Babe

by Joan Smith

  “I said let’s sneak into the garden and blow a cloud. Smoke a cigar.”

  “You’re a lady!” he exclaimed, in horror. “Do you mean to say you smoke, on top of everything else?”

  “On top of what else? Good gracious, I don’t duel or box or visit the men’s clubs. One would take me for a hoyden.”

  “You are a hoyden!” he told her, in a louder voice than he intended using.

  “Shh—you don’t have to announce it so loudly. I didn’t ask you to slip off to an hotel for the night, after all,” she added, deciding to be offended with him.

  To his infinite relief, the music began, and to his equally infinite dismay, it was a country dance, which romps he found sadly lacking in dignity. There was little dignity in either the dance or conversation that ensued for the next while, but there was much laughter and high spirits. At its end, Barbara was handed over to Sir Lyle Covington by Clivedon, with a worried glance after them to see they didn’t go out to the garden to smoke a cigar.

  He returned to Lady Angela. “You look worried, Larry,” she said. “Is it your cousin that causes it?”

  “Yes,” he answered unhesitatingly.

  “She is shockingly fast. Standing up with that horrid Gentz person. I don’t know why you allow it.”

  He wondered how he might prevent it.

  “I wonder at her sticking this long with Lady Graham,” Angela spoke on. “She’s past reforming, that one. She’ll elope with Gentz one of these fine days, but at least you will have the satisfaction of knowing you tried to help her. No one can say it is your fault. You did your best for her.”

  “I wonder if I did. Maybe Lady Graham was a mistake. She sails a little tighter ship than I realized, and I knew she was no sybarite.”

  “A willful, headstrong girl like that, you mustn’t give her an inch or she’ll take a mile. If Lady Graham can’t control her, no one can. I suppose she’s pestering you to move her elsewhere, is she?”

  “She is not happy there.”

  “Time will tell. I see Cousin Ellingwood is mooning after her like a puppy. I must hint him away from her. She’ll eat him alive.”

  Clivedon had been thinking quite seriously of making an offer to Lady Angela. It was past time he married someone, and she was pretty, accomplished, a pleasant girl, he had always thought. He felt an unaccustomed dash of annoyance with her tonight. Looking at her closely, he thought her lips sat at a sullen angle. Her eyes didn’t sparkle, and she hadn’t said an interesting or amusing word all evening. “Shall we have our second dance now, or save it for later?” she asked him with a complacent smile.

  The situation between them was growing to the point where he must either have her or start backing off. He knew in that instant he meant to back off. He had very nearly said, “Let’s have our second and get it over with.” Good God, what would she have thought if he had blurted it out? “Let us save it for later,” he said, with a very polite smile.

  When next they did stand up, she noticed no coolness in him. “Larry, I have been thinking if I couldn’t help you with Lady Barbara. Go out with her one afternoon to give your poor cousins a rest. And in my position, you know, no censure will attach to being seen with her.”

  “I can’t imagine why it should. You are social equals, and should get along well.” He knew this last for an idiocy, but was so angry with her tone he hardly knew what he said, but only knew he wanted to set her down.

  “Where is she? Ah—she is with Ellingwood again,” she said, looking across the floor. “Pity. I’ll hint him away from her.”

  “If you wish to help her, Angela, that is hardly the way to set about it.”

  “Oh, but . . . Of course. Quite right,” she said with a prim little smile that hid her anger. “I shall call on her tomorrow and drive out with her. Would that please you?”

  “If it pleases you,” he answered. Kindness, he knew, had nothing to do with it. She did it to ensnare himself, but he had sprung free of her trap, and felt lighter in spirit than he had all spring.

  Chapter Six

  The outing of the two young ladies together was not a great success. Lady Angela had a patronizing air about her that set Barbara’s teeth on edge before ever they left Mecklenberg Square. The note sent over in the morning said she would call and take Lady Barbara out for a drive. It had not asked her if she would like to go, but told her she would. As Lady Graham had been threatening a trip to Exeter Exchange to see the lions and tigers, it was a relief to escape, but really, a tenth visit to other parts of the Tower was hardly more exciting. Lady Angela had her own team and sporting carriage, and considered herself a notable whip. Being two years older than Barbara, she undertook to instruct her in the proper manner of handling the ribbons, and in a few other matters nonequine as well.

