The Baron and the Bluestocking Read online

  Lady Virginia laughed. “How you two do squabble! Now let us be gone or we will miss the fashionable hour.”

  *~*~*

  Christian had been correct in assuming that every buck and fribble would notice his companions in the landau. He was not entirely sanguine about it, either. Miss Whitcombe-Hodge was far too beautiful, and he was aware that he was lending her consequence. Seeing her with him, gentlemen could not be warned of her lowly estate.

  Beau Lavenham was particularly struck. “My dear Shrewsbury. You have the two most beautiful ladies in the park as companions! It will not do!” He spoke from the high seat on his phaeton. “Come, Miss Whitcombe-Hodge, you must join me! Have you ever ridden in a high perch phaeton? It is all the crack!”

  To his surprise, the schoolteacher appeared taken in by his attentions.

  “Oh, it looks terribly dangerous,” she said. