Fran Baker (7 page)

“Oh, you precious child!” Nell replied with a false titter. “How could we not all feel happy for your joy! It is the best of good news, and we are most impatient to hear all the details of your romance.” She ended this speech by tapping on the door of Susanna’s bedroom and saying as she entered, “Mother Lawrence, look who has come home!”

Mrs. Lawrence lay upon her bed surrounded by her bottles of hartshorn and Hungary Water. Her vinaigrette reposed next to her hand and was grasped instantly upon their entrance. She sat upright with astonishing energy and cried, “Oh, my sweetest! My love! Such a triumph! It was precisely what I expected of you, though of course we were most surprised when Elizabeth wrote of your brilliant catch. If only your dear, dear papa could share in your happiness, for I am sure the salvation of the family would have saved his life!”

Such reasoning brought an amused twinkle to Rose’s eyes, for dear Papa had met his untimely end by falling from his horse during a drunken celebration for the winning of a bet, the winning being a far more unusual circumstance than the drinking. The twinkle soon disappeared, however, for within the hour Rose was certain that her sister was not in love, nor even very happy over her forthcoming betrothal. Helen confirmed that his lordship had indeed spoken and would be traveling to Willowley in the next day or two to speak with Griffen and make his formal declaration. She stated this so matter-of-factly, with such a resigned set to her pretty lips, that Rose was nearly overset with anxiety to be alone with her.

There was no opportunity throughout the remainder of the afternoon, for Susanna engulfed her daughter in her arms and continued to monopolize her, pausing in her raptures occasionally to sniff at her vinaigrette or to question Helen sharply about the season’s
on dits
, the latest fashions, and all the myriad details of fashionable life on the town.

By the time her mother at last relinquished her, Helen was thoroughly convinced that she had been right to make this noble sacrifice, for matters were far worse than she had ever realized. Though Mama had not been vulgar enough to mention such subjects, Nell had referred repeatedly to such mysterious things as settlements and mortgages until Helen was assured that only her marriage stood between the Lawrences and the poor house.

This notion was reinforced over their family supper when even Griffen admitted that his lordship’s offer was a fortunate one, indeed. He mitigated this slightly by adding, “If I find his character is not all as is reputed, I shall be most happy to give my consent to this match.”

“If!” Nell shrieked. “What can you mean? Of course you will consent!”

Observing that Helen, who could not bear arguments or dissension of any kind, was turning pale, Rose intervened, saying quietly, “It shall all be settled soon enough. Helen, dearest, do tell me where  you came by that fetching bonnet you wore today. It became you extremely.”

The subject having been successfully turned, little more was said regarding Helen’s betrothal and gradually the color returned to her cheeks. But her sister remained dissatisfied and impatiently awaited the time when they would retire to the tiny bedroom they had shared for years.

At last, however, the moment came when Rose sat on the edge of Helen’s bed, regarding her seriously with concerned gray eyes.

Helen did not meet her gaze directly and chattered nervously about her stay in London, her trip home in the viscount’s luxurious coach and her happiness to be back in her own little room until finally the flow of words faded awkwardly away.

“Why are you entering into this engagement, love?” Rose asked her then.

“Why—why it is a wonderful match! His lordship is—is handsome and most flattering. You cannot imagine how attentive he has been. It will be a most agreeable marriage, I assure you.”

“Stuff!” Rose said in sisterly affection. “It’s as plain as a pikestaff you are not in love.”

“Oh, Rose!” Helen responded airily. “Surely you do not still believe that people marry for
love
? Is that why you’ve never got off the shelf?”

There was a shocked silence while Rose struggled not to show her hurt.

“Rose, dearest, I’m so, so sorry!” Helen exclaimed in great distress. “I never meant—”

“It does not signify.”

“But it does, it does! I am
so sorry
!” Tears spilled from her lovely eyes as Helen flew into her sister’s arms.

“You silly peagoose! It was nothing,” Rose said, giving her a hearty squeeze. “Now dry your eyes. As regards the other, you must do as you feel is best, dear. I only spoke out of concern for your happiness.”

“I know, I know. I’m a wretch to have spoken to you so,” she sobbed on a muffled hiccough.

“Nonsense,” Rose countered bracingly. “Now let us say nothing more about it.” She blew out the candle ad, wishing Helen pleasant dreams, climbed into her own bed to lay awake for quite some time.

