Fairchild Regency Romance

by Jaima Fixsen

  “Alice will go on for you tonight, don’t fret yourself,” he told Laura. “The prime concern is your safety. Mr. Rushford is right,” he told her. “Stay here until we have a safe place to hide you.”

  Unless he coerced her into marrying him first, his lodgings were out. Given his way he’d take her to Suffolk, but he wasn’t sure how that would play out. “I’ll sort it out,” Jasper promised her. “I won’t be long.”

  Squeezing her hand, he took himself off. Since he had no better ideas, Jasper went to Basil Street. After hearing the news Anna and Alistair, like any pair of brave fools, said there was no reason Laura couldn’t stay on.

  “No one knows she’s been here. If she stays in and avoids the theatre, no one will find her. Meanwhile we’ll soften her up for the Grand Apology. I trust you’re working on it?” Alistair asked.

  Jasper stopped pacing. “Right now it’s the last thing on my mind. She’ll never agree to come here. Think of the risks. You might not mind on your own account, but what of Anna’s parents? And Henry?”

  “How’s your head today?” Anna asked.

  He waved away her sympathy. It didn’t hurt, not exactly. He felt the strain and distress of Laura’s bruises and her defeat, yet had no solution for any of them. He’d like to slap a glove in Saltash’s face, or better yet, mill him down in a flurry of fists, but—“I’ll come up with something. I’ll let you know. Thank you for all you’ve done. A thousand times over.”

  “Tell us if you change your mind,” Anna said and they let him go.

  He drove to his rooms on St. James Street without an answer presenting itself. Wearily, he let himself in, glad at least to see there were lights in his windows. If he was lucky his valet had put out supper on the off chance he came home to dine. Thinking would be easier on a full stomach. Jasper stepped inside, reaching over to put his hat on the sideboard.

  “Good evening.”

  Jasper jumped, his eyes darting to the chair by the fire. “Father?”

  Lord Fairchild was there, but not in the chair. That was occupied by Jasper’s mother. She didn’t look pleased.

  “Mama.” Jasper bowed, ignoring his dry throat. “To what do I owe the honor?”

  “Your mother and I—” Lord Fairchild began.

  “William. Please allow me,” Lady Fairchild interrupted. “We are concerned—” Seeing him forming a retort, she broke off and tried again. “Jasper. Lord knows your father and I have done everything wrong, but I thought you had more intelligence. Must you?” She uncurled her fist from a crumpled newspaper. It was a scandal sheet with his name on it.

  He would have laughed if he wasn’t stung by the sight of it. He didn’t have time for his mother’s social agonies today. He must find sanctuary for Laura. If he could. He must get rid of his mother. Fast.

  “Mama. How ungenteel. You know as well as I do that everyone has a fancy piece. No harm in it.”

  She snorted. “We can debate morality later. The weaknesses of your sex aside, I doubt if the gentlemen you refer to make a habit of recruiting mistresses from their family’s circle of friends.”

  Jasper froze.

  “Yes, I’m talking about Laura Edwards, or Gemma Holyrood as she calls herself. I’ve spoken to her brother and I know the truth. You can stop gaping at me.”

  He closed his mouth.

  “I take it you’ve really done this thing?” Lord Fairchild asked, more stern than Jasper had ever seen him. He hesitated too long. His parents exchanged a look.

  “It’s not what you think,” Jasper said. “And at any rate, it’s not your concern.”

  “Not my concern? Why, pray—” Lady Fairchild’s eyes narrowed and her mouth contorted in a minatory twist. “Miss Edwards is a friend of your sister’s—a guest in her house—and you—”

  Lord Fairchild reached out a restraining hand, but Lady Fairchild pushed him away. “William, may I speak to him alone?” she asked, drawing steadying breaths.

  “I think I should stay.”

  “Very well. But you will both have to endure some plain speaking. The thrashing, if it comes to that, I leave to you.”

  Lord Fairchild bowed.

  Before his mother could unleash the promised fury, Jasper sauntered to the liquor tray. “I’m being inhospitable. Forgive me. Father? Mother?” He offered it to needle her, but she only shook her head. “You both came up to London, I take it, on my account. Lord, but it’s touching. I’m amazed you didn’t kill each other on the drive.”

