The Mysterious Miss Fairchild (HQR Historical) Page 3

  ‘I beg your pardon, but from the little I know of you I believe you prefer honesty, so I am compelled to say that I came to Bath for the sole purpose of seeking you out, after a young relative of mine mentioned you to me. Frederick Erwin.’

  ‘Oh, Mr Erwin!’ Natalya recalled now where she had heard Lord Dalmorren’s name before. It explained that feeling of recognition, too. Freddie’s eyes were more blue than grey and his hair much fairer, but there was a definite similarity between the two men. She smiled. ‘Ah, yes. I hope he is well?’

  ‘Very well. He is paying a visit to his mother at present. In Surrey.’

  ‘Oh. I thought he had gone to town.’

  ‘No, he came to Dalmorren to see me. He is my ward, you see. His mother and I are joint guardians of his inheritance which, by the bye, will not be under his control for another four years.’

  Understanding dawned and, with it, indignation. She said, ‘Are you telling me this in case I have...designs...upon Freddie?’

  She did not miss the faint look of surprise when she said the name. Why should she not? She and Freddie were friends, and it was His Lordship’s mistake if he thought it suggested they were anything more. How dare he be so presumptuous!

  ‘And do you?’

  His words were a challenge and she felt a flash of anger, but before she could respond Mrs Pridham was at her side and she could do no more than send the odious man a glare of rebuke.

  ‘People are beginning to return to their seats, Natalya. Shall we go in?’

  * * *

  There was no jockeying for position, but Natalya could never afterwards explain how she found herself sitting between Lord Dalmorren and the Pridhams. A glance showed they were not pleased with the situation, but short of her aunt insisting they should exchange seats and causing the sort of disturbance they abhorred, there was nothing to be done. Natalya put up her chin and stared pointedly at the lectern, waiting for the speaker to appear.

  ‘To continue our conversation,’ Lord Dalmorren murmured, ‘I was about to ask how well you know my nephew.’

  ‘Mr Erwin is a very charming gentleman. I would like to think we are friends.’

  She was about to add that they were nothing more than friends, when her aunt’s fan came down in a sharp tap on her arm.

  ‘Enough talk now. Mr Walker is about to speak again.’

  Natalya lapsed into silence. She fixed her attention upon the speaker, but the seats were very close and she was painfully aware of Lord Dalmorren beside her. The slightest move and her shoulder brushed his sleeve. She could not help glancing at his muscular thigh, only inches from her own. The man was like a magnet, drawing her closer, and it was an effort not to lean against him. The idea was unsettling. Disturbing. It was also very annoying, because Natalya considered herself an intelligent, sensible female. She was not given to fanciful ideas and had often mocked her schoolfriends when they sighed and pined over some man.

  With great determination she dragged her attention back to Mr Walker and tried to concentrate upon his talk. The only stars that interested her were in the night sky, not in her eyes!

  * * *

  Despite her best efforts, during the days that followed, Natalya could not forget Lord Dalmorren. She found herself thinking about him almost constantly. When someone mentioned his name to the Pridhams as they came out from church, she strained her ears to listen. She learned the Dalmorrens were an ancient family and a rich one, so the Pridhams could not object to his lineage or his fortune. Why, then, were they so loath to pursue the acquaintance? Why were they keeping her a virtual prisoner?

  Natalya had always been chaperoned, but for a whole week following Mr Walker’s lecture her aunt or uncle insisted upon escorting her personally to and from her various lessons. Mr Pridham even decided they should forgo all evening engagements. It was thus over a week later that she and Lord Dalmorren met again.

  * * *

  It was the regular Monday ball at the Assembly Rooms and she spotted his tall figure across the room. She thought he might ignore her. After all, he had not called at the house and had made no attempt to see her since the lecture. He had thought she wanted to marry Freddie. Perhaps he had realised it was not the case and no longer had any interest in her.

