Fairchild Regency Romance

by Jaima Fixsen

  Alistair stepped forward to make Lord Fairchild known to Anna’s parents. If they were surprised to find a viscount in their drawing room, they received the news calmly. Anna’s mother was dressed austerely as ever, and Mr. Fulham wore a rusty black suit, but neither became conscious of their plain appearance, or turned ingratiating.

  “Don’t feel like we are stealing them away,” Lord Fairchild said. “You must visit your grandson and daughter while they are at Rushford house on those days that they don’t come to you.”

  Gratified, Mr. Fulham made polite conversation with Lord Fairchild while Mrs. Fulham called their carriage.

  “I’ll ride over with you, if I may,” Alistair said to Anna.

  “Does he usually go out of his way to charm?” Anna whispered, glancing at his uncle.

  “No,” Alistair answered. “So this proves he doesn’t hate you. Stop worrying.”

  “The imposition—” she began, twisting her hands.

  “Lord and Lady Fairchild don’t allow people to impose on them,” Alistair said. “They could’ve said no. How is Henry?”

  She winced. “He threw his breakfast on the floor this morning and kicked his nurse.”

  “I’ll keep my distance then,” Alistair said.

  Once Anna and Henry’s boxes were dispatched with the carrier, along with the nursemaid and Anna’s maid, Alistair finally found himself in the Fulham’s carriage opposite Anna and Henry, who was less sulky now that his lips were pursed around a peppermint. Lord Fairchild, who was driving his own curricle, would probably arrive at Rushford house ahead of them by a good ten minutes, giving Alistair a little extra time to talk Anna out of her nervousness. Her gloved hands were clenched tight, Alistair’s conversational sallies going almost unheeded.

  When they pulled to a stop in front of Rushford house, the footmen were waiting. With one hand on Henry’s shoulder and the other resting in the curve of Anna’s back, Alistair shepherded them up the steps.

  “As far as I know, Lady Fairchild’s never murdered anybody, worshiped the devil, or spied for Napoleon,” he whispered to Anna, trying to coax a smile. “You’re quite safe.” They stepped through the front door and into Bedlam.

  A small boy—not Henry—careened around the hall, racing around like a beetle in a box. He looped around Lord Fairchild, who was smiling, his hat held in midair, expecting it to be lifted away by Jenkins the butler, who’d just deserted his post to fling out a steadying arm as the boy lost his balance, wheeling his arms in the air.

  “Gently, Master Laurie. Gently now,” Jenkins chided, and Henrietta’s boy quieted. It would last, Alistair predicted, about twenty seconds. Before he could speak, his cousin Henrietta turned towards him.

  “What’s this nonsense about you getting married?” she began, stopping as she caught sight of Anna. “Oh.”

  Alistair knew all about crossing lightly over heavy ground. Time to move fast. “Lady Arundel, allow me to present my fiancée, Anna Morris.”

  Henrietta, bless her, greeted Anna with a smile. “What rubbish. He knows I’m Henrietta to family.” She looked Anna over, her smile growing as she took in Anna’s close hold on the small boy at her skirts. “Well, I won’t call you Mrs. Morris. No point, when you’re going to be Mrs. Beaumaris before long.” She leaned towards Anna confidentially. “You lucky thing.”

  “She’s hopeless,” Alistair explained.

  “And shameless to boot,” Henrietta added. “If you can’t bring yourself to use Henrietta, call me Lady A.”

  Anna still hadn’t found any words, so Alistair filled the gap. “Just the one today?” he asked, nodding at Henrietta’s son Lawrence, who was beginning to oscillate again.

  “No, Will’s here too,” Henrietta said, glancing over to the far side of the hall, where Lady Fairchild stood beside a large potted palm. She had Henrietta’s younger son in her arms, and he had a fist—and a mouthful—of foliage.

  “A family party. You must forgive us or join in, Mrs. Morris,” Lord Fairchild said, setting his whip and his gloves on the table. “Henrietta, next time you might give us a little warning.”

  “Pooh,” she said. “Next thing you’ll make me wait for an invitation card. Don’t be absurd.”

