The Babe and the Baron Read online

  “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 t
o 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.

  A year or two younger than his cousin, the baron had a mature dignity Freddie would probably never have attained. Freddie had failed to inherit that strong jaw, so obvious in both brothers as to be almost a caricature. The stubbornness it suggested, Laura's husband had possessed in full measure, however—at least where his own actions were concerned. She might go her own way, as long as she did not try to interfere with his. How much easier life had been since she realized that!

  She had had enough of handsome, charming, stubborn gentlemen. “No,” she reiterated, “I cannot accept your kind offer.”

  Lord Wyckham flushed. “It is not a matter of kindness or generosity, ma'am,” he said stiffly. “I should be failing in my duty if I permitted a female relative to live alone in reduced circumstances.”

  “Not at all the thing,” put in the captain.

  “Not the thing!” Laura rounded on him, shaking with sudden anger. “Sir, I have been living virtually alone for four years without Society caring a groat. I care not a groat for Society's opinion.”

  “That's not what I meant,” he protested and opened his mouth again to explain. His brother glared at him. He shrugged, saluted ironically, and sauntered away, whistling.

  “I believe Rupert meant that my failing in my duty would be not at all the thing,” Lord Wyckham said with a rueful smile that Laura mistrusted. “Indeed, it would not. Will you be seated, ma'am, while we discuss the matter?”

  Though she considered there was nothing to discuss, she was glad to return to the bench. Sinking down at one end with a sigh, she pulled the basket and colander towards her and waved an invitation to his lordship to take the other end. With the colander in her black-clad lap—the black dye had faded already, she noted—she continued to shell the beans as she spoke.

  “I am sorry if your failure to persuade me will distress you, or bring censure upon you, though that I doubt. In any case, you cannot be accused of permitting me to live alone, since you have no authority over me. Indeed, I acknowledge no one's authority.”

  “Understandable.” He nodded, and she knew he was aware that her family had rejected her as Freddie's had rejected him; that speaking of Society she thought of her mother and father, her brothers and sisters. “ ‘Permitted' was the wrong word,” he went on, “and I am more concerned for your comfort than my reputation, or yours.”

  She smiled at him, noting the sensitivity of his mouth, at odds with that determined chin. “So it is kindness that brings you, not duty.”

  “Touché.” He laughed, dark blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “I plead guilty to contradicting myself, but not to prevarication. Call it mixed motives. To which may I add that I should be very pleased to welcome you to Llys.”

  His charm strengthened Laura's resistance. “I am perfectly comfortable here,” she said, fishing a pink apple-blossom petal out of the colander of pale green beans. “My neighbours are pleasant, obliging people. The cottage is mine. My father's lawyer sends me ten pounds every quarter day, I have a little money put away, and I earn more with my sewing.”

  “Sewing!” he exclaimed, shocked. “My dear Lady Laura, that is—”

  “Not at all the thing?” She reached for another bean, hesitated as she saw a long-legged spider clambering over the heap of pods.

  Before she could steel herself to deal with the horrid creature, Lord Wyckham whipped out his handkerchief, gently caught it, and shook it out on the ground. The simple action brought tears to her eyes. How long since anyone had protected her from a spider?

  “Very well,” she said in a shaky voice. “I shall come to Llys. But I will not promise to stay, and I will not sell the cottage.”

  He had won. Did he realize he owed his victory to a spider? More likely he supposed he had made her recognize the enormity of earning her living. What a very proper, conventional gentleman he was.

  How different from Freddie!

  “Excellent,” he said matter-of-factly, standing up. “My carriage is at the door.”

  “Good gracious, sir, I cannot leave at the drop of a hat. I must pack my clothes and take leave of my friends and close up the house...” A dozen necessary tasks raced through her mind. “If you are in a hurry, I can travel by stage.”

  “I beg your pardon, I did not mean to rush you. If my coachman drives you to call on your friends, can you be ready to leave this evening, do you think? We might spend the night in Cambridge and reach London tomorrow.”

