Fairchild (25 page)

It was a fine morning, and Sophy could enjoy the sunshine now she’d removed the veils from most of her riding hats. She responded carefully. “Lady Fairchild is very good. I hope my marriage will not take me far from her. Or from you, father.”

He gave a pleased nod. “What do you think of Alistair?”
 

Sophy drew Hirondelle to a halt. “As a cousin?”

“As a husband.” Lord Fairchild foiled her attempt at ignorance.
 

Seconds passed before she could speak. “Lady Fairchild’s family cannot want him married to me, father. And I do not think he considers me more than a tiresome girl attached to Jasper.”
 

“You do yourself a disservice, surely,” he laughed. “If Georgiana no longer regards you as an insult, why should her family? Indeed, she thinks he might have been rather taken with you, though he is no longer so attentive as before. She is determined to promote the match, you know. What happened there?” Suspecting her silence, he added, “Did you rebuff him?”

Sophy looked straight ahead. “I merely informed him he needn’t pretend interest in me for Lady Fairchild’s sake.”

He shook his head. “Men of Alistair Beaumaris’s stamp do not pretend affection for girls who are just out, Sophy, not even as a favor to family. If he had an interest, it was genuine. I trust it’s not too late for Georgiana to fix matters.”
 

“But father, surely Alistair plans to do better for himself than me!” she said, frightened now. “You’ve been generous with my portion, but—”

“Alistair is a third son with no fortune,” he interrupted. “He is not such a fool to pass up a comfortable living with you.”
 

She felt cold, though the sun was bright on her face.
 

“As it happens, the two of you could be more than comfortable. Lady Fairchild suggested to me that we could give you Barham for your lifetime.” Seeing her uncomprehending look, he added, “It is the house I bought for my second son out of Georgiana's portion. She said it is only fitting that her stepdaughter should have the place, and I agree. You and Alistair would be little more than a stone's throw from Cordell. What could be better?”

She smiled mechanically. “I can’t imagine.” Her father nudged his mount forward. She followed dutifully. She had never expected Lady Fairchild to contrive so mightily for her future. Or consider her a daughter of any sort.
 

Her father was blind to her wretchedness. “It is a pretty house,” he said. “Not large, but comfortable enough. The land attached to it will give additional income. If you have offended Alistair, I think that can be easily overcome. It will make us very happy to have you settled so close.”
 

She could not refuse such a gift. Impossible as it seemed, the family wanted her. She was not an embarrassment or an unwelcome burden as she had feared for so long. “I don't know what to say.”
 

Alistair had said he liked her. She hoped it was the truth. And as for love, she would have Lady Fairchild's and Jasper's and her father's as well: more than she had expected.
 

It was time to tell Tom the truth. It would be for the best. Once he knew, he would not love her anymore. Half her problems would be solved.
 

“Alistair and Jasper are coming to dine this evening," her father said. "Make yourself pretty, and we shall see if we can't catch you a husband you may be proud of.”
 

Jasper was angry with his mother, but he valued self-control. He didn’t allow himself the satisfaction of sawing at his beef, relying instead on his usual weapon: finesse.
 

“I’m afraid you’ll catch cold there, madam,” he whispered to his mother. She was keeping a discreet but careful watch of Sophy and Alistair, seated further down the table. Throwing Sophy at Alistair was not, he thought, one of her better ideas.

She tilted her head at him. “You think so?” She cut a tiny piece of cauliflower. “My sister Louisa thinks Sophy’s portion would be just the thing for Alistair.”

Jasper frowned. “Does she indeed?” Sophy’s portion was respectable, not grand. “And you think Sophy would take him?”

“Nonsense, Jasper.” His mother shot him a dark look. “What young lady would not? He’s handsomer than any man ought to be and wins all the ladies’ hearts.”
 

“Some might not consider that a recommendation,” Jasper observed.

Lady Fairchild smiled behind her wine glass. “I think Sophy would be pleased with a man of Alistair’s name and breeding. He is of excellent ton and would make a fine husband. I’d like to keep her close to the family, you know.”

