Mutual Consent (25 page)

Babs had anxiously awaited his lordship’s reaction. She was uncertain whether his stillness was altogether flattering. Attempting not to reveal her nervousness, she walked toward him. “Good evening, my lord,” she said quietly. She was glad when her voice came out more calmly than she felt.

“My lady.” Lord Chatworth took her hand. His salute was a brief brush of his lips across her fingers. He kept hold of her hand while his glance traveled over her from head to toe.

Babs met his somber gray eyes steadily enough, but she felt the pulse beating erratically in her throat.

“You are in exquisite looks this evening, Babs,” he said, the timbre of his voice deepened.

She inclined her head in civil acknowledgment as relief flooded over her. “Thank you, my lord.”

She had meant to address him by his Christian name, but somehow to do so would bring them into an unbearably intimate juxtaposition that she was not ready to assume.

When she had put on the revealing organza silk gown, it had of itself put her on a much more intimate footing with the earl than she had realized. Babs was inexperienced, but there was a crackling electricity in the air that any woman would have sensed. Her heart pounded with the headiness of it.

Lord Chatworth drew her near. He smiled into her wide green eyes. “I am flattered, my lady,” he said quietly.

“What?” Babs asked in confusion. She seemed unable to catch her breath when he looked at her like that.

He lifted his hand and his fingers brushed her soft skin as he picked up the pendant. “I am flattered that you think so much of my small token,” he said.

“It is quite beautiful,” said Babs. She could not think coherently, not when his hand was sliding upward along the gold chain. His fingers warmly encompassed her slender neck. His thumb caressed her jaw.

“Shall we go in to dinner?” asked Lord Chatworth softly.

His eyes were half-hooded, partially curtaining the light in their depths. He stood close, so close that she felt the warmth of his breath on her lips.

“Please,” she whispered. Neither of them thought she spoke of dinner.

The moment hovered and then was dashed altogether as the door to the sitting room opened. “My lord, pray forgive the intrusion ...”

The earl let go of Babs and she moved hurriedly away from him, her cheeks hotly coloring. “What is it?” Lord Chatworth bit out, his brows snapping together in extreme annoyance.

The hapless footman was thrust aside by a stiffened arm. The burly figure who entered paused inside the doorway to study the scene. Babs stood at one end of the mantel, her eyes turned to the fire. The heat of the flames could account for the warmth in her face, but the visitor was not persuaded that it was so.

Cribbage turned his shrewd gaze on his son-in-law and bared his teeth in a tight smile. “So, Chatworth. I had hoped to catch you before you had gone out, but instead I find you dining at home. This unexpected domesticity is illuminating, to say the least.” There was a wealth of malice in his voice as his eyes traveled again to his daughter’s face.

Lord Chatworth stepped forward, as much to shield his wife as to draw the man’s attention. He was furious that the man had even been allowed entrance, but that circumstance would have to be dealt with later. “What brings you here, Cribbage?” he asked coldly.

“Why, what should bring me but the small matter of your vowels? Social invitations are few and far between, are they not?” Cribbage asked.

“You have found me, then. State your business in short order, Cribbage. I have more pleasant ways to occupy my evening than to barter words with the likes of you,” said Lord Chatworth.

Cribbage’s narrowed eyes glittered. “That is undoubtedly true, my lord. Brevity suits my purpose as well. In a few days’ time there will be a Vote coming up in the House pertaining to trade matters. You will cast against it, my lord.”

Babs had turned to listen to her father. She made an inarticulate sound and her eyes flew to her husband’s face.

The Earl of Chatworth stiffened. His face was expressionless except for his eyes. His eyes were cold, hard, and quite brilliant with anger. “Forgive me if I seem more than a little startled. You have caught me unawares. You will, no doubt, understand when I refuse your request,” he said, quite softly.

Cribbage gave a sharp bark of laughter. “You do not disappoint me in the least, my lord. Your pretty arrogance is exactly as I anticipated.”