  Armed with considerable beauty and an imperviously cheerful disposition, Henrietta was used to getting her way. Other young wives with her high spirits might have been labelled fast, but Henrietta was comically devoted to her wispy scholar of a husband and had never met a soul she couldn’t charm.

  “This is your son?” she asked Anna.

  “Yes, this is Henry.”

  “Make sure you bring him to visit Laurie. I can’t think what he’ll do in this house. It’s not fitted up for children.”

  “We’ve made the necessary changes,” Lady Fairchild said loftily. “Mrs. Morris, if you would care to see? William, you can take the baby.” She deposited the surly-looking infant into her husband’s arms. Lord Fairchild’s eyes widened, but he promptly took himself off, motioning for Jenkins to join him, as the rest of them trooped up the stairs.

  “I’ve put you in the green room at the end of the hall,” Lady Fairchild was saying. “It gets good light, and—”

  “Will Henry be close by?” Anna interrupted.

  “Just up the stairs,” Lady Fairchild began.

  “May I sleep upstairs too?”

  “Only if you want to sleep in the nursemaid’s room.” Lady Fairchild’s laugh hung in the empty air. “Would you prefer that?” she asked at last, prickling a little.

  “You needn’t fear for Henry. He’ll be quite all right,” Alistair said. Henry and Laurie, already cementing their relationship, pushed past them into the room and slid under the bed, wriggling like eels.

  “Of course,” Anna said, swallowing. “It’s a very pretty room,” she said, giving it a cursory glance.

  “Your maid is quartered upstairs and will see to your unpacking,” Lady Fairchild said, her eyes falling on the trunks resting in the middle of the floor. “I sent her to help the nursemaid unpack for Henry.”

  That seemed to meet with Anna’s approval. “May I take a look?” she asked. Lady Fairchild nodded. They lured the boys out from under the bed and climbed up the stairs to a little white room on the top story girdled with dark wood panelling. The deep windows were partitioned from the room with blue cutwork curtains. Lucy the nursemaid looked up from the chest of drawers, where she was putting away stockings, and a scrawny bird of a girl, who must be Anna’s maid, though she scarcely looked old enough to braid her own hair, paused in the act of hanging a little hat on the peg in the wall. They both dropped curtseys—the starved wren sinking deep enough to honor the queen.

  “The bed’s a little large,” Lady Fairchild said, “But we didn’t have anything smaller. Now, perhaps we might leave the boys here and—”

  “Tea, by all means, mother,” Henrietta interrupted. “But I know Laurie would much rather help Mr. Jenkins. Laurie?”

  They were closeted in the drawing room five minutes later, relieved of the children. Lady Fairchild brought Anna to her side by asking her to help hand round the cups.

  Henrietta pounced. “So you’re engaged? When were you going to tell Percy and me?”

  “Hen, you’re exhausting,” Alistair said, pulling his eyes away from Anna and his aunt. “I fully intended—”

  “Does Jasper know yet?”

  “I wrote him last night,” Alistair said. He’d kept back the full story. He should try to introduce Anna to Cyril, since he was the only one of his immediate family within spitting distance. His parents would have to settle for a letter. Alistair didn’t mind. Telling Lady Fairchild had been tricky enough. No doubt his engagement would be blamed when his father took another decline.

  “It’s heartless of you, getting engaged to her and leaving town,” Henrietta said, stirring her tea.

  “If there was any way to avoid it, I promise I would,” Alistair said. “Your mother will look after her.”

  “I will too,
” Henrietta said, laying her hand on Alistair’s own. “Mama told me they wouldn’t let her have her boy. Made me feel absolutely murderous.”

  “That, I’d pay to see,” Alistair said, touched nonetheless by Henrietta’s stout offer of allegiance. She was easily the best of all of their family, the soaring waltz caught between darker sonatas. Anna brought them their cups, but was called back to take the seat next to Lady Fairchild.

  “Where did you find her?” Henrietta asked, taking a sip of tea.

  “Green Park,” Alistair said. No need to mention that unfortunate masquerade, especially since Henrietta had been there. Might lead to unpleasant questions.

  “Mother and I should leave you two alone, shouldn’t we?”

  “’Twould be the merciful thing to do,” Alistair said. He’d be everlastingly grateful.

