Mutual Consent (15 page)

Babs was seized by absolute terror when she thought about entering society, and in such a way. Lord Chatworth was undoubtedly right when he said that many would come out of curiosity. She could not forget the horrible experience she had endured during her comeout. Babs shuddered, convinced that once again she would be cast in the role of circus sideshow. Her inner dread must have shown in her face, for the earl’s mouth took on that particularly mocking smile. He did not say anything to her, however, for which she was grateful. Instead, he turned to address a question to his mother.

Babs studied his stern profile. It was not the first time that she had traced with her eyes the clean cut of his lean features and the firm set of his mouth and chin. She wondered idly why the earl, who had not seemed particularly interested in entertaining, should suddenly take it into his head to have a ball.

It was then that she finally realized what he was saying. “A week! But that is impossible! I cannot possibly—”

The earl turned his head, his raised brows and cold expression effectively cutting off her ill-conceived protest. “It shall be held a week from today, my lady,” he repeated uncompromisingly.

Babs met his hard eyes. Her own sparked to anger. She made an effort to speak with calm reason. “What you require is quite impossible, my lord. The preparations alone will take nearly that long. There will not be sufficient time to get out the invitations and receive the acceptances. Why, the date would be upon us almost before those who are to be invited are made aware of the ball.”

The earl lounged back in his chair. “Nevertheless, that is what I wish. The ball is for your benefit, dear wife, not mine. I am already well acquainted in town.”

“Marcus, really!” murmured the dowager countess.

Lord Chatworth ignored his mother’s censorious tone. He did not take his eyes from his wife’s indignant gaze. For some peculiar reason, her opposition pleased him. He smiled, that flicker of mockery touching his lips. “Surely you will not be terribly disappointed if the function is not as crowded as could be expected.”

His shot went home. Babs colored, her high cheekbones taking on an attractive rose that lent emphasis to the anger that brightened her green eyes. She now knew beyond a shadow of doubt that his lordship was aware of her anxiety over entering society. She was humiliated by her self-betrayal and was made all the more furious that he should bait her in such a cruel manner. “You are monstrous,” she said in a suffocated voice.

Lord Chatworth straightened, preparatory to rising from the table. “I have never laid claim to a gentle nature, Babs.’’ His voice was brusque and impatient. “You are my lady and I expect you to behave in a fashion worthy of your position. That is my final word on the matter, Babs, and quite within the scope of our previous discussion, do you not agree?”

Babs was silent. With difficulty she arranged her expression to one of cool disdain. “I do not mistake your meaning, my lord.”

Lord Chatworth regarded her with detached interest. Her expression had become unreadable and her demeanor would not have given anyone to suspect that she was discomposed. Only the rigidity of her hands clasped in her lap betrayed her in any significant way. If she reacted with the same cold civility when it chanced to be a
grande dame
who so insulted her, rather than himself, she would be able to hold her own. He had experienced doubts of the wisdom in exposing her to the glaring curiosity that was sure to come their way because of the circumstances of their hasty marriage. Now he thought that she might do, after all.

Lord Chatworth stepped around the table to reach down and raise one of her hands. He spoke his thoughts. “You will do, you know.”

Babs’ startled eyes flew to his face. His expression of lazy approval took her completely aback. Almost in the same instant she realized that he had for the past several moments deliberately put her out of countenance as a sort of test of her control. Her eyes rekindled and her lips parted on a hasty set-down.

But the earl was too quick for her. He leaned over and lightly bussed her. “There, my lady! Never accuse me of not apologizing for my rude insult,” he said with a lurking smile. Not at all put out to meet his mother’s quizzical eyes, he bowed to his maternal parent and left the dining room.

Babs sat with flaming cheeks, her thoughts in confusion. How dared he to kiss her like that! It was not at all fair to confound her in such a manner. It was a dastardly liberty on his part, as well as he had known or he would not have smiled in just that way. He was the most infuriating, unpredictable gentleman and he had the most devastating effect upon her equilibrium. Her pulses still hammered with the suspension of her anger and the surprise of his action.

