The Barefoot Baroness

Chapter Ten

The painting sessions removed to Lord Hyatt's atelier, which was a large, glass-walled room attached to the back of his mansion in Park Lane. The chaperones were much more comfortable in upholstered chairs than on a park bench. One end of the studio was set up as a drawing room for the audience. There was a carpet on the floor, lamps, tables and all the appurtenances of a polite drawing room.

But the most interesting feature was the view through the windowed wall of a garden in the heart of busy London. Tulips and daffodils nodded in the morning sun. As space was limited, the trees were all evergreens, which did not cast too much shade on the flowers.

The Season continued. Matches were arranged, hearts were broken, reputations and fortunes were lost and made in about equal proportion. Lady Devereau soon had two new ornaments for her arm: a jaded minor peer and a diamond bracelet.

The baroness's painting was nearing completion. No crowds came to bother the party at Hyatt's studio, but an occasional friend dropped in. Lord Talman, the Duke of Castlefield's heir, came twice. Laura suspected the baroness was the drawing card, and when he returned on the third day, which was the last sitting, she was convinced of it.

When Laura initially heard that her cousin was to make her bows, it was some such grand match as Lord Talman that she envisaged for the baroness. A marquis of impressive pedigree, rich in his own right, and heir to a dukedom, he was one of the Season's prime catches. To put the cap on it, his character was unblemished.

Physically he was not the sort to set a girl's blood racing, but then no one was perfect. He was of a bookish turn of mind, tall, thin, pale, a trifle high in the instep. All the other debs appreciated his eligibility, but Laura feared Olivia was unimpressed.

On the marquis's second visit Olivia snipped, "I don't see why Lord Talman is permitted to come and stare for an hour at a time, when Lord Hyatt turned Mr. Yarrow away."

Laura replied, "Lord Talman behaves himself. He does not bring a crowd and turn the sitting into a public circus."

"He makes my flesh crawl, the way he stares."

There was no denying Olivia had changed. Whether it was the unaccustomed attention of society or Mr. Yarrow that turned her head was difficult to say, but certainly she had lost that first eagerness to please. To add to the difficulty of managing her, she no longer looked to Laura as her mentor.

When Lord Talman once again appeared for the last sitting, Olivia gave him a very cold glance, then looked away without even nodding. Talman took up a seat beside Laura.

"The baroness seems out of sorts today," he said in a low voice.

"The strain of the sittings is beginning to tell on her," Laura invented.

"Yet Hyatt works faster than most painters. He is a fine artist. Have you seen his engravings?"

"Engravings? I had no idea he did engravings."

"He doesn't do the engraving himself; he designs the pieces and has them sent out to be done. It is a long, laborious process, you know, and Hyatt admits he hasn't the patience for it. I am here to purchase his London Life series for Mama. She is very pleased with his Country Life series. Would you like to see them?"

"Where are they?" Laura asked. It occurred to her that this might be an invitation to Lord Talman's house. She was eager to go but feared that Olivia might dig in her heels and refuse.

"Why, they are in the back room. I am surprised you haven't seen them." He rose quietly and had a word with Hyatt. Hyatt frowned and seemed to be objecting, but Talman spoke again, then beckoned to Laura. She followed him into an office off the studio. "This is the new London Life folio," he said.

A pile of leather-bound folios sat on top of an oak desk. Lord Talman lifted the cover to show Laura an engraving. It was a marvelous picture of an old sailor sitting on the edge of a dock, gazing out to sea. He held a pipe in one gnarled hand. A dilapidated cap shaded his eyes, giving him an air of mystery. "This was done down at the Blackwell Wharf, where the East India Company has its docks," he explained.

Tall masts of ships soared into the sky. Layers of clouds gave the engraving a somber tone. But it was at the man's face that she gazed longest. With a few strokes, Hyatt had suggested the end of a hard life. The man was not frowning, but a sense of nostalgia and resignation enshrouded him. Perhaps it was the pose, with the shoulders slumped forward.

Talman lifted the page, and a smiling green grocer greeted her, holding up a cabbage he had just lifted from his barrow. This one was in the prime of life. He was content with his lot. His face was as round and common as the cabbage, yet he was more than a type. One could sense his good humor-almost hear the raucous sound of his laughter.

Talman kept turning pages, giving glimpses of postmen and linkboys, of hackney drivers and seamstresses. All his models were from the lower strata. One engraving was of two women of the street. The young, pretty one was obviously just beginning her career, and a pace behind her stood a derelict hag at the dog end of hers. It was not an indictment, but a compassionate character study.

Laura was overwhelmed with the work. She had no idea Hyatt was a serious artist. "I thought he only painted society," she said.

Talman laughed. "No, he calls those things at Somerset House his 'relaxation paintings'. This is his real work."

"But why does he not exhibit it?"

Talman just shrugged. "I don't know. Perhaps he is afraid the critics will savage him. He is insecure regarding his work-needlessly so. Anyone can see he is a genius. The new Hogarth. This set is a companion to the Country Life series I mentioned. It features farmers and shepherds, dairy maids and grooms, each in his native habitat. Unidealized, you know, with the warts and wrinkles in place. Yet there is an austere beauty to it. Even without advertising or exhibiting, they are being snapped up by collectors."

