The Bad Baron's Daughter

by Laura London

  “No, you aren’t, are you?” snarled Laurel. “You’re a vicious, self-indulgent rakeshame and well I know it! How you screamed at me an hour past for letting your precious Katie go out in London unattended and then stamped off to find her without so much as a by your leave. And now, after all your damned lies that the wench is purer than the untrodden snow…” She came to a choking halt, overcome by temper.

  “She is still pure as the untrodden snow,” snapped Linden, his voice taut with exasperation. “I knew I should have locked the door.”

  “And I suppose you brought the chit to my library intending to seduce her? Lesley,” said Laurel, turning purple under her rouge, “how could you?”

  “How could I? Well, you jealous bitch, it’s not easy, with people bursting into the room like Roman candles and Katie gazing up at me as though I were the archangel Gabriel. Damnation, I brought the chit to your house precisely because I didn’t intend to seduce her. But I’m not a damned gelding. Oh, Jesus, why couldn’t I have been born eighty and impotent?” said Linden acidly to the room at large. “No, here, Katie, you’ve put the wrong button in that hole. Put your hands in your lap, I’ll do it. Damn you, child, if you shrink away from me like that I swear I’ll box your ears; it’s obvious that I’m not going to do anything with Laurel whining at me. That fastidious, I am… sneck up Laurel, I know you think I’m incorrigible, you’ve told me so enough times in the past; but I’ll be damned if I’m going to apologize to you for my morals. Katie, if ever I attempt you again, I want you to lay hands on the nearest blunt object and fetch me a good, swift blow in the head. Without a doubt, little one, you must be penance on me for the sins of a past life.”

  “Penance for a past Me?” interrupted Laurel waspishly. “You have more than enough to answer for in this life, I assure you!”

  “Go to the devil,” retorted Linden, and strode from the room.

  For the second time that day, the door to the library was banged with a savage energy that could be felt even on the upper floor, where, in Laurel’s sumptuous bedroom, the shock sent the ostrich plumes of the enormous tent bed into wild swooping waves.

  Chapter Ten

  It had been fortunate for Katie that Lord Linden had behaved with such unrepentant rudeness to Laurel; thus he drew the greatest portion of that affronted lady’s wrath on his own graceless head and so saved Katie all but an absent-minded scold. Katie could understand Linden no better now: the restless, uncertain temper that could change in one devastating second to a sweet seductive tenderness that made her feel as though she were swimming in volcanic honey. Part of her saw him as the knight in armor who had saved her life twice, but the clear-headed voice of her conscience told her that his actions in the library lent color to Zack’s unsavory accusations that Linden had only saved her so that he might use her himself. Dear, dangerous Lord Linden. Katie knew that she must somehow remove herself from his tempting vicinity soon or decide that virtue was well lost for love. No! It wouldn’t be, couldn’t be, because tomorrow always comes, and Lord, Lord, what would life be like when he tired of her?

  But she knew now, as she had always known, that her halcyon days as Linden’s cygne noir were a transitory arrangement. Already, it seemed he had tired of playing King Cophetua to her beggar-maid, because on the morning after the scene in the library, which Antoinette referred to as the Battle of the Titans, Linden sent Laurel a curt note informing her that he had to go to Dorset for a few days and that if she threw Katie out, he wouldn’t pay the tab on her diamonds.

  “The wretch,” Laurel said, after reading the note. “I suppose he’s gone to some horrid sparring match. Was there ever a more cynical, irresponsible scoundrel? He’s supposed to be looking for your father. What’s to be done with the man?”

  What indeed? If anyone had told Laurel, or even the reverential Katie, that Linden was engaged in that very quest, they would have been incredulous.

  Some four afternoons later, Katie and Antoinette sat opposite each other at an inlaid game table, playing Piquet au Cent for la Steele’s hairpins. Antoinette had decided that the blond salon on the upper floor would be the most comfortable place to play. There was a fine framed window there that let in the drowsy late afternoon sunlight and this was the first day in many without the dismal fog. Antoinette soon discovered that this idyllic spot had its disadvantages; this same fine window directly overlooked the small scoop of carriageway, and each time a vehicle passed beneath, Katie jumped up and ran to the window. This became a major irritant to Antoinette, especially since she was losing. When, for the third time within a quarter hour, the snap-rumble of cart wheels came down the street, Antoinette checked Katie before she could rise.

