The Dashing Miss Fairchild

Belgrave House
www.belgravehouse.com

Copyright ©1992 by Doris Emily Hendrickson

The Honorable Miss Clare Fairchild gazed from the window of her jouncing carriage with great patience. At her side the delicate and well-bred voice of Venetia Godwin droned on and on about the folly of a near spinster rattling off to Bath in such a harebrained fashion. Or was it called droning when the voice was high and clear ... and most penetrating?

Clare glanced across the carriage to meet the gaze of Priddy, her abigail. Not a word was exchanged, but Clare sensed she was in for a gentle reprimand later, the most Priddy ever allowed herself to vent, for inviting the delightful Miss Godwin along for company and to lend countenance to Clare's advanced age of twenty-three. It was not done for a young woman to set up an establishment on her own, and Clare was too prudent and proper to overlook the conventions of Society.

London had grown dreary in the heat of summer, and suddenly she had felt as though she couldn't bear another round of visits to her happy brothers and sister, all married. It was the children, actually. Although Clare loved them dearly, it pained her to see them and feel as though she would never have one of her own. It was her reward for being too choosy, she knew. Everyone scolded her ever and anon about it, Venetia being no exception.

Clare turned again to face the view, attempting to ignore the verbal ramblings of her chosen companion. The day was drawing to a close with still many miles to travel before they should reach their final destination. Venetia had set the pace, declaring they must proceed at an aggravatingly slow speed due to her sensibilities and a stomach that tended to queasiness when jolted about in rushing vehicles. Patience being one of Clare's more admirable traits, she consented. If one sought company, one did not quibble at the tender susceptibilities of that person.

"I shan't wonder if we are set upon by highwaymen, dear Clare,” Venetia stated in summation of her opinions on travel in the English countryside by young women without a gentleman to protect them, even if men in general were most annoying creatures. Although she had to admit they had their uses. Male servants did not figure in Venetia's estimation of possible saviors.

"Too early in the day,” murmured Clare. “Besides, this road is far too well traveled for such. We have been passed by any number of carriages and coaches since departing London.” A snail might have whizzed past them, but she refrained from that comment, lest Venetia become upset.

"Nevertheless, I daresay we shall all rest more easily once we are inside the Castle Inn at Marlborough.” Venetia gave an emphatic shake of her head, and for once Priddy nodded her agreement.

The abigail, usually given to a sentence now and again, had remained silent since their departure from London. Clare guessed her long-suffering maid would welcome the peace of the inn, for Clare had bespoke separate rooms for herself and her friend, a decision she was coming to view as wise indeed. It was to be hoped that her invitation to Venetia Godwin, prompted partly by pity, was not destined to be regretted.

Bath had appealed to Clare, its choice being no whim of the moment, although Venetia seemed to believe otherwise. Clare had recalled her mother's fond recollections of the town in its prime, and decided it was time she paid the place a prolonged visit. It was still a pleasant city, or so she had been assured by Mr. Popham, her agent, who was to arrange suitable housing for the daughter of the late and exceedingly wealthy Viscount Seton. They were to be met by him at the Castle Inn with the results of his search.

"Oh, dear Clare, do look. I believe we approach the town of Marlborough. Can it be?” Venetia clutched at Clare's arm in her excitement.

"Unless we have crawled off the London to Bath road, I suspect it is undoubtedly what you see.” In preparation for their arrival, Clare gathered up her reticule and other impedimenta that had scattered about the coach.

Venetia sat with her gaze fixed on the approaching town, hoping for the first glimpse of the inn where they were to spend the night. When she saw the imposing structure, once the home of the Earl of Hartford, she ventured a broad and satisfied smile.

Clare's agent assisted her from the coach with obsequious attention, walking with her to the inn while Venetia was left to do with the attentions of the innkeeper and a groom. Priddy coped with the bandboxes and portmanteaus deemed necessary for an overnight stay, directing one of the servants with the faintly superior mien of an abigail to Quality.

"I believe you will be most pleased with your direction while in Bath,” Mr. Popham declared. “I have managed to procure for you a highly respectable address. The gentleman who had engaged the house failed to appear at the specified time. Thus I am able to offer you a residence in the Royal Crescent,” he ended with an expectant note.

Clare did not have the slightest notion as to whether this was good or not, but the man had the air of one who has performed the impossible, and now looked like a little boy who desired a pat on the head. She nodded graciously, saying, “How good of you to go to such great trouble for us. I am sure we shall be most comfortable. I recall my mother saying something about that place. It is convenient, I trust?"

"Most convenient, Miss Fairchild."

Clare suspected he was disappointed in her reaction. “I see. I gather this is more than a there house, but a residence that will give the proper countenance."

Her gentle irony was lost on the agent. He nodded eagerly, then handed Clare the keys and documents necessary to her settling in for two months.

When she at last closed the door to her room in the Castle Inn, she found she longed for nothing more than a light repast and her bed.

"How odd that such dreadfully slow travel should fatigue one so much, Priddy. I daresay I am showing my age, but I feel to be at least eighty.'’ Clare tossed her bonnet onto a small table, then stared longingly at the bed. It was a massive affair, large enough for three, if need be. She cared not in the least about the rest of the world, if she could slip beneath the sheets and close her eyes in peace.

"'Tis that Miss Godwin,” Priddy muttered in a barely audible voice.

