The Babe and the Baron (7 page)

“I daresay that is all the exercise Mrs. Forbes cares to take, so she cannot understand that children need more.”

“Possibly. More to the point is her fear that they might drown in the fountain—”

“In four inches of water?”

“—or break their necks climbing trees. I freely confess I have not sufficient fortitude to face Maria's hysterics should I overrule her where her darlings are concerned.”

“Her darling devils. Hmm,” said Laura, deep in thought, “I shall have to see what I can do.”

“Don't tell me I have taken a managing female into my house!”

She laughed. “I cannot be sure. I have never had much opportunity for managing people and I may well prove an utter failure.”

“I doubt it. You have by far too much force of mind to make a mull of anything you set your mind to.”

Reminded of the mull she had made of her life, she shivered. Instantly Gareth whipped off his coat and draped it across her shoulders. “You are cold,” he said, full of remorse. “The morning air is still chilly at this season. Here, come and sit on this bench in the sun while I fetch the gig.”

He set off up the steps at a run, his shoulders broad in his white shirt, close-fitting buckskins revealing slim hips and muscular thighs above his refulgent top-boots. Gareth Wyckham was no mincing Town Beau in need of a valet to release him from the imprisonment of a fashionably tight coat. She huddled his riding coat about her, breathing in his odour, mingled with the fragrance of peonies and lilies-of-the-valley.

Not that she was actually cold. In a gesture of revolt against her momentary weakness, she threw off the comforting garment, folding and smoothing it. With a deliberate effort, she turned her thoughts to the problems of Mrs. Forbes's children.

She had reached no solution when she heard the clop of hooves beyond the high ilex hedge. As she headed for the small white-painted wicket gate, Gareth appeared to open it for her.

Handing him his coat, she said, “I am not cold, I promise you. I hope your aunt did not see you without it.”

“Not unless she happened to look out of a window at the wrong moment,” he assured her, shrugging into it, “and then she might not have recognized me, at such speed did I pass. Old Daffyd was startled half out of what few wits he possesses.”

“Is that the gardener?” She accepted his help to climb into the gig, a smart dark blue vehicle picked out in black, with a dapple grey between the shafts. “I spoke to him but understood not a word of his reply.”

“Daffyd understands English but speaks only Welsh. I know enough to communicate when necessary. Drat, I had not thought. We shall have to drive as far as the lane before I can turn.” At his signal the grey started down the hill between the ilex and a hawthorn hedge bright with may blossom.

“I don't mind. It's a beautiful day for a drive. Only, I fear your surveillance of me is keeping you from your usual pursuits.”

“I have an appointment with my steward this afternoon, but no particular business until then. Rupert went out at dawn with the dogs and a gun, as if he had not enough of guns in the army. Aunt Antonia spends her mornings conferring with Mrs. Lloyd and Cook, and writing letters. Uncle Julius is still in his workshop, having slept there, I collect. I trust he remembered to eat. And Maria never appears below stairs before noon. I am quite free to keep you under surveillance for an hour or two yet.”

“Then could we possibly drive into the village?”

“Of course. Do you wish to make some purchases? I hope you will not be disappointed—there is only one small shop.”

Laura shook her head. “No, I'd just like to see the place now, but... Oh, but we cannot go. You have no hat!”

Surprised, he touched the top of his head. “So I have not. I forgot. When I saw you in the garden from my window, I did not stop for hat and gloves.”

“How fortunate that you were otherwise fully dressed!”

Gareth laughed. “I'll have you know I rose and went for a gallop while you were still abed.”

“Only because I ate breakfast in bed, to spare my maid the horrid fate of those who disobey you,” she retorted.

“I am not such a tyrant!”

“Merely a dictator. No, Myfanwy said you are the kindest of masters.” She observed his flush with amusement. “What is more, I enjoyed breakfast in bed and shall probably make a habit of it, for the present.”

“Splendid.” He fell silent as they reached the lane and he neatly executed the tricky business of turning the gig in the narrow space. As they started back towards the house, he said, “Any time you wish to go to the village, one of the grooms will drive you if I am not available. Do you ride?”

“Yes, or I was used to before my marriage. However, I doubt it would be wise at present.”

