Sherri Cobb South by French Leave Page B

obliged to play nursemaid to Rachel in the interim, but he swallowed this fruitless rejoinder and cast about in his mind for a solution. He had nothing with which to bribe the man, even if he could have been sure the cleric was open to that particular form of persuasion. And then, quite unexpectedly, inspiration struck.
    “I daresay you are right,” Waverly admitted with a sigh of resignation. “Little though I like it, I must thank you for your wise counsel, Mr.—?”
    “Fairchild. Robert Fairchild, happy to be of service, my lord.”
    Waverly’s eyes opened wide. “Ah, Robert Fairchild, is it? But of course! My father mentioned you on occasion. As I recall, he once observed that nothing in your early career would have indicated a promising future as a respected churchman.” He gave the clergyman a knowing smile. “Indeed, there were one or two incidents which might have suggested quite the opposite, were there not?”
    Mr. Fairchild turned alarmingly pale, and Lord Waverly knew that he had drawn a bow at a venture and somehow managed to find a mark.
    “How my father would laugh, could he see what a paragon of virtue you have become,” continued the earl, pressing his advantage. “It is almost too good a story to keep to oneself, is it not? I wonder what the Archbishop would make of it!”
    On this faintly sinister note, he once again thanked Mr. Fairchild for his trouble, bade him good day, and started toward the door, still chuckling to himself. He had just laid his hand on the knob when Mr. Fairchild called out.
    “Wait!”
    Waverly turned back, his eyebrows arched in mild surprise. “Yes, Mr. Fairchild?”
    The clergyman swallowed convulsively. “It just occurred to me—if Miss Colling has been under your protection—” He broke off, flushing, at the unfortunate implication of his words. “—That is, if you have been responsible for Miss Ceiling’s well-being since her departure from France—what I am trying to say is, one might conceivably argue that you are her guardian, might they not?”
    “I have certainly considered myself so.”
    “That being the case, my lord, it would be ludicrous to think that you would withhold your consent to her marriage to yourself—”
    “Utterly ludicrous,” agreed the earl.
    “Yes, well, given the unusual circumstances, perhaps—”
    Lord Waverly left Doctors’ Commons within the quarter-hour, bearing a special license in his pocket.
    * * * *
    While Lord Waverly practiced blackmail upon the clergy, Sir Ethan was left to his own devices. For this circumstance he could only be thankful, as he had certain affairs of his own to attend to, the delicate nature of which made it desirable that they be settled before his wife’s arrival in Town.
    To this end, he set out from his town residence in Grosvenor Square, and hailed a hackney. He was set down a short time later in front of a neat but unpretentious dwelling in Green Street. He had never been here before, but he had heard a great deal about the house and its principal occupant.  He looked up at the first-floor windows, their curtains pulled tightly closed, and ran a finger underneath a cravat that suddenly felt too tight. Then, taking a deep breath, he mounted the stairs, raised the brass knocker mounted in the center of the paneled door, and allowed it to fall.
    A moment later the door opened to reveal a shutter-faced butler in dignified black. “Yes?” intoned this well-trained individual in disinterested accents.
    “I—I’d like to see Mrs. ‘utchins, if you please.”
    “And whom may I say is calling?”
    Sir Ethan reached for his card case, then decided it was probably wisest not to leave evidence of his visit. “Ethan Brundy— Sir Ethan Brundy,” he added a bit more confidently.   He was not entirely comfortable with that “Sir Ethan” nonsense, but it had not taken him long to discover that a title had its uses.
    Sure enough, the butler stepped back to allow him entrance, then led him to