Mutual Consent (21 page)

Lord Chatworth took his place opposite her. After the first course he had been served, he informed the footmen that he and Lady Chatworth could serve themselves thereafter.

Babs cast a glance after the retreating backs of the footmen. She set herself for the discomfort of a
tete-a-tete
before she turned a determined smile on the earl. His lordship sat back at ease in his chair, one arm laid along the table’s edge. He held his wineglass in the long fingers of one hand. He was frowning, but he did not seem to be unaware of her presence.

“The soup is quite good, is it not?” she asked in a desultory fashion.

The earl glanced at her. The frowning expression in his eyes deepened as he looked at her. “Is it, madam? I had not noticed.” He set down the wineglass and got up from his chair to come around the table.

Babs was rattled by his inexplicable advance, but she was determined not to show it. She looked up at his lordship inquiringly. “My lord? What is it?” Her spoon dropped from nerveless fingers to clatter in the bowl when his hand caught up her chin.

Lord Chatworth turned his wife’s face fully to the light that streamed in the tall windows. He had not been mistaken. Across her cheekbone was the slightest darkening of her golden skin. Very gently, he touched it. “I did this.”

Babs saw little point in denying it, and her clear green gaze met his eyes. “Yes.”

Lord Chatworth released her, turning away. Over his shoulder, he said harshly, “You have cause to despise me, I think. I have over and over treated you with a lack of respect that is appalling.’’ He swung around again and irony shaped his mouth. “You should have sent me to the devil long before this, my dear.”

“I haven’t wished you at the devil, Marcus, for the simple reason that my life with you has been far more enviable than I could have hoped for under my father’s roof,” Babs said quietly. She did not know exactly where the conversation was headed, but she sensed that only frank speaking would do now. She found that she was no longer afraid of his lordship or of what he might do. The manner in which he was acting served to give her confidence in the sincerity of the note of apology that was still tucked inside her pocket.

Lord Chatworth barked a laugh, but he was far from feeling amused. “Brutal honesty, Babs! But no less than I deserve.” He crossed to her and took her hand. “My lady, I swear to you that I shall behave with all propriety toward you in future. There will be no repeat of last night’s offense.’’

Babs smiled up at him. Intuitively she felt there was no need to press the matter farther. She said gently, “My lord, the soup grows cold. Pray, will you not be seated?”

Lord Chatworth understood and he raised her fingers to his lips in brief salute. “Thank you, Babs.”

Thereafter the luncheon progressed to a relaxed, friendly level. The earl set himself to be an amusing companion and he was rewarded by the frequent laughter that he was able to draw out of his wife. At the end, when he had rung for the servants to clear the table, he glanced across at her and said, “I have a capital notion. Why don’t you join me in a drive around the park? I have a new leader that I am breaking into his paces. You shall have the opportunity to lend your opinion of the brute’s progress.”

“Why, I should like that very much,” Babs said, surprised and pleased by the unexpected invitation. “I shall go up to change and join you in a few minutes.”

Lord Chatworth nodded. “Good. I shall meet you on the front steps in a quarter-hour.”

Barbara left the dining room and sped upstairs on winged feet. Her heart sang with happiness. She did not know how it was, but the unpleasantness of the previous evening had all been brushed aside as though it had never been.

With the help of her maid, the countess changed swiftly into a forest-green pelisse and calf boots. She donned a matching bonnet and tied the satin ribbons in a jaunty bow under her left ear. As she left the bedroom, she pulled on kid gloves of palest yellow.

The Earl of Chatworth was already standing on the outside steps when Babs stepped out onto the portico. He smiled at her as he held out his hand. His eyes were appreciative as he glanced over her trimly cut outfit. “You are in fine looks this afternoon, my lady. Allow me to hand you up.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Babs said. The slightest of blushes had come into her face with his compliment.

Marcus helped her onto the seat of the phaeton and climbed up himself. He picked up the reins and his long whip. After glancing to see that she was comfortable, he ordered the groom at the head of his team to let go of the leaders.

The groom sprang away to the curb and Lord Chatworth turned his team into a stream of carriages, hackney cabs, dray carts, and pedestrians that filled the busy avenue. He flicked his whip, nicking the ears of the leaders, and the pace of the team quickened.

