The Unflappable Miss Fairchild Read online

  He had looked perfectly capable of taking care of himself. So why had she rushed to his rescue as if he were as feckless as dear Mortimer? Had her attempts to remain calm and unruffled before Agatha driven her to the point at which she had to behave outrageously? Perhaps Aunt Agatha was right--she saw the best in everyone, could see every side of any argument. Somehow, she just couldn’t see that as the critical flaw Agatha did.

  Shivering, she hurried to the wardrobe to pick her gown for the day. What would look good under the grey pelisse? For a moment, she toyed with the idea of wearing her old serviceable brown cloak instead, just to spite her aunt, then sighed, realizing it wasn’t worth another scene. In the end, she chose a plum-colored gown of wool kerseymere with full long sleeves tucked at the wrists and a high neck trimmed with lace and slipped it on, managing the fastenings up the back from long practice.

  No, Agatha would never have approved of Chas Prestwick. Even though they moved in different circles, her aunt would have heard the stories about him. His escapades were often the talk of the ton. She remembered the favored on dit last Season was how he and Colonel Dan McKinnon had entertained the theatre-goers at Covent Garden by running along the ledges of the boxes. He was said to have refused membership in the Four-in-Hand Club because he could already beat every member in a carriage race. She’d even heard that he’d turned down an appointment to the military with the comment that wars were too damned predictable.

  Even if Agatha could be made to overlook his unconventional ways, she would never have forgiven his background. Everyone knew his mother had been a governess, the Earl of Prestwick’s second wife, who had married the Earl only six months before Chas was born.

  “So, there’s no hope for it,” she told herself firmly in the mirror as she sat at her dressing table and pulled the brush through her long hair. She made a sour face and mimicked her Aunt Agatha. “You, my girl, are not to be squandered on an impecunious second son of questionable family, no matter how handsome and charming.” She twisted her hair into a neat bun and fastened it in place. It’s a shame Aunt Agatha isn’t as sensible about my marriage as she is about managing money, she thought, looking at herself in the mirror appraisingly. I simply haven’t the face or figure to capture that big a prize on the marriage mart.

  She’d pointed that out to her aunt once.

  “You know nothing of the desires of the aristocracy,” Agatha had sniffed, glaring at her through the lenses of her pince-nez. “Lords may take their pleasures where they may, but when they marry, they choose a proper girl of good family. We must simply wait for the right time.”

  So far, in the three years since she had come out, the right time had never arrived. Anne was beginning to hope it never would. She’d seen many of her sister debutantes, all proper girls, marry titled gentlemen who kept lines of less proper but much more interesting girls on the side. That was not what she wanted for herself. She smiled, thinking how Millicent would sigh and Agatha would sniff if they knew how she dreamed of romance.

  And that thought brought her mind back to the scene in the Cranfield’s library.

  She closed her eyes and rubbed her fingers against her temples hoping to somehow blot out the memory of that sophisticated woman, golden in the firelight, weeping because he would have no more of her. Elizabeth Scanton was obviously not a proper lady. Far from it. She was a wanton, a woman who gave her body away to any man she fancied. With her beauty, Anne supposed, she didn’t need a reputation for propriety. Perhaps if I were less proper, I could do better than Julian Hilcroft.

  Anne snapped her eyes open and jumped to her feet. That was quite enough. She was who she was; no good would come of thinking otherwise. She simply wasn’t cut out to be a wicked woman, much as it seemed to attract the gentlemen. Romance, even if it was embodied in the handsome Chas Prestwick, was likely not part of her future. She must try to be more practical. She straightened her gown purposefully and marched herself downstairs to occupy her time before Julian was due.

  She was waiting, in her grey pelisse, when Julian arrived promptly at one. She had always found him handsome, in a quiet kind of way. She caught herself comparing him to Chas Prestwick and chided herself for being unkind. Any man would come off second best, she was sure, when compared to Chas Prestwick.

