Mutual Consent (7 page)

Babs was not one to give over before the battle was even joined. Her trepidation and awe upon entering the town house evaporated with the stirring of her pride and her anger. She could do nothing about her birth. But she knew very well how to order an efficient household and she was determined that the earl would at least find that she was not lacking in that regard.

She made a mental note to clarify with the earl that anything to do with the ordering of the staff and the house was to be her concern. It would not do to have the squabblings certain to ensue to be constantly appealed to his judgment. She had no wish to have a wedge driven by domestic troubles thrust through the delicate balance of her pact with the earl. From her point of view, there was too much at stake to risk alienation of his lordship.

“Well done,” said Lord Chatworth. “Simmers, Lady Chatworth and I shall want sherry in the parlor in half an hour.’’

“Very good, my lord,” said the butler. He shot a steely glance about the still-lingering servants and they all hurried away to resume their various duties.

Lord Chatworth turned to Barbara. “You will naturally wish to change out of your bridal clothes and refresh yourself, my lady. The footman will show you up to your rooms.” He raised her gloved hand to his lips in a show of distant courtesy.

Babs murmured her thanks before she turned to follow the footman up the stairs. She knew that the earl did not stand watching her when she heard his quick steps as he crossed the marble tiles of the empty entry hall. A heavy door crashed shut.

Babs suppressed a sigh. It was not at all the sort of marriage she had hoped for, certainly, but she reminded herself that beggars could not be choosers. Her present circumstances had been practically thrust upon her, and she had attempted to make something better of the situation through her understanding with the Earl of Chatworth. It was too early for either of them to have learned to trust the other. Perhaps they never would. If that were to be so, it would come very hard to her to give up all her last dreams of love and warmth and security and respect.

The maid who had served Babs for years in Lady Azaela’s house awaited her in the bedroom suite. “There you are at last, my lady,” she said, hurrying over to take her mistress’s bonnet and veil.

“You speak as though you feared for my very existence, Lucy. But I survive quite well, as you see,” Babs said with a touch of humor. She showed her hand with the plain gold band snug about her third finger.

“Not an engagement stone in sight, more’s the scandal,” Lucy said disapprovingly. She began to undo the scores of tiny buttons that fastened down the back of the white satin gown.

“One could hardly expect the earl to drape me in priceless heirloom jewels, Lucy. After all, this marriage is naught but a business arrangement,” Barbara said coolly.

The satin gown slid to the floor and she stepped out of its folds. The maid snorted, snatching up the gown to smooth it carefully before she laid it aside on the bed for later packing away. “That is all very well, my lady, but I should like to see the man who does not have his own notions of what makes a business and what makes a wife.” She was busy with the shaking out of her mistress’s day gown or she would have seen that Barbara’s consternated gaze flew to her face.

After a short pause, while the maid threw the day gown over her head and adjusted it, Babs said, “I am to meet his lordship for sherry in the parlor in half an hour.”

Lucy raised her brows. She gave a nod of satisfaction as her fingers flew over the gown’s buttons. “At least his lordship has some notion of what is proper. Then maybe some I could mention will see that his lordship means to treat you as his true lady.”

Babs met the maid’s shrewd glance in the mirror. The expression in her own eyes was unsurprised. “The staff do not acknowledge me.”

The maid gave a grim nod.

Babs smiled slightly, recalling all of the careful instructions that had been drilled into her through the years by her aunt. Lady Azaela had never countenanced carelessness, let alone signs of open rebellion, among her staff. Lady Azaela had prepared her niece in every way to be mistress of a large respectable establishment, and those who dismissed her for an ignorant tradesman’s daughter would swiftly learn their mistake, Barbara thought.

“I suspected as much when I was introduced to the servants belowstairs. I am despised, Lucy. But I’ll wager that before the month is done I shall be mistress of this house. I shan’t sit idly by while mismanagement and misplaced snobbery spread like dry rot through the place,” she said with quiet evenness.

“Indeed not, my lady,” Lucy said, cheered. She set to the pleasant task of rearranging her mistress’s fine auburn hair.