Babs became instantly aware of the earl’s driving skill. She watched his gloved fingers as the leathers slipped through them, and she saw how the least movement of his hands was instantly responded to by his horses. Even the off-leader, which Lord Chatworth told her was the new addition to his stables, did not veer from its instruction.

“My compliments, my lord. I had no notion that you were such an expert whip,” she said.

Marcus glanced at her, a gleam of laughter in his eyes for the impressed note in her voice. “You are too easily awed, Babs.”

“Not at all,” she replied instantly. “While living with my aunt, I became a fair whip myself, and so I am an excellent judge of the talent of others.”

“Are you indeed! I shall have to put your boast to the test, my lady,” said Lord Chatworth as he directed the horses into the park. When the phaeton was on the straightaway, he offered the reins to her.

Babs took the leathers, laughing as she did so. “You may rue it, Marcus,” she warned.

“I devoutly trust not,” said the earl, grinning. He watched her technique carefully for a few moments before he decided that his sensitive team would take no harm from her direction. He sat back at his ease to enjoy the novelty of being driven by someone else.

Babs cast a gleaming glance of laughter at him around the edge of her bonnet. “What, Marcus? Are you no longer afraid that I might overturn us?”

“Baggage,” he said appreciatively. Despite his assumption of nonchalance, she had obviously recognized his initial concern.

Several acquaintances waved at sight of the earl’s phaeton. Babs would have slowed to make possible the exchange of pleasantries, but Lord Chatworth directed her to drive on.

She shrugged off the earl’s unsociability as merely a whim of his lordship’s and one that she was only too happy to indulge. It was rare that she had the opportunity to let down her guard, and she settled herself to truly enjoy the drive. She would have been astonished if she had known the real reason that his lordship chose not to speak to his acquaintances.

The attractive bonnet Babs wore served well to shade her face from the fleeting glances of passersby, but Lord Chatworth had no wish for anyone to come close enough to be able to notice the mark across her cheekbone. The sort of gossip that it would arouse did not fit in with what he planned.

Lord Chatworth intended that their drive in the park was to be well-noted and talked about. He would follow up the unprecedented sight of himself consorting publicly with his wife with several evenings spent at home in her company, at least until the mark on her face had disappeared, and then he would embark on a round of social pleasures with Barbara on his arm. Indeed, he intended to spend an inordinate amount of time with his wife, so much so that it would create a whirl of talk.

Marcus smiled to himself with a touch of mockery. The Earl of Chatworth was not exactly the model for those husbandly qualities that a lady hoped to find in her spouse. On the contrary, he knew that on occasion he had been held up to romantic young misses as just the opposite. He had never paid heed to the accusations of rakehell and libertine that had been leveled at his head, but for the moment at least, such a reputation was a distinct disadvantage to his undertaking.

Lord Chatworth wanted it to become known that he had a most proprietary interest in his wife. That would give Babs a measure of protection from the inopportune wolves of society, such as that gentleman who had taken such liberties with her at the soiree, and it would help to insulate her against the malicious tongues that tended to speak so disparagingly of her birth. It would serve as well to assuage some measure of his own guilt for his offhand treatment of her, for he felt quite keenly that he was partially to blame for Babs’ discomfitures because he had not taken steps in the beginning to protect her.

Lord Chatworth reflected that this marriage of convenience had brought difficulties unforeseen by either party when they had entered so easily into their informal agreement. He was very much aware of some of those difficulties, having been brought to realize them through his mother’s scolding and Babs’ own personality and person.

It was no longer just a question of biding his time before he could manage to extricate himself from Cribbage’s power to blackmail him. He had now shouldered responsibility for, and had a duty to, the young woman who sat beside him in the phaeton. She was as much in need of his protection as any other person who had a legitimate claim to it.

Lord Chatworth reached over to take back the reins.

“Why, does your trust fade away so quickly, my lord?” Babs asked, the glint of laughter in her eyes.

“On the contrary, you have proven your mettle to my complete satisfaction,” said Lord Chatworth.

“So I should hope, Marcus.”