  “Jasper,” his father warned.

  “What? It’s a bit rich, this lecture from the two of you.”

  “Neither of us is perfect,” Lady Fairchild said. “But you are our son. We want you to be happy.”

  He laughed. “Happy? How vulgar. And terribly uninteresting. We are above such things, surely? Misery can be so elegant. Just look at the life you’ve made with Papa.”

  Her nostrils drew together. “I was selfish. I didn’t think—at the time—that my quarrel with your father would make more than ourselves unhappy.”

  “You could have seen if you’d cared to look.”

  “I’m sorry. I know your father is too. Don’t make our mistakes.”

  Jasper peered into his glass. “Remarkable. Am I to understand you’ve forgiven him? After twenty years?”

  She fixed Jasper with a steely eye. “I have.”

  Jasper pushed his lips together. “Why?” he asked, bracing himself.

  “Because I love him.”

  “We may have been fools,” Lord Fairchild said. “You don’t need to be.”

  “Wonderful.” Jasper turned to the fireplace to spare himself the sight of his father actually possessing himself of his mother’s hand. It wasn’t an escape—he could see them watching him through the mirror over the mantle. Jasper dropped his eyes to the fender. “And what about Fanny Prescott? I expect you loved her too—or told her so at least.”

  His father started, but Lady Fairchild stilled him by squeezing their joined hands. “That’s a matter between him and me.” Rising from her chair in a rustle of silk, she came to stand at Jasper’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I know you loved her.”

  He snorted and brought up his glass to gulp down the rest, but she stopped him with a hand on his arm. Drops sloshed over the edge, slapped onto his fingers, marred her skirt, and fell with a hiss into the fire.

  “Of course you did,” she said, forestalling denials. “How could you help it? You were eight years old. Fanny was merry and pretty and loved both you and your sister for she missed her own siblings terribly. Did you not see the fat letters she wrote them, week after week?”

  “I was eight,” he said, half-strangled.

  “Yes, and you would have outgrown it quite naturally, given time. It was a charming way to first lose your heart, don’t you think? You were such a dear boy. I didn’t realize until after Fanny left what her disappearance meant to you. I’m afraid—” She took a breath and then another. “I was jealous. Even my children wanted her more than me.”

  Jasper said nothing, but he felt her struggle to frame words.

  “I was lonely,” she said finally, her voice low and dull. “Everything I did pushed you further away. I told myself I had no right to complain—much—when you pushed back. I’ve been a wretched mother, but I didn’t always want to be.”

  Cruel retorts, a good half-dozen of them, jostled on his tongue. He knew how to make her flinch and he relished it. But looking round he saw there were tears rimming the roots of her lashes and her voice was thick in a way he couldn’t remember hearing before.

  “If you’ve turned hard-hearted,” she said, “it’s because I forced you to be.”

  Jasper set his glass on the mantle with a click. “You flatter yourself,” he said. “Give me the credit. I’m exactly the person I wish to be.”

  His father, cutting in on an admonitory tone, fell silent at a look from her. “I don’t believe you,” she said. “You are better than you let on. What about your sisters?”
r />   “What about them?”

  “You suffer agonies over them. You let Sophy badger you into bringing her to us. You helped her elope and made friends with Tom for her sake. You write Henrietta every week. And every year there are new flowers planted on your brother’s grave.” She turned away, hiding her face to wipe the wet from her eyes. “I know it’s you,” she said. “Who else would bring Julius pebbles and empty robin’s eggs? Who else but you knows when poppies bloom and when it’s time for meadow saffron?”

  Jasper let out a trembling breath and fixed his eyes on the frame of the mirror. “Why should that matter?” he asked.

  “You are too good for such sordidness, Jasper. Besides the fact that Laura Edwards is Tom and Sophy’s friend and that we may very well owe Sophy and Ollie’s lives to Dr. Edwards, you are too good to dabble in the dirt.”

  “Laura isn’t—”

  His father stepped forward. “We’re talking about what you are doing with her, not the girl. She’s Edwards’ sister. You can’t trifle with a girl like that, no matter—”

  Jasper laughed, dodging past them both to the other side of the room. “You’ve got this wrong. It isn’t a tragedy. It’s a farce.”

