The Babe and the Baron Page 7

  “I'll see he doesn't,” Rupert said firmly, “neither himself nor the toast.”

  Gareth came to sit by Laura, asking her a question about the book she had taken from the library. She was forced to admit to having slept the afternoon away. He was laughing at her when a loud “The devil!” from the fireplace turned all heads.

  Rupert was sucking his fingers.

  “I didn't do nothing,” said Henry defensively.

  Between objections to Rupert's language and Henry's grammar, Rupert managed to explain. The toast being browned on one side, he had tried to open the hook, which had not unnaturally burned his fingers.

  “Back to the drawing board,” said Uncle Julius, sighing.

  Laura ventured a suggestion. “Perhaps you could fasten the sides together, half an inch apart or so, and leave off the hook and the spikes. Then one need only turn it upside down to remove the toast.”

  “My dear...er...young lady, an excellent notion. I shall try it at once.” He took the fork from Rupert, half toasted bread and all, and trotted out.

  As he departed, Laura felt a most peculiar sensation inside her. “Oh!” she cried, clutching her middle.

  Gareth sprang to his feet. “What is it? You are ill! Rupert, ride for the doctor! Why did I not send for him when we arrived, fool that I am? Aunt, have you smelling salts? Laura, put your feet up. Lie down. Keep still. Oh God!” He swept her up in his arms and deposited her on a sofa. “Burnt feathers! Hot bricks! Brandy!”

  Chapter 7

  As Rupert pounded out of the drawing room, Laura obediently lay back against the sofa cushions. Kneeling beside her, Gareth took her hand and chafed it. He felt he had been plunged into a nightmare. Guilt and fear chased each other through his mind: Doctor McAllister should have seen her yesterday.

  He glanced round distractedly to see if Aunt Antonia had rung for the servants and found her vinaigrette.

  “I hardly think Lady Laura is in needed of stimulants,” said his aunt tartly.

  “But she...” As he spoke he realized that the little hand nestled within his was warm and alive, not cold and limp. He looked at her face. Nothing could have appeared healthier. No sign even of the pallor of fatigue he had come to recognize on the journey.

  Her cheeks bloomed with wild roses. Her lips curved in a tender, joyful smile. It was not aimed at him. Her grey-green eyes were focused inward, contemplating some private delight. She was radiant.

  How could he have judged her no beauty?

  He frowned. She had cried out and clutched her belly, yet she did not seem to be ill. Perhaps it was just one of the whims and crotchets pregnant women were known to be subject to.

  Maria disabused him of that notion. “No doubt the baby is quickening,” she advised him in a superior tone. She approached the sofa, forcing him to move. “Lady Laura, is it a sort of fluttering feeling?”

  “Yes.” Laura returned to the world. “Like butterflies, or birds' wings, or leaves in a breeze, only it's not. I cannot describe it. It took me by surprise, but it has stopped now.”

  “It will come again. Just wait till the little dear starts kicking you at two o'clock in the morning.” She sat down on the edge of the sofa and the two began comparing experiences.

  Gareth felt himself excluded. He glanced at Aunt Antonia, who had shepherded the children away from the pseudo-drama. He caught a wistful expression on her thin face. She, too, was an outsider.

  But she had avoided making a cake of herself. His gnawing anxiety had made him jump to conclusions and overreact like the veriest featherbrain. Good Lord, he had sent Rupert for the doctor! That dour Scot would either guess what had happened and think Baron Wyckham a fool, or else he'd come, and rake said baron over the coals for dragging him from his dinner for nothing.

  Now that the need for brandy and burnt feathers was past, a footman appeared at the door.

  “Run after Captain Rupert to the stables,” Gareth ordered. “Tell him he need not go after all.”

  Doubtless Rupert would also consider his eldest brother a knock-in-the-cradle. Gareth decided he did not care. Better to cry wolf than to risk Laura's life. Unlike the shepherd boy in the fable, he was in a position to make everyone do his bidding however often he proclaimed a false emergency.

  He would have Rupert stop in Ludlow when he left for Town tomorrow, to ask Dr. McAllister to call at his convenience. There were London physicians who specialized in childbirth, he thought.

