Mutual Consent (16 page)

“Haven’t I, though! And it is no less than you deserve,” Lady Azaela retorted tartly. She smiled in a somewhat grim fashion. “It is the beginning of all that I have ever wished for you, my dear girl. I do not intend that it shall end in disaster again. You may rely upon me to aid you in whatever capacity I can.”

Babs knew that her aunt referred in part to her father. She smiled gratefully. “I do thank you. I could hardly ask for more. Now, shall I act the proper hostess and hunt up a suitable partner for you for the upcoming set?”

Lady Azaela rapped her niece’s arm lightly with her fan. “Puss! As though you are not aware that I have not danced these ten years or more. No, you may instead attend to those who have need of you. I intend to pay my respects to the dowager countess and request her indulgence of a few words on the morrow.”

Babs saw her aunt walk off with mixed feelings. She felt suddenly bereft of a comforting presence, which she knew to be illogical. She stood in her own ballroom surrounded by a large company of civil personages who had by their appearance bestowed upon her party just the right touch of success.

From where she stood, Babs could see the Earl of Chatworth’s dark head and broad shoulders. His close presence should have reassured her, but she recalled how cavalier he had been toward her in regard to the ball.

Babs straightened her shoulders and turned determinedly to a lady and gentleman that she had not yet spoken to at any length. She would not have the earl remarking later, in that detestable manner that he could don, that she had not lived up to her end of their bargain. She greeted the couple, and after a short interval the trio was joined by a few others.

The Honorable Simon Oliver Hadwicke had casually observed the young Countess of Chatworth during the course of the ball. He had been suitably impressed by the manner in which she handled herself and her duties. There was nothing of the vulgar about her, he thought with satisfaction. He had often wondered whether his friend the earl had made a fatal error in wedding the chit, but now he was rather inclined to give the lady the benefit of the doubt. Whatever her unfortunate connections, they had apparently done her little personal harm.

The set was ending, and after disposing of his erstwhile partner, Viscount Taredell sauntered up to Hadwicke. “How do you, Simon? A fair squeeze, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes. It is quite a triumph for the Countess of Chatworth’s first function,” agreed Hadwicke.

The viscount followed his friend’s gaze. The new Lady Chatworth was laughing gaily at some sally made by one of her guests and she appeared the very picture of lovely graciousness.”I have never breathed a word to Marcus about his chosen lady. Well, you know how unpredictable he can be. But I don’t mind telling you, Simon, that I find Lady Chatworth deuced attractive, despite the rumored connection with trade,” he confided.

“I must agree with you, Taredell,” Hadwicke said.

A few minutes later, Hadwicke happened to be standing beside the Earl of Chatworth when a mutual acquaintance took himself off, and Simon drew his lordship’s attention to the countess. “Your lady appears to advantage this evening,” he commented.

Lord Chatworth turned, his curiosity faintly stirred. He saw his bride talking with several people, her eyes sparkling with obvious appreciation, her smile flashing. His attention was more fully caught by the charming picture she made, her red-gold hair catching fire in the candlelight while his gift of diamonds and amethysts sparked against her pale golden skin.

All the evening he had unobtrusively observed her. He had been pleased by her graciousness in company and he had quickly relaxed from the spurious anxiety that she would embarrass him in some way. But at the odd moment it was her beauty that had caught at his throat, as it did now. He was startled at how she affected him. However, it was not in him to give evidence of the direction of his thoughts and he said only, “Yes, she does.” He casually inquired about the race that Hadwicke had mentioned he would be attending later in the week.

Lord Chatworth had barely gotten the words out when there occurred a small commotion at the entrance to the ballroom. Lord Chatworth turned, his expression mildly inquiring. On the instant he recognized the bulky gentleman who was striding into the midst of the startled company. The gentleman was trailed by two scurrying footmen, upon whose expressions was registered alarm and dismay.

“What the devil!” the earl bit off. He plunged through the standing crowd to confront his father-in-law.

As Lord Chatworth reached him, Cribbage showed his teeth. He was seething with ill-will and thought himself slighted that he had not received an invitation to his daughter’s first ball. His hard black eyes contemptuously swept the murmuring company.

