Fran Baker (12 page)

“No, no, it’s no such thing. It’s one of Sarah’s fancies, nothing more.” Rose pushed back her chair and stood, saying with a fixed smile, “Do not tax me further, Sarah, I beg of you. Though I dearly love you, not even for you would I consider a connection with a man whose nose continually drips. Send us word when all is well with Anna.”

She removed from the room before any could stop her and paused in the hall to compose her trembling. To speak of marriage and babies pierced her heart with a pain that was unendurable! Firmly pushing away the image of dark, troubled eyes in a strong, square face, she breathed deeply and went up to her mother.

“Ah, Rose, the very person we need!” Susanna exclaimed from amid her pillows as her daughter entered the room. “My dear, we
cannot
decide if the wedding should be at Willowley Church or St. George’s in Hanover Square. Which do you think it should be?”

After planting a kiss upon her mother’s proffered cheek, she said, “I think, Mama, that it is far too soon to be making such a decision. Helen and Lord Stratford need more time together before they settle their plans.”

“You surely cannot expect us to wait until the last moment to make all the necessary arrangements,” Nell objected sharply. “There should be nothing havey-cavey about this marriage!”

“Oh, I quite agree,” Rose said, undisturbed. “That is precisely why I do not think the marriage should follow the betrothal with undue haste.”

The pair before her seemed much struck with the force of her argument and Rose seized the moment to put forth a suggestion. “I’ve been thinking, Mama, that if you feel up to it, it would be no bad thing for you to take Helen on a round of morning visits. We shouldn’t want the neighbors to say she is already putting on airs and coming the grand lady.”

Her mother sat up, her ruffled peignoir spilling forward. “No, indeed we do not. Why last night I had to protect Helen from the most prying questions, though I nearly suffered megrim doing so. And though I shall no doubt find it excessively exhausting and not at all what my constitution needs, I would not have it said that I would not make the supreme sacrifice for my child’s future happiness!”

Since all of this had been said with a great deal of vigor, her daughter did not evidence the least concern for her health, but merely agreed, “No, of course you would not.”

Thus, within a mere two hours and amid all the flurry attendant upon one of her outings, Mrs. Lawrence set out with her youngest daughter and her daughter-in-law to pay morning calls. It was, she informed them all after a reviving whiff from her vinaigrette, a notion she had been happy to conceive for Helen’s sake, despite the no doubt dire consequences for herself. Sitting beside Susanna in the old phaeton, Helen looked quite pretty, if slightly pale, in a twilled morning gown of light blue cambric and a chip bonnet with blue ribbons to match. She was reluctant to accompany her mother, faring that Lord Stratford would be out of temper if he arrived to find her fine. But finally, she was persuaded to go by her eldest sister’s brisk arguments.

“Don’t be a goose!” Rose said, and gave her a quick kiss. “He’ll be pleased to find you know your social duty. Such a quality is essential in a viscountess, you know.”

As it happened, his lordship did not appear for his promised morning call. After returning to his room at Adderbury Inn the previous night, Stratford, ignoring his cousin’s heavy protests, had broached more than one wine bottle with an intensity which precluded any early morning socializing. It was, therefore, well past noon when he rode over to Appleton with Baldwin to be met with the news that Mrs. Lawrence and her daughters were not at home. Grimly thanking Mrs. Mosley, he turned to leave when he was arrested by a young voice.

“Hullo, sir!” called out Master Frederick from the top of the landing where he stood looking over the banister, while beside him George stood peeping through the railings. “Have you come in your curricle?” he asked in a hopeful voice.

“I’m sorry, Freddy, but we rode over today,” the viscount answered. Suppressing his desire to laugh at the crestfallen look of disappointment which covered the boys’ faces, he added, “But it’s fortunate that you appeared, for Mr. Baldwin was just saying how much he’d like to take you and George for a ride on Thunderbolt.”

Baldwin had no time to protest. Freddy came flying down the stairs crying, “Oh, would you really?” before he could do more than send his cousin a glare. But he took it in good stead, answering in the affirmative with a ready smile. The boys were then ushered out, Master George riding on the viscount’s broad shoulders, and soon mounted on the back of Baldwin’s roan.

