Page 28 of Miss Desirable
“I am a Dorning,” Sycamore replied, as haughtily as another man might have announced membership in the Most Noble Order of the Garter. “We have botany in our blood. Ferns are actually my passion.”
The lovely Jeanette was his passion, that and knives. A man could have worse compasses to guide his life. “I will be pleased to join Monsieur MacKay for a meal, and we will toast your basil, Dorning. My regards to your lady wife.”
Dorning collected his discarded shirt and waistcoat. “She’d like to have Miss Fairchild out to Richmond again soon. One hopes you are willing to serve as escort?”
Would Miss Fairchild be willing to be escorted? “Bien sûr. I would be honored.”
A quarter hour later, Fournier was ambling along the street at MacKay’s side. MacKay nodded to no less than a half-dozen young ladies of dubious repute, and to one, he passed some coins.
“One hears that you are devoted to London’s unfortunate women, MacKay.”
“One hears that you are devoted to London’s unfortunate Frenchwomen.”
“And Frenchmen,” Fournier replied. “Mostly, I worry about the children. As the offspring of émigrés, they are neither French nor English. No matter their parents’ politics, any who fled to London are regarded with universal distrust in France and universal resentment in England. A difficult legacy.”
“The English excel at sowing discord on foreign soil. Ask any Scot precisely how that works. We spent too much effort fighting amongst ourselves while the English sat back and polished their bayonets.”
Real bitterness lay beneath that remark, real suffering. “You did not invite me to lunch to discuss Jacobite uprisings.”
“You allowed me to disarm you.”
Fournier could demure. An Englishman might have, rather than risk insulting MacKay with a lie. “You had earned the right to provide Dorning a demonstration. Sycamore could be a phenomenal fencer. He has the speed, the reflexes, the power, the flexibility, but not the mind. He can focus for a single throw of the knife, or a series of throws, but fencing requiresstrategy. I wanted him to see that I am not invincible. He can best me, though that feat will require a level of concentration he likely has only when adoring his wife.”
“You echo my own assessment of the situation. My Dorcas would like you. We should have you to dinner.”
Dorcas was the preacher’s daughter who’d brought MacKay up to scratch. They were raising a child, though the boy’s antecedents were shrouded in discretion.Orphaned kinwas as much as Goddard had said.
“I would be honored to accept such an invitation.”
“You’re wary of such an invitation. Good instincts. I told Dorcas as much.”
“My good instincts tell me that your purpose in inviting me to lunch is not entirely social.”
“What do you know of Miss Catherine Fairchild?”
Families, whether French, English, or Scottish, apparently were the same in any country. They fretted, they talked, and they meddled.
“Dorning asked me to escort her to his Richmond property last week. The lady appeared to enjoy the outing.”
“She’s good at appearing. She and Dorcas are connected through charitable committees, and Dorcas called on her yesterday. A condolence call, but also… My Dorcas is serious-minded and loyal. Miss Fairchild does not suffer fools. They get on.”
Said with the economy of the articulate Scot and alluding to a universe of husbandly mystification.
“And what has this to do with me?”
“Miss Fairchild mentioned that you had been her escort. She also mentioned that she’s sacked her butler, and Dorcas reported that the lady is using the firm of Belcher and Sons for her legal business.”
“The butler needed sacking,” Fournier said. “He seems to have learned of Miss Fairchild’s irregular origins and disrespected her for it.”
“You know of those origins?”
“I suspect half of Mayfair does, thanks to her lovely eyes, and the other half will as soon as the lady puts off mourning. She’s wealthy, her firstborn son will be titled, and she is the sort of quietly magnificent woman who can make other ladies feel inadequate.”
Which—again—raised questions. Had Catherine truly been intent on poisoning somebody with the Cahors? Why? Could she have been intent on self-harm?
“In the presence of a formidable woman,” MacKay said, “some of the ladies turn up catty. My father used Belcher’s firm for his London business for a time. He no longer does.”
“They are lax?”