“A paltry function, my lord. I had expected better of you once you had your hands on my daughter’s considerable portion.” He had not deigned to lower his voice and he took pleasure in the angered consternation that entered the Earl of Chatworth’s eyes. Out of the corner of his eye, Cribbage discerned his daughter’s whitening face, but he did not turn to acknowledge her presence. All of his attention was focused on the arrogant peer who had yet to learn that he was the master.

Lord Chatworth could scarcely keep his rage bridled at the man’s deliberate effrontery. He heard the fascinated horror in the gathering whispers about them and he swiftly signaled the footmen. The footmen leapt forward with alacrity and huge satisfaction to take rough hold of the intruder. The earl said from between his teeth, “We will further our discussion in my study.”

“Unhand me, do you hear?’’ Cribbage made to shake loose of the footmen’s hold.

Lord Chatworth bared his teeth. He said very softly, “Come peacefully, or I shall myself wield the horsewhip across your beefy shoulders.” There was utter ruthlessness in his silken voice.

Cribbage apparently recognized when he was at a total disadvantage, for he merely shrugged in a contemptuous fashion. Disdaining to notice his escort, he swept around to exit the ballroom.

Babs watched in blind horror as her father and the earl disappeared from sight. Her entire frame shook. She felt as though her whole world crumbled about her. She did not need to look around. She sensed the circle that opened about her as those she had invited that evening drew away from her. She had become the center of stares and supercilious smiles and tittering whispers as all awaited her reaction.

She felt her cold hand drawn through a gentleman’s elbow and a low voice spoke in her ear. “Courage, my lady.’’ She glanced up quickly, unfallen tears affecting her sight, but nevertheless she recognized Simon Hadwicke’s friendly smile.

“I believe that I have the honor of escorting you in to dinner, my lady,” he said in a normal tone.

Her fingers clutched his sleeve and the hand that rested so easily above her own tightened in a warning fashion. Babs gave a jerky nod of acceptance and murmured an incoherent agreement.

“My dear niece, such an appalling heat. Why do we not have the windows opened before going in to dinner?” Lady Azaela stood upon Babs’ other side, fanning herself in a leisurely fashion, her expression cool and serene.

“Yes—yes, I think that is a marvelous notion,’’ said Babs faintly, making the supreme effort to pull herself together. She gestured quickly to a footman and gave the order in a low, even voice.

The horrible spell was broken. Those gathered about began to turn away, looking for their own dinner partners.

Babs nearly sagged with relief. Then high above the lifting conversation came a devastating statement. “Really, my dear, I do not see how she may be countenanced after such a telling spectacle.”

The raven-haired lady whose malicious voice had carried such venom gave a sparkling laugh. She looked directly into her hostess’s eyes before she deliberately turned her narrow shoulder and with elaborate condescension laid her fingers upon her escort’s arm.

Babs felt ready to sink into the floor. Her face had flamed with shame and humiliation, but she refused to allow herself to avoid the gazes of those who turned again to stare at her.

“If I countenance my daughter-in-law with unequivocal approval, then who dares to do less?”

In the astonished silence, the entire company turned. The older Countess of Chatworth stood quite unassisted, her eyes twin points of hauteur. Behind her ladyship hovered her dresser in obvious alarm. The dowager countess’s gaze was cold with disdain as she flicked an arctic glance at the offending lady. She cut the lady direct, leaving the woman flushing with fury and humiliation.

Still holding the center of attention, the dowager countess slowly joined Babs. She took her daughter-in-law’s hand and reached up to kiss the younger woman on the cheek. With a lurking smile in her eyes, she said quite strongly, “It has been a most delightful party, my dear. I must leave you now, however. The excitement has quite overtaxed me.”

“Of course, my lady. I shall visit with you on the morrow,” said Babs, recovering.

“That will be delightful, my dear. Good night.” The dowager countess left the ballroom in solitary splendor, occasionally giving a regal nod of recognition to acquaintances whom she saw on her way out. Her faithful dresser hurried in her slow wake.

“Well, well. You have a champion, indeed. The dowager is naturally perceived as a formidable ally in the public opinion,” said Hadwicke quietly. He smiled down at the lady on his arm. “You’ll weather it yet, I suspect. In fact, I would not be at all surprised that this little contretemps does not set the final caveat on a true success.”

