A Very Scandalous Fairbanks Christmas (Those Very Bad Fairbanks #14)

Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

“ C aroline, please sit down and stop pacing—you are making me dizzy.”

Samuel Fairbanks leaned into the pianoforte, his fingers idly dancing over the keys in a soft, effortless melody. Caroline whirled to face him, her arms crossed. “I am infuriated. I must pace.”

Her brother chuckled, his fingers never missing a note. “I know,” he said. “You have been muttering about Lord Walcott for several minutes, wearing a hole into mama’s carpet.” He paused, casting an exaggerated glance downward. “Let us not hear that you ruined her Venetian carpet. It was imported, you know.”

Caroline huffed a laugh, the tension in her shoulders easing just a fraction. With a sigh, she strode toward Samuel and slid onto the bench beside him, lightly running a finger over the keys. A discordant note rang out, and Samuel winced.

“I have been trying to find a wonderful gift for Lily,” she murmured. “Fanny wrote that ever since she fell from her pony, she has not had the courage to start her lessons again. That she is scared seems to vex Lily even more. As you know, our precious hellion has always been fearless.”

Caroline sighed, her fingers tracing the ivory keys absently. “When I saw that wooden horse, I just … I just felt it would be right for her. Lily is the only person I have not found a gift for Christmas. That thief !”

Samuel bit back a chuckle, though his eyes gleamed with amusement. “Given how you told the story, the earl reached for it first.”

Caroline scoffed. “I placed my hand on it before him. And besides, he was anything but a gentleman.”

Samuel played a light trill on the pianoforte. “That much was clear. I am astonished you implied as much to him. Mother must never hear of this, or her nerves will be shattered.”

“He should have given it to me,” she grumbled. “Especially since he has no intention of gifting it to anyone. What in heaven’s name does a man like him need with a wooden horse?”

Samuel lifted his hands from the keys and turned toward her. “Well, it is in the past now. And it is not as if you can do anything about it.”

Caroline pursed her lips. “Not even … appeal to his honor?”

Samuel choked on a laugh, his eyes widening in mock horror. “Have you ever followed the rumors about Walcott?”

Caroline frowned. “I know they say he is very arrogant.”

“And proud,” Samuel added. “And wealthy and a most ruthless orator in the House of Lords. Many dread going up against him in political debates.” He leaned closer, his tone dropping conspiratorially. “Unless you plan to steal it, forget thinking about appealing to his softer side. The man has no soft side, and I do not wish for you to be entangled with him.”

Caroline stiffened, her spine snapping straight.

Samuel blinked at her sudden stillness. “Oh, no. Absolutely not. Do not even think it!”

She nodded vigorously. “ Yes .”

He paled. “No.”

She grinned. “Why did I never think of it before?”

Samuel shoved back from the pianoforte. “Caroline. Do not be nonsensical . ”

She laughed, giddy with the sheer brilliance of the idea. “I shall steal back my rocking horse.”

“It is not your horse!” Samuel practically yelled. “I forbid you from acting in this foolish manner.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “Well, I shall leave the money he paid for it so it would not be truly stealing.”

Her brother groaned and dragged a hand over his face. “You are not listening. I forbid you from acting so recklessly.”

Caroline rolled her eyes. “Have you forgotten? We are Fairbanks.”

He muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, which is precisely why I am worried. “You must promise me, Caro.”

She grinned at him, unabashed. “Perhaps it is time I lived up to the family name.”

Samuel snapped, “You already did when you slapped a lord with your parasol in Hyde Park.”

The words hung between them. Caroline stilled, her playful defiance slipping for just a moment. That awful ache pierced her heart once more, and she looked away from her brother.

“I am still astonished that I can be rebuked for fending off a libertine who tried to take advantage of me. I am even more astonished that my brother still judges me for it very much like the prigs of the ton .”

Samuel cursed under his breath and sighed. “That was unkind and wrong of me. I apologize.” He reached for her hand. “Caroline, please do not do anything reckless.”

She hesitated … then nodded. “Of course not.”

Samuel exhaled, relieved. “Good.”

Caroline rose gracefully from the bench, smoothing her hands over her dress as if brushing away the weight of her thoughts. “Now, if you will excuse me.”

