The Babe and the Baron (25 page)

Her vaunted independence was ashes in her mouth. If she could not bear the prospect of remaining at Llys as Gareth's pensioner, it was only because she wanted to be his wife. Yet even that would not be enough.

She wanted him to marry her because he loved her, not because Priscilla needed a father.

Chapter 19

Laura began to sort her belongings for packing. Myfanwy was dismayed.

“If it's go you must, my lady,” she said, “then I go with you.”

“I shall have no need of an abigail,” Laura explained. “The cottage is too small, and I have not means to pay, nor shall I have occasion to dress fine. If Sally cannot return to me, I must hire a new maid-of-all-work.”

“When you are gone, my lady, no need of an abigail there'll be here at the manor, look you. A housemaid I was afore you came, and a housemaid I'll be again. Scrub floors for you I will, and help care for Miss Pris, and I can cook a bit, too. 'Sides, on the journey there's help you'll be wanting.”

“Oh, Myfanwy, I should like to have you with me, but you would miss your family and your home. Cambridgeshire is very different from Shropshire.”

“Then let's give it a try, my lady,” said the maid practically. “If it's terrible homesick I am, you can look about for another girl and home I'll come. Leastways you won't be on your ownsome to start off.”

Laura gratefully accepted.

Aunt Antonia did not attempt to persuade her to change her mind, though making it plain Laura's decision distressed her. On two points, however, she was adamant: first, Laura must not leave before Gareth returned; and second, she must take the Wyckham carriage and not even contemplate travelling with the baby by stage or mail.

The first stipulation Laura acceded to with mixed feelings. Common courtesy demanded that she not sneak away like a thief in the night, though a farewell meeting promised to be as painful as never to see Gareth again.

As for the travelling carriage, which he had left behind, taking only his curricle, she had to acknowledge it would make the journey a hundred times easier. Yet to plan in Gareth's absence to make use of his equipage and his coachman seemed highly improper, not to say encroaching—especially as he disapproved of her departure, and although she knew he would offer the coach were he present.

But he was not present, so perhaps he did not care about her leaving after all.

None of this could she say to Aunt Antonia, but she did bring forward a practical objection. “I cannot afford to hire horses, ma'am, nor to stay at inns as often as would be necessary if we travelled slowly enough to take Cousin Gareth's team all the way.”

“My dear, I shall defray your expenses. Gareth, and his father before him, have always made me a generous allowance which I have had no reason to spend. I have a nice little nest egg saved up and it would give me great pleasure to open my purse to ease your way. Indeed, it will only be to anticipate the future, for one day the whole will be yours.”

“Mine!”

“I have not mentioned it before, but last time we went into Ludlow I called on my lawyer and changed my Will in your favour.”

Tears in her eyes, choked with emotion, Laura embraced the old lady.

Her last qualm about taking the carriage vanished when Cornelius came home and seconded his aunt. “I am Gareth's heir,” he pointed out, “and in his absence his, hm, representative. What is more, I'm dashed if I'd know how to face him if I let you plan to take Priscilla on the stage! Must you go, Cousin?”

“Yes,” Laura said firmly. “What news of France?”

Cornelius reported that Napoleon was gathering troops in the south. “Rupert is cock-a-hoop at getting a chance to grapple with Boney. He missed the Peninsula, you know. Gareth has been in and out of the Foreign Office. With so many of our people in Vienna, anyone with an intelligent opinion is much in demand. He has other business in Town, also, but he intends to be home before Easter.”

With everything prepared for Laura's departure, all she could do now was wait till Gareth deigned to put in an appearance.

* * * *

The news from France was bad. As soldiers flocked to Napoleon's banner, despatches flew between Paris, Vienna, and London. While the British Government urged the Congress to appoint the Duke of Wellington as supreme commander of the Allies, King Louis shivered on his shaky throne. Marshal Ney, who had promised the stout monarch to deliver Bonaparte to Paris in a cage, went over to the usurper's side.

Gareth, having used Boney's escape as an excuse to come up to Town, found himself caught up in meetings and consultations. He had neglected his Parliamentary duties for some months—since Laura's arrival at Llys, in fact—but he was known to be knowledgeable about foreign affairs. After a week in London, he was no nearer completing his personal business.