Half an hour to the minute, Barbara entered the parlor. The footman who had shown her into the room closed the door behind her. The earl turned from his contemplation of the fire as she walked toward him.

Babs saw that his lordship had also taken the opportunity to trade his bridal clothes for more conservative wear. He had put on instead an afternoon coat, smooth buckskin trousers, and glossy Hessian boots. His cravat was immaculately tied, while his tight-fitting waistcoat was decorated with a collection of fobs and seals at the waist. The Earl of Chatworth was an undeniably attractive gentleman, and when he smiled, as he did now, the countess privately thought she had never met anyone that more fit her romantic fancies.

Lord Chatworth regarded his new wife quizzingly. “A penny for them,” he offered, gesturing her courteously to a chair.

Babs laughed, though a faint flush mounted in her cheeks. She gracefully sat down. “I was thinking that I have seldom seen a more attractive gentleman,” she said.

The earl paused in the act of pouring their wine. His brows rose and his expression was somewhat sardonic as he said, “Indeed, ma’am! I am flattered that you should say so.”

Babs was nettled by his amused tone. As she took the wineglass from his hand, she looked steadily into his face. “Are you? I cannot conceive why. Afterward one usually does inspect a purchase with a sense of pleasure and perhaps a more critical eye than one did before carrying it home.”

Lord Chatworth’s brows snapped together and he stared frowningly at her. Then his expression cleared and he laughed. He leaned his shoulder against the mantel. Lifting his glass, he said,
“Touché,
my lady, I had not thought about it in such terms, but you are right, of course. We have each made what we hope to be a bargain. It is only natural that you should wonder whether I am able to live up to expectations.”

Babs took a sip of the sweet wine, letting the pause lengthen to a moment. Lowering the wineglass, she cradled it between her palms. “And you, my lord? Do you also wonder?”

Lord Chatworth regarded her silently. He allowed his eyes to travel over her, from her plaited hair and lovely face with the large green eyes and the delectably curved lips, to her neckline and the hint of shadow there, the small waist and curve of thigh outlined by the day gown.

He saw that his open scrutiny embarrassed her, but she did not drop her eyes when he returned his gaze to her face. He spoke with deliberation. “I, too, have looked over my purchase again, and I experience a sense of undeniable pleasure when I do so.”

“That is not quite what I meant,” Babs said, her color considerably heightened.

Lord Chatworth smiled in the peculiar fashion that she had taken note of during their first meeting. “I shall be perfectly honest, my lady. I have entered into a marriage that I never wished for and one that I hope will be of the shortest duration. However that may be, I intend to hold by the tenets of our pact. I expect that you will also honor our understanding. You have already proven in more than one respect to be a surprise to me.” He paused a moment to regard her more thoughtfully. “Why did you not tell me that Lady Azaela Terowne was your aunt?”

Barbara ran one slender forefinger about the edge of her wineglass. It was a legitimate question and one that caused her a moment of fleeting embarrassment. The truth of the matter was that she had been piqued by the earl’s lack of interest in her, but she did not want to admit that to him. She said only, “You did not appear eager to inquire into my antecedents, my lord.”

Lord Chatworth barked a short laugh.”No, I suppose that I did not.” He tossed off the wine and set the empty glass on the mantel, then seated himself in the chair opposite her. “I owe you an apology, my lady.”

Babs looked over at him in some surprise. “In what way, my lord? You have done nothing.”

“I have been remiss in my observations in more ways than I thought possible. I should have guessed from the first meeting that you did not spring whole-cloth from the trades. There was an indefinable air in your bearing and your determination that owed itself to good breeding. I have treated you badly, my lady. I have never interested myself in your background. I would like to make amends for that now, if I may,” said Lord Chatworth.

Babs was silent for several moments, digesting his remarks. She was not at all sure that she liked his abrupt turnaround. She had no experience to judge by and only her own intuitive sense of preservation to guide her, but she rather thought that the earl’s curiosity was more than idle. “I am my father’s daughter, my lord. But I owe my sensibilities and my education first to my mother, Amanda Harrowby Cribbage, and after her death, to her sister, Lady Azaela Terowne. Is that what you wished to know, my lord?”

