The Babe and the Baron (16 page)

As host, Gareth was never still for more than a moment. He seemed to know everyone, to have a word or two for everyone. Laura saw him laugh with a farmer, pick up a fallen child, bow over a lady's hand, take a shot at the skittles, present prizes, quaff a tankard of ale, all without ever looking hurried or harassed. She wished she dared go and join the throng. Though she knew it was foolish, she felt excluded from the warmth of his hospitality.

The feeling vanished when a footman arrived with his lordship's compliments and a tray of lemonade, Welsh cakes, and Shrewsbury biscuits. In the midst of all the bustle and confusion, he had thought of her comfort.

The afternoon grew hot. More and more ladies and gentlemen retreated to the shade of the chestnuts and oaks. Laura saw that some were heading for the house, and then she noticed that Uncle Julius was often to be seen in the midst of these groups. Curiosity coincided with discomfort from the heat, from sitting too long, and from two glasses of lemonade.

“I believe I shall go and lie down for a while,” she said to Daphne. “There is no need for you to tear yourself away from the spectacle. Lady Frobisher is just over there—”

“Oh please, let me go with you.” The girl's eyes filled with alarm. “You can lean on my arm.”

So together they slowly walked towards the house. Before they had covered a third of the distance, Gareth caught up with them.

“Laura, are you unwell?”

“I am dying” —a dramatic pause— “of curiosity.”

He shook his head at her, at once exasperated and amused. “Is she not a wretched tease, Miss Overstreet?”

Daphne turned scarlet, fixed her gaze on a patch of bird's foot trefoil at her feet, and mumbled something incoherent. How Lady Frobisher had supposed she might possibly fix Gareth's interest, Laura could not imagine.

“Do you know what Uncle Julius is up to?” she asked.

“Yes, did you not hear? He is demonstrating his latest invention. So far, I gather, it is working perfectly. Shall we go to see it?”

Laura was about to accept when the lemonade made its presence urgently felt. “I must not keep you from your guests,” she said regretfully.

“They can spare me for a few minutes.”

Flattered, but beginning to be not a little desperate, she glanced back for inspiration. “No, they cannot. The choir is assembling. How shocking if you were not there to hear them sing. I wish I could stay.”

“So that's it. I beg your pardon for delaying you.” With an ill-concealed grin he turned away.

Scarlet-faced as Daphne, Laura continued towards the house at a fast walk. Someone—Dr. McAllister?—had described the difficulties of pregnancy to Gareth. How dared the odious man laugh at her, she fumed.

Another problem was breathlessness. When she had to slow her walk, she was very glad Gareth had not come with her. Far from laughing, he would have worried, though Dr. McAllister had told her it was perfectly normal, the result of the baby's pressure on her diaphragm. Lying down flat made it worse, so having relieved her bladder, she reclined on the pretty Sheraton chaise longue in her sitting room with several pillows behind her.

“Shall I ring for your abigail?” Daphne asked anxiously.

“Myfanwy is at the fête. Let her enjoy it. Why don't you go back out and see the fun?”

“Oh no, dear Lady Laura, pray don't make me! I shall just sit here, quiet as a mouse. I shan't disturb you, I promise.”

Loath as she was to further antagonize Lady Frobisher, Laura had not the heart to drive the poor child away. “Perhaps you would like to read to me?” she suggested. “Lord Wyckham bought a new novel in London which I liked so much he ordered another by the same author, which I have not yet had time to start.”

“A novel! I fear Mama does not allow me to read novels.”

Laura had no great opinion of mothers, judging by the two she knew best: her own and Maria. “I am sure no mama could object to
Mansfield Park
,” she said. “I daresay
Pride and Prejudice
will prove as innocently amusing. Do let us try it.”

With an air of recklessness, Daphne acquiesced. “ ‘It is a truth universally acknowledged,'“ she read, “ ‘that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.'“

Not Gareth, Laura thought. He had not said he was not in the market for a wife, which left room to change his mind in the future. He had said in the most resolute fashion that he would never marry. At the time she was too busy to ponder his words. Now she wondered whether his resolve stemmed from his father's heartbroken withdrawal from the world on the death of his wife. Perhaps Gareth simply did not choose to risk so great a loss.

Poor Gareth!

“Oh, how very like Mama!” cried Daphne.