He heaved a deep sigh of relief. “Thank heaven.”

“May I ask one of the grooms to drive me into Ludlow?”

“Ludlow! That's ten miles!”

“Myfanwy tells me there is a good, cheap draper there. I must buy material and make up some gowns before I split all my seams.”

“I shall have samples brought here for you to choose from.”

“Thank you, but no tradesman would come so far for so little as I can afford to spend.”

Gareth turned to her, letting the reins slacken. The placid horse continued up the hill at its own pace as he said seriously, “Cousin, while you are under my roof, I shall pay for your clothes. You will choose the best materials for your purpose, without regard to cost, and the village seamstress shall make your gowns.” He smiled. “Maria is satisfied with her work, so she must indeed be excellent.”

Disregarding this pleasantry, Laura demurred. “I am perfectly capable of making my own dresses. I enjoy sewing.”

“I am aware of that. Please, content yourself with embroidery and such. Though I'm vague about the details, I'm sure dressmaking involves considerably more exertion.”

“I cannot afford a seamstress and I will not hang upon your sleeve.”

“Have you no regard for my reputation?” he demanded, half in earnest, half quizzing her.

“What do you mean?”

“What will the neighbours think when they call and find a relative of mine dressed in the dowdiest fashion? I shall become notorious as a pinch-penny, a veritable nip-farthing.”

“But—”

“Or else they will suppose that I am all to pieces, one step ahead of the bailiffs.”

“Surely—”

“No, I shall more likely be condemned as a clutchfist, since Maria is constant complaining that I will not set her up in her own household in Town.”

“Is she really?” Laura asked, shocked. When he nodded, she went on unwillingly, “Oh, very well, I shall let you frank me—oh dear, that sounds shockingly ungracious. Thank you, Cousin Gareth. I appreciate your generosity and I shall like to have some pretty gowns.” Even though they would all be black and big enough for an elephant, she thought with a mental grimace. On the whole, she was quite glad he had won his point this time. Gentlemen hated to lose, and she had no desire to vex him beyond bearing.

“Good, then that's settled.” He drove around the stables and pulled up at the front door, where a groom was waiting to take the gig back to the carriage house.

“But I should still like to go to Ludlow,” Laura said as Gareth handed her down, “to see the shops and the castle.”

“So you shall, in full state in the carriage with coachman and footman and your maid, as soon as you have something to wear that will not disgrace me!”

Laughing, they went into the house.

Lloyd met them in the Great Hall. “If your ladyship is not otherwise occupied,” he said, bowing, “Miss Burleigh would like to see you in her sitting room as soon as is convenient.”

Laura threw a glance of panic-stricken appeal at Gareth. He pressed her hand.

“Are you too tired to speak to Aunt Antonia now?” he asked solicitously.

She shook her head, with the greatest reluctance. If she claimed fatigue he would never let her forget it, and she had to face Miss Burleigh sooner or later.

He continued in a low voice, “My aunt is straitlaced but charitable. You need not fear her.”

It was easy for him to talk, she reflected forlornly as she trudged after Lloyd. Gareth, Baron Wyckham, had doubtless never given his aunt a moment's cause for uneasiness, never transgressed against the rules of propriety.

Would that she could say the same of herself.

Chapter 6

“What a pleasant room,” Laura exclaimed. She had unconsciously expected Miss Burleigh's private apartment to be furnished in greys and duns. The reality of flowered chintz curtains and upholstery gave the room a cheerful, airy feeling.

Miss Burleigh, seated at an inlaid drop-front desk, bowed her head in response to the compliment. “Pray be seated, Lady Laura.” She rose as Laura sat down on a low cabriole chair, and took a similar chair facing her, her thin face composed, her hands folded sedately in her lap. “I am willing to hear what you have to say.”

Laura perched on the edge of the seat, her back stiff, trying to marshal thoughts that slithered and slipped from her grasp. Only the fact that she had begged for a chance to present her story enabled her to begin.

“It all started when my grandmother died just before my first Season,” she said slowly, unfocused gaze fixed on her memories. “I was not expected to 'take,' being too thin and insufficiently docile, but I might have had a chance, that year, on my own. The next year I was brought out with my sister Cecilia, beautiful, compliant Cecilia. I might as well have been a doorpost for all the attention anyone paid me.”

