by Joan Smith
There were other excuses too. “Clivedon is excellent ton,” was often heard. Much Fannie cared about ton! “You always seemed to like Lady Withers very well, and really, she is not a prude, like the Harrows. I will not consign you to the Harrows again
After considerable talk, Babe agreed.
“Very well,” she said, in a voice more cheerful than mere resignation. She had some hope for pleasure in the scheme. Clivedon was a broad-minded gentleman, who would not expect her to act any differently than she did now. He was certainly no prude—quite the contrary. And she liked Lady Withers. It would do, she supposed. She wondered where the idea had come from. Fannie, she thought, had been as surprised as herself.
The exchange of guardians was hastily arranged, with all parties in agreement. After two visits from solicitors and three from accountants, Lord Clivedon stood in custody of Lady Barbara and her fortune till her twenty-fifth birthday, two years away. She expected every hour he would call to discuss it with her. Two mornings she stayed in for the purpose, but he did not come, nor did Lady Withers. On the third day, he sent a note that his carriage would call at Portland Place the next morning to remove her to his custody. She waited at the window, planning a sharp remark at his cavalier treatment. When it was only a footman who came to the door, she was not only disappointed, but furiously angry. How dare he treat her so poorly? Not a call, not a note, not even coming in person to convey her to Lady Withers’ home. And Lady Withers no better. Why had not she come?
She turned to Fannie with a certain sparkle in her eye.
“I’ve changed my mind, Fannie. I’m not going,” she said, and sat down, folding her arms on her heaving bosom.
“Not going! Babe—it is too late for not going. The papers are signed. You must go.”
“I will not. If he thinks to treat me like this . . .”
“But I go to Burrells’ house party, my dear, and you are not expected. Indeed, it is not a place I would take a young lady at all.”
“You planned to take me four days ago!”
“Well, I didn’t like it. The papers are all signed. He is your guardian. You must go.”
“I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to.”
“To be sure, you do not, Babe, only Clivedon will create a wicked row if I take you to Burrells’. He mentioned they are not the sort of people . . . Not to say . . .”
Barbara fixed her with a challenging eye. “What did he say? You don’t mean to sit there and tell me he had the insolence to criticize your—our friends, and you didn’t tell me.”
“Not in the least. He was very civil. I daresay he didn’t mean to be so bossy at all, but it is always Clivedon’s way, you must know. Oh, do go on, Babe, you are giving me the headache, and Bagstorff is coming in ten minutes.”
“All right. All right, I’ll go, but . . .”
She looked to Fannie, dear Fannie, whom she thought loved her, but all she saw on the face was distress, and an eagerness to be rid of her. Nothing would be the same once she married Bagstorff. “Good-bye, Fannie,” she said, in a rather tight voice. “Thank you for everything. It’s been nice. I’ll come to see you soon. When do you return from Burrells’?”
“Nothing is decided, dear. Clivedon thought it would be nice to be married in the country, and I rather think it would.”
“Will you not be back before your wedding? Oh, Fannie, I must attend your wedding!”
“We’ll be in touch, love,” Fannie said impatiently, and took her elbow to pilot her to the door, close it after her, and go back to the sofa, feeling strangely guilty and lonesome. She liked Babe, but Clivedon was quite right. A newly married lady would be too busy to handle her. Her thoughts wandered more happily to Count Bagstorff.
Chapter Three
Lady Barbara would not have been at all surprised had she been required to wait while her trunks were strapped onto the carriage, but this indignity, at least, was spared her. The carriage moved forward as soon as the footman had closed the door and resumed his position. Lady Withers’ house was close by on Cavendish Square. When the carriage crossed Oxford Street, Barbara realized this was not where she was being taken. It proceeded straight to Grosvenor Square, to Clivedon’s own handsome residence. She settled down somewhat then, imagining a sort of welcome party awaited her at the home of her new guardian. That was well done of him. She had only been in his house twice, attending two large balls two years ago, before he had turned chilly towards her.
She had never been one of the intimate circle of Clivedon’s friends. It was generally considered the toniest circle in town. Not so dashing as the old Devonshire House set, where Barbara had been a sort of pet in her very youth. The duchess, Georgiana, had doted on her, but she was long dead. Nor did she enjoy any favor with Caroline Lamb after competing with her for a few beaux. Nothing lingered from those old days but the softly drawling voice used by the duchess and copied by the rest. The duchess’s lisp and habit of using many French phrases had not survived a month.
Barbara turned mentally from the past to the present. She must improve, live up to the higher standards of Clivedon’s set. It would be good for her, this change. Really, she had been slipping into questionable company lately. All a result of Bagstorff’s influence.
She was smiling as she entered the door of the residence, preparing her prettiest speech of thanks. The smile faded as she was led into an empty chamber to await his lordship. The room’s elegance was her only welcome; there was no party. What could it mean? Did he think to have her live here, with himself? He had some maiden aunt keeping house for him, she knew, but still, it seemed a little smokey. She hunched her shoulders, dismissing it. If Clivedon thought it suitable, then it must be acceptable. Odd Fannie had said it would not do; Fannie was not overly nice in her notions of propriety.
