Fran Baker

by Miss Roseand the Rakehell

  Lady Minerva was in error. But as each day passed, the pair came to easier terms. Stratford set out to be as charming as only he could be, encouraging Helen to tell him all about her life at Willowley, her childhood and her family. If, in the course of these discussions, the name of Miss Rose Lawrence occurred rather more frequently than did, say, those of Griffen or Esmond or Sarah, it might be thought to result more from Helen’s natural adoration of her eldest sister than from any skillful questioning of Stratford’s.

  The object of these lengthy discourses found it difficult to return to her old life as it had been before a certain lord made her realize what happiness she had missed. Though her one sustaining gratification was the knowledge that she was loved as deeply, as totally, in return, Rose’s pleasure in the little things no longer brought her the peace of previous years. The way Mrs. Mosley could fill the cottage with the warm aroma of fresh-baked bread or the way Georgie chased after kittens in the stable did no more than trace a faint smile upon her lips. Her mother’s inventiveness wither continual illnesses no longer amused her. The ease with which she had once brushed aside the more acid comments of her sister-in-law deserted her. Her appetite dwindled and she lost weight.

  “My dear, you’re looking quite terrible!” Susanna exclaimed one day late in the month. “I am certain you are unwell. I shall ask Dr. Newlyn to mix one of his restorative powders for you.”

  “It’s not necessary, Mama,” Rose replied listlessly. “I’m fine, truly.”

  “You do not look it! You are peaked and thin. I am reminded of when I was suffering from the stone. Does your stomach ache, dear. I have some medicinal potion here—”

  “Mama, please!” her daughter protested.

  “You cannot deny, Rose dear, that you have lost what looks you had,” Nell interjected stringently. “Perhaps, Mother Lawrence, it is Rose’s lack of beaux that causes this decline. Mr. Bickford has ceased to call upon her, you know.”

  “Do not be snide, Nell,” Susanna chided firmly. “I am certain Rose’s diet is at fault and shall have Dr. Newlyn in to examine her. Perhaps she should be bled, though in general I am not in favor of it. It is not ladylike to be bled.”

  Rose made good her escape while her mother was rummaging through the vast selection of vials, bottles and pillboxes in her ornately carved medicine chest.

  It may have been her mother’s determination to have her doctored or it may have been the earnestness of her sister’s supplication, but whatever the reason, a day later Rose accepted a fervent appeal from Helen to return to London for the purpose of accompanying her to meet the Earl of Hallbrook.

  Nell seemed to feel that she and Griffen would provide better chaperonage for young Helen, but her husband unexpectedly put an end to this line of thinking, saying he had no wish to go careering off to some outlandish part of the country when he’d things of more import to do at home.

  Thus, Rose once again stepped into Lord Stratford’s carriage which had been thoughtfully sent for her and was on her way to London. Sitting on the luxurious cushions of the well-sprung coach, Rose had plenty of time to contemplate the nature of her sickness—and the folly of her action. The hours and scenery rolled by together as Rose told herself again and again she would treat Stratford as she would treat a brother. Again and again, she pictured first with dread, and then with elation, their meeting.

  In the event, she was not to meet his lordship upon her arrival in London, for Stratford had already traveled on into Kent, desiring to prepare the earl for the party about to descend upon the Keep. In addition to the Lawrence sisters, Elizabeth Thacker and her daughter were to go that the earl might meet Amelia, for the understanding between Amy and Daniel, while not yet formal, was known to the family. Lady Minerva and Daniel very naturally rounded out the company. Stratford had casually invited Maret, but Jacques once again declined to journey with the viscount.

  “But do not eat me again, Colin! I am to travel into Hampshire to call upon my mother,” he explained with a lazy smile, and I am persuaded you’d not have me disappoint her.”

  “I would have no one disappoint Madame Maret, for she is a delightful creature. Present her with my compliments, will you?” Stratford returned as the two parted on friendly terms.

  Not on such easy terms, Rose noted soon after her arrival in town, were Amy and her intended. Rose wondered at this circumstance, for she was quite unaware that that veritable pink of the ton, Sir Uriah Sampson, had decided it was time to get him a wife.

