The Diabolical Baron (5 page)

“Gina, how dare you refer to such things!” Lady
Hanscombe interjected. “It is not at all proper for you to know how gentlemen amuse themselves.”

“But, Mama, everyone does know,” Gina said irre
pressibly. “He must have seen Caroline at a ball or in the park and decided he must make her acquaintance. It is so romantic!”

Loyal to her older sister, Gina was
quite willing to believe a gentleman would be struck instantly by Caroline’s sweetness and charm. Content with her Gideon, she felt not a shred of jealousy. “It will quite make Caro socially. Everyone will wish to
meet the girl who took Lord Radford’s fancy.”

Surrounded by such avid speculations, it was un
necessary for Caroline to say a word. And she could not discuss the most important fact about Lord Radford: that she didn’t like him and had no desire to see
him again.

She knew it was irrational but she had felt
deeply uncomfortable in his presence. Silent and un
happy, she had a throbbing headache when they re
turned to the Adam Street town house.

“Excuse me, Mama, I am very fatigued and wish to
retire directly,” Caroline said in a thin voice.

“Yes, yes, my dear, we must keep you in looks for
Lord Radford’s call,” Lady Hanscombe said magnani
mously.

Caroline’s bedchamber had the slightly drab air
common to rental properties, but tonight it repre
sented safety. She tossed her cloak across the shield-
back chair, then walked slowly to the window and
leaned her aching forehead against the cool glass.

Log
ically, it made no sense to read so much into a single
dance. Even a wallflower such as herself had stood up with a number of men during the Season.

But she had
never been singled out in quite this way. She
felt in her bones that the encounter with Radford was
significant. She had a mental image of herself as a twig
that had been slowly drifting down a lazy creek. Now
abruptly she had been seized by a current that could
sweep her away from the life of music and peace she
longed for.

Caroline suddenly chuckled. Such a to-do over
nothing! Jessica always said she had too much imagination. Time to put her worries in perspective. Taking
a worn instrument case from the wardrobe, she
perched on the bed and carefully removed her lute.

It
was a very old instrument, dating back to the time
when the lute was fashionable and widely played. She stroked the silky cedarwood of its sound box lovingly
for a moment, then tuned it and started to play an air
by John Dowland.

The lute had been a gift from her beloved teacher
Signore Ferrante when she came to London earlier in
the spring. Both of them had known matters would
never be the same again; she would marry or stay in
London with her aunt, and the closeness of master and
student would change in the future.

He had chosen the
perfect gift. Whenever she played it she thought of
him and the happiness they had shared in exploring
ancient and modern music. While the pianoforte was
her first love, the gentle lute was easily carried and
could be played without disturbing the rest of the
household. After plucking several Elizabethan tunes,
Caroline rippled out an Italian lullaby, singing softly in
her sweet true voice. Half an hour later she was ready
for sleep.

* * * *

Rising earlier than the rest of the family, Caroline
had a quick breakfast and set out for her Aunt Jessica’s
house with a young maid trailing behind for propri
ety’s sake. The housemaids took turns at chaperoning
her, and debated among themselves whether it was
easier to scrub steps or keep up with Caroline’s brisk
pace.

For all her fragile appearance, she was a vigorous walker and much preferred it to riding. Today she
was to give her cousin Linda a lesson on the pi
anoforte, and she blessed the excuse to be out early.

A late night rain had left the streets bright-washed
as a new-minted coin, and Caroline felt her natural
serenity return as she mentally translated the street
rhythms to music. Irrepressibly social sparrows chat
tering overhead, peddlers making their rounds with
fresh bread and early strawberries, a grave child on a
pony headed toward Hyde Park with his proud
papa—it would make a splendid concerto, or better
still, an overture. As she softly whistled a melody, it
was impossible to take seriously her anxieties of the
night before.

As an Army wife, Jessica had learned to keep early
hours and her household was fully awake when Caro
line arrived glowing with color from the fresh air. She
looked around the small entry hall with pleasure.

The
house was not large, needing only two servants to be comfortably staffed. But it had a welcoming air and
was possibly her favorite place in the world. The walls
were light-colored and the uncluttered rooms free of
crocodile-footed sofas and other such fashionable
monstrosities. The furniture had the graceful lines of
the middle eighteenth century, with some foreign ac
cents Jessica had acquired while traveling with her
husband.

Being able to visit Jessica whenever she chose was
Caroline’s compensation for the rigors of the Season.
They had corresponded regularly ever since Caroline
was old enough to write, but they seldom saw each
other in person while Major Sterling was posted in distant places.
After her husband’s death
in the Battle of Salamanca, Jessica brought her daugh
ter back to England and they took up residence in the
small London town house she had inherited.

Although she liked having her own household and
independence, Jessica frequently took Linda to visit
the child’s paternal grandparents in Wiltshire. Jessica had grown up in the area and had many friends there, and since the Sterlings lived within five miles of the
Hanscombes, she could visit Caroline at the same time. But
being within a few minutes’ walk of each
other was a new and pleasant experience for both of
them.

Caroline entered the breakfast parlor but she had no
time to greet her aunt before a small figure squealed
and whizzed into her arms. “Caro! A kitten wandered
into the kitchen and Mama says I can keep it!”

