The Barefoot Baroness

Chapter Sixteen

Laura feared that supper would be a ghastly meal. People would be gossiping about Lady Devereau's performance, with herself as adversary. They were already whispering their heads off about the baroness. At dinner, they would have two of the three infamous ladies at the same table. Lord Talman had not asked them to join his table, but at least they had Lord Hyatt for an escort. She realized how outre she and Livvie had become, when they must look to Hyatt to lend them a touch of respectability.

It was beyond human nature to ignore the threesome, and their table did receive a deal of attention. But somehow, between Hyatt's nonsense and Livvie's lack of concern and a euphoria that swelled up in her when she remembered Hyatt's embrace, Laura actually enjoyed the interlude. She could not say she enjoyed the viands. In fact, when the meal was over, the only thing she could actually recall eating was a stalk of asparagus that Hyatt had fed her.

She had felt flattered, yet she recalled with a wince having chastised Olivia for accepting a petit four from Yarrow's fingers at another party. Olivia had noticed the asparagus incident, too. She cocked her head to one side and gave her sly smile, as though to say, Aha, I see it is a case of do as I say, not as I do.

Laura's greatest fear-that Olivia would broadcast Hyatt's proposal, if one could call it a proposal-did not come to pass. Actually, he had not asked her to marry him. He had merely announced that his intentions were honorable. That could mean that he was considering a proposal-testing the waters, as it were, to see if they would suit. There was hardly a worse-suited couple in all of London than Hyatt and Miss Harwood. He was a wealthy peer, a dasher, and a womanizer, sought after by not only the nubile debs, but by such high fliers as Lady Devereau. Miss Harwood was a provincial miss who wanted only a respectable match to save herself from spinsterhood.

But now that he had kissed her and whispered those unbelievable words in her ear, she realized that any other parti would be unthinkable. If Hyatt did not come up to scratch, she would return to Whitchurch, put on her caps, and set up as a spinster.

When dinner was finally over, it was one o'clock. Surely she could retire now without appearing to flee the scene of her shame. When Olivia raised her fingers to stifle a yawn, it was a good enough excuse to suggest they both retire. To Laura's considerable surprise, Olivia agreed without argument.

"Just one more dance," Hyatt said, with a wheedling smile. "Now that we are as well as engaged, even you cannot object to standing up with me a second time," he pointed out.

"We are not engaged," she said simply.

Hyatt regarded her blushing embarrassment with satisfaction. "What, are you planning to jilt me? After your stout defense of my character in the refreshment parlor, I felt myself as good as accepted."

"You are being perfectly nonsensical," she said, grasping Olivia by the wrist to lead her away.

"Aren't you going to kiss her good night?" Olivia asked Hyatt.

"Not in front of an audience," he parried, but bis glowing eyes said he would like to.

Laura said, "Good night, Hyatt," and darted upstairs, dragging Olivia along with her. "That was an ill-bred thing to say," she scolded.

The baroness turned a sapient eye on her cousin. "Then I expect I shall hear you repeat it, for tonight you have done all the things you have been telling me not to do. You were very rude to that nice Lady Devereau. You sneaked off to the library to cuddle with Hyatt, after cutting up stiff with me for meeting John." As a parting shot she added, "And I saw him feeding you that asparagus, too. You are a fraud, cousin."

Then a conspiratorial smile flashed out and she threw her arms around Laura. "I like you much better, now that you have acquired a few human failings. Love becomes you. Good night."

She was gone, leaving Laura alone to ponder the situation. Olivia was quite right. She was a fraud, dispensing her rules and regulations, and breaking every one of them as soon as Hyatt tossed his hankie at her. She had obviously lost the last vestige of control over the chit. She had failed to maneuver Olivia into an engagement with Lord Talman-and, truth to tell, she was not sorry. He was a dull clod of a fellow, too concerned with appearances. Yarrow was too much the opposite, however, and a gambling fool to boot. She must try to keep him from Olivia after they returned to London. But in her heart she knew that if Olivia felt about Yarrow as she felt about Hyatt, wild horses would not keep them apart.

The morning brought a few unpleasant surprises. Mrs. Traemore had got wind of Laura's misdeeds and came to her room before breakfast to take her to task.

"I hear you have made yourself a byword, Laura," she said accusingly. "It seems hard to scold little Livvie for a bit of childish carry-on when you, who are looking after her, have been throwing yourself at Lord Hyatt's head."

"I have not been throwing myself at Hyatt," Laura said, but she said it apologetically, without conviction.