  Julian Hilcroft was of medium height, with medium blond hair and blue eyes. He had a square face; a long, aristocratic nose; and a rather thin lips. He could look as stern as Agatha, but his smile tended to light up his otherwise dour demeanor. However, she had noticed that his smile seldom reached his eyes. Perhaps that was why she found it hard to be completely open with him. Still, he was usually intelligent, pleasant company, and she saw no reason to lose his friendship, despite Agatha’s protests.

  “I’m glad to see you dressed for driving,” he murmured, bending to kiss her hand. “The weather continues unseasonably warm for January. I thought we might go out to Kew Gardens.”

  “What a lovely idea,” Anne replied approvingly. Then she remembered about Bess and cleared her throat. “That is, it would be a lovely drive, but I may have to forego the pleasure today. My maid is unavailable.” She glanced up at him to see how he might be taking it.

  As usual, his face was impassive. “Regrettable. However, I had thought to ask Lady Crawford for permission to take you out alone anyway. I wanted you to see my new curricle.”

  “How lovely,” Anne murmured, still watching him. If he looked the least bit calculating she vowed not to take a single step out the door. “My Aunt Agatha did suggest that she felt comfortable with you as my escort.”

  He frowned. “I’m surprised your aunt thinks so highly of me. I was under the impression . . . but never mind. I hate to keep my horses standing. Perhaps a short drive out Kensington.”

  Practical as always, Anne thought as he led her out to his waiting curricle. His team of matched greys ranked above her reputation. Anne shook her head to clear her dark thoughts and politely praised his new carriage with its black-lacquered sides and silver-rimmed wheels.

  She wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or annoyed that Julian did not seem to notice any difference in her. Neither did their being alone inspire him to be more romantic as Agatha had hoped. He chatted about commonplace things--his horses, her aunt’s health, concern for the continuance of the monarchy now that Princess Charlotte had died. She replied pleasantly, but her preoccupied mood refused to leave, and she felt guilty that she wasn’t better company. She tried to focus on the scenery as they headed west out of London on Kensington Road, but, even with the sunlight, things looked dull and lifeless.

  They had gone perhaps a half hour past the city and were tooling along an open stretch of countryside when Julian spotted another curricle ahead. “Looks like someone’s lost a wheel,” he commented. Anne saw a jaunty vehicle with emerald green enamel and gold-rimmed wheels, listing rather badly at the side of the road. A dark-haired young man in a many-caped greatcoat was attempting to uncouple a team of spirited bays from the traces. As they drew nearer, another man moved into view around the side of the vehicle, and Anne gasped as she recognized Chas Prestwick.

  Julian had been slowing his horses as if he were considering helping. Now he looked at Anne in obvious surprise. “I say, do you know these people?”

  “Well, I . . .,” Anne began, not sure how to explain the unorthodox meeting to the ever-proper Julian. They were drawing alongside, and Chas Prestwick was signaling them. Julian pulled his greys to a stop.

  “Thanks for stopping, old fellow,” Chas greeted Julian at the carriage’s side, the sun glinting on his golden hair. He was also wearing a many-caped greatcoat, in an olive and tan tweed, and the red in his cheeks attested to the fact that he had been out in the weather for some time. Anne was amazed how quickly her heart started beating just at the sight of him. She wasn’t sure which she feared more, that he should recognize her, or that he might not.

  “We seem to have run into a spot of trouble,” he was continuing, “and we wer
e hoping . . .” he trailed off as his gaze swept over Anne, and his handsome face broke into a dazzling smile. “Why, if it isn’t my angel! I should have known you’d turn up to rescue me.”

  Anne’s surge of pleasure at his words quickly faded as Julian swiveled to look at her, face stern. “Do you know this person, Miss Fairchild?”

  Anne decided that the least said the better at the moment. “Yes, I do. Mr. Julian Hilcroft, may I present Mr. Charles Prestwick.” She prayed Charles was his formal name; she couldn’t think what else Chas would stand for.

  While Julian managed a nod, Chas bowed. “Your servant, sir. May I compliment you on your carriage? A very nice piece of work.”

  Julian thawed slightly, to Anne’s relief. “Thank you. A recent purchase. It seemed a suitable conveyance.”

  Chas patted the wheel beside him. “Yes, indeed, quite suitable. I’m afraid your horses, however, just won’t do.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Julian sputtered.

