The Dashing Miss Fairchild (18 page)

It lasted but briefly, for once Tom Coachman got the horses under control he slowed the coach to a stop. Richard lifted his head to order him on to the Castle Inn, then returned his attention to Clare.

She pulled back, aware of far too many things—his wounded arm, her insensible maid, propriety, not to mention her questions about this man and his intentions toward her.

"Oh, no, my dear Clare. No retreat. I have waited for just this opportunity.” He gave her no chance to escape, for indeed, he had captured her beneath him, pinned her down with his body. He was acutely aware of every little squirm and wiggle she made, the softening of her resistance. He felt so certain she had welcomed his previous advances. Surely she knew the importance of his taking her to meet his mother? Waiting not another second, he claimed his lady.

With this kiss Clare felt the struggle within her failing. His lips cast a wondrous spell on her. Her arms crept up to slide about his muscular form. Only the need for a breath of air drove them apart. She opened her eyes, feeling languorous, confused, a glowing riot of sensation flowing through her body.

"It is as I thought,'’ he murmured. “I knew I could not have imagined your response. Whatever maggoty notion you have acquired in your head we shall deal with once this venture is over."

The world returned with Priddy's moan and the slowing of the coach. Clare eased herself up as Richard withdrew. The blistering words she intended to hurl died as she took note of the way he compressed his lips and the slight pallor detected on his tanned skin.

She resisted the desire to soothe him, rather she braced herself for the jolt as the carriage left the main road. Priddy took some comforting and reassurance that her mistress was in one piece. A look at Mr. Talbot's arm nearly sent her into a second swoon. Only a bolstering word from Clare kept Priddy alert.

When at last they drew to a halt, Clare fearlessly met that clever gaze, refusing to blush. “Mr. Talbot, you'd best have your wound attended to, while I explore the kitchen. Priddy, perhaps you may learn something from the maids."

Clare refused to give the man mercy, for he looked capable of dealing with his predicament on his own, with his man for assistance. As well, she knew she dared not touch him again. It had shaken her to discover her feelings for him were stronger than ever. She might appear heartless, but it was better than making a fool of herself over the man.

Priddy clucked her tongue as the trio marched into the inn, Mr. Talbot clutching a handkerchief to his arm. She observed the landlord's shocked attentions to the gentleman while she grumbled along behind Clare.

It was most clear Priddy thought the entire expedition to be harebrained and rackety, doubly so with the shot. Even though she was fond of the baby, she maintained the parents knew where he was and could get him if they wished. They quite obviously did
not
wish, and Miss Clare ought to find someone else to take the lad. It was not her responsibility. Two ruined bonnets was as nothing compared to a ruined heart, and Priddy was not half so blind as Clare assumed.

Clare fixed Mr. Talbot with a stern eye, admonished him to take care of himself, then headed to the rear of the inn. Glancing back, she caught sight of the men making their way to a private parlor, where Mr. Talbot could strip off his coat and have that graze attended to properly.

She felt guilty, although she probably would not have been allowed near him. She found it necessary to create barriers between herself and Mr. Talbot, to the point of thinking of him as Mr. Talbot, not Richard. His Christian name seemed too intimate to use, even in her mind. Since it appeared that there was no hope for her with the man, she had best make the distance grow, not lessen. What those kisses meant, she hesitated to guess, but from the wicked gleam in his eyes, she suspected it was not matrimony. She could not stoop to being any man's mistress.

"Priddy, nose about as best you can, corner a maid if possible. I shall do what I can."

Within short order, Clare located the cook that Jenny had talked about. A step into the vast kitchens of the inn revealed them to be somewhat quiet now that it was between mealtimes. Not that they weren't required to fix a bite to eat on a moment's notice, mind you. Clare suspected that were she to poke her nose in here around the hour of dinner, she would find a far noisier place.

The woman wore a polite, but off-putting, expression Clare found rather daunting. Summoning her best lady-of-the-house expression, she moved into the center of the room.

"Do you recall an old woman who stopped here not long ago? You gave her a cup of tea, I believe. Jenny said her name was Mrs. Dow,” Clare prompted. She noted with a sinking heart that the cook gave no sign of recognition. “Jenny said she dressed like a nanny in blue with a white apron and white cap.''