His veneer of joviality dropped away. There was heavy menace in his voice. “The vote shall be cast as I wish, Chatworth, or I shall publish to the world the appalling nonpayment of your vowels, which you will recall I still hold. I believe that gentlemen of the quality refer to them as debts of honor, do they not? How distressing it would be to watch the blackening of your reputation, my lord.”

Lord Chatworth was tight-lipped. “Get out, Cribbage. Before I have you tossed out.”

“I am all accommodation, my lord,” said Cribbage with weighted irony. His glance touched once more upon his daughter. “As for you, my dearest Barbara, I am glad to see you in such fine looks. That gown ... ‘tis fit for a gentleman’s mistress.’’ With his last barb, he swung on his heel and strode swiftly out.

There was a long uncomfortable silence. Babs felt almost physically ill. She was bitterly aware of an ashlike taste in her mouth. She felt as though she had been trounced and mauled and dirtied by her father’s presence. She could not take her eyes from her husband’s face, which had gone quite still and remote.

The butler entered the sitting room. His expression was one of worried contrition. “My lord? I am most sorry, my lord, for failing to divert the gentleman. The footman is new and I was not at my post.”

The earl seemed to shake himself. As though from a long distance, the barest of smiles briefly visited his face. “I do not blame you, Smithers. Mr. Cribbage is a determined personage, as I well know.”

“Yes, my lord,” Smithers said, relieved. He straightened, regaining his normal equanimity. “Dinner is served, my lady.”

Babs was released from her awful suspension. She moved toward her husband, who still had not moved. “Thank you, Smithers. We shall not be a moment.”

The butler bowed and went out. Babs turned to her husband. She bravely pinned a smile to her lips despite the remoteness of his expression. “Shall we go in, my lord? I do not think that Cook will be happy to hold back serving.’’ Her voice was a little shrill and she swallowed nervously.

Lord Chatworth turned his head. He regarded her with a frowning gaze, very much as though she represented a problem just brought to his attention. His voice was very cool. “You go ahead to dinner, my lady. I shall be along directly. I have a matter to attend to first.”

Babs felt her eyes sting, but pride would not allow her to let him see her distress. “Of course, if that is what you wish, my lord.”

“For the moment, it is what I wish,” said Lord Chatworth. Babs swept a light curtsy and with erect carriage walked away from him. In the dining room she continued to preserve her countenance as she informed the footmen standing ready to serve that his lordship would not be joining her until later. She sat down and quietly indicated her preferences as the first course was served.

Her gaze slowly went about the well-laid table. Branches of burning candles cast a soft yellow glow over the silver serving dishes and gave vibrant life to the fresh-cut flowers arranged in a crystal bowl in the center of the table. Across from her own place was an unused table service and an empty chair.

Almost blindly, Babs looked down at her soup bowl. She had no appetite left, but she picked up her spoon. It would not do to have the servants gossiping because she refused to eat.

Babs forced herself to swallow a portion of each dish that was served her. She hardly knew what she consumed. It did not matter. She could not taste anything over the ashes of her hopes for the evening.

The earl did not join her during the soup, or for the first course of meat pies and the side dishes of vegetables, or for the entree of braised beef and chestnut gravy. Babs plowed through despite her misery, keeping up a smiling front for the benefit of the footmen, who efficiently went about their duties.

It had been going on for some time before the significance penetrated her conscious thoughts, but the countess heard again the closing of the front door and the murmur of voices. Swift footsteps in the hallway trod past the closed door of the dining room, then the sound of another door opening.

Unmistakably, she heard the Earl of Chatworth’s voice. “Ah, here is Hasford at last. You are always among the last, sir.”

There were several male voices raised in easy laughter before the sound was muffled by the closing of the door.

Babs stared at the apricot tart that the footman offered to her. Suddenly she pushed herself away from the table. Her napkin fluttered to the carpet. “I do not wish for anything more, not tonight,” she said. Without waiting to gauge the result of her abrupt behavior, she swiftly left the dining room.

As she crossed the entry hall, there came another burst of laughter from the earl’s private study. Babs lifted her skirts, and with the delicate silk crushed in her hands, she ran quickly up the stairs.