  Lady Fairchild steeled herself. “I don’t care what you think it is, I just want it to stop. You cannot be so selfish. I don’t care if it’s actresses or widows or whores, but I won’t have you using any woman and breaking her heart, especially when the woman in question has taken tea in my drawing room!” Her voice rose as she lost control, loud enough to rattle the lamps.

  Jasper glanced at the ceiling. “A little more gently, if you please. You’ll bring down the chandelier.”

  Her hands convulsed at her sides and she let out a groan of frustration unlike any sound he’d heard her produce before.

  “Better now?” Jasper asked.

  “Not at all. I—” She broke off, shaking her head, closing her arms around her chest. “Never mind. William, I’m going to speak to Miss Edwards. I recommend you join me. While it’s satisfying to imagine, I don’t imagine thrashing him will do any good.”

  “He deserves one,” Lord Fairchild said.

  “He doesn’t think so. That’s the trouble.” She moved to the door. Her sorrow, tinged with contempt, stung him.

  “You’ve got it wrong, you know,” Jasper said. He didn’t believe her when she said she didn’t care if it was widows or actresses or whores. No one was a stickier stickler than his mother—if you overlooked her affection for Sophy, that is. Less sure of himself now, Jasper licked his lips.

  “Oh?” She glanced back, one hand resting on the frame of the door.

  Flushed with defensive anger, Jasper scowled. “I haven’t ruined Laura Edwards. She’s been chaperoned this whole time. And as for breaking her heart—well, hers is quite intact.” Jasper swallowed. “In fact—”

  “Yes?” his mother asked, the sculpted eyebrows rising.

  She’d begun it—this time for disgusting confessionals. The truth would serve her right. Jasper took a breath. “I’m afraid she may have broken mine.”

  If he was expecting pity, he didn’t get it.

  “Chaperoned?” Lady Fairchild asked. “How?”

  “I don’t believe it,” his father said.

  “Ask Alistair. Laura’s been staying with him and Anna. You say you’ve spoken to Jack—well, I told him from the outset I wouldn’t harm her. It’s not my fault if no one believes me. Ask Betty, the maid I stole from Cordell. Why do you think I needed her?”

  “I don’t presume to understand your doings,” Lord Fairchild said, his face hardening into a shard of ice. “Why you would trifle with an innocent woman of gentle birth after seeing the wreckage of my own mistakes—”

  “Enough, sir!” Jasper could do flint faces too. “I’m perfectly conscious of your errors. I have scruples even if you don’t. The world thinks Laura and I are lovers. We aren’t. I haven’t bedded her or any woman.”

  Shock washed all expression from their faces, turning them into twin effigies. Jasper swallowed. “Fondled a few, but I haven’t ruined a single one.”

  Lord Fairchild’s eyes narrowed. “What about Mrs. Forsythe?”

  “No.” They’d stirred up talk two years ago, but despite her determined pursuit, he’d escaped with his honor intact.

  “Mrs. Delacourt?”

  He shook his head, surprised his mother had heard about that one. It had been a near run thing.

  She tilted her head, intensifying her scrutiny. “Lady Foote-Harding?”

  “Mama!” he said, revolted. “No, no, and no. I told you there hasn’t been anyone! May we leave it alone now?” He had things to do—like figuring out where on God’s green earth to put Laura. “I’m afraid I must ask you to excuse me. I’m rather busy,” he said.

  Ignoring his folded arms and pointed glance at the door, Lord Fairchild settled himself into a chair. “All right. I believe you. But why the pretense?”

  “Miss Edwards asked for my help.” Jasper explained about her feud with Saltash.

  “Yes, but how did you plan to end things? Surely you must have thought—” his father said.

  “I wish you’d grant me a small measure of privacy. I’m seven and twenty, you know.”

  “Not until April,” his mother retorted.

  Jasper glared.

  “You honestly didn’t think how it would end? Well, more fool you. There’s no decent way out of this for either of you,” Lord Fairchild said.