As she gave the description, Clare realized how hopelessly common it seemed. There must be any number of women similarly garbed. Then Clare had an inspiration.

"You see, she performed a great service to me, and I wish to reward her for it. It seems a shame she not be remembered, for I feel certain she has need of a bit of money."

A flicker of something Clare could not identify crossed the cook's face. “A reward, you say? Aye, like as not she could use a bit of help, that one. She hung around here for several days afore you came, now that you mention it. Always clean and polite, she be. Wouldna’ tell me what it was she looked for. So it was you? Right nice of you to remember her. Not all the gentry pays any attention to what's done fer ‘em. But I never asked where she came from. It don't pay, you see. Would she wished me to know, she'd have told me."

"I see,” Clare murmured.

A maid scurried in for a basin of water to wash the gentleman's wound. Clare noted its cleanliness and approved the soft, spotlessly clean cloths the maid snatched up before rushing away.

Rejecting the image of Mr. Talbot having his bare arm cleaned and treated, she forced herself to admit she had found a blank wall. She requested a cup of tea for herself and her maid, then chatted a little longer, hoping to draw the cook out on the matter of Mrs. Dow. Finally, thanking the cook for her time, Clare slowly made her way back to where Priddy waited outside in the inn's garden, followed by a maid with the tea and cake.

"I see you didn't learn much more than I did, Miss Clare,” Priddy said sourly. She poured the tea and waited for her mistress to help herself to a piece of seed cake.

"Let me assure you, I have not given up as yet,” Clare admonished. She sank down on the stone bench, feeling dejected, yet not totally defeated. She sipped at the hot, restoring tea, ignoring the cake.

"I have great doubts, ma'am,” Priddy said, her voice revealing every bit of it. “Oh, Mr. Talbot got fixed up right fast. Did you speak with him to see if he discovered anything from the landlord? I saw him leave the inn to go down to the stables. I suspect he and Tom Coachman are there even now, chatting away with the stable hands."

"I would like to listen in to what is said.” Clare drained the last of the tea, then set the cup back. “I fancy he wishes to ask Tom about the Rider who shot at the coach. I thought at first it must be a mistake. Why would anyone wish to shoot at me now? Unless, perhaps, to warn me away. I vow, it makes me all the more curious,'’ Clare said, twisting her hands in her lap as she considered possible ramifications of the deed.

Refusing to let her thoughts dwell on Mr. Talbot, she impatiently popped up from her seat next to Priddy to pace back and forth along the narrow paths.

"That poor baby,” she said to urge her thoughts along a different direction. “What agony his mama must endure to be without him."

"Do you think she knows that young Jenny has the care of him now?” Priddy filched a second piece of uncommonly good cake. Her nerves needed shoring up.

Clare paused in her perambulations to stare at Priddy. “If that old woman was a nanny, it would stand to reason that she would be with the mama, and that where one is the other is as well. And ... I strongly suspect that they are not far from here, for I doubt the elderly nanny would travel very far. Come, let us go inside to see if the landlord has a good map of this area.” She bustled off to the inn, finding their host in the cool interior.

Priddy brushed the crumbs off her hands, then her lap, loath to leave the rest of the tea behind. Her reluctant but faithful feet followed Clare into the inn.

Her request brought forth a much creased and worn copy of a fairly recent map, which she took along to the private parlor where Mr. Talbot had been treated.

"There are vast forests to the south and east, and the downs to the north look scarcely encouraging. I believe they are somewhere along the main road. My instincts tell the they are in a town between here and Bath."

"Very clever, Miss Fairchild. I suggest you always follow your instincts. I recall you said they rarely let you down.'’ Mr. Talbot peered over her shoulder at the map, reaching out to trace their route. “I wonder where we ought to begin?” His jacket revealed a slight bulge where the bandage wrapped about his arm, but other than that, there was not evidence that he was in great pain or distress.

