The Bargain of a Baroness

by Sande, Linda Rae

“She told you,” Laura said with a roll of her eyes.

  No wonder she and Henry had been so welcomed!

  “Apparently, working for a duke’s nephew is more lucrative than working for a viscount,” Lily said as she continued to giggle. “Or else she’s decided she would prefer answering to you rather than Lady Chamberlain.”

  The babe seemed to sense his mother’s good mood, for he babbled and then gave her a grin that displayed his two lower teeth.

  “Indeed, young man. More welcome words have not been heard in this house for a very long time,” Lily said as she turned her attention to the bundle in her arms. She lifted her gaze to her daughter and said, “Mother is over the moon about taking on a new household.”

  Laura sighed with relief before her brows furrowed. “Won’t it be awkward? Having my grandmother as my... my housekeeper?”

  Lily shook her head. “She’ll expect you to treat her as the servant she’ll be when she’s acting as housekeeper and then as a grandmother on her days off,” she explained. “But do ask her advice about menus and such. She has years of experience and loves to be needed.”

  “I intend to take advantage of it,” Laura replied. Her look of worry didn’t ease, though, when her gaze settled on the door to the study. “Do you suppose Father is being difficult?”

  Lily aimed her gaze on the same door at the same moment laughter emanated from beyond. “I rather doubt it. Your father has already seen to a respectable dowry for you, and Mother’s assessment of Mr. Simpson was quite positive. At this point, your father is probably regaling your betrothed with embarrassing stories from your youth.”

  “He wouldn’t,” Laura countered, her eyes wide with horror.

  “Either that, or they’re onto discussing business. Your father has his accounts at the Bank of England. I rather imagine the two have been acquainted in the past.” Lily smiled as she lifted the babe to her shoulder. “If he is telling stories about you, be glad of it. It will give you subjects upon which you can speak between now and the day you marry. Make for a less awkward courtship.”

  Although Laura couldn’t imagine sharing the embarrassing moments of her youth with a man who was older than she was, she understood her mother’s comment. “I think Henry wishes to marry quickly,” she whispered.

  Lily gave a shrug. “I should hope so. He’s half again as old as you, and he needs an heir.”

  “Mother,” Laura scolded, wondering how Lily had read her mind.

  The door to the study opened, and Henry and William emerged with huge grins on their faces.

  Laura was lifted from her seat, her father embracing her with a quick hug and a jerk on her shoulders. “I’ve given your man permission to take you to wife,” he said in a low voice. “I will see to the dowry on the morrow. Be sure to take every advantage,” he added with a wink. “Your mother certainly did with me.”

  “Father!” she admonished him, her face pinking with her embarrassment.

  “And do invite us to the wedding. I should like to be the one to give you away,” he went on, ignoring her scold.

  Laura’s eyes brightened with tears, “Oh, Father, of course you will.”

  She kissed him on the cheek then. The same moment the reality of what she was about to do settled over her.

  She would go with Henry to the townhouse, share a dinner with him, and then share a bed with him if that’s what he intended. As her betrothed, it was his right to claim her body. Claim her virtue. Ensure no other man could lay claim to her.

  Yet they hadn’t even known one another an entire day.

  The thought should have had Laura feeling panicked. Maybe to the point of asking that they take some time to consider what it was they were doing. Take some time to think on it.

  She would have, but once they were back in the Simpson carriage, one of Henry’s arms wrapped around her back and her head settled against his shoulder. He explained exactly what they would do before next morning’s sitting for the portrait.

  “After supper, I think it best I give you some time alone before I invade your suite, though,” he whispered, at the same moment the coach pulled up to his townhouse.

  “But, why?”

  “Give you a chance to review the house on your own. Form opinions of each of the rooms without worry of offending me,” he murmured. “Besides, you might come to your senses and decide I am not the man you should marry.” A moment later, an “oof” sounded when she pounded a fist against his chest.

  So much for having second thoughts.

  When they were once again in the townhouse and completely alone—the housemaid had retired to her chamber in the Simpson’s townhouse—Henry retrieved their food from the kitchens and they climbed up the stairs to the mistress suite.

  “May I inquire as to why you changed your mind?” Laura asked as she settled onto a rug in front of the fireplace and set out the food.

  Henry struck a fuzee and lit the bit of kindling that had been set with a few lumps of coal in the fireplace. “Changed my mind?” he countered, his brows furrowed.

  “About marrying me. About allowing me to paint,” she clarified.

  Henry sat with his legs stretched out before him and his back against the front of a chair. “I will admit I am used to getting my way,” he replied carefully. “I suppose I thought if I refused your request to continue painting, you would capitulate and still agree to be my wife.”

  “I could not,” she whispered.

  “Oh, I know that now,” he murmured. “I spent the next hour walking. Thinking. Wondering how it was I would manage to live the rest of my life without you.”

  Laura’s eyes widened. “Mother said that my father said the very same thing to her. When he was apparently too stupid to realize she wouldn’t turn him down should he propose.” She paused, her eyes wide. “Her words,” she quickly added.

