The Pleasure of Bedding a Baroness

by Tamara Lejeune

  “That was all right for Philadelphia,” Pru told her. “But it won’t do in London, I’m afraid. I don’t think you realize, Pay, that, once the Season begins, we’ll be far too busy to do any mending. And we’ll be changing our clothes five and six times a day. You wouldn’t be able to keep up. As for your hair—you really ought to have yours cut and styled like mine. Well, perhaps not exactly like mine,” she added. “I have a book of heads. I will let you borrow it.”

  “Don’t you mean you shall let me borrow it?” Patience said waspishly.

  Pru made a face at her.

  “Anyway, I don’t need a maid. I shall never be too busy to do my own mending. And I shan’t be changing my clothes five times a day. That’s just silly.”

  “Of course, you will have to change your clothes!” Pru protested. “You must have morning gowns, carriage gowns, walking habits, riding habits—Well, I don’t suppose we need riding habits, since we don’t actually ride, though Lady Jemima says we ought to learn. But in any case, we shall need afternoon dresses, tea gowns, dinner gowns, evening gowns, ball gowns, and, of course, court dresses.”

  “I have my everyday dresses and my Sunday best,” Patience stubbornly replied. “That has always been sufficient. I don’t aspire to be a fashion plate.”

  “No! You aspire to humiliate me—and yourself, if you only knew it!” Pru shot back. “You must have new clothes, Patience, and a lady’s maid to keep you in fashion. People will think you are a backward American bumpkin if you do not dress properly. I can arrange for you to have an appointment with my modiste—Madame Devy is the best in London. And I’m sure Lady Jemima would be glad to help you find a maid.”

  “Indeed, I would, Your Ladyship—” Lady Jemima began, eager to ingratiate herself with the baroness.

  “That will not be necessary,” Patience said shortly. “There must be a hundred servants in this house. Some one of them must be capable of ironing a dress and mending a hem. If I find I need a new dress or two, I will—I shall make them, as I have always done.”

  “This economical streak of yours is so unbecoming!” Pru complained. “You can’t be seen in London wearing your home-sewn atrocities. You must remember that you are a baroness now, Pay. People will expect you to look the part.”

  Patience laughed. “And play the part, too, I suppose!”

  “Well, yes,” Pru said insistently.

  “As if I were a character in a play?” Patience scoffed. “I am no such thing.”

  Pru looked at her slyly. “And if you are busy sewing for yourself, when will you have time for your charity work? Or do you mean to abandon the poor little orphans completely?”

  Patience gasped indignantly. Mrs. Drabble was part of a charity organization that attempted to provide warm clothing for London’s myriad orphans. In her free time, she was forever knitting hats, mittens, and scarves. Patience, who hated to be idle, had put herself to work as soon as she was able, producing many admirable woolen shawls. “Of course not,” she said. “If it comes down to a choice, I am adequately clothed; they are not.”

  Pru let out a groan. “And while we are on the subject,” she went on after a short pause, “we must have a carriage. We cannot do without one.”

  “No, indeed,” Lady Jemima echoed, drawing a look from Patience that effectively silenced her.

  “While we are on the subject!” Patience repeated. “I’m quite sure we weren’t anywhere near that particular subject. A carriage! What’s next? A yacht?”

  “We were on the subject of things we must have,” Pru said coldly. “We must have a carriage. Yachts, as nice as they are, can’t really be considered essential—at least not in London.”

  “We don’t need a carriage,” said Patience. “I know one thing about London: it is full of hackney coaches. They’ll take you anywhere you want to go, and, what’s more, it’s cheaper than keeping horses and grooms and drivers. Think of it this way: the less you spend on transportation, the more money you will have to spend on clothes.”

  “Yes, but, Patience, one cannot go to a ball in a hack! A yellow hack with a number plate on the door?” Pru howled. “I’d rather die! Why, the person who sits on the seat before you could be anybody! And one cannot go to the Court of St. James in a hack!”

  “No, indeed!” Lady Jemima could not help exclaiming.

  “We must have a carriage with our coat of arms on the door,” Pru said confidently.

  “We have a coat of arms?” said Patience, momentarily distracted.

