The Dashing Miss Fairchild (24 page)

"Good grief! It wanted only that.” Clare sank down on the nearest chair, obviously disturbed.

Bennison entered at that moment with a tray holding all that was necessary for tea, with a glass of fine sherry for Mr. Talbot.

Clare glanced at the butler, then back to where Mr. Talbot sat savoring the wine. It seemed that Richard Talbot had become quite a favorite with Bennison.

"I shall collect you well in time for the ball."

"Would you care to dine with us beforehand, sir?” Clare knew what she suggested was totally improper. Never mind that Venetia and Lady Millsham would also be present. Unless she could think of several others to ask. “Perhaps Sir Henry would care to join us?"

"While Miss Godwin is having secret assignations with Lord Millsham? Best leave her be. I shall enjoy dinner, however. Remember our breakfast at the inn following the accident? You were scandalized that I should eat so much, I fancy.” He chuckled at her indignant expression.

"You, sir, are a complete hand. Your arm is completely healed, is it not? I shudder every time I consider what might have happened had he been a better shot."

"I still say it is dashed odd that he kept firing at your bonnets. And, no, I do not believe some milliner in Bath is setting out to snabble new business in such a queer manner,” he chided.

"I once considered that he perhaps knew how stubborn I am, and decided that was the best way to prompt me to find Lady Millsham."

"Ah, but your determination stems from the purest motives. You are a prudent woman even while tenacious."

Clare blushed at these kind words from the man she admired so greatly.

"Clare?” Lady Millsham bustled into the room, then paused when she saw Mr. Talbot perched on a chair, glass of sherry in hand. “Oh, dear. I did not mean to interrupt."

"Nonsense. Bennison must have anticipated you would join us, for there is an extra cup.” Clare poured out the tea, then offered a ratafia biscuit.

They chatted a few moments, then Mr. Talbot rose to take his leave. Clare followed him to the top of the stairs, watching him march down the steps with a reflective gaze.

"I trust you do not think me a totally improper female, Lady Millsham, but I asked Mr. Talbot to dine with us before Miss Oliver's ball.” She gazed at Lady Millsham in apprehension.

"Not in the least. I perceive he is a very unusual gentleman,'’ she replied complacently.

"That he is,” Clare replied absently, her mind slipping back to the reminiscences shared with Mr. Talbot. She had worried so about him when he had been shot. One look at that fiery red arm had sent her into a near panic. Shaking off her doldrums, she smiled at Lady Millsham, then continued their chat, concentrating on the clever things William had learned to do.

Venetia was not pleased to learn Mr. Talbot would be joining them for dinner. She said so, long and loud.

"Venetia,” Clare remonstrated, her patience fast sliding away, “he is coming, and that is that. I had thought to invite Sir Henry Berney, but you have hardly mentioned him, so I hesitated, lest I offend you."

"Well, to invite a gentleman to dine while alone ... it scarce bears thinking."

"There will be three ladies to one man. I hardly believe anything will come amiss. You can glare at him.'’ With that Clare flounced down the stairs to consult with the cook.

"Well!'’ Venetia stomped her foot before stalking to her room in miffed silence.

The white satin ball gown and dainty new evening hat were spread out on Clare's bed, waiting for her to put on. Once Cook informed Clare that everything was well in hand, she returned to her room, intent on making herself as lovely as possible.

She must have at least partially succeeded, for when Mr. Talbot entered the drawing room shortly before dinner, he inhaled sharply, then strode to Clare's side, bowing low over her hand and lingering far more than was seemly.

"Fair enchantress,” he murmured as he straightened and searched her eyes for a clue to her feelings. He had seen Clare Fairchild in quite a variety of garments. This one far surpassed all others for beauty and style. White satin overlaid with patent net, with clever little puffed sleeves and a minuscule bodice served to lure a man's eyes across an expanse of creamy skin. Her single strand of pearls echoed the tiny pearls in the hat he had watched her select.

Clearly a London gown, it skimmed over her slender figure, revealing just enough to whet his appetite. He knew the form beneath, for he had been made most aware of it when she tumbled on him in the carriage, and he had discovered all manner of alluring aspects while they floated along in the canal. Now he wished for nothing more than the right to hold her in his arms forever. Yet she remained so reserved, in spite of all he did. He almost began to despair.

