Page 37 of Miss Desirable
“Yes,” Ann said. “Alone but complete. In that, he and Miss Fairchild seem alike. Did Fournier’s wife survive the war?”
“She did not. Nobody seems to have the particulars, though the stated cause was influenza. The situation in France was horrific before Paris fell, with the French army pillaging what little was left in the countryside to pillage. Since Waterloo, the French have again fallen into raging factions. Even the king says the royalists are more royalist than he is.”
“I’m glad we don’t live there.” Ann preceded Goddard into their sitting room. “I love the thought of sampling the cuisine, reading the cookbooks, and sitting at Carême’s figurative knee, but the rabid ideals, turning neighbor against neighbor… England flirts with upheaval on that order, but so far, we’ve learned some restraint from our neighbor’s violent example. Besides, you have had enough of mistrust and rumors.”
Goddard closed the door and didn’t bother lighting candles in the sitting room. He and Ann would undress, as they always did at the end of an evening from home, assisting each other, talking through the day’s events, and easing away from the day’s worries. If Ann wanted a nightcap, she’d enjoy it with her slippered feet up on a hassock before the fire.
“Fournier doesn’t say much about France,” Goddard replied, turning Ann by the shoulders and starting on her hooks. “But the look in his eyes… He says even less about his late wife or his family. I know he visits his château regularly and takes a personal hand in the blending of the clarets, but I suspect the memories are mostly sad.” Goddard indulged in a kiss to Ann’s nape and slipped his arms around her waist from behind.
Everything came right when he held his wife. Even when everything already was right, something inside him settled into place when Ann was in his arms.
“Fournier has a look in his eyes when he beholds Miss Fairchild, Orion.”
“Noticed that, did you? Jeanette said the same thing. Says he’s smitten.” To Goddard, Fournier appeared more to be a man longing for the unattainable.
“Jeanette has been corresponding with her in-laws.”
“My sister is a conscientious correspondent.” Orion started on Ann’s stays. “What is the news from the Dorning wives?”
“Lady Casriel was some peer’s widow before marrying the present earl. She moved in Society. Lady Susannah was raised in polite circles as well. Lady Jacaranda simply knows all and sees all, probably because her husband is a financial advisor to half the peerage, or he was. The ladies recall hearing some talk. Ye gods, to be unlaced feels divine.”
“I should unlace you more often, then.”
Ann sent him a look over her shoulder. “A devoted husband is worth more than vanilla beans.”
“Such flattery will surely cause my clothing to fall off.”
She turned and hugged him. “I don’t tell you often enough how happy I am, Orion. I love being your wife, and I love you.”
He held her and mentally blundered about for some pretty declaration, but as usual, none came to hand in any language.
“I love you too. Madly.”
They embraced for a long, sweet moment, one more step in the nightly progress toward a shared bed and the daily miracle of a shared life.
“About Miss Fairchild,” Ann said, stepping back. “She was with her parents in Rome. She would have been sixteen or seventeen.”
“A dangerous age.”
“A dangerously stupid age, you mean. I thought I was ready to cook for the king when I was seventeen, and I hadn’t even finished my articles.”
“I was ready to conquer the world at eighteen,” Orion said. “The world soon sorted me out. What of Miss Fairchild?”
“Lord Fairchild took his wife to Italy supposedly because her lungs were delicate from braving winters in Canada and Russia. He wasn’t there in any official capacity. Considering that Napoleon’s reach included Rome, his lordship ought not to have been there at all.”
“Though without much of a navy, the Corsican had to deploy resources carefully. So there was Lord Fairchild in Rome, with his supposedly ailing wife and a daughter who very likely did not care to be kicking her heels anywhere but in Mayfair.”
“His bastard daughter, with the distinctive Dorning eyes. The only way to avoid a court presentation would have been to take her away from England for a time. She and her mother did not return to London for nearly two years, though the war was ongoing, and they apparently left Rome nearly a year before Lord Fairchild did. Then it was Saint Petersburg again, the Congress of Vienna, or mourning his lordship. Miss Fairchild has not moved nearly as much in Society as the daughter of a titled family should.”
Goddard peeled out of his evening coat. “Perhaps Lady Fairchild was indiscreet again in Rome?”
“She had an understanding husband, Orion. She’d have no need to disappear to Switzerland to hide her misstep.”
Ann settled on the vanity stool and began removing jewelry. “Something happened. An illness, a broken heart, nervous exhaustion. Lord Fairchild’s various postings made the whole matter less noticeable at the time, but Miss Fairchild is an heiress now, from a titled family, and with titled connections. If somebody knows the specifics of her past, it could go hard for her.”
“The past in question might be her mother’s. Perhaps Lady Fairchild’s health, her gambling habits, her fondness for patent remedies necessitated a repairing lease on a Greek island.”
Ann regarded him in the mirror’s reflection. “You are gorgeous when you are half undressed.”
