The Babe and the Baron

by Carola Dunn

  They were discussing necklines and sleeves when Maria invaded the sewing room armed with Ackermann's plates and La Belle Assemblée. Since the fashionable styles she favoured would be unwearable after a few more weeks of pregnancy, Laura refused, as tactfully as possible, to follow her advice.

  “These must last me the next four months and be easily alterable thereafter,” she pointed out. “I cannot be sure when I shall be able to buy new gowns again.”

  “True.” Maria gave a martyred sigh. “You cannot count on Gareth's continued generosity, as I have good cause to know.”

  Though agreement would have aided her plan, Laura's tact wore thin. “How can you say such a thing, when he provides a home for you and your children?”

  “It is his duty as head of the family,” Maria snapped. “I am his first cousin, after all, not merely the widow of a second cousin.” She flounced out.

  Greek and riding lessons would have to wait until she recovered from her pique.

  Mrs. Davis emerged from the corner where she had discreetly busied herself during the altercation. A commonsensical woman, she and Laura soon came to an agreement. With Myfanwy's aid, she said, she could run up a decent dress for church on Sunday, and the first evening gown would be ready by Monday.

  On hearing this news, Gareth invited his neighbours to dinner, as promised.

  * * * *

  Laura could not help a frisson of excitement as Myfanwy fastened the buttons of the figured silk, her first pretty new gown in years. Narrow rouleaux of grey and white satin, twisted together, trimmed the hem of the full skirt; the high waist was bound with white satin ribbon laid on so as to be easy to let out; white lace edged the short sleeves and modest décolleté. She had bought a frilly cap adorned with a white rosebud, and Miss Burleigh had lent her a necklace of jet beads. She felt elegant, but even better, she felt comfortable. She had not realized just how much her old, too-tight clothes had cramped her as her body changed.

  Shyness made her hesitated on the threshold of the Long Gallery, but Gareth came to meet her. “That is worth celebrating,” he murmured with an appreciative look.

  “I'm glad you approve. I should hate to have bankrupted you for nothing.”

  She took his arm and he introduced her to those of his neighbours she had not met after church the previous day. As he had predicted, the country gentry greeted her placidly. Laura enjoyed their unpretentious cordiality, their chatter of crops and hunting, of recipes and children.

  Miss Burleigh was a coolly gracious hostess, Gareth a genial host. Uncle Julius peered into the faces of the guests, recognizing some and failing to recognize others, all of which they accepted with good-humoured patience. The Reverend Cornelius seemed to be attempting to combine the benevolence he felt proper in a clergyman with the condescension permissible in the younger son of a noble family.

  Maria, in a gown of white net over a blue satin petticoat, outshone every other woman. Pleased with herself, she relented towards Laura and deigned to say, “Your gown has come out tolerable fine, I see, considering.”

  Laura decided to tackle the subjects of tutor and ponies tomorrow, before Maria found another cause for contention.

  After dinner, when Gareth managed to tear the gentlemen from their port to join the ladies in the drawing room, the squire's wife beckoned him to her side. A stout, hearty female, known throughout two counties for the volume of her “Tally-ho!” on the hunting field, she announced, “We have been talking of the present celebrations in London, Lord Wyckham. I daresay you will be going up to Town and meeting all those kings and emperors and whatnot in person, will you not?”

  “Some of them, I expect. Since half the Ton has gone to Paris, I feel obliged to do my part to make the Allied Monarchs welcome.”

  The squire's lady remarked in ringing tones on the famous bonnets and the notorious rudeness of the Tsar's sister, the Grand Duchess of Oldenburg. Maria complained bitterly about missing the splendid entertainments. The Reverend Cornelius told Laura he thought he might, hm, dash up to Town for a few days to see what was going on. She was not attending to him.

  Gareth was going away? Her heart sank.

  She scolded herself. She should be glad to be relieved of his surveillance for a while. As yet the reason for it was still a mystery to her. Since their talk on Ash Hill, no suitable opening for asking him had presented itself.

  But he would be back. If not before, he would surely want to be at Llys when his younger brothers came home from university and school.