“Is it? I'm sorry, I was not attending.”

“ ‘The business of her life was to get her daughters married,'“ Daphne read. “Speaking of Mrs. Bennet, you know. Was not your mama thus?”

“No.” After the triumph of catching a duke-to-be for Ceci, Lady Medway had not cared a fig whether her plain elder daughter dwindled to an old maid. Seeing Daphne's surprise at her vehemence, Laura qualified her answer. “Not really. Do go on.”

Though Daphne read well and the story was even more to Laura's taste than Mansfield Park, she drowsed off. She was distantly aware of Daphne creeping out, but she did not rouse fully until Myfanwy bustled in.

“There now, is it a good nap you've had, my lady? You said to come and dress you early, seeing it's needed to help the visiting ladies I am. You'll be sorry to have missed the fun, but there's always next year.”

Chattering and giggling about the games and shows and contests, the maid helped Laura to put on the figured silk, now let out to its full extent.

Laura made her ponderous way down to the Long Gallery. Gareth and Cornelius were there, both staring at the ceiling.

“Well, I wouldn't let him,” the vicar advised. “It may work now but you know very well there is always a, hm, snag, and by the time it becomes apparent, he has lost interest.”

“True, but I hate to disappoint the old man.” Gareth turned. “Oh, Laura, what do you think of Uncle Julius's raiser?”

“Razor? I have not seen it, and I don't know much about the subject, except that Freddie frequently nicked himself while shaving. Has Uncle Julius invented a way to avoid such hazards?”

“No, no, raiser—
r a i s e r
. A tray-raiser, he calls the contraption.”

“Tray-raiser? Oh dear, a successor to his tray-barrow?” She giggled, remembering that minor disaster. “I cannot give an opinion without seeing it. Is it in the workshop?”

“Yes, and it can wait until tomorrow,” Gareth said firmly. “It's miles away and I'm not having you...I mean, it's quite unnecessary for you to try to dash there and back before dinner.”

“I'm not very good at dashing these days,” Laura conceded.

“I shall be happy to show you in the morning.”

“For pity's sake, Gareth,” said Cornelius, “don't go and demonstrate the mechanism without Uncle Julius. You are liable to, hm, hang yourself. You must restrain him, Cousin Laura.”

“I shall try, only whenever I go into the workshop, I find my fingers twitching to fiddle with all that curious equipment.”

Gareth laughed. “It is tempting, is it not? When we were boys, Cornie and I—”

“Gareth, recall that I am now a, hm, man of the cloth. Have a care for my dignity.”

“I'll tell you tomorrow, Laura,” Gareth promised.

* * * *

The next morning several house guests departed, including—to Laura's relief—the Frobishers and Daphne Overstreet, and Sir John Pointer. What with seeing them off and Gareth being closeted for near an hour with Maria and her parents, the visit to the workshop was postponed until after luncheon.

“Is it not time for your nap?” Gareth asked when Laura reminded him of their plan.

“No, I cannot lie down so soon after eating. Do let us go, unless you have other business?”

“Nothing that cannot wait, and I need your advice.” He had the harassed look only Maria could bring to his face.

Laura had noticed at luncheon that Maria was unusually excited even for that excitable lady. “Anything I can do to help,” she assured Gareth, “you know you have only to ask.”

“I know,” he said gratefully. As they strolled along the corridor to Uncle Julius's workshop at the far end of the longest wing, he explained. “Uncle Henry is on his way to Vienna—the Allies are going to hold a Congress there to decide how to carve up Europe after Napoleon. And my aunt has invited Maria to go with them.”

“To a diplomatic congress?” Laura said in astonishment.

“I daresay there is bound to be a good deal of jollification, with most of the crowned heads of Europe present to make sure they get their piece of the pie. The thing is, Uncle Henry refuses to take the children.”

“Maria does not appear precisely distraught at the prospect of leaving them.”

“She says the poor little things will be much better off here,” Gareth said dryly.

“Of course they will.”

“You don't think they will suffer from being parted from their mama?”

“I think they will go on much better under your guidance without Maria's interference,” Laura said frankly, “but it is a great deal to ask of you.”

“Of me! Not at all. I am very fond of them, and thanks to you, Miss Coltart has them well in hand. My chief concern is for their welfare.”

“Then let Maria go.”

