Lord Darlington's Darling (24 page)

She had already penned the necessary letters that afternoon. After much time and several attempts, she had been halfway satisfied with her correspondence.
Now tears threatened to choke her as she reread them.

Abby drew a deep, shuddering breath, trying to
compose herself. Now was not the time to waver. She
had to be firm in resolution.

She hid the valise behind her bed before pulling the
bell. When an upper maid came in summons, she gave
one of the missives into her hand. “Pray see that this
is delivered to Lady Bethany in the morning.” She
was surprised by the calmness of her voice.

“Yes, miss.” The maid was incurious and exited the room.

Abby clasped and unclasped her hands, actually
amazed that the servant had not sensed how hard her
heart was pounding.

Abby waited until she heard the activities of the
house lessening. Then she stole down the stairs, her valise in hand and a cloak pulled over her shoulders.
She went swiftly into her brother-in-law’s study and
laid her last note upon his desk. Then she opened a
particular drawer, where she knew Mr. Crocker kept
a certain case.

Abby hesitated. Then she
swiftly unlocked the case. Inside, two dueling pistols were nestled on black velvet. She picked one up and looked
at it uncertainly. She knew little about such things,
but enough, she thought. Afraid of being discovered,
she slipped the pistol into the pocket of her cloak. It felt heavy and bumped against her thigh when she moved, but it was a comforting presence.

Abby put away the case and went to the door of
the study. Peeping out, she waited until the butler had left the entry hall, leaving it deserted. Valise in hand,
she ran swiftly to the front door. Praying that the
hinges would not squeal, she pulled open the heavy door and slipped out.

Abby ran down the front steps
and turned down the walkway.
Within seconds the night swallowed her, and the
warm light of the town house dimmed behind her.

Abby had no intention of walking any great dis
tance at night. She hurried to the corner where she might find a hackney. Her heart was pounding,
and she was frightened. She had a bad moment when
an obviously drunken gentleman staggering down the walkway toward her suddenly turned into her path.
“Where are you going, my beauty?” he inquired
thickly.

“To Hades and back!” she responded, sidestep
ping quickly.

The gentleman brayed a laugh. “That’s rich!” He
slewed slowly around. “Here! Come back, I say!”

Abby had no intention of doing any such thing. She
picked up her skirt and the muffling cloak, and ran
like a deer. She was not followed, and breathed her
relief. At the corner she found a hackney quickly
enough and climbed in, giving the jarvey the direction
that would take her to the rendezvous with Mr.
Farnham.

All too quickly the hackney drew up. Abby peered out the window. Tendrils of fog wove a ghostly pat
tern, but she could see the black silhouette of a waiting chaise and a man standing behind the rear wheel.

Abby’s heart began hammering again. The time had
come. She gathered up her reticule and valise and
climbed out of the hackney. When she had paid the
jarvey, she turned toward the silent chaise.

“ ‘Ere, miss! Do ye wish me to wait?”
At the jarvey’s low-voiced query, Abby paused.

Never in all of her life had she wanted more than to
answer in the affirmative. The temptation to turn her
self around and climb back into the hackney was al
most irresistible. She shook her head. “No, no! Pray
do not wait! Thank you!”

She forced her feet onward across the cobbled
street, hearing the hackney’s wheels roll away, and
feeling as though her last friend in the world had left
her. When she was nearly to the other curb, it oc
curred to her that this might not be Mr. Farnham but
some unknown gentleman. She faltered, staring hard
to decipher the man’s features.

“Come on, then! What are you waiting for, my
love?”

The query was impatient and slightly tense, but she
recognized Mr. Farnham’s voice. With a sigh of relief, Abby covered the distance between them. Holding the
sheltering hood of the voluminous cloak close around
her face, she mutely handed the valise to Mr.
Farnham.

He took it, scarcely glancing at her as he hurried
her around to the side of the chaise. “We must be
quick. The night watchman just passed here making
his rounds. I don’t wish to still be here when he comes
back around.”

Mr. Farnham handed her up into the chaise, threw
the valise after her. After a brief command to the driver, he climbed inside himself. The chaise was already
in motion before he had slammed the door shut.

