The Dashing Miss Fairchild (21 page)

"I am not your dear,” Clare objected. “As to the other, I daresay that since you are so much better, we might go, if Mrs. Dow gives you leave."

"That woman shan't forbid me."

"No? We shall see what she says. I place far more confidence in her than in your spoutings. You have an ulterior motive."

"And what might that be?” He leaned over the table to fluster her even more with his attentions. His voice contained a dangerous note she ought not disregard.

"Why, to be safe in the Edgar Buildings again and away from this hazardous female who brings you nothing but trouble."

The door flew open to admit Timms bearing a tray of food.

Clare watched with astonished eyes to see a plate heaped with a rare steak, veal-and-ham pie, and poached eggs on toast as well as a pot of coffee set before her table companion.

"You do not intend to eat all of that!"

"I do if someone does not keep chattering at me to depress my appetite.” The narrow look he gave her silenced her more than his words. One did not chance that if one was wise.

When Tom Coachman pulled up before the Rose and Crown, he found Timms waiting for him with a number of small parcels in his arms. Informed that his mistress and Mr. Talbot would be out directly, the coachman settled back on his bench and grinned that his estimation of the gentleman had proven right. He was a rare one and make no mistake.

"La, Clare, I do not know how you could do such and at this time in particular. I vow I am most vexed. Can you not see the danger of harboring that woman in your house?” Venetia met Clare at the top of the stairs, dressed in a round gown of fine black bombazine trimmed with crimped crape and elegant little roses. Her attempt to look melancholy and annoyed at the same moment failed dismally in Clare's estimation.

"What has happened, Venetia, to upset you so?” Clare said as she reached the landing, then turned to enter her bedroom. “And why are you wearing black, pray tell?"

Clare had found the trip back to Bath fraught with difficulty, the least of which was having to put up with the odious Mr. Talbot. The man had allowed the cosseting at the Rose and Crown to go to his head, demanding Clare's constant attendance and care.

"Are you fatigued? I must say, you look terribly pulled."

"Venetia,” Clare inserted, the tone of her voice revealing just how little of her patience remained.

All at once Venetia crumpled on the little chair before Clare's dressing table. “My Aunt Peasely died."

Not quite seeing how this could put Venetia in such a pelter, Clare muttered suitable words of sympathy while she divested herself of her pelisse and bonnet, then sank upon her bed. She wished Venetia would go away so she might throw herself down to vent her feelings as she longed.

"You see,” Venetia confided, “she was the one relative I counted upon to take me in."

Somehow chilled at the import of those words, Clare merely nodded, then said in a bracing voice that was far from how she truly felt, “I trust that if you apply yourself, you might well find a gentleman to wed. You are a lovely woman with many fine attributes that I feel certain would please."

"Well,” Venetia said, somewhat appeased, “I confess I have not met a gentleman who indicates a partiality for me. Although I have met one man who rather interests me.” Then she abruptly rose from the chair, just as though she had said more than intended. “I had best leave you for the moment so you may change from that horridly rumpled gown. Shall I order tea in the drawing room? For I am certain you must be perishing for a good cup of tea by now, what with your journey and all,” making it sound as though Clare had come from the west of Scotland rather than West Overton. “I fully intend to hear an explanation for all this nonsense about Lady Millsham, you may be certain. Men,” she grumbled as she languidly strolled out the door. “You might know that the problem rests with them."

Then pausing in the act of shutting the door, she added, “Did you not consider that if they had shot at you in the carriage that someone might attack this very house? Really, dear Clare, I had not believed you to be so inconsiderate.” With that sweetly said complaint, she closed the door and Clare was left in blessed silence.

Swiftly crossing to the door, Clare locked it, then hastily pulled her crumpled gown off, dropping it in a heap by the door. Next she removed her underclothes. From her drawer she extracted the clean clothing she wished to wear. She dressed as far as her petticoat, then at last threw herself on the bed, soaking her tears in the largest handkerchief she owned.

Her bout of self-pity did not last long. Never one to indulge in a fit of megrims, she wiped her eyes, then went to her looking glass to see if the damage might be repaired.