  Henry chuckled. “I don’t think my sister had any sympathy for me, either,” he said. “Made me realize you hadn’t requested I change anything about myself. About what I do for my living. So I will admit she helped in changing my mind.”

  When he didn’t say anything more, Laura angled her head to one side. “And?” she prompted.

  “Your father told me the story you just told me. From his perspective.”

  Laura blinked. “How different was it from my mother’s telling?” she asked in alarm.

  Once again, Henry chuckled before he leaned over and kissed her on the corner of her mouth. “It wasn’t,” he whispered. “If anything, Mr. Overby was far more critical of himself than Lady Overby apparently let on.”

  “What did he say?”

  Henry opened the bottle of wine and poured a generous amount into the crystal glasses he had found in the study. “That he could not imagine a life without Lily,” he replied. “I have spent the past fortnight imagining you as my wife,” he whispered. “I have spent the entire day imagining how we might live our life together. What I have not been able to do is imagine a life without you.”

  Tears collected in the corners of Laura’s eyes, and she was quick to lean over and kiss him on the mouth. When she pulled away, she knew she had stunned him. “I do believe I have fallen in love with you, Henrí Simpson,” she whispered.

  Henry blinked before he swallowed. “On the one hand, I might ask what took so long, but on the other, I remember what an ass I was in the park, and I find I am grateful beyond measure you would even have such feelings for me.”

  “You merely put voice to your convictions,” Laura argued. “I could not find fault with you for that.” Her eyes drifted down to the food spread out on the carpet. “But I will admit to feeling heartbroken for the entire afternoon.”

  “And now?”

  Laura set about pulling apart the loaf of bread and breaking chunks of cheese off the wedge. “My heart is full, but I am starving,” she replied. “And I rather imagine you are as well.” She handed him a piece of cheese and then the bread before she took the glass of wine he offered. “If you’re expecti
ng to make love to me this evening, then you will need your strength.”

  “You make it sound as if I’ll have a momentous task in front of me,” he teased before he sobered.

  “Do you? I wouldn’t know, you see, since I’ve never...” She paused as her cheeks turned pink. “But Father always claims he’s famished in the mornings.”

  Henry laughed aloud before he leaned over and kissed her. “I rather imagine it will be like that for me as well.”

  Laura returned the kiss before dipping her head. “Was he generous? With my dowry?”

  “He was,” Henry replied as he nodded. “More than enough to provide a settlement for you and a half-dozen children.”

  Her eyes widening in alarm, Laura repeated, “A half-dozen?”

  Chuckling in delight, Henry helped himself to an apple and took a huge bite. When he had finished chewing, he said, “I expect we’ll both be famished every morning.”

  “If that is the case, then I shall require some clothes to wear on the morrow when I go to breakfast,” she hinted. “My valise is over at the Wellinghams.” Her brows furrowed. “They’re probably wondering where I am.”

  “I shall fetch it on your behalf with the excuse that you have moved in here,” Henry said. “I will return later tonight, after everyone has settled for the night elsewhere.”

  Before his departure, he showed her how to control the gas lighting in several rooms. They kissed in the vestibule and he took his leave with the promise he would return later that night.

  Laura didn’t expect Henry to stay away until half-past midnight. He had been worth the wait, though.

  Rather than spend the night at the Wellingham townhouse, she instead slept in the mistress’ suite in Henry’s townhouse.

  Our townhouse, he had said again when she spoke with him upon waking the next morning.

  Her entire body tingled from his touch. She was sure her lips were swollen from his kisses. His promise of what he would do to her after the ball had her wishing they could simply skip the entire affair and spend the time in his townhouse.

  At some point, he would have to tell his parents of their plan to marry. She half-expected he would do so over breakfast, but until then, she would simply revel in the memory of what he had done to her. In the words he had murmured as he pleasured her. In being held in his arms as he slept.

  By the dim light of a candle lamp, she studied his profile and memorized his features. Considered how she might paint him. How she would feature him and in what sort of setting.

  The wall above the fireplace was empty of decoration, and she now knew exactly what she wished to see there every morning.

  Chapter 34

  The Morning of a Momentous Day

  The following morning at the Simpson townhouse

  Laura stood before the Simpson family and regarded her subjects in an entirely new light. The mood in the parlor was different from the day before.

  Henry’s manner was so jovial, his mother thought him drunk. James stood especially proud, as if he knew something no one else did. Lady Simpson appeared confused, as if she suspected others knew something she did not.

  And then there was Lady Harrington.

  The baroness looked as if she had cried herself to sleep and then attempted to cover the puffiness with too much powder.

  Apparently something had gone horribly wrong with her dinner engagement the night before—and it had something to do with Cousin Graham.

  As for Laura, she could hardly hide her own smile. She was sure her face was a bright pink. Every time she made eye contact with Henry, she wanted desperately to run up to him and kiss him. No one commented on her good humor, though, as the attentions of the others had been on Lady Harrington, apparently since breakfast.

  Laura couldn’t think about all that now, though. She had a portrait to paint.

  She faced her subjects and did her best to appear professional. “If you could just remember your positions from yesterday,” she reminded them before she moved behind the canvas, made a quick note of the time, and went to work.

