The Dashing Miss Fairchild (15 page)

"Clare,” Richard said in a deep tone that thrilled her right down her spine all the way to her toes.

The approach to the next lock brought a stop to any further tantalizing words. Clare looked apprehensively at the gates that allowed the little boat to enter the lock, then the others that permitted it to continue once the water level was attained.

"Mister, you playing games with someone? There's a fellow that's watching you from the near side of the lock.'’ The squeaky voice of the young lad interrupted Richard.

"Quick,” he ordered. He pulled a rough woven sack from the produce and tossed it over them. He tugged at Clare to scrunch down in the boat, hoping that they could manage to skim past with no more shots fired.

"Perhaps he is merely checking to see how we go?"

"I did not think he had remained behind to watch our departure, but you never know,” whispered Richard against her ear. “We certainly saw no sight of him."

Clare turned to reply and discovered her lips against his cheek. His skin was clean-shaven and smelled of that exotic spice she had noticed before. Before she knew what she was about, the tip of her tongue darted out to taste of him.

All thought of the danger that possibly lurked ahead of them faded, as he swiftly gathered her close and united their mouths in a most splendid and satisfying manner. She tentatively slid a hand up his arm to twine her fingers in his hair, admiring the thick texture of it. He crushed her against him, and Clare offered not the least resistance. Not, that is, until the voice of the young lad reached her ears.

The boat jerked forward as the lad called back softly, “I don't think it was anyone who meant you any harm, sir. More likely someone who wants to watch the boats."

Clare heard and stilled in Richard's arms for a few moments before sanity returned. She hastily recalled herself and pulled away, becoming aware of the dusty sack and their cramped positions.

There was an uncomfortable expression on Richard's face when he tossed the rough woven sack aside. Under the circumstances, he ought to be offering marriage to Clare, for they had been together in a highly improper situation. Yet he wanted a wife because she truly cared for him, not because he must make the proposal as a result of propriety dictating such. He did not know quite how to handle this complication.

Clare caught his fierce scowl, brief as it was. Was he regretting that impetuous kiss of moments ago? She wasn't sure quite how she felt about it now. It had been so wonderful, then Society's decrees reminded her of what might be said and expected. She drew herself up, wrapping her arms about her, feeling defensive. Along on either side of the canal, now without a deep wall, trees dipped and bowed in the breeze. The scent of meadowsweet and the call of the moorhens reached through her preoccupation.

"It seems we near Bath.'’ She struggled to find a calm voice. “Perhaps he can let us out near the first lock so that we may find our way up from there?"

Richard darted a dismayed look at the woman next to him. Clare had withdrawn from him so abruptly, though he thought not in anger. But if not in anger, then why? “I shall so request.” They would leave the boat before it was to enter the short flight of locks where it descended to the Avon.

Thus it was that two slightly disheveled figures shortly scrambled out on the towpath, then made their way up the bank to find a couple of sedan chairs not far away. Richard joined her, wanting to make sure nothing happened to her during the short ride to her house.

Upon reaching the Royal Crescent, Clare entered the house with a thankful heart, followed by a determined Richard. What else would she have to endure before reuniting little William with his mother?

The sight of that quick scowl on Mr. Talbot's face was engraved on Clare's heart. So often those unguarded expressions revealed what was truly within. She chose not to consider what it meant at the moment. That could come later, when she retired to her room for the night. Now she wanted to have her tea. That Mr. Talbot stood studying her anxiously did not escape her. She wished he would leave.

"Clare! Well, gracious me! You look as though you were pulled through a hedge backward!” Venetia cried in horror at the spectacle her hostess presented. “What has happened? A highwayman?"

Grasping at the offered excuse, Clare nodded. “He may have been. A tree had been dragged across the crossroads, and we were shot at. Were it not for the quick thinking of Mr. Talbot, heaven only knows what might have happened. Where is the baby? I must reassure myself that this has all been worth the trip. For you must know that we found not a trace of Lady Millsham."

Venetia turned away from Clare, slowly strolling to the window of the study. “He is out with Jenny. She thought a bit of air would do him a world of good."