She fled to her bedroom and slammed shut the door. Babs leaned against the hardwood panels, choking back the threatening tears. She heard the door that led to the maid’s closet open and she straightened, wiping quickly at her eyes.

“My lady?”

Babs turned, putting on a credible smile. “There you are at last, Lucy. Come help me. I have learned to detest this gown. It has been an extravagant waste, as you told me at the time that I bought it.” She turned to the vanity as she stripped the jewels from her ears and the pendant from her neck. She looked at the pendant for a moment, then allowed the slender gold chin to slither from her fingers to the dresser.

“
Of course, my lady.’’ The maid looked questioningly at her mistress’s averted face, but she knew better than to pry into what did not concern her. In silence, Lucy undressed her mistress and readied her for bed. She picked up the hairbrush, but at a swift gesture from her mistress she paused. “Yes, my lady?”

“Leave it. I shall not require you again tonight, Lucy,” Babs said coolly. She stared at herself in the mirror, then her eyes rose to meet the maid’s concerned gaze. She forced herself to smile. “I wonder whether my father would appreciate a visit on the morrow. He has not had me to shout at for some time.”

The maid chuckled. “Aye, that is true, my lady.” She turned away to pick up the discarded silk gown. It was sadly crushed, she saw, and she shook her head. She went to the door, pausing only to wish her mistress a good night.

Babs returned the sentiment, but with a somewhat twisted smile. She rose from the vanity to pace the carpet. The semitransparent lace negligee she wore floated about her as she moved restlessly from vanity to bed to bureau and back again. She paused at the vanity and picked up the discarded gold chain. The diamond twisted in the air, flashing points of fire. Babs laid it carefully down.

She still could scarcely believe the disastrous end to the evening. She had dined in state but quite alone, while her husband chose to carouse with his hastily assembled friends rather than be in the same room with her.

It was her father’s fault, of course. Her father was to blame for the entire ludicrous situation, from the fact of her marriage to the state of careful distance that was maintained between herself and the earl.

She had seen glimpses of interest in her husband’s face from time to time when they conversed together or he accompanied her to various functions. She had begun to dare hope that she could win his affection.

But she had been shown quite brutally this evening that she would never stand as an individual in her husband’s eyes. He would always see her as an extension of her father, and of her father’s power over his life. Babs knew for a certainty that the situation would remain thus until her father’s hold over the earl was broken. And she could not think of any other way to destroy that hold than to get her hands on the gaming vowels that were held by her father.

Unaware that his wife was contemplating a most reckless course of action, the Earl of Chatworth was doing some plotting of his own. He had requested the presence of certain acquaintances of his in order to discuss the means of bringing ruin upon his father-in-law. The meeting had been at times raucous, but for all that in deadly earnest.

Lord Chatworth was well-pleased with what had been decided. He knew that he owed a grave debt to these gentlemen that he would not easily be able to repay. “I must humbly proffer my thanks, gentlemen,” he said quietly. “You shall make possible a matter of fine revenge.”

One of the gentlemen waved aside the earl’s gratitude. “By Jove, it would be the same for any one of us caught in such a contretemps. Imagine a tradesman attempting to force a House vote!”

“Give him the vote that he wishes, Marcus. You have our word on it that it will be the disaster that you have outlined for the impudent bastard,” said Simon Hadwicke.

“Aye, he’ll mourn the day that he set up his doxy of a daughter as debt security,” said another gentleman with a laugh.

The earl had been smiling, but at that his expression altered. He said quite coldly, “The lady is my wife, sir.”

There was an astonished and pregnant silence.

Hadwicke made a soundless whistle, and his own astonishment was reflected in Viscount Taredell’s startled and rolling eyes. So that was the way of it. His lordship was well and truly caught at last. Simon straightened in his chair, gesturing expansively with his empty wineglass. “A toast, I say! A toast to his lordship and his lordship’s lovely lady.”

The gentlemen, released from the uncomfortable moment, quickly joined in. The unfortunate comment was passed over and forgotten. But in the morning it would be in all the clubs that the Earl of Chatworth had made it bluntly clear that he would champion his wife’s name.

The notorious rake and libertine had at last succumbed to a ruling love.