Mutual Consent (5 page)

“Ah, I understand.” Lord Chatworth considered her unsmilingly for some seconds. “You are a very unusual young woman.”

Barbara pulled at the strings of her reticule, a sickening sensation in the pit of her stomach. He obviously found her contemptible. The dark memory of the debacle of her comeout rose to stifle her anew. She could scarcely bear it. “I apologize most profoundly, my lord,” she said in a suffocated voice. She avoided his eyes. “It was an ill-considered thought.”

“On the contrary, Miss Cribbage.”

Her fingers stilled their agitated movement at the approval in his voice. She looked up. Lord Chatworth’s smile was almost warm, she thought dazedly.

“Quite practical, actually. I so agree, Miss Cribbage.” Lord Chatworth held out his hand. “I believe we shall deal well together. Shall we make it binding?”

Babs responded with a flickering smile and shook his hand in a solemn fashion.

Lord Chatworth rose and walked to the bellpull hanging alongside the mantel. “Would you care to join me in celebration of our prenuptial agreement? A sherry, perhaps?”

Babs rose from the settee, reaching up to replace the veil as she did so. It would cause her acute embarrassment to allow her face to be seen by any of the earl’s servants. “Thank you, but, no, my lord. I really must go.”

The sitting-room door opened in response to Lord Chatworth’s tug on the bell rope and a footman appeared. “My lord?”

“A cab for the lady,” commanded Lord Chatworth.

“I have one waiting, my lord,” Babs said quickly.

“Indeed? Then I shall not require your services, after all,” said Lord Chatworth, dismissing the footman with a gesture. He offered his arm to his visitor. “Allow me to escort you to your carriage, ma’am.”

Babs placed her fingers lightly on his sleeve. Lord Chatworth walked her out of the town house down to the street. He handed her up into the waiting hackney cab.

Lord Chatworth detained her for an instant to raise her fingers to his lips in the briefest of salutes. “Until our next meeting,” he said quietly. He let go of her hand and shut the carriage door. He stepped back onto the curb as the cab jerked forward into the London traffic.

Babs leaned back against the worn leather of the seat squab. She drew a long breath, feeling oddly shaken now that her visit to the Earl of Chatworth was all over. The die was truly cast, she thought. There would be no turning back.

The announcement was duly posted in the London
Gazette
of the banns between Marcus Aurelius Alexander Chatworth, Earl of Chatworth, Viscount Alster, and Miss Barbara Cribbage, heiress. The news caught polite society by surprise.

Lord Chatworth had been a prime catch since reaching his majority, of course, but not even the most wishful of mamas had seriously advised her daughters to dangle after the wild earl. Lord Chatworth was but six-and-twenty and had early on established a reputation for riotous living. It had been assumed that he would not contemplate the advantages of the matrimonial state for some years yet.

Of Miss Cribbage, there were some vague recollections of a brief social debut a few years before, but no one could claim recent knowledge about her.

The unexpected announcement was the
on-dit
of the Season, and the curious speculated on all the possible reasons for the abrupt marriage. There appeared no ready reason for the earl’s hasty marriage, other than that Miss Cribbage was said to be extremely well-endowed. The earl obviously was marrying the heiress for her money, since she had few pretentions to society, but no one could say for certain whether the earl was in dire financial straits.

For some years, due to her fragile health, the Countess of Chatworth had preferred to live quietly secluded at the family ancestral estate rather than entertain in town. The cynical had openly wondered whether the countess did not also prefer to be left ignorant of the gossip concerning many other son’s wilder excesses, which she certainly would not have been if she had been living in London. Speculations ran rife. Perhaps the Countess of Chatworth was in a poorer state than had been believed and had requested to see her only son safely wed before her death, though none could put forth why a veritable nobody had been chosen to succeed her ladyship.

The only other possible reason for the earl’s abrupt decision to wed was that there was a child in the offing. That would certainly explain the odd marriage, if the earl was concerned about giving legitimacy to an heir. However, the consensus was that he should have chosen a bride of lineage as worthy as his own to get a legitimate heir. He need not go to the finality of marrying the Cribbage girl, even if she was his mistress and carried his child. He could simply make proper provision for the child, once born, and pension off the mother. So society discussed and judged and speculated.