Stratford sent them off with a mischievous smile that was not lost on Baldwin. He then wandered aimlessly about the lawns of the cottage, feeling oddly out of sorts. He would not have thought the disappointment of not seeing Helen would be so great. Yet he had to admit he
was
disappointed, sorely so.

Rounding the corner of the house, Stratford saw Miss Rose Lawrence playing on the grass with her youngest nephew. Her laughter rang out warmly as the toddler took a clumsy step then collapsed, surprise stamped upon his round face. She tilted her head back as she laughed. Her white cap stood out against the brilliant blue of the sky like a suspended cloud. She caught Joseph in her arms and stood, revealing bright green grass stains smearing the front of her plain muslin gown. To his giggling delight, she swung the small boy around, causing her ridiculous mobcap to slide skew and escaping ringlets to tumble into her face. Sunlight rippled warmly over the flyaway curls as she spun.

Watching, the viscount reflected that he had never seen so charming a woman as Miss Rose Lawrence was just then—grass stains, crooked cap, tumbled curls and all.

Twirling Joseph around once more, Rose caught sight of Stratford as he stood watching her. She jerked to a halt, her laughter dying. Caught unaware, she felt ridiculously vulnerable. She slowly set the child down and busied herself with adjusting her cap as she strove for composure. When he approached, she glanced over his muscular form, so well displayed in a buff riding coat and buckskin breeches, and then away.

“I trust you will excuse my lamentable appearance, Lord Stratford,” she said with the semblance of calm.

He noted the guarded expression in her eyes. “Your appearance, Miss Lawrence, is delightful.”

“Now you are pitching it much too strong, my lord!” she said on a laugh. “Having made your notions of a gentlewoman’s appearance well known to me, I am sure you are quite excessively shocked—but too much the gentleman to show it.”

“Ah, but you have made it very plain that you do not consider me a gentleman at all,” he returned with a wicked smile. “I therefore take leave to tell you again, Miss Lawrence, that you look charming.”

Puzzlement flashed through her gray eyes as she wondered just why he should want to turn her up sweet with pretty flattery, but she let it pass, turning the subject by saying, “I trust, too, that you will excuse Helen for having gone out, but you must know that it was essential she pay morning calls.”

“I must if you say so, but I confess I fail to know why.”

“Why, otherwise our neighbors would be saying Helen was too high in the instep and thinking herself too good for the likes of them. And
that
, you know, we could not let happen.”

“Of course not,” he agreed solemnly.

She thought perhaps he was mocking her as there was a definite twinkle in his dark eyes. “You may laugh, but it wouldn’t be at all comfortable to be on bad terms with our neighbors.”

Baby Joseph, having lost interest in this conversation, had taken a few tottering exploratory steps. Just as his short legs were about to buckle, his aunt recaptured him and swept him into her arms. With Stratford keeping pace beside her, Rose now moved toward the house. A pudgy hand gripped the ends of ribbon under her chin and pulled with surprising strength.

“No, dearest,” she cooed more than scolded, catching the dirty hand and playfully kissing the offending digits.

“I, for one, applaud Master Charville’s worthy attempt to rid you of that preposterous cap. Why do you wear such things?”

“Oh, for protection,” she replied self-consciously.

“Protection, Miss Lawrence?”

“From all the matchmakers, you see. Even though I’d been on the shelf for
years
, I was forever being told to make myself agreeable to men with spindly legs or dripping noses. None of whom could be considered a
catch
, of course--but then, I should know not to look too high for a husband. No one knew quite what to do with me, you see, but once I put on the caps, such attempts to settle my future ceased. The relief felt by all was immense, I can tell you.”

He heard the anger behind the light words and was conscious of a desire to kiss her bitterness away. Before Stratford could even understand the depth of his unexpected emotion, Miss Lawrence was saying in her usual tranquil tone, “I’ve a favor to ask of you. My lord, one which will be absurdly easy for you to fulfill.”

Rose paused and shifted the weight of Joseph in her arms while letting her eyes rest on the viscount’s face. He recognized the challenge in them.

“You fill me with foreboding, Miss Lawrence. What is this absurd favor?”

“I should like you to delay discussing your wedding date with Helen.”

