Joan Smith - The Barefoot Baroness

She looked at him a moment, just smiling, then said, "Well, may we see the painting of the baroness now?"

"Of course. It is customary to open a bottle of champagne to toast the work's success. You will tell me whether this one merits champagne or ale."

When they went into the studio, the others were at the easel, examining the picture. At a glance, Laura thought it very much like his other society portraits, only in a different setting, of course. The same idealization of Olivia's charms was there. But as she studied it, she noticed the expression on the face was a little off. A nymph of nature should look innocent. That 'rapture' he had mentioned was nowhere in evidence. There was a jarring air of pride in Olivia's uplifted chin, a touch of ennui in the glazed eye. Laura sensed that he had become bored with it. He had not bothered to paint in the straw bonnet, for instance, as he had planned.

"Lovely!" Olivia cooed. "I love it, Lord Hyatt! May I take it home to show Auntie?"

"It is not dry yet. I am not quite happy with the face-the eyes," he said, gazing at his work.

"You must not change a thing! I look so pretty. Is it not very lifelike, cousin?"

"Very lifelike," Laura agreed. Then she glanced at Hyatt, and their eyes held. She read some secret amusement in them. His ennui with the work had escaped Olivia. She looked pretty, and that was all that mattered.

"Between you and the baroness, you will certainly set a new style," Talman said, studying the portrait. "I foresee all the ladies removing their jewels, borrowing their maids' frocks, painting freckles on their faces, and running barefoot through the drawing rooms of London."

Mr. Meadows also thought it a jolly fine picture. There was some quiet talk of how much should be paid and which charity the check should be delivered to.

Talman turned discreetly away to converse with Laura. "The baroness has agreed to come, if her aunt approves. I must have a word with Hyatt, but I shall go to Charles Street a little later to add my persuasions to hers. I hope the baroness is not disappointed with the stable," he said. Obviously that was what had won Olivia over.

"I fear such a trip will require the Turtle, Lord Talman," Laura warned him. "Mrs. Traemore will never venture outside of London without it."

"I should love to see it! I must be the only man in London who was not caught behind it during its voyage to town."

Suddenly Hyatt appeared at Laura's elbow. "You have not told me. Do we christen the work with champagne, or ale?"

"Oh, champagne!" Talman decreed. "We cannot insult the baroness with ale, Hyatt. Even if it is not one of your best works," he added frankly.

The champagne was produced and drunk, and Mr. Meadows escorted the ladies home.

In the studio, Lord Talman said, "I don't suppose you would be interested in joining us at Castlefield this weekend, Hyatt? Mama would love to have you."

"Let me know if the baroness's party agrees to go."

"Do I sense competition?" Talman asked warily.

"Not for the baroness."

"I see." Talman realized Hyatt did not care for the baroness and assumed his acceptance hinged on her refusing. He wanted Hyatt's presence, and to encourage his coming he said, "Miss Harwood is a nice girl. Sensible. She was mad for your engravings, you know. You were mistaken to think the ladies would not appreciate them. You ought to have them exhibited."

"A few ladies have seen them. Their usual comment is, why do I waste my time on such things, when I can paint so nicely."

"The fate of you geniuses," Talman joked. "A man is never a prophet in his own country, and I would add that seldom in his own lifetime either."

"Now you are making me blush, Talman. You won't forget to let me know if the baroness's party is going to Castlefield?"

"Certainly. That sounds like an invitation for me to leave."

"I have a little business to attend to."

They parted, and Hyatt returned to stare at the painting on the easel. It was a horrible, botched thing. Yet the sitter had loved it. Society would love it. The only bit of originality in it was the setting and costume, and that was hardly original. Marie Antoinette and the great court ladies had amused themselves by playing peasants at the Petit Trianon. Of course they had no real interest in the country life. It was merely a fashion.

His mind roved to Laura Harwood. He was surprised and gratified that she had approved of his engravings. Odd, too, that she had mentioned his own favorite, the Old Sailor. She was one of those quiet girls who improved on longer acquaintance. He had seen a good deal of her unobtrusive management of the baroness. She always maintained her calm and her good manners. She had what Mama would call countenance. He hoped she would be at Castlefield. He would like to know her better, hopefully away from the baroness… and Mr. Meadows.