  Natalya’s disappointment at that thought was severe. Not because she felt any particular liking for him, she told herself, but since Freddie Erwin had left Bath there were so few young gentlemen for her to dance with, certainly none as accomplished as Lord Dalmorren. That was all it was. A very natural wish to dance with someone who was neither a schoolboy nor an octogenarian.

  Aunt Pridham pinched her arm. ‘Lord Dalmorren is coming over,’ she hissed. ‘After accepting his invitation to Mr Walker’s lecture, we could not refuse when he asked if he might dance with you. Goodness knows I suppose he must entertain himself somehow while he is in Bath, but you will not encourage him, Natalya, do you understand me?’

  And there he was, standing before her, smiling and looking even more handsome than she remembered.

  ‘This is our dance, I believe, Miss Fairchild.’

  Her chin went up and the tiny spark of rebellion within flickered a little brighter. Why should she not encourage Lord Dalmorren? Why should she not enjoy a man’s attentions, even a mild flirtation, if it were offered? What harm could there be in it?

  Then he smiled and, when she felt the full force of his charm, all her rebellious spirit faded like mist before the sun. She was so nervous around this man she doubted if she would even be able to dance, let alone flirt with him!

  Natalya took his arm and accompanied him to the dance floor, just as she had two weeks earlier. This time, however, she was aware that her pulse was beating a little faster and she was far more conscious of his presence. Just the touch of his hand made her jump. It was not merely her aunt and uncle’s scrutiny that made her concentrate on her steps. She felt awkward, tongue-tied, as if she might burst into flames if she allowed herself to enjoy the dance. She kept her conversation to the mundane, giving little more than monosyllabic replies, and by the time he escorted her off the floor at the end of the dance she felt thoroughly wretched. Any liking he had for her would surely be at an end.

  ‘And that is a good thing,’ she told herself as she watched him walk away and solicit the hand of pretty, blonde-haired Verena Summerton for the next dance. ‘Aunt and Uncle have told me he is only amusing himself, which I knew already. He as good as told me that he is in Bath to ascertain if I am a suitable bride for his nephew. No, my girl. You might find him charming, and amusing and fascinating, but you had much better stay away from him if you do not want to find yourself weeping into your pillow at nights!’

  It was a noble resolve and Natalya found it quite easy to keep to it until the end of the evening. She had no partner for the last two dances and the Pridhams were signalling to her from across the room. She had just begun to make her way around the edge of the dance floor towards them when Lord Dalmorren stepped in front of her.

  ‘Will you honour me, Miss Fairchild, by joining me for the next set?’

  You have another chance. He wants to dance with you again!

  She knew she should refuse, but the words would not come, for he was smiling down at her and all she could think of was how much she wanted to dance with him. Silently she gave him her hand and allowed him to guide her to the remaining space in one of the sets that was forming.

  Natalya fixed her eyes on the top button of her partner’s waistcoat, not daring to look at the Pridhams. They would be angry and she would have to endure a tremendous scold on the way home, but that was later. Now she was determined to enjoy herself. She would show him that she was no brainless ninny. She would impress him with her intelligence and wit. At least, she would if she could drag her gaze away from that waistcoat.

  ‘I do not think I have ever known a lady so busy,’ he remarked, as they waited f
or the music to begin. ‘Your every waking hour appears to be occupied.’

  ‘My aunt and uncle are anxious for me to improve myself by extensive study.’

  ‘And consequently, you do not have a moment to yourself.’

  ‘They are at pains to hire the very best tutors for me.’ She added after a moment, ‘Even my attendance at these assemblies is part of my education.’

  ‘Is it, by heaven!’

  ‘Why, yes. Every young lady needs to be able to dance.’

  ‘Every young lady needs to be able to converse in a sensible manner,’ he retorted.

  That stung, all the more because she recognised the justice of it. Natalya threw him an angry look, but the dance had begun and she was obliged to hold her tongue as they stepped and turned and circled, but when the dance brought them back together, she immediately assured him that she could converse sensibly.