Clare examined her once favorite bonnet, wondering what she could find that she would like half so well, and absently inquired, “You ordered the groom to go with her, of course."

"I did not consider it necessary. Who would bother a maid, after all?” Venetia tittered a high little laugh, sounding disdainful, almost offended.

Clare dropped the poor bonnet and whirled to face Mr. Talbot. “The baby!” she exclaimed. “He might be in danger!” She rushed past him to the door, throwing it open to venture out to the street. A scandalized Bennison hurried after her, beckoning to chairmen who were on their way back to the central part of town with an empty chair.

Richard hurried after Clare, walking at a rapid pace to keep up with the men. He had not failed to catch her exceedingly formal tone of address, and he suspected it was not merely for Miss Godwin's benefit. Blast it all, he had alienated her, most likely beyond reparation.

Leaning toward the chair, he queried, “Where would she be likely to go?"

"The Sydney Gardens, and hurry!” she ordered the chairmen.

The chairmen took the less traveled streets to speed their path, dashing through the Circus, then down Broad Street to rush across Pulteney Bridge with great haste. Clare took no notice of a number of people she knew, concentrating on Jenny and the baby. Pray they were safe and she was overreacting following her own harrowing experience.

At the end of Great Pulteney Street the chairmen came to a breathless stop before the Sydney Gardens’ entrance. Clare pulled several coins from her reticule, not even bothering to see what they were, thrust them at the chairmen, then walked with deceptive speed into the heart of the walkways that wound through the lush gardens.

"Cor!” exclaimed one chairman, after looking at the largess in his hand. He smiled broadly, winked at his partner, then settled down to wait for another fare.

"Clare, have a caution,” demanded Richard at her side, wondering how any woman could look so unruffled while skimming through the park at such a rapid pace.

"It is my instincts. They never fail me, you see, and I fear for the baby.” She ceased speaking to save her breath, then checked her steps as she saw Jenny and the baby not far ahead. She was about to give a sigh of relief, when she noticed Jenny was backing away from a man who had apparently sidled up to her.

"Wait here,” commanded Richard, hoping the intrepid Miss Fairchild might actually do as ordered for once. Tossing his hat aside, he ran toward the man, thinking if he approached the villain from the rear, he'd not be seen.

"Now see here, gel, just you don't let out a peep. I'll take this little fellow and be gone in a trice.” The man grabbed for William.

Jenny clung to the baby with all her strength. She screamed just as Richard dashed from behind to spin the man around.

One punch on the jaw felled the assailant in a heap. Richard stood breathing heavily, absently massaging his knuckles as he studied the man at his feet. Nothing distinguished about him. Looked to be a groom or the like. Middling height and coloring, the sort to blend into a crowd, go unnoticed most anywhere, yet Richard memorized those features. He would not forget them soon.

Clare ignored her knight-errant to rush to Jenny's side. The maid looked about to faint, and Clare did not wish the baby to be dropped to the ground.

She competently gathered the infant into her arms, then spoke soothingly to Jenny. “There now, it is all over. That nasty man shan't bother you again. Mr. Talbot will dispose of him. Is that not correct, sir?"

Clare finally met Mr. Talbot's inquiring look with her own. She was well in control of her emotions now. Her gaze was politely appreciative, cool, and most formal. Had they been in the middle of the Upper Assembly rooms, she could not have been more correct.

Barely resisting the urge to give vent to his frustrations, Richard bowed. “I shall most gladly remove your dragon from your path, dear lady.” He bent over to pick up the man, then added, “I shall talk with you later, Miss Fairchild."

Murmuring a vague reply, Clare swept from the park with Jenny close to her side. Blond curls a-tumble, her bonnet in ruins back at the house, she ignored the stares of the few in her path and hunted for a hackney.

Once they reached the Royal Crescent, Clare marched past Bennison to the study. Not finding her quarry there, she charged up the stairs to the drawing room, the baby still clasped in her arms. Espying her target, she halted inside the door.

"Had it not been for the courage of dear little Jenny, this child would now be only God knows where. Some horrid man attempted to wrest the babe from her arms while she innocently walked in the Sydney Gardens. Had it not been for our fortuitous arrival,” and it slightly galled Clare to give due credit to Mr. Talbot, “we would most likely never have seen William again, nor would his mother."