He said nothing, but turned one sardonically raised brow upon her. She thought how arrogantly scornful that brow made him look.

“I’m not trying to interfere,” she assured him. “But I think perhaps you might consider how precipitate your demand may be. My sister is . . . Helen is easily influenced and at this point, whatever day you wished for, she would agree to, regardless of her own feelings. What is more, she’d fear to displease you with the wrong choice. Surely it’s not too much to ask that you wait a while longer to press her on this matter.”

“For someone not trying to interfere, you’re doing exceptionally well at it,” he commented dryly. “Try to believe that I do not intend to bully Helen into anything distasteful to her.”

“I did not mean—indeed—”

“There is no need for you to explain yourself.” His eyes were shuttered as he held open the door for her. “I’ve no wish for a bride who fears me.”

Rose passed into the cottage with a crimson stain upon each cheek and gratefully left his lordship to Mr. Baldwin’s company in the parlor while she shepherded her three nephews upstairs.

By the time she came to rejoin the men, her hair neatly tucked back under her cap and her stained gown exchanged for her brown wool, the morning callers had returned and were removing bonnets, pelisses and gloves. Rose quickly noted that the fingers untying the pretty blue ribbons of Helen’s bonnet were shaking. But before she could reassure her sister, Lord Stratford strolled to the young girl’s side.

“Did you enjoy your round of visits, my dear?” he inquired as he firmly put her quivering hands aside and undid the knotted bow. He lifted the hat from her glossy curls and tossed it carelessly onto a nearby pie-crust table, adding, “Well?”

Thinking this was a criticism of her absence, Helen bent her head, fixing her gaze on the exquisite shine of his boot, and replied timidly, “I—I am sorry, sir. I meant to be here—”

“You needn’t apologize!” he cut in rather impatiently. Her eyes flew up to his face. He clearly read the fright in them and forced himself to say kindly, “Come, Helen, tell me about your visits.”

She allowed herself to be drawn next to him on the settee and dutifully related the morning’s social round. If his lordship was not interested, Helen could not detect it, though she suspected he did not actually care what Mrs. McBroom had said with regard to Mama’s spasms or how Miss Lillian Henley had stared at her rig. When she had brought forth all she could think to tell, the pair sat silent, Helen nervously toying with the frills of her gown while the viscount intently studied her.

“I have been thinking,” he finally said, “that perhaps it would be best to wait upon your return to London before inserting the notices of our betrothal.” He looked at her searchingly and wondered if that was indeed relief he had seen in her eyes.

“If that is what you wish,” she responded hesitantly. She licked her lips, then suggested timorously “We could perhaps make the announcement at my ball.”

“What ball is that?”

“My Aunt Thacker has planned a come-out ball for me at the end of the month.”

He presented one of his winning smiles. “An excellent notion, love. And shall we wait until we are together again in town to select our wedding date?”

“Oh, yes,” Helen agreed, happily returning his smile.

“What are you two speaking so seriously of,” demanded Mrs. Lawrence archly from across the room. “Though I’m certain no one could blame you, my lord, for wanting to keep Helen all to yourself, you must wait a while longer for that privilege!”

“We were just discussing the announcement of our betrothal, ma’am,” Stratford answered pleasantly. “We rather thought we’d wait until Miss Helen’s come-out ball to break the news.”

“But why?” Nell asked sharply.

“For the impact it would have, of course,” he replied with ease. The viscount’s gaze moved from Nell to Rose, where he met with a look of warm gratitude.

Beside her, Daniel sat regarding his cousin in wonderment, for not three hours ago his lordship had made vividly clear his intent to have the matter settled today. If Colin were waiting on Miss Helen’s whim, it would be, thought Baldwin, the most astonishing element yet of this whole incredible business.

“But quite right,” Susanna surprisingly approved. “It would be just the proper occasion for such an announcement. Why, it puts me in mind of when dear Mr. Lawrence disclosed
our
betrothal at the Hartnetts’ Christmas ball.”

The arrival of Griffen cut short his mother’s reminiscing, much to the relief of the rest of the party. “Did you ride over, Lord Stratford?” he inquired after making his greetings. “You may be spending the afternoon with us but the clouds are gathering outside. We shall soon be in for a severe storm, mark my words!”