"I should like to see the Country Series," Laura said, glancing around for another set of folios.

"Hyatt told me the Prince asked for a copy last week. Hyatt sent him over the last one he had here, though of course there are more at the engravers. I have a set at home, if you would like to see them."

She professed a polite interest, and Talman continued, "In fact, I was hoping you and the baroness, and of course your chaperones, would spend the weekend at Castlefield, my father's estate. It is not far from London. Mama is having a house party this weekend." He named several prominent guests, including two Cabinet ministers and several peers. "But perhaps I have left it too late. I have been trying to screw up my courage to ask her all week-the baroness, that is. I am afraid I have not had much encouragement."

Laura was flustered. She recognized the invitation for a great compliment but knew as well that neither Mrs. Traemore nor Olivia would realize it. "It sounds charming," she said. "I don't believe we have anything important on this weekend. Of course I must ask Mrs. Traemore before accepting. I'll have her write you a note, shall I?"

"Perhaps I should go home with you to urge her on?"

It was agreed that he would call that afternoon. He mentioned some of the entertainments planned. "Just a simple weekend. Nothing grand, but Mama has arranged a dinner party and a rout. We enjoy excellent riding at Castlefield. There would be no need to bring your own mounts. We keep several ladies' mounts at home."

This last treat was the likeliest to lure Olivia from London. She was missing her bruising rides. "It sounds lovely."

Talman inclined his head closer and said, in a confidential tone, "Do try if you can convince the baroness. She is so busy in London I can seldom get near her.”

The door opened, and Lord Hyatt's head peeked in. "The portrait is finished," he announced.

They both turned. Talman said, "I was just showing Miss Harwood your engravings, Hyatt."

"Miss Harwood will not be interested in that. You should not bore a lady with that heavy stuff, Talman," Hyatt said modestly, but he peered uncertainly to see how Laura had liked them.

"They are-wonderful," she said, grasping for the right word. "Beautiful" seemed inappropriate, though he had drawn a haunting beauty from his mundane models and settings. "So different from your society portraits. I had no idea you did this sort of work. I especially like the mood of the old sailor engraving."

She opened the cover to study the top engraving again. Talman said, "I shall mention the weekend to the baroness," and left. Hyatt moved forward to take his place by the desk.

"How did you come to get interested in this sort of work, Lord Hyatt?" she asked.

"This is my first love, my only love, really," he replied. "This is the sort of work I did originally. I began with sketches from country life. When that was done, I came to London and did these. Mama told me I was becoming 'strange,' loitering about the alleys and slums of the city. I should mix more with my own sort. I was not happy without a paint brush or pencil in my hand, so I began painting what is called 'my own sort,' whatever that may be. Sometimes I feel I have little in common with my own sort. They are blind to reality, what goes on in the rest of the country to give them-us-our privileged life."

Laura listened and realized there were depths to Hyatt that she had never imagined. She had thought him only a fashionable fribble, but that was merely the surface. She could well imagine that once he began to mingle in society, he would be lionized, the more so as he flattered the ladies. Two weeks of flattery had changed Olivia's behavior. Hyatt had withstood it for years without becoming impossible.

"That is why you donate their commissions to charity?" she said.

"A nobleman is not expected to work for money. That would be infra dig. Any of us with a soupcon of talent is expected to ply his earnings into charity works. Lord Byron did the same. Not that I mean to equate my poor skills with his!"

She gave a quizzing look. "You are too modest, Lord Hyatt. It is difficult to equate apples and oranges, but I would assess your work to be of more lasting worth than Byron's poetry. It sounds absurd to compare his eastern poems with your society portraits, but they are of that sort-not real. Oh, I did not mean to offend you!" she said with a quick, rueful look.

"On the contrary, I am flattered, Miss Harwood. Laura-if I may call you so," he said, looking to see if she objected. She nodded, pleased with him. "It is a lovely, gentle name. It suits you. I have wanted to use it these last days, to ease my exacerbated spirits."

"It is Yarrow and that set-"

He shook his head ruefully. "Truth to tell, it is your baroness. She seemed such an unspoiled creature when I began her portrait. I envisaged her as one thing. Then before my eyes, she changed. She no longer seemed at home in her woodsy setting. I fear she will not be flattered at her likeness. When she nagged at me for the tenth time about 'that horrid dress,' I was tempted to stick a tiara on her saucy head."

Laura blushed for her cousin's behavior. "She was not accustomed to so much attention. It has gone to her head, I fear. Lord Talman is her latest conquest. He has invited us to Castlefield for the weekend."

"I didn't think he came so often for the pleasure of watching me work. My only question was whether it was the baroness or yourself who was the drawing card," he said, with a quizzical smile.

"Me!" Laura exclaimed, and laughed. "Indeed, no. I am merely his confidante."

"There is no accounting for taste," he said, with a gallant bow that suggested the baroness was not his own first choice. "Will you go to Castlefield?"

