Babe (2 page)

And Fannie was very nice. She was never so happy as when she was with Fannie. She was sometimes parted from her, for Fannie went to places she did not like to take a young lady, and when she was with such people as the Harrows, she realized how much she loved Fannie. She was lively and gay, with a large circle of friends. Of course she was a little raffish as well, but she was kind to herself, and that was not an easy quality to find in anyone.

She set aside the cup and pulled her bell cord. “The mauve suit, if you please, Harper,” she said to her dresser, who came in immediately. “It doesn’t match my eyes, but it will match the circles under them. God, I look hagged. What is my cousin doing? Is she up yet?”

“Yes, milady. She has company belowstairs. A gentleman.”

How cold Harper was. With her two years and still called her milady, and answered questions in a monosyllable if she could. There was no friendly gossiping; no sharing of secrets. But Harper was an excellent dresser, particularly capable in the realm of hair. Barbara’s ruler-straight hair was a problem to her, and she valued Harper highly. “Count Bagstorff is here already?” she asked.

“No, milady. It’s not the count. It’s Lord Clivedon. He’s been there half an hour.”

“Clivedon?” she asked, surprised. “What the devil can he want? Is he asking for me?”

“No, milady. They haven’t asked you to be called.”

“Oh.” Lady Barbara’s lips formed into a pout. She considered hurrying up her toilette and descending uninvited to greet Clivedon. The urge was all to do so. There was something in him that intrigued her, even while she half disliked him. He was toplofty, had a very good opinion of himself. She hunched her shoulders with petulant impatience, but when she had her hair dressed, she said, “Braid it, please, Harper. I’ll wear it up in braids today.”

This was the most time-consuming coiffure she used. It was usually the style chosen for riding or rough outings, where her other do’s were likely to come unhinged. Her hair was widely praised, but this fine straight hair was also a nuisance. The reason she asked for braids today had nothing to do with riding; she did it to force herself to stay abovestairs. While Harper worked on her hair, brushing it out, Barbara leaned towards the mirror, smoothing a concealing cream on the circles under her eyes.

Why should she satisfy him to think she was chasing after him? He had thought it two years ago—conceited oaf. He had expected her to run after him and beg forgiveness after that foolish incident at Richmond Park, when she was supposed to meet him, but had gone off to another party instead, and had a delightful time too. Much she cared if he pokered up that evening at the ball, and pretended not to see her. She had caught him looking at her a dozen times. He had not honored her with any gallantry after that. It was odd how vivid the memory was still, and she had left plenty of men waiting since!

“Hurry up, Harper. Never mind the braids. Just pin it up quickly.”

Harper was a wizard, and a swift one too, but when Lady Barbara glided down the stairs five minutes later, she found her cousin Fannie sitting alone, looking nervous.

“Babe, the most astonishing thing,” she said, “what Clivedon has proposed.”

“Proposed! You can’t mean it!” Barbara exclaimed, and could actually feel her cheeks blanch. Her heart was fluttering fiercely. She didn’t know whether she was frightened or thrilled, but she knew she was deeply affected. “What did you tell him?” she asked, walking quickly forward.

“Why I didn’t tell him anything, till I have discussed it with you, to find out what you think of having him for your guardian. After I marry Bagstorff and go to Austria, you know. You have said you dislike the thought of going with us, and we plan to stay for a year. I rather thought Lady Withers—”

“Guardian!” Barbara asked, blinking. “Guardian! Is that all? How should he be my guardian?”

“Why, outside of old Manfred, he is your closest relative in England, my pet, and such good ton. He means to put you up with his sister, I expect.”

The matter was discussed for an hour, where a variety of emotions washed over Lady Barbara, none of them quite so powerful as that first wave of shock. She considered the matter coolly. She really did not want to tag along on Fannie’s honeymoon, but still, it hurt to see how clear it was that Fannie didn’t want it either. “It might be better, as it will get you away from Gentz, and you have said often enough you don’t mean to have him,” Fannie mentioned, more than once. It was more usual for her to urge a match with Gentz.

There were other excuses too. “Clivedon is excellent ton,” was often heard. Much Fannie cared about ton! “You always seemed to like Lady Withers very well, and really, she is not a prude, like the Harrows. I will not consign you to the Harrows again

After considerable talk, Babe agreed.