“Then you were not raised in your father’s house?” asked Lord Chatworth.

Her fingers tightened about the wineglass. Now she knew exactly what he wanted from her. His lordship was fishing for reassurance that her well-bred appearance was genuine and not merely a thin veneer that would crack under the rigors of her duties as the Countess of Chatworth. In a carefully neutral voice, Babs said, “I was ten when I went to live with my aunt, my lord. I suppose that may be seen as fortuitous, since otherwise I would not have had the benefit of Lady Azaela’s mentoring.”

Lord Chatworth’s keen eyes did not miss the telltale whitening of her fingertips on her wineglass. He suspected that there was something concerning her early childhood that she preferred not to openly discuss with him. He did not begrudge her that, he thought. Any child exposed to Cribbage’s harsh personality must have acquired some sort of resentments, and her mother had died too soon. Perhaps that was the crux of the matter: the poor woman had been driven to her grave by an overbearing vulgar husband, and the sensitive child had naturally blamed her father for it. “I am persuaded that Lady Azaela took you properly in hand,” he said.

Babs relaxed at his banal observation, reassured that he did not mean to press her further. “Indeed, my aunt could be quite a taskmaster.” A reminiscent smile played about her mouth.

A thought occurred to her and she looked quickly at the earl, who was watching her with a lazy interest in his eyes. “My lord, that brings me to a question that I have wondered about. Ours is a marriage of convenience, and so the traditional roles cannot be taken for granted by me. Exactly what are to be my duties as the Countess of Chatworth? Am I to be complete mistress of this establishment, or shall you wish that I defer to you in every domestic detail, such as the servants’ squabblings or the ordering of the kitchen?”

“Good God, no,” said Lord Chatworth, taken aback. He was appalled by the very suggestion that he interest himself in the running of the household. “You have free rein, of course. There is Mrs. Sparrow, the housekeeper, to assist you, and Smithers, of course. With their guidance into my habits and particular likes and dislikes, I am certain that you will make a splendid job of it.” He spoke with a hearty reassurance that he was not at all positive he actually felt.

Babs smiled, her keen ears picking up the falseness of his tone. She inclined her head in ironic acknowledgment. His lordship was not to know that whatever his reservations might have been, she had every intention of putting his reassurance to her to the uttermost limits. “Thank you for your vote of confidence, my lord. I shall do my utter best, you may rest assured of that.”

Lord Chatworth eyed his wife with a hint of suspicion. He did not quite know what had been said, but he sensed that she was hugely satisfied at what had just transpired. “I shall also require you to act as my hostess from time to time,” he said slowly.

He was startled by the look almost of panic that darted into her expressive eyes. Oho, my girl, he thought. So there is something that you fear, after all. He wondered with resignation if his wife, with her obvious trepidation at the mere suggestion of hostessing, would prove to be a disaster in a social setting. Perhaps her air of breeding would evaporate and leave only the vulgar underpinnings of her paternal ancestry.

But then, it hardly mattered. He did not plan on spending much time in doing the pretty in his own establishment. There were amusements enough about town so that he did not need to entertain, and certainly there was a particular lady who knew just how to entertain him.

At thought of his mistress, the earl’s lips curled faintly. His reception at that lady’s hands on the occasion of his next visit would be interesting at the very least. He had not informed her of his plans to wed.

Babs wondered at his lordship’s strange smile. His eyes were on her, but she did not think he saw her. She shivered slightly. There was something in his expression that sent a
frisson
up her spine. “My lord? You said something about hostessing a few gatherings. When may I expect to do so? I shall naturally wish to address the question of proper entertainment and the invitations.”

Lord Chatworth was brought back from his pleasantly erotic reverie. He frowned in sudden irritability. “You need not concern yourself with any of that just yet. I think it more important that you become better acquainted with society before setting about a party.”

“Of course, my lord,’’ Babs said quietly. She was startled by the earl’s sudden snappishness, but quickly regained her balance. Her dealings with her father had not led her to believe that any gentleman was capable of civility for any great length of time.