Gareth smiled down at her. “I knew I could count on you for a candid opinion without roundaboutation. That leaves me with but one concern.”

“Which is?”

“I cannot allow Maria to desert them unless I have your promise not to regard her responsibility for them as transferred to you. Between Miss Coltart and Renfrew, Aunt Antonia, my brothers and me, and a horde of servants, the children are not likely to suffer from neglect.” He glanced at her swollen belly. “Soon enough you will have responsibilities of your own.”

“I trust you are not predicting twins?”

“Good gad, no!” he said in horror.

Laura laughed. “Teasing aside, I expect one will be enough to keep me fully occupied for a while. But I, too, have grown very fond of George and Henry and Arabella. I shall acknowledge that they are not my responsibility, but I don't wish to be shut out of their lives.”

“As though I could! Unlike Maria, you will always be welcome to interfere in their upbringing if you see anything which needs righting. But after all, she will only be gone for a few months.” He sighed heavily.

And I shall be gone in a few months,
Laura thought. It was all too easy to forget, to let her resolve weaken, to persuade herself she could be satisfied with his friendship. Yet even now, heavy with child, she felt a tremor of desire as she laid her hand on his arm, accepting his help down three steps to a lower level. If he guessed, he would turn from her in disgust.

No, she must not stay at Llys.

They reached the workshop. Uncle Julius was there, seated at one of his workbenches. He was fast asleep, his head pillowed on his arms. Close to the back of his head, brass scales in perfect balance had one pan occupied by a browning pear-core, the other by the remains of a stale sandwich with the edges curling. On his other side, inches from his nose and reflected glinting in his spectacles, a set of shiny cogwheels clicked as they turned.

A finger to his lips, Gareth beckoned. On tiptoe, with exaggerated caution, he threaded his way between benches littered with tools and bits of metal and India rubber, and half-finished, incomprehensible machines. Larger machines stood on the floor. Unable to raise herself on tiptoes, Laura followed as quietly as she could. Despite her care she brushed against a switch. With a squeal and a rattle, something moved.

“Well, bless my soul!” Uncle Julius blinked at the mechanism before his nose. “Of course, clockwork, why didn't I think of it? Much simpler to construct than hydraulics.” He caught sight of his visitors. “Clockwork requires far less precision,” he explained kindly, “at least when it's not for telling time.”

“Good afternoon, Uncle,” said Gareth. “I've brought Cousin Laura to see your raiser. Will you demonstrate?”

Uncle Julius vaguely felt his grey-stubbled chin. “Yes, yes, I could do with a shave. No time, you see. But as for bringing a lady to watch, what odd manners you young modern people have, nevvie!”

Laura kept all but the merest tremor of laughter from her voice. “Cousin Gareth means your tray-raiser, sir. Perhaps you should call it a lifter, to avoid confusion?”

“An excellent notion, my dear young lady.” He beamed. “However, it's no use showing you that now.”

“Has the lifter broken down already, Uncle?”

“Good gracious, no. Broken? No, no. But at present it works by manpower, and as I am about to construct a clockwork mechanism, there is little point in demonstrating the primitive version.” And he went into one of his creative trances.

In a whisper, Gareth observed, “At least I shan't have to decide for a few more weeks whether to let him cut through from the Long Gallery up into the drawing room.” With a grimace, he pointed out a hole in the ceiling in one corner of the workshop, with ropes dangling from it.

“You must not ruin those beautiful rooms,” Laura whispered back. “If it seems really useful, put it in a hallway, or next to the back stairs.”

“An excellent notion,” Gareth exclaimed aloud.

Uncle Julius remained lost in his brown study, so they left him to it. As they returned along the long passage, Laura said, “I don't know what tricks you and Cousin Cornelius got up to in your youth, but if you install a mechanized tray-lifter, Henry and George are bound to try using it as a small-boy-lifter.”

“True. Or, worse, a small-girl-lifter.”

“I expect Uncle Julius can fit some kind of lock to...Oh!” She stopped and pressed her hand to her bulging abdomen.

“Kicking again?”

“Yes, one never quite grows used to it. I could swear I feel a foot under my hand.”

He reached out, then quickly drew back, flushing. “I'm sorry, I—”

“No, Gareth, it is all right.” Laura took his hand and laid it on the spot where the tiny foot was thumping at her from the inside.