  “London? Where is Llys?”

  “In Shropshire, on the Welsh border, due east of here but it will be quicker to go back to Town and out again by the post roads than directly cross country.”

  “I...I had rather not go to London.” Papa and Mama never missed a Season in Town. She could not bear the possibility of a chance meeting.

  “As you wish,” he said, with an indifference belied by the understanding in his eyes.

  Lord Wyckham was altogether too knowing. Had he heard the full story of her elopement? Laura faced the fact that his motives might not be half so admirable as he claimed. She must be mad to go off with a stranger to an unknown destination. In a sudden panic, she clutched the bench with both hands. She was safe here...

  The colander slid from her lap, depositing half its contents on the carpet of pink and white petals. Setting his hat on the bench, the baron crouched to right the colander and scooped up the handful of beans.

  Impossible to distrust a man who gathered spilled beans and rescued one from spiders, she decided with a silent sigh.

  He bowed, smiling, as he presented the colander to her. “Your luncheon, ma'am. We shall dine in Cambridge.”

  She took the colander, and the hand he offered, and rose. He picked up the basket as if it were perfectly natural for a fashionable nobleman to carry such a prosaic object. They turned towards the cottage.

  At the open back door, the gold braid on his scarlet coat flashing in the sun, Captain Wyckham stood flirting with Sally, invisible in the kitchen. The maid's giggles proclaimed her delighted with the attentions of the dashing young officer.

  “May we interrupt?” said Lord Wyckham dryly.

  His brother grinned. “I was just telling Sally she's in for a treat, ma'am. All settled is it? Sal, my girl, take off your apron. We're off to Shropshire.”

  “Oh no, sir, I can't do that.” She appeared in the doorw
ay, looking dismayed. “If you please, madam, Pa won't never let me go to furrin parts. He took on something dreadful when I wanted to work in Cambridge.”

  “Of course, Sally, I did not expect you to go with me. I shall give you a quarter's wages and you can take care of the cottage for me while I am away.”

  Lord Wyckham frowned. “That is all very well, but you cannot travel alone with a gentleman, ma'am.”

  While his insistence upon propriety reassured her, Laura was ready to seize the excuse not to go. Captain Wyckham intervened.

  “I'll go with you, Gareth,” he offered obligingly. “Two gentlemen, both relatives, will make it quite proper, ma'am—Cousin Laura. We must be sure to call each other Cousin.”

  His brother agreed, though he seemed a trifle dubious. Perhaps he guessed at Laura's second thoughts.

  They arranged that the carriage was to take the gentlemen back to Cambridge for the day and then return to be at Laura's bidding. She went up to her chamber to begin packing.

  Through the open window came their voices as they walked around the outside of the cottage. “I expect I could hire a maid in Cambridge,” said Cousin Gareth. “You wanted to visit your friend.”

  “I can see old Bunjie any time. I don't mind coming with you. Cousin Laura's a Trojan, isn't she? Game as a pebble! I rather like her. She's no beauty, of course, but it's just as well, for Maria don't take kindly to competition in that department.”

  Laura gazed dejectedly at her meagre wardrobe of practical brown and grey cottons and worsteds, some cheaply dyed to mourning black. Not even fashionable clothes could ever turn her into a beauty. Ceci was the beauty of the family—Ceci, already the apple of her parents' eyes, who had caught the heir to a dukedom in the middle of their shared Season. If only Grandmama had not died the year before, so that Laura might have had a Season to herself instead of competing with her younger sister...

  She shook her head vigorously. No more 'if only's. In her present situation, her mediocre looks were a positive advantage, she told herself with determined cheerfulness. She had been foolish to fear that Cousin Gareth had a dishonourable motive for whisking her away to his den, even if, as she suspected, he had not guessed she was pregnant. He would have no eyes for her—doubtless the loveliest ladies in the land sought his company.