Incognita (Fairchild Book 2) (20 page)

She was a beautiful horse, with long lines and strong quarters, but it was her soft mouth that decided Alistair. She moved at the lightest touch.
 

“She’ll do,” Alistair said, nodding at the groom. “Why is Somerville selling?” he asked Lord Fairchild in an undertone.

“Opera dancers are expensive,” Lord Fairchild said with a grin. “Right now Somerville has one with a temper.”
 

Alistair squared things with Somerville, who said he’d send the mare round with the groom. Lord Fairchild was watching the retreating horse. “I’d have liked her for myself,” he said to Alistair, as they left. “Try not to get her killed, will you? If I could breed her with Ajax . . . . ” He hummed to himself, imagining leggy foals.
 

“I should collect Mrs. Morris and Henry now,” Alistair said, nudging his uncle into reality.
 

“Right. I’ll come with you. Let me drive you there. That is—does her family keep a carriage?”
 

“I expect so,” Alistair said, keeping a straight face.
 

“Good. Can’t bring her back in this curricle—not unless she sits on your lap.”
 

“And I don’t know where we’d put Henry,” Alistair said.
 

Lord Fairchild laughed. “Where’s the house?”
 

Alistair gave the direction, sitting back while his uncle spun the curricle round corners, threading it through traffic with considerable skill. It was a well-tuned vehicle, drawn by horses few men could best. They shaved past a crested town coach with little more than an inch between their wheels.
 

“I can’t think of a tactful way to ask, so you’ll have to pardon me. I know something of ruined marriages, after all,” Lord Fairchild said, diverting his attention from his horses long enough to flash Alistair an apologetic smile. “How damaged is she?”
 

“Mrs. Morris? She’s not—”
 

“I don’t know if I can stand to live with two of them,” his uncle interrupted. “And I can’t leave Lady Fairchild, not yet. Do you think they’ll like each other?”
 

Alistair wanted to say yes, but felt compelled to be honest. “I’ve no idea.”
 

Lord Fairchild grunted. “Me neither. Better hope they do, or I’ll—I don’t know what I’d do, actually. Hunt you down in Spain, I suppose, and give you a list of grievances.”
 

“Anna’s a little sharp-edged,” Alistair conceded.
 

“I noticed.” Lord Fairchild swung them round a corner. “Dash it, I’ve taken the wrong turn. Where’re we going again?”
 

Alistair supplied the direction. “You make it sound like Anna’s soiled. She’s not.”
 

His uncle nodded noncommittally.
 

“Morris was a scoundrel,” Alistair said.
 

“Husbands often are,” Lord Fairchild said, his voice shaded with amusement. “Or so I’ve been told.”
 

“That’s the one,” Alistair said, pointing at the house. Lord Fairchild halted his horses, surveying the surroundings with polite interest, too well-mannered to show much surprise—for an unfashionable quarter of town, it was quite pleasant. A maid answered the door. “They’re waiting for you in the drawing room,” she said to Alistair.
 

“Show us up,” Lord Fairchild commanded.
 

Henry was sitting on the sofa, swinging his feet and scowling. Alistair suspected the boy didn’t care for his jacket and starched shirt; he wouldn’t have, at that age. Anna looked tired, and probably was if she’d had to stuff the boy into his clothes. Like her son, she was dressed with care, in a dark blue dress with braided trim, the masculine style highlighting how very much she wasn’t. The dress and curling hair would have looked quite dashing, if they’d been paired with a laughing smile. Anna’s eyes were fever bright, her hands stiff.
 

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.”