*****

During the days which followed, they spoke no more of the betrothal for Helen’s manner did not invite confidences and Rose was far too wise to press upon her. She was tempted once to speak when, three days later, Nell came into the parlor wreathed in smiles to announce that Griffen had received a note from the Viscount Stratford. The note had been sent from the inn in nearby Adderbury where his lordship had put up with his cousin, Mr. Baldwin.

Helen accepted the news that Stratford would be calling upon them in the morning with such a strained smile that Rose had to bite her lip to keep back the exclamation that sprang to mind. Her sister’s only comment, however, had been that they should like the viscount’s cousin very well, for Mr. Baldwin was a nice, quiet gentleman.

That Stratford had journeyed to Willowley with his cousin Daniel had come about as a result of an argument with Jacques Maret. Though not generally of matutinal habits, the viscount had risen early the morning of Helen’s departure to pay a call upon his friend. He was ushered into Maret’s sunny breakfast room where the beau sat leisurely perusing his morning correspondence. As Stratford was announced, Jacques set aside the stack of papers and took up his eyeglass.

“I fear I shall have to make my apologies to Dobbs,” he observed. “I made quite certain he was mistaken. But there! You see that I can be in error, after all.”

“And what,” inquired his lordship as he sat, “can you be in error about?”

“Being well aware of the hour, I informed Dobbs, when he told me you were calling, that he was of course mistaken,” Jacques explained. As Stratford laughed, he continued on a drawl, “I don’t believe I’ve previously had the privilege of seeing you before noon, Colin. To what do I owe this unprecedented honor?”

“You know Miss Lawrence leaves today,” Stratford said, stretching out his legs. “I’m set to follow in a day or two. I should like you to come up to Willowley with me.”

Maret paused in the act of putting his coffee cup to his lips. “Why?” he asked without expression.

“Oh—because the prospect of being stuck in the country for days on end with my beautiful but boring fiancée and a parcel of her relatives leaves me cold.”

Fixing his green eyes upon his massive ruby ring, Maret remarked in a weary tone, “I cannot be chasing into the country at the height of the season—even to oblige you, my friends.”

The viscount bestowed a puzzled frown upon Maret, but said easily enough, “I doubt there will be much of a season with its finest beauty and biggest rakehell out of town. Come, Jacques, we could find a week’s entertainment together—in nearby Norfolk, perhaps.”

“Selecting your bride is as far as I am able to exert myself,” Maret said without moving his gaze. “I believe the effort of wooing her for you is beyond me.”

“Don’t come that damned manner of yours with me,” Stratford returned, too softly.

“I am afraid I must decline your invitation. Other matters press.”

Anger flashed in his eyes as Stratford scraped back his chair. He stood motionless a moment, then said in a taut voice. “As you wish.”

He strode for the door. But as he reached for the handle, Maret looked up from his steady contemplation of his ring and said, “Colin, you shall do much better without me.”

Stratford left without responding. He had stood upon the street slapping his gloves together with a heavy frown. His groom, holding the heads of his lordship’s spirited grays, kept his face immobile, though he wondered what had occurred to erase m’lord’s sunny mood. Jem’s curiosity, when the viscount presently pulled to a stop before Mr. Baldwin’s lodgings in Curzon Street, was even greater.

His lordship whisked past Baldwin’s manservant before that astonished man could do more than drop open his mouth. Stratford’s irruption upon Baldwin in his bedchamber caused Daniel to cease knotting the muslin about his neck to turn and stare at him in imitation of his servant.

“Good morning, Daniel,” the viscount said as he came forward.

His cousin, taken by surprise, greeted him with a lessening of the stiff manner he had maintained toward the viscount since their last falling out. Feeling sure that nothing less than calamity could induce Stratford to be about at this early hour, he inquired anxiously, “What’s wrong, Colin? Is it Grandfather? Is he—”

“Lord, no. I don’t doubt that he’ll dance on my grave,” he replied with a thin smile. “Nothing is wrong, Daniel. At least, nothing I despair of mending.” He threw down his gloves and hat while watching the rigidity return to Baldwin’s bearing.

“Then how may I be of service?” he asked with reserve.

“I’m to go to Willowley in a day or so and would like you to accompany me.”

