Mutual Consent (22 page)

“Be quiet, Eleanore! I shall not sit still for this—this—” Lady Stonehodge appeared momentarily at a loss for words.

“The Countess of Chatworth,” supplied Lady Azaela. There was warning in her voice. Her expression stem, she captured Lady Stonehodge’s startled glance. “Perhaps it is best to recall who among us possesses the greater social status. Do you not think so, Ernestina? Correct me if I error, but I believe that your stated purpose in visiting me today was to enlist my aid in launching little Eleanore this Season.”

Lady Stonehodge closed her lips in a tight line. She did not look at the elegant young woman whose very existence so offended her sense of propriety. “Indeed, that is so. I wish Eleanore to have all the advantages to which her birth entities her. Unfortunately I have few prominent connections myself, but it was within me to hope that I might rely upon you to lend your considerable countenance to her.”

“And so I shall,” said Lady Azaela. She smiled across at her great-niece, whose youthful face flushed bright with gratitude. “I enjoy Eleanore’s company very much. I am sure that Lady Chatworth will be only too happy to oblige me by taking Eleanore under her wing as well.”

Babs stared at her aunt, nonplussed by the very idea. It was on the point of her tongue to point out that she was not so well-established herself to be able to sponsor a debutante, but Lady Stonehodge’s expression gave her pause and she watched her cousin’s face in fascination.

That lady was in the throes of strong emotion, but eventually social ambition overwhelmed pride. “I would be most grateful for any such condescension on the countess’s part,” she said through her teeth, as though the words were wrested forcibly from her.

Babs slowly smiled. She was not untouched by the irony of the situation.”I will be glad to do my small best to make of Eleanore’s first Season a triumph,” she said.

“That is settled, then,” Lady Azaela said in satisfaction.

Lady Stonehodge rose to take her leave, which she did with much graciousness to Lady Azaela. She was a great deal more abrupt in her courtesies toward Lady Chatworth. Miss Stonehodge thanked both ladies in a low sweet voice for their kindness toward her.

“That is quite enough gushing, Eleanore,” Lady Stonehodge snapped, and she urged her daughter not to dawdle.

Miss Stonehodge flushed to the roots of her hair. Uttering an unintelligible apology, she scurried after her mother.

As soon as the door had closed behind the two ladies, Babs rounded on her aunt. She was most annoyed to hear Lady Azaela’s deep chuckle. “That was the most despicable thing that you have ever done to me, my lady. Just what am I to say to it?”

“Why, nothing at all.” Lady Azaela stopped laughing and reached over to squeeze her niece’s arm in a gesture of affection. “Dearest Babs, I know it is unfeeling of me to laugh, but your expressions the last several minutes have been priceless. And as for Ernestina’s face . . Why, I have not so enjoyed myself in her presence for quite some time. Do you wish tea, my dear?”

Babs indicated that she did, then said, “Aunt Azaela, why did you never tell me that you and my mother had brothers or that I had cousins? I was never more astounded in my life, I can tell you, and I am not at all sure that I care for the discovery. Lady Stonehodge is not one whom I would willingly choose as a bosom bow.”

“Ernestina is rather hard to swallow,” agreed Lady Azaela. She handed her niece a cup of tea before she shrugged. “As for informing you of their existence, would it have made you happy to know that you had relatives who wished nothing to do with you and who were insistent upon pretending that you did not exist? I do not think so, and I still don’t. However, sooner or later you were bound to run into Ernestina, or even my brother, though he does not make a habit of coming to London. I thought it best to force the first meeting to occur in private. Our family secrets are not so unknown that the antagonism between you and Lady Stonehodge would have gone unnoticed. And I did not wish you to be any more plagued this Season than you have been with malicious gossip and the ill-will of the curious.”

Babs was thoughtful as she stirred the milk in her tea. “I suppose that I must be grateful for your protection. But I do wish that it was somehow different. It would have been pleasant to be able to claim relatives that did not think of one as a social pariah.”

Lady Azaela laughed in derision of the idea. “I hardly think that Ernestina or any of the rest of them will dare to treat the Countess of Chatworth as a social pariah,’’ she said cynically.

