Dash it all! He reached out, planted his hands on her waist and lifted her up and onto the conveyance.
He did not expect the bolt of awareness that shot through him upon touching her. Warmth. Tingling consciousness. His hands had nearly encircled her waist and she’d weighed little more than a child. But she most definitely had not affected him like a child. As he’d lifted her, nothing in the world could have prevented his gaze from focusing on her round hips and derriere. And when she steadied herself before climbing on, a whiff of sweet feminine essence threatened to hold him captive.
Time stood still until Miss Fairchild’s voice jerked him out of his stupor.
“Did you forget something, my lord?” Mild irritation laced her voice moving him to climb aboard to join them.
What on earth was the matter with him?
Miss Drake sat in the subservient position with her back to the horses and Miss Fairchild forward facing. Still dazed from the strange effect Miss Drake evoked, he swallowed hard and took his place beside his companion for the day. Then he looked anywhere but at the young woman directly in front of him.
“You are such a man, Mapleton.” A delicate fan landed upon his chest as Miss Fairchild tapped him flirtatiously. “To have put off your purchases until the last minute. Mother and I did most of our shopping in London during the little season.”
“It’s wonderful the shops have reopened already. It hasn’t been that long since the fire.” Miss Drake inserted.
“Pftt.” Miss Fairchild scoffed. “I hope you find something of value, my lord. The local goods fail miserably in comparison to what can be found in the windows alone, on Oxford Street.”
“I’m confident I’ll find something in Mr. Blanchard’s inventory to satisfy my needs.” In fact, he made it a point to support the local shops with his patronage whenever possible. Not everyone was fortunate enough to travel to London to purchase their necessities. And it was those same people who provided the comforts for the more affluent members in the area. Which was why he’d invested so heavily in rebuilding the village as quickly as possible.
Anthony tilted his head awkwardly in order to avoid losing an eye to the parasol Miss Fairchild swirled recklessly upon her shoulder.
“I’m horrible at shopping,” he admitted. “How is a gentleman to know what the ladies in his life wish for?” It was the reason he always grappled at the last moment. His mother had everything she could possibly want, except for his father, of course. An all too familiar emptiness passed through him at the thought. Daphne was even more difficult to please. She’d prefer to give all the sum of her worldly possessions to the poor. Another point of contention between her and Michael.
Anthony had purchased a walking cane for Michael as something of a joke. His brother had taken great pains to give Anthony grief last spring, when he’d met up with him at White’s with one in hand.
The cane was a beauty, with an ivory handle and a lion’s head carved into the stick. Even Michael couldn’t help but appreciate such a find.
“Jewelry is always welcome.” Miss Fairchild fluttered her lashes in his direction. “Or anything that costs a pretty penny, for that matter.”
“Duly noted.” He smiled, but her suggestion grated. It shouldn’t, as future gifts he’d procure for his wife would be paid for with her dowry, partially anyhow.
“For whom have you yet to acquire a gift, my lord?”
Miss Drake’s voice dragged his gaze to stare across the conveyance at her.
She held it with her own startlingly lovely blue eyes, making him feel as though he was caught underwater. As though the world around them ceased to exist.
“I’ve yet to find anything for my mother,” he confessed. “Or Lady Daphne, my sister.”
Tiny fingers tapped the bottom of the most darling chin. “Hmm…” She seemed to be contemplating a matter of great import. As she did so, he noticed that the tip of her pinky finger protruded from a tear in her well-worn gloves.
And then she asked, “What three words would you use to describe your sister?”
Hmm. “Intrepid. Practical. Yet…romantic.” He shrugged at the descriptors which seemingly made no sense but were most assuredly accurate.
“I think perhaps a muff. One that’s fabulously soft and ridiculously feminine. When she ventures into the cold later this winter, she’ll have something practical to wear but it shall also have the added value of reminding her of her thoughtful and caring brother.”
He did care for Daphne. Very much.
In that moment, he wondered at her extraordinary perception for the perfect gift.
“And your mother?” Miss Drake wasted no time doubting her first suggestion.
Defining his mother was a little more difficult. Descriptors he’d use now being quite different than what they would have been before his father’s passing.
“Sad.” The word left his mouth before he could stop it. “But content. And… delicate.” His mother had once been an older version of his sister. Melancholy embraced him whenever he considered the woman she had been before…
Astute eyes narrowed at him thoughtfully. They held a little sympathy but mostly the countenance of a person who listened. A person who listened and actually contemplated what he’d said—and even what he’d not said.
“A painting. Watercolors, I think. A dreamy landscape.” And then she smiled.
Again, her suggestion rattled him.
“Do me, my lord! What three words would you use to describe me? And then Charlotte can help you pick out the perfect gift!”
For some odd reason, Anthony had not had any difficulty in deciding upon a gift for Miss Fairchild. He’d bought her an ornate looking fan. Ostentatious in its design, it would capture her interest for all of one minute. He’d intended to present it to her on Christmas day, which would be socially acceptable, as she’d be his fiancé by then.
But for now, he sat gazing into Miss Drake’s azure colored eyes as though he had not a care elsewhere. Reluctantly, he shifted and turned so that he could pretend interest in the lady he intended to ask to be his wife.
What three words would best describe Miss Fairchild?
“Lovely.” The word flowed all too easily off his tongue. In truth, he found her pretty in the most abstract fashion. “Discerning.” Picky to a fault. He now realized he did not appreciate the manner in which she addressed her father’s servants. “And…” He struggled as he searched for another complimentary adjective. Think Anthony. Think.
“And?” Miss Fairchild prodded.
“And…” The abundance of lace on her dress distracted him for a moment. “Fashionable.”
She smiled in satisfaction and turned to look across the small space at Miss Drake. “You cannot speak aloud what Lord Mapleton ought to buy me, because then it would not be a surprise! No, you must assist him once we’ve arrived at the shops!” She seemed all too happy to arrange the excursion.
Alarm bells rang in Anthony’s brain. Not because of any concern that Miss Fairchild wouldn’t approve of any gift he presented to her, but because, by God, he wanted nothing more than to spend the afternoon alone with Miss Drake.
The companion.
Miss Fairchild’s companion.