“You say it so prettily, mama,” Jasper said. “I suppose you’d like to keep Sophy’s money in the family too?”

Her answering look was sharp enough to make most people recoil, but Jasper’s armor was thick. “Don’t be vulgar,” she said, a little too loud. Sophy glanced at them with a worried frown.

Jasper waited until Alistair reclaimed her attention. “And what of him? He used to flirt with her, it’s true, but you know that means nothing.” He peered at them through the candelabra on the table. Alistair always did his best to charm whoever he was seated beside. It was one of the reasons he was so popular.
 

“Like Sophy herself, you underestimate her appeal,” his mother said, dabbing her lips with a napkin. “Alistair would have to be blind not to take an interest. I did not invite him to take a cousin’s familiarities with her.”
 

She knew something she was not telling him. He never trusted her, but when she smiled like this he must use extra caution.
 

“I don’t think anyone did,” Jasper grunted. He liked Alistair better than any of his cousins, but still . . .
 

“And there is the matter of Cyril’s debts.” Lady Fairchild said softly, smiling at her plate.
 

“What?”
 

“Cyril. He’s proving quite expensive to your uncle, I’m afraid. Alistair’s expectations have decreased considerably.”

Jasper resisted the urge to grind his teeth. Looking useless, as he chose to do, was one thing; being useless was another matter entirely. He had known for some time that Cyril was the actually useless kind. “Hang Cyril,” he said, losing his patience. “Uncle’s certainly given him enough rope. How bad is it for Alistair?”
 

“I told you your Aunt Louisa thinks Sophy’s portion would be very suitable.”

It was damnably unfair, Jasper thought. Being a third son was bad enough, but to have Cyril blowing through money that would otherwise come to you was the outside of enough.
 

For the rest of the meal, he watched Sophy and Alistair as assiduously as his mother. Sophy smiled and made a few quips, but when she lapsed into silence her face was solemn. Alistair touched her arm and she reacted like a skittish colt.
 

“When does my sister arrive?” Lady Fairchild asked more loudly, speaking for everyone’s ears now.
 

“She wrote that we could expect her on Wednesday,” Alistair said. “She is anxious to visit with you, Aunt.”

“It has been too long since she’s come to town,” Lady Fairchild said, “It will be such a pleasure to see her.” She glanced down the table to her husband.

“Quite so,” he said signing to the footman to refill his glass. Jasper concealed a smile. His father hated Aunt Louisa. Across the table the eldest Miss Matcham, invited to even the numbers, piped up that she hoped she should make Lady Ruffington’s acquaintance.
 

“Jasper says you enjoy driving,” Alistair said at Sophy's elbow. “Would you honor me with your company sometime this week?”
 

Jasper did not like the way Sophy’s throat constricted. “That would be lovely,” she said. “But I much prefer to ride.”
 

“Riding it is, then,” he said. “Later this week, so long as the weather holds.”

“Sophy isn’t deterred by bad weather,” Jasper said, nettled. She ought to assert herself. “Take care she doesn’t muddy your colors, Alistair.” Miss Matcham tittered. She and her sister were hot house blooms; not much good for anything out of doors.

“That wouldn’t concern me, coz,” Alistair said. “My man is very good at brushing out the dirt.”

“You don’t object, Father?” Sophy said, casting her eyes up the table.
 

He gave his answer to Alistair. “So long as you look after her. Can’t have her falling again.”

Jasper bridled. It wasn’t enough that they were dishing her up for Alistair, he had to remind her of her accident too.
 

“I believe my falling is not an ordinary occurrence, father,” Sophy said tightly.

“And I pray it is one that is not repeated, my dear,” interjected Lady Fairchild. “I don’t think my nerves could stand it.”
 

When the ladies withdrew to the drawing room, Jasper did not linger over the port. “Please give mother my excuses,” he told his father. “I’m not feeling quite the thing.”
 

No one believed him, though it was true.
 

He felt a migraine lurking. It was all his family’s fault. They were incapable of leaving a body alone. His mother was cock-a-hoop with her plans for Sophy; if Alistair was going to be her pawn, he despised him too. Even Sophy was grating on his nerves. She was supposed to be his ally, not his parents’ creature. It angered him that she had forgiven his father so easily after years of neglect and after what he had done to her mother.
 