  That time was several weeks hence. She had to admit she was going to miss him.

  Chapter 9

  At last the last guests departed. Laura heard Gareth bid them good night at the top of the stairs, and then he returned to the drawing room. He came to sit beside her on the sofa.

  “Tired?”

  “A little. That was the first dinner party I have attended in many years.” Lady Denham's friendship had never extended to a dinner invitation. “I enjoyed it. Your neighbours are agreeable people.”

  Cornelius, who was to spend the night at the Manor, nodded complacently. “I am fortunate in my parishioners,” he said. “Gareth, I've a mind to see the celebrations. I suppose you and Rupert can squeeze me into your, hm, lodgings for a few days?”

  “Of course, old chap. Rupert can always sleep at the barracks so you shall have his chamber.”

  “But you will not make room for me,” said Maria sulkily.

  “A lady cannot possibly stay at a gentleman's lodging,” said Miss Burleigh, shocked.

  “Oh, there is always some excuse to stop me having any fun!” Maria stalked out.

  “When do you leave, Gareth?” his aunt asked. “I had not realized you meant to return to Town.”

  “I'm sorry, Aunt Antonia. To tell the truth, I had half forgotten about the wretched Monarchs. I've no great desire to go but I know I ought. I feel sure poor Prinny will need all the support he can get, for not only has the Grand Duchess taken him in dislike, the Princess of Wales is in London at present. Cornelius, can you leave tomorrow?”

  “So soon?” Laura exclaimed involuntarily.

  “Shockingly inconsiderate in me, is it not, to give my aunt so little notice? But today is the sixth already and Prinny's royal guests may reach London any day. Cornelius?”

  “Tomorrow? Yes, if you will give me until, hm, noon to make arrangements for next Sunday's service.”

  “I shall pick you up at the vicarage at noon. Aunt Antonia, the Tsar and the King of Prussia will not stay above three weeks, I believe.”

  “Then we shall look for you at the end of the month,” said Miss Burleigh, rising. She smiled at Laura. “You may be only a little tired, my dear, but I am not so young as I was. I shall retire now.”

  “So shall I,” said Laura quickly, feeling Gareth's anxious gaze upon her. On his last evening at home, she wanted to reassure him that she did not intend to run wild the moment he was out of sight.

  Cornelius declared himself ready to turn in, and they all left the drawing room. The vicar and Miss Burleigh went off in opposite directions. Laura started towards the minstrels' gallery, on the way to her chamber.

  “Wait, Cousin Laura. If you please.” Gareth laid his hand on her arm. “You will take care of yourself while I am gone?” he said urgently.

  “Of course.”

  “And you will call in Dr. McAllister if...” He paused as Lloyd and a pair of footmen went past them into the drawing room.

  “If there is the slightest need,” she promised.

  “I am glad you are on such good terms with Aunt Antonia. She will look after you. I wish I did not feel obliged to go.”

  “Believe me, I admire your devotion to duty, a concept unknown to Freddie. I daresay you will enjoy the festivities once you are there.”

  “Possibly. In leaving so soon after your arrival, I am treating you as a member of the family, not as a guest. I mean no discourtesy.”

  “I do not regard it.”

  “No,
I daresay you will be glad to see the back of me and my nagging for a while,” he said ruefully.

  “You have been amazingly restrained these last few days.” Smiling, she was about to confess that she was going to miss his nagging when Lloyd and the footmen came from the drawing room, laden with heavy trays of cups and saucers and all the tea-making apparatus.

  Following them came Uncle Julius. He squinted after them, deep in thought.

  “Wheels!” he said, the light of inspiration in his face, and trotted off towards his workshop.

  Laura laughed. “There will be a new invention awaiting your return, cousin. An urn on wheels, perhaps? I'd forgot I saw him earlier snoozing in a corner.”

  “Day and night mean nothing to Uncle Julius. Still, he will not trouble you. I cannot say the same of Maria, I fear, though I doubt she is capable of intimidating you.”

  “Far from it. I believe I have her measure. I shall tackle her tomorrow on behalf of George and Henry.”