  The departure of Henry from the parlor at exactly nine o’clock in the morning had the Simpson women breaking the silence with hushed murmurs.

  Laura supposed it was because Henry had kissed his mother on her cheek before making his way to her, lifting one of her hands to his lips before saying his farewell.

  Earlier, he had reminded her that he would be escorting her to the Weatherstone ball. At hearing her comment that she had nothing to wear, he had said that she should pay a call at Suzanne’s and have the gown put on her husband’s account. When she had put voice to a protest, he merely reminded her that by the time the invoice made it to him, they would be wed.

  A shopping trip was apparently in her immediate future.

  Although Laura couldn’t make out what Hannah was saying to Lady Simpson, she could certainly hear James when he announced, “Well, whatever he had for breakfast, I think I should like some as well.”

  Hannah tittered, the first sign of humor she had shown since Laura had met the woman. “I ate the same foods as he did, Father, so that cannot be the reason he is in such fine feather this morning.” Her manner quickly sobered, and her forlorn expression from earlier that morning once again took its place.

  Laura had thought the baroness would be happy on this morn. Happy that Graham had made his appearance at Harrington House for dinner the night before—at the invitation of her son, no less—and made his intentions to make her his wife known to all those at the dinner table.

  Her glum expression suggested otherwise.

  “I don’t care what has him so happy, as long as it continues,” Sophia said, her gaze settling on the back of the canvas, as if she could see through the material to the woman who stood beyond.

  Sophia had already taken a look at the painting the night before, her curiosity piqued when Laura wasn’t in residence at tea time and Henry wasn’t at dinner. Her son’s visage in the painting far more pleasant than his usual scowl. Sophia was fairly sure she knew exactly what—and whom—had seen to lightening his mood.

  While examining the painting, Sophia had noted that other than a pencilled outline, nothing had been done with respect to Hannah. Aware Hannah’s countenance had been anything but happy these past couple of days, Sophia decided Laura knew better than to attempt to paint her.

  When nothing else was said, Laura bent her head from her place in front of the canvas and took a look at the remaining family, giving a start when she noted the three of them regarded her with raised eyebrows and expressions of curiosity. “Did you wish to remain in place?” she asked. “I can certainly continue my work without you should you be required elsewhere,” she added, sure her face had bloomed with color. She quickly returned to standing, well aware they could only see her shoulder and arm from their vantage.

  “I’m happy to remain in place for a time,” Sophia offered. She turned her gaze on her daughter. “But I rather imagine my daughter will wish to return to Harrington House. Her son is in residence this week.”

  At the mention of Edward, Hannah’s eyes widened. She had hardly spent any time with her son since his arrival from school, although she knew he had a busy schedule—not all of it of his own planning.

  The Earl of Mayfield seemed determined Edward be introduced to anyone involved in the earldom’s business and learn all he could as quickly as possible. If Hannah didn’t know it was because Mayfield had decided he wished to step away from his duties, she might have been concerned the earl thought his death was imminent.

  Since she hadn’t had dinner with him and the Mayfields the night before, she didn’t know if he had decided to follow his grandfather’s wishes and remain in London or if he would be returning to school the following week.

  A thought that Graham would know because he had been there had her feeling regretful.

  “Oh. Should we be including the young baron in this painting?” Laura asked, as she once again bent sideways to take in the tab
leau of the remaining Simpsons. “There is room for him between the two men,” she offered.

  Hannah and Sophia exchanged quick glances. “I think not,” Sophia murmured, apparently intending for only Hannah to hear. “There isn’t room for all my other grandchildren, and if there is the one, then all the others should be included.”

  “Then Gregory should be standing there,” Hannah reasoned as she pointed to the space behind and between her and her mother. “Even if he is a half-brother, he is still your son.”

  “A capital idea,” James said, despite the fact that Gregory wasn’t his son. “I’ll pay a call at Grandby and Son later today. Give me a chance to see Tom and ask after my investments.”

  “Really, James, it’s good of you to offer, but isn’t my oldest still in Yorkshire?” Sophia asked.

  “He’s due back any day,” Hannah offered. “At least, according to Edward. My son seems to know everyone’s whereabouts.” This last was said in a quieter voice, as if she didn’t intend for anyone to hear it.

  “If Edward has half the head for business Gregory has, the Mayfield earldom will be in good stead for the next century,” James said with pride. “He might not be my son, but I would gladly claim him as such if I were allowed.”

  “Pardon me, sir, but are you referring to Mr. Gregory Grandby?” Laura asked, once again peeking around the edge of the canvas. She was delighted to see her subjects more relaxed and contented then they had been the day before. Clearly Henry’s happy countenance had livened the mood that morning.

  “I do, indeed, Miss Overby. Are you familiar with him?”

  “Only because my father has some investments with him,” she replied. “And because Mr. Grandby is married to my mother’s cousin.”

  “Ah, yes. Christiana. For a time, she was my favorite daughter,” James teased.

  “That’s because she was his only daughter,” Hannah quickly put in, her eyes lit with humor.

  Laura caught the expression and stared at the baroness, determined to remember every detail so that she might capture her good mood in paint.