  ‘Every attempt to talk to you at the Exhibition Rooms was frustrated by your aunt and uncle. How is an acquaintance to progress under such circumstances?’

  Thank heavens they separated at that point, for Natalya felt her cheeks growing hot with a flush of quite irrational pleasure. Was it possible he still wanted to become better acquainted with her, despite her dismal attempts at conversation? The idea nagged at her as the dance progressed to its conclusion.

  At that point she half-expected her uncle to come and drag her from the dance floor, but when that did not happen she stood, tongue-tied, waiting for the second dance to begin.

  ‘I agree, a lecture is hardly the place for idle chatter,’ Lord Dalmorren continued as if there had been no break in their conversation. ‘However, discussion should follow, at some point, perhaps even debate, if the lecture was sufficiently interesting. Are you never allowed to speak to anyone?’

  ‘Of course! I am not a prisoner.’

  Even as she uttered the words, Natalya remembered how confined she had been this past week. She glanced across the room to where her aunt and uncle were standing. They were watching her with ill-concealed rage that she had disobeyed them. She knew she was kept very close, but that had never worried her before. Her friends had told her of flirtations involving stolen moments and secret assignations, away from the critical gaze of chaperons, but Natalya had never wished to slip off and meet someone.

  Until now. The idea was unsettling, but it could not be ignored and she discovered that the small spark of rebellion had not quite been extinguished. When the music finally stopped and her partner reached for her hand to escort her off the floor, she drew a deep breath.

  ‘Tomorrow is my art lesson,’ she remarked. ‘However, my tutor is gone to Bristol to visit his family and, if the good weather holds, I shall be walking to Beechen Cliff with Jane Grisham, to spend the day sketching vistas of the city.’

  Heavens, what was she about? It was almost as if she was two people, one of them observing the other in horror. Even the sight of the Pridhams, who were watching their approach with angry impatience, could not stop her. She was shocked to hear herself continue with almost innocent nonchalance.

  ‘Jane’s maid will be with us, although the poor woman is always so tired after the steep ascent that she invariably falls asleep.’

  ‘Is that so, Miss Fairchild?’

  There was a note of teasing laughter in his voice, but Natalya dare not look up at him for fear she would flush scarlet. They were but a few steps away from the Pridhams. She released his arm and moved across to stand beside her aunt, who was tapping her foot angrily on the floor and directing a look at Lord Dalmorren that was positively glacial. Impervious to this cold reception, he exchanged a word or two with Mr Pridham, then, with a smile and a bow, he withdrew.

  Natalya watched him walk away and could not decide whether she wanted to see him at Beechen Cliff in the morning and it was this conundrum, rather than the angry rebukes of her aunt and uncle, that resulted in a sleepless night.

  Chapter Three

  May had barely begun, but it was more like high summer, with the sun shining down from a cloudless sky when Tristan set off in the direction of Beechen Cliff. His conscience was far from easy as he ascended the steps leading up to the famous landmark. What in heaven’s name was he doing, keeping an assignation with a young woman of whom he knew so little? It was not the actions of a gentleman. He argued that he owed it to Freddie to find out more about Miss Fairchild, since her guardians were playing their role with excessive zeal.

  He frowned when he thought of the two weeks he had spent in Bath. Confound it, he should have asked Freddie how the devil he had managed to become sufficiently acquainted with Natalya Fairchild to fall in love. Had she made assignations with him, too?

  He realised that he only had Natalya’s word for it that she would be with friends. What if she was alone and this was some convoluted ploy to trap him into marriage? It would not be the first time some unscrupulous female had tried to snare him. It was one of the reasons he now spent so little time in London, where his bachelor status made him a target for every matchmaking parent. His lip curled. If that was indeed Miss Natalya Fairchild’s intention then she would soon discover her mistake and it would prove conclusively that she was not a fit wife for Freddie.

  When he eventually reached the top of the cliff, Tristan had to admit the climb was worth the effort. Whatever else occurred today he would remember this view of Bath. The city was spread out before him, the Abbey soaring majestically over the neighbouring buildings and the river twinkling, jewel-like, in the sun.