The dowager had for several minutes sat as an interested spectator of the exchange between her son and his wife. Now she regarded her daughter-in-law with a curious expression in her eyes. Whatever else Barbara Cribbage was, the young woman was certainly a match for the earl. A trifle naive, perhaps, she thought as she looked at the girl’s still-flushed face, but she suspected that would quickly become a thing of the past once her daughter-in-law had gained some confidence.

It occurred to her that Babs could become quite a stunning creature, and one who might just give the earl a few perilous moments of unbalance. The thought was an exceptionally pleasing one.

Her son had for too long had matters his own way. Even in her reclusement she had heard stories about him that had given her grave cause for concern. He had always been a dutiful son; that had not changed, nor had his sense of duty toward his dependents. But a wife—and in particular one who bid fair to become a handful from any gentleman’s point of view—was something that the earl had yet to come into his realm of experience. It would undoubtedly do him good to have his entrenched notions and habits shaken up a little.

The dowager countess smiled to herself. She signaled the footman, who had returned to remove the covers, and instantly the manservant was at her elbow. With the man’s help, she rose from the table.

The older Lady Chatworth smiled at her daughter-in-law, who had risen immediately when she perceived the elderly lady was ready to vacate the dining room. Babs was surprised by the degree of warmth in the dowager’s eyes.

“I am going up to rest a while, my dear. Perhaps later this afternoon we shall begin discussing details for the ball, shall we?”

Babs quickly acquiesced in real gratitude. “Thank you, my lady. I shall be glad to wait on you.”

“I shall send Macy for you,” said the dowager countess. She inclined her head as the footman aided her from the room.

Babs watched the dowager’s halting and yet stately exit. Her thoughts turned to the dilemma of the ball and its preparations. A small frown drew her brows together. She was still standing there when the footman returned. He hesitated, then asked, “My lady? Will you be requiring anything else?”

She looked at him quickly. “No, nothing, thank you.” Then she, too, left the dining room. She had much to do if she was to get up a ball with suitable decoration, entertainment, and refreshments. And not the least of her concerns was her own appearance. She knew of old that she must make the correct impression, for an unforgiving society could hardly be expected to grant her another chance.

As Miss Cribbage she had not been granted the opportunity to prove herself, but fate had forced upon her the opportunity to redeem herself as best she might in the guise of the Countess of Chatworth. This time around she meant to have things go a little more her way.

Babs had carefully chosen the gown that she would wear for the ball. She knew that she would be the object of all eyes, as would her house and her table. She was determined that there would be nothing that could be pointed to as smelling of the trades.

She smoothed the shimmering violet skirt of her gown, liking the reflection of herself in the cheval glass. The neckline of her dress was low and more revealing than any she had previously worn. Her bosom was emphasized by the thin velvet ribbon that tied under her breasts, its lengths falling to the hem. The sleeves were long and reached over her hands from the wrist bands, establishing a claim to modesty, but the skirt was open in front to reveal the lavishly laced petticoat she wore underneath.

Babs had resisted her maid’s urgings to have her hair cropped short in the Titus, the newest fashion from France. Instead, she had requested that her hair be brushed back and caught in a comb highly decorated with precious stones. Her auburn hair was softly plaited at the back of her head while the front had been allowed to remain in soft curls to frame her face. Wisping tendrils escaped about her ears, accenting the amethyst studs she wore.

The maid lifted the necklace that matched the studs. The cool fire of diamonds and amethysts glittered in the candlelight. “‘Tis a beautiful piece, my lady,” said the maid admiringly as she fastened the necklace about her mistress’s slender neck.

“Yes, it is.” Babs touched the cool stones with her fingers. She stared at herself in the mirror. The earl had sent up the jewel box with the necklace and studs nestled inside and a careless note that it was to mark the occasion of their first ball. He had not presented it to her himself, and for some inexplicable reason that gave her an odd hurt.

Babs lifted her chin. She refined too much upon the manner of the gift. It was enough that the gesture had been made and the house servants had been aware of it. She could sense the difference in attitude in the silent undermaid who had been assisting Lucy with readying her gown, silk stockings, and white gloves. The wariness that had been hers since she had fired the housekeeper and maids was beginning to warm. She had gained some worth along with the earl’s largess.

