The Babe and the Baron (13 page)

“Gareth decided to, hm, let Renfrew settle in to his duties in his absence.”

“The lily-livered poltroon!”

Cornelius gave her an engaging grin that made him look much less pompous. “That's more or less what I told him. He said you are much more capable of dealing with Maria's, hm, high flights than he will ever be.”

“That is not true,” she said, though she flushed a little at the compliment. “He is perfectly capable of dealing with her, only he prefers not to. I daresay he expects me to teach George and Henry to ride, also?”

“No, no. He specifically said that you are to have nothing to do with the riding lessons.”

“Oh, did he!”

Alarmed at her vehemence, he laid a soothing hand on her arm. “I believe he fears that you might try to lift the children into the saddle, or pick them up when they fall. My brother is very much concerned for your welfare, cousin, as are we all, of course. I beg you will not, hm, feel obliged to act contrary to his wishes. He would be, hm, devastated should you come to any harm.”

His earnestness and his care for Gareth impressed Laura. She guessed that he knew the reason for his brother's undue alarm and she nearly asked him. However, she doubted she would be able to bear to listen to him pontificating about a matter that touched Gareth so deeply.

“Very well, I shall stay away from the riding lessons,” she promised. “In any case, there are no ponies as yet.”

“True. Oh, I nearly forgot. Gareth asked me to give you this.”

Taking the folded sheet of paper, she pried open the seal. No polite greeting; no “humble and obedient servant.” In a large, neat, masculine hand was written simply: “You wretch. I daresay you consider that the end justifies the means? Thank you. W.”

She laughed. Though she had hoped he would be amused by her stratagem, a niggling doubt had remained. She folded the sheet small and tucked it into her reticule.

When she retired to bed that evening, she took out the note, smoothed it, and put it in the drawer of the little writing desk in her sitting room. Then she retrieved it. It was not the sort of thing one wanted to risk someone reading.

It would be safer in her dressing table drawer, under her chemises, a traditional place to hide love-letters—though no one could possibly mistake Gareth's brief message for a love-letter.

* * * *

Lord Wyckham returned to his ancestral home just two days later, walking unexpectedly into the breakfast room when the family was at luncheon. Laura glanced up as the door opened. Her heart gave a peculiar lurch as she saw him standing there in mud-splashed riding boots and breeches. His blond hair clung in damp tendrils to his forehead where his hat had failed to keep off the wind-blown mizzle.

His gaze went straight to Laura and his weary face relaxed into contentment. She reminded herself fiercely that it was her obvious health, not her mere presence, that pleased him.

“Forgive my dirt, ladies,” he said. “If you insist I shall change at once, but I left the inn very early this morning and I am ravenous.”

“You may join us, Gareth,” said his aunt magisterially. “What brings you home so soon?”

“London was unbearable.” Filling a plate with veal-and-ham pie and cold beef, he came to sit opposite Laura. “The Tsar and his wretched sister have been so rude to poor Prinny, even the opposition leaders are beginning to balk.”

“Why, what have they done?” asked Maria.

“Right from the first, they seem to have gone out of their way to humiliate him. The Tsar avoided the ceremonial route from Dover and went to the Pulteney Hotel, which the Grand Duchess has rented in its entirety. The Prince Regent waited for him with a royal welcome at St. James's Palace, and waited and waited. Tsar Alexander decided to stay with his sister instead of at the palace.”

Laura watched him as he continued the sorry tale of snubs and insolence, eating as he talked. Prinny was no angel, but he did not deserve such treatment, he said. His indignation on his sovereign's behalf animated his handsome face and lit a fire in the dark blue eyes.

“The Tsar was all politeness to the great Whig lords,” he went on, “attending their entertainments, which Prinny could not possibly go to in the present political climate. Prinny took his visitors to Oxford, to receive honorary degrees, on the day Lady Jersey had planned a ball. The Tsar left in the middle of dinner to drive back to Town just to dance from three till six in the morning.”

“How splendid it must have been. I wish I had been there,” Maria mourned, the point of the story lost on her.

Gareth exchanged a glance of amusement with Laura. How good it was to have him back!

