The Dashing Miss Fairchild (9 page)

Just how insistent she might be about finding Jane, he could only guess. He wished he knew where the little drab hid. He had tried to find her without a shred of success.

Well, he reflected, even were she to suspect something a bit shady about her husband's death, there was nothing she might do about it now. He was in control of the situation. He had tied up every little knot, polished every detail. There was nothing to connect him with anything. Was there?

"Henry,” he said to the groom hastily summoned from the stables, “I wish you to make a check on those people who were here earlier. See if they decided to stop over some place nearby. Find out anything you can, then report back to the."

Hours later, when the earl discovered that Miss Fairchild and Richard Talbot had elected to stay overnight at the Star and Garter, when they might easily have made it to Bath, although late in the evening, he chose to take action.

Crossing to his desk in what was gratifyingly now
his
library, he pulled out a small sheet of paper, then penned a few words in a deliberately disguised hand. He sanded, then folded and sealed the missive, omitting the use of his signet ring in the hot wax.

His groom hid an insolent grin from his master as he accepted the instructions for the next step. When the young fellow returned to the stables, he chuckled to the coachman. “He's got an eye for the ladies, he has. Sending off a biyay doo to one of ‘em. I'm off, but I fancy this won't be the first ride I take in her direction. I got a look at ‘er. She's a rare beauty."

The coachman, an elderly man who had been at the Hall for more years than the young groom could count, merely nodded and kept his thoughts to himself.

Clare found the hours dragging slowly once Richard Talbot and his man had ridden off. The landlady of the inn brought her tea in the garden, much to Clare's delight. For some peculiar reason, she wished to remain outside, not that the inn was unpleasant. Never would she confess that she eagerly awaited the return of the gentleman who had assumed the role of knight-errant on her behalf. Or was his gallantry merely for the infant? That she would likely never know, unless she might figure out a way to cleverly learn the truth of the matter.

With the fading light, Clare could no longer linger in the garden. She and Priddy, for the abigail had most properly taken a seat by a patch of grass to keep an eye on her mistress, went into the inn and up to the neat little room she was to call hers for the night.

"My goodness,” Clare exclaimed, entering the room in a flurry of skirts. On her pillow lay a crisp, sealed note. Surely Mr. Talbot would not have arranged to leave a note for her? Beyond anything curious, she hurried to the bed, sitting on its edge to tear open the paper.

"What is it, Miss Clare?” Priddy stepped closer to the bed at the sight of her mistress. Her face had paled; her hand trembled as she read the missive.

"Well, ‘tis scarcely a love note. It seems that someone does not wish me in the area. I have been warned to leave here at once. But who would know my identity? Or why we are here? Merely to say that strangers are not welcome is silly. This is a market town and such people are here often.” Clare did not offer to share the rest of the contents with her maid. Rather, she tucked the note into her sleeve, then restlessly prowled about the room until Priddy made an excuse to go downstairs.

"'Tis dizzy I'm getting, what with all that walking about. I'll fix you a posset to help you sleep.” Priddy was convinced that anyone who could not drop into an immediate sleep would surely sicken of some dire ailment.

"Thank you, Priddy,” Clare said absently. Oh, if Mr. Talbot would only return.

It was another hour, during which Priddy tried to coax Clare into going to bed and drinking the bitter-smelling posset, not succeeding with either, before Mr. Talbot came back.

Clare cracked open the door, waiting with anxious eyes until she saw his tall, powerful form making its way up the stairs to their floor.

"Psst."

Richard frowned, knowing what he heard, and not believing it. He glanced at Miss Fairchild's door and blinked. There she was, still charmingly dressed and motioning him with a crook of her finger while peeking around the door at him.

Not saying a word, he quietly walked to her, standing before her with a puzzled look in his eyes.

"Come in, please. I must know how you fared.” Clare drew him in the room with a persistent hand. She closed the door behind him, then waited.

Catching sight of the disapproving abigail on the far side of the room, Richard half smiled. “Nothing at all, I fear. I managed to bring the talk around to the young earl, his accident, but nothing of help came out of it. If there was any foul play, the locals either do not discuss it, or it was carefully done so that there could not be any talk."