  He smiled down at her. “I have such faith in you, cousin, that before I leave I shall instruct my head groom to keep an eye out for a pair of Welsh ponies, and while I'm in Town I shall make enquiries for a tutor.”

  “Sluggish ponies and a mild-natured tutor.”

  “Of course.” He kissed her hand and bade her goodnight.

  As always when she passed that way, Laura dawdled in the minstrels' gallery to study the painted frieze. Age-faded musicians played lutes, pipes, drums, tambourines, and other ancient instruments she could not name. Ladies in tall, pointed hats tipped with veils danced unknown dances with gentlemen in doublet and hose. Every time she looked at it she saw something new.

  Not till she reached her bedchamber did she realize she was holding to her cheek the back of her hand that Gareth had kissed. The old-fashioned courtesy had deranged her wits, she decided, and she quickly rang for Myfanwy.

  She slept late the next morning. When she went down, Gareth was closeted with his steward. She saw him only to say goodbye.

  Miss Burleigh stood with her on the front steps, sheltered from a misty rain by the porch, waving as the carriage departed down the drive. Maria was absent, either sulking because she was not going with him, or simply not yet ready to show her face to the world. After all, it still lacked ten minutes of noon.

  Laura and Miss Burleigh returned into the house. The absence of its master somehow made it feel empty—or was it Laura who felt empty?

  The best thing to fill the void, she decided, was to do her utmost to repay a part of her obligation to him. Before tackling Maria, she must visit the children and talk to their governess. The stairs up to the schoolroom would serve in place of the morning walk she had missed today.

  Miss Burleigh gave her directions, and she found her way to the wing that housed the Forbes family. Of Jacobean vintage, the staircase was much grander than the arched Tudor stone stair in the Great Hall. She slowly ascended one side of the superb double sweep of polished oak, imagining bewigged cavaliers and ladies in stiff brocades and stomachers.

  Maria's rooms, off the first landing, had once been the state apartment. No crowned head had ever rested there, Gareth had told her, but Prince Rupert had spent one night while seeking allies for his unfortunate uncle, Charles I. Maria revelled in the magnificence—without any feeling of gratitude—whereas Gareth prefered more modest quarters in the newest wing.

  Laura hurried past the door. She did not want to have to explain that she was going to see Miss Coltart. If Maria had any suspicion of her plan, the careful approach she had worked out would fail.

  The entire top floor of the wing, beneath the garrets, was given over to the Forbes children. Laura had no difficulty finding the schoolroom. The cheerful sound of a French nursery song in several different keys led her to a scarred door. She waited to the end of the last verse, knocked, and went in.

  Arabella, dressed in plain blue cambric, ran to take her hand. “Did you hear me singing, Cousin Laura? I was singing a French song. Can we sing it again, Miss Coltart, for Cousin Laura?”

  “Please, ma'am,” George and Henry seconded her.

  “May we.” The governess, rather pink in the face, stood up and curtsied. “I hope you do not think we are wasting time, my lady. I find singing vastly improves their pronunciation.”

  “That sounds quite likely. Pray do not stand for me, Miss Coltart.” To set the woman at ease, she drew out a chair and sat at the battered, ink-stained table. “If it will not interrupt your schedule, I should like to hear the children sing.”

  They lined up, the boys with hands clasped behind their backs, and a ragged chorus of Frère Jacques rang out, enthusiastic if unmusical. Laura clapped.

  A maid stuck her head around the door. “Please, miss, it's time for Miss Arabella to change her dress and go down to her mama. Oh, beg pardon, my lady. I din't see your ladyship.”

  “I won't go!” Arabella screeched. “I want to stay wiv Cousin Laura.”

  Miss Coltart threw a helpless glance at Laura. She recalled that the unfortunate governess was forbidden to punish her charges. The maid, who would doubtless suffer if Arabella did not go to Maria, came in and took the little girl by the arm.

  “I'll hold my breaff till I die!”

  “You will do nothing of the sort,” Laura snapped. “Do you really suppose that I wish to stay with a child who behaves so horridly?”

  Arabella stared at her, mouth drooping, blue eyes so like her mother's filling with tears. “I'm not horrid.”

