The Story of a Baron (The Sisters of the Aristocracy)

by Linda Rae Sande

  Settling back into the squabs, Geraldine’s face took on a serious expression. Friends? Was that all she would ever be to Matthew Winters? They had known each other since she was in leading strings. They had played in creeks and made mud pies along the edge of the farm field and skipped rocks across the pond and hid in the folly.

  And kissed in the barn.

  Even now, Geraldine felt a shiver of delight skitter down her spine. When will I ever be kissed like that again? she wondered. Despite all the rumors that had her kissing any man who would allow it, she hadn’t kissed anyone since that night in the barn on the Ballantine farm. She couldn’t remember if she had started it, or if Matthew had, but the two were suddenly lip-locked, their arms wrapped awkwardly around one another. As to who ended it, well, it didn’t much matter seeing as how Matthew’s father began bellowing the boy’s name from somewhere behind the nearby house. “Go!” she had said, giving Matthew a gentle push, her eyes deliberately kept straight ahead, for she knew his erection was apparent behind the placket of his breeches. Even now, she could remember how it felt to have it pressed against her belly as they held one another, how it had felt to imagine him lowering her to the straw below so he could lift her skirts and remove her drawers and claim her as his own. She would have allowed it. Would allow it even now should he wish to claim her.

  “If my father hadn’t been looking for me, you would have lost your maidenhead that night,” Matthew stated suddenly, his voice carrying a hint of warning.

  Geraldine gasped, her eyes wide as she turned to regard the baron. Had she said something aloud? Or could he read her mind?

  Matthew held her gaze as if he dared her to look away before he did. He had to, though, when he realized the horse was veering off the road. Once he had the nag back on track, he returned his attention to the earl’s sister. “Would you have fought me off?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper.

  Geraldine shook her head. “No.”

  Nodding once, Matthew turned his eyes back to the road. Well, there was that, he supposed, wondering how different their lives would be if they had consummated their affaire, such as it was, all those years ago.

  “I would never deny you what has always been yours.”

  The words were said so quietly, Matthew wasn’t quite sure he’d heard them correctly. He suddenly led the horse to the side of the road and pulled back hard on the reins, his brows furrowing as he stared at Geraldine. A bit of anger welling up in him and suddenly sure the rumors about her were true, he asked, “Mine, and how many others?”

  Geraldine gasped, the expression on her face turning from doe-eyed innocence to angry-eyed she-devil. Her blue gloved hand came out of nowhere and walloped Matthew hard across his right cheek, the strike so unexpected, the baron was nearly unseated. “How dare you!” she cried out, scooting across the seat until she was pressed against the other side of the barouche.

  So startled was he by the chit’s right hook – it was probably just a slap, but the baron wasn’t about to believe that much pain could result from an open-handed hit – Matthew let go of the reins. The horse actually looked back at him, as if she were annoyed she would have to give up the snack of flowers she had found next to a hedgerow in order to pull the damned barouche.

  Matthew stared at Geraldine, and watched as tears pricked the corners of her eyes.

  “I ... I have never shared a bed with a man,” she whispered harshly, her breathing so labored Matthew could hear her gasps for air from where he sat.

  “Of course, not,” Matthew replied, his ire evident in the set of his shoulders. “Who needs a bed when there is a ... hay bale or a table or a ...” He was suddenly seeing stars as he slowly realized her reticule had impacted his left cheek. He had a passing thought that everything she owned must have been in that reticule, for he was quite sure there would be a very large bruise covering half his face the following morning.

  He shook his head, trying to clear the light-headedness that seemed to have replaced his usual clear-headed view of the world.

  Tears flowing down her cheeks, Geraldine fumbled for the door catch, determined to take her leave of Lord Ballantine’s barouche. They were already in the park; a short walk, and she would be able to join Lady Barrick and her band of surprise party-goers. She imagined casually strolling up to the group on foot, angling her head to one side and saying, “Surprise!” The alternative was to arrive on the arm of Lord Ballantine, who at the moment was regarding her with a look of surprise and ... was that adoration?