“I fail to see what purpose could be served by my coming along for your courtship,” Daniel said, motioning for his guest to be seated.

“Oh, I well know you don’t approve of this match,” Colin said, continuing to move about in his restless way, “but I had thought we might use this journey to put an end to the rift between us.”

Baldwin wavered. He wanted nothing more than to be on terms with the cousin he had always, secretly, looked up to. But at the memory of their recent argument, he remained stiff. “I think I’d best not come. My presence could only be interference into your affairs.”

“For God’s sake, man,” his lordship bit out, “don’t hold my words against me. You know what I am like when angry.”

A smile suddenly crossed Daniel’s face. “After knowing you all my life, Colin, I must confess that I do.”

Stratford paused in his pacing, then gave an answering laugh. “Then you’ll forgive me and come?”

“I suppose I must,” Daniel said in friendly resignation, “for I know your determination when you wish for something.”

“Good. It shall be deadly dull, I dare say, but there’s an elder sister, I’m told—”

“You’re not playing matchmaker?”

“Devil a bit!” Colin denied, not without humor. He proceeded to collect his hat and gloves, then flashed his cousin his most winning smile. “I’ll see you in, say, two day’s time?”

Daniel nodded his agreement and Stratford left the room as suddenly as he had entered it. His lordship’s groom was gratified to see that m’lord had regained a better frame of mind, a mood which was miraculously maintained through the next few days and even through the day’s journey into Norfolk.

The cousins had arrived in Adderbury on the Friday, each feeling in good humor with the other. Baldwin had tactfully refrained from criticizing his lordship’s reckless handling of the ribbons, while for his part, Stratford had thoughtfully driven his curricle at an unusually moderate speed.

If Freddy had been enthusiastic about the viscount’s coach, he was ecstatic when he saw his lordship’s curricle, which he called all the crack and from which he could not take his eyes. He was quite cast down at being sent up to the schoolroom with his brother, but brightened somewhat when his Aunt Rose whispered a hurried promise to bring him down later.

Rose had spent the majority of hours since the receipt of the viscount’s note in a flurry of preparations for the momentous visit, working with Nell and Mrs. Mosley, their cook, to get ready. Insisting that the future viscountess must not sully her hands, Nell refused to let Helen do anything beyond the lightest dusting with the result that she nearly fainted with panic. Rose, however, shooed Helen into the capable hands of Aunt Liz’s maid. Once everything had been scrubbed, dusted, washed and polished, it only remained for Rose to make a last-minute tour of inspection.

As she stood in the small drawing room, she vividly pictured a pair of turned-down ebony eyes staring with haughty disdain at the worn drapes, the shiny thin chair coverings, and even at her own olive merino gown which was at least four years out of fashion. An embarrassed warmth crept up her neck. The thought of Stratford’s arrogant appraisal of her home, and the low opinion she was certain he would hold upon seeing the mended linen and threadbare carpets, sent the heated flush up over her cheeks. It was the only sign, as their guests arrived, that Miss Rose Lawrence was not her usual calm self.

Years of being the mainstay of the Lawrence family, however, had given her considerable control over her emotions and it was with the semblance, at least, of composure that Rose stood to meet Viscount Stratford. She met his scrutiny squarely and did not reveal any of the inner turmoil that overcame her when she saw him again mentally dismiss her as he had done years before.

His eyes passed over her swiftly as Helen continued making introductions very prettily in her low musical voice. Elizabeth’s maid had dressed her dark curls in a fashionable topknot which was left unadorned. Martha had then suggested that Miss Helen wear a simple cream gown of twilled cambric with azure ribbons circling its high waist. She wisely left all else to her charge’s own natural good looks. The viscount had much admired the results, setting both Mrs. Lawrences firm in the belief that his lordship was contracting a love match.

Helen drew Stratford’s attention to the final member of her family present, her brother Esmond. His every objection—and these had been numerous—having been overridden by the females of his family, Esmond was indeed there to meet his future brother-in-law. He noted the set of the viscount’s superfine blue jacket upon his broad shoulders, the mirrored gleam of his tasseled Hessians, the intricate knot of his jauntily tied cravat and dismissed him instantly as one of the sporting set. Esmond sat down wearily, prepared to be bored out of his mind.