistair such a fool that he cannot learn from my mistakes.”

  “Is that the best I can hope for?” Sophy asked.

  “Not at all. I hope for much better between the two of you. But if love is not to be, I do not think you will be unhappy. Alistair is an honorable man who will respect you.”

  “You found love with my mother.”

  “For a time,” he agreed, a little needled. “But you know it was impossible. Love like that usually is. I think it might be the impossibility that make
s us feel it at all.”

  “Yet you both took the chance.”

  He regarded her sternly. “It was a mistake. Your mother was an innocent lady. If I had not been somewhat broken myself, I should never have done it.” He hesitated. “Is there someone you think you love?”

  Before she could decide what to answer, he spoke again. “Your mother would not want you to make her choices. Nor would I permit it. You are precious to me and to Lady Fairchild. We want the best for you, and Alistair is the best.

  “You have a bit of the dreamer in you, is all. I did my share of dreaming too. But you mustn’t hope for something that may be impossible or you will find no peace. I think you will do well with Alistair. He is a handsome man, is he not?”

  “Too handsome,” Sophy said. “I’ll lose my head.”

  “Isn’t that what you wanted?” He gave her a quizzical glance.

  “Only if I knew that he loved me back.”

  Her father sighed. “I cannot promise you happiness. No one can, though Heaven knows I wish I could.” He laid a gentle hand on her chin. “I have become a prudent man, but I would lay my money on Alistair. With him I think you can find what you seek.” He kissed her forehead and left her at her door.

  She was already in bed, in a clean nightdress and her braid falling down her back, when Lady Fairchild came into her room.

  “I am so pleased, darling! I just had to come congratulate you. You have captivated him!”

  “If I haven’t, Barham has,” Sophy replied. With a house thrown in, of course Alistair would snap her up.

  Lady Fairchild’s eyes grew wide. “That is not true! Even if it was, he would never be ill-mannered enough to say so.” When Sophy’s face didn’t lighten, she sat down on the bed, clasping her hand affectionately. “I understand why you are afraid. Don’t fret. You will have me close by, which is why I knew this match was the best. And you have been wiser than I. Alistair is not sure of your affections and will not take you for granted. He cannot, since the lease to Barham will be in your name.” She smiled, a little sad. “Your father will protect your interests better than mine did.”

  She squeezed Sophy’s hand. “It will be well.”

  Moved, Sophy lifted Lady Fairchild’s hand to her cheek. The gesture did not feel strange at all. The emotion behind it had joined them long before. How strange that they had never noticed. Some tightness inside her loosened with the feel of Lady Fairchild’s hand, smooth and cool against her cheek.

  Lady Fairchild reasoned that Alistair would value her because her heart was not yet won, that affections easily earned were easily scorned. Perhaps she was right. After earning Lady Fairchild’s love, she could not cast it aside.

  She smiled with trembling lips at the woman who had no reason to love her, but cared for her nonetheless, giving her the house meant for her lost son and choosing to ally her with her own blood. “We shall have to decide what I shall wear when Alistair takes me riding,” she said.

  “Oh, Sophy.” Lady Fairchild brought her other hand to Sophy’s face, cupping her cheeks. “I am glad to be your step mama.” Dropping her hands, she drew a deep breath. “And yes, we must discuss your clothes. It’s a pity you aren’t driving. You look so well in your apricot muslin.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Coming Clean

  Sophy spent the following day with Lady Fairchild and Henrietta. By evening she was fretted to the bone and again retired early. Sleep brought its own counsel. When she rose in the morning, she was resigned to her future. It cut deeply, closing the book on Tom Bagshot, but she would recover with time. She had survived heart-wounds before. The injury from this love—unspoken, brief and fleeting—would not always feel overpowering. She allowed herself two silent tears in front of the mirror after Betty left, then shaped her face into a smile.

  “Brighten up,” she told herself. “It will get better.”

  Her father and Jasper were waiting down stairs. She greeted Jasper warmly, grateful she would be able to forget herself with him. Alistair was not with them. She would ride with him in the afternoon before the fashionable world. After that, no one would be too surprised by the announcement of their engagement in the morning papers.

  Outwardly calm, Sophy chatted easily on the ride to the park and along Rotten Row, for this morning Jasper seemed to have set aside his quarrel with their father. Lord Fairchild moved off to ride beside one of his cronies, also addicted to horse breeding, leaving her and Jasper alone.

  “I ran into an acquaintance of yours the other day,” he told her.

  “Oh?”

  “Tom Bagshot.”

  Sophy’s heart stopped. “Here? In London?” Did Jasper know Tom thought she was a real Rushford?

  “Of course in London. Where else should I be?” Jasper’s eyes weren’t on her. He was lazily scanning the park. “Bagshot said he spends most of his time here. Doesn’t go out to Chippenstone much at all.” He did not confront her with her crime, but that didn’t mean he didn’t know. He might enjoy watching her sweat.