"What a peagoose you are, to be sure. Just remember that expression on Mr. Talbot's face and you shall be put in your proper place—firmly on the shelf, my girl,” she admonished herself as she stroked a bit of Denmark lotion on her face, then dusted lightly with rice powder.

Deciding the ravages of her tears might well be accounted to her fatigue, she selected a simple blue round gown of jaconet with a double ruff of ivory lace. Surveying the results, she pinched her cheeks, brushed her curls, then stuffed her feet into a pair of soft shammy shoes the same blue as her gown.

In the drawing room, she found Venetia standing by the front window watching a carriage that had come to a halt before the house. “I wonder who that can be?"

"I trust it is someone we may welcome."

"Mr. Talbot? But that man was with you in West Overton. I wonder what he wants now?” Venetia said skeptically. It was evident that Venetia had decided the gentleman might be tolerated, but no more than that.

Clare sank down on the closest chair. If that dratted man said one thing about her looks, or tears, or anything, she would explode.

Bennison ushered Mr. Talbot into the drawing room with kindly ceremony. The butler murmured words about tea, then disappeared.

"Are you feeling more the thing, Miss Fairchild?” Mr. Talbot strolled over to where Clare took refuge, peering down at her with that knowing gaze of his.

"Quite, sir. And you? I am persuaded you ought to be reposing on a bed, rather than out calling so soon after a trip, even if it was a short one.'’ Clare gave him a frosty look before gathering up a piece of needlework she had caught sight of tucked along the side of the chair. Pretending a great interest in the state of the work, she ignored her guest until driven by her normally good manners to face him. “Has Timms checked your wound?"

"Wound?” Venetia cried in alarm. “Dear Clare, you did not mention an accident. What happened? I cannot fathom what might occur to give Mr. Talbot an injury!"

Clare decided she imagined the faint sneer in Venetia's voice. “I have scarcely had time to do so, Venetia.” Turning back to Mr. Talbot, Clare persisted. “The travel might have done it harm. Did he have a look at it?"

"Your concern does you credit, ma'am. Timms pronounced it progressing nicely. Mrs. Dow sent along more of her remedy, so we have it well in hand."

Venetia had joined the two sitting so quietly by the tea table, supposedly waiting for Bennison to return. “Are you going to tell me about it, or must I have mild hysterics?"

Clare chuckled, even though she knew it would irritate Venetia. “As we neared the Castle Inn at Marlborough, a man rode along side the coach and took aim, and I fear the bullet most likely intended for me—or my bonnet—grazed Mr. Talbot. You see, he realized what the man was about, and pushed me out of harm's way. I am most grateful to him, although I daresay my milliner would welcome the sale of yet another bonnet. I am not totally persuaded that this is not a ploy by the milliners to gain more business."

"How can you joke about such a serious matter,” Venetia rebuked in a horrified tone.

"It is either that, dear girl, or join you in mild hysterics, and I doubt I am really quite the sort.” She turned a curious pair of eyes on Mr. Talbot, like Venetia, wondering what had brought him here now. It was enough that they had spent hours together in the coach. What could be on his mind? If he thought for one moment that she would continue the cosseting, he was mad.

"After Timms changed the dressing and I cleaned up, as I notice you did, I realized that what is needed is a plan."

Bennison elected that moment to enter, bearing a tray loaded with the required hot beverage, little cakes, and lemon biscuits. He placed it before Clare with all due ceremony, then left.

Clare frowned as she began to pour the cups of steaming Bohea tea. “A plan? What for, may I inquire?"

Venetia intruded to peer at first one, then the other of the two so absorbed in their quiet conversation. “I trust it is to do with removing that woman from this house."

"Venetia, dear, you overstep yourself,” Clare replied in a dangerously serene voice. “Lady Millsham is a guest of mine, and as such will be accorded all hospitality. I am glad she cannot hear your words. When she feels up to joining us, I hope I shall not hear anything that might displease my ears.'’ Clare's gentle rebuke was softly spoken, however, she suspected that Venetia well knew that every word bit true.

"Of course,” Venetia muttered, “I am only concerned about you, dear Clare. Your heart is far too tender."

"She is all of that, I feel certain,” Mr. Talbot added. “Indeed, you ought to have seen her tending to my wound at the Rose and Crown. Quite the ministering angel."