Samuel watched her warily as she swept toward the staircase. “Where are you going?”

She cast him a teasing smile over her shoulder. “To not do anything reckless.”

He groaned. “Mother will happily send you to Penporth if you do not heed my words.”

Caroline turned slightly, her expression thoughtful. “I am going to Penporth, Samuel.”

He stiffened. “Why must you go against mother? We are supposed to spend two weeks in Derbyshire with the Countess—”

“The Countess of Merryvale,” she finished softly. “I am well aware of the invitation. Mother reminds me of it daily.”

She hesitated for a moment, staring at the shadows pooling along the doorway, gathering her thoughts. “I am … pleased that Lady Merryvale did not snub mama after my supposedly shocking display in Hyde Park,” she admitted. “But I wish to spend Christmas with—” She faltered, then exhaled. “With people who do not expect me to be anything other than myself. Without worrying about propriety. It is exhausting, more so than I ever imagined. I am very surprised our cousins thrive so beautifully in society.”

Samuel said nothing, but the slight crease in his brow betrayed his concern. “Mother will be sorely vexed,” he finally muttered.

Caroline swallowed against the guilt curling in her chest. “I know,” she murmured before turning and stepping away from the music room.

Her mother, Mrs. Cecily Fairbanks, had carried high hopes for her children when she brought Caroline and Samuel to London over six years ago, visiting Cranston frequently. Their cousins had found unmatched success in the marriage mart after Colin Fairbanks unexpectedly inherited an earldom. The news had sent shockwaves through the scattered branches of their family—Cornwall, Herefordshire, Northumbria—all buzzing with the implications. No one had expected such elevated connections to exist, even if the ties were distant and thrice removed.

And mama had embraced it gladly and wholeheartedly.

Herefordshire had suddenly become unsuitable, its quaint quietness a prison rather than a comfort. Lizzy and Penny were duchesses. Emma and Fanny married viscounts. Julia and Aunt Margaret were countesses. Caroline and Samuel’s mother was the daughter of a local physician, and her husband, Elliot Fairbanks, had been a hardworking merchant. No one had ever dreamed their extended family, once removed from the glittering whirl of the ton , was now expected to thrive within it.

But Caroline …

She had wanted something different living in their small village in Herefordshire. She could admit that much, even to herself. Life in Cranston had been terribly dull, though she had done her best to fill her days with reading and embroidery, both of which she genuinely loved. Through books, she explored a larger world but had been confined to a small piece with no hopes of ever leaving. When the invitation came from Ester and Ellie to visit London and stay at a townhouse rented for their family, Caroline had been thrilled at the opportunity. London had called to her like a siren’s song—the theatres, the operas, the balls and masquerades, the balloon rides and Vauxhall Gardens. The promise of adventure.

Foolishly, she had allowed herself to believe that she might also find a grand love match, just as her cousins had. Caroline’s step faltered at the bottom of the staircase. A pang, swift and aching, lodged in her chest. She had been so certain. So hopeful .

But hope could be a cruel thing.

Footsteps echoed through the hallway, and Caroline glanced up to see Mr. Fenton, their ever-dutiful butler, approaching with a stack of letters in his grasp.

She stepped forward, smoothing her skirts, anticipation curling in her chest. “Is there any letter for me, Fenton?”

“I believe so, Miss Caroline.”

She smiled and held out her hand. “Thank you.”

With practiced efficiency, she quickly shuffled through the letters, her eyes skimming for any correspondence from Penporth. Dearest Phoebe was expecting her first child, and there had been murmurs that she might not make the journey to Penporth for Christmas with her husband, the enigmatic Gabriel Stanton. The very thought of Phoebe being absent filled Caroline with a pang of disappointment.

But as she rifled through five letters, none bore the familiar scrawl of Phoebe’s hand or any of her cousins. “Perhaps no news is good,” Caroline murmured, tucking the letters into the crook of her arm.

She turned toward the library—only to pause abruptly, her breath catching in her throat as something teased her memory.

Her gaze locked onto an envelope.

The elegant handwriting on the front was unmistakable.

Henrietta Darlington .

A name that set Caroline’s teeth on edge.