  “There’s one. I already asked her to marry me—save your hysterics,” he said, frowning his mother back to her post on the arm of his father’s chair. “She refused me.” He waited for the sky to fall but neither spoke. Impatient, Jasper went on. “Mortifying for me, naturally, but that’s neither here nor there. At present the larger issue is Laura’s safety.”

  His father cocked an inquiring eyebrow, forcing Jasper to hastily explain about the stranger who’d attacked Laura this morning in the street outside her home. “So you see,” he finished, “I really can’t bandy words with you any longer. I’ve got to find her some refuge, if she’ll accept even that much from me.”

  “Don’t be obtuse, Jasper,” his mother said, with an impatient wave of her hand. “The solution is simple. You must bring her to me.”

  Jasper stared but his father didn’t even twitch. “It’s the only way,” Lady Fairchild went on, with a placidity Jasper couldn’t believe, let alone trust. “No one will harm her at Rushford house and her virtue,” she smiled thinly, “will be quite safe. It will certainly confound the gossips.”

  “There will be talk—” Lord Fairchild began.

  “We’ll suffer it,” Lady Fairchild said. “You said yourself there’s no decent way out of this. Given his promise that he will play no more tricks, I’m quite willing to assist him in his suit.”

  “She is an actress,” Jasper said, still unsure if he heard right.

  “I can’t say I’ll relish the scandal, but you are right. The best alternative is to marry her. You do like her, after all?”

  “I love her,” Jasper said, trying not to suffocate.

  “Well, you’ll never again be the darling of society, but you should have thought of that. At least she is the daughter of a Comte. Edwards was reluctant to mention that,” Lady Fairchild said.

  “He doesn’t believe in titles.”

  Lady Fairchild sniffed. “Just bring her to me, Jasper. The rest will sort itself later.”

  For perhaps the first time in a decade Jasper decided he should obey his mother. With wary eyes, lest she shed this new skin and revert to form, he crossed the room. It felt confoundedly awkward, but he took her hand and kissed it.

  “Thank you, Mama.”

  “Don’t be long about it. I’ve had a tiring day and if I’m to have guests at Rushford house—”

  “Let it rest, Georgy,” his father said.

  Pet names? It was too much. Jasper fled.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Curtain

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nbsp; Jasper’s presence was painful but even when he left, Laura felt no relief. Of course, she did have the wretched work of restoring Kate to her white-faced mother.

  “I’m sorry,” Laura said. “I didn’t know—”

  “You aren’t to blame,” Sarah said, holding Kate tight.

  Not directly, but still…Laura watched Sarah and Alice ready themselves, saying little because of the lump in her throat. The warning bell, the audience’s mumble and the muted strains of the orchestra were distant cacophony, so absorbed was she in her thoughts. Alice came in to change after the first act, breathless and flushed.

  “How is it so far?” Laura moved aside so Kate could help Alice out of the breeches.

  “Perfect,” Alice said, leaning into the mirror. Determined not to appear jealous, Laura held out a dish of face powder, conscious of her own throbbing cheek, hoping the scrapes would heal without marks and worried they wouldn’t. Saltash was right. She couldn’t act with a marked face. It unnerved her to know how easily he made that happen. She loved the stage but was it worth her safety? Or risking the people close to her—suppose she’d brought Kate with her this morning?

  If Saltash fought without scruples, there was little she could do. She couldn’t allow him to hurt Mr. Rollins or Sarah or Dan—even Alice didn’t deserve that. The defiance which goaded her to pen that note to him was gone. She couldn’t start carrying a pistol, even if she was afraid. And Jasper and Rollins and Betty, even the neighbor across the way—she couldn’t expect them to protect her.

  She could take a different name and go to a provincial theatre, a second-rate playhouse in Leeds or Ireland. Saltash probably wouldn’t trouble her there, yet the notion held little appeal. It wasn’t just that she loved the stage, Laura realized. She loved this one where she worked with her friends.

  “Where are you going?” Betty asked, moving to block the dressing room door as Laura pushed to her feet. “Mr. Rushford says I’m to keep you in my sight.”

  Dear Betty. Always so zealous. “I’m just going to take a walk backstage,” Laura told her. “I won’t be long.”