  “Then I’ll arrange it. I am still your favorite cousin, aren’t I?”

  Alistair grinned. “Less vexing than Jasper, but the children are a liability. Must you always bring them about?”

  “Idiot.” Henrietta set down her cup. “If you thought for half a second, you’d realize I brought them to be kind. Henry will do so much better if there’s another boy to knock things off tables. Don’t you think so, Anna?” she asked, raising her voice.

  “Pardon?” Anna asked, turning towards them.

  “I was telling my cousin that I think it will do both our boys good to spend time together. They only make trouble when they’re bored, so it’s much safer with two of them.”

  Alistair looked down to his cup, stirring again, though the sugar was dissolved already. He could remind Henrietta of a few choice moments he’d shared with Jasper—the latest being their turn up in the park, just weeks ago—but held his tongue. Aunt Georgiana remembered many of them, he was sure. He was treading a thin enough line as it was without calling up old misdemeanors.

  “Mama, have you the latest Lady’s Magazine? There was a redingote with shoulder epaulettes I quite fancied. I was thinking of having it made up in a dark plum color,” Henrietta said.

  Lady Fairchild frowned and set aside her tea. Henrietta might be a wife, a mother, and mistress of her own household, but her mother still liked to dictate what she could wear. “I can’t recall the costume you mean, and I’m not sure how you’d look in plum.”

  “You have a gown that color, don’t you? Let’s see if I can support that deep a shade.”

  Lady Fairchild left first, her brow creasing as she imagined Henrietta in unflattering clothes. Henrietta followed, winking at Alistair as she closed the door, signing with her fingers that he had five minutes at least.

  “Well, what do you think? I can’t say they won’t drive you half-mad at times, but they won’t persecute you. I dare say my aunt won’t even trouble to sneer most days.” He crossed the room, examined the cakes on the tea tray, deciding against a piece of lemon cake, then set himself on the arm of Anna’s chair, slipping his arm across her shoulders. Too bad she was in an arm chair, not the sofa. The possibilities were so much better with a little more room.

  “I needn’t have worried so much,” Anna admitted. “But if you’d seen what my life was with the Morrises, you’d understand why I was afraid.”

  “Put it behind you,” Alistair said, pressing his fingers into her shoulder and finding the knot he’d expected. “From now on, they’ll never be more than a nuisance and a letter arriving every quarter, which will at least come with a sizable bank draft.” Still working on the knot, he drew the first letter from his waistcoat pocket with his other hand. It had been waiting for him when he arrived home last evening.

  Anna flipped the letter open, letting the bank draft slide into her lap. She read the letter first—it was terse, but polite—then she glanced at the draft. Gasped. “What did you say to him?” she asked.

  “Nothing that wasn’t true. Don’t worry about it. My uncle knows the amount you should receive and he will look into it should anything go amiss. He can set you up at his bank, find someone to manage things for you.”

  “My father can help me with that,” Anna said.

  “If you wish.”

  She folded up the papers and tucked them into the bodice of her dress, unaware of Alistair’s heightened interest. He was in the perfect place to watch the papers slide between her dress and her skin.

  “Is there a garden?” she asked, rising from the chair and crossing to the window. “Henry will be a terrible nuisance if he can’t get outside.”

  “I think the house shares a small one, yes.” He came up behind her at the window and let himself plant a kiss on her neck. He’d be reaching after that letter if he didn’t touch her somewhere, quickly. Her neck seemed like a safe choice, but of course it led up to that delectable ear, half hidden under a wing of dark hair. It wasn’t a problem until Anna turned her chin and gave him her lips—perfect lips, rouged and full. He’d developed a habit of visualizing them whenever his mind wandered, when thoughts slipped beyond control. Pleasurable, yes, but dashed inconvenient.

  “Pardon. I couldn’t resist,” he said, relaxing his hold.

  “I’ve given you leave to kiss me,” she said. “Thank you.”

  “For the kiss?”

  “That too,” she laughed. “But I was thinking about bringing us here. Dealing with Frederick. The toy soldier for Henry.”

  “Don’t kiss me because you’re grateful,” he said, pulling back a little, even though he wanted to put his lips to her soft ones again.

  “Oh, it’s more than that,” she said, her lips curving at the corners.