"You are not blushing like a blue cow either, I suppose," Hettie retorted. "I wonder if I did right to entrust Livvie to you. No wonder she misbehaves, when she has you for a model."

"I have done the best I can with Olivia. If you are not satisfied with my company, Mrs. Traemore, I shall be very happy to return home."

"Yes, now that you have nabbed a title for yourself! And never mind that you did not bring Talman up to scratch for Livvie. I begin to see why you were so eager for Livvie to look ridiculous in her portrait. You wanted to give Hyatt a disgust of her, so you made her take off her shoes and pose in Fanny's old, faded, yellow frock, with the grass stains on the hem. Fanny told me as much, but I, like a fool, would not listen to her."

"Yet you seem to have heard, without listening. It was not I but Lord Hyatt who chose Olivia's outfit for the painting."

At this juncture, Mrs. Traemore's eyes fell on the sketch of Laura. "I see Lord Hyatt did not have you don a servant's gown for your painting.”

"It is not a painting, merely a little sketch that he did in the garden."

A nasty smile settled on Hettie's lips. "You are welcome to your rake. Livvie would not have him if he crawled on his hands and knees."

"I shouldn't think that very likely, Mrs. Traemore.”

"Nor do I, for it seems he is still in love with the Devereau hussy, if gossip is to be believed. Mrs. Campbell tells me she saw him creeping into her room last night in his stocking feet, after all decent folks had gone to bed."

Laura's face blanched. "I don't believe it," she said in a small voice.

"He has conned you properly, greenhead. Mrs. Campbell not only saw him go in, she kept an eye on the door, for she got her room changed around the corner when Lady Devereau moved in. She watched for ten minutes, and he did not come out."

"Did she also put her ear to the door?" Laura asked, hiding her grief with sarcasm.

"She did, but they were whispering. She did hear the bed springs groan, however."

"That is disgusting," Laura said, and she turned her back to her caller.

Hettie felt she had done her duty and had quite enjoyed it. Talking Laura down from the boughs could wait for another time, for of course Laura must remain in London with Olivia. With her bad back, she could not be expected to jaunter about town till all hours of the morning. "We will be leaving for church at nine o'clock," she said. "Best get downstairs and have some breakfast."

Laura heard, but she was unable to answer. She just stood, with her back to her caller, until the door was closed. She felt as if a mule had kicked her in the stomach. Everything inside her hurt, but she shed no tears. She had always known Hyatt for a rakehell. Why should she be surprised? He had probably had to claim his intentions were honorable a dozen times this season alone, as he was really not at all discreet about where and when he embraced a lady.

Lady Devereau's prophetic words came back to haunt her. "Here today, gone tomorrow-with only a painting and a ruined reputation for a memory." She strode to the bureau, snatched up the sketch, and tore it in a dozen pieces, then threw it in the wastebasket. She didn't want any physical reminders of this unholy interlude. Her memories alone would be quite enough.

After she had destroyed the sketch, she sat on the edge of the bed, regretting her hasty deed. Another whole day to be got in before they could return to London, and thence home to Whitchurch.

Her second Season had been a greater disaster than her first. It would require all her breeding to carry on, but she'd be damned if she meant to let Lord Hyatt and his mistress destroy her reputation.

Ten minutes later, she opened the door and went down to the morning parlor. A fair crowd had gathered, but she noticed from the doorway that Hyatt was not there and was thankful. When Talman rose to draw her chair, she smiled politely. She took her plate to the sideboard and put a small amount of food on it, determined to force herself to eat something. She complimented Talman on his rout and discussed roses with Lady Meaford.

Soon the baroness and her chaperones joined the table. As soon as she decently could, Laura rose and took her leave.

"I shall meet you outside in forty minutes for church, Mama," she said.

Olivia grabbed Laura's skirt as she turned to flee. "He is in the garden waiting for you," she whispered, and smiled encouragingly.

Laura went directly upstairs. Let him wait! What could Hyatt possibly have to say to her? If he meant to continue the flirtation, he would charm her into acquiescence. If he was tired of it, he would laugh it off. How is my fiancee this morning? Or am I being previous to call you my fiancee? No doubt you are too wise to accept my offer. She could almost see the wary light in his eye as he backed off from her.

Her hostess had left a book of poetry by the bedside to beguile a restless guest to slumber. Gray's Elegy in a Country Churchyard just suited her somber mood. At the appointed hour, she put on her bonnet and went belowstairs. She hardly felt the jarring of her heart when Hyatt was seen loitering below.