A cold, creeping sense of disappointment slid through her, tightening in her chest as she stared at the letter addressed to Samuel. It had been months since Henrietta last wrote—months since Caroline had forced her brother to end that foolish liaison.

And yet here it was. A rekindled connection? A desperate plea? A new scheme?

Her stomach twisted.

After all the work she had done to curb Samuel’s reckless habits, was he now slipping back into ruin? She clenched her jaw, turned on her heel, and marched straight to the library. The door swung open with more force than necessary, drawing Samuel’s attention from the book in his lap. His brow lifted in mild curiosity as she strode toward him.

Without preamble, she held out the letter, her fingers tightening around the edges. “Are you corresponding with Miss Darlington again?”

Samuel’s expression shifted immediately, his face flushing a deep red. Guilt .

Caroline narrowed her eyes.

He hurriedly plucked the letter from her grasp, folding it in his palm as if that would erase its existence. “Where did you get this?” he asked, voice carefully neutral.

She scoffed. “Fenton handed me the letters, and I saw the name before I could ignore it. Should I have? Should I pretend you are not entertaining the woman who once bled you dry?”

Samuel scowled and shoved the letter inside his coat pocket. Caroline stared at him, arms crossed, thinking of the sheer number of times she had rescued him from his foolhardy ways since arriving in London.

Their father had left him a good inheritance—ten thousand pounds. A fortune.

And Samuel had squandered it.

First, in the gambling hells run by the Glendevons, where he had nearly ruined himself. She had prevailed upon their cousin Ester—reckless, daring, and delightfully devious—to break into the gaming den and steal back the proof of his debts before he could be sunk into further disgrace.

Instead of learning from that mistake, Samuel had gone and done something equally reckless—investing in a venture too risky for a man with no means to recover if it failed. And fail it had. One thousand pounds lost in a blink.

Then came Henrietta Darlington.

A charming beauty with soft smiles and a talent for coaxing a man into ruin.

Samuel had fallen hopelessly in love, and instead of making an honest offer, he had done something far worse—he had rented a cottage in Brighton and showered Henrietta with gifts, foolishly spending what little remained of his inheritance with no plan and no means to grow it.

Caroline had confronted him, urging him to either make an offer for Henrietta or end the affair entirely.

He had ended it. Or so she thought. She inhaled deeply, masking her disappointment behind a brittle smile. “Why is she writing to you after months of silence?”

Samuel hesitated, his jaw tightening. “That is none of your concern.”

A sharp breath left her, the sting of those words slicing far deeper than she expected. She straightened, keeping her expression carefully schooled. “Forgive me, dear brother, if I feel otherwise. Your decisions do not exist in a bubble—they have consequences. For you, me, our younger siblings, and mama.”

Samuel’s gaze flickered, but he said nothing.

Caroline’s throat tightened. He had always been too soft-hearted, too eager to believe in the best of people. But she had spent too many nights lying awake, worrying, calculating, trying to salvage the damage he had done to their family’s position.

And she would not do it again.

Not for Henrietta Darlington.

Not for any woman who saw her brother as a means to an end.

Caroline exhaled slowly, clasping her hands before her. “Just … be careful, Samuel. You have less than half of the inheritance father left you. It is still a fortune, but it will only stretch so far if you insist on living as though you are a young lord with limitless resources. If mama were to learn how poorly you have managed it, she would be devastated. And I will not go to our cousins for help again.”

He looked at her then, something like shame flickering in his gaze. And that, more than anything, made her heart ache. Without another word, she turned and left the library, the letter—and the doubts—lingering behind her like a shadow. Caroline pushed the feeling aside, lifting her chin as she climbed the stairs. The image of Lord Walcott rushed through her thoughts, and she smiled. Her heart quickened, not with longing or uncertainty now, but with exhilaration.

Samuel was grown, and Caroline was determined to stop worrying about him. For now, she had something far more pressing to attend to. Retrieving the gift she had planned for darling Lily. A slow, wicked smile curled Caroline’s lips as she opened her bedroom door. “I promise you, I shall be very careful, Samuel,” she murmured, stepping inside. “I won’t be caught.”

Oh, yes . Caroline would be taking back her wooden horse. And a certain arrogant gentleman would never see it coming.