  Anne shook her head at Chas behind Julian’s back, trying to warn him that he was taking the wrong approach if he wanted any help. But Chas was motioning to his companion and moving to uncouple Julian’s horses from harness.

  “I say, what do you think you are doing?” Julian demanded. When Chas paid him no heed, he turned to Anne. “What is he doing with my horses?”

  Anne was just as bewildered. She knew she ought to be as incensed as Julian, but somehow it all seemed rather funny. She fought back a laugh and merely shook her head at his question.

  With a snort, Julian clambered down from his seat and went to confront the two men. His tensed, slender frame stood in sharp contrast with Chas’ muscular grace. By the time Julian could do more than sputter, Chas and his companion had unhitched his horses and put in the bays.

  “Stop this instant!” Julian fumed. “I demand that you replace my horses!”

  “We just did, old fellow,” Chas replied calmly, cinching the last strap in place and checking his work. “Nice horses, your greys, but not quite what it takes to beat the record for curricle and pair to Kew Gardens.”

  Julian drew himself up in high dudgeon. “Certainly not! I never race my horses.”

  “Wise decision,” Chas agreed, moving back to the curricle. To Anne’s surprise and Julian’s fury, he jumped up into the driver’s seat. “I’m sure you can understand why I can’t let you handle the reins for this race, then. No one drives my horses but me. Hang on, Angel.”

  Anne stared at him, suddenly realizing that he meant to make off with the carriage, with her in it. Before she could protest, he raised his voice to call to his companion, who stood at the head of the prancing bays. “Spring ‘em, Les!”

  As Julian cried out to stop him, his companion let loose of the bays. Anne had one glimpse of Julian’s face, chalk white in fear or anger, she didn’t know which. Then the bays leaped forward, and they were off.

  She’d heard that some members of the ton raced their carriages for sport, but she’d had no idea that a carriage could go so fast! Trees, houses, other carriages whizzed past so quickly that she barely had time to register them. There was no chance of escape--to jump would have killed her at this speed. Her heart was pounding as loudly as the thundering hooves of the bays. The wind whipped her face, snapping the ribbons of her bonnet against her cheeks. When she put up a hand to catch them, her bonnet flipped off the back of her head. In minutes, her hair was free of its bun and streaming out behind her.

  They careened around a turn, and the curricle tipped onto its right wheel. Anne watched terrified as the ground seemed to hurtle toward her. With a deft flick of the reins, Chas turned the horses and brought the curricle with a thud onto two wheels again. Anne swallowed her fear and clutched the curricle’s sideboard so hard her knuckles stood out of her grey kid leather gloves.

  “Just a little farther, Angel,” he called over the roar of the wind. He winked at Anne, then frowned as if noticing her for the first time. “Don’t get sick on me, now. I thought you were made of stronger stuff. Relax and enjoy the ride.”

  Anne stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. Relax! They whipped past a drayman’s wagon with inches to spare, the neighs of his frightened horses echoing behind them. Yet as they continued to fly down the road, she began to feel less afraid and more excited. The exhilaration of traveling as fast as the wind was rather heady, and she began to understand why gentlemen raced.

  “What record are we trying to beat?” she ventured over the roar of the wind and the thunder of flying hooves.

  “Curricle and pair to Kew Gardens,” he shouted back. “Leslie Petersborough and I set the record last Season, fifty-five minutes from Knightsbridge, specifically to the Hose and Garter Inn. We were well nigh onto breaking it when the wheel came off.”

  “Where do we stand now,” she began, but the curricle hit a rut and she bounced in the seat so hard that her hands broke free of the sideboard. She slid across the leather seat, right up against Chas Prestwick. Face burning, she scrambled away from him to the other side of the curricle.

  “Miss Fairchild,” he grinned wickedly, whipping the reins again, “if you persist in throwing yourself at me, I will begin to think you have designs on my virtue.”

  “Nonsense,” she managed to reply. “I believe the ton would agree that you have no virtue left on which to stake a claim.” The tension must be getting to me, she thought as she removed a strand of hair blown into her mouth. I would never have been so bold with my other suitors. Why is it that when I’m with him, I feel so free?