Caroline laughed and gave her nine-year-old cousin
a hug. “And how did this creature happen to ‘wander
in’? In your pocket, perchance?”

Linda ground a toe into the carpet.
“Well
...”

“Never mind, poppet. I’m sure your mother was no
more deceived than I am. Bless you, Jessica,” she said, reaching for the cup of coffee her aunt had just poured.
“What did they ever do before coffee was discovered?” In the Hanscombe household, tea was the hot beverage
since it was her stepmother’s preference; having coffee
as well would have been wasteful. “I assume this un
dernourished scrap of orange fluff is your new friend?”

Reaching under the table, she scooped the fur ball onto her
lap. The kitten was a ginger torn with startlingly green eyes,
and he seemed to find the Sterling residence much to his
taste. Now he was content to purr in delight as Caroline ex
pertly scratched under his small chin. “And what is this peer
less pussy’s name?”

“Wellesley. For the Iron Duke, you know,” Linda
said seriously.

“A fine name. He even looks as if he has the famous
Wellington hooked nose. At least, as much as a cat is
able.” Having duly admired the new member of the
household, she said, “Jessica, the oddest thing hap
pened at Almack’s last night.”

“Does that mean you had a better time than ex
pected?”

“Not really,” Caroline said ruefully. “I was sought out by a rather elderly lord who insisted on waltzing
and who threatens to call on me.”

“Goodness! Who was this ancient gentleman?”

“Well, he wasn’t really ancient—perhaps around
forty. But old enough to be my father. His name is
Lord Radford, and he looks like the devil in fancy
dress. All dark hair, frown lines, and glowering looks. He stared at me as if I were a filly ready for market. I
was so nervous I’m sure he thinks me witless. Which is
all to the good. I have no desire to further the acquaintance.”

“Lord Radford. . . . The name is familiar. I believe
there is a family seat in Gloucestershire. He’s men
tioned in the papers regularly—a famous horseman
and hunter. Cuts quite a dash. You have found your
self a very eligible parti, little one!”

“Please don’t laugh at me, Jess! This is serious. What
if he is interested in me? The man terrifies me!”

“Isn’t that putting it a bit strongly?”

Caroline frowned and twisted a lock of tawny hair around her finger. “I’m not sure if I can explain it. He
is not really unattractive, though rather old for me. I
just felt... overpowered by his presence. As if he were
a bomb waiting to go off, or a fire that would consume
me.”

“I think I understand,” Jessica replied. “The Duke of
Wellington is something like that. No one could be more
affable on a social occasion, but one can always feel the
power in him. He could never be mistaken for an ordi
nary man, even when he was plain Arthur Wellesley.
Perhaps that is why he is called the Iron Duke.”

“Well, Lord Radford is certainly no ordinary man. I
would like him much better if he were.”

Jessica shrugged. “A man like that will add greatly
to your consequence. If you fall in love with each other
and make a match of it, you would be established for
life. Certainly his attentions can’t hurt. No one can
force you to marry him.”

“That’s the problem, Jess. Mama and Papa
could
force me. When they start shouting, and talking about my filial duty . ..” Her voice trailed off as she exam
ined the ribbon she had twisted past any future use.

“I shan’t let him have you!” Linda said. “I will say
that you are promised to us here.”

“It shouldn’t come to that, Linda.” Jessica chuckled
and drew her daughter close to her side. They shared
the same fiery auburn hair and glowing vitality, but
the child had inherited her father’s brown eyes rather
than her mother’s green ones. Laughing together in
the breakfast parlor, they were perfect subjects for one
of the livelier master painters—Rubens, perhaps, had
he preferred a slimmer sort of female.

“I expect you are right and I am worrying about
nothing. I’ll probably never see the Diabolical Baron
again, except in the distance at some crowded affair. In
the meantime, poppet, it’s high time you and I got
started with your music lesson. I must be home early to go shopping with Gina. She needs some ribbon to
refurbish a gown before the Cavendish ball tomorrow
night.”

“I think I am too old to be a poppet, Caro,” Linda announced. “I am almost ten, you know.”

“Indeed, I am very sorry to have made such a mis
take. If Miss Sterling is ready for the pianoforte, may we begin? And if Miss Sterling has done her practice faithfully and performs well, there may just be some fresh gingerbread for her.”

With a squeak of delight, Linda abandoned her new
found maturity to dash to the music room, her cousin
following with more decorum. Jessica looked after the
figures a little sadly. Her little girl was not
going to be a little girl much longer, and the niece that
was almost a daughter was being forced into woman
hood before she was ready.

The hardest part of being a
mother, she thought, was knowing that growth was
painful. And that there was no way she could spare
them those pains.

Chapter 3

Caroline returned to the Hanscombe town house later than intended; the few minutes spent on a
Mozart concerto became a full-scale composing ses
sion after Linda left munching her gingerbread. Even
at best she could be absentminded, and when she got
involved in music, time lost any meaning.

It was a
family joke that Caro must be kept from the pianoforte
if there were any important engagements. Once she
had settled down for a few minutes’ playing after
lunch, and had been forcibly dragged away by Gina
six hours later to dress in time for dinner. She had been
in a creative daze all that evening, but it had been
worthwhile; it was the first time she had composed a
concerto worthy of the name.