The Babe and the Baron (2 page)

“There was no notice in the Morning Post as the Chamberlains cast him off years ago. I daresay the widow did not care to remind anyone of her existence.”

“Widow?” asked Gareth, startled. “I'd forgot he was married, I confess.”

“He ran off with Medway's eldest daughter,” Mrs. Payne reminded him with malicious pleasure. “She was ruined and the earl cut her off without a penny.”

He frowned. “Surely Lord Medway will make her some allowance now she has lost her husband.”

“Called on Lady Medway this afternoon.” Lady Frobisher savoured her triumph. “Wanted to make sure she knew about her son-in-law's demise. She made it plain the girl disgraced herself beyond redemption and need not expect anything more from her family. If you ask me, there was more to the business than a simple elopement.” She exchanged a significant glance with Mrs. Payne.

Whatever her misdeeds, Gareth could not help but pity the young woman. “Freddie is unlikely to have left her anything approaching a competence,” he said slowly. “I had best offer her a home at Llys.”

“Not respectable and not your responsibility,” his aunt pointed out.

“Freddie was my cousin, and I am head of the family.” When he spoke in that tone, his relatives knew better than to argue with him. “Have you any notion, ma'am, where I may find his widow?”

“Understand Sir John Pointer was with him when he died. He may know, if you can find the fellow. Another ne'er-do-well here-and-thereian, just like Freddie.”

“Pointer? Ah yes, another devotee of the Turf, I believe. If he's not in Town, I shall try Newmarket.”

* * * *

On the way home to Albany, to the comfortable bachelor lodgings he shared with Rupert, he told his brother of his plans.

“By Jove!” Rupert groaned. “Not another female at Llys. Isn't Maria enough for you? Not to mention her devilish brood.”

“Aunt Sybil didn't mention children, and she would have, the way she was ghoulishly gloating over the poor woman's misfortunes. With luck, Lady... Dammit, I didn't think to ask her name. With luck she will be company for Maria, take her mind off her grievances.”

“Or else they'll put their heads together to plague you.”

Another horrid possibility dawned on Gareth. He echoed Rupert's groan. “That would be better than having them come to cuffs! Still, no use repining. I cannot abandon her, and if I set her up in her own household, Maria will feel justified in demanding the same.”

“She already does,” the captain pointed out.

“In any case, you have no cause for complaint, so rarely as we see you in Shropshire.”

“Now that Boney's safely put away on Elba, I've some leave coming, which I'd intended to spend at Llys.” Rupert sounded injured. “I was going to try for the Long Vac, when Lance and Perry will be home.”

“I hope you still will.” Gareth was pleased that the swaggering young officer did not disdain the company of his younger brothers. “If you can take a day or two now, come with me to fetch her. Perhaps you will be agreeably surprised.”

“Devil take it, you're right, as usual. Perhaps she'll turn out to be the dashing widow I didn't find at Almack's.”

Gareth laughed, but warned, “None of your philandering while she's under my roof.”

The next day, they both made enquiries as to the whereabouts of Jack Pointer. As a result, Sir John himself turned up on their doorstep that very evening.

“Heard you was looking for me?”

Rupert was on duty, and Gareth was about to leave to dine with friends at his club, but he invited the chubby young baronet in and offered him a glass of wine.

“I thought I'd have to chase you to Newmarket,” he said.

“Fact is,” said Sir John gloomily, swigging the best Mountain Malaga as if it were ale, “it just ain't as much fun following the nags without Freddie. Freddie Chamberlain—friend of mine.”

“My second cousin.”

“Oh? Expect you know he kicked the bucket, then.”

“Yes, that is why I wanted to see you.”

Jack Pointer looked alarmed, as if he expected to be blamed for Freddie's unconventional demise. “I told him that lantern hook wouldn't hold him, damme if I didn't. Tried to stop him swinging from it, but to tell the truth I was a trifle bosky. We all were. Stands to reason, seeing it was a celebration for Freddie's wife.”

“A celebration?”

“She just gave Freddie the news. Can't tell you about that, promised her to keep mum, but Freddie was full of frisk, prime for a lark. Sobered us up pretty quick when he broke his neck, I can tell you. Nasty shock.”

“I'm sure it was. May I enquire why my cousin was swinging from a lantern hook?”

“Dancing on the table, happened to see the thing. On the ceiling, you know.” Jack's abbreviated style of speech reminded Gareth irresistibly of Aunt Sybil. He added earnestly, “Just a bit of fun and gig. Not an ounce of vice in Freddie.”