Abby realized that the driver must have been ordered to make all haste, for the chaise bounded over
the cobbles, making a clatter. She twisted her hands
in her lap, nervously. She didn’t know what would
happen next. It couldn’t be long, surely, before Mr.
Farnham discovered her imposture. She didn’t want it
to be too soon, however. She had a part to play, which
she hoped would give Mr. Farnham reason to give up
his pretensions to Lady Bethany’s hand.

Mr. Farnham seemed to be in no mood to pursue
conversation. He thrust his hands deep into his pock
ets and swayed with the rocking of the carriage. Pale
light from streetlamps passed across his face, showing
glimpses of a pensive, rather grim, expression.

Abby, watching him, wondered how she could ever have thought him to be handsome. Something inimical
was set in his face.
As though her intent regard had drawn his atten
tion, Mr. Farnham gave a sigh and turned his face
toward her.

“This is a somewhat hurly-burly escape,
my dear. When I had your note, that your brother the marquess had caught wind of our plans, I scarcely had
time to make the proper arrangements. I am not at
all satisfied with the quality of our conveyance or our
driver, but runaways cannot be choosy, can they?”

After a brief hesitation, Abby shook her head.

Mr. Farnham laughed. Sly amusement underlay his
voice. “Still having second thoughts, my love? Never
mind! Once the knot is well tied, you need not fear
that I shall press my loathsome attentions on you. You
shall be free to cut your own path, as I am certain
you shall! Such a passionate little thing, are you not?
As long as you are discreet, I shall have nothing of which to complain.”

“How dare you!” breathed Abby wrathfully.

Mr. Farnham sat up abruptly from his slumping pos
ture. His eyes stared very hard. “Take off that hood!” he snapped.

Abby drew it back, staring back at him with defiance. The passing lamplight fell full on her face.

“What the devil! Miss Fairchilde!”

“Quite,” said Abby, her voice trembling only
slightly. She managed the sliver of a smile. “You did
not actually expect Lady Bethany to submit to your black
mail, did you, sir?”

Mr. Farnham drew back as though struck. He
quickly recovered, a bit of a snarl marring the perfec
tion of his features. “An ugly word, Miss Fairchilde!”

“But immensely apt, I believe,” said Abby calmly.
She seemed to have the upper hand, and it steadied
her nerves.

Mr. Farnham was silent a moment, a black frown on
his face. Abruptly he asked, “What are you doing here?”

“I think it perfectly clear. Lady Bethany wished to teach you a small lesson. She is not as frightened of you as
you had assumed, Mr. Farnham.” Abby allowed a hint
of contempt to drop into her voice, and had the satis
faction of seeing a flush come into his face.

“So it seems! Yet what shall she say when I broad
cast to the world how she disported herself at a Vaux
hall masquerade?” demanded Mr. Farnham, showing his teeth.

“Why, I think it entirely possible she will have to
say nothing, sir. You see, there are any number of
people willing to say that Lady Bethany was in company at
a select private party that evening,” said Abby evenly, and suddenly wondered why such a simple expedient
had not occurred to her before. It would have been
so much simpler and so much less harrowing than this
runaway flight into the night with a gentleman she both mistrusted and detested. Her only defense was that she was unused to forming conclusions on her own.

Mr. Farnham appeared to absorb her statement with displeasure. For some minutes he was silent. Then several times he cast thoughtful glances in her direc
tion. A slow smile touched his face, and he gave a
low laugh.

Abby misliked his laughter. It sounded peculiarly
satisfied. She stiffened instinctively. “What amuses
you so, Mr. Farnham?” she asked sharply.

“Why, you do, Miss Fairchilde. Pray, how did you
think you would return to the safety of your home?”

Abby regarded the lounging gentleman with some
misgivings. A frisson of premonition went up her
spine. “You will let me out, of course. Especially when
I tell you that shortly you will have little choice. I left
word of this escapade with my brother-in-law.”

She saw Mr. Farnham’s shake of the head.