“Very well,” she said, in a voice more cheerful than mere resignation. She had some hope for pleasure in the scheme. Clivedon was a broad-minded gentleman, who would not expect her to act any differently than she did now. He was certainly no prude—quite the contrary. And she liked Lady Withers. It would do, she supposed. She wondered where the idea had come from. Fannie, she thought, had been as surprised as herself.

The exchange of guardians was hastily arranged, with all parties in agreement. After two visits from solicitors and three from accountants, Lord Clivedon stood in custody of Lady Barbara and her fortune till her twenty-fifth birthday, two years away. She expected every hour he would call to discuss it with her. Two mornings she stayed in for the purpose, but he did not come, nor did Lady Withers. On the third day, he sent a note that his carriage would call at Portland Place the next morning to remove her to his custody. She waited at the window, planning a sharp remark at his cavalier treatment. When it was only a footman who came to the door, she was not only disappointed, but furiously angry. How dare he treat her so poorly? Not a call, not a note, not even coming in person to convey her to Lady Withers’ home. And Lady Withers no better. Why had not she come?

She turned to Fannie with a certain sparkle in her eye.

“I’ve changed my mind, Fannie. I’m not going,” she said, and sat down, folding her arms on her heaving bosom.

“Not going! Babe—it is too late for not going. The papers are signed. You must go.”

“I will not. If he thinks to treat me like this . . .”

“But I go to Burrells’ house party, my dear, and you are not expected. Indeed, it is not a place I would take a young lady at all.”

“You planned to take me four days ago!”

“Well, I didn’t like it. The papers are all signed. He is your guardian. You must go.”

“I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to.”

“To be sure, you do not, Babe, only Clivedon will create a wicked row if I take you to Burrells’. He mentioned they are not the sort of people . . . Not to say . . .”

Barbara fixed her with a challenging eye. “What did he say? You don’t mean to sit there and tell me he had the insolence to criticize your—our friends, and you didn’t tell me.”

“Not in the least. He was very civil. I daresay he didn’t mean to be so bossy at all, but it is always Clivedon’s way, you must know. Oh, do go on, Babe, you are giving me the headache, and Bagstorff is coming in ten minutes.”

“All right. All right, I’ll go, but . . .”

She looked to Fannie, dear Fannie, whom she thought loved her, but all she saw on the face was distress, and an eagerness to be rid of her. Nothing would be the same once she married Bagstorff. “Good-bye, Fannie,” she said, in a rather tight voice. “Thank you for everything. It’s been nice. I’ll come to see you soon. When do you return from Burrells’?”

“Nothing is decided, dear. Clivedon thought it would be nice to be married in the country, and I rather think it would.”

“Will you not be back before your wedding? Oh, Fannie, I must attend your wedding!”

“We’ll be in touch, love,” Fannie said impatiently, and took her elbow to pilot her to the door, close it after her, and go back to the sofa, feeling strangely guilty and lonesome. She liked Babe, but Clivedon was quite right. A newly married lady would be too busy to handle her. Her thoughts wandered more happily to Count Bagstorff.

Chapter Three

Lady Barbara would not have been at all surprised had she been required to wait while her trunks were strapped onto the carriage, but this indignity, at least, was spared her. The carriage moved forward as soon as the footman had closed the door and resumed his position. Lady Withers’ house was close by on Cavendish Square. When the carriage crossed Oxford Street, Barbara realized this was not where she was being taken. It proceeded straight to Grosvenor Square, to Clivedon’s own handsome residence. She settled down somewhat then, imagining a sort of welcome party awaited her at the home of her new guardian. That was well done of him. She had only been in his house twice, attending two large balls two years ago, before he had turned chilly towards her.

She had never been one of the intimate circle of Clivedon’s friends. It was generally considered the toniest circle in town. Not so dashing as the old Devonshire House set, where Barbara had been a sort of pet in her very youth. The duchess, Georgiana, had doted on her, but she was long dead. Nor did she enjoy any favor with Caroline Lamb after competing with her for a few beaux. Nothing lingered from those old days but the softly drawling voice used by the duchess and copied by the rest. The duchess’s lisp and habit of using many French phrases had not survived a month.

