The Babe and the Baron (4 page)

“My brothers are all right. Cornie's a bit of a wind-bag, but what can you expect of a clergyman? It's Cousin Maria and the brats you'll want to avoid.”

“Why?” She hoped it was just a vigorous young man's natural impatience with small children and their doting mother. Maria ought to be her natural ally at Llys, and she was beginning to think she might need one.

Rupert shook his head. “I'll let you discover for yourself. Gareth would comb my hair with a joint stool if you turned tail now because of anything I said. You will like Llys, anyway, I promise you.” He went on to expatiate upon the glories of galloping across the hills, fishing in the streams, shooting in the woods and fields.

His enthusiasm for his home was endearing, but scarcely calculated to dispel Laura's growing misgivings.

Chapter 3

Gareth frowned. He had hoped to reach Warwick that day. The cross-country roads slowed them more than he expected, despite being in good condition after a week of fine weather. Worse, Lady Laura had turned out to be less robust than she appeared. She had eaten almost nothing when they stopped for luncheon, and now she slumped back in the corner of the seat, pale, her eyes closed.

“Cousin?” he said, softly lest she were asleep. The grey-green eyes opened. “You are unwell, I fear.”

She smiled at him with an obvious effort. “Just a little tired. It is a long while since I travelled any distance and now I am... “ She hesitated, and seemed to change her mind. “Now I am unused to long journeys.”

“We shall stop in Daventry,” he decided, wondering what she had been going to say. “It is another ten miles or so but I know the Saracen's Head is a comfortable inn.”

“I do not wish to be a hindrance to you, sir.”

“Not at all. Rupert will be delighted. Daventry is famous for its whips and he will happily spend several hours seeking out bargains. I did not give Aunt Antonia any particular date for our arrival so she will not be looking for us. Now, why do you not put up your feet on the seat? You will find it more restful, I daresay.”

“May I?”

“Of course.” To spare her blushes at any unavoidable display of her limbs, he bent down to search for a cushion beneath his seat. “Here, put this behind your back.”

“Perfect,” she said gratefully. “I might even fall asleep, I vow.”

She leaned back with eyes closed again, and he tried not to stare rudely at her dumpy outstretched figure. Her worn half-boots of cheap jean, protruding from the loose-fitting, shabby, black fustian mantle, caught his attention. It was embarrassing enough travelling with so dowdy a female; he could not let her go about in rags at Llys. Sooner or later he must provide a new wardrobe but he expected a battle over it. Unlike Maria, she was most reluctant to accept of his largesse.

* * * *

On the fourth day at noon they reached Llys. Incessant drizzle obscured the grey-stone, slate-roofed village, the castle ruins, the river, and the surrounding green hills. Dank hedgerows dripped on either side as they turned up the lane towards the Manor.

“A poor welcome, alas,” Gareth apologized, disappointed that Laura could not see the beauty of the countryside, nor the home he loved.

“I cannot hold you responsible for the weather, cousin.” She already drooped wanly in her corner though they had been on the road only four hours.

Her quietness seemed due to a mixture of fatigue and apprehension. The prospect of making the acquaintance of a large new family, even with Lance and Perry away, must be alarming after her isolated life in Swaffham Bulbeck. Not a word of complaint had passed her lips, yet from chance remarks Gareth had learned quite a lot about her years of virtual exile.

“I hope the sun shows its face tomorrow,” growled Rupert, disgruntled after a morning confined to the carriage by the rain. “I have to leave the day after.”

“I am sorry that my weakness should have curtailed your time at home,” Laura said.

“Never mind, I'll be back for a month or two as soon as we get rid of the damn—dratted—Allied Monarchs. Jove, it's good to be home, whatever the weather.” He let down the window and leaned out like any schoolboy released at last from his Latin and Greek. Gareth and Laura exchanged a smile.

At last the carriage stopped. Rupert jumped down and turned to help Laura as a footman appeared with a huge green umbrella. Gareth followed. He offered her his arm and she leaned on it heavily. They entered the vast Tudor hall of Llys Manor.

Gareth was eager to point out its glories, from hammerbeam ceiling to minstrels' gallery to carved stone arch over the stairs. He was not vouchsafed the opportunity. Two small, dripping whirlwinds converged on him, clung to his legs, and set up a clamour.

