Joan Smith - The Barefoot Baroness

"Surely you will accept him, cousin."

"I need a little time to think about it.”

Olivia gave a conspiratorial smile. "Very well, but I don't think you should leave him hanging too long. Lady Devereau is remaining overnight, you must know. If you refuse, why, there is no saying that he won't take refuge with his former lover.”

"Really, Olivia. You should not say such things.”

"You shouldn't do such things," Olivia smiled boldly.

Laura feared she had lost the last vestige of control over her troublesome cousin. And to make it worse, Hyatt's smile told her he was thoroughly enjoying her discomfort. She wanted to go upstairs alone, but with the shadow of Lady Devereau hanging over them, she knew she must continue to act nonchalant for several hours yet. The only slight alleviation to her condition was that Lady Devereau had retired for the night.

Laura feared that supper would be a ghastly meal. People would be gossiping about Lady Devereau's performance, with herself as adversary. They were already whispering their heads off about the baroness. At dinner, they would have two of the three infamous ladies at the same table. Lord Talman had not asked them to join his table, but at least they had Lord Hyatt for an escort. She realized how outre she and Livvie had become, when they must look to Hyatt to lend them a touch of respectability.

It was beyond human nature to ignore the threesome, and their table did receive a deal of attention. But somehow, between Hyatt's nonsense and Livvie's lack of concern and a euphoria that swelled up in her when she remembered Hyatt's embrace, Laura actually enjoyed the interlude. She could not say she enjoyed the viands. In fact, when the meal was over, the only thing she could actually recall eating was a stalk of asparagus that Hyatt had fed her.

She had felt flattered, yet she recalled with a wince having chastised Olivia for accepting a petit four from Yarrow's fingers at another party. Olivia had noticed the asparagus incident, too. She cocked her head to one side and gave her sly smile, as though to say, Aha, I see it is a case of do as I say, not as I do.

Laura's greatest fear-that Olivia would broadcast Hyatt's proposal, if one could call it a proposal-did not come to pass. Actually, he had not asked her to marry him. He had merely announced that his intentions were honorable. That could mean that he was considering a proposal-testing the waters, as it were, to see if they would suit. There was hardly a worse-suited couple in all of London than Hyatt and Miss Harwood. He was a wealthy peer, a dasher, and a womanizer, sought after by not only the nubile debs, but by such high fliers as Lady Devereau. Miss Harwood was a provincial miss who wanted only a respectable match to save herself from spinsterhood.

But now that he had kissed her and whispered those unbelievable words in her ear, she realized that any other parti would be unthinkable. If Hyatt did not come up to scratch, she would return to Whitchurch, put on her caps, and set up as a spinster.

When dinner was finally over, it was one o'clock. Surely she could retire now without appearing to flee the scene of her shame. When Olivia raised her fingers to stifle a yawn, it was a good enough excuse to suggest they both retire. To Laura's considerable surprise, Olivia agreed without argument.

"Just one more dance," Hyatt said, with a wheedling smile. "Now that we are as well as engaged, even you cannot object to standing up with me a second time," he pointed out.

"We are not engaged," she said simply.

Hyatt regarded her blushing embarrassment with satisfaction. "What, are you planning to jilt me? After your stout defense of my character in the refreshment parlor, I felt myself as good as accepted."

"You are being perfectly nonsensical," she said, grasping Olivia by the wrist to lead her away.

"Aren't you going to kiss her good night?" Olivia asked Hyatt.

"Not in front of an audience," he parried, but bis glowing eyes said he would like to.

Laura said, "Good night, Hyatt," and darted upstairs, dragging Olivia along with her. "That was an ill-bred thing to say," she scolded.

The baroness turned a sapient eye on her cousin. "Then I expect I shall hear you repeat it, for tonight you have done all the things you have been telling me not to do. You were very rude to that nice Lady Devereau. You sneaked off to the library to cuddle with Hyatt, after cutting up stiff with me for meeting John." As a parting shot she added, "And I saw him feeding you that asparagus, too. You are a fraud, cousin."

Then a conspiratorial smile flashed out and she threw her arms around Laura. "I like you much better, now that you have acquired a few human failings. Love becomes you. Good night."