  “Eh bien, petite, enough! Anyone with ears can tell that is not a carriage of fashion. Do you think my Lord Linden will arrive in a farm wagon pulled by a fat dobbin? Have done, and lead your last card, s’il vous plait.”

  “As you will, Antoinette, here. The nine of clubs. Oh, can you not take it? You should have retained your diamond jack, you see?”

  “Vraiment? Do you think that I am a stupid that you must tell me that? It is the height of discourtesy to criticize the play of another. How many points have you? Seventy? And the capot as well!” Antoinette flung up her hands. “That’s it then, you take this rubber. And may I say that it is not at all comfortable that a child your age should play the piquet so well, like the Greek banditti. This lose, lose, lose, it puts me off!”

  “Would you like me to let you win for a while?” asked Katie, the soul of amiability.

  “Mon Dieu, the things you say! Mais, non, the only thing flatter than losing is to be allowed to win.”

  Katie leaned back in her chair. “I wouldn’t know about that. No one’s ever allowed me to win like that. Papa taught me, but when I got good enough to beat him, he marked the cards so he would always win. He said it was bad luck for a gambler to get beat by his daughter, but Zack says he just enjoyed cheating. Oh, listen, Antoinette, a smart trot.” Katie flew to the window as an ungainly traveling carriage pulled up below. “Oh, but the wheels are picked out in chartreuse, which Linden told me he abominates, so… Well. What an odd man, do look, Antoinette, it must be a friend of Laurel’s. No, never mind, he’s come into the house now, you can’t see him anymore.” Katie turned back from the window. “Ah, well, where were we? Would you like a new cut for the deal?”

  They played for another quarter hour. As Antoinette was about to claim carte blanche, a lackey came to the door and informed them that Miss Steele had requested Katie to come to the library.

  “Me? Isn’t there a gentleman with her? There is? Oh, but…”

  “How you chatter, Katie,” admonished Antoinette. “These dreadful but-buts. Go, then, you find out why she wants you. No, not with ribbon falling like a hoyden; let me fix. Ah, there. Off with you now, but remind yourself to act like a young lady of breeding, if you please.”

  Katie made a shy entrance into the library, with an inquiring glance toward Laurel and a curious one toward her visitor. The gentleman appeared to have been stuffed into his clothing rather in the manner that ground meat is stuffed into its sheath in homemade sausage. His waist, surely nipped in by a corset, proclaimed the dandy, but he was a large man so the effect was absurd. On one ruddy hand, he wore a large diamond solitaire that cried out for a cleaning.

  “Katie,” said Laurel slowly. “What do you remember about your mother?”

  Katie was quiet, surprised by the question, and then replied, “Nothing. All I know about her are things my father has told me.”

  “Which are?” Laurel prompted.

  “Umm, Papa said that she was so beetle-witted that she could hardly set one word next to another in a sentence, but she was so pretty no one ever noticed.” And that was one of her father’s more repeatable comments. Katie wondered why Laurel didn’t introduce the gentleman, who had risen politely on Katie’s entrance, and now stood shifting uneasily from one boot to the other as though he wasn’t sure whether
to sit again or wait for an introduction.

  “She died when you were a baby, didn’t she?” asked Laurel. “And her family, why did you never stay with them? After all, your father was not out of the teens then. Weren’t any of your mother’s relations able to help the youthful widower with his infant?”

  “No,” said Katie, interpreting the question literally. “Papa said that the rest of Mama’s family were not like Mama at all; he said they were full of juice, ugly as slugs and nastier than molting weasels. Papa said his father-in-law was a damned lionizing mushroom who made his money exploiting a lot of starving miners, then got socially ambitious and bullied Mama into marrying my father because he thought it would be a great thing to have a baron in the family. When he found out that poor Papa was quite, quite declasse, he cut them off without a groat. That’s what Papa says, I don’t know; but when Papa disappeared, I wrote my mother’s father telling him about it. I said that he could find me at The Merry Maidenhead if he wished, but I’ve heard nothing from him, so that speaks for itself, I think.”