  “Do you really think that bonnet . . .” she began, but stopped when she received a certain flash from her guest’s eyes.

  As sure as Barbara waved at a friend, Angela would mention something derogatory about the person. She was trying, in her way, to help Clivedon, but there was no tact or subtlety in her methods.

  “I thought you might enjoy to see the mint,” she explained, as she headed east.

  “I wonder where you got that idea,” was the frigid reply, and they had not yet been out a quarter of an hour.

  “Just two ladies alone, we cannot very well go shopping, and in any case . . .”

  “Yes? You were going to say something else?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Clivedon has spoken to you about me, I take it? Has explained that I have temporarily outrun the grocer?”

  “He mentioned something of the sort,” Angela admitted.

  “I see. Well, do you know, I’m afraid I might be tempted to walk away with a handful of samples if we go to the mint. Let us just drive through the park instead. It’s free, so far as I can remember.”

  “If you like.”

  “If you are afraid of the traffic, I will be happy to handle the ribbons for you,” Barbara suggested, in a spirit of pure mischief.

  Lady Angela smiled with great condescension and said that would not be at all necessary, or wise. “You have had a few accidents with your own new team, I understand?’” she said.

  “Yes, for no matter how well one drives herself, there are always others on the road who drive less wisely, and cause accidents.”

  At four o’clock, they drew up to the barrier in the park, where it was the custom for the fashionable to stop and gossip and flirt. It was not many minutes before Colonel Gentz approached them.

  “Babe, what a pleasant surprise.” Even as he spoke, his black eyes slid to Angela, raking her admiringly and boldly.

  Barbara made them acquainted, feeling annoyed that this most rackety of her suitors should have accosted her at this time. Her companion made it perfectly clear she did not wish to be on terms with the colonel. She quickly hailed up more genteel friends and, turning her back on Gentz, spoke only to the others. Gentz shrugged his shoulders and laughed.

  “What are you doing with these poker-backed people?” he asked Babe.

  “Suffering in silence,” she replied, angry with the top-lofty tone of her companion. Lady Angela need not have made it quite so obvious what she thought.

  “I had no luck getting a ticket for Seftons’ do. When can I see you, Babe?” he asked.

  This annoyed her too. “I don’t know. We’ll meet here and there, I suppose. And don’t pretend you are languishing for me either.”

  “Where’s your own carriage? We could meet here tomorrow if you drove out.”

  “I’ve been meaning to ask Clivedon where my horses and carriage are. I will need them.”

  “I’ll be here every day, waiting for you at four. Come if you can.”

  “I will,” she answered, but had very little thought that it would be possible.

  They chatted for a few minutes. Then Gentz, realizing he was not wanted, took his leave.

  “What a strange man,” Angela said, d
iscovering her right side again as soon as he was gone. “Some sort of a foreigner, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, an Austrian.”

  “Shocking manners, trying to flirt with me when I hardly know him.”

  “As to manners, we all slip up on occasion. Turning one’s back on others is also considered rude.”

  “Shall we go?” Angela asked in a pinched voice. She saw she was having no luck in handling the hoyden. Lord knows she had tried, as she explained to Clivedon that same evening at Seftons’ rout. “But she was shockingly tiresome. Would do nothing but go to the park and gossip with that old roué, Gentz.”

  “Was he there?” Clivedon asked angrily.

  “She ignored everyone else the moment he arrived. I think she had arranged to meet him. Really she wouldn’t hear of going anywhere else. I tried to listen in on what he said, and I believe they were making another assignation for tomorrow. He said something to the effect that he’d be waiting for her.”

  “I’m glad you told me. I think it’s time I put a stop to Colonel Gentz’s wooing.”