“Cousin Gareth, tell Mama we won't get a 'flammation of the lungs just 'cause we got wet.”

“It's warm out, Cousin Gareth.”

“Gareth,” Maria wailed, wringing her hands in a distraught manner worthy of the stage, “my poor little boys are bound to be ill and now this wretched woman wants to beat them. She has no control over the horrid creatures whatsoever.”

“How can I control them, my lord, when I am not permitted to punish them?” demanded a plain, sturdy female in a brown stuff dress. Gareth recognized her as the latest governess—governesses seldom lasted longer than a few months at the Manor. “May I point out, however, that I did not suggest beating them.”

“What a pity,” interjected Rupert.

“I wish to give my notice, my lord,” the woman continued doggedly. “I have been offered a position in—”

“You see,” screeched Maria, dissolving in tears, “she has been plotting to leave me in the lurch.”

“We just went for a walk, Cousin Gareth,” George declared in a self-righteous tone. “We didn't do anything bad.”

“Be quiet, all of you.” Although he did not raise it, Gareth's voice cut through the babble and silenced it. “Maria, sit down and compose yourself.” He spotted his butler hovering on the outskirts of the fray. “Lloyd, a glass of wine for Mrs. Forbes. George, Henry, go to the nursery and change your clothes, then remain there until I come. Miss...er... ma'am, you will excuse me if I do not discuss your employment at this moment. Three o'clock in my study, perhaps?”

“Certainly, my lord.” Her back stiff, the governess followed the scuttling boys up the stone staircase.

“I'll get there first.” George's voice echoed back as the archway hid them.

“Not fair, you're bigger.”

Maria's tears had miraculously dried, leaving pale blue eyes untouched with red, golden ringlets untousled by the storm. At twenty-seven, a willowy figure in blue mull muslin, she was still beautiful, though constant petulance was beginning to etch its marks. She had a delicate version of the Wyckham chin, in her case a sign of wilfulness. She was staring at Laura.

Gareth turned to Laura. “I beg your pardon, cousin,” he said with a rueful smile. “Your welcome has not been what I would have wished.”

She made a dismissive gesture, but dismay was plain on her pallid face. He was about to introduce her to Maria when his aunt came into the hall. Every inch of her tall, thin presence expressed disapproval, from tight lips to the rustle of her grey silks as she stalked across the hall. He went to greet her, gave her the expected peck on the cheek, and led her back to Laura.

“Aunt Antonia, Cousin Maria, this is Lady Laura Chamberlain, who will henceforth make her home at Llys. Cousin Laura—Miss Burleigh and Mrs. Forbes.”

Maria and Aunt Antonia gave identical glacial nods.

A tinge of pink coloured Laura's cheeks, but far from wilting, she squared her shoulders and raised her chin. “How do you do,” she said evenly.

Aunt Antonia's response was automatically courteous, if cool. “How do you do, Lady Laura. Mrs. Lloyd will show you to your chamber.”

The housekeeper had entered the hall with her husband, who bore a glass of wine that Maria waved away. Mrs. Lloyd curtsied to Laura. “If you'll please to come this way, my lady,” she said, in the musical Welsh intonation common here in the Marches.

Knowing Laura's exhaustion, Gareth stepped forward to lend her his arm. She shook her head very slightly and plodded up the stairs after Mrs. Lloyd.

Suddenly angry, he was tempted to reproach his aunt and his cousin for their hostility, but Maria would only resent her the more and Aunt Antonia's opinion would not alter by one iota.

As they came to know Laura, he was convinced, they would soften. His own original willingness to condemn her had quickly changed to pity and admiration.

Rupert broke the momentary silence. “Hello, Aunt. I hope I see you well?”

“Very well, I thank you, Rupert. Welcome home.” She favoured him with a restrained smile, no doubt holding his brother entirely to blame for the introduction into the house of the dubious widow of a distant and disreputable relative. “A cold collation will be served in the breakfast room in half an hour.”

“Good. I'm hungry as a hunter.”

They both departed, she with stately tread, he taking the stairs two at a time.

Maria scowled after him. “Rupert has shocking manners. He did not even greet me.”

“No doubt he considered you too taken up with your own troubles to note his arrival, since you spoke neither to him nor to Lady Laura.”

“I cannot imagine why you invited her to live here.” She pouted. “She is only a relative by marriage. Her own family should take care of her.”