"Now, Priddy,” remonstrated Clare in an amused tone. She undid her pelisse and handed it to the waiting maid, then fluffed out her blond curls, her serene blue eyes only slightly troubled as they glanced in the looking glass to discover the effects of the journey on her appearance. Anyone might have assured her that her years sat lightly upon her attractive person.

A gentle knock at her door preceded the entrance of Miss Godwin, who promptly regaled Clare with everything that had occurred from the moment she entered the inn.

"And do you know,” Venetia concluded, “I am told the Marquis of Aylesbury has a place not far from here. Savernake Lodge it is called. Does that not sound delightful?” Her hopeful gaze settled upon Clare, who wondered what she was supposed to do about the matter.

The question was set aside by a knock on the door. A young maid entered the room bearing a tray with appetizing dishes for their evening repast. Clare thought the maid's searching looks a bit forward, but said nothing. Surely two ladies traveling with an abigail was not so unusual a thing?

Venetia chattered all through the light meal while Clare concentrated on keeping her eyes open and tongue between her teeth. It was to be hoped that once Venetia discovered the delights of the Bath shops and tea parties, not to mention the charms of the Pump Room, the circulating library, and other social festivities, she would prove to be less taxing to the nerves.

"Do you know I feel it in my bones that something momentous is going to happen, dear Clare? I have this feeling at times, you see. ‘Tis most exciting. I wonder should the marquis chance to visit this inn? Not that I am in the least interested in men myself, you understand. Mind you, they have their uses, but I chose my independence. From every observance of mine, they are tedious, tiresome, and most annoying with their lightskirts and gaming and hunting. Bothersome creatures, would that they all drop into the sea!” she declared in a high, plaintive tone.

Considering what might happen to the population in such event, Clare prudently kept her gaze fastened on her plate, lest she chuckle and provoke her friend. She quietly replied, “Now, Venetia, do not set your face against them all. One gentleman may just capture your heart, and you will change your opinion.''

Venetia darted a quick glance at her benefactress and snapped her mouth closed. After a moment of silence, she ventured to say, “And what about you, dear Clare? Were the marquis or any other proper gentleman to appear, what would you do?"

"I have been introduced to every
proper
gentleman in the realm. They are all a lot of dead bores. If I must marry, and I daresay it is not mandatory, it shall be to someone who is different from the norm."

"Clare!” Venetia cried in horror. “Men are disagreeable enough without resorting to one who is beyond the pale."

"I never said I would do the improper. But,” Clare replied in a patient voice, “I should like to think that somewhere in the world exists a man, a gentleman, who has a lively curiosity about life. A man resolute and steadfast in his affections, yet good-natured and possessed of a sound intelligence, one I could admire."

This shocking declaration proved too much for Venetia to tolerate. Her hand fluttered to her brow as though to ward off an evil blow. “Well!” She sniffed loudly, then continued, “Men are grief and trouble. I detest the lot of them. Mark my words, one will bring you tribulation, and then you shall understand what I mean.'’ Venetia gracefully rose from her chair. Looking down at Clare, she added, “I only hope you never know that pain.” Then she whirled about and left the room, taking the last of the sweets with her.

"Rubbish,” pronounced Priddy with a wry twist of her face.

"I have never heard of an affair of the heart that deeply affected Venetia, but one never knows,” Clare said with a thoughtful look in her eyes. She erased the frown from her forehead and pushed away from the small table where they had eaten their light meal. “Why do you not leave the now and seek your own dinner? I shall fare well enough, for I want nothing more than sleep."

Priddy silently nodded, then assisted Clare out of her traveling gown and into her night rail before going down to her own hearty meal.

In the quiet of her room, which was a relative matter given the noisy nature of public inns, Clare slipped beneath the covers and stared up at the ceiling while she contemplated the conversation. Was there such a man, she longed to know? She had found the pretensions of the fops and dandies of Society too, too dreadful for words. Venetia was right in her estimation that most of them seemed to care more for their sports and entertainment than a wife and family. Perhaps...

A crash of china and cutlery in the hallway woke Clare from a sound sleep. Peering out the window to the rear of the inn, she noted it was quite early in the morning.

Priddy softly entered the room shortly following the domestic disaster, nodding with annoyance when she saw her mistress awake. “I knew that silly girl would wake everyone on this floor."

"I might as well get up and be gone from here, although this is an excellent bed and I slept like a baby. I wonder, did Miss Godwin hear the racket?"

"She would have to have cotton wool in her ears, and even then I suspect it would wake her,” Priddy grumbled as she went to assist her mistress to dress for the trip.

Clare swung her feet over the edge of the bed and began to prepare for the day ahead. She prayed nothing would delay their arrival in Bath. She had a longing for the quiet of her own home, even if it was a temporary lodging.

Thus is was that within two hours the ladies were able to enter the carriage, Clare having personally complimented the innkeeper on their excellent accommodations. She climbed into the traveling coach, then paused before sitting down. A strange basket reposed on the seat Priddy usually occupied. Clare knew it did not belong to any of her party.

Hesitantly she stretched out a hand, leaning forward to see the basket's contents. Inside, she discovered a soft woolen blanket over white linen sheeting. Probing further, she saw what appeared to be a tiny hand. Alarmed, she hastily pulled apart the coverings to see a sleepy baby nestled deep within. A fringe of pale red curls peeped from beneath a starched white cap trimmed with delicate lace. The infant now quite awakened, Clare found she was being studied by a somber child with enormous eyes as blue as her own.