Wildfire Kiss (2 page)

This particular era produced flagrant rule breakers,
such as Lady Caroline Lamb [note 1], married and yet wild and
free thinking. She would don the clothing of a lad and rush off to
meet her lover, Lord Byron. She would burn his letters in public
for all the world to witness.

The unmarried Godwin sisters [note 2], one
outrageous enough to publish articles about women and what their
rights ‘should be’, bucked the system and became known for their
‘modern’ notions during the regency day.

Singular women with ideas of their own could not be
beaten down, and they stood up for what they believed in and worked
towards a time when women would demand the right to vote, the right
to own and delegate their own property, the right to choose a mate,
and, of course, the right to stand equal to men.

It is because of those individuals that my
imagination has been spurred to write about rule-breaking heroines.
It is because of those women that I see so much more than the
sedate woman content to simply do what she was told.

My heroines just don’t do what they are told. They
do what they feel, what their mind and heart drive them to do.
After all, it truly was the rule-breaking women who allowed us to
be who we are today!

Note 1:
Lady
Caroline’s obsession with Byron would define much of her later life
and as well as influence both her and Byron’s works. They would
write poems in the style of each other, about each other, and even
embed overt messages to one another in their verse. After a
thwarted visit to Byron’s home, Lady Caroline wrote “Remember Me!”
into the flyleaf of one of Byron’s books. He responded with the
hate poem:

Remember thee! Remember
thee!

Till Lethe quench life’s
burning stream

Remorse and shame shall
cling to thee,

And haunt thee like a
feverish dream!

Remember thee! Ay, doubt it
not.

Thy husband too shall think
of thee!

By neither shalt thou be
forgot,

Thou false to him, thou
fiend to me!

Note 2: Their mother, Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin,
was an ardent feminist and author of
A Vindication of the Rights
of Woman,
published in 1792. In this work, she spoke out
vehemently against the position of women in society, most notably
describing marriage as “legal prostitution”.

Given her radical views, it is perhaps surprising
that in later years she married. However, Godwin’s intent was to
provide security for her unborn child, which she lacked when her
older daughter, Fanny Imlay, had been born and her lover, Gilbert,
had deserted her.

One

LADY BARBARA CURLED a long, thick tress of black
hair around her slender finger and bit her full lower lip. A tear
formed in one dark eye, but she held it back. She wouldn’t cry. Not
one tear would she shed. He had reason to be angry, but she was not
going to allow him to make her cry. She had done nothing wrong,
whatever the world might think.

She stood against his tirade and allowed him to
finish.

“And it is no use standing there looking for all the
world like an innocent kitten, for we know that you are not! Don’t
we?”

“I have never claimed to be innocent, and I am
certainly not a kitten,” she answered, knowing in advance this
would fuel his irritation.

It did.

He spluttered incoherently before he finally
shouted, “No, by …” He managed to stop the curse that sprang
to his tongue; what followed, she knew, had been greatly tempered
with admirable control. “
Certes!
You think yourself a
tigress, don’t you? You think you are ready to take on the jungle
out there all alone?” He didn’t wait for her to answer the question
as he rattled on, wagging a finger at her, “Well, by God, you are
not
a tigress, and the jungle out there will slaughter you!”
He turned his back on her as he made an obvious attempt to regain
control of himself.

Lady Babs watched him silently, believing more of
the same was on its way.

She was correct.

He turned back to her, and said in a low, hard
voice, “That you could have gone behind my back, without my
knowledge, against my expressed wishes—”

“Papa,” she cut in on a plea. “I used a pseudonym.
No one will ever find out the true identity of the author. I have
Mr. Murry’s word on it.”

“Ha! What do you know of Murry? Who is to say he
won’t reveal your name for a price?”

“He won’t. Besides, Byron publishes through him, and
Byron said he is to be trusted.”