  “Of course we do; we are the nobility,” Pru replied.

  “What does it look like?” Patience asked.

  “Oh, it’s very grand,” Pru assured her. “Three golden lion’s paws on an azure field.”

  Patience made a face. “Rather gruesome, don’t you think? Anyway, shouldn’t a lion have four paws? What happened to the fourth?”

  “Never mind!” Pru snapped. “The point is that we are aristocrats and aristocrats do not go around in hacks! We simply must have a carriage. Surely even you can see that. Everyone will be laughing at the stupid Americans in their hack! Is that what you want?”

  “No,” Patience said quickly. “You’re right. We must have a carriage. I’ll write to Mr. Gordon. He has the authority to release funds from the accrued interest of the trust.”

  “Yes, but he never does,” Pru said darkly.

  “He does when I ask him,” Patience said simply.

  Pru shook her head. “It will take too long—months!—to get anything out of Mr. Gordon. We must have a carriage as soon as possible. Certainly, we must have it when the Season begins.”

  “I’ll ask Mr. Bracegirdle to inquire about hiring a carriage,” Patience promised.

  “A hired carriage!” cried Pru. “Why, that’s hardly better than a hack! No, we must have our carriage built to order. I know just how I want it. I’ve already selected the upholstery for the cushions.”

  “Nonsense,” Patience said flatly. “Buy a carriage? Prudence, may I remind you that England is not our permanent home? Our first business here—our only real business here—is to settle our uncle’s estate.”

  “But it wouldn’t be all that expensive, really. The carriage maker’s already given me a very good estimate. How much, do you suppose? You will never guess, so I’ll tell you. Only two hundred dollars! Only two hundred for the sweetest town carriage you ever saw with all the amenities! London, you see, is not as expensive as Philadelphia,” she went on quite smugly. “Though I very much doubt we could find anyone to make us such a carriage in Philadelphia. Wait until you see it!”

  Patience set down her fork. “Two hundred dollars?”

  Pru nodded eagerly. “You stare! But everything in London is too absurdly cheap! And of such quality! We’d be fools not to buy everything in sight!”

  Patience’s eyes widened in alarm. “Is that what you have been doing?” she said slowly. “Buying everything in sight?”

  Pru laughed. “What do you suppose my ensemble cost?” she asked, pronouncing the French word just as it was spelled. Full of her own cleverness, she stood up and turned slowly in a circle so that Patience could take in the full glory of one of her newest gowns.

  “Your ensign bull?” Patience repeated, frowning. “What do you mean?”

  “My ensemble!” Pru explained, twirling. “It is French for—for—well, for clothes, I suppose, for lack of a better word. I told you I had been taking French lessons. You should have lessons as well,” she went on, ceasing to twirl. “In English society it is de rigueur to speak French.”

  “De rigueur” was pronounced emphatically as “day rigger.”

  “In just a few weeks, I have learned ever so many useful phrases from Mamselle. Nest paw. Silver plate. Mares-ey. Mares-ey bow coop. And ... ensign bull. So? What do you think I paid for my ensemble?”

  Patience did not think the morning gown of grass green and canary yellow stripes became Pru at all, but she reserved the full force of her loathing for the short, sky blue spencer
worn over the striped gown. Cut much too small to meet over Pru’s chest, it was by no means lacking in very large buttons, two on each side—but, of course, no buttonholes. It offended practical Patience in every possible way.

  “Whatever you paid, it was too much!”

  “That is what you think!” Pru exclaimed in triumph. “Only thirteen dollars for all of this! In Philadelphia, it would have cost me at least fifteen!”

  Patience groaned. “Pounds, Prudence! Pounds, not dollars. Thirteen pounds for a perfectly stupid, tiny, little jacket.”

  “It is called a spencer,” Pru informed her coldly.

  “Why have buttons on a jacket that obviously can never be fastened? Why have buttons and no buttonholes? Why have a jacket at all, if the point is to leave your bosom exposed?”

  “It is the fashion,” Pru explained.

  Patience frowned. “How many of these little ensign bulls have you bought?” she demanded.

  “It was necessary!”

  Patience closed her eyes. “How much have you spent?”