  Aunt Sybil would know. He would call them in, and then there were midwives, nurses, wet-nurses for the child to be arranged. He had read reports of drunken midwives. No one without impeccable references was going to come near Llys Manor.

  He turned back to the ladies on the sofa. “How many months?” he asked awkwardly.

  “Five,” Laura said, smiling at him. Her face was still aglow.

  “Four to go,” Maria clarified, obviously pleased to be instructing an ignorant male, though he was not quite that ignorant.

  Laura laid her hand on his arm, a small, slightly work-roughened hand. That was going to end.

  “Please, Cousin Gareth, may I have some toast?”

  “Of course. I am remiss in my duties. We still have the unimproved fork.” He suspected she was humouring him, trying to take his mind off the fright she had given him. As he went to the fireplace to make toast—or rather, to supervise an insistent George—he wondered whether he owed her an explanation of his fears.

  * * * *

  “Not even the least hint of morning sickness?” asked Maria enviously.

  “Nothing,” Laura assured her.

  “I had it with all three, and I was perfectly miserable the whole time I was carrying Arabella. But then, I always had a delicate constitution. I daresay you will simply sail through the whole horrid business. What do you want, Henry? Oh, don't bow when you are holding a plate. You will spill everything on my gown, you stupid boy.”

  “No I won't, Mama. See?” The sturdy little boy gave her a glance of disgust. “Lady Laura, here's your toast. George made it but I spread the butter.”

  “Thank you, Henry. You have both done very well.”

  “Do you want some more? Are you sure not? Mama, Cousin Gareth says do you want some toast?”

  “Gracious, no. If I ate such stuff I should have to go on a diet of biscuits and soda-water, like Lord Byron. Not that it would matter if I were round as a balloon,” she added bitterly, “for there is no one here to see. Do you not wish you were in London, Lady Laura?”

  “Not at all.” Laura could think of few worse fates.

  “I suppose not. In your condition you could hardly go about. But when I think that I shall miss all the entertainments in honour of the Tsar! Of course, I have received invitations to stay with friends, but one cannot take horrid, noisy children to a friend's house.”

  “Could you not leave them here? They have a nurse and a governess, do they not?”

  “Abandon my little darlings to his tender mercies? Never! And he is too mean to take a house for me in Town. I shall positively waste away here in the wilds, I vow. Why I even bother to take pains with my dress when none see it but yokels, I cannot imagine.”

  “Even yokels must admire your taste,” said Laura tactfully, doing her best to conceal her indignation at the unwarranted insults to Gareth. “Those of your gowns that I have seen are charming.”

  “I shall be happy to advise you.” Maria was all graciousness now. “I am sure you are sadly in need of new clothes and even black can be made elegant.”

  “Cousin Gareth has offered me the carriage to go to Ludlow to the draper's.”

  “I shall go with you.” She raised her voice. “Gareth, Lady Laura and I require the carriage tomorrow to go to Ludlow.”

  “If it is quite convenient,” Laura hastened to add.

  “Perfectly.” He was apparently willing to waive his requirement that Laura have a new dress before going into town, no doubt because of Maria's unexpected and possibly short-lived amiability.


  Laura thanked him, though Maria obviously considered it an unnecessary courtesy.

  He smiled at Laura, and turned back to his nephew. “No, George, you may not make more toast. Everyone has had sufficient. Henry, pray ask Lady Laura and your mama if they would care for more tea. If so, bring their cups to Aunt Antonia and ask her politely if she would be so kind as to fill them. George, you may carry them back when they are filled. Arabella, were you not in charge of offering biscuits?”

  The children scurried to do his bidding as he came over to the sofa and pulled up a chair. Laura decided that to be abandoned to his “tender mercies” would be quite the best thing for the three. She had not realized that Arabella had been squeezed in at her mother's side throughout the discussion of the symptoms of pregnancy. Maria had done nothing to shield the child from such untimely knowledge. With luck, she would not have understood more than one word in ten.

  Rupert came in just then. “I collect you are not about to expire after all, Cousin Laura,” he said cheerfully. “I'm deuced glad to hear it.”