  Chas only laughed at the comment and urged the horses on.

  She was almost sorry when, moments later, the curricle hurtled into the yard of a coaching inn, and Chas heaved back on the reins to slow his horses to a stop. The world spun back into place. The curricle stilled. Anne swallowed and managed to unclench her hands from the wood. Chas sat beside her, grinning. She returned his smile.

  “Welcome to Kew Gardens, Angel,” he chuckled. “I hope you enjoyed the ride.”

  Chapter Two

  Even as Chas enjoyed the lady’s smile, the door to the inn crashed open, and a half dozen great-coated gentlemen spilled out into the yard like a pack of eager puppies.

  “Fifty-one minutes, Prestwick!” someone crowed. “By God, you did it!”

  “Demme if you haven’t broken your own record!” someone else put in.

  “Hey, chaps, and it isn’t even his carriage!” a third shouted.

  “And that’s not Leslie,” another chortled, pointing at Anne.

  Chas rose in his seat, holding up his hands for quiet, even as Anne reddened. “Gentlemen, gentlemen. You’ll put me to the blush in front of the lady. You’ll have the full story from me later. Right now I need assistance.”

  One of the men put a foot on the curricle step and leaned toward Anne. The smell of wine wafted over Chas, and she leaned back, her usually calm face suddenly concerned.

  “I’ll be happy to help with the lady, Prestwick,” his friend leered.

  Chas leaned over and pushed him off the curricle, frowning at the fellow’s lack of manners. “None of that. I said lady, and I meant it. Leslie and her escort are back down the road with my curricle. I need one of you chaps to go fetch them.”

  Groans rose from his fellows, but he managed to convince them of the necessity. With a smile of encouragement for the lady, he jumped down from the curricle and was immediately surrounded. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his angel sitting properly in the curricle, staring straight ahead. Obviously unaware that he was watching, she shivered.

  Brave little thing, he thought, sending one of the men into the inn for a cup of hot chocolate for her. He tried to imagine his mother, with her difficulty dealing with everyday life, sitting so calmly after being abducted into a race and found it impossible to picture. Even the intrepid Liza would have found the chill intolerable or complained that he wasn’t paying her enough attention. Too bad there weren’t more young ladies like his angel; a few more d
ecent chaps might be tempted to matrimony.

  The cup his friend returned with was none to clean and chipped on one side, and he wondered about the advisability of taking her inside. She sipped her chocolate and watched while he organized the slightly drunken gentlemen into getting someone to uncouple the bays and take them off to be rubbed down after their exertions and getting another carriage ready to go after Les and Hilcroft. Through it all, he kept glancing in her direction, trying to decide what to do with her. She seemed to brighten whenever she noticed his look, and he got the impression she wasn’t used to such attention.

  She shivered again, and he made up his mind. He strode into the inn and had a quick conversation with the innkeeper. Choosing the cleanest of the barmaids, who he knew to be called Blythe, he drew her outside with him and up to the curricle.

  He bowed in front of the lady, who looked surprised. “Milady, may I present to you young Blythe. Blythe, as of this moment, you’re a lady’s maid.”

  “Coo, sir, you never say so!” the country girl said breathlessly. She was a taking thing with curly black hair crammed into a dirty mob cap, and her considerable curves equally crammed into a low-necked muslin dress. Chas was pleased to see she gazed up at the lady in something akin to reverence. His angel returned the look in obvious surprise.

  “I do say so,” Chas assured her. He took a guinea from his pocket and pressed it into the girl’s palm. “You will stay with milady at all times while she is on these premises and see to all her needs. And if you see any gentleman so much as look at her with anything less than respect, you are to tell me at once, and you’ll earn another of those coins for your trouble.”

  “Yes, sir, just as you say.” She bit the coin to make sure it was real, then slipped it into the bodice of her dress. “That gentleman over there looks a bit havey cavey to me.”

  Chas and Anne both looked behind him to where one of his cronies was watching the scene with amusement. He did look just the tiniest bit interested in Anne. Seeing the three of them gazing at him, he looked hurriedly away.