  Laurel threw a smug, happy look at the man and waved one dismissive hand in his direction. “This… creature,” she said, “is Ivo Guy, and he claims to be your mother’s blood cousin.”

  “Dearest little Katie,” said the man, coming toward Katie with his arms outstretched in an offered embrace. Even a child could have been how forced was his smile. Either Laurel had set up his back before Katie had entered or he wasn’t happy with Katie’s highly unflattering description of his family.

  Katie submitted stiffly to his hug, which consisted of his pulling Katie’s face abruptly into his soiled muslin cravat, and then releasing her to arm’s length while he looked her up and down in a self-consciously paternal manner. Katie rarely held anyone in dislike, but already she was in a fair way to cordially detesting Ivo Guy. Every inch of the man bespoke the hypocrite.

  “How do you do, sir?” asked Katie, tucking her hands behind her back. She had more than done her duty with the hug; shaking hands would have been too much of a bad thing.

  “Very well, very well,” said Mr. Guy. “It’s a joyous meeting for us, is it not? So affecting for me. Why, you’re the very replica of your beloved mama!” Which could hardly be said to be a compliment following hard on the heels of Katie’s description of her mother as a beetle wit.

  “Papa says that I am nothing like my mother,” protested Katie. “He said that I am a typical Kendricks with a puny nose, carrot locks, and freckles. Did you know my mother well?”

  Laurel interrupted. “He’s been telling me what great confidence your mother reposed in him and how he got along so famously with your maternal grandfather. He seems, in fact, to be the sticking plaster which held your family together.” She sent a darting glance of dislike at him, which elicited a queasy smile.

  Katie regarded Guy with new interest. “Could it be that you have come from my grandfather?” she asked.

  “Ah,” said Guy, his pudgy face acquiring a lugubrious pose. “From your grandfather. No, indeed, my little cousin, because you see, your grandfather has gone to a better land.”

  Katie bore this announcement prosaically. “Oh,” she remarked, sagely, “America. Papa says that it’s the most up and coming part of the world right now.”

  Laurel gave a choke of laughter. “Try to be a little less blockish, Katie, the foolish creature is merely trying to say that your grandfather is dead. And well have no maudlin nonsense about it, Guy. Even the most cringing sentimentalist could not expect Katie to mourn the death of a relative she has never met and what’s more, who treated her with callous disregard the whole of her life.”

  Ivo Guy coughed, looked at the ceiling, and ran a mottled hand over the flabby surface of his unshaven chin. “Most, most unfortunate. But you see, Katie, your grandfather was . . shall we say, an eccentric.”

  “We shall if you like,” said Katie, “but Papa said he was a drunkard.”

  “Your papa ought to know!” snapped Guy. “That’s a subject upon which he can speak with authority!” He controlled himself then, apparently remembering that this was supposed to be a joyous meeting. “But let us not quarrel, my dear. Don’t be hurt that your mother’s family made no attempt to claim you earlier in your life; it was your father’s doing. He wouldn’t let you come to us. Understandably, I feel, as you were his only consolation after your dear mama went to a better… er, died.”

  “Well,” returned Katie disconcertingly, “if you think I was my father’s only consolation after my mother died, then you don’t know my father. Zack said Mama was hardly cold in her casket before Papa began a liaison with one of the housemaids.”

  Guy regarded Katie with pained distaste. “I can see that your unfortunate rearing has left its mark upon you. You stand in need of a firm and loving guidance that has been denied you in these long years, which I am prepared, on behalf of your mother’s family, to supply. It was hard indeed to keep track of you while you were growing up; you moved so often, and your father was so hostile to his in-laws. But your letter to your grandfather finally came into my hands—I was the manager of his business, you see, and his correspondence is now turned over to me.”

  “Come to the point, Guy,” demanded Laurel impatiently. “How do you propose to supply ‘dear little Katie’ with this firm and loving guidance?”