Babs sighed, shaking her head. She tried to laugh, but it was not a particularly successful attempt. “That I very much doubt, sir. I fear that I am utterly ruined before I am even begun.”

But Lady Azaela added her support to Hadwicke’s opinion. “I do not think that, Babs. I acknowledge your father’s deplorable appearance as a temporary setback at most. But I rather think that the Earl of Chatworth shall take steps to ensure that this sort of unpleasantness does not easily take place again.”

In the company of her two allies, Babs continued in to dinner. The menu was pronounced superb by many of those at surrounding tables. She suspected that many of those who went out of their way to compliment her did so to prove that they harbored no ill-will against one who had won such unequivocal favor in the dowager Countess of Chatworth’s eyes. Babs knew very well that without the dowager countess’s timely intervention she would in all probability have sat down to dinner in a fast-emptying room. As it had turned out, however, she was able to slowly let her guard down and begin to enjoy herself again.

Viscount Taredell had charmingly requested permission to escort Lady Azaela to the table and he now regaled her with several amusing
on-dits,
to which Mr. Hadwicke added his own offerings. Babs was listening with only half an ear while she glanced about the occupied tables. Her roving eyes chanced to fall on the raven-haired beauty who had so nearly caused her complete devastation. She was curious to know who her detractor was, and she turned to Mr. Hadwicke for enlightenment. “Mr. Hadwicke, who is the lady to whom the dowager countess gave such a set-down?”

Viscount Taredell stopped in midsentence, a quick look of consternation entering his eyes. He and Mr. Hadwicke exchanged a swift and singularly curious glance that made Lady Azaela’s brows rise. The viscount returned to his tale in a determined manner.

Babs had not been behind in catching the byplay between the gentlemen. “Come, Mr. Hadwicke. It is a simple-enough question, surely?” she asked.

Hadwicke shrugged in a casual fashion. He was seemingly more interested in his lobster than her query. “Yes, I believe I recall the lady. It is of scarce importance now, my lady.” He turned toward their dinner companions. “Lady Azaela, her ladyship has told me that you reside in Derbyshire. I understand it is beautiful country and has excellent hunting.’’

“Yes, indeed,” said Lady Azaela, amused. She was quite aware that she was being used as a red herring, but she was not unwilling to play the role. She was too sophisticated not to have realized the significance of the gentlemen’s reluctance to satisfy her niece’s curiosity. She would prefer to allow her niece to remain in ignorance as long as it was possible.

Babs’ idle curiosity had been sharpened by Mr. Hadwicke’s attempt to put her off, and she glanced again in the direction of the raven-haired lady. Across the heads of the company she saw the Earl of Chatworth wending his way among the tables, exchanging pleasantries with the guests. His lordship’s expression was one of bland civility, and a smile touched Barbara’s lips. Lord Chatworth was not one to give away that he had just come from an unpleasant interview, she thought.

The raven-haired lady lifted her fan and in obeisance to the lady’s gesture, the earl paused beside her chair. There was an intimacy in the brief conversation, a certain cast of expression on the earl’s face as he looked down into the lady’s beautiful smiling face,that made Babs’ heart suddenly contract.

She took a shuddering breath, now understanding the odd glance that had passed between Viscount Taredell and Mr. Hadwicke. Beyond the shadow of a doubt, she knew who the lady was without ever having heard her name. She had just discovered the identity of her husband’s mistress.

“Simon, I will know the lady’s name.”

Her companions all looked at her in surprise. Babs had also heard the hard note in her voice and she summoned up a smile for Hadwicke’s quick glance of astonishment. “Should I not know who my detractors are, sir?”

Viscount Taredell scowled uncertainly. “There is something to be said for that, Simon,” he said, as much as he would have liked to disagree.

Hadwicke again shrugged as though it was a matter of complete indifference to him. “The lady in question is Lady Elizabeth Cartier. I understand that she is a widow and is greatly sought after for her beauty.”

“One can readily understand why, of course,” murmured Babs. “She is indeed very beautiful.”

“I thought the lady insufferably rude,” added Lady Azaela, an appreciative gleam in her eyes for the gentlemen’s uneasy shifting in their chairs.