  “I don’t know exactly,” Pru answered.

  “Approximately then!”

  “A lot,” Pru admitted.

  “I would say,” ventured Lady Jemima, in an attempt to be helpful, “not more than a thousand pounds.”

  Patience paled to the roots of her hair. “A thousand pounds!” she gasped. “On clothes? Pru, you bought all new clothes before we left Philadelphia!”

  “But they were the wrong clothes,” Pru explained. “Philadelphia is at least two years behind the rest of the world. And I needed a dress for court. That cost over two hundred all by itself.”

  “Almost enough for a carriage!” Patience said furiously. “Two hundred pounds for one dress? That’s nearly eight hundred dollars!”

  “Well, I can’t very well go to St. James’s Palace dressed in rags, can I?”

  “No, indeed,” Patience said angrily. “But you will be going in a hack! Oh, I beg your pardon! You shall be going in a hack!”

  “I hate you!” cried Pru, bursting into violent tears.

  “Perhaps it is not my place to say this, Lady Waverly,” Lady Jemima began tentatively. When Patience did not immediately respond, she went on, “But a thousand pounds is not so very much to spend on a London Season. Miss Prudence will make a brilliant marriage, you’ll see. And then, of course, the outlay will have been worth it all.” She smiled benevolently.

  Patience shot her a swift glance. “Marriage!” she exclaimed. “What on earth are you talking about? We haven’t come here to find husbands.”

  Lady Jemima stared at her, quite shocked. “Lady Waverly! Don’t you want to be married?”

  “Certainly not, and neither does my sister. If she did, she could have had her pick in Philadelphia.”

  Pru scowled, her tears drying up as suddenly as they had appeared. “Oh, who could marry any of those yokels? I do want a husband, as it happens. I would very much like to get away from you and set up my own house!”

  “You don’t mean that,” Patience said, wounded.

  “Did you think I would be content to live with you forever?” said Pru.

  “It had occurred to me,” Patience answered, “that one day you might fall in love and get married, but ... Well, you make it sound as though you want to escape from me!”

  “I do,” said Pru.

  Patience was deeply hurt. Tears pricked her eyes. “Well, if that is how you feel about it,” she murmured. Climbing to her feet, she dragged herself toward the door.

  Almost immediately, Pru was stung by guilt. “I’m sorry!” she cried, overtaking Patience and kissing her hand. “I didn’t mean it. Oh, I hate it when we fight. Whatever happens, we will always be the closest of sisters.”

  “Of course we will,” Patience said. “Or is it ‘shall’?”

  “I haven’t the slightest idea,” Pru admitted.

  Patience hugged her. “Bring me your bills, and we’ll figure something out.”

  Pru drew back. “You won’t make me send my new dresses back?”

  Patience smiled ruefully. “I doubt they can be sent back. But why don’t I buy the dresses you had made in Philadelphia? You don’t want them anymore, do you? Some of them I quite liked, and you know I don’t mind being two years behind the rest of the world.”

  “I knew I could count on you! And the hack?” Pru went on anxiously. “You won’t really send me to St. James’s Palace in a hack?”

  Patience sighed. “No. I’ll speak to Mr. Bracegirdle about a carriage. If it makes sense to buy one, I will. But I’m fairly certain it will be cheaper to hire the thing.”

  Pru recognized that this was the best offer she was going to get from her frugal sister. “Thank you, Pay,” she said humbly, kissing her cheek.

  Within the hour, Pru had delivered both her entire American wardrobe and her entire collection of London bills to her sister’s room. Once they were safely in Patience’s hands, Pru thought no more about them.

  Chapter 4

  The Honorable Mr. Frederick Broome, faultlessly turned out in evening dress, sidled up to his cousin, who was watching the dancers in the ballroom at Breckinridge with a marked lack of interest. “Nothing like your little entertainments, eh, Max?”

  Max glanced at his slim, boyishly handsome cousin, envying him the easy elegance with which he wore formal dress. “There is nothing little about my entertainments,” he replied. “We missed you at my birth-night,” he added.