When assembled, they repaired to the dining room, Mr. Talbot leading Lady Millsham as was proper.

"I declare,” Venetia began once seated, “the prices are quite shocking.” Ignoring Mr. Talbot as a fly on the wall, she continued, “A chip bonnet costing one guinea! And silk gloves at four and sixpence! Well, what is the world coming to, I should like to know. Good English muslin is now five shillings a yard, and the mantua maker charges another two and sixpence to make it up. Well! I shall find myself in the suds before long."

Knowing this to be precisely the case, Clare did her best to soothe Venetia and entertain Mr. Talbot. Why Venetia had to select this moment to digress on the cost of clothing was beyond Clare.

"La, Clare,” Venetia said after being successfully diverted from the subject of prices, “that is an exceedingly low neck on your gown. I should not care to be seen in such. I daresay I should tuck in a fichu of blond lace were it mine. It is all very well for young girls to display themselves for the marriage mart, but I believe you quite past that sort of thing."

Having endured quite enough of Miss Godwin's snipes at Clare, Richard gave her a steady look, then said, “But then you have more need to cover, I believe, and have no fear of being on the marriage mart."

Venetia gave a horrified gasp, flying from the table in a show of outraged sensibilities.

"Good grief,” Clare murmured, sharing a look of commiseration with Lady Millsham, then gave Talbot a glance of rebuke. Dinner ended on a rather unhappy note.

Clare paused before leaving for the ball to speak with Lady Millsham. “Now, mind you hide yourself. I shan't have a moment's peace if I think you are in danger."

Clare accompanied Mr. Talbot, using a chair while he elected to walk along close by. Venetia had disappeared, and Clare worried she would get into trouble.

"You refine too much upon her. She needed a setting down, you know. It is unthinkable that a guest should so abuse her hostess.'’ Richard felt that the sooner Venetia Godwin left the house on Royal Crescent, the better.

They entered the Assembly Rooms with the assurance of those who are welcome by their hostess. Clare was amused to have a young woman she barely knew flutter up to her and exclaim, “What a marvelous idea to hire the rooms for a ball. Summer can be so dreadfully dull."

"Odd,” Clare replied, after a darting glance at Mr. Talbot, “I find Bath most stimulating!"

The ballroom glittered with candlelight from the magnificent chandeliers. Lady Kingsmill held court just inside the entrance, with Susan Oliver modestly gowned and at her side.

"Venetia would approve that dress,” Clare observed to Mr. Talbot in a soft aside.

"I far prefer yours.'’ The warm approbation in his voice could not fail to please.

What did he intend, pray tell? She well knew she had responded to him in a near abandoned manner. Could he be planning to seduce her? She lifted her chin, giving him a reserved smile. “Thank you, sir."

Richard watched with frustrated eyes as she drifted off to speak with Susan Oliver. Drat and blast it all anyway. Just when he thought he was making headway, he appeared to hit a blank wall with the object of his affections. He wondered if little Miss Goodwin poisoned Clare's mind when he was not around to nullify it.

On the far side of the room, he espied Lord Millsham. The man stood surrounded by several hopeful mamas and their dutiful, simpering daughters. How a woman could thrust her child at a man like Millsham, Richard didn't know. Yet he supposed that if she did not know his darker side, he might seem quite eligible.

Venetia Godwin entered by herself, curtsying to Lady Kingsmill, then blending in with the increasing throng of people who came to enjoy Lady Kingsmill's largess.

An evil imp prompted Richard to seek her out. “Miss Godwin, there is someone I should like you to meet.'’ He firmly escorted her to Lord Millsham's side, then made the introductions. As he had expected, they pretended to be total strangers.

Just as Venetia began to murmur polite nothings about becoming acquainted with the elegant Lord Millsham, the orchestra hired for the occasion struck up.

Turning to see where Clare might be, Richard found her not far away, allowing her card to be signed by Sir Henry. Richard swiftly made his way to her side. While Susan opened the dance with Lord Adrian, Richard boldly signed for three dances, then gave Clare a defiant “I dare you to object” look.

