The Barefoot Baroness

Chapter Seven

Lady Morgan's ball was the Season's opening salvo. Everyone with any claim or pretention to social eclat was there, along with dozens of others who had managed to bribe or steal a ticket. It was a foregone conclusion that Lord Hyatt was the Season's social lion. Before long, it was known who was the lioness. The Baroness Pilmore, flushed with excitement and looking more fashionable than she had ever looked before (though still less fashionable than most debs), was his partner for the opening minuet. Every eye in the room was on her.

"Who is that great, awkward ladder of a girl Hyatt is standing up with?" Lady Jersey asked her hostess.

Lady Morgan gave a disparaging laugh at her friend's pitiful ignorance. "You don't mean you have not met Baroness Pilmore, from Cornwall? Tin mines, forty thousand pounds-”

"So that is her! The lady who came to town in the Turtle? A very graceful dancer. I must give her a voucher to Almack's." Lady Jersey darted off to announce her discovery.

"I do not recognize Hyatt's partner. A country lumpkin. That carrot top suggests she is his cousin from Scotland," Lady Castlereagh whispered to Lady Jersey.

"Why, Amelia! You are out of it entirely. That is the tin heiress from Cornwall, Baroness Pilmore. Forty thousand pounds. Refreshingly unspoiled, don't you think? I am just about to give her a voucher to Almack's."

"Ah, the Turtle girl! I have just been admiring her hair. Such a lovely Titian shade."

"Baroness Pilmore, the tin heiress from Cornwall," Lady Castlereagh soon confided to a wondering Mrs. Drummond-Burrell.

"A delightful creature. So refreshing to see that fine complexion and smattering of freckles on her. The debs are all becoming so jaded one feels they have never seen the sun."

Before the set was over, any experienced lady realized that red hair, freckles, a tall build, and a laugh a shade louder than normal were the new criteria for acceptability. Pocket Venuses were no longer in style; they were reduced to 'squabs.' Hours of deportment lessons went flying out the window.

During the second act, Lord Hyatt's next partner, Miss Harwood, came under the microscope.

"The baroness's cousin," Lady Morgan confided to a bosom bow. "She is here to show the baroness the ropes. I had it of the baroness's chaperone, Mrs. Traemore. Miss Harwood must be up to all the rigs, as she has snagged Hyatt for the baroness so soon."

"A charming girl. A little longer in the tooth than the baroness, of course."

"Yes, Miss Harwood has been around forever. Lady Devereau's nose will be out of joint.”

"Is it Miss Harwood or the baroness who is Hyatt's new flirt?"

"If he plans to take a wife this Season, then of course it would be the baroness. But you know Hyatt! That does not preclude his enjoying Miss Harwood's company as well."

"He never had much use for debs." Knowing smiles were exchanged.

Lady Devereau gained a ticket to the ball by means best not discussed; her partner was a banker to whom Lord Morgan owed ten thousand pounds. Her lovely nose was completely out of joint. Lord Hyatt exchanged a few words with her, but he did not honor her with a dance. His interest had never penetrated much deeper than her pretty face. Once it was on canvas, he was looking for fresh inspiration. If she had jilted her latest flirt on his account-well, it would not take her long to pick up a new one. She was becoming a byword for her affairs.

Laura was fully alive to the excitement Olivia was causing and was gratified to see her cousin bounced off to such a promising start. That her own star was rising never occurred to her. She knew Hyatt attracted a great deal of attention and assumed that the squinting eyes were on her partner.

"Did you do any work on my cousin's portrait this afternoon, milord?" she asked as they danced.

"Certainly not," he answered promptly. "I mean to draw it out for as long as possible, to ensure her chaperone's company."

A gurgle of laughter rose up in her throat. "That cannot be necessary. Mr. Meadows would be happy to see you whether you are painting the baroness or not."

He gave a playful grimace. "Spiked my own wheel with that dread word, chaperone! It has already been explained to me once that you are the baroness's friend and cousin, not her chaperone. As you are trying to palm Meadows off on me, am I correct in assuming that you and he are not a romantic item? I would not want to make enemies by poaching."

"You make me sound like a hare, or a pheasant."

"It was only a figure of speech."

"Yes, a figure of speech that denigrates a lady," she riposted.