  “How is he?” Sophy finally asked.

  “He looked well enough. Did me a good turn, as it happens. I actually called on him at his office in the city yesterday. Interesting place. Never seen one before. Anyways, I thought I’d speak to the mater. Bagshot and his mother are in town. She and father should pay a call. Only right, after all they did for you.”

  Swallowing, Sophy nodded, keeping a slantwise gaze on Jasper as they trotted down the tree-lined row.

  “Did he mention me?” Sophy ventured at last.

  Jasper frowned. “No. I don’t think so.” Meeting her eyes, he smiled. “Disappointed? Don’t be. Both places we met were not ones where I would care to have your name thrown about.”

  “I’m not disappointed,” Sophy said, straightening her spine. “I merely thought it would be natural for him to inquire into my health.”

  Lady Fairchild would despise her if she knew what she had done. It was a miracle Jasper had not stumbled on the truth already.

  “Nice enough fellow,” Jasper was saying. “Rather starchy, but a decent sort. Invited him to dine with me tonight.”

  “You what?” Sophy snapped to attention.

  “White’s. This evening. Bagshot’s joining me. Why?”

  “Nothing could be worse!”

  Jasper eyed her strangely. “Your mother will hate it,” she said, contriving an excuse.

  “I don’t particularly care. Why let it ruffle your feathers? Don’t cut up at me. You seemed to like him well enough.”

  There was still a little time. She must find Tom, tell him the truth and hope she could beg him to conceal her folly. He would hate her, but with luck he would pity her enough to give her that.

  “Where is his office?” she asked. Jasper told her. It was in the city. Betty would never allow her to go there. Even if she could slip away unnoticed, she would still have to find her way there and back; she’d be in nearly as much trouble for wandering into the city unescorted as she would be if Lady Fairchild discovered the truth. There was only one thing to do. She must send Tom a message asking him to meet her someplace else.

  “I must go home,” she said to Jasper, turning her horse.

  “Now?” He looked at her like she had grown a tail.

  “Yes. Are you coming?”

  “I have to, don’t I? What’s the matter with you?”

  She made some excuse, but he did not look convinced.

  Leaving a bewildered and suspicious Jasper in the hall, Sophy dashed upstairs, pausing only to scrawl two quick notes. Tom might be at his office or at home and she could not risk missing him. Jenkins, her reluctant ally, looked askance at her worried face but promised to have the notes delivered. Sophy returned to her room and asked Betty to bring her a walking dress.

  “I want to sketch in the park this morning,” she said.

  “Didn’t you just come from there?”

  One of these days, she would strangle Betty. For now, she offered up drivel about
perfect light and the colors of summer. Betty sent an appealing glance heavenward, but fastened Sophy into a green walking dress and matching spencer and followed her outside, carrying her sketchbook and charcoals with a disgruntled air. They walked to Green Park, where Sophy settled down to wait, watching the park gates for Tom.

  “Light not so perfect after all, miss?” Betty said, frowning at Sophy’s blank sheet of paper.

  “I’m waiting for inspiration,” Sophy said, making a few tentative lines, sketching the gate of the park. She tried drawing a passing dandy, then a ragged looking woman hunched dispiritedly beside the gate. The woman was a better choice for her current mood, but neither attempt was any good. She might have made a brilliant caricaturist, but she had no talent for realism. It was a depressing thought.

  She was still surveying the park, tapping her charcoal impatiently against the page when Tom appeared at the gate.

  “Fetch me a glass of milk, Betty. I’ve become quite thirsty,” Sophy said, returning her gaze to her drawing. There was a herd of dairy cows on the other side of the hill. It would take Betty an age to walk there and bring it back without spilling any.

  “I do not think Lady Fairchild would like me leaving you alone,” Betty said.

  “Would she like you disobeying me?” Sophy asked, raising her eyebrows in her best Lady Fairchild manner. Betty snorted and stumped off.

  Tom was carrying a walking stick, swinging it carelessly as he climbed the hill, smiling up at her with an unusually jaunty air. She tried to smile back, but could not.

  “Morning Miss Rushford. A fine day.”

  She didn’t feel fine at all, but she nodded, unable to speak. Her carefully rehearsed words deserted her.

  “What is it?” he asked, sitting down on the bench beside her. “I was surprised to get your note.” He looked so carefree. Blighting his good humor was surely a crime.

  “My brother said he called on you,” she blurted out.

  “Yes, he did.” He smiled. “We didn’t take to each other right away, but he improves on longer acquaintance. He’s bringing me to his club this evening. I think he’s trying to make me acceptable to your kind. You know I don’t care for that, but I should like to be acceptable to you.”