“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 afternoonalone with Miss Drake.
The companion.
Miss Fairchild’scompanion.
“And what of Lord Mapleton, Drake?” Miss Fairchild pinned her stare upon her maid. “What would make the perfect gift for the earl?”
Anthony couldn’t help but want to know her answer. Not that he wanted a gift from Miss Fairchild, or any gift at all, but he found himself quite delighted with Miss Drake’s creative method for gift giving.
He found himself delighted with Miss Drake, all in all.
“What three words would you use to describe his lordship?” She turned the question back at her mistress.
What words would Miss Fairchild come up with, indeed?
The lady beside him frowned. “Three words?”