  He did not stand up with Barbara that evening, but as they drove home, tired and both feeling rather cross for some reason, he said, “You neglected to mention meeting Gentz this afternoon.”

  “Your friend was less reticent, I see. I was sure I could count on her to do it. Did you set her to spy on me, Clivedon?”

  “Certainly not. The drive was her own idea.”

  “I trust she will not be persuaded into another such poor idea.”

  “I didn’t suggest it.”

  “Don’t bother pretending you haven’t been complaining to her about me! She let slip my little shortage of funds.”

  He mentally cursed Lady Angela’s lack of tact, but aloud he said, “It was kind of her to take you out. Appearing in public with such people will be good for your reputation.”

  “It is very bad for my spirits! It is clear you have her in your pocket, and I trust you will whisper in her big ears that I have a carriage of my own, and can drive it better than she does, too. And that reminds me, where are my prads?”

  “Your team is stabled at Lady Withers’ place, along with your carriage.”

  “I want them sent to Mecklenberg Square at once.”

  “That is impossible, I’m afraid.”

  “There is a huge stable there, holding nothing but a pair of tired jades. You are just being stubborn. They’re my horses, and my carriage, all paid for now, thanks to you, and I want them.”

  “You had better speak politely if you hope to see them this Season,” he answered in an imperious tone.

  “How dare you treat me as though I were a child? Lady Angela, that paragon of prudery, drives her own carriage, so you can hardly call it fast behavior. What is the excuse for denying me them?”

  “A sense of duty to the public. Three accidents so far this Season, isn’t it?”

  “If those nags are not at Mecklenberg Square tomorrow morning, Clivedon. . .”

  “Yes? What dire threat do you dangle over my head? If your team and carriage are not there, and they won’t be, you will sit home till I decide to call for you, or until Lady Graham takes you out.” Yet he did feel rather foolish, depriving her of this perfectly acceptable sport. The high spirits of her team were an excuse; he feared she would take off if she had her own carriage.

  “You refuse utterly to discuss it, then?” she asked, her voice nearly quaking with anger.

  This was too volatile a temper to leave her in overnight. He sought to soften it. Any lady may lead a gentleman, if she knows how to set about it. “I will not be led by your locking horns with me,” he suggested helpfully, and waited several seconds for a reply. When none came, he went on, “Well, and are you not interested to hear how I might be managed more effectively? Try a little tact, Lady Barbara.”

  “You are not seven years old, or twenty-seven, to be led by me.”

  “I am thirty-four actually, if you are interested.”

  “I’m not, but at thirty-four I cannot believe you will be misled by insincere smiles and an appearance of servility.”

  “Nothing is more repugnant than servility and deception. I suggest we form a truce. You are no longer a youngster yourself, but fast advancing out of your youth.” She glared at him with snapping eyes. Even in the darkness of the carriage he could see a sparkle. “More lenience than could safely be granted a green debutante is perhaps owing to you. I concede Cousin Graham was a mistake.”

  “One of the Creator’s graver mistakes, in my opinion. I daresay even He has a bad day from time to time.”

  In the concealing shadows, he made no effort to hide his smile. “With occasionally a superb day to make up for it. That is intended as a compliment to yourself, by the by.”

  “I was sure you referred to the creation of Lord Clivedon.”

  “Not a bad day either, but I withhold the word superb for His female works.”

  “Are you hinting that I am now to be released from Mecklenberg Prison?” she asked, unimpressed with these few efforts at gallantry.

  “In a few days, yes.”

  “Do you mean it? Clivedon, this is not a trick, like your arranging those odious outings to museums? Oh, I wish I could see your face, then I’d know if you’re serious. It’s so demmed dark in here.”

  “Very dark,” he emended.

  “You didn’t used to be so stuffy a few years ago. You weren’t forever pinching at me then.”

  “I was not your guardian then. In my new position, I feel a moral duty to—”

  “Fiddlesticks! It is not immoral to say prads, or demmed. I wonder what can account for these angelic heights your propriety is reaching.”