Venetia sniffed and waved a handkerchief in the air. “How do you know his mother did not intrigue to recover the boy?"

"Rubbish,” exclaimed Mr. Talbot from the doorway.

Clare whirled about, noting with dismay just how devilishly handsome Mr. Talbot looked. Those malachite eyes of his glittered with strong emotion, and he seemed not the least undone by all that had transpired. Amazing man. And, she reminded herself, he did not appear to cherish the least desire to unite with her in any proper manner.

"I must agree. She would know that she has only to appear here and be welcomed.” A sudden thought struck her. “Or did you by chance see her while we were gone and deny her access?"

"Clare,
dear,
how can you think such a thing of me!” Venetia cried, utterly aghast at what her impetuous words had wrought.

"Forgive me,” Clare replied, appalled at her thoughtless accusation. “My wits have gone begging what with all this excitement.” She patted the baby on his back to soothe him.

Venetia nodded her acceptance of this apology, then subsided in her chair.

Richard was enjoying the little contretemps between the two women. It appeared high time that Clare saw her companion and guest for what the woman was. Or had she, and allowed Miss Godwin to remain anyway?

He admired the way Clare looked with the baby in her arms. Very maternal, he mused, wondering how he might extricate himself from her bad books. “You look very well with the child in your arms, Miss Fairchild.” He hadn't intended to speak his thoughts, but at the becoming blush that bloomed on her cheeks, he was almost glad he had. “Why hasn't some man married you long ago?"

Venetia cooed a dainty chuckle at her friend's obvious discomfiture. Not forgiving the slur cast at her regarding the child, never mind the truth of the matter, she fluttered her lashes at Mr. Talbot and said, “Perhaps she has turned them all away ... if there were any?"

Not terribly surprised by the defection of her guest, Clare drew herself to her full height and replied in a clearly amused tone, “Well, it was not because I was never asked, for I was. A goodly number of times. I cannot recall why I rejected them, and it would scarcely be good manners to reveal them if I did, would it? Perhaps,” and she flicked a glance at Mr. Talbot, “they disappointed me in some way. Or maybe I simply did not care for them as I felt I ought. Not being required to marry because of the usual monetary necessity, I have had my leisure to consider the proposals offered. I daresay, had my father been here to insist I be wed, I would have made a choice."

Clare handed the infant, who now looked most out of sorts, to Jenny, sending her along to her room with a gentle smile quite at odds with the caustic bite in her words to Mr. Talbot.

"I believe I would far rather be a spinster than to marry without love,” Clare stated firmly, giving Mr. Talbot a resolute look directly into his eyes.

"It never rains in Miss Austen's novels. Did you know that, dear Clare?'’ Venetia offered while warily watching her hostess, who stood by a south window of the drawing room. Clare had stared out at the fitful showers for some time without any comment whatsoever. It made Venetia nervous.

"How interesting. At least it is quiet and utterly peaceful, today. I doubt if any shall hazard the wet to pay a social call in this inclement weather. After the past few days, I welcome the inactivity.” Clare released her hold on the corded tassel, allowing it to swing gracefully down before she turned to face her guest.

"I thought you wanted to shop for a new bonnet?"

"Yes, well, so I did. I have depleted my bonnet supply to a shocking degree. My most favorite ones, too,” Clare said with a sigh. “It is a good thing I can manage the price of new ones, for they are horridly dear, are they not?” she said lightly, wondering what was going on in Venetia's mind to bring such a guilty expression to her face.

There was a noise belowstairs, and both women turned toward the door to see what was amiss. Clare walked to the top of the stairs to discover the stout figure of Mrs. Robottom, her hand on Bennison's arm, puffing her way up. A pair of wooden pattens, their iron rings hidden from view, sat neatly on the flagged entry floor, and a great red oiled-silk umbrella reposed nearby, dripping onto a cloth hastily set down by Bennison.

"Good day, Miss Fairchild,” wheezed Mrs. Robottom as she neared the top of the staircase. “Lovely weather for ducks, I daresay.” Then she chuckled as though she had uttered words of original wit.