  Geraldine shook her head as she managed to get the door to open. “Thank you for the ride, my lord,” she spat out. “I must inform you it will be the last I ever take with you.” She stumbled out of the barouche, slamming the small door behind her before stomping off on a crushed granite path.

  Embarrassed and belittled more than he was when he attempted to pay his monthly bills, Matthew watched the earl’s sister take her leave of the barouche. He frowned when he realized her determined steps were taking her in the wrong direction for the party.

  “Lady Barrick’s picnic is in the other direction, my lady,” he managed to call out. He watched as Lady Geraldine’s shoulders straightened. Although she didn’t slow her pace nor immediately turn around, she made a wide arc so that her eventual direction was toward the grounds of the birthday party.

  Dropping his head into his hands, Matthew Winters cursed himself. He cursed the horse. He cursed his mouth. He cursed Lord Afterly. And he cursed Lady Geraldine.

  So, she wasn’t the doxy the ton had made her out to be, he realized suddenly. She was merely the ton’s currently on-dit, a chit who by circumstance of being beautiful suffered the wrath of a jealous aristocracy. And he had just made it worse by allowing her to escape his protection.

  When his breathing returned to normal, Matthew lifted the reins from the floor and urged his reluctant horse to return to the crushed granite path. He intended to make his way toward Lady Barrick’s party. And then he urged the mare to pick up the pace.

  He had to find her. He couldn’t allow her to show up unescorted! In a few moments, the deep blue of her carriage gown shown behind the hedgerow that lined the lane. He hurried the nag on ahead and then parked the barouche on the other side of the lane. Getting out as quickly as he could, Matthew ran to the other side of the hedgerow and intercepted Geraldine ... or at least a woman he thought was Geraldine. The startled matron, Lady Featherly, on a walk with no less than three smalls dogs, screamed at the sight of Matthew.

  Good grief! Could anything else go wrong today? he wondered as he gave her a deep bow, excused himself, and returned to his barouche, the yips and yaps of the dogs following in his wake.

  Where could Geraldine be? he wondered. Glancing back along the hedgerow, he was sure he could hear quiet sobs coming from behind a particularly thick area of vegetation. He worked his way around the hedgerow and found Geraldine in an indecorous heap next to her parasol. She was obviously unaware of his presence, and for a moment, Matthew allowed her to cry her eyes out. He knew they would be red-rimmed for the party, but perhaps a mention as to how happy she was to have her brother back in residence at Rosehill House would explain her crying.

  Moving to her, Matthew lowered himself to the lawn and gathered her into his arms. “I am sorry, Jerry,” he whispered, his heart heavy when he realized how hurt she really was by his accusations. “I shouldn’t have believed everything I’ve heard about you,” he whispered as he held her against the front of his body. Despite her stylish hat, which lacked the usual feathers of some poor fowl, he was able to land a kiss on her temple just as he felt a pin prick into his chest. “Ouch,” he murmured, pulling his chest away from hers.

  “I hate you,” Geraldine whispered, secretly glad one of the pins holding back the ruffles of her bodice had poked the baron..

  Matthew shrugged. Having heard that particul
ar comment from her more times than he could count, he didn’t take it personally. “Of course, you do, my darling,” he replied without a without a hint of humor. She had stuck him, after all, and he couldn’t quite figure out how she’d managed it.

  “How could you?” she asked, which just started another round of tears.

  “Because I’m a heartless heathen intent on seeing you as bereft as possible,” he answered, again with no hint of humor.

  Geraldine struggled from his grasp and turned to regard the beastly baron. “Damn you,” she whispered harshly. “I was going to forgive you, but now ... now you can just ... go to the devil.”

  Fighting the urge to smile at her indignation, Matthew cocked his head to one side. “There are some who would tell you I am already there,” he said quietly.

  Her eyes widening with fear, Geraldine pushed herself away from Matthew, ignoring the possibility of grass stains on her gown.