"Well,” she declared dramatically, “I am more suspicious than ever.” She extracted the note from her sleeve, then handed it to him with a flourish. Instead of nattering on as some women might, she remained silent while he read. There was a faint tapping of a slim slipper on the wooden floor to indicate her impatience.

The frown returned as Richard read the note. “Where did you find this?” He clasped the crisp paper in his hand, his eyes searching her face for a clue to her reaction to the threat.

"It reposed on my pillow, just as neat as could be. Priddy said the maid in the kitchen told her a groom had been here earlier, asking for me. Obviously whoever sent it gave him instructions on precisely where to put it to present the greatest impact on my tender nerves."

"One does not get threatened with death every day of the year, that is true.” Richard admired the manner in which she calmly faced him, knowing there was someone who very much wished to put an end to her inquiries.

At those words, Priddy gasped and staggered to the nearest chair. “Did he say death, Miss Clare? Oh, mercy! We ought to have left that baby at the inn in Marlborough. You'd be in no danger if he hadn't a come along with us to Bath. Miss Godwin was right."

At the inquiring look from Mr. Talbot, Clare demurely said, “Miss Godwin is of the opinion that nothing good comes from associating with males, infants included."

His low chuckle enchanted Clare. It was a pleasant contrast to the ugly thoughts that had haunted her since she and Priddy had returned to their room following the evening spent in the inn's garden. It had bothered her to know that someone had entered her room with intent of mischief.

"I refuse to allow this silly threat to discompose me. We shall depart for Bath in the morning, but that does not mean that I intend to give up the hunt. Indeed, more than ever I am persuaded that I must solve the Mystery of the Disappearing Countess."

Richard longed to stretch out his hand to gently stroke her winsome cheek. Her smile looked a trifle defiant, with a touch of rueful whimsy about it. He well knew that were the abigail not present, he would yield to the temptation Miss Fairchild presented. What would it be like to hold that bewitching armful close to him? Or kiss those delectable lips? The charms of all the ladies he had known faded in comparison to this woman who so daringly stood before him, caring only for that little baby and the countess who most likely was his mother. She possessed a depth he had not encountered before. Caring, courageous, and resourceful, she appealed greatly to him.

"I suspect we shall learn nothing more by remaining here. Why do we not leave first thing in the morning? Once we return to Bath we can make further plans."

"La, sir, I cannot involve you further. I am persuaded there is someone involved who is not all what he ought to be. You could be in danger."

"True, people do not generally go about issuing threats of death ... and mean it.'’ Richard had not meant to be so blunt-speaking. The thought of being dismissed from her life was not to be tolerated. He heard Priddy gasp, but concentrated on Clare. She paled slightly, then lifted her chin in a plucky tilt.

"I am far too tenacious to allow his little note to frighten me off."

"I am equally stubborn, I fear. I shall remain at your side until there is no more need for your protection."

Clare felt weak with relief. She had bravely prepared herself to go on alone, but she admitted quite readily that Richard, that is, Mr. Talbot, brought welcome protection and wisdom. As well, men could go places and do things a lady simply ought not.

Their departure the following morning was not quite as early as Richard had hoped it might be. The abigail insisted on allowing Clare to sleep late, then eat a substantial breakfast, which the lady obviously did not wish. The hour was well advanced by the time the traveling coach rumbled forth from the Star and Garter.

Eventually Clare felt constrained to speak about the matter uppermost in her mind.

"What shall be the next step? I fear we have encountered a veritable brick wall in our search. Not a body knows where Jane went following her husband's death. The present earl may call her a little drab, but I believe she is well up on how to protect herself."

"Perhaps her family?” Richard suggested, not bothering to put forth other possibilities at the moment.

"I cannot recall her maiden name. Did your mother perchance mention it?” Clare turned her head to study the man at her side. In the morning sunshine slanting through the coach window, he looked remarkably handsome and strong, precisely the sort of hero a romantic girl would wish to come to her rescue or be her knight-errant. Except Clare was hardly a girl anymore, and her dreams seemed to be more prosaic nowadays. They were far more inclined to a husband and home than daring escapades and shocking villains.