She watched her father as he struggled with his
temper once more, and she fancied she saw spittle at his thin lips.
“Byron?
I don’t trust Byron
! And that is another
thing. I won’t have you in Byron’s pocket. The man is a libertine.
Why, it is rumored that he and his sister—” He stopped himself,
obviously realizing he shouldn’t speak of such things with her.
Barbara chewed at her bottom lip to keep herself from smiling.

“You will stay away from Byron!” her father finally
commanded.

“Papa, Lord Byron has always stood a friend to me.”
Lady Babs felt her cheeks get hot in spite of the fact that she
knew her father had a point. “I won’t gossip about him, and I won’t
give up the friendship. The subject here is
my novel
and how
well my secret may be kept.”

“Your friend? Well, let me tell you, young miss,
Byron was responsible for bringing Lady Caroline low …
ruined her
…” Lord Waverly persisted and leveled a dark
frown at her.

“I think Lady Caroline brought herself low. He did
not ask her to make a cake of herself all over town.” Barbara
sighed heavily, and then added, “Papa … we need the money, and
Mr. Murry was kind enough to advance me for my book …”

“And you are not supposed to worry about such
matters!
I
would have found the blunt in the end …” His
answer was sharp, and his ruddy cheeks took on even more color.

“Of course, Papa,” his daughter answered dutifully.
The truth was that her father had turned to gambling after her
mother had passed on three years ago, and they were nearly wiped
out of funds. “My book will probably sell only enough to make up
the advance … and will soon be forgotten. The name I chose,
Felix Gumble, is unknown and will be forgotten. ’Tis nothing to
fuss about, and the advance will stave off the—”

“You should not be the one to have to manage our
financial matters …” Her father sat heavily in the winged
chair at his elbow.

Their housekeeper, Maudly, appeared at the library
door after having opened it a fraction and said quietly, “Count
Otto Stauffenberg is here to see Lady Barbara.”

Waverly was an old name, but theirs was an
impoverished estate, and Babs knew that her father’s hope was to
marry her off to a wealthy peer. The count was a favored swain, and
though Babs had him ever by her side, her father often complained
that it was time she brought matters to a point. She couldn’t
though—oh, she loved having Otto about but only as a dear
friend.

Her father leveled a ‘look’ at her and said in a
hushed tone, “We will discuss all of this later.” To Maudly he
said, “Show the count in at once, and thank you, Maudly.”

Babs looked up and smiled. The German count was
tall, and built along husky lines. His years numbered some two and
thirty; his hair was auburn and lightly laced with gray. His lips
were ever curved with merriment and his light brown eyes sparkled
with fun. He was a dashing figure, though not precisely handsome.
His accent was only slight, as he had lived in England nearly all
his life.

He had suffered through an early marriage that had
left him widowed and quite rich. He had made a show of choosing to
be at Lady Babs’ side, for in addition to the fact that they
enjoyed one another immensely, they gave each other cover on the
marriage mart.

“There you are,” he said brightly, the smile already
growing wider across his round face. “If you don’t hurry, we will
be late, you know.” He turned and bent a respectful head towards
her father. “With your permission, of course, my lord?”

Barbara laughed out loud. “You say that as though
’tis my fault, and how could it be when I have been here waiting
for you, sir?”

“Barbara!” objected her father, and then with his
hand extended, he said, “Count … how nice, yes, of course, you
have my permission.”

“Excellent.” The count smiled broadly and then
turned his attention to her. “Now go and get your spencer while I
chat with your father.”

She bobbed him a curtsy and hurried off. What she
would do without the count, she did not know. His constant
attentions had raised her father’s hopes in his direction and had
allowed her some peace at home and abroad. So many assumed she and
the count would make a match of it, and it gave her a measure of
peace because she was not interested in any of her would-be
suitors.

It was a problem. She was already one and twenty,
and her father was outraged that she had turned down every suitor
to date. Otto was a dear friend, and thus far he seemed pleased to
keep it that way. Their friendship served them both. He announced
himself her devoted servant but made no push in that direction in
private, and she was well pleased with the silent arrangement. She
believed he was still in love with his late wife.