Invitations to the ceremony were eagerly awaited, as everyone wished to satisfy some of their curiosity concerning the improbable match. But most were doomed to disappointment. The Earl of Chatworth’s marriage was not to be a grand social function.

The wedding was a private affair held in a small London chapel with only a few family and friends in attendance. From his vantage point in his pew, Mr. Cribbage thought it a paltry affair. He had envisioned an elaborate gala at St. George’s Cathedral, preceded by gilt-edged engraved invitations to every member of the
ton,
all to trumpet his success to the world. But his plans had been effectively undermined by the earl’s swift maneuvering.

Mr. Cribbage resentfully eyed the broad back of the gentleman who was at that moment repeating the sacred vows that would bind him to his daughter. His lordship had taken him completely by surprise. Lord Chatworth had cheated him of his moment of triumph. Mr. Cribbage grunted, recalling yet again that his lordship had warned him that he “called no man master.” The earl would bear watching, thought Cribbage dourly.

Lord Chatworth had not deigned to argue the matter of the wedding arrangements with his future father-in-law, but instead immediately arranged for the chapel and a minister. He had asked his secretary to send out the necessary notifications to members of his family and those of his friends whom he could trust not to thereafter rush to the gossipmongers. Almost as an afterthought, he had consulted briefly with his intended. Miss Cribbage had readily fallen in with his proposal for a small simple affair. He had half-expected some sort of dust-up, since females were so attached to such things as bridal clothes, but Miss Cribbage had surprised him. He had come away from their second interview with a feeling of satisfaction and the reinforced conviction that this marriage of convenience could suit him well enough.

As for Babs, she sent word posthaste to her aunt to come to London. Ostensibly, Lady Azaela was to aid her in the planning and ordering of her trousseau, but in actuality Babs wished her aunt to be in time to be present at the hurriedly arranged ceremony.

While awaiting Lady Azaela’s arrival, Babs and her maid concentrated on putting together a proper wedding ensemble as soon as could be. The seamstresses were adjured to whip up at lightning speed the satin gown and swansdown-trimmed pelisse. The necessity of traveling clothes could safely be set aside, for the earl had made clear that there would not be an extended bridal trip.

Babs shopped for white gloves and satin slippers, camisoles and slips and white silk stockings, a straw bonnet with a white net veil attached to its brim, a reticule knotted of gold string, and myriad other items. She did not count the cost but chose exactly what she wished, with the faintly humorous thought that since it was the only time she was likely to be wedded, she intended to look every inch the fashionable bride in the short time that was allowed to her to arrange it.

Her father approved of her expenditures, seeing glimpses of bandboxes and packages before they were whisked upstairs to Babs’ bedroom. Given the bills, he measured the extravagance of his daughter’s purchases in direct proportion to how important she was going to appear, which would naturally be a direct reflection on himself. He ordered up a new suit of clothes for himself, and confident in his power, he began to make grandiose plans for the wedding without consultation with either the earl or his daughter. They would accept whatever he chose to give to them.

Mr. Cribbage was not best pleased at the arrival of his sister-in-law, Lady Azaela Terowne, but he recognized the importance of having a member of the quality occupying the bride’s pew. He was therefore on his best behavior with Lady Azaela, even going so far as to compliment her on her bonnet and to offer a glass of Madeira to her upon her arrival when she was ushered into the drawing room.

Lady Azaela regarded Mr. Cribbage with a touch of amusement in her sharp blue eyes. She drew off her gloves in a matter-of-fact way. “I am astounded by your affability, sir. We have not dealt so well together in the past.”

Mr. Cribbage smiled, hooking his hands into his vest pockets. “Quite true, my lady. However, this morning I have been consulting with caterers in ordering up the wedding feast. Such work has put me into an expansive frame of mind and even your presence cannot mar the satisfaction that fills me at the thought of my daughter becoming a countess.” He gave a loud laugh. His black eyes glittered triumph at Lady Azaela. “A countess, my lady! I have bought my daughter—my daughter!—a fine title. What say you to that?”

Lady Azaela’s eyes became frosty. “Certainly such a title is no less than my sister’s daughter deserves.” She gathered her gloves and her reticule. “I shall decline the wine, after all, and instead go directly up to see my niece.”