She shook her head at him, a reluctant grin slipping out. “You are a perfectly wicked man, sir. You know I cannot dance three times with you. What would the quidnuncs say then!"

"And they would be quite right, too,” murmured Richard in her ear as he led her forth into the minuet Lady Kingsmill had decreed to open the ball.

Clare advanced, then retreated, twirling about on her toes in the most graceful fashion. It seemed to her that her feet had wings, that nothing she did could be awkward or ill-advised. The touch of his hand was magic, she decided.

"I introduced Miss Godwin to Lord Millsham."

"Did you indeed! And what happened?"

"They pretended not to know each other. I believe Miss Godwin is due to move on."

"But Richard, she has nowhere to go,” Clare cried softly in distress. “Now her aunt has died, she is alone. No other relative will have her, I suspect."

"She needn't cotton onto you. If you are too gentle-hearted to do the necessary, I shall.” With that ominous note, he changed the subject.

Later Clare stood by herself in a moment of peace, listening to the chatter between dances. Richard had gone for a glass of lemonade. Mysteriously, he had become Richard once again. She couldn't explain that, it had merely happened in a moment of emotion.

"Miss Fairchild, may I have this dance?"

"Lord Millsham!” Clare tried to think of a way out and could not. She extended her hand in courtesy, then went through the motions of a country-dance while wondering why this man had sought her side.

"You find sufficient to occupy your days while in Bath?” he asked while they moved through a pattern together.

"Indeed. Bath is anything but dull. I cannot imagine why so many believe it to be so."

"But then they do not have your penchant for poking about where you do not belong. Have a care, Miss Fairchild. One of these days you might lose more than your bonnet."

He threatened her! Clare finished the country-dance in a daze. Oh, he was subtle, but he spoke about her poking about where she did not belong, and he
knew
about her ruined bonnets. Since she had not dwelt on these with anyone, save a word or two to Venetia, he had to have been the one who ordered the pursuit, not to mention the shots. Even Lady Millsham had not been informed as to the extent of the threat against Clare. It surely would have put the poor dear in a pelter.

"What has happened?” The low voice came from over her shoulder.

"Richard!” Clare whispered, trying to conceal her distress as she whirled to face him.

"What did Millsham say to give you such trembles?” Mr. Talbot guided Clare toward the scarlet-covered settee where Lady Kingsmill reigned over the assembly. Outwardly one would assume that nothing more than polite words were being exchanged between these two.

"He as much as admitted he ordered that man to pursue us! He accused me of interfering where I did not belong, and Richard,” she cast a shaken look into the malachite eyes, “he
knew
about the bonnets. His eyes frightened me, they had such a fierce expression in them. I believe he is quite, quite mad. He must be, to order murder."

"Do you wish to go to the ladies’ withdrawing room so you may compose yourself?” His tender regard nearly undid her self-possession.

"Thank you, no.” Clare reflected that she felt far safer at Richard Talbot's side than in any withdrawing room. He might be tantalizing, teasing, and certainly tormenting, but he offered security at a moment when she badly needed such.

"Allow me to fetch you a glass of ratafia. You'd best remain with Lady Kingsmill while I am gone.” He paused, glancing down at her with an expression of such great concern that Clare found her heart rising with hope. He threaded his way through the throng of people, his broad, blue-sheathed back easily visible.

Watching him walk toward the tearoom where refreshments were to be found, Clare realized that she knew more than mere regard for the man. She had tumbled disastrously into love with that exasperating and excessively compassionate gentleman.

His kindness had been marked toward her. At times he had been almost paternal. Of course, there were the other times when he made her feel deliciously wanton. Those kisses ... She sighed, then applied herself to answering Lady Kingsmill's questions.

"I saw you dancing with him.” She cast a significant glance to where Lord Millsham parried the attentions of a determined young girl who was of an age to make her come out when next in London. “I trust he said something utterly disgraceful to put you in the quakes."

"I hope it was not so evident to everyone that he so discomposed me, ma'am. Actually, he merely told me that I had a penchant for poking my nose where it did not belong. Oh, and he knew about the ruination of my poor bonnets.” Clare sank down on the end of the settee next to Lady Kingsmill, her legs quite refusing to support her with any reliability.