All too clearly he recalled Aunt Antonia saying Laura meant to leave Llys in time to reach her cottage the day before Good Friday. Surely she would not run off without a farewell?

He sent Cornie home with orders to delay her departure, if necessary, without appearing to command her, without annoying or distressing her.

No easy task. Gareth had to be there himself to stop her. He wrote a note to his aunt: He would reach home by Monday morning come fire, flood, or famine—and he humbly begged her forgiveness in advance for travelling on Sunday.

One last time he went to Downing Street to urge subsidies for Britain's irresolute allies, even if the money must be borrowed from Nathan Rothschild. Then he bought a box of bonbons and drove out to Chelsea to call upon Eulalie.

In spite of her name, Eulalie was as English as roast mutton, having started life as Nellie Potter of Islington. After a brief career as an opera dancer, she had gone on to become one of the most expensive Birds of Paradise on the town. Unlike so many of the sisterhood, she had salted away the wages of sin, and when her charms began to fade, she was decidedly plump in the pocket. For a while she specialized in initiating youthful gentlemen into the arts of love, more to keep her hand in, she said, than from want of the ready. Now retired and growing stout, she retained the affection of many of her initiates, including Gareth.

“Why, Lord Wyckham, what an unexpected pleasure,” she said, beaming, as her maidservant showed him into the cosy parlour of her small villa. “Bring the madeira, Dolly.”

He gave her the bonbons and bent to kiss her heavily powdered, rose-scented cheek. “Beautiful as ever, ma'am,” he declared.

She chuckled. “If I was, you'd be calling me darling, not ma'am. No need to upset the butter-boat. Here, take a glass and let's drink to old times.”

“Old times!” He sipped the wine in silence, wondering how to broach the subject on his mind.

As if she read his mind, Eulalie asked shrewdly, “Not married yet, Wyckham?”

“No.” He gave her a faint smile. “But on the verge. I wanted to consult you before I pop the question.”

“Very wise, but I can't believe you have forgot my lessons. From what I've heard there's a string of High Flyers fighting for your attentions and it ain't just because of the depth of your purse.”

Gareth grinned. “There was,” he admitted. “Not since I met the lady I wish to marry.”

“What's the trouble then, dearie? Come on, let's hear it.”

“Lalie, did you ever have a child?”

“What, me get caught with a bun in the oven? Not bloody likely, if you'll pardon the expression. I won't say there ain't some luck to it, but there's precautions a girl can take if she's got the sense the good Lord gave her.”

“That's what I want to know about,” Gareth said thankfully.

Eulalie frowned. “You don't want children?”

“I don't want my wife worn out with child-bearing.”

Her face cleared. “Aha, besotted are you? Well, I hope she deserves you, dearie. Now this is the way of it. You take a piece of sponge, about this big, and tie a thread around it. Then you soak it well in brandy.”

“Brandy? Not eye of newt and toe of frog?”

“It needn't be the best cognac,” she said tolerantly. “I've heard of using gin instead, or even vinegar, but brandy's what I always used. It's not you needs to worry about the expense, after all. You take this sponge and push it up inside as far as it will go.”

“Inside? Oh, you mean...?” Gareth's face flamed as he imagined discussing the wretched sponge with Laura rather than an old whore. He'd do it, though, bedamned if he wouldn't.

“Yes, that's what I mean,” she agreed with surprising delicacy. “Just make sure the end of the thread's dangling, though it's not the end of the world if it gets lost. When you've had your fun, you pull on the thread and out it pops.” She gave him a stern look. “And don't you go believing you can't have a bit of fun with your wife same as with the muslin company. There'd be a lot fewer girls in my old business if gentlemen wasn't to take that sort of nonsense into their heads.”

“I shan't,” he promised, his heart light as air.

“It's not infallible, mind,” she warned, “but at least she won't be confined every time you look at her. I'd like to send my compliments, but I don't suppose she'd appreciate the thought. She's a lucky lady, she is. Off you go now, my lord, and lay in a good supply of sponges!”

“Bless you, Eulalie.” Gareth kissed her again and departed with a spring in his step. Laura had let him stay at her side while her child was born: She was not likely to prove so prudish as to reject the use of the sponges.