“I daresay. However, I am more concerned with Freddie's widow.”

“Not an ounce of vice in Mrs. Chamberlain, neither, assure you.”

“Mrs. Chamberlain? Does she not use her title?”

“The Honourable?” Jack sounded puzzled. “No, she ain't one to ride the high horse.”

“As daughter of an earl, she is entitled to call herself 'Lady'.”

“Lady Laura? Well, if that don't beat the Dutch! Freddie never let on. Lay you a monkey she didn't want it known, living in that hovel.”

Dismayed by the word 'hovel,' but relieved to reach the point at last, Gareth said, “So you know where she lives?”

“Little place between Cambridge and Newmarket. Dammit, what's its name? The tavern's the Bull and Bush.”

“And the village?” He refilled Jack's glass, envisaging days spent scouring the Cambridgeshire countryside for a tavern called the Bull and Bush.

“Dashed odd name. Damme, it'll come to me. Begins with a P. On the tip of my tongue. P-p-p... or is it M? Ha, Swaffham Bulbeck. I say, you don't mean to make trouble for the lady, do you, old fellow? Because if you do, you'll have me to deal with.” The belligerent expression sat ill on his round, easygoing face. “Friend of mine, Freddie.”

“No trouble. I wish to assist her.”

“Offered her blunt. Wouldn't take it.”

“I, however, am the head of the family,” Gareth pointed out with a degree of hauteur.

“Yes, right, so you are,” said Jack, abashed. “Well, if all's right and tight, then, I'll be off.”

* * * *

Lord Wyckham had several social engagements in the next few days, and a certain amount of political and financial business to clear up before he left London. He saw little of Rupert. The captain slept in barracks, taking extra duty for friends who would cover for him for a few days leave. After accompanying his brother into Cambridgeshire, he intended to visit a friend who had sold out after Toulouse.

“I'll have to be back in Town at the beginning of June,” he told Gareth as the brothers rode northward one bright, summery midday. “The Russian Tsar and King Frederick of Prussia are due to arrive for the victory festivities. There'll be parades, reviews, guards of honour, processions—I tell you, I'd a sight rather be fighting Boney.”

“Gammon, you revel in cutting a dash for the crowds. I daresay I ought to put in at least a brief appearance in honour of Prinny's royal guests. What a bore!”

“Gammon, you revel in ton parties.”

“I'd rather spend June in Shropshire. I'm glad you could get away now. I've been thinking over what Jack Pointer said, and I may need your support.”

“Don't tell me she is a game widow?” said Rupert, grinning.

“I'd hardly go so far. Yet I gathered from Pointer that she was present at their drunken spree in the tavern. They were all bosky, he said, and it was a celebration on her account, for something Pointer promised her not to reveal.”

“Therefore doubtless discreditable.”

“It's possible,” Gareth reluctantly agreed. “He did tell me she has 'not an ounce of vice' in her, but since he said the same of Freddie, one cannot rely upon his judgement.”

“I should say not! If ever there was a rakeshame—”

“Exactly. You see my dilemma. I cannot leave her destitute in a hovel, nor do I wish to introduce a woman of uncertain morals into Llys Manor.”

“Lord, no. Aunt Antonia would skin you alive. I'll tell you what,” he suggested with a lascivious leer, “give the jade a purse and I'll take her off your hands.”

Gareth laughed. “I'll consider your generous offer. Look, the road is clear. Let's spring 'em.”

Neck and neck, they galloped up the turnpike.

* * * *

Meeting Gareth's travelling carriage in Cambridge, they spent the night at the Eagle, then in the morning enquired the way to Swaffham Bulbeck. As the carriage rolled between the flat green fields, Gareth began to wish he had never embarked upon his errand of mercy. If Lady Laura Chamberlain were obviously a hussy he would know what to do, but suppose she had the outward appearance of a respectable female?

Scarcely half an hour later, having asked at the Bull and Bush for Mrs. Chamberlain, they pulled up before a flint and brick cottage. A pair of dormer windows peered from beneath symmetrical eyebrows of thatch. The tiny front garden, separated from the lane by a clipped beech hedge, was bright with orange pot-marigolds and purple stocks.

“No palace,” said Gareth, straightening his top hat as he descended from the carriage, “but hardly a hovel.”

Rupert followed him. “Methinks Sir John is given to exaggeration. I wonder to what extent he exaggerated the lady's virtue?”