  “You accredit the improvement to the wrong source.”

  “It is no credit at all. I consider it a distinct liability. You are becoming a governess as well as a guardian. How very boring for you.”

  “You are too hard on yourself. You are a wretched nuisance; you were never a bore.”

  “It is very odd I’m not, for I am so often bored myself.”

  “When can you possibly find time to be bored?” he asked.

  “It hits me at odd moments, right in the middle of balls or routs even. Like tonight, when Camfreys started telling me about his demmed—very superior hunter, which is a spavin-backed old jade, as everyone knows. I so wished to sneak out for a cigar.”

  “Did you do it?” he asked warily.

  “No, I didn’t think my governess would like it.”

  “But you have done so, in the past?”

  “A few times, with Gentz.”

  “You shouldn’t,” he said, more mildly than she expected. “Bad ton. If anyone should see you . . .”

  “Don’t take me for a greenhead. I’d never get caught.”

  There was a longish and uncomfortable silence. “I don’t sneak out for any other reason, and I know perfectly well that’s what you’re wondering, sitting there silent as a mouse, isn’t it?” she asked angrily.

  “It occurred to me.”

  “I knew, when you started to puff up like that—”

  “I am not puffing up, and if I were,” he said, unpuffing his chest, “you couldn’t see it in the dark.”

  “I can feel it from here. You always used to take a big breath and hold it. Well, maybe I imagined it, but I was right.”

  “I don’t recall holding my breath in the past.”

  “You nearly turned purple the time . . .” She stopped suddenly. “Oh, it doesn’t matter. That is all in the past.”

  “Which time was that?”

  “The time I was having a champagne-drinking contest with Lord Cherney. Gracious, and we only had one bottle between us. I could hold more than three glasses then, and a good deal more than that now.”

  “You have a good memory, Barbara. Odd you have forgotten Richmond Park.”

  She could see nothing in the dark, and was grateful she too was not on view, for she had a strong impression she was blushing.


  “My good memory has not forgotten one thing. Am I to get my team back tomorrow?”

  “Oh no. It is a truce, not total surrender. You will have to try more tact than bragging about your drinking. And smoking,” he added in an ironic voice.

  Chapter Seven

  Lady Barbara got her team the next day, by the quite simple expedient of asking Lady Graham if she objected to having them in her stable, as Clivedon thought she would.

  “I have no objection in the least. Where did he get such a notion? Mind, you must not drive out alone, Barbara. I shall send a groom with you, for I am too old to sit up on a high seat, and Mabel would certainly fall off. She has no balance or coordination. She never could walk across the street without bumping into someone. I used to drive a gig myself when I was young. Exercise would do you a world of good. Certainly you must have your rig sent around.”

  When Lady Withers received the note from Lady Graham, she complied at once, without a thought that Clivedon would dislike it. That same afternoon the blue phaeton was dashing into town, with a groom in ancient gray livery sitting behind to lend the driver cachet and an unaccustomed air of respectability. She drove down Bond Street at a careful pace to avoid any accident, while she looked about for friends or a guardian. When Lord Ellingwood waved, she pulled up beside him for a chat, for she felt just a little fear that Clivedon would take revenge on her, and wanted to appease him in advance.

  “Can I take you for a spin, sir, or are you afraid I’ll land you in a ditch?” she asked.

  “It would not be too high a price to pay for the honor,” he replied, feeling himself very chivalrous.

  “Will it be the park, or the Chelsea Road?” she asked.

  “Let us go to the park,” he answered promptly. It was not often Ellingwood had such a dashing companion to show off to the town, and he wished to make the most of it.

  Colonel Gentz had slipped out of her mind entirely, but he was there at his post, hoping for a glimpse of her, and was the first to accost her at the barrier. “Babe—good of you to come. You got your prads back, I see. Good show.” They chatted for a few moments, and while still she leaned over talking to him, Clivedon reared up behind her carriage, in his own curricle, harnessed tandem.