“I don’t quite believe you, Miss Fairchilde. Mr.
Crocker has never struck me as the type of gentleman
who would countenance such a mad scheme as this,”
said Mr. Farnham.

“He didn’t help me to plan it,” said Abby quickly,
anxious to have him believe her. “I left a note and—”

“You left a note! Oh, famous!” Mr. Farnham
cracked a laugh. “My dear Miss Fairchilde, your
naiveté is astonishing. The truth is that no one is
as yet aware of your flight with me. Indeed, de
pending upon when your note is discovered, it may
be hours and hours before anyone is the wiser.” He
straightened slightly and leaned toward her to make
his point. “I have you completely in my power,
Miss Fairchilde.”

“You are forgetting one thing, sir. Lady Bethany knows
very well what has happened,” said Abby.

Mr. Farnham turned it over in his mind. He shook
his head. “I tend to doubt it, Miss Fairchilde. Other
wise, what point would there be to leaving a note for
your brother-in-law? Surely Lady Bethany could as
easily and better convey the news, rather than leaving
it to the uncertainty of the discovery of a note! My
dear Miss Fairchilde, I fear you have gotten yourself
into quite an awkward predicament.”

“What can you mean?” asked Abby with an as
sumption of bravery she was far from feeling. Cold
had begun to seep into her.

“Why, only this. I set out to run away with a re
spectable female, and now I have you,” said Mr.
Farnham.

“You cannot be serious! Why, it was Lady Bethany you
wanted, not me!” exclaimed Abby.

“True, Lady Bethany is an acknowledged beauty,
and her portion is good enough. Though you cannot
quite match her in looks, Miss Fairchilde, I believe I
have heard you do possess quite a respectable portion.
And I daresay your temper is undoubtedly more
peaceable than Lady Bethany’s,” said Mr. Farnham
reflectively. “All in all, I am quite satisfied with the
way things have turned out.”

“But you said you loved Lady Bethany!” exclaimed
Abby, appalled by his cold-bloodedness.

He laughed derisively. “Love? My dear Miss Fairchilde
, surely you know that love has no place when
a man must have funds! Oh, I played the devoted
lover. It was a means to an end, you see. But you and
I
...
why, there was never a pretense of affection.
Understanding this from the outset, I think we shall
deal quite famously.”

“What are you intending?” asked Abby in a tight
voice. Fear had gripped her close, but she was deter
mined not to let him know it. She drew the cloak
closer about her. The heavy weight in her pocket
bumped against her leg. She was suddenly reassured.

“We are off to Gretna, my dear,” said Mr. Farnham,
as though he was commenting on the weather rather
than a clandestine, two-hundred mile journey. “I have a
special license in my pocket. So fortunate! I shan’t have
to make sure of you as I did Lady Bethany, for you have joined your fate to mine willingly.”

“That I have not!” retorted Abby. She slid her hand
into her pocket, and her fingers curled around the cold butt of the dueling pistol. “And do not come
near me!”

“Rest easy, Miss Fairchilde. I do not find rav
ishment particularly pleasant in a bounding chaise,”
said Mr. Farnham soothingly. “There will be time for
that later, I assure you.”

“I shall kill you first,” said Abby in a small,
trembling voice. Horror and fear alike affected her.
She knew she ought to pull out the pistol, but she
doubted her aim in such close, swaying confines. Be
sides, the thought of actually shooting someone made her feel quite ill. She didn’t know if she had the nerve.

He laughed. “Such fire! I had always assumed you
to be a mouse!” He said nothing more, but merely
leaned back in his corner and closed his eyes. His
attitude was one of utter boredom. A few minutes
later, a snore proved he was treating the situation with
palpable unconcern.

Abby sat stiffly upright. She stole out a hand to test
the door latch. It moved but reluctantly, as though
rusty. Undoubtedly Mr. Farnham would hear it and
would probably be able to stop her before she had
time to hurl herself out of the carriage.

In any event Abby did not care to think what might
happen to her if she were successful in such a desper
ate endeavor. The chaise was bowling along at a rapid
pace. She would be risking life and limb.