After five minutes, a servant brought her wine and biscuits, which she ignored. “Please tell Lord Clivedon I am waiting,” she said.
“His lordship knows, milady. He will be here presently,” she was told.
She waited another ten minutes before his unhurried steps approached the doorway. “Ah, Lady Barbara, sorry to keep you waiting,” he said, in a voice that did not sound sorry, or try to. “I had the devil of a time with my cravate this morning. I am trying the Olbadeston,” he added, patting his cravate. “I see you have been entertained during my absence.” His eyes glanced off the untouched glass of wine, the biscuits, their careful pattern not disturbed on the plate.
“Good morning, Clivedon. Kind of you to worry about me, but in future, when you wish to entertain me, I will just drop the hint that an empty room and stale biscuit is not the way to set about it,” she answered sharply.
“Stale?” he asked, lifting his brows. “Shocking! Do permit me to apologize.” He picked one up and tried it. Though he made no comment, there was a crisp sound indicating freshness as he bit in. “Try your luck again,” he said, passing the plate.
“I did not come here for a biscuit!” she answered, feeling control was slipping from her fingers. “Furthermore, I don’t think I should be here at all, taking up residence in a bachelor’s establishment.”
“Do you object? Do you know, it occurred to me you might, so I have arranged with a female relative of mine to house you. Lady Withers would have been here to guard your reputation this morning as well, but unfortunately one of her children has got a swelling or spot, or some dreadful malady.”
She was relieved to hear the name of Lady Withers arise, slightly mollified as well to learn there was a reason why the lady had not called on her.
“I am sorry to hear it. I wondered at her not having called.”
“She wondered the same thing, that you did not see fit to pay her a duty call. I trust you are enjoying your customary high good health?”
This was the first time it occurred to Barbara that a call from her might have been expected. Fannie had not mentioned it, but she was sorry she had been lax in the first obligation to arise with her new set of guardian
s. Before she could make any reply, he spoke on.
“I have been meaning to compliment you on the good sense you have shown in this affair, Lady Barbara. We had some fears, Agnes and myself, that you would not agree to the change of custodians. I conceived the notion—I can’t imagine where the idea came from—that you would dislike to have me exercising control over you.” This speech was not delivered in any accents of a compliment, but, on the contrary, there was a mocking note to it, nor was the choice of words at all diplomatic.
She regarded him with keen distaste. “It is a matter of very little interest to me who is nominally in control of my welfare. At my age, you know, it is no more than a formality.”
“You are no longer young, certainly,” he agreed, with an appraising scrutiny of her face, “but according to the terms of the legal agreement, I am in complete control of your doings. I do not mean to treat the matter so lightly as your last guardian did.”
“I will give you very little trouble. Just have my checques mailed to me quarterly on time, and we shall rub along tolerably well.”
“I have been meaning to speak to you about your allowance,” he said at once, taking up a seat across from her and examining his nails with interest. Then he polished them against his lapel and yawned behind raised fingers. “These late nights are the very devil, are they not? I see you too are showing the effects of them. When did you grow those circles under your eyes, Lady Barbara?”
“At the same time as I grew my wrinkles and gray hair. A dozen or so years ago. What is it you meant to say about my allowance?” She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin in a fit of pique, for she knew very well she had been having too many late nights, and their effect was beginning to show. Still, the light was behind her, and she could not believe she was so hagged as to make that remark apt.
“You’re overdrawn. There won’t be any allowance this quarter,” he answered blandly.
“No allowance? Don’t be absurd. I am only overdrawn a few hundred pounds. How should I jog along on no money?”
“Actually, you are overdrawn several hundreds—well into the next quarter’s installment as well. That phaeton, I fancy, is the culprit, and the team that draws it. No, on second thought, you could not have paid much for that pair of lame screws I see in the park.”
The team spoken of were not to her taste. Too leather-mouthed for a lady to control with any ease. Gentz had purchased them for her, and paid a handsome price too, but she said none of this. “I am paying for the phaeton by installments, Clivedon, and the grays were selected and paid for by myself.”
“I have paid off the full price of the phaeton. I dislike to see you run into debt.”
“You did what?” she asked, jumping to her feet.
“Paid for the phaeton. It is quite a common custom to pay for one’s purchases. I can’t think why you are excited about it.”
“I didn’t intend paying cash. Oh, what a mess you’ve made of things already. You must give me an advance from the next quarter’s money, then. I need a new ball gown this very week.”
“There will be no advances, Lady Barbara. You must learn to cut your coat to fit the cloth, like everyone else.”
She inhaled a deep breath and resumed her seat. Her credit was good; she wouldn’t make a fuss about this. As he had charge of her monies, she must humor him. He spoke on. “I have taken the liberty, as well, of sending a note around to the more stylish modistes that I do not wish them to extend you credit,” he added.
“You take a great deal of liberty, sir!” she answered hotly.
“I mean to employ the full prerogative of guiding my charge, Lady Barbara,” he answered with a smile.
“And I wish you will stop calling me Lady Barbara every minute. Call me Babe. Everyone does.”