"I have some hope that the lure of horseflesh might win her over. She would prefer to stay in town and rattle about with Yarrow, I expect. He has arranged an outing this afternoon-which means Mr. Meadows and I must tag along behind, to play propriety."

Hyatt knew that Laura was frequently in Meadows's company. Her casual linking of their names suggested a growing closeness between them. "You have known him for some time, I believe?"

"His aunt lives at Whitchurch, so he has been going there for years." He waited, nodding, but she said no more.

After seeing Hyatt's engravings, Laura felt that she had passed up an opportunity at immortality by refusing to sit for him. She felt sure that his works would last. How marvelous to have a likeness of herself, done by a true genius. She wished he would broach the subject again. She sensed some change in him. He had not flirted with her since the day she refused his second offer to paint her. He was too gentlemanly to sulk, but she had been aware of a distance in his manner. And she was too shy to bring the idea forward herself.

She looked at him a moment, just smiling, then said, "Well, may we see the painting of the baroness now?"

"Of course. It is customary to open a bottle of champagne to toast the work's success. You will tell me whether this one merits champagne or ale."

When they went into the studio, the others were at the easel, examining the picture. At a glance, Laura thought it very much like his other society portraits, only in a different setting, of course. The same idealization of Olivia's charms was there. But as she studied it, she noticed the expression on the face was a little off. A nymph of nature should look innocent. That 'rapture' he had mentioned was nowhere in evidence. There was a jarring air of pride in Olivia's uplifted chin, a touch of ennui in the glazed eye. Laura sensed that he had become bored with it. He had not bothered to paint in the straw bonnet, for instance, as he had planned.

"Lovely!" Olivia cooed. "I love it, Lord Hyatt! May I take it home to show Auntie?"

"It is not dry yet. I am not quite happy with the face-the eyes," he said, gazing at his work.

"You must not change a thing! I look so pretty. Is it not very lifelike, cousin?"

"Very lifelike," Laura agreed. Then she glanced at Hyatt, and their eyes held. She read some secret amusement in them. His ennui with the work had escaped Olivia. She looked pretty, and that was all that mattered.

"Between you and the baroness, you will certainly set a new style," Talman said, studying the portrait. "I foresee all the ladies removing their jewels, borrowing their maids' frocks, painting freckles on their faces, and running barefoot through the drawing rooms of London."

Mr. Meadows also thought it a jolly fine picture. There was some quiet talk of how much should be paid and which charity the check should be delivered to.

Talman turned discreetly away to converse with Laura. "The baroness has agreed to come, if her aunt approves. I must have a word with Hyatt, but I shall go to Charles Street a little later to add my persuasions to hers. I hope the baroness is not disappointed with the stable," he said. Obviously that was what had won Olivia over.

"I fear such a trip will require the Turtle, Lord Talman," Laura warned him. "Mrs. Traemore will never venture outside of London without it."

"I should love to see it! I must be the only man in London who was not caught behind it during its voyage to town."

Suddenly Hyatt appeared at Laura's elbow. "You have not told me. Do we christen the work with champagne, or ale?"

"Oh, champagne!" Talman decreed. "We cannot insult the baroness with ale, Hyatt. Even if it is not one of your best works," he added frankly.

The champagne was produced and drunk, and Mr. Meadows escorted the ladies home.

In the studio, Lord Talman said, "I don't suppose you would be interested in joining us at Castlefield this weekend, Hyatt? Mama would love to have you."

"Let me know if the baroness's party agrees to go."

"Do I sense competition?" Talman asked warily.

"Not for the baroness."

"I see." Talman realized Hyatt did not care for the baroness and assumed his acceptance hinged on her refusing. He wanted Hyatt's presence, and to encourage his coming he said, "Miss Harwood is a nice girl. Sensible. She was mad for your engravings, you know. You were mistaken to think the ladies would not appreciate them. You ought to have them exhibited."

"A few ladies have seen them. Their usual comment is, why do I waste my time on such things, when I can paint so nicely."

"The fate of you geniuses," Talman joked. "A man is never a prophet in his own country, and I would add that seldom in his own lifetime either."

"Now you are making me blush, Talman. You won't forget to let me know if the baroness's party is going to Castlefield?"

"Certainly. That sounds like an invitation for me to leave."

"I have a little business to attend to."

They parted, and Hyatt returned to stare at the painting on the easel. It was a horrible, botched thing. Yet the sitter had loved it. Society would love it. The only bit of originality in it was the setting and costume, and that was hardly original. Marie Antoinette and the great court ladies had amused themselves by playing peasants at the Petit Trianon. Of course they had no real interest in the country life. It was merely a fashion.

His mind roved to Laura Harwood. He was surprised and gratified that she had approved of his engravings. Odd, too, that she had mentioned his own favorite, the Old Sailor. She was one of those quiet girls who improved on longer acquaintance. He had seen a good deal of her unobtrusive management of the baroness. She always maintained her calm and her good manners. She had what Mama would call countenance. He hoped she would be at Castlefield. He would like to know her better, hopefully away from the baroness… and Mr. Meadows.