Gareth was relieved that she seemed unaware of the scandal surrounding Laura and the late, unlamented Freddie. Maria was not half so interested in gossip as in her own affairs. “Cousin Laura has nowhere else to go,” he said tersely. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must go and speak to George and Henry.”

She hung on his arm. “Gareth, you will not beat my poor darlings!”

“No, though Rupert may be in the right of it, there.”

“And you will not let Miss Coltart leave? I cannot possibly manage the little horrors without her.”

She apparently saw no contradiction between her two views of her sons. Gareth made no effort to enlighten her, knowing from experience that it would be useless. “I shall endeavour to persuade Miss Coltart to stay,” he promised, disentangled himself from her clutch, and headed for the nursery.

* * * *

Half an hour later he met Rupert in the breakfast room. Their plates laden with cold lamb, rabbit pie, and pickled beetroot salad, they sat down, only to rise again as Aunt Antonia came in.

Quivering with outrage, she fixed Gareth with a steely glare. “Mrs. Lloyd informs me that Lady Laura is a good five months gone with child. How could you make the poor girl travel so far?”

Fear stabbed through him. He felt the blood drain from his face. “Oh my God, I didn't know,” he groaned, appalled.

* * * *

After luncheon on a tray—poached chicken and a custard prepared specially to tempt her appetite—and a long nap, Laura was ready to explore. She glanced at the bell-pull, but decided against calling a maid to show her the way. She would be taken to join the others, and her cold reception from the ladies of the house, though half expected, had hurt.

Mrs. Lloyd, the small, dark, neat housekeeper with the beautiful voice, had led her along endless corridors and galleries, up and down stairs, to her chamber. Every step had required a concentration that precluded noticing the route, or anything else. Discovering her own way back to the main part of the house, Laura thought, she would be able to take the time to study any items of interest she passed.

Her box had been carried up before she fell asleep, and a chambermaid had hung up her dresses. Choosing the least shabby, she tried to shake out the creases. She would have to find out where she could use a hot-iron, and where to wash her gowns, too. The home-dyed materials needed delicate care.

Donning the limp black muslin, she regarded herself in the looking-glass, without satisfaction. Mrs. Lloyd had known at once that she was pregnant. Soon altering gowns would no longer serve. She was going to have to make up new ones. Perhaps a groom might drive her to Ludlow to buy material.

Anxiously she felt under her pillow for the leather bag of guineas. There it was, very nearly as heavy as the day Freddie had emptied it into her lap. She need not stay here long, to be looked down upon by Miss Burleigh and Mrs. Forbes; just long enough not to seem too ungrateful for Gareth's kindness.

The prospect of the journey back to Cambridgeshire made her shudder, but she put it out of her mind, and set out to explore.

First she went to the window, to get her bearings. Rain still pelted down outside, dripping from the eaves of the stables two stories below. She had definitely not been put in the best guest chamber!

Sighting sideways, she saw a long stone façade punctuated by regular rows of sash windows. It ended at the main block, two stories of brick and stone topped by another two of black and white half-timbering. There the windows were smaller, casements with leaded panes. Beyond, veiled by rain, a lower wing projected at an angle. The Barons Wyckham of Llys had added to their manor as desired without the least attention to unifying the style. Laura rather liked its whimsical eccentricity.

She went out into the passage, lit by a window at the near end and a stairwell ahead of her. The gloomy day gave just enough light to see two steps going down. A little farther on there was another, and then three rising, as if the floor level conformed to the hillside's contours, belying the even rows of windows.

Servants hurrying with hot water must hate the ups and downs. As Laura negotiated them, she made a mental note to take particular care at night, when her way would be lit by a single candle.

She passed several closed doors, presumably to bedchambers, whether tenanted or not she could not tell. On the walls between hung paintings, mostly watercolour landscapes. These were signed Sybil Wyckham and depicted, in bold outlines and rather harsh colours, local scenes such as Ludlow Castle and the River Llys. Laura wished she might see some of the sights, but riding was out of the question at present. Perhaps the river was close enough to walk to, she hoped.

At last she found her way to the Great Hall. Wandering around the huge, high-ceilinged chamber, she inspected tapestries and coats of arms, halberds and arquebuses. She was studying a vast oil painting of a naval engagement when Gareth came down the stairs.