Mr. Cribbage made an ironical bow. “Of course, my lady. You will want to inspect my daughter to see that she has not become tainted by her proximity to me.”

Lady Azaela did not deign to acknowledge her brother-in-law’s rude remark, but swept out of the drawing room and made her way upstairs to her niece’s bedroom. She entered on a bare knock, saying, “Well, Babs? What have you to tell me?”

Babs swung around, her green eyes widening in real pleasure. She rushed into her aunt’s outheld arms, and unexpected tears rushed to her eyes. “Oh, Aunt Azaela! How very glad I am that you have come.”

“There, child, as though I would not,” Lady Azaela said bracingly, touched by her niece’s unusual display of emotion. She set her niece away so that she could look at her. “You appear well enough, though perhaps a trifle pale. Are you resting properly, my dear?”

Babs laughed and threw an encompassing glance about the jumble of bandboxes, portmanteaus, and articles of clothing scattered over the bedroom. Her maid had smiled a greeting for Lady Azaela but continued with her task of packing away undergarments and stockings. “Oh, indeed! Lucy and I have been in such a whirl of shopping and planning, you can have no notion. I am so tired that I am hardly able to keep my eyes open through dinner these days.”

Lady Azaela snorted, her shrewd glance taking in the telltale circles under her niece’s eyes. “So I imagine. Lucy, would you be so good as to bring me a cup of tea?”

“Very good, my lady,” said the maid, understanding at once that Lady Azaela wished to be alone with her mistress. She left the bedroom, carefully closing the door behind her.

Lady Azaela laid aside her reticule and gloves and began untying the ribbons of her bonnet. “We shall now have a comfortable cose, dear Babs, and you shall tell me when the wedding is to be. You were rather vague in your letter and downstairs there is your father trumpeting that he is ordering the caterers. I shall require information on everything that has been done to date if I am to eradicate his disastrous influence on the festivities.”

“My father is operating under a delusion, Aunt. Nothing that he is planning shall in any way affect my wedding,” said Babs, moving aside a couple of opened bandboxes so that her aunt could be seated on the chair beside the bed.

Lady Azaela raised her brows. “You astonish me, my dear. Your father can be most determined, if you will recall,’’ she said dryly.

Babs winced at the reminder of her painful comeout. “True, but the Earl of Chatworth is also a most determined gentleman.”

“You interest me most profoundly,” said Lady Azaela politely.

Babs laughed, her green eyes twinkling. “Indeed, I had thought I might. The fact of the matter, dear ma’am, is that his lordship has already finalized arrangements for our wedding. It will be in but a week’s time and—”

‘‘ A week!’’ Lady Azaela all but shrieked in her astonishment. “My dear, you cannot be serious. Why,there is much to do. Your dress—”

“My dress has just come today. See, here it is.” Babs lifted the satin and lace gown carefully from the largest box on top of the bed and held it up to herself, one slim arm pinning it against her. A faint smile on her lips, she asked, “How does it look. Aunt? Shall I appear the usual happy and blushing bride?”

“Oh, my dear,” said Lady Azaela softly. There was an undercurrent of pity in her voice that her niece could not but detect.

Babs suddenly no longer felt like smiling. She lay back the gown, taking care to fold it within the tissues so that it would not wrinkle. “Lucy shall put it up later, after she has let down the hem. It was just the slightest bit short, you see, and—”

“Babs, come sit beside me,’’ said Lady Azaela. She waited until her niece had settled on the bed beside her and she had taken the girl’s hand in hers before she spoke, carefully marshaling her thoughts as she did so. “I know that this marriage is not precisely what you might have wished for. Oh, every young girl dreams of a dashing gentleman and tender romance. You cannot tell me differently, for I seem to recall something of the sort myself.’’ That brought a gurgle of laughter from her niece, which she was glad of. It augered well that Babs retained her sense of humor. “However, from what you have just told me of the Earl of Chatworth, the match may work very well. He is apparently not one to bow to your father’s bullying ways.”

“No, I do not think he is,” Babs said quietly. “In fact, I made sure of it before I agreed to accept the marriage. I took your advice, Aunt Azaela. I went to his lordship’s town house to meet him and—”