“No, I suppose not,” Babs agreed, smiling a little. She looked at her aunt. “You said that Lady Stonehodge is the daughter of one of your elder brothers. Have I other cousins besides?”

Lady Azaela shrugged her shoulders. “The eldest brother is long since dead—and quite unlamented by me or anyone else, for that matter. He was a disagreeable skinflint who never married, so you need look no further than that. As for Ernestina, she is one of three daughters, all of whom made merely respectable marriages and presented their respective husbands with several children. Eleanore, whom you have just met, is the eldest of six thriving progeny. At last intelligence, my other nieces have each five children to their credit.”

“My word,” said Babs faintly. Her mind was fairly boggled by the stunning information that she had such a population of cousins.

Lady Azaela smiled in understanding. Her faded eyes reflected a lurking amusement. “Pray do not think about it,” she advised. “It is not at all important at the moment, you know. Undoubtedly you will gradually meet them all, and I very much doubt that you will have to seek them out. As the Countess of Chatworth, you can expect relations crawling out from under every rock anxious to take advantage of your social precedence, which, by the by, is the single most important reason that Ernestina has taken you in such acute dislike. It affronts her sense of righteousness that a mere tradesman’s daughter can claim precedence over the daughter of a baronet, never mind that that same tradesman’s daughter is her own first cousin.”

“I had guessed as much when I first encountered that stare of hers,” said Babs, nodding. A smile played about her mouth and a reflection of her former anger appeared in her green eyes. “It is one thing to show insult to me, but I shall not countenance any slur against my mother. If as you say these relations of mine do come knocking at my door, I shall make it abundantly clear that I have no wish to consort with people who persist in such ill-conceived arrogance.”

“I have no objection to that, my dear. However, I do hope that you mean to handle poor Eleanore with gentler hands. She suffers a great deal from her mother’s overbearing manner, I suspect. That is why I roped you in as one of her sponsors. I thought you might be good for her self-esteem,” said Lady Azaela.

“Stiffen her backbone, do you mean?” Babs asked, amused. She regarded her aunt in great affection. “I shall do my best by my poor cousin. At least she did not seem ready to crush me underfoot, as her mother gave every appearance of wishing to do.”

There was a distinctly contemptuous curl to Lady Azaela’s lips as she smiled. “I assure you, Ernestina will do nothing to jeopardize her daughter’s chances to capture a matrimonial prize. That includes offending you, now that she has been brought forcibly to recognize that you are not any longer a nobody but a ‘prominent connection.’ “

Babs started to laugh. “Somehow I have never thought of myself as such, but I suppose it is better to be that than lower in the pecking order than Lady Stonehodge. I suspect in that circumstance the lady would make a point of chafing my pride quite unbearably.”

Lady Azaela snorted. “Perhaps, and perhaps not. I have made it plain that I am fond of you, and Ernestina does not wish to offend me. She has hopes of inheriting, you see. You stand in the way, of course, and that is another reason to dislike you. Actually, I have been most grateful for the years that you resided with me, as your presence provided me with a most welcome shield from various fawning members of my estimable family. They would not acknowledge your existence, and so they could not bring themselves to come to the house in which you were very much in evidence.”

Babs was surprised again into laughter. “I hardly know what to say.” Her eyes sparkled with high amusement. “I had no notion that I was so useful, Aunt.”

Lady Azaela set aside her teacup. “Oh, you were in another way as well.”

There was a strange purring satisfaction in her voice that Babs had never heard before, and when her aunt looked across at her, she was astonished by the positively wicked light in those faded blue eyes.

“My dear, I asked you here not only to be told of your cousins, but because I have a confession,” said Lady Azaela.

“Why do I have the distinct impression that you are not in the least contrite about whatever it is?” asked Babs, setting aside her own cup and folding her hands in her lap.

Lady Azaela chuckled. “That is what I have always liked about you, dear Babs. You deal in plain coin, and always did, even as a child. However, I am not so forthright or honest.”

“That is the most idiotic thing you have ever said. Aunt Azaela,” Babs said, astonished.