“This is an unlikely setting for a confirmed doxy.” He opened the white-painted gate and started up the flagstone path.

“I don't know. It's a sort of midway point between a haystack and a mirrored boudoir.”

“You had best keep your mouth shut until we discover what's what,” Gareth commanded severely. He knocked on the door. The mob-capped maid who opened it had a scrubbing brush in her hand. She curtsied, her dazzled gaze fixed on the glory of Rupert's scarlet and gold, behind Gareth. “I am Lord Wyckham,” Gareth informed her. “I wish to speak with Mrs. Chamberlain. Is she at home?”

Sparing him a brief glance, she curtsied again and said in a breathless voice, “Aye, my lord, in the back garden, but you can't come through for I be a-washing the kitchen floor. D'you want me to show you round the side?” she asked hopefully, addressing Rupert.

“Thank you,” Gareth answered, amused, “I expect we can find our own way.”

“I did ought to announce you, my lord.”

“That will not be necessary.” He was glad of the opportunity to take Lady Laura unawares, before she had a chance to assume an air of propriety.

The path led them round the corner of the cottage and under an arched trellis festooned with yellow laburnam. Emerging from the arbour, Rupert at his heels, Gareth saw a girl seated on a bench in the filtered sunlight under an apple tree in bloom.

He stopped, raising his hand to silence his brother while he studied her.

Her dark head, crowned by a small, simple cap but hatless, was bent over some task in her lap, about which her hands were busy. Heavy braids, neatly pinned up, emphasized a graceful neck. She wore a plain gown of black cotton, unrelieved by any touch of white, with long sleeves and a high neck. Nothing could have been more demure.

She reached into a basket at her side, a plain gold band gleaming on her finger, and Gareth realized that she was shelling broad beans. Not the sort of chore one might expect a trollop to stoop to! His doubts withered.

“Lady Laura?”

She looked up, startled, revealing a complexion as delicately pink and white as the apple blossom. As she stared, the colour fled from her cheeks and she raised one hand to her parted lips in...dismay? Alarm? Then she shook her head, relaxing. “Oh, foolish!” Her voice was sweet and low. “How very like Freddie you are. Lord Wyckham?”

“Yes.” Disconcerted, he bowed. “How did you guess?”

“We met once.” Setting aside the colander in her lap, she rose and came to meet them. Her face was pretty, if not beautiful, with particularly fine eyes of an unusual greenish grey, but her figure was over-plump and she moved awkwardly.

“I'm sorry,” he said, contrite, as Rupert bowed over her hand, “I don't recall the occasion.”

She chuckled wryly. “There is no need to apologize. It was during my Season, and you, like every other gentleman, had eyes only for my sister. I don't regard it.”

Before Gareth, taken aback for the third time, could respond, his brother said with automatic gallantry, “Had I had the pleasure of making your acquaintance, ma'am, nothing could have driven the memory from my mind. Captain Rupert Wyckham, at your service.”

Rosy lips curved in a warm smile. “How do you do, Captain. How kind of you both to call. Are you on your way to Newmarket?”

“As a matter of fact, no,” said Gareth. “We came from Town especially to see you. I learned just the other day of Cousin Frederick's unfortunate accident. Allow me to present my sincere condolences.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Her direct gaze was a trifle skeptical. “I was under the impression that the Wyckhams, like the Chamberlains, had cast out the black sheep.”

“My aunt and uncles did their best to ignore his existence, but I...er...was able to oblige him on one or two occasions.”

“He touched me, too,” said Rupert cheerfully.

Lady Laura flinched. “I see. If you will tell me the amounts, gentlemen, I shall repay you as soon as I am able.”

“Good gad, no!”

“Jove, I should say not!” Rupert sounded as outraged as Gareth felt. As though they would dun a widow!

“You mistake us, ma'am. As head of the family, I have come to offer you a home at Llys Manor, my country seat.” His duty done, he awaited her effusive gratitude for rescuing her from a life of penury, wondering whether it would last any longer than Cousin Maria's.

“You are most generous, sir,” she said quietly, “but I fear I must refuse.”

Chapter 2

Despite the unmistakable family resemblance, Laura was beginning to see how Lord Wyckham differed from Freddie.

For a start, he was impeccably dressed in a bottle-green morning coat, starched cravat of modest height, snuff-brown waistcoat and inexpressibles. His top boots shone as Freddie's had not since the day they were bought. Altogether his unostentatious elegance made his brother appear a gaudy coxcomb, and would have made Freddie look slovenly.