  “Good. Cause I must admit, I’m tempted to kidnap you and take you to Spain. Quite a hardship, losing you when we’re just getting started.” But it would be better, in the end. There could be no future between them. “You’re smiling,” he said. “I have my uses, you see.”

  “I enjoy you. I don’t want to use you,” she said, her smile fading.

  “You aren’t. I want you to be happy. And being enjoyed is what I like,” he said.

  “I’m sure,” she said with a low chuckle. “Don’t kiss too many beauties in Lisbon. Just enough to keep in practice.”

  He lifted an eyebrow, but she only laughed at him.

  “No one achieves such mastery without practice, Captain. You kiss exceedingly well, and I will miss you more than is good for you. Count yourself lucky that I am letting you escape. I’ll see you off in the morning.”

  “I leave before dawn.”

  “I am awake then. Henry too, if this morning was any indicator.”

  He considered the virtues of subtlety a moment, then decided it wasn’t worth the attempt. He wanted a kiss and he wanted it close, so he turned her around. “Has it been five minutes?”

  “Why?”

  “Henrietta said she’d give us five minutes.”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t check the clock.”

  “I should have. What poor planning. I don’t mind being caught by my aunt. Do you?”

  She kissed him quick, her breath warm on his face. “Yes. I don’t think she likes scenes in her drawing room.”

  Fair enough. “Alright then. Let’s put you back in your chair,” he said, propelling her to her seat.

  “And pretend we’re talking corn prices? It won’t fool anyone.”

  “Kiss me then, and don’t be ashamed of it.”

  She did, though her cheeks were scarlet. When Henrietta returned—alone, thankfully—startling them with a crow of laughter, Anna was too flushed to turn any redder.

  “Alistair. So greedy! Shame on you. It’s been at least seven!”

  “I should go.” Heaven knew he had a thousand things to do, and only hours remaining. He fought for some light words, bending close to keep them from Henrietta’s ears. “I will remember you—here, in my aunt’s drawing room—when I am in Spain.”

  He kissed her hand. And stole it again, ten minutes later, milling with the family by the door. He tousled Henry’s hair and threw greetings, unnoticed, to Henrietta’s
boys, and kissed Henrietta and his aunt. Uncle William wished him well and they all came out to the front step to wave him off. Aunt Georgiana was blinking rapidly—had been ever since he put on his hat.

  “Take good care of yourself,” she said.

  He always meant to, but it was difficult. He promised to anyway, smiling as he descended the steps. Anna was waiting at the bottom one.

  “Good luck, Captain,” she said, her low voice scarcely audible above the wishes of his relatives, the noise of the children, the ruckus in the streets. It was a worn out wish, but it settled round him like a schoolboy’s scarf, warm and comforting. Even once she was safely married, he knew she’d consider him a friend—a pleasing notion. Striding away more jauntily than was his wont, Alistair decided it was no bad thing, giving help to a good woman.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Contriving

  “Come to Watier’s with me tonight?” Cyril asked, late that evening, when Alistair stumbled across him in the hall.

  “I’m leaving tomorrow,” Alistair said. He was fighting heavy eyes already, and no wonder: he’d been to Horse Guards again, supervised his packing, seen his bankers and written a new will. He had few worldly goods, but no reason Anna shouldn’t have them if he couldn’t. A real fiancé would do that, he was sure.

  “That’s why I’m inviting you,” Cyril said. “It’s our last chance.”

  “Good of you,” Alistair said. “But I’d rather not. Have to make an early start if I’m to reach Portsmouth in good time.”

  Cyril shrugged and started off toward his chamber—hopefully to change his cravat. The marvel at his throat was making Alistair uncomfortable.

  “Look,” Alistair began, stopping Cyril before he’d gone more than a few steps.

  “Yes?”

  “I should tell you something . . . ”

  “Mmmm?” Cyril waited, eyebrows raised. Alistair yanked his eyes away again from his brother’s cravat. Many gentleman chose to wear the style known as the trône d'amour—he did himself, in chaste white. But pairing that knot with a neckcloth in the color known as Yeux de Fille en Extase, or Eyes of a Girl in Ecstasy, was excessive. Never mind. He had more important things to discuss.