He laughed, and with a smile still lurking about his mouth, he turned the phaeton out of the park and pointed it toward the town house.

Barbara received a note from Lady Azaela, requesting that she call upon her aunt on Thursday of that week. Babs was made curious by the definite date. Lady Azaela was usually more casual in issuing an invitation to her.

On the appointed day, Babs drove over to her aunt’s town house. She was ushered immediately into the drawing room and she saw that Lady Azaela was already entertaining some callers. Babs smiled impartially at the two ladies seated on the settee as she went to her aunt. Lady Azaela had risen at her entrance and they met in the center of the room to exchange an affectionate embrace.

“My dear, you look wonderful, as usual,” Lady Azaela said, surveying with approval her niece’s fashionable walking dress and chip-straw bonnet.

“And you, my lady,” said Babs, sincerely returning the compliment.

“Thank you, my dear. You are most considerate of an elderly lady’s vanities,” said Lady Azaela, a twinkle in her eyes. Babs laughed, shaking her head. Lady Azaela drew her niece over to the settee from which she herself had just risen, at the same time making certain that her guests knew one another.

“Lady Stonehodge, this is Lady Chatworth. Babs, I do not believe that you have made the acquaintance of Lady Stonehodge and her daughter, Miss Eleanore Stonehodge. They have just traveled up from Derbyshire to partake of the remainder of the Season’s entertainments,” said Lady Azaela.

Babs smiled in a friendly way, despite the patent hostility in the older lady’s gaze. She could not imagine why Lady Stonehodge should have taken an instant dislike to her on sight, but she supposed that already her reputation of having sprung from trade stock had become known to the woman. “Lady Stonehodge, it is a pleasure,” she said evenly.

The lady vouchsafed to her only a stiff bow of acknowledgment.

Babs turned to the daughter, who was regarding her in a manner highly reminiscent of a startled hare. Her civil smile warmed. The girl was obviously just out of the schoolroom, probably no more than seventeen years old, and her expression ill-concealed her timidity. Babs remembered all too well the awkwardness of her own comeout, and she made an effort to set the girl at ease.”Miss Stonehodge, I am most happy to make your acquaintance. Derbyshire is my own beloved county and I have often been homesick for its simpler distractions. However, London has its amusements, too. I hope that we shall see more of each other, perhaps at some of the gatherings?”

The girl blushed fierily and stammered an unintelligible reply. Lady Stonehodge was not so backward as her daughter. “My daughter is not quite out, Lady Chatworth. I do not think that we run in the same society as yourself, moreover.” The woman’s tone was brusque and rude.

Babs raised her brows at the set-down. She did not fancy being the object of insult and for no good reason that she was aware of. It was but a scant three months since she had come to London to wed the Earl of Chatworth, but in that short time she had become much more confident of her self-worth. She had learned that she did not have to accept the snubs of any who chose to so honor her.

Her voice was cool. “Indeed, Lady Stonehodge? Then there is no more to be said, of course.” She turned to her aunt, quite aware of the insufferable woman’s reddening face. She had also a fleeting glimpse of the embarrassed distress in the girl’s eyes, and for that at least she felt some remorse.

Lady Azaela smiled, not at all displeased by the short exchange. “Actually, there is something more that must be said, Babs,” she said with great relish. “By happy coincidence, Lady Stonehodge is the daughter of one of my doltish elder brothers. She and her lovely daughter are your cousins, my dear.”

Babs was stunned. “I had no notion,” she said blankly. She looked at Lady Stonehodge, who was obviously having difficulty getting her spleen under control. Babs’ own reaction was so mixed that she did not know what she thought. “My mother never spoke of her family. I had naturally assumed that Lady Azaela was my only relative.”

“I am not at all surprised that your mother never spoke of us, Lady Chatworth. We certainly did not speak of her,’’ Lady Stonehodge said with a superior smile.

A dangerous light sparked to life in Babs’ eyes. Ice dipped from her tongue. “Indeed? How mean-spirited of you, to be sure.”

Lady Stonehodge appeared to swell. Beside her, the younger Stonehodge lady made ineffectual imploring sounds. “Mama, pray!”