  She guessed from the gleam in his eye that he was about to roast his brother about the false alarm. “I suffered a sudden twinge,” she said quickly, “but I recovered in a moment. Thank you for dashing off so gallantly on my behalf.”

  “Ever at your service, cousin.” He winked and preened his mustache. “You have been eating toast, I see. I haven't had my share. George, to work!”

  “Just a moment, Rupert,” said Gareth. “The urgency has passed, but as Cousin Laura is going shopping in Ludlow tomorrow, I'd like you to stop on your way and warn Dr. McAllister to expect her.”

  Rupert assented, and made a hurried escape as Laura objected, “I don't need to see a doctor.”

  “Go to the doctor?” Maria exclaimed. “That will be a shocking waste of our time in Ludlow. Besides, it is most unsuitable for Lady Laura to call on him. Only the lower classes go to his house. He must come here.”

  “When we are going to be in Ludlow anyway?” Laura shook her head. “That would be a shocking waste of his time, which he could better use caring for his patients. I shall see him there.”

  Maria pouted. Gareth grinned, and Laura realized he had won his point without even trying: she had agreed to see the doctor.

  “Rupert shall tell the landlord at the Feathers to reserve a chamber,” he said. “We'll make the inn our headquarters and meeting place, and Dr. McAllister may call upon you there.”

  “Are you coming with us?” she asked, surprised, and added with a smile, “You mean to keep me under surveillance, I daresay, to make sure I see the doctor and buy materials appropriate to your consequence.”

  “Ludlow is our nearest market town. I always have business there,” he answered, but his eyes laughed at her.

  * * * *

  Rupert was long gone when they set out for Ludlow the next morning. Miss Burleigh had decided to go too, and her abigail, as the most senior, went with them to wait upon the ladies, much to Myfanwy's disappointment. Gareth rode alongside the carriage. Laura thought him a fine figure on his splendid dapple grey gelding, straight and tall yet relaxed in the saddle.

  She enjoyed the drive, along the pretty little River Llys, sparkling in the sun, then across hills patchworked with crops, meadows, and woods. Living on the East Anglian plain, she had almost forgotten the beauty of a rolling countryside.

  From a distance she saw Ludlow Castle, a vast stronghold looming over the Rivers Teme and Corve. Today, she would have no time to explore it, what with Maria determined upon shopping and Gareth insisting on the doctor, but she resolved to return.

  Crossing a bridge they drove up through busy streets, past a huge church which also looked worth a visit. The carriage stopped before the Feathers Inn. A footman swung down from his perch behind and helped the ladies to alight as Gareth dismounted nearby.

  Laura exclaimed in delight. The crooked façade of the Feathers was black-and-white half-timbering in elaborate patterns of crosses, circles, and diamonds. Each story leaned farther out over the street, beneath three gables. The carriage departed through an archway to one side and Laura stepped back to admire the building.

  “I thought you would like it,” said Gareth, pleased with her reaction. “It is three hundred years old, first licensed in 1521.”

  “The ceilings are horridly low,” Maria said disparagingly, “and the floors are quite uneven.”

  “It is comfortable, however,” Miss Burleigh pointed out, “and the food is excellent. What more can one ask of an inn?”

  “Let us go in.” Gareth shepherded his flock towards the entrance. “Rupert should have reserved a private parlour and a chamber for us.”

  Rupert having done his duty, the innkeeper showed them to an oak-panelled parlour. They sat down for a few minutes while the footman went to find out what time Dr. McAllister was free. He returned to announce that the physician would call on Lady Laura at two o'clock at the Feathers.

  “I shall, of course, chaperon you,” said Miss Burleigh. “Now I am going to perform a few errands and then to call on the Misses Rutledge. If I am offered refreshment, I may not join you for luncheon but I shall return by two.” She and her abigail rustled out.

  “And I shall be off about my business,” Gareth said. “Maria is known to all the shopkeepers, so just tell them to send me the bills for your purchases, Cousin Laura. Unless you wish for my company, ladies?”

  Maria strongly denied any desire to have him looking over her shoulder, so he departed. Laura and Maria, followed by the footman, set out for the shops.