"We gentlemen never take exception to being called fish," he pointed out, with a spark of mischief lurking in his eyes. "Surely that is our zoological genus, when we are told that ladies are 'angling' after us. But enough of metaphors. What I am trying to discover is whether you are Mr. Meadows's hare-or pheasant. Or anyone else's, for that matter."

She smiled vaguely and said, "Perhaps that depends on what sort of fish you are, milord. If you are a shark, then I am someone else's hare."

"And if I am an innocent freshwater gudgeon?"

"I would have to be a gudgeon to entertain that possibility."

"Excellent! We have achieved some common ground. We are both gudgeons. I have no use for miscegenation myself. And still you have not told me whether you are engaged to Mr. Meadows." He glanced at her left hand.

"I am not engaged to anyone."

"I rather thought Meadows was rolling his eyes at our barefoot friend. She is a hit already, by the by. You have done an excellent job of launching her."

"You must take the credit for that, Lord Hyatt. It is your standing up with her for the opening dance that accounts for it."

"I can think of forty thousand other reasons-and a tin mine-that had something to do with it, but as that is your first compliment to me, I shall blush shyly and expostulate that it is no such thing."

She shook her head. "Are you always so foolish?"

"No, only when I am with beautiful ladies. Among gentlemen, I am taken for a sensible fellow. I have even been known to discuss politics."

"It is news to me if a leopard can change its spots."

"Do you think we put me in the wrong species? Perhaps I should be classified as a chameleon."

After exchanging thrusts and parries with Hyatt for a whole set, there was no doubt in Laura's mind what category he belonged to: gazetted flirt. She wanted only to retire to some quiet corner and sip a glass of wine to restore her equanimity, for she was not accustomed to such excitement.

She soon realized that her wallflower days were over. The evening was a steady round of dancing. In some magical manner, she had become one of the chosen ones. The most dashing, most eligible gentlemen stood in line to partner her. How had it happened? Five years ago, when she was younger and prettier, they had not even glanced at her. Suddenly they were falling over themselves to know her. And it was not only the gentlemen either.

Three of Almack's hostesses had offered her vouchers. "For you and your charming cousin, the baroness."

That, of course, was the answer. All the world wanted to know Olivia. No doubt the tin mine and the dot had something to do with it, but the spread of Olivia's fame would not have been so rapid and rampant without Hyatt's attentions. He was the catalyst that had set off this explosion of popularity. She must take care that Olivia did not get burned.

Who was that awkward concern she was standing up with now? He looked a rakish sort-one of the younger set, a handsome enough fellow, but not out of the very top drawer. The shoulders of his jacket were wadded, and the waist pinched too tightly. His cravat was too complicated, and his laugh just a little overdone.

She asked her partner, a dasher called Sir Hugh Standish, who the man was.

"That is young Yarrow," he replied. "He'll come into his uncle's baronetcy one day, and an abbey in Devon, but he won't hold on to it long, the way he is going. He is a gambler. He has no bad reputation with the ladies, however."

"You are mistaken, Sir Hugh. A gambler always has a bad reputation with any lady of common sense." Especially when he is dangling after an heiress.

Laura paid no special heed to Lord Hyatt during the rest of the evening. She had had her dance with him and did not plan to have another. She saw him from time to time, standing up with all the prettiest debs. Their smiles told her they were being flirted with and complimented as she had been. She was enjoying her own success so much that she scarcely noticed. When dinner was announced, Hyatt suddenly appeared at her side.

"We gudgeons are not only used for bait," he said, with an exquisite bow. "We eat, as well as being eaten."

"Oh, are you eating with us?" she asked, surprised.

"I arranged it with Meadows and the baroness. If you have made other arrangements, I shall call Meadows out. He was to tell you."

"He did say he had made arrangements, but he did not say with whom."

"Ah, well, he did not want you to set up a rebellion against the scheme," he said, placing her hand on his arm and strolling toward the dining room.

“Why would I do that? I am honored that you are joining us."

Hyatt had expected some persiflage and was momentarily reduced to silence by her polite reply. How did she manage to say all the right things, yet give the impression that she was far from honored? One could not fault her for a lack of politeness. She smiled and conversed intelligently, but when the dinner was over, Hyatt was left with the unusual sensation of having been tolerated, rather than welcomed. He had not made a conscious decision, but somewhere at the bottom of his mind the idea was floating about that he would squire the baroness about for a week or so to get to know her. He always painted the face last, after he knew his model fairly well. These outings would be more enjoyable with a conversable lady along for diversion.