  “No, your behaviour is horrid. However, if you continue to act so, in the end you will be a horrid girl.”

  “Arabella's horrid,” chanted George, and Henry chimed in for the repeat. “Arabella's horrid. Arabella's...”

  Their voices died away as Laura gave them a withering look. “A fine example you set your little sister,” she said scornfully. “Such gentlemanly manners. I am sure I shall never wish to visit the schoolroom again.”

  “Oh, please come again!” Arabella sped to her and hung on her arm. “I won't be horrid, promise. See, I'm going now.” She pulled the maid after her out of the room.

  George, crimson-faced, stuttered, “I b-beg your pardon, ma'am. Please, you won't tell Cousin Gareth when he comes home, will you?”

  He nudged Henry, who burst into tears. “I'm sorry,” he wailed. “I want to be a fine genkleman like Cousin Gareth.”

  They were only little boys, after all. Laura opened her arms and they ran to her for a hug.

  “Cousin Gareth is a true gentleman,” she said, “never unkind nor unmannerly. You cannot do better than to follow his example.” They both nodded solemnly. Over their heads, Laura saw that the governess's expression was grim. “I must not keep you any longer from your lessons. Miss Coltart, may I have a word with you?”

  The boys were set to copying Frère Jacques, Henry on his slate, George struggling with quill pen and ink. Miss Coltart joined Laura by one of the windows that made the room so light and airy.

  “I must beg your pardon,” Laura said ruefully, in a low voice. “I did not mean to cause such a disruption.”

  “You dealt with it very neatly, my lady.” The governess was unappeased. Laura guessed it was not the disruption that had set her on her high ropes.

  “I have the great advantages of being a novelty to them, being someone they wish to conciliate, and being able to leave when I wish. Your task is much more difficult.”

  “It is not easy,” the woman acknowledged, relaxing. “I sometimes feel I am balanced on a tightrope, with Mrs. Forbes's reproaches waiting on either side, whether I allow the children to run wild or attempt to discipline them. Not that they are bad children. I am fond of them. Only that, and Lord Wyckham's appreciation of my labours, keep me here. He is, as you said, ma'am, a true gentleman.”

  Laura glanced at the boys. George was absorbed in the task, Henry fiddling with his slate pencil and peeking at his brother's paper. She turned back to Miss Coltart and lowered her voice still more. “I came up to tell you
that Lord Wyckham is seeking a tutor, and his head groom has orders to find two ponies. Now it is up to me to persuade Mrs. Forbes to accept them.”

  The governess impulsively stuck out her hand. “Good luck to you, my lady, and my thanks.” They shook hands.

  As she returned down the stairs, Laura felt the weight of expectations on her shoulders. Never before had anyone relied upon her. She must not fail, for Miss Coltart's sake, for the children's, and for Gareth's. He obviously cared deeply for his nephews and considered himself responsible for their welfare, yet she could not blame him for dreading Maria's furies and sulks. To help him in this would be to repay a small part of what she owed him for his generosity.

  Running over her plan in her mind, polishing it, she smiled to herself. She hoped that if Gareth knew her intended method, he would laugh, not seethe with indignation.

  When she reached Maria's chamber, she knocked on the door, but as she expected, the abigail said Mrs. Forbes had gone down to luncheon. Laura found her in the breakfast room, elegant in pink India muslin with white ribbons, picking delicately at a slice of cold chicken. Miss Burleigh glanced up as Laura entered.

  “We do not usually have a collation set out when none of the boys are home,” she said dryly, “but I have been charged most particularly to see that you are well nourished. A mere snack on a tray will not do, according to my nephew.”

  Laura smiled at her. “I daresay I might order a tray laden with sufficient nourishment even for my appetite, ma'am, if this is inconvenient.”

  “Not in the least. Carrying trays all over the house gives the servants much more trouble.”

  “Just what I thought,” came Uncle Julius's voice behind Laura.

  She turned as, with a gleeful face, he pushed in his latest contraption. A framework set on two small wheels and two wheelless legs held two large trays, one above the other. Raising the legs off the floor by means of a pair of shafts sticking out at that end, he rolled the curious handcart up to the table.