“It is a sad comment on your dignity that you allow everyone to be so free with you. I will expect more discretion, now that your behavior will reflect somewhat on myself.”
Her dark eyes narrowed dangerously, and she was aware of a rising heat in her blood. “Don’t think to exercise this prerogative you speak of as though I were a child, sir. I am very much accustomed to being my own mistress. I will behave exactly as I always have, and you may go to the devil.”
“Eventually, no doubt, but in the interim I shall attempt to keep you from doing likewise.” He arose languidly and looked at her, in a fairly disinterested way.
“Are you ready to leave? I’ll take you to Lady Graham now.”
“Lady Graham?” she asked. “I don’t want to visit that old Tartar. Take me to your sister, at once.”
“My sister? But surely I mentioned Boo has thrown out a few spots. Nickie as well, I think, which leads me to suspect a contagious disease. Measles very likely. You will be staying with Lady Graham.”
“Clivedon! You can’t be serious. I will not stay with her. She is a positive ogre. I’ll go to Lady Withers. I have had the measles. I don’t mind that.”
“I mind for you. Measles can be caught more than once, and you would not like to be ill at the height of the Season.”
“I’d rather catch smallpox that go to that mausoleum in Mecklenberg Square. Why, she lives away out at the edge of Somers Town, miles from anywhere.”
“There has been an excellent new road put in. You’ll see four or five stages a day pass by, to relieve the quiet. Till you are back in looks, Lady Barbara, I want you to lessen the pace of your socializing. It is a shame to see you run to seed at a relatively young age.” He turned and strolled at a slow pace towards the door. She remained where she stood. “Come along,” he invited.
“I am not going to Lady Graham’s place. I refuse to be fobbed off in this manner.”
He smiled at her fondly, as though she were an unruly child. “Oh, I have not the least intention of fobbing you off. I mean to take a very active concern for your well-being. You will find me tediously interested in all your doings. I have arranged outings for you both this afternoon and this evening.”
She listened to this and found it gratifying. She still disliked both the location and character of her new keeper, but if Clivedon meant to dance attendance on her, it would be supportable. Rather a feather in her cap, to have him running at her heels.
“Are you quite sure Lady Angela will approve of that?” she asked with a pert smile.
“I have not discussed the matter with her,” he replied, smiling as he ushered her out the door and led her to his carriage.
He was amusing all during the longish drive to Mecklenberg Square, talking of social doings. As he left her with Lady Graham, he mentioned that he would see her very soon. She assumed he meant that same afternoon, and wondered that he did not stay to luncheon, as the drive home and back again was long enough to occasion some inconvenience.
Chapter 4
Luncheon found Lady Barbara sitting across the table from a pair of ladies who strangely resembled Chinese mandarins. Age had yellowed their skin and slanted their eyes down at the outer edges to give them doleful expressions. Lady Graham was the chief mandarin, an overbearing dame with gray hair and wearing the last pair of tiered sleeves in London. The lace from these ancient relics was entrusted to no hands but her own, where it received twice weekly a washing in cream. It was the major physical act she had performed during the normal course of her days, but she had girded herself for more strenuous pursuits to amuse her guest. Her sister was slightly less ancient and a good deal less overbearing. In fact, she was a slave in all but name to the elder.
“You look peaked, Lady Barbara,” Lady Graham accused. “Have you been ill?”
“No, not at all.”
“You are too thin. All skin and bone, like Mabel.” A glare was leveled on Mabel, who was indeed much less well fleshed than her corpulent sister. “Here, have a dish of this soft pudding. It will help pad you out. Ladies want padding; it pleases the gentlemen. And you will want nourishment for your outing this afternoon too. It is very wearing, racketing into town. We like our privacy here ver
y well, but of course they stuck in a metaled road as soon as ever we got here.”
Barbara accepted a heaping load of soft pudding, which she tasted before concealing it behind a bowl of fruit.
“Have you ever been to Bullock’s Museum?” was the next speech.
“I can’t say that I have.”
“Good. You will like to see Napoleon’s carriage. It is on view there. One ought to take some interest in history, and I daresay that Corsican upstart will be remembered a few years.
“We must go some time,” Barbara answered politely, smiling to herself at the drabness of the outing.
“We go this afternoon,” she was told.
Mabel peeped up as though she would like to say a word, but she was ordered to eat her soft pudding, and did it obediently.
“Clivedon plans to return this afternoon,” Barbara mentioned.
“Clivedon? Nonsense. He is off to a weekend party at Haddon’s place in Kent, with Lady Angela. He left from here. There will be a match, mark my words.”
“He said . . .” Yet he had not actually said he would accompany her on the outing, merely that he had arranged one. An angry feeling began sprouting in her bosom, of having been outwitted by him.
“It was his suggestion you would like to see it. And this evening we go to a concert of antique music. They are resuscitating the Elizabethan madrigal this month,” Lady Graham told her, with a satisfied nod of her head. “I don’t usually racket around so much, but to hear the madrigals is worth any exertion. It will be interesting for you. It will not be a late night at all; you will get plenty of sleep, as Clivedon suggested.”
“Clivedon suggested it, did he?” she asked, her voice strangely tense.
