The Barefoot Baroness

Chapter Twenty

The other ladies were already assembled when Laura floated down to breakfast the next morning. Hettie Traemore wore a satisfied smile, the baroness a smug one, and Mrs. Harwood a strained one. Laura wore her best sprigged muslin.

"You'll never guess what, Laura," Mrs. Traemore announced. "Our little Livvie has had an offer! Pretty fast work, eh?"

"How very nice," Laura said, and went to bestow a congratulatory kiss on the baroness. "There is no need to inquire for the gentleman's name, I think. Mr. Meadows has come up to scratch."

"Yes, it is Robert," Livvie said, with a more natural smile than she had worn for several weeks. Her veneer of pride had dissolved in the heat of Robert's love. He had never seemed so strong and dashing as when he had read that lecture to Yarrow. All his past kindnesses had been reviewed over the intervening hours: his getting a carriage and mount for her, his frequent gifts of bonbons, his unswerving devotion to her least whim. But really it was last night's ferocity that had tilted the scales in his favor. A gentleman can be too kind and loyal for his own good.

"I would draw your cork if it weren't drawn already," he had said fiercely to Yarrow when he rescued her from the Pantheon. His eyes had blazed, and his hands clenched into fists. "How dare you take advantage of this innocent girl! You are not fit to touch the hem of her skirt. If I ever see you oiling around her again, I'll put a bullet through you."

That easily the baroness was restored to her former state of pristine vulnerability, and Mr. Meadows was exalted to hero-dom. Before they were halfway home, he had released the flood of his pent-up love. He wanted to cherish her and fight off all the other gentlemen. He worked himself up to such a fit of passion that his embrace sent the same shivers up Olivia's spine as Mr. Yarrow's had done a week before. Mrs. Traemore's approval was a mere formality. He knew he had won his baroness, her dowry and her tin mine, till death should them part. And to do the man justice, it was the baroness herself who was considered the greatest prize.

Laura was bursting to make her own announcement, but this morning belonged to Olivia, and she praised her cousin's ingenuity and Mr. Meadows's eligibility, and even allowed that she had always thought him very handsome indeed. All the ladies in Whitchurch thought so. If the baroness deduced from this that she had snatched him from under her cousin's nose, no one seemed to mind, except Mrs. Harwood.

Mr. Meadows duly appeared at ten o'clock and was closeted with Hettie Traemore for five minutes, three of which were spent arranging the recliner for her back. At five after ten, they both emerged, wreathed in smiles. Within a half hour, the engaged couple were on their way to insert the announcement in the journals. Hettie went to the study to write the glad tidings to her cronies in Cornwall.

Mrs. Harwood drew a deep sigh as she gazed at her own mateless daughter. What did the girl find to smile about? She would go home, having lost out on even that boring Meadows.

"You are looking pretty pleased at Livvie's catch," Mrs. Harwood said through thin lips.

"No, Mama. I am pleased with my own. Hyatt will be coming to speak to you at eleven."

Mrs. Harwood's mouth fell open. "You never mean it! Lord Hyatt! Laura, my dear. I could not be happier for you. Why, this quite puts cousin Olivia's catch in the shade."

"There is no shade when you are in love, Mama," Laura said, with a mooning smile. But then Mrs. Harwood could not even mentally criticize her daughter when she had executed this stunning coup. Lord Hyatt! She could scarcely believe it.

"Maybe he'll do your portrait," she said inanely, as though that took precedence over marrying her.

"He spoke of doing yours, Mama," Laura said, and laughed.

Really, the girl was acting like a simpleton. "You'd best go upstairs and get ready to meet him." She noticed then that Laura was already wearing her best day frock. "So had I," Mrs. Harwood added, and ran off to put on her lace cap with the blue ribbons. There was something in Hyatt that brought out the coquette in ladies of all ages. How her poor Laura would ever cope with the rascal was enough to send chills up her spine, but not enough to prod her into any words of discouragement. Lord Hyatt! She could not be more shocked or delighted if Laura had got an offer from the Prince Regent himself.

In the saloon, Laura sighed luxuriously. She rose to touch her curls and make a few faces in the mirror. Then she quietly closed the door and did a little waltz of joy, humming to accompany herself, for she was much too happy to sit still.

Copyright © 1992 by Joan Smith

Originally published by Fawcett Crest [044950X496]

Electronically published in 2010 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads 148