Re-entering the library, she slowed and noted with
concern that while Otto chatted happily, her father was red-faced
and seemed to be seriously annoyed.

“That’s right,” Otto said. “They say it has sold
five thousand copies already. Everyone is talking about it. I want
to pick a copy up on the way to the fairgrounds today. They say—”
He saw that Barbara had arrived and cut himself off. “I say,
Barbara, have you heard about it?”

“Heard? About what, Otto?” She held her breath, for
she was certain she knew what he was talking about. Her heart beat
wildly in her chest as she waited for his reply.

“The new book,
Passion’s Seed,
” he returned
in a tone of excited expectancy.

“Nooo …” she answered hesitantly. Faith! What
was she going to do? This was beyond her hopes for her book. It was
a fearsome thing and, yet, so very satisfying. She couldn’t tell
anyone, but it would be natural for her to show an interest. “What
about it?” She purposely glanced away from her father.

“I am told that the author—whom no one seems to
know—knows everything about the
haute ton
. Everything we
have done for the last three, maybe two seasons. She describes all
our antics in fine comical style, and while it is most amusing to
most, Lady Hester tells me she has certainly ruffled any number of
feathers!”

“Really?”

“Yes, in fact, Lady Hester said she was convulsed
with giggles when the author obviously described Lord Butterworth
and dubbed him Lord Butterball.”

“Yes, but is it not fiction?” Babs asked, hoping to
appear innocent.

“Oh, as to that, the names have been changed …
but fiction? Hester says, ‘not’.” He laughed and shook his head.
“Come on then, we’ll pick up a copy on our way.”

Babs chewed her bottom lip. This was not what she
had thought would happen. She had written her book for the growing
middle class—not for the
haute ton
who would recognize
themselves! She had never dreamt that any of the aristocracy would
pick up a book by an unknown and then make it famous overnight.

She took up her straw bonnet and tied the blue
ribbon under her chin. Otto smiled and said, “Fetching … you
have superb taste.”

She laughed and slipped into her blue spencer. She
gave her black curls a twirl around her ears as she glanced into
the sidewall mirror.

Otto stopped, ran a critical eye over her, and set
her bonnet perfectly before he turned and bid her father good day
as he offered Babs his arm.

She stalled him a moment and said hesitatingly,
“Until later then, Papa …?”

Otto added quickly, “Don’t worry, my lord. I will
take care of our darling Babs.”

“How you will manage that is beyond me, for I tell
you frankly I have never been able to handle that particular
chore!” her father pronounced with a smile, both rueful and
affectionate.

“Oh, Papa!” the lady objected.

“Go on then, go on.” He waved them off and then
stood away from them as they left him to his own thoughts.

Two

LADY BABS’ PAPA was certainly concerned and with
good reason. If the
haute ton
ever caught wind that one of
their own had betrayed their foibles, it would ruin her. He
couldn’t have that; the truth was that he thought the sun rose when
she did. She was his precious, and he was at a loss to know how to
protect her from her own wildness.

If she were found out—would they forgive her
escapade as just that? No, he knew better. They would see it as a
betrayal. How else could they see it? The book poked fun at
them.

His only child, his treasure. She filled his home
with laughter, and that had not been an easy task after his beloved
wife had died. He had wanted to take a gun to his head and put
himself out of his misery … but Babs showed him how they could
live and honor her memory. Now, now he had to find a way to protect
her.

This was all his fault. If he had not fallen into
debt, she would not have been pushed to write and sell the
miserable piece of scribbling. His fault. She was but a perfect
being, always kind-hearted …

They would oust her from Almack’s and whisper about
her when she passed. She would receive the worst of cold
treatments. He could not allow it. He would not allow it. He would
say, if need be, that he wrote the book!

Lady Caroline Lamb had written a novel, and she had
been all but banished from the London scene. She had been
belittled, shamed, and gossiped about by those who had once fought
to be in her company. Caroline had not left defeated, though,
because she was, after all, who she was … but he didn’t want
the
ton
to whisper about his good girl. Quite a different
matter!