Babs knew from her reflection that she was beautifully turned out. Her hair was dressed
à la Egyptienne,
but she had not had the courage to finish the look. Now she rather thought she would do so. “Lucy, pray bring me the gold beads,” she said quietly.

The maid looked at her mistress with an appalled expression. “You’ll never be wearing those, my lady. Why, it is positively heathen you’ll look.”

“Pray do as I say,” said Babs. She was acutely aware of the undermaid’s scarcely concealed curiosity.

The maid grumbled under her breath but reluctantly brought the beads out of the jewel box. She placed the elaborate tiers of tiny dangling gold beads across her mistress’s forehead and brought the ends around to fasten in the plaited hair in back. “There you are, my lady,” said Lucy, surveying her handiwork with disapproval but also a grudging appreciation.

The rows of glittering beads swung with the smallest movement of Babs’ head as she studied the effect. The scintillating gold brought out the gold flecks in her eyes, charging her large eyes with mystery, and accented her high cheekbones. Her self-critical stare disappeared with the slow smile that warmed her eyes. “I think . . . Yes, I think it will do very nicely.” She laughed at her maid’s uncertain expression. “I am a countess, Lucy. If I am to be condemned forever for my roots, at least let it be remarked to my credit that I am in the first stare of fashion.”

Babs swept out of the bedroom and down the stairs to take her place at the entrance to the ballroom. She cast a glance inside and was reassured by the beautifully decorated room. Surely nothing could be found wanting in that direction, and as she reviewed the night’s menu in her mind, Babs thought she could be confident about that as well. It needed only to be seen what her own reception would be and how many would recall the comeout of an obscure tradesman’s daughter two years earlier.

The earl sauntered downstairs and took his place beside her. He gave her an appraising glance. There was agreeable surprise in his eyes. “You appear in great beauty this evening, Babs,” he said.

Babs smiled. She had not missed the faint hint of astonishment in his voice.’ “Thank you, my lord. I had hoped to meet with your approval,” she said on a dry note.

She felt rather than saw his swift penetrating look. The first guests were arriving and she was already moving to greet them.

An hour and a half later, the Earl and Countess of Chatworth left their post at the entrance to the ballroom and began to mingle with their guests. Babs was still tense over what some of her guests might be thinking about her, though few had had the ill-breeding to show other man polite courtesy while the earl stood beside her.

A minor flurry of curiosity was aroused by the entrance of the dowager Countess of Chatworth. Babs turned with the exclamations of the ladies that she was conversing with and watched as a footman and the dowager’s maid tenderly settled the old lady onto a settee. Babs was astonished at the extreme formality of her mother-in-law’s dress, while the dowager’s befeathered turban positively awed her with its magnificence. She had never before seen the dowager countess so turned out.

“Why, there is the dowager Countess of Chatworth! I don’t believe she has been in town above a handful of times in the last ten years. I must remember myself to her at once,’’ said one lady.

Her companion quickly said that she also must bring herself to the dowager’s attention, and Babs found herself momentarily abandoned.

“I do feel for her ladyship. She will be mobbed for half the night and be burned to the socket as a consequence.”

Babs turned her head at the familiar voice. She smiled with genuine gladness as she clasped both of the other woman’s hands. “Aunt Azaela! I did not see you arrive or I would have instantly come to you.”

“My dear.” Lady Azaela placed an affectionate kiss on her niece’s cheek. She then stepped back to inspect her with critical eyes. She gave an approving nod. “You are in looks tonight, Babs. My compliments to your dresser. The style of headdress suits you very well indeed.’’ She glanced around them at the milling company and lowered her voice. “It is going quite differently than the last time, is it not?”

Babs laughed in a bubbling fashion. Her eyes danced a little. “Why, yes, I believe it is. I suspect that a number of those who have graced the ball with their presence do recall something about me, but they are all too polite to say so. Oh, I have been the object of a few cattish innuendos, of course, but I disregard those. You have no notion what protection a title bestows upon one.”