  Unexpectedly, Maria concentrated on Laura's needs as they made their way from draper to haberdasher to milliner. She enjoyed giving advice, and Laura had considerable difficulty refusing to purchase various extravagant fal-lals that Maria insisted she needed.

  “Are you buying nothing for yourself?” she asked at last, to distract her companion from a glorious cottage bonnet of chipstraw with three black plumes and a white silk rose.

  “I shall return to the shops when you are seeing the doctor. Fortunately, I am not entirely dependent upon Gareth, or doubtless I should be forced to go about in rags.”

  “He has been most generous to me,” Laura said, unable to avoid a certain asperity in her tone.

  “Well, perhaps not quite rags,” Maria conceded reluctantly, “if only for his own credit. My dear, do look at that reticule. Black velvet and seed pearls, you simply must have it.”

  Despite Laura's efforts at economy, when they returned to the Feathers the footman's arms were loaded with packages. Several larger items had already been delivered by apprentices and porters. Laura gazed with dismay at the heap in the private parlour.

  “Oh dear, I did not think I had bought half so much! How shockingly extravagant.”

  Entering at that moment, Gareth heard her lament. “Have you bankrupted me?” he enquired, amused.

  “Nothing of the sort,” Maria exclaimed with vicarious indignation. “She would not buy half what she needs.”

  Grinning, he said to Laura, “I knew if Maria went with you, you would be unable to indulge to the full your taste for frugality.”

  Maria gave an unladylike snort, but whatever retort she planned was forestalled by the appearance of a pair of waiters with loaded trays.

  Though the soup was well-seasoned, the spring lamb sweet and succulent, Gareth seemed to have lost his appetite. By the time they reached the Welsh-cakes, he was showing signs of nervousness.

  “Dr. McAllister is new to the area,” he told Laura. “He took over the practice a few months ago when Dr. Powys retired. Of course, he does have an excellent reputation. He studied in Edinburgh and abroad, I understand, but he is rather young and untried.”

  She tried to joke his worry away. “Since I do not need a physician at all, I'm sure I shall be satisfied.”

  As usual, Maria had something negative to add. “If you are so uncertain of his abilities, Gareth, I wonder you should have called him to attend Henry and Ar
abella.”

  “He cured their earaches, did he not? Also, Mrs. Lloyd had him to one of the maids, and she was pleased with him. No, I am sure he is competent, Cousin Laura.” There was a world of doubt in his voice.

  Miss Burleigh returned and bore Laura upstairs to a bedchamber. She was quite glad to kick off her shoes and recline on the bed, leaning back against a pile of pillows, after tramping around the shops all morning. Her self-appointed chaperon seated herself by the diamond-paned window. Laura was asking her about the history of the town when the doctor joined them.

  A tall, thin, untidy man with melancholy eyes, his head of flaming red hair brushed the low ceiling. He ducked under a beam as he approached Laura. Noting with pity and dismay that he carried an ear trumpet, she hoped he would understand what she said. Gareth's apprehensions were beginning to make her a little nervous herself, to make her wonder whether perhaps she did need a doctor. She told herself firmly that she had always been healthy, that she had never felt better, and that childbirth was a natural and irresistible process.

  “Guid day tae ye, ma leddy.” Without further ado, Dr. McAllister questioned her about the course of her pregnancy. He made no use of his ear-trumpet and seemed to hear perfectly well. She answered readily, the answers at the tip of her tongue after discussing everything with Maria the day before.

  Several of the questions were so personal, intimate even, as to draw a gasp of protest from Miss Burleigh. However, the Scot's sober, matter-of-fact manner altered not a whit and Laura replied with a minimum of embarrassment. At the end of the interrogation, he favoured her with a restrained but approving smile.

  “Moderrn medicine preferrs information to guesswork,” he informed her. “I'll listen tae your heart the noo.” He brandished his ear-trumpet, reminding Laura of Uncle Julius and his toasting fork.

  Miss Burleigh jumped up in alarm. “What is this? I never heard of such a thing. You will do nothing of the sort, young man. Is something wrong with Lady Laura's heart?”

  “Noo, how am I tae tell, madam, if I canna listen tae it?” he asked reasonably.