  Having decided thus, he cast about him for a likely chit and, from the moment of her appearance in the primrose gown at Helen’s ball, had lighted upon Miss Amelia Thacker to honor with his name. That she was, she told him, promised to another, only made Sir Uriah’s quest the greater, for he was persuaded that the sight of him in his yellow pantaloons and dark green morning coat with spotted waistcoat would be the perfect foil for Amy’s blond loveliness. He knew she would, in time, come to realize this and continued throughout the season to pursue her as if Daniel Baldwin did not exist.

  Each day brought Miss Thacker some new bouquet, trinket or flowery outpouring from the depths of Sir Uriah’s shallow soul. Fancying himself a poet as grand as Byron, he sent her sonnets bound up with colored silk which likened her to a golden goddess. As Amy was of a romantic nature, she could not remain pervious to his onslaught, though her love for the staid Mr. Baldwin never lessened one whit.

  At last Daniel was moved to remonstrate with his beloved on her inability to stem the tide of the baronet’s passions. “You are not cool enough to his overtures, my dear,” he chided gently. “In fact, it might be said that you have encouraged Sir Uriah’s attentions.”

  “Oh, la! You are forever making a vast deal of noise over nothing,” Amy had returned airily. “It is too shabby of you to treat me as if I were chasing after him like the Lamb after Byron.”

  The opportune arrival of Mrs. Thacker arrested Baldwin’s retort to this vulgarity and ended what had threatened to become a heated exchange. But the doubts and jealousies were not forgotten and their subsequent meetings were tainted with an air of constraint. Amelia, though not enamored of Sir Uriah in the least, could not help wistfully wondering why it was that Mr. Baldwin never wrote her a sonnet or sent her flowers or sighed his devotion to her from across the room. For his part, Daniel wondered how Miss Thacker could claim to love one man to distraction while countenancing a coxcomb like Sampson to make calf’s eyes at her. Both parties hoped the sojourn to Hallbrook would set all to rights.

  The cavalcade that proceeded to Hallbrook Keep was impressive indeed. Three full coaches left London, the first bearing Lady Minerva and her friend Elizabeth; the second, the younger ladies of the party with Baldwin as escort. The third was piled high with baggage and squeezed full with four ladies’ maids and Baldwin’s impassive valet. The journey was concluded without incident; having stopped briefly for a luncheon along the way, they arrived at the Keep in midafternoon to be met with a fanfare of servants headed by the indomitable Jasper.

  Ushered into the awesome Great Hall of the Keep, those who had never previously visited there stood in silent bemazement. Thick, lush carpets were scattered over the expanse of stone floor and various suits of armor stood silent sentry about the room, but little else intruded upon the centuries-old dignity of the hall. An enormous ancient fireplace in which six tall men might have stood abreast composed one entire wall. An old tapestry depicting a chivalrous knight rescuing a medieval maiden hung upon another and a wide, curved stairway of finely carved wood swept gracefully off a third. Numerous doors lead from the hall and it was to one of these that they were led.

  The old earl’s eyes were fixed upon his grandson when Jasper threw open the door to announce the arrival of their guests. He was startled, therefore, to see the sudden warm eagerness which passed over Colin and turned with heightened interest to meet Miss Helen.

  He was not disappointed. She was a brilliant sight in her stylish cherry traveling dress with the fri
nged gold epaulettes, yet he was aware of a question at the back of his mind. This bashful chit did not look to him to be the type of woman to set Colin afire. He was even more bewildered when he beheld his grandson greeting his fiancée and her sister with a hint of unease behind his engaging manners.

  Now what maggot could have got into the boy’s head, wondered the old man, that he must needs hesitate to present himself to his fiancée?

  He was not granted time to search out the answer to this puzzle before his daughter Minerva was swooping down upon him.