  “Forgive me. I was visiting a sick relative,” Freddie replied, smiling as he told the obvious lie. “But no matter! I have had a full account of the orgy from the tenant. The lady doth not mince words. I’m surprised the letter didn’t combust as I read it. She seems to think she is owed some recompense. She wants half her rent returned to her.”

  “Return all of it,” said Max. “I’ll give you a banknote for the full amount.”

  Freddie hid a smile. “Was it as bad as all that? I’m sorry I missed it.”

  “It was not an orgy,” Max said defensively. “It was a harmless costume ball.”

  “How original,” drawled Freddie. “And the lady wearing only black shoes and gloves? What was she meant to be?”

  Max frowned. “The shoes and gloves were red. It was Miss Sally Sugar, as the five of hearts. Rather clever, I thought.”

  Freddie’s brows rose. “Have we established, then, that Miss Sugar is indeed a natural redhead?”

  Max shrugged. “It could have been a red merkin, I suppose. I don’t know.”

  Freddie sighed. “Then I suppose we’ll never know. As for Lady Waverly—”

  “I neither know nor care. A most unattractive female.”

  “Indeed? And her ladyship’s sister? Also unattractive?”

  Max stirred uncomfortably.

  Freddie grinned broadly. “May one assume at least that she is the Miss W——upon whom Mr. P——has lately been lavishing his attentions?”

  “I may be in some trouble there,” Max admitted sheepishly.

  “Oh, dear.”

  “It was all very innocent,” Max protested. “The circumstances were extraordinary. Miss Waverly’s sister was ill—injured by me. I only meant to be kind. I was sure she regarded me as nothing more than a friend, looked up to me as an elder brother, almost. But it seems she was in love with me the whole time. She has sent me a letter ... and, Freddie? Freddie, there was a lock of hair in the envelope.”

  Freddie’s long, elegant nose wrinkled in disgust. “Not from her monosyllable?”

  “No, thank God,” Max said violently. “From her head. But that is quite vile enough.”

  “Oh, yes. Perfectly vile. What did you do with it?”

  “Do with it? I was so shocked, I threw it on the fire.”

  Freddie shook his head. “Idiot! Now you’ll never be rid of her. She’ll always think you’ve got her revolting lock of hair hidden away somewhere as a treasure. You should have sent it back to her. Now you have a problem.”

  “I
paid too much attention to her.”

  “Indeed you did, Mr. P——! I shouldn’t be surprised if Miss W——thinks you are engaged.”

  “But I never made love to her,” Max protested. “She has nothing to accuse me of. I treated her as a kindly elder brother treats a younger sister, that is all. If I had known her true feelings—which, believe me, she hid quite well!—I should never have made her so many promises.”

  Freddie pricked up his ears. “Promises? Oh, dear! Is Max ensnared at last?”

  Max shook his head impatiently. “I promised her my assistance in society, that is all. I promised to give a ball for her and her sister at Sunderland House.”

  “How dreadful. You might as well marry the girl. As it is, everyone will think you are engaged. Ah, well!” Freddie yawned. “I shouldn’t worry about it too much. If it gets too thorny for you, we can always take the necessary precautions.”

  “It won’t come to that, I hope,” said Max.

  “We can all hope,” Freddie replied. Excusing himself, he went to ask a very pretty young lady in sea green satin to dance.

  Left behind, Max resumed leaning against one of the marble pillars. For the first time in his life, he was not looking forward to the new year.

  For Patience, the new year began with the loss of Mrs. Drabble, of whom she had grown quite fond. But she had not gone very far, and Patience, now perfectly restored to health, found she could walk to Mrs. Drabble’s house in quiet, respectable Wimpole Street very easily. While she very properly had refused to engage in any familiarities with Lady Waverly in Clarges Street, Mrs. Drabble was only too happy to receive Patience in her own parlor.

  Pru hardly noticed her sister’s frequent absences. The carriage had been hired! At Pru’s insistence, the Waverly coat of arms had been painted on the doors. Every afternoon, she and Lady Jemima made a slow progress through Hyde Park. As London began to fill up, in preparation for the social Season, these afternoon drives became increasingly important. And no matter how strong the winds of January, the top was always down. For what is the point of driving in the park if one cannot see and be seen? Only on the most inclement days would Pru consent to forego her drive in the park.