"My, this road is surely worse than yesterday,” muttered Priddy from her side of the coach. “My bones haven't been so rattled since I can't remember when."

Clare had been so engrossed in her thoughts that she had failed to observe the truth of Priddy's complaint. The coach lurched and wobbled like a demented goose.

All at once the world abruptly tilted, along with a resounding thwack. Clare landed full upon Mr. Talbot, squashing the gentleman most neatly against the door, which now appeared to have become the floor. Priddy had slid to the other side of the coach, wilting away in a dead faint.

"Good gracious! M ... Mr. Talbot! Do forgive the, I seem to have quite crushed you.” Clare grabbed at the coach seat in an effort to right herself, ignoring the strange effect that being squashed against Mr. Talbot produced on her. She was extremely conscious of the muscular form beneath hers.

Richard was concerned at the cause of the accident, but he could not fail to appreciate the delicious form that pressed against his so invitingly. He firmly resisted the desire to clasp her to him for at least a few seconds.

"I believe that under the circumstances you might be allowed to call me Richard. At least when we are alone.” He gave a significant glance at the unconscious Priddy, before succumbing to the temptation in his arms. “Forgive me, Clare,” he whispered. And then he kissed her. And it lasted a good deal longer than one full minute.

Clare was roused from the shock of his kiss by the cries from without the coach. Tom Coachman and the groom, aided by Mr. Talbot's man Timms, were calling to them. The groom climbed up the side of the coach to peer in the window just as Richard released her.

"Nice timing, Mr. Talbot,” whispered Clare, valiantly trying to hide the impact of that kiss upon her sensibilities.

"Richard, or I shall repeat it."

The warning brought with it a battle in her head. A rather scandalous part of her brain desired nothing more than another kiss! The sensible portion calmly said, “Richard.” Her eyes twinkled with the absurdity of a spinster of her standing being placed in such a position.

His smile appeared a bit rueful to Clare's eyes, and she rather liked the notion that he wanted another kiss perhaps as much as she did. Even if the very notion ought to have shocked her into next Tuesday.

The following minutes were spent extricating Clare and the hastily revived Priddy from the coach, then assessing the damage.

Tom Coachman pulled Richard to one side. “I don't think ‘twas an accident, sir. There's somethin’ right fishy ‘bout the way the undercarriage came apart. Mind you, I ain't sayin’ somethin’ were done to it, but it ‘pears right odd.” He motioned to where the wheel lay in the center of the road.

Richard walked around the coach to examine the point where the axle joined the wheel. It could be that the force of the impact had bent the iron, but it seemed to him that the axle arm had been deliberately tampered with so as to cause the wheel to eventually come off. The binding action of the increased angle had done the trick without any obvious foul play. Upon inspection, the lynch pins looked to be different from the others on the vehicle, bringing the conclusion that they had been switched, an inferior sort replacing the sturdier original. He met Tom Coachman's concerned gaze with one of respect.

"Deucedly clever, I'd say."

"Aye. More's to the point, how do we get it repaired out here in the middle of nowhere?"

Richard looked about him. A good-sized farm could be seen in the distance, and it was likely their best bet. He decided to inform Clare of his intention to ride over to inquire about transport.

Mindful of the ever watchful Priddy, he approached Clare with all due respect. “I believe I ought to locate some means to get us back to Bath before nightfall if possible."

"Excellent. It is beyond simple repair, I gather?"

He admired her practical acceptance of the situation. Her self-possession was indeed remarkable. Only that twinkle lurking in her eyes betrayed her possible feelings. And its very presence intrigued him more than words would ever have said.

"So Tom Coachman says, and I believe him. It will take an experienced wainwright to do the work. Clever bit of skulduggery, though."

"Am I to gather that it was deliberate?"

Richard tightened his lips in chagrin. That last remark had slipped out, no doubt due to her behavior. He was more accustomed to spasms and tears than poised composure from ladies in distress.