Clare blushed while Venetia clucked her tongue at this new evidence of Clare's shocking behavior.

"I do not know what her brother would say to this."

"And you shan't, either. If one word of all this reaches his ears, I shall know who is responsible."

Since Venetia had intended to write a lengthy epistle to the man in question, she flushed and bit her lip in vexation.

"Truly, Mr. Talbot, I am concerned for your good health,” Clare continued, as though Venetia had not brought up an unpleasant subject. “You ought to be resting."

He shook his head to reply, taking a sip from his tea before explaining what he had in mind. “There must be some way we might lure the person in question to tip his hand, so to speak."

Noticing how Venetia seemed to be avidly listening to his words, Clare decided to intervene. “My dear, would you be so kind as to see if Lady Millsham will join us? I am persuaded it would be good for her. You are so clever at coaxing people to your wishes. She must not be allowed to dwell on her misfortunes."

A look of annoyance was quickly followed by a superior smile. “Of course I shall. Surely she must have had enough of that baby by now,” Venetia said, then swallowed the last of her tea, taking a lemon biscuit with her before leaving the room.

Clare held up her hand to silence Mr. Talbot, then when footsteps on the stairs could be heard, she turned to him. “Now,” she whispered, “what do you have in mind?"

The gleam in his eyes disconcerted her momentarily until he lowered those absurdly long lashes—really too long for a man—to look at his hands.

"We must find a way to entice Lord Millsham into revealing himself for what he is."

"What if someone is injured? I'll not have another shot do greater damage. Are you absolutely positive you ought not be at your apartments in the Edgar Buildings? Safely in bed?"

That gleam surfaced once again, and she found herself blushing, although she wasn't quite sure why. “I am fine. My arm does not give me great pain. Do not distress yourself, Miss Fairchild."

She stiffened at the rebuke in his voice, and vowed she would not ask about his condition again.

Bennison paused in the doorway. “Miss Godwin, is she not here? There is a letter for her.'’ He held a crisp white missive in his hands. Clare wondered who might be writing to Venetia, for she was an abominable letter writer and rarely answered the odd note that came.

"The letter's for me?” Venetia breathlessly snatched it from the butler's hand, broke open the seal, and rapidly scanned the contents. “I ... I must go see Miss Oliver. Right away. Enjoy your tea.” In a flurry of black bombazine, Venetia whirled about to return to her room. Lady Millsham was just sipping her tea when Venetia could be heard rushing down the stairs to the ground floor. Moments later the front door slammed shut, and she was gone.

"Well,” Mr. Talbot said, “I cannot say I am sorry to see the back of her. Now we may discuss my idea without wondering if it shall reach another's ears forthwith."

"I know precisely what you mean,” Clare murmured, frowning at the disloyal thoughts she harbored.

"I would urge caution on both of you,” Lady Millsham pleaded. “The news that Mr. Talbot had been injured greatly upset me. What a monster he is!” Lady Millsham exclaimed.

There was no need among the three to identify the man in question.

Clare said lightly, “Sir, you shall not take any more chances.'’ Her minatory look was somewhat lost at the sound of steps on the stairs once again. She turned to the door to see Mrs. Robottom enter on Bennison's arm. Clare rose to greet her guest. She introduced her to Lady Millsham, and Mrs. Robottom professed herself honored to meet the young countess.

"Delighted to see you safely home again, Miss Fairchild, Talbot. Traveling is dangerous. I daresay you will not wish to venture out soon.'’ Mrs. Robottom took the chair closest to the tea tray and plate of cakes. When pressed by Clare, she agreed to sample one with a cup of Bohea tea.

"We were about to work out a plan whereby we might lure the earl into unmasking himself. Or at least revealing his part in this mad plot. I daresay it will be difficult to prove he murdered Lady Millsham's husband, however.” Mr. Talbot gave Lady Millsham a look of apology for introducing a delicate subject bound to upset her sensibilities.

"Hm, I had no idea he was such a rum sort. Nasty business, I fear. Yet, I suspect there is a way,” Mrs. Robottom mused aloud.

"Without any tears or bloodshed, if you please,'’ added Clare.

The quartet explored ways and means to draw the earl into the open, so to speak, but no one had a really good plan by the time tea drew to a close.