  Matthew stood up and simply took the two steps to stand over her. Reaching down, he grasped her beneath her arms and lifted her to her feet with little effort. Geraldine whimpered as he did so, and he had a passing thought that she might think he was going to take her virtue right there and then.

  But Matthew knew better than to allow thoughts of Geraldine in that way. If he did, it would be a long time before he could join the birthday party.

  “I hate you,” she said again, a tear rolling down her cheek.

  “I know,” he said with a nod. He held her against the front of his body, wondering if she would stick him with another pin. He was about to release his hold on her when he realized she needed him for support or she would simply return to the ground below in a graceful heap of broadcloth and lawn and muslin.

  Hunting for a handkerchief with one hand as he held her up with his other arm, Matthew finally pulled a linen square from his waistcoat pocket and offered it to her.

  “Thank you,” she managed to get out as she used it to wipe the tears from her cheeks and blow her nose.

  “You have a beautiful nose,” Matthew commented before giving it a quick kiss.

  “Oh?” she responded as she refolded the square of linen and offered it back to him.

  “Hmm,” he replied. When he was sure she could walk, he tucked her arm under his and led her out of the dense vegetation, just as a large party of ... Matthew held his breath and wondered if perhaps they should simply return to the cover of vegetation. The birthday party-goers were walking right past them.

  “Why, Lady Geraldine,” Daisy McGowan Timmons, Lady Barrick, greeted her. “You look ...” The viscountess’ eyes took a good look up and down Geraldine’s grass-stained gown, her eyes stopping on several leaves that had adhered themselves to the wool so that the gown looked as if it had been crushed into the ground.

  “Lady Barrick,” Matthew interrupted as he reached for her hand and kissed the back of it. “Your arrival is most fortuitous. Lady Geraldine was set upon by a footpad only moments ago. I heard her cries and was able to chase the ruffian off, although I do believe Lady Geraldine was more effective when she hit him with her reticule,” he said as he dared a glance in Geraldine’s direction. “I do hope he didn’t accost you as he made his escape,” he added with a good deal of concern.

  The viscountess turned her attention back to Geraldine. “Goodness! Are you harmed?” she asked in alarm, her gaze traveling over the earl’s sister and imagining a far different scenario than the delightfully scandalous one she had imagined only moments ago.

  “Thanks to Lord Ballantine – and my reticule – I am unharmed,” Geraldine replied, barely able to get the words out as she displayed her weighted reticule as evidence of her claims. “But let’s not allow my unfortunate incident to ruin your celebration,” she said as she turned, too late, to notice Lord Barrick shaking his head very quickly.

  “Celebration?” Lady Barrick repeated.

  Geraldine stared at the viscountess, realizing just then that Daisy Timmons still didn’t know about the surprise party. She leaned in to whisper in Daisy’s ear, “If I remember correctly, isn’t today your birthday?”

  Lady Barrick’s eyes widened. “Why, yes, yes it is,” she acknowledged with a nod. “But we’re just going on a picnic,” she countered, her feeble mind unable to comprehend that the picnic was a party in honor of her birthday. “Would you like to join us? I am quite sure there is enough food to feed the entire British Army,” she claimed happily.

  Geraldine exchanged glances with Matthew. “I ... I would love to,” she replied, giving the viscountess an uncertain smile.

  “Oh, and you must join us, too, Lord Ballantine,” Lady Barrick said, her eyes brightening as she turned to the baron.

  Matthew dared a glance at Lord Barrick, who simply shrugged and seemed resigned to the fact that the picnic wouldn’t be as much of a surprise as he had hoped. “I shall be honored, my lady,” he said as he took her gloved hand in his and kissed the back of it.

  Lady Barrick blushed and turned to her husband and several other couples who stood watching her with a bit of uncertainty. “It’s settled, then. We’re off to find a good picnic spot,” she announced.

  Stealing a glance in Lord Barrick’s direction, Matthew hooked Geraldine’s arm into his and escorted her alongside the other guests. “Thank you for playing along,” he whispered when he was sure no one was looking in their direction.