And how dangerous her joy at his return! Like the veriest featherhead, she was succumbing once again to the charm of a handsome man. Gareth was utterly different from Freddie in every other respect, yet to let herself believe she was in love with him was to court pain. He was a wealthy baron of upright principles and unstained character. She was the disgraced widow of a ne'er-do-well, cast off by her family, pregnant, and without even beauty to recommend her.

To him, she could never be more than an object of charity, his duty as head of the family, and the cause of some unexpressed disturbance.

“You are not eating, Laura.”

“I was too engrossed in your tale,” she lied, and took a forkful of the pie. The crisp brown crust turned to dust and ashes in her mouth.

She had to leave, as she had originally intended, no matter what she had implied in agreeing to see Dr. McAllister regularly. If she had almost decided to stay until after her confinement, that decision was prompted by sheer cowardice. The journey back to Cambridgeshire would be difficult and uncomfortable. Gareth could not be expected to provide his luxurious carriage when he was bound to disapprove of her departure.

He would be hurt by her departure, and she could never tell him she was leaving to protect herself from him.

“And then the Princess of Wales entered her box,” Gareth continued. “Alexander bowed to her and the theatre erupted in cheers. Poor Prinny pretended... Laura, don't look so stricken, pray. I shall not tell you any more if you are going to take Prinny's woes so much to heart.”

She forced a smile. “I do think it most unfair, when he went to so much trouble to entertain them in magnificent style.”

Did she dare allow herself a week of his company? To rush off when he had just come home would be the height of discourtesy.

When they left the room after the meal, she felt him watching her. She was wearing a new gown, black muslin she had embroidered with pale grey silk thread, but she rather doubted he was admiring her handiwork.

In the fortnight he had been away, her belly had grown so much her condition must be obvious to even the most unobservant gentleman. If he had arrived in Swaffham Bulbeck now, instead of a month ago, he would have had the greatest difficulty deciding whether to make a pregnant woman travel or to leave her in her cottage.

The thought of his consternation amused her, and she turned to him with a smile when he said, “May I have a word with you, cousin?”

“Of course. I was going to walk in the Long Gallery, in view of the weather.”

“You are laughing at me, I see,” he said with resignation as they made their way thither. “I suppose you have guessed what I wish to talk about.”

“Your arrant cowardice?”

“I plead guilty. However, I assume all is well, since Maria has not yet rung a peal over me?”

“She is persuaded that she won a great victory over your parsimony.”

“Is persuaded? Say rather that you persuaded her, you odious creature. I am surprised that she is not gloating at my defeat.”

“I also persuaded her to gloat silently, lest you retaliate by cutting back your expenditure on her family in some other way.”

“What a character you give me! How goes it with young Renfrew?”

“The boys have taken to him, Miss Coltart mothers him, and Arabella has decided to marry him.”

His shout of laughter startled a footman crossing the Great Hall on some errand. “How fortunate that Arabella is five, and not fifteen,” he observed. “I hope Maria will be equally unruffled by the riding lessons. I am going to look at a couple of ponies tomorrow.”

They strolled up and down the gallery, chatting of his stay in London and her occupations during his absence. She had read and sewed, played with the children, visited tenants and villagers with Miss Burleigh, called on neighbours with Miss Burleigh and Maria.

“And of course I walked about the gardens, and in the park...” she paused, teasing, “...with Myfanwy. But I have not yet been back to Ludlow to see the castle. Miss Burleigh says you know more of the history of the town than she does. Will you go with me?” She could imagine no more delightful memory to take back with her to Swaffham Bulbeck.

His instant glance at her non-existent waist warned her of his reaction. “Do you think it wise? Will you not wait and see what Dr. Croft has to say?”

“Dr. Croft? Who is he?”

“A famous London accoucheur.” He avoided her eyes. “I offered him the use of my carriage and a holiday in the country.”

“And he is coming to Llys to examine me? Gracious heavens, I might see the point in calling in a London physician if Dr. McAllister had found aught amiss, but...” She bit her lip. Soon she must break it to him that she was going to leave, and she did not want to distress him any sooner than she must. “Oh, very well.”

“Thank you.”

“But in common courtesy, Dr. McAllister should be here, too. When will Dr. Croft arrive?”

“He was supposed to leave Town today, so he ought to arrive tomorrow. If he agrees, I shall take you to Ludlow the day after, weather permitting.”

