Free Fairchild by Jaima Fixsen

fond of her. In reflective moments, Lady Fairchild concluded there was a certain justice to it, since her own children preferred their father. She could not deny it was just a little satisfying, that she had succeeded where he could not. He tried to hide it, but she knew he envied her rapport with Sophy.  
    She never varied her imperious manners, but she valued Sophy more than she admitted.  
    Sophy was content. It was pleasant, being in Lady Fairchild’s good graces, and her latent fears of being thrown out receded until she almost forgot them. Though she missed Henrietta and Jasper, she had Lady Fairchild’s company, the horses and Cordell. She loved the wide expanse of the Suffolk countryside. Riding was her joy; racing her secret enthusiasm. Barred from the meetings in Newmarket, she extracted detailed accounts from John, the head groom, and was as proud as he each time Cordell fielded a winner. Her days were full, starting with early morning rides and ending with neighborhood parties; her thoughts never travelled beyond the next social engagement or the next race meeting. Her seventeenth birthday came and went without anyone seeming to notice. Lady Fairchild never spoke of the past, so it was easy to distance herself from her own memories. Sophy did not pause to consider the future.  

CHAPTER EIGHT
Lady Fairchild Decides

    “Thank you, Mrs. Larkin. I shall call again next week to see how you are getting on.”  
    Mrs. Larkin, now the mother of six, curtseyed as Lady Fairchild gathered her sables and swept out of the cottage.
    Tom Coachman helped her into the carriage. Females of Lady Fairchild’s generation did not drive their own vehicles and nothing could persuade her to learn, though she had ordered Jasper to teach Henrietta and then Sophy, once it became fashionable for young ladies to drive a smart vehicle with one or two horses.  
    “Sophy?” she called. What was keeping her?
    “Coming, ma’am.” Sophy appeared at the carriage door, a large basket hung over her arm.  
    “What’s that?” Lady Fairchild asked.
    Sophy’s face split in a wide grin. “One of Dash’s puppies. Peter Larkin gave her to me, but I will let Jasper have her. I have wanted to thank him for giving me such a handsome Christmas present, and I think he will die of envy if I do not.” Even Lady Fairchild knew that the Larkin dogs were famous.  
    “Very kind of Mr. Larkin, I’m sure.” Lady Fairchild said, looking dubiously at the basket and stretching her feet to the hot brick in front of her. It was late afternoon, but the slanting winter sunlight was too weak to melt the frost from the trees. Taking a small notebook from her reticule, she drew a check mark beside the last name on her list with a silver pencil. “He kept you outside long enough.”
    “That was my fault, ma’am,” Sophy said. “It was so hard to choose just one.”
    “Drive on,” Lady Fairchild instructed, rapping on the window of the carriage. Tom Coachman gave the horses leave to start.
    Lady Fairchild was always diligent in visiting her husband’s tenants. She brought gifts of linen and tiny gowns after a birth, distributed hampers of food and shirts when there was illness or misfortune, and had personally vaccinated all the servants and laborers belonging to Cordell Hall. There were few roles she found as satisfying as that of Lady Bounty. Normally, she was gratified by the simple gifts she occasionally received in return: rose cuttings for her garden, a bottle of lineament she thrust onto her housekeeper, a clutch of chicks from one of the farmers’ prizewinning hens. This time she frowned at the basket, tapping her pencil against the list.  
    “If you do not like her, I will keep her in the stables,” Sophy said, though it was plain the idea distressed her.  
    Lady Fairchild waved a hand. “My dear, I’m sure it’s no matter if you keep her in your rooms. Heaven knows one more dog will make no difference.”  
    William knew she hated