It was uphill work convincing Hettie Traemore that a trip of twenty-five miles was anything but an imposition. She was fully alive to the wonders of Lord Talman being the Duke of Castlefield's eldest son. It would be very fine to see Livvie a duchess, but still-twenty-five miles. Over four hours, and her back in agony every step of the way.

"We shall take the Turtle and your recliner," Olivia said. "We must go, Auntie. Lord Talman has a famous stable, and you know how bored I have been without proper riding."

It was not only the lure of the stable that had decided the baroness to accept Talman's invitation. A quick glance at the atlas in Lord Montford's study had confirmed what she already suspected. Gatwick, where Mr. Yarrow and his friends were visiting that weekend to attend a boxing match, was less than ten miles away. She would inform him this very night of the visit and arrange to meet him in the drapery shop in Gatwick on Saturday morning to set up a proper tryst, after she had got the lay of the land. A tryst would be possible, when she meant to spend the better part of her time on horseback. She would lose whatever horrid old groom they insisted on sending with her, and meet Mr. Yarrow, who was now "John" in her private thoughts. That would show him she was full of pluck.

"We can set a comfortable pace and still be there in one morning," Mrs. Harwood pointed out. "It would be a shame to do Livvie out of the visit. House parties are part and parcel of a Season. And Castlefield! Why, it is one of the finest estates in the country."

"I shall never have another Season," Olivia said, adopting a moue.

Her pouts won Hettie over, as they invariably did. "I daresay I can put up with it. I'll take my powders with me to ease the pain."

When Lord Talman had the inspiration of mentioning that his mama was also a martyr to her back and had an excellent sawbones to tend her, the ordeal became positively desirable. Hettie courted doctors the way other ladies courted eligible gentlemen.

The ladies remained at home that evening to prepare for the visit. Olivia had to resort to sending a note to Yarrow by her footman. Laura oversaw Olivia's packing to see that Fanny was including all the essentials. A few undesirable additions had been made to her toilette over the days. A set of gaudy paste buckles adorned her dancing slippers, and her fans were blossoming into vulgar prominence by an addition of ribbons and dangling beads.

"I wonder if Mr. Meadows will be attending," Laura said. He had deserted them that evening to visit an ailing uncle.

"Lord Talman didn't say," Olivia replied, with not the least concern.

Laura had mixed emotions. It seemed hard that he should be excluded when he had devoted so much of his time to escorting them. If Talman was seriously interested in Olivia, he was much the better match. On the other hand, Meadows would provide her with a partner, which was a matter of some concern. She was by no means sure of finding any agreeable acquaintances in such high company, and it would be useful to have someone to help her mind Olivia.

The Turtle, washed and polished for the journey, caused a great sensation as it lumbered through the streets of London, drawn by a team of six monstrous horses. Lord Talman's traveling carriage set a sedate pace before it to show them the way. By the time they reached the Chelsea Road, they had collected a gaggle of urchins and noisy bucks, who had nothing better to do than follow it. Certainly the pace of six miles an hour was too slow to outrun them, but at the edge of town, they abandoned their jeering and returned to find new entertainment.

The traveling party enjoyed a leisurely drive through the wooded countryside, dotted with villages famous for their greens, usually with a church on one side. At times the Mole River appeared as they drove south, always causing a sensation with the Turtle. Merchants left their shops and pedestrians stopped to stare at the bizarre rig. The marquis's crested carriage added to the stir. It was well known in these parts.

When the Turtle left the main road and followed Talman's carriage into a graceful park, even Olivia was impressed. A noble heap of stone soared skyward, half hidden by beaches and oaks and fir trees. As they drew nearer, the house was seen to be done in the French style. In front, a dome was surmounted by a balustrade, which in turn was topped with urns. A row of statues stood solemn guard from the roofline. Carleton House shrank into insignificance beside it.

Laura was half afraid to enter, and when she did, her fears were not lessened. There was so much gilt trim on every wall, so many painted ceilings and marble fireplaces and artworks that she felt stifled.

"Lovely!" Olivia said, smiling blandly at Lord Talman.

"I shall send for Mama," he said. "Papa has not come from London yet, but he will be here for dinner."