  “My dears,” she said with a grand wave of her arm, “may I present to you the Earl of Hallbrook?” As curtseys were correctly sketched, she made her father known in turn to Miss Helen, Miss Lawrence, and Mrs. and Miss Thacker. Hallbrook wrote the young Thacker chit down as a silly flibbertigibbet and just what you’d expect of that fool Daniel, though her mother seemed a sensibly behaved woman. Passing over the elder Miss Lawrence, whom he knew for a dowdy spinster the instant he clapped eyes on her impossible maroon woolen gown, the earl set himself to studying the beautiful, graceful child who would one day be the next Countess of Hallbrook.

  In his turn, the Earl of Hallbrook was closely examined. Rose had taken a seat a little removed from the rest of the party, from which she sat eyeing the old man. His white hair was worn long in the style of the last century and was tied neatly back with a black velvet riband. His face, like his grandson’s, was squared and marked with strength, but there were no lines of restless discontent to mar the earl’s patrician features. She judged him to be an autocratic man, much used to bending people to his will.

  As the company indulged in light chatter ranging from the journey to the September wedding, servants wafted into the room with seeming invisibility, bearing silver trays with crystal decanters and silver tea urns surrounded by plates heaped with sweetcakes, pastries and sugared breads. The earl and his daughter vied with one another to dominate the conversation and after a time Stratford drifted unnoticed to where Rose sat quietly sipping her tea and placidly observing them all.

  With concern creasing his brow, he inquired in a low tone, “Have you been ill? You are much too thin.”

  “No, no, I have been . . . fine,” she replied with reserve. Fearing to meet the intensity of his eyes, Rose kept her own firmly fixed on the claw-foot of the elaborate silver teapot standing regally on the table before her.

  “It doesn’t appear that you’ve been well,” he said roughly. Stratford signaled to a footman bearing a serving tray and after extracting a small dish from the platter, handed it to Rose. “I beg you will try one of these, Miss Lawrence.”

  “Thank you, but I am not hungry.”

  “I’ll not have you offending the kitchen staff,” he said firmly. “The earl would be most grieved if the finest chef in England departed in rage at your refusal to eat his sweetcakes.”

  Rose wanted very much to kiss his teasing lips, but instead she meekly took the cake, casting a glance at Stratford as she did so. Her glance was met squarely with a look that set her heart to racing.

  Lady Minerva was now holding the floor, enlightening them all as to her opinion of the shocking laxity of the modern society in which common baggage like the Winkler sisters could become fashionable.

  The eyes of the earl, sweeping the room in boredom, lit upon Miss Lawrence. As her teeth sank into the cake, he called out peevishly, “You! Why don’t you speak?”

  Miss Lawrence did not seem discomposed by this startling demand. She finished her cake, then tranquilly wiped her lips with her laced napkin. “I try, my lord,” she answered at last, “to speak only when I have something to say.”

  “Humph!” snorted Hallbrook, though he seemed mollified. His eyes narrowed as he looked more closely at her. Apparently there was more to this thin, calm creature than at first met the eye. His attention was recalled by a question from his daughter and the earl paid no further mind to Miss Lawrence.

  “You’ve made a hit there, my dear,” his grandson whispered irreverently before moving from her side with great reluctance.

  Shortly thereafter, the party dispersed to their rooms for a period of rest before dressing for dinner. Unlike Appleton, country hours and informality were not practiced at the Keep and full evening dress was expected, no matter how large or how small the company.

  Mounting the wide stairs, Daniel touched Amelia’s arm lightly. “I think you’d find the Gallery to be of interest, Amy. Have you a moment to view it?”

  Understanding this to be a request for a private tête-a-tête, she assented rapidly and the two separated themselves from those following Jasper to their bedchambers. Turning first left, then right, they traversed what seemed to Amy to be a bewildering maze of passages before coming at last to an immense corridor with a gleaming polished wood floor that brilliantly reflected the light pouring in from the arched windows running its length along one side. The wall opposite was covered with paintings and portraits of centuries of Phillips staring haughtily down upon any who dared enter their realm. Here and there statues and chairs were scattered down the hallway, as well as a few low settees. It was to one of those that Daniel guided Amelia.