  Ivo Guy supplied a smile that his eyes did not share and a tiny wrinkle appeared on the veiny flesh of his shiny, balding pate. “Ahem. It would seem as though you have appointed yourself guardian of this poor, displaced girl. You are to be commended for this, indeed. May I say that a woman of your, uh, posture in life is not usually expected to have concern for the homeless?” He raised his skimpy brows sarcastically and bowed stiffly to Laurel. She looked back at him as if he were a large frog flattened under a carriage wheel and tossed in her path. Guy smirked and continued, “It is not necessary for you to burden yourself any longer. Our family will care for its own.” Guy fished in the pocket of his dusty suit for several seconds, finally producing a large, official-looking piece of parchment. “I have here a legally notarized document appointing me the guardian of this unfortunate girl, so irresponsibly abandoned by her father. In short, we of your mother’s family receive you with open arms.”

  “What do you mean, receive me?” asked Katie, with some misgiving.

  “Why, what but give you a home? To protect and guide you as one must a young girl. It is my intention that you immediately accompany me to my home outside London, where I will place you in the tender nurturing care of my mother. Now, now, my dear, I can see you are confused, but it need not be so. We will do all within our power to make you comfortable. What could be deeper than the blood bond?”

  “Mawkish ass,” snapped Laurel derisively. “There’ll be no more talk of ‘immediately.’ Katie was placed in my care by Lord Linden and here she’ll stay until he says otherwise.”

  Waiting for Lord Linden’s say-so in no way figured into Ivo Guy’s plans. “I wonder, Madame, that you have the gall to admit Linden’s connection with the girl! Be blunt, if you will. What has Lord Linden to say in this matter, may I ask?”

  “You may ask all you like,” said Laurel with mock cordiality, “ ‘Taut it remains not your affair.”

  “That’s where you are wrong, Miss Steele,” hissed Guy. “As the child’s guardian, it is very much my affair. If you will have it out in the open, then I will admit that rumors have reached me that Linden has formed an… unfortunate connection with a young lady of Katie’s description. I think it would be better for Katie if we could forget and put behind us this regrettable episode in her life but I warn you if either he or you tries to stand in the way of my custody of Katie, I will not hesitate to approach the law! The courts will not be generous with a man trifling with a minor.”

  Laurel snorted derisively. “Linden’s earldom is related to half of England. The half that counts! Try taking this issue to court and he’ll smash you like an ant!” She laughed. “If Lesley were brou
ght to book every time he trifled, they would have to extend their hours to Sundays to handle the case load.”

  Guy ground his teeth. “This is no subject for mirth, Miss Steele. We are speaking of a young girl’s purity.”

  “If we are, then I wish we weren’t,” said Katie, mortified by the channels the conversation had begun to explore. “If you wish me to come with you, Mr. Guy, I will. And thank you very much.” This last was said with difficulty and an almost heroic determination. It was a favorite saying of the baron’s that “God will provide—if only God would provide until he provides.” Katie could only wish that God had provided someone other than Ivo Guy. But it was not her custom to question the inscrutable workings of divinity and in this case it appeared she had very little choice. She had exploited Lord Linden’s not very good nature too long already. She had been nothing but an unmitigated nuisance to Laurel. She was not so stripped of all pride as to go on and on indefinitely dependent upon their generosity. Ivo Guy at least had the virtue of being Katie’s cousin, or so he said, and Katie was sure it was true. He fit her father’s description of her maternal relatives to an inch. And to give the man credit, which Katie found herself strangely disinclined to do, he said that he wanted her. It was the first time anyone had ever told Katie they wanted her, if she discounted Lord Linden, and since the way he wanted her was the way he had wanted scores of other women, it could hardly be said to count.

  Katie’s life, for the most part, had been filled with exhausting self-sufficiency. Her nature was warm and loving, and she had valued even a table-scrap of affection far more than guidance or support. These were things she had learned to function without. Katie’s greatest fear had always been that she would alienate the fondness of those she loved by becoming an unwanted burden. It had ruled much of her relationship with her self-centered, blithesome father, and now it would bear upon her relationship with Lord Linden. “Katie, you grow tiresome,” he had told her on the afternoon of her recent trip to The Merry Maidenhead. He could not have known it, but there was no more potent weapon to use on Katie. She had felt as though a cold metal hand had squeezed her throat. Surely it would be better to throw herself into a well than to be “tiresome” to Lord Linden.