He looked up the stairs as she descended, and smiled. "Does that bonnet mean you are going to church? I thought we might have a ride this morning."

She gave him a chilly smile. "I always attend church on Sunday, Lord Hyatt, but I shan't attempt to coerce you into anything so respectable. By all means you must have your ride."

"I usually do my worshipping out-of-doors. Trees were made before cathedrals. Will you ride with me this afternoon?"

"I have made other plans," she said, and whisked past him to join a group of ladies bent on going to church.

Hyatt stood looking after her, with a frown puckering his brow. Now what the devil was bothering Laura? He could understand if she had ripped up at him after the set-to with Marie Devereau last night, but she had taken that in her stride. There should be no more trouble with Marie. He had promised to give her the damned portrait, to be rid of her. He had done it as much to please Laura as for any other reason, since she had asked rather pointedly why he wished to keep it. That had certainly sounded like jealousy. A lady was not jealous about a gent she didn't care for.

She had not joined him in the garden, and he knew she had received his message, because the baroness nipped out after her breakfast and told him so. It was beginning to look like a concerted effort to avoid him. Damn, if she meant to refuse his offer, she might at least have the common courtesy to tell him so, instead of leaving him in limbo. He expected more propriety from Miss Harwood. But in the contrary way of human nature, the worse she behaved, the better he was coming to love her.

During the church service, Laura racked her brain to think what she could do that afternoon to avoid Lord Hyatt. When the minister announced that he was giving a guided tour of the church that afternoon, she decided to attend it. A church was sure to be safe from that reprobate, Lord Hyatt.

She mentioned her plan to her mother on the way home. "Why would you want to do that, dear?" her mother asked in perplexity. "The whole point of it is to show the parishioners how the church is falling apart. He is going to take up a collection to make the repairs afterward." Laura had missed that part. "It is not a shilling he will expect either, but a couple of guineas."

"It is a lovely old church. I shall subscribe one guinea," Laura said. It was a bargain price to keep her at distance from Hyatt. When she announced her plan at luncheon, three other ladies decided they would join her.

"We can go in my carriage," Lady Meaford said.

Laura breathed a sigh of relief. She and three other ladies would fill up the carriage, in case Hyatt planned to join them. From the stiff face he was wearing, this did not seem likely.

He did not approach her after lunch. Some of the youngsters were having a game of croquet, and when Lady Meaford's carriage swept through the park, Laura recognized Hyatt's gleaming blond head and broad shoulders. Lady Devereau, she assumed, had been served her breakfast in bed and left. Laura did not see her that day, and none of the other guests mentioned her.

Laura took two memories of the church tour home with her. One was of Reverend Burnes prodding the perishing rock with his cane. A fine white powder had sifted down when he knocked it, reminding her of confectioner's sugar being sifted on to a cake. It was surprisingly white. The other was of standing a hundred yards back from the church to see the condition of the lead roof. She had worried that it would be dangerous for men to have to hang on to its steep inclination to replace the aging lead.

Mrs. Burnes served cake and tea after, and the ladies left their donations in a silver bowl on a side table on their way out. She noticed that Lady Meaford left five guineas, but there were also shillings and crowns and half crowns in the bowl, so she did not feel like a skint.

Tea at the vicarage precluded having to take tea at Castlefield. There remained only dinner and Sunday evening to be got in. They were to leave early Monday morning. Laura was at pains to avoid Hyatt at dinner. This was made easier, as he had not been to the bother of rearranging the seating. She refused to look across the board at him, but she felt that his dark eyes were often turned in her direction.

As no entertainment was planned on a Sunday, Laura went upstairs while the gentlemen took their port, claiming that she had letters to write. Olivia had been pestering her throughout the day to ask whether she had accepted Hyatt. Fearing that she would come again, Laura arranged stationery on the desk and even dated one sheet of Castlefield's embossed letter paper. It would be fun to write home to some of her friends on such prestigious paper.

She owed her cousin Belle Harwood a letter, and desultorily wrote a few lines. Before long her pen fell idle, and she sat, just gazing at the picture of a ship above the desk. A small brass plaque bore the title "Shipwreck." The ship had a great many sails and plunged precariously into waves that threatened to engulf it. Rocks loomed ahead. Change the sea to society and the subject just suited her own situation. She felt she had plunged headlong into a mess that was as doomed as that ship, tossed on a stormy sea.

When she heard a tap on the door, she picked up her pen and called, "Come in." She arranged a bland smile to greet Olivia.

The door opened, and Lord Hyatt's form loomed in the dim light from the hallway.