“The situation is not unfamiliar to me,” said Miss Burleigh, and there was pain in her voice.

Her attention momentarily distracted from her story, Laura wondered if she, too, had been the despised, neglected sister of a Beauty. She had never married, devoting her life to that sister's children, but once she had been a young girl, with all the hopes and fears Laura remembered only too clearly.

And gradually the hopes had died. “Ceci caught a duke's heir. Once they were betrothed, Mama made no more pretence of trying to find me a husband. My so-called friends commiserated with me on having a younger sister wed first. Freddie Chamberlain was the only gentleman who still bothered to stand up with me at balls.”

“Had you no fortune to attract suitors?”

“Nothing of significance. I had five sisters and four brothers to be provided for. Freddie was no fortune-hunter, though his pockets were generally to let. He was always kind, you know, when it cost him no effort and did not interfere with his pleasures. He was handsome, and amusing, and he danced with me. I thought myself in love.”

“Inevitably,” muttered Miss Burleigh.

“I persuaded him to marry me. Papa would never have considered his suit, for he already had a reputation as a gamester and a wastrel, so we arranged to elope. I sold my pearls to pay for the journey to Gretna Green. I was so sure I could reform him once I was his wife.”

“Whoever first said that rakes reformed make the best husbands is responsible for a great deal of unhappiness. I suppose he changed his mind about marriage once you were on the road, my dear?”

“No, you must not think so very ill of him,” Laura cried. She pressed the heels of her hands to her forehead, as if to blot out what came next. “We stopped at an inn for the night. He met some friends there, and the temptation to increase my small store of money was too much for him. He won a little at cards, lost a little, won again.” She had to force her voice through her tight throat. “For near a fortnight we stayed there while he played and drank, drank and played. He never touched me. The cards and the brandy were more attractive.”

“Oh, my dear, how very dreadful! How utterly mortifying. Do not cry, pray do not cry.” Miss Burleigh jumped up and thrust a handkerchief into her hand, patted her shoulder. “It was then that Lord Medway found you?”

“Papa would not listen to a word I said.” Bitterness combatted misery. “He had brought a special license and we were married that day. Though Papa did not believe it, Freddie was perfectly willing. He was sorry for me, and after all, he had no intention of allowing the acquisition of a wife to make the least difference to his life.”

“Of course your elopement could not be hushed up, but only the families heard that you had not been married within a very few days. They were given to understand that you had voluntarily lived with Frederick as man and wife for two weeks.”

“You are not related, ma'am. Since you know, everyone must.”

“Your mama-in-law happens to be a friend of mine, as well as being my late sister's husband's cousin. We correspond frequently. Naturally she was deeply distressed by what the earl told her husband and she poured out her troubled mind in a letter, knowing I should repeat nothing. I despise gossip. Your story is safe with me.”

“Thank you, ma'am.” Laura was beginning to feel relief at having disburdened herself to a surprisingly sympathetic ear. “Not that it really matters, as I have no aspirations to reenter Society.”

“I fear your father's utterly casting you off aroused suspicions that it was not a simple elopement. Indeed,” she went on with a return to her usual austere manner, “I received an unpleasant letter the other day from Lady Frobisher, my brother-in-law's sister. Sybil Frobisher is an inveterate scandalmonger. I shall write to her today.”

“You will not tell her—”

“I shall endeavour to defend you without revealing the unhappy truth. Now, Lady Laura, if you are sufficiently composed, I shall ring for tea.”

Laura had not shed a single tear during her recital, though she had horribly mangled Miss Burleigh's tiny, lace-edged handkerchief. Smoothing it on her knee as they awaited their tea, she decided to make another to replace it, a simple task Gareth must surely approve.

Her curiosity revived now that her own ordeal was past. She wondered if Miss Burleigh knew the reason for her otherwise imperturbable nephew's excessive excitability on the subject of childbearing.

She wondered if she dared ask. Miss Burleigh had softened, revealed herself not the dragon Laura had feared, but she would have every right to condemn inquisitiveness on so personal a matter. Before Laura had decided whether to risk a carefully phrased question, a maid came in with the tea.