Lady Azaela held up her hand. “Wait to hear before you are so generous with your judgment, my dear.” She rose to go to a small writing desk and turned the key in its lock. She opened the desk and extracted a folded parchment tied up with satin ribbon. Lady Azaela handed it to her niece. “I wish you to glance over the top page, which is my letter of intent.”

Babs glanced at her aunt, her brows knitting. It was such a strange thing for her aunt to give her, for she perceived instantly that the parchment was an official document of some sort. She hoped with a sinking feeling that it was not her aunt’s will. She did not want to even think about the dear lady’s demise, let alone whether she would profit from it.

Most unwillingly, she slipped off the ribbon and unfolded the document. She went swiftly over the top page as her aunt had requested, and suddenly her face paled.

She looked up with a stunned expression. “Aunt Azaela, is this true?” she whispered.

Lady Azaela nodded, her expression grave but for a telltale tick at the corner of her mouth. “Indeed it is, Babs. Years ago, when you first came to me, I set up a trust for you that would become yours upon the occasion of your marriage or of my demise, whichever came first. It is entailed to you and to your children and therefore would never become a part of a husband’s estate. I had hoped to make certain of your independence from your father or from whomever he chose as your next master. I wished to ensure you a bit of happiness, Babs.”

“But I can scarcely believe it.” Babs looked again at the paper and the figures involved. Her hands shook. Her instant thought was that she held the key to win the earl’s freedom from her father.

Lord Chatworth had refused to use her bride portion to redeem his debts of honor, and since by law those monies had passed to his control upon their marriage, she could not do as she wished with the funds without his consent. But the trust that Lady Azaela had granted her was something quite different. She was the sole responsible party and she could do whatever her heart desired.

“Babs, you have not asked me a most telling question. Are you not the least bit curious where the funds for the trust came from?” asked Lady Azaela.

“I can see that you must tell me, so I suppose that this is your hideous confession,” said Babs.

“Quite right it is. I stole those monies.”

Babs stared at her aunt, completely taken aback. She was astounded and confused, first by Lady Azaela’s flat and surprising statement, and second by the lady’s tone of extreme relish as she had made it. “I do not think that I quite understand.”

“If you recall, I have a financial arrangement with your father to provide for your upkeep and education. I bargained sharply with him for the highest figure he would accept before I consented to take you.”

Lady Azaela’s eyes glittered with the remembered battle. “Your father flatters himself as an astute businessman, with none his par. But I fancy that it may be said that I got the better of him. You see, I was quite well-placed and I had no need of his persuasions or his largess to take you in. I had already determined to do precisely that. However, I wished to revenge my sister also, and the only way to inflict punishment upon your father was through his obsessive need to make his mark in the
ton.
I gouged a hole in his wallet and through the years I bled him unmercifully. He had no recourse but to allow me to do so, believing as he did that I needed the funds to provide for you and to train you up to be the well-bred prize that he so desperately wanted for his own despicable ambition. Instead of spending the funds on you as it was understood that I would, I placed very nearly every pence in this trust for you. So you see, I literally stole from your father.”

Babs was left bereft of speech by her aunt’s story. She could scarcely comprehend the control and the determination that Lady Azaela must have had to call upon to make her plan come to fruition. She could vividly recall several occasions when her father, who made periodical visits to check on his “investment,’’ had broadly insulted and sneered at Lady Azaela for her financial dependence upon him.

Lady Azaela had not ever knuckled down to her brother-in-law, but she had many times swallowed the set-downs that hovered on her tongue until he had climbed back inside his carriage and driven away. Though she had often been reduced to cold rage, never had Lady Azaela said that she would wash her hands of the situation. Babs realized with some humility and a large measure of gratitude that Lady Azaela had not done so even though the option had been there.

Babs’ eyes filled with tears. “I cannot begin to tell you how much I love you for what you have done for me,” she said.

Lady Azaela reddened and there appeared suspicious moisture in her own eyes. “Come, my dear. Sentimentality has its place, but it is certainly not over tea,” she said gruffly.

Babs laughed and threw her arms around the elder lady.