Intrigued, he forged on. "Shall we have our second dance now?" he asked, as they returned to the ballroom.

"You have forgotten the baroness is to go home early, as she has an early rising."

"I have not forgotten. Her aunt or Mr. Meadows can take her home."

"And how am I to get home?" she asked.

"In my carriage, ma'am. We also have an early rising, but as we are not to be captured on canvas, a soupcon of dissipation will not matter."

"It will be better if I accompany Olivia and Mr. Meadows," she said with another polite smile to conceal her mood. She was greatly excited, yet more than a little terrified at Hyatt's persistence. She would no more have gone alone with him in a carriage than she would have gone with a tiger.

He tilted his head to one side and studied her. "Which of us is it you distrust?" he asked bluntly.

She returned his look, then said, with just a touch of asperity, "I have never found Mr. Meadows anything but completely trustworthy, Lord Hyatt."

His smile stretched to a grin, and he said recklessly, "He sounds a dull dog. No wonder you refuse to be his hare. Whenever you feel a need of some… danger in your life, my carriage is at your disposal. A demain." He bowed and left.

Laura escaped, uncertain whether she had just received a setdown or a compliment. The baroness was voluble on the way home, chattering about the wonder of her first 'real' ball, for the do's at home hardly merited the name ball after the present evening's wonders.

"Who was the Guards captain you were standing up with, Livvie?" Mrs. Traemore asked. She had dragged herself out for the ball and spent most of the evening in the card parlor, along with Mrs. Harwood.

"That was Captain Milton. He got a bullet in his shoulder in the Peninsula. The man who moved like a wooden soldier was Sir Edward somebody or other-only he was very old. Thirty or more. Lord Peter Croft told me I had lovely hair, and Mr. Yarrow said-oh, by the by, Laura, he is coming to watch Lord Hyatt do my picture tomorrow. You don't think Lord Hyatt will mind?"

"We were not to tell anyone! Lord Hyatt does not want a crowd!" Laura exclaimed in vexation.

"I only told Mr. Yarrow."

"He is the very one you should not have told. He is a gambler."

"I'll hint him away," Meadows said. He was sunk to riding bobbin in the crowded carriage. "Your cousin is right, Baroness. You don't want Yarrow's rackety set traipsing at your heels. Not the thing. Isn't that right, Mrs. Traemore?"

"Indeed, yes!”

"What is the matter with him? He seemed very nice," Olivia persisted.

"He goes through money like water," Meadows said.

"He would not go through my money. How he spends his own is of no interest to me. I do not plan to marry him after all."

"That is true," Mrs. Traemore said, for she never liked to deny Olivia anything.

"You'll marry from among the set you associate with," Meadows explained, "so it is best to associate with gentlemen who are fit to marry. Only common sense."

"That is true, Livvie," her aunt agreed.

"Mr. Yarrow was the most amusing gentleman I met all evening," Olivia pouted.

"He did seem a lively, good-natured fellow," Mrs. Traemore said at once. "Livvie brought him to the card room. He got me a glass of ratafia. Very gentlemanly of him, was it not?"

Mr. Meadows accompanied the ladies to the door but did not go in. He found a moment to speak to Laura after the others had gone inside.

"I am a little surprised that Mrs. Traemore was not more helpful about young Yarrow," he said, frowning.

"She never denies Olivia anything. We must keep an eye on him, Mr. Meadows. And on Lord Hyatt as well. His conversation is not… is a little… I mean for a young girl," she ended in confusion.

"Perhaps I did the wrong thing to arrange this sitting with Hyatt. I had no idea how it would turn the baroness into an object of curiosity."

"What of Lord Hyatt himself? Can we completely trust him?" she said, and listened closely for Meadows's verdict.

"He would never throw himself at a young deb unless he meant to marry her. For amusement, he prefers more mature ladies." He gave her a knowing look and said, "It is you who must be wary of him, Miss Harwood." Then he laughed, but it was not an easy laugh. He had seen how Hyatt dangled after Miss Harwood and was concerned on her account. She was a regular greenhead. "You must not take his attentions seriously."

"I did not come down in the last rain, Mr. Meadows. I recognize a flirt when I see one. It is Livvie I am concerned about. I would appreciate your help in watching Yarrow."

"Between the two of us, he won't get a sniff of her."

He left, satisfied that his quest of the baroness was proceeding satisfactorily.