She was gone, leaving Laura alone to ponder the situation. Olivia was quite right. She was a fraud, dispensing her rules and regulations, and breaking every one of them as soon as Hyatt tossed his hankie at her. She had obviously lost the last vestige of control over the chit. She had failed to maneuver Olivia into an engagement with Lord Talman-and, truth to tell, she was not sorry. He was a dull clod of a fellow, too concerned with appearances. Yarrow was too much the opposite, however, and a gambling fool to boot. She must try to keep him from Olivia after they returned to London. But in her heart she knew that if Olivia felt about Yarrow as she felt about Hyatt, wild horses would not keep them apart.

The morning brought a few unpleasant surprises. Mrs. Traemore had got wind of Laura's misdeeds and came to her room before breakfast to take her to task.

"I hear you have made yourself a byword, Laura," she said accusingly. "It seems hard to scold little Livvie for a bit of childish carry-on when you, who are looking after her, have been throwing yourself at Lord Hyatt's head."

"I have not been throwing myself at Hyatt," Laura said, but she said it apologetically, without conviction.

"You are not blushing like a blue cow either, I suppose," Hettie retorted. "I wonder if I did right to entrust Livvie to you. No wonder she misbehaves, when she has you for a model."

"I have done the best I can with Olivia. If you are not satisfied with my company, Mrs. Traemore, I shall be very happy to return home."

"Yes, now that you have nabbed a title for yourself! And never mind that you did not bring Talman up to scratch for Livvie. I begin to see why you were so eager for Livvie to look ridiculous in her portrait. You wanted to give Hyatt a disgust of her, so you made her take off her shoes and pose in Fanny's old, faded, yellow frock, with the grass stains on the hem. Fanny told me as much, but I, like a fool, would not listen to her."

"Yet you seem to have heard, without listening. It was not I but Lord Hyatt who chose Olivia's outfit for the painting."

At this juncture, Mrs. Traemore's eyes fell on the sketch of Laura. "I see Lord Hyatt did not have you don a servant's gown for your painting.”

"It is not a painting, merely a little sketch that he did in the garden."

A nasty smile settled on Hettie's lips. "You are welcome to your rake. Livvie would not have him if he crawled on his hands and knees."

"I shouldn't think that very likely, Mrs. Traemore.”

"Nor do I, for it seems he is still in love with the Devereau hussy, if gossip is to be believed. Mrs. Campbell tells me she saw him creeping into her room last night in his stocking feet, after all decent folks had gone to bed."

Laura's face blanched. "I don't believe it," she said in a small voice.

"He has conned you properly, greenhead. Mrs. Campbell not only saw him go in, she kept an eye on the door, for she got her room changed around the corner when Lady Devereau moved in. She watched for ten minutes, and he did not come out."

"Did she also put her ear to the door?" Laura asked, hiding her grief with sarcasm.

"She did, but they were whispering. She did hear the bed springs groan, however."

"That is disgusting," Laura said, and she turned her back to her caller.

Hettie felt she had done her duty and had quite enjoyed it. Talking Laura down from the boughs could wait for another time, for of course Laura must remain in London with Olivia. With her bad back, she could not be expected to jaunter about town till all hours of the morning. "We will be leaving for church at nine o'clock," she said. "Best get downstairs and have some breakfast."

Laura heard, but she was unable to answer. She just stood, with her back to her caller, until the door was closed. She felt as if a mule had kicked her in the stomach. Everything inside her hurt, but she shed no tears. She had always known Hyatt for a rakehell. Why should she be surprised? He had probably had to claim his intentions were honorable a dozen times this season alone, as he was really not at all discreet about where and when he embraced a lady.

Lady Devereau's prophetic words came back to haunt her. "Here today, gone tomorrow-with only a painting and a ruined reputation for a memory." She strode to the bureau, snatched up the sketch, and tore it in a dozen pieces, then threw it in the wastebasket. She didn't want any physical reminders of this unholy interlude. Her memories alone would be quite enough.

After she had destroyed the sketch, she sat on the edge of the bed, regretting her hasty deed. Another whole day to be got in before they could return to London, and thence home to Whitchurch.

Her second Season had been a greater disaster than her first. It would require all her breeding to carry on, but she'd be damned if she meant to let Lord Hyatt and his mistress destroy her reputation.

Ten minutes later, she opened the door and went down to the morning parlor. A fair crowd had gathered, but she noticed from the doorway that Hyatt was not there and was thankful. When Talman rose to draw her chair, she smiled politely. She took her plate to the sideboard and put a small amount of food on it, determined to force herself to eat something. She complimented Talman on his rout and discussed roses with Lady Meaford.