“If!”

Gareth pretended he had not heard. “I had best go and see how things go on in the schoolroom,” he said, and made his escape.

* * * *

Dr. Croft had a smooth, soothing, gentlemanly manner. Laura instantly disliked him. He was condescending to Dr. McAllister, lecturing him like an incompetent student. Though he did agree that Laura was healthy and might go to Ludlow, he also prescribed a regimen of weekly cupping and a lowering diet.

Catching Dr. McAllister's eye, Laura saw that though he had been grimly patient until now, he was about to protest. She had no intention of submitting to either starvation or the letting of her blood, but there was no sense in setting up Dr. Croft's back. He would soon be off to Town again. She shook her head slightly at the flame-haired Scot.

Dr. Croft instructed his country colleague in the amount of blood to be let and the proper diet to be followed, then left the room.

“Cupping? I never heard such nonsense,” said Miss Burleigh roundly.

“Ower ma dead body. Whit's yon bairn tae use for bluid if we tak' its mither's?”

“I shall not allow it,” Laura assured them both, “but Cousin Gareth will expect me to obey his fine London doctor.”

“I wad nae tell his lairdship ma conclusions, and Dr. Crroft has nae the right tae do so, Laird Wyckham being but a distant rrelation by marriage.”

“I hope Dr. Croft realizes that.”

“I shall make sure he does.” Miss Burleigh swept towards the door of Laura's chamber. “Come, doctor.”

Laura heard her calling after Dr. Croft in a way she would surely have stigmatized as thoroughly unladylike in other circumstances.

* * * *

Gareth drove Laura in the gig to Ludlow. The sun shone and the air was full of the fragrance of dog-roses and the humming of bees. He had been forced to agree that the day was much too fine to be shut up in a stuffy travelling carriage.

He was still a trifle suspicious of her capitulation over seeing Dr. Croft. Nor did a certain air of conspiracy between her and his aunt escape him. Every now and then, he caught Laura's wistful gaze upon him and wondered what was afoot. He was not going to let her out of his sight today, except of course for necessary feminine occasions, during which, he was sure, he would bite his nails to the quick.

Glancing at her happy face, he dismissed his misgivings. Soon—surely!—she must agree to stop gadding about the countryside. Today she should have a day to remember.

Leaving the gig in the Feathers' yard, they went into the inn. The landlord welcomed them with promise of a private parlour and a fine luncheon, and a chamber if her ladyship wished to rest later. Gareth said they would eat in the coffee room as they had brought no chaperon for Lady Laura. He trusted mine host for the menu, except that there must be plenty of cherries and strawberries for dessert.

“You have noticed my weakness,” Laura said laughing as they walked up to the castle, her little hand on his arm. “I cannot resist summer fruits.”

“Raspberries and currants still to come, and even peaches, nectarines, and apricots. They do well at the Manor in a good summer, espaliered on a south-facing wall.”

A fleeting sadness crossed her face. “I have not tasted a peach this age. Gracious, I believe the church tower is even taller than the castle. I should like to go inside.”

“We can see it this afternoon, when you have rested,” he said, and at once wished he had not. He did not want to quarrel with her on this day of pleasure.

“If I need to rest,” she murmured, but he refused to be provoked.

Laura was fascinated by the huge castle, with its massive keep, towered walls, circular chapel, and roofless Great Hall, where Milton's masque Comus was first performed. Gareth had read up the history in preparation and entertained her with stories of Norman barons and marauding Welsh, Edward IV, Catherine of Aragon and her first husband, Prince Arthur.

“He died here at sixteen, a year after their marriage, leaving both widow and throne to his younger brother, Henry VIII.”

“Knowing Henry's subsequent history, one wonders what Arthur died of,” Laura observed drily. “Look, there are steps up the wall. Let us walk around the top. The view must be superb.”

“No!” His heart leaped into his throat and tried to strangle him. Though he knew all too well her reaction to a direct order, his tongue had a life of its own. “You must not go up there.”

She stopped, her hand tightening on his arm, and turned to face him. Beneath the black brim of her bonnet, garlanded with funereal black roses, serious grey-green eyes searched his. “Explain,” she said.