  Sitting beneath the likeness of the first earl with his perfumed peruke and ornately frogged blue-and-gold-skirted coat casting her own simple muslin into the shade, Amy gazed up at Daniel with a question in her violet eyes. An underlying excitement seemed to give unusual vivacity to his serious face and she wondered at the reason for this.

  More jealous than he would admit over the past month, Daniel had suffered increasing doubts over his ability to hold Miss Thacker’s affections, for when compared to the dashing, romantic baronet, he felt himself to be a dull dog indeed. The constraint between them of late had added to his resolution to overcome his scruples and secure Amelia’s hand now rather than waiting, as he had previously insisted, for her eighteenth birthday. Thus, he placed himself beside her and gathered her hand into his own.

  “My dear,” he said, “I find I cannot wait any longer—indeed, I see no necessity for us to wait the two months to your birthday when everyone already knows how we feel. In short, my love, I intend to speak with your mother tonight and if she agrees, I hope to make our betrothal announcement.”

  Throughout the whole of this disjointed but ardent speech, Amy’s eyes had been growing ever wider, her mouth ever rounder. Now she returned the pressure of his hand fervently and exclaimed, “Oh, Daniel! Dear Daniel! I am so happy!”

  He smiled tenderly at her animated face. “I also thought, sweeting, that you might accept this.”

  From his pocket he pulled a glittering diamond-and-pearl ring set in a band of filigreed gold. Amy sat with her mouth open, too stunned to speak as she stared at this unknown, sentimental Daniel Baldwin. Then she sprang to action, flinging her arms about him, ignoring his protests as she cried out rapturously, “You dearest, sweetest, most wonderful thing!”

  He managed at last to detach her arms from about his neck to ask in a calm tone if she should like to try the frippery on. Her assent was immediate and Daniel slipped the ring on her eagerly outstretched hand. Within the instant, Amy spun from her seat to hold her hand against the windowpane, letting the westering sun add warmth to the ring’s shimmering beauty. The skirt of her pink frock billowed as Amy twirled lightly in her excitement and a small square of paper fluttered to the floor. Behind her, Daniel stooped to retrieve it. Even as his hand closed upon the scented parchment, the happiness was fading from Amelia’s suddenly whitened face.

  “What’s this?” he asked mildly as he straightened.

  “N-nothing!” Amy replied in a suffocated voice. “G-give it to me, if you please.”

  His hand paused in the act of reaching toward her and a sudden streak of suspicion crossed his face. Amy’s eyes widened in horror as his hand drew back.

  “What could be of such import?” Daniel asked slowly.

  “It is nothing of import, I tell you,” insisted the girl in a faltering tone. She
stretched out a trembling hand.

  Daniel’s hazel eyes traveled from parchment to hand to Amy’s pale face, then back again to the paper in his hand. Against his will, he gradually unfolded it.

  She treads the earth, A Golden Goddess, flowed the script which met his wrathful gaze. Through tight lips, he charged, “You’ve been wearing this against your heart!”

  “It—it is not as you think . . .” Amy stammered. Her voice trailed into nothingness as he turned upon her a look of such cold disbelief that her power of further speech was quite thoroughly extinguished. How could she explain to this frozen fury?

  “What I think seems to be immaterial, miss,” he clipped out. “It is only too obvious that it is the thoughts of Sir Uriah Sampson which are an object with you.”

  “No—no!” she cried, recoiling from his vicious tone.

  “Even so, Miss Thacker,” he continued harshly, ignoring her feverish protests, “I shall take leave to inform you of what I think. I think you have been playing a very pretty game—a game in which I am the unfortunate loser. But whatever you hope to gain by becoming Lady Sampson, there is one thing, at least, which you shall forfeit.” He was livid with anger as the aggregation of centuries of Phillips pride seemed to spill into him from his ancestors lining the wall. His lips cracked into an ugly sneer. “That is the honest love of a good man.”

  By the end of this tirade, Amelia’s shocked despair had given way to injured wrath. In glacial tones, she responded, “Love, Mr. Baldwin? What do you claim to know of love? You disavow your supposed love for me at the first opportunity and without awaiting my explanation!”

  “You think you can explain away what my eyes have seen? I am not such a fool, miss!”