Read Online Incognita (Fairchild Book 2) by Jaima Fixsen - Free Book Online Page A

employed by Frederick. He’d never told, but who knew what the others might do if they ever turned up? Hopefully they’d forgotten, but she could never be sure. Thankfully, it had only been Beaumaris and his misplaced apologies this time. She couldn’t afford any trouble.  
    If only she had resigned herself to her lot, accepted imprisonment in the country and behaved herself. She would have no secrets to hide then, only the continual shame of her husband’s disgust. Of course, she never would have had Henry. She couldn’t regret him. Even if she never got him back, she would still have those early moments—the elbows and knees jabbing from inside her swollen belly, a tight purple face and a feeble first cry. Warm milky skin and fuzzy down hair and a pulse beating on the soft crown of his head that she watched carefully, afraid his soul might spill out. Before tears could roll past her lashes, Anna sniffed, blinked and focused on the earnest face of Dr. Clutterbuck. No help there. Her eyes followed the arched roof heavenwards, tempting her with thoughts of lifted burdens and soaring wings, but the memory of her sins kept her mired to the earth. She was failing. She’d lost her son, and he was her heart—or what was left of it. She felt like she’d been bleeding since watching him skip up the stairs of her brother-in-law’s house.  
    No doubt she deserved it.  

CHAPTER SIX

    Alistair was not used to being dismissed by women, particularly when he was exerting himself. Despite his recent failure with Sophy, he should have managed better with this one. Something was wrong with Mrs. Morris—his behavior at the masquerade and the park couldn’t explain all of hers. No reason she should be afraid of him, and she’d looked terrified at first.  
    Ignoring the temptation to linger in the churchyard and confront her when she came out, he walked back to Mayfair, coating his boots with dust. Lacking a better plan, he decided to visit his aunt.  
    “My uncle in?” Alistair asked the butler, late in remembering that he owed an apology to Lord Fairchild. Admitting his mistake would be awkward and embarrassing, but his uncle would be relieved to know there was nothing untoward between Tom Bagshot and Anna Morris—so relieved, he probably wouldn’t give Alistair the roasting he deserved.  
    Alistair could supply the taunts he’d earned himself.  
    Jenkins shook his head. “But Lady Fairchild is at home.”  
    “Any other callers?” Alistair asked, glancing to the mirror as he removed his hat.  
    “Just yourself, sir.”  
    That was bad. If his Aunt Georgiana was still being scorned by the ladies of London, it would be a long time before they cleared this cloud of scandal.  
    “I’ll announce myself,” Alistair said, heading for the stairs.
    Before he reached the drawing room door, Lady Fairchild stepped into the hallway.
    “William? Oh, Alistair. It’s you.” Her smile was too slippery to stay on her face. “Not too wretched, I hope?”
    To anyone else, he would have given a light reply, something to do with the virtues of fortitude. It was a profound relief to give a weak smile instead. “I’m not faring too badly. It’s been days since I’ve read the papers.”
    “I as well.”
    “I hope you don’t mind me intruding today.”
    “Not at all. I’m more likely to fall upon your neck with gratitude. Too much of my own company.” She reached out and took his hand. “I was afraid you wouldn’t want to see us anymore.”
    “I’m here for a few days yet,” he said. “You won’t be able to avoid me.”
    Her eyes sharpened. “Just a few days? Have you been recalled to the peninsula?”
    “It isn’t so bad.” This was a patent lie, and one his aunt didn’t believe for a moment. She just waited in the way that adults do for children to confess the truth.
    “How can you tell?” he asked. He’d said nothing to her—or to anyone—of his reluctance to return to his regiment.  
    “I’m sure