Faugh! His parents were detestable, both of them.
 

He didn’t know why Sophy wasn’t turned over in love with Alistair—she must be unique among womankind—but it was clear to him that she wasn’t. Nevertheless, she was being maneuvered into marriage by his smiling parents because it was good for her and for the family. It might not have troubled him, if she hadn’t told him she’d hoped for more.
 

Thunder and turf, why didn't they just let Sophy alone? Let her be a spinster if she liked—he’d always give her a home at Cordell. The place was certainly big enough and Sophy wasn’t the type to fight domestic battles with the wife he must inevitably take. Perish the thought. He’d probably take Sophy’s side, if it came to that.
 

Pressing a hand to his temples, he blinked away the lights that danced in the dark corners of his vision. Lord, he needed a drink.
 

“Your hat, sir.” Jenkins’ voice was calm as ever, but his eyes were troubled. He could always tell when Jasper had a headache coming on. When Jasper was a boy, Jenkins always would find him some dark, cool place to rest undisturbed.

“Thank-you, Jenkins,” Jasper said, knowing he wasn’t fooled by his smile.
 

“Forgive me for asking, sir, but does your man look after you right?” Only Jenkins would have presumed to ask.
 

“He does a bang up job with my boots.” But he wasn’t good with migraines. Last time he’d waved some odious scent in Jasper’s face. Served him right when he had retched all over his shoes.
 

“I could make up a room for you here, sir.” Jenkins lowered his voice. “Lady Fairchild needn't know.”
 

“Ah, Jenkins,” Jasper smiled. Dash it, he was fond of the fellow. “You can always divine the source of my troubles. No, I think my removal will serve best.”

“Very good, sir.” Jenkins correctly handed Jasper his walking stick and held open the door.
 

Outside, Jasper drank in the cooler air of the street. It was malodorous, but still better than the hot, dead air of his mother’s drawing room. Poor Sophy. He did not envy her, stuck beside Alistair with his mother watching expectantly.
 

Well, there was little he could do if she wasn’t going to kick up a dust. Hailing a hackney, he drove round to St. James to have a look in on Boz, who took one look at his friend and decided something must be done. “I know just where to take you,” he said. “We’ll bring Andre. Fellow’s nearly as blue-deviled as you. That aunt of his isn’t dying after all.”

The three young blades left the exalted streets of Mayfair in another hackney, driving into seedy districts and stopping at a riverside tavern.
 

“Appalling place,” Boz promised. “You’ll love it.”

Jasper made a face. “Getting cast away and boxing the watch again? We’re too old for these pranks.”

Boz shot Andre a dismayed look. “There’s always the White House.”

Jasper shook his head at the mention of this select brothel, assuring Boz his first idea was better.
 

The Duck and Drake was a weathered tavern favored by seafaring men.
 

“Pungent,” Boz said, bringing a handkerchief to his nose. The public room was nearly empty, but the sour smell of river, sweat and gin was thick enough to stand a knife in. The stink must have sunk into the timbers of the building. Still, the tables looked clean enough. The two serving maids were plump, with clear skin and blushing cheeks, the freshness of youth not yet ground from their faces. An assortment of sailors diced and frowned over tattered cards around rough tables, while two men in plain black suits lounged at the bar, long pipes in hand, blowing out a cloud of smoke.
 

“Perfect,” Andre said, his eyes dancing with delight.
 

Settling around the table nearest the door, they diced and drank blue ruin, watching the other patrons with interest. Some men left; new ones came; all drank more. One of the serving maids, a pretty blonde, began attending to their table, bending low as she wiped wet rings of gin off the scarred surface. Boz, who received the best view, whistled.
 

“What’s your name?” he asked, slipping his arm around her waist and drawing her in close. A burly, red haired sailor looked up from his dice, but only Jasper noticed. Boz and Andre’s attention was all on the girl. She laughed and agreed to join them, sitting on Boz’s knee while he signed to the host to bring over a meat pie.