Barbara turned mentally from the past to the present. She must improve, live up to the higher standards of Clivedon’s set. It would be good for her, this change. Really, she had been slipping into questionable company lately. All a result of Bagstorff’s influence.

She was smiling as she entered the door of the residence, preparing her prettiest speech of thanks. The smile faded as she was led into an empty chamber to await his lordship. The room’s elegance was her only welcome; there was no party. What could it mean? Did he think to have her live here, with himself? He had some maiden aunt keeping house for him, she knew, but still, it seemed a little smokey. She hunched her shoulders, dismissing it. If Clivedon thought it suitable, then it must be acceptable. Odd Fannie had said it would not do; Fannie was not overly nice in her notions of propriety.

After five minutes, a servant brought her wine and biscuits, which she ignored. “Please tell Lord Clivedon I am waiting,” she said.

“His lordship knows, milady. He will be here presently,” she was told.

She waited another ten minutes before his unhurried steps approached the doorway. “Ah, Lady Barbara, sorry to keep you waiting,” he said, in a voice that did not sound sorry, or try to. “I had the devil of a time with my cravate this morning. I am trying the Olbadeston,” he added, patting his cravate. “I see you have been entertained during my absence.” His eyes glanced off the untouched glass of wine, the biscuits, their careful pattern not disturbed on the plate.

“Good morning, Clivedon. Kind of you to worry about me, but in future, when you wish to entertain me, I will just drop the hint that an empty room and stale biscuit is not the way to set about it,” she answered sharply.

“Stale?” he asked, lifting his brows. “Shocking! Do permit me to apologize.” He picked one up and tried it. Though he made no comment, there was a crisp sound indicating freshness as he bit in. “Try your luck again,” he said, passing the plate.

“I did not come here for a biscuit!” she answered, feeling control was slipping from her fingers. “Furthermore, I don’t think I should be here at all, taking up residence in a bachelor’s establishment.”

“Do you object? Do you know, it occurred to me you might, so I have arranged with a female relative of mine to house you. Lady Withers would have been here to guard your reputation this morning as well, but unfortunately one of her children has got a swelling or spot, or some dreadful malady.”

She was relieved to hear the name of Lady Withers arise, slightly mollified as well to learn there was a reason why the lady had not called on her.

“I am sorry to hear it. I wondered at her not having called.”

“She wondered the same thing, that you did not see fit to pay her a duty call. I trust you are enjoying your customary high good health?”

This was the first time it occurred to Barbara that a call from her might have been expected. Fannie had not mentioned it, but she was sorry she had been lax in the first obligation to arise with her new set of guardians. Before she could make any reply, he spoke on.

“I have been meaning to compliment you on the good sense you have shown in this affair, Lady Barbara. We had some fears, Agnes and myself, that you would not agree to the change of custodians. I conceived the notion—I can’t imagine where the idea came from—that you would dislike to have me exercising control over you.” This speech was not delivered in any accents of a compliment, but, on the contrary, there was a mocking note to it, nor was the choice of words at all diplomatic.

She regarded him with keen distaste. “It is a matter of very little interest to me who is nominally in control of my welfare. At my age, you know, it is no more than a formality.”

“You are no longer young, certainly,” he agreed, with an appraising scrutiny of her face, “but according to the terms of the legal agreement, I am in complete control of your doings. I do not mean to treat the matter so lightly as your last guardian did.”

“I will give you very little trouble. Just have my checques mailed to me quarterly on time, and we shall rub along tolerably well.”

“I have been meaning to speak to you about your allowance,” he said at once, taking up a seat across from her and examining his nails with interest. Then he polished them against his lapel and yawned behind raised fingers. “These late nights are the very devil, are they not? I see you too are showing the effects of them. When did you grow those circles under your eyes, Lady Barbara?”

“At the same time as I grew my wrinkles and gray hair. A dozen or so years ago. What is it you meant to say about my allowance?” She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin in a fit of pique, for she knew very well she had been having too many late nights, and their effect was beginning to show. Still, the light was behind her, and she could not believe she was so hagged as to make that remark apt.