  Soft voices and laughter caught his attention. A short distance away Natalya and her friend were sitting on the grass, sketchpads on their knees, while behind them, stretched out on the grass, was a buxom maidservant. The young ladies were wearing bonnets to protect their complexion from the sun and one of them had thoughtfully placed an open parasol to shade the maid’s head as she slept.

  It all looked very innocent and any casual observer would think him a gentleman out for a stroll who had come upon the group by pure chance. His mind was relieved on one point, she was accompanied, and there was a maid present, even if she was sleeping. Tristan stifled his conscience and approached.

  ‘Good morning, Miss Grisham, Miss Fairchild.’

  ‘Oh, Lord Dalmorren.’ The note of innocent surprise in Natalya’s voice did not fool him and neither, judging by the look of speculation on her face, did it deceive her companion, who looked up from her sketching to address him.

  ‘Are you come to take in the view, my lord?’

  ‘I am. It was recommended to me. Most strongly.’ He smiled at Natalya and was rewarded by seeing her blush.

  ‘Such a warm morning, is it not, my lord?’ remarked Miss Grisham. ‘Perhaps you would like to join us for a little while, I am sure you will wish to rest after your exertions.’

  ‘Thank you, I will.’ He sat down on the grass between them. ‘But pray do not let me stop you working. I will just sit here and enjoy the...er...scenery.’

  Miss Grisham giggled, but Natalya remained silent and became even more intent upon her drawing.

  Great heaven, he thought in disgust. Did I just say that? I sound like an out-and-out scoundrel!

  It was not his normal style at all. He lapsed into silence. After all, he had said he would not disturb them, had he not? For several minutes they remained with only the birdsong, the buzz of bees and the gentle snores of the maid to disturb them. Then Jane Grisham gathered up her sketchbook and pencils.

  ‘I want to capture the view from another angle and that bush over there is blocking my view of the foreground.’

  She went off to sit down at some distance away, on the far side of the sleeping maid, and Tristan berated himself for a fool. It was such an obvious ploy to leave him alone with Natalya. She must have planned this. Confound it, the little minx was a hardened flirt.

  Then he caught sight of her face and changed his mind.
She was either a superb actress or she was as ill at ease as himself. His anger subsided and he gave a little inward shrug. He had wanted the opportunity to become better acquainted, so he had best get on with it.

  He ventured a comment on the astronomy talk and was rewarded by an answer. He tried again and the conversation continued, a little uncertain at first, but gradually it became easier until they were chatting away with all the freedom of old friends. From astronomy they moved to history and politics, then by degrees to the recent war with Bonaparte. When she asked him if he would go to London for the forthcoming peace celebrations, Tristan grimaced.

  ‘My mother and sister were in London recently and wrote to tell me the crowds were extraordinary. I much prefer the quiet of the country to such a spectacle.’

  She chuckled. ‘I believe the presence of the Allied Sovereigns in London will cause quite a stir.’

  ‘Town will be as full as it can hold with crowds pushing and shoving and trying to catch a glimpse of the great men. Will you go?’

  ‘No. I thought my uncle would wish to go. He has always been most interested in reports about the war, especially the Russian campaigns. He sent to London for newspapers, specifically to read about them. But he says we are to remain in Bath.’

  ‘And are you sorry?’

  She paused to consider before answering.

  ‘I should enjoy the spectacle of the procession when they arrive from the Continent and to see these leaders that I have read so much about. It is a very special moment in history.’ She was silent, her gaze wistful, then she shook her head and gave a little laugh. ‘Not that I have any special reason to be there. I should only be adding to the crowds. So, no, on reflection, I shall not be sorry to remain here with my aunt and uncle.’

  ‘Are the Pridhams the only family you have?’ he asked her.

  ‘They are my guardians,’ she said carefully. ‘I understand I am an orphan.’