Incognita (Fairchild Book 2) (21 page)

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.
 

“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.
 

“I’m getting married,” he said in a rush.
 

“In Spain? I hear the women are fine, but mother will have a fit if you marry a Catholic. Don’t put her through that.”
 

“New one for you to be considering her nerves,” Alistair retorted. “I’m not getting married now, just engaged. She’s not Catholic.” It was the only point he could think of in Anna’s favor, besides her face, but his mother was too mercenary to appreciate that.
 

“Hmmn.” Cyril thought it over for a minute. “Sudden, isn’t it?”
 

I’ll say
. “Not really. She’s staying with Uncle William and Aunt Georgiana. Just thought you should know.”
 

“Has she a name?” Cyril asked.

“Anna. Anna Morris.”
 

“Don’t recognize it,” Cyril said. “Sure I can’t persuade you to come?”
 

Alistair shook his head.
 

“I’m off then. Try not to get shot.”
 

It was probably the friendliest exchange they’d had in years.
 

On his way upstairs, Alistair found a note from Jasper.
 

You brute,

Just when were you going to tell me? Convenient, that you are recalled to Spain before I can force an explanation from you. I was joking, you know, when I asked if she had felled you with a glance. You are a dog, but I wish you the very best of luck.
 

Alistair rubbed the back of his head uneasily as he folded away the letter. His parents. Cyril. Henrietta. Jasper. Henry. Mr. and Mrs. Fulham. When he’d suggested the scheme he hadn’t thought he’d be lying to so many people. It was beginning to feel uncomfortable. Henry would remember little enough of their brief meetings, but he liked the Fulhams. Henrietta, who’d accepted Anna so warmly, could only be hurt when Anna broke the engagement.
 

Frowning and silent, he submitted to Griggs’ handling, preparing for bed. No way to fix it. Besides, he was doing his best. Yet the longer he thought about it, the worse he felt, and he had enough to contend with without brooding over his own qualms. Falling onto his pillow with unnecessary violence, Alistair shut his mind and ordered himself to sleep.
 

*****

As promised, Anna arrived at his parents’ house early—before eight o’clock—to see him off. “You can put this in the coach,” she said, pushing a basket into his hands, seeing that his horse was saddled nearby. “I asked Lady Fairchild what she thought you might like to eat.” She looked doubtfully under the napkin. “There’s some good Madeira, but I expect you’ll have plenty of that where you’re going.”
 

He’d probably drink the Madeira, but Alistair wasn’t sure about the food. He always suffered from a nervous stomach on departure days. This morning he’d limited himself to a plain cup of coffee. Griggs was looking favorably at the basket, though. The man could devour his own weight and not even burp. And never gain an ounce, either.
 

“You’ll look after him, won’t you?” Anna asked Griggs, who tugged his forelock to her like the carter’s son he was.
 

“Always do,” Griggs said. “Don’t you be worrying.”
 

Anna smiled at him. “I’m counting on you.”
 

Like many ugly men, Griggs had a fatal weakness for beautiful women. Turning his attention from Griggs’ immediate, embarrassing devotion, Alistair crouched down in front of Henry, who was scuffing his shoes on the step, clutching the little tin hussar to the front of his coat. “You’ll keep watch on your mama for me?” The boy nodded, his attention on the saber at Alistair’s side. “I’ll bring one home for you. A French one,” Alistair promised. Henry’s eyes widened, innocent of the knowledge that prizes came from dead men.
 

He’d had been like that too, when he wore short coats and through his years at school, his naiveté lasting even into his first campaigns. He couldn’t recall exactly when his saber had changed from a beautiful, mirror-bright curve to a butcher’s tool, something to be continually cleaned and sharpened. “Good lad,” Alistair said, his knees cracking as he pushed himself upright. He reached out to ruffle Henry’s hair. It was as silky as Anna’s and of the same sooty-brown.
 

“Next you’ll be giving him brandy and teaching him to smoke,” Anna said. “I’m still terrified he might pull out some of your language in front of Lady Fairchild.”
 

“She’s heard it before,” Alistair said. Like Henry, she’d heard most of it from Jasper. “Did you remember the pistols?” he asked Griggs.
 

“Under the carriage seat,” Griggs answered.