"At the beginning, I fancy.” Clare just barely kept her tongue from stammering at his sudden appearance. “That is, Manton, Fyfield, West Overton, and East Kennet for starters. They are but villages, so it ought not take overlong on our trip back to Bath. You know how it is in a small place; everyone knows everyone else, and a stranger sticks out a mile.” She glanced up to see his reaction to her suggestion. She sensed it far better to ignore his wound and check her desire to pamper him. If he seemed certain of himself now, what would he be like were she to fawn and fuss over him?

"Very astute."

Clare turned away from that penetrating gaze, not to mention the lazy grin. He seemed to see far too much, and she had much to conceal. “I somehow doubt she would hide herself in Devizes. There is too great a chance for her to be spotted by someone who knows her. And besides Devizes is a good many miles away. No, I feel sure she is close by.” A rising excitement grew within Clare, a sense that they were drawing close to their aim.

"You did not ask what I learned."

"Nor did you, sir,” she retorted tartly.

"I suspect you found out little from the cook. The men in the stables were able to tell me that the old woman appeared here several days before you arrived. They have not seen her since."

"I am aware of that,” she stated primly.

He cleared his throat, then continued. “The day the babe was left in your coach, she caught a ride in a wagon. The groom heard her ask if she might be put down at West Overton."

"I told you West Overton might be a likely place,” Clare said, unable to resist inserting that little barb.

"Miss Fairchild, may I say you have developed a most distressing tendency to interrupt. If I am to lead this expedition, I wish a bit of respect."

Had it not been for the hint of laughter in his voice, Clare would have picked up the pitcher of ale from the large oak table and poured it slowly over his head. Rather, she sniffed, ignoring the scandalized stare from Priddy. “As you wish, sir.” Her meek reply obviously surprised him, and she was delighted she had been able to throw him off balance at least once. He did the same to her all the time.

"When do we leave?” She wanted to find Lady Millsham and return to Bath to assume a quiet life again, away from this provoking man.

"Following the light repast the landlord agreed to bring us, the coach will be waiting and we may be off."

Knowing it was a mark of respect for the landlord to wait upon anyone in such a large and well-known inn, Clare subsided onto a Windsor chair to anticipate their meal. She said nothing while the hot food was set down, but took the opportunity to give Mr. Talbot a cool look for daring to make arrangements without consulting her. But then, Mr. Talbot dared a great deal.

Richard studied the subdued young woman across the table from him. She had invited her maid to join them, something that startled Richard, thinking Clare would prefer to be alone with him. Well, it ought to serve to put him firmly in his place, wherever that might be.

What had happened to the promising relationship was beyond him to figure out. She changed so suddenly that his head had reeled with the unexpected impact of it. One moment they were comfortably settling in to a loving intimacy that he fully expected would lead to the altar, then the next she froze up on him like a pond on a winter's night. His most recent attempt to reestablish a better relationship looked promising, but she still retreated when he neared. It was like hunting a particularly clever fox.

For the moment, he intended to bide his time. He would watch and wait until he deemed the moment right to approach her again, and he would not do the thing gently or meekly. Oh, no. He quite proposed another style altogether. Quite. He smiled at her, hoping to touch her confused heart, for it stood to reason that she be mixed-up. The elegant, cool, and exceedingly proper Miss Fairchild seemed to him to be acting like any lovesick girl unsure of her direction. He hoped. That he had shamelessly taken advantage of the shot bothered him not at all. He had found what he hoped, that Clare cared for him. Now to find out what else was bothering her.

"I suggest we drive over to Manton, even though it is a bit off the main road, to see if there is any chance our lady might be there,” Clare offered between bites of an excellent pigeon pie.

"What makes you think she has made her name known?"

Clare's fork paused in midair while she considered his statement. “Well then, ‘tis a good thing I have seen her before, is it not?” She popped the last morsel of pie into her mouth, and once it was safely in her stomach, patted her mouth, then prepared to depart.

In spite other genteel protests, softly spoken in an undertone, Richard settled their accounts with the landlord, then ushered her out of the door with an efficiency Clare had to admire, albeit reluctantly.

Once settled in the coach again, her gaze fixed on a distant point out of the window, Clare concluded, “I desire to cover my share of the expenses, sir. ‘Tis not proper for you to do so, especially when you have suffered an injury on top of it all, and in my defense."