  Geraldine let out an unladylike snort. “Who says I was playing along?” she replied, her eyes aimed directly ahead and her manner suggesting she was most annoyed. “Footpad,” she added with a raised brow.

  Realizing it would be a long time before Geraldine would forgive him, Matthew allowed a sigh and girded himself for a long, uncomfortable afternoon.

  Chapter 29

  A Countess Pays a Visit

  Adele Slater Worthington Grandby, Countess of Torrington, ascended the steps of Rosemount House at precisely ten o’clock in the morning. Her visit had not been preceded by a note nor a visit from a footman; she merely wished to pay a call on Lady Evangeline at a time reserved for such pleasantries.

  Although this particular visit would probably not be very pleasant.

  Jones opened the door at the sound of the knocker, bowing to Lord Torrington’s wife and stepping aside to wave her into the house. Garbed entirely in garments the color of red wine, she appeared every inch the countess she had become by marrying Milton Grandby the year before.

  After hanging her pelisse and parasol in the vestibule, Jones led her to the parlor and said tea would be but a moment. “Lady Evangeline has already ordered tea,” Jones said in response to Lady Torrington’s arched eyebrow.

  “Is she expecting someone else this morning?” Adele wondered, thinking she might have to delay the talk she had planned with the Earl of Everly’s sister.

  The butler shook his head. “Lady Evangeline plans for visitors at ten of the clock every Monday, Wednesday and Friday, and she pays her calls Tuesdays and Thursdays,” he explained. “Other than Lady Samantha and Lady Julia, she rarely has a caller, however,” he added with a slight nod of his head to one side. “I’ll inform her of your arrival,” he said before giving the countess a bow and taking his leave of the parlor.

  Adele sighed. Poor girl. Besides being left behind by her adventurous brother, Evangeline suffered from not knowing very many unmarried girls her own age. And her reputation as a bluestocking didn’t help in that regard, although it was the other reputation Adele was most concerned about just then.

  “Good morning, Lady Torrington,” Evangeline said happily as she breezed into the parlor and afforded the countess with a deep curtsy. A maid with a tea tray was right behind her, moving quickly to set down the tray on the table in front of the worn settee.

  Acknowledging Evangeline’s curtsy with one of her own, Adele was struck by just how pretty Evangeline seem
ed in the morning light, her honey blonde hair swept up in a tight bun atop her head and a series of ringlets at her temples. Her yellow round gown featured a print of tiny flowers and long sleeves and a neckline edged in lace. “Good morning, Evangeline,” Adele replied with a smile. “You’re looking rather chipper this morning,” she added, wondering if the young lady’s good humor was due to a certain baron’s attentions.

  “Well, except for the rain, it’s a beautiful day. Please, have a seat and join me in tea,” Evangeline said as she indicated the settee. “Will Lady Norwick be joining us?” she asked as she took the chair opposite and set about arranging the cups for tea.

  Adele settled herself, surprised by the question. Clarinda Fitzwilliam, Countess of Norwick, would normally join her on her morning calls, but considering the nature of the visit, Adele thought it best to come alone. Besides, she was sure Clarinda had been experiencing morning sickness, although the countess hadn’t yet said anything about being with child. “Not today. She’s been feeling a bit under the weather, I’m afraid.”

  “Oh, well, I suppose she would,” Evangeline commented sadly. “But I’m honored you have come,” she added as she poured the hot water over the tea strainer. “Milk and two sugars?” she added, hoping her memory served her right. She had only been in a Mayfair parlor one other time when Lady Torrington was also present.

  Obviously wondering as to Evangeline’s odd comment, Adele allowed a grin. “Why, yes,” she acknowledged with a nod, surprised that Evangeline would remember since they had only ever taken tea together one other time. She wondered if perhaps Lady Norwick and Evangeline had met for tea. Perhaps the countess had shared news with Evangeline she hadn’t yet shared with her.

  Evangeline finished pouring her own tea and added the milk and lumps of sugar into the cups. “And how does Lord Torrington fare?“ she wondered, handing a china saucer with a cup and a spoon to the countess.