It was too soon, however, to lay in a supply. She might reject him. He believed she was fond of him, but she was fond of his brothers and had refused one and all. It was not as if she had to marry him to remain at Llys. That day at Swaffham Bulbeck, under the apple tree, he had offered her a home not a temporary refuge.

Could she have forgotten, or misunderstood? Could she possibly imagine she had outstayed her welcome? Before he proposed he must make quite sure she realized she belonged at Llys whatever her answer. But suppose she did realize and had already changed her mind about leaving. Then, if he proposed and she chose to refuse his hand, her sense of delicacy might make her leave after all.

Devil take it, he was going to have to phrase his offer with all the diplomacy at his command!

Gareth drove back to Mayfair and stopped in Grafton Street, outside the Earl of Medway's town house. Diplomacy was going to be needed here, too, if Laura was to meet with her family on civil—if not cordial—terms. He did not know the full story of her elopement, but Aunt Antonia had accepted Laura and stigmatized Medway as an unnatural father, so obviously Laura had been as much sinned against as sinning.

Cast off by her family, tied to a heedless here-and-thereian like Cousin Freddie, the poor girl had suffered enough for her mistakes. Gareth vowed her future happiness should make up for her past suffering, if he had any say in the matter.

Knocking on the door, he intended to leave a note requesting an interview at Medway's earliest convenience. The butler said his lordship was at home, so Gareth asked to see him at once.

“On business.”

“If you would not mind waiting here for a moment, my lord.”

He was distantly acquainted with the earl. He had met him at his clubs, on social occasions, and in the House of Lords, where Medway's chief preoccupation was increasing the number of offences for which hanging was the penalty. A short, heavy-set man with a thick neck, he had an unattractive manner at once pompous and belligerent.

The countess Gareth knew chiefly from the days when he had joined the court of the ravishing Lady Cecilia—before he discovered she had not an idea in her head beyond what her mother or her governess had put there. Since those ideas revolved around her own beauty and the importance of making a splendid match, Gareth's opinion of the haughty Lady Medway was not high. Nor did he care for the heir to the earldom, an arrogant puppy the same age as Lance but with half the sense.

How had his Laura sprung from such stock? Though Gareth wished for a reconciliation for her sake, he hoped she would not be restored to the bosom of her family to such an extent that he'd have to see much of them.

“His lordship will see you now, my lord.”

The small study Gareth was shown to seemed designed to establish its owner's importance. The walls were hung with charts, tables, and maps stuck with varicoloured pins, one showing Napoleon's present progress across France. The desk was piled high with finically neat stacks of papers, many displaying the red tapes of official or legal documents.

Lord Medway rose from his seat behind the desk, but confined himself to a minimal bow rather than coming around to shake Gareth's hand. “I suppose you mean to dun me for the jade's expenses,” he said unpleasantly, leaning on the desk, his head thrust forward between his shoulders.

Gareth swallowed his anger. “If, as I must suppose, you are referring to Lady Laura,” he said coldly, “nothing could be further from my mind. As my cousin's widow she has a claim upon me, though she has never presumed upon it. On the contrary, she would be the first to deny it. She is at Llys—as I collect you have discovered—at my invitation.”

“And willing enough to grant her favours in return, no doubt.”

How could the man speak so of his own daughter? With an effort, Gareth overlooked the salacious implications. “Lady Laura is indeed a most obliging person. She is an amiable and helpful companion to my aunt, and a friend to my brothers, besides being of signal service to my cousin's young children, who live with me. We are all very fond of her, and of your granddaughter.”

“My granddaughter, hey?” There was no sign of softening in the bulldog face. “It's for the brat you've come to beg?”

Through gritted teeth, Gareth spat out, “Lord Medway, pray disabuse yourself of the fancy that I have any desire whatsoever to prey on your purse. I am come to request your permission to pay my addresses to your daughter.”

Medway stared. “No business of mine if you want to make a cake of...to wed the chit,” he amended hastily as Gareth took a step forward. “Washed my hands of her years ago. You needn't think I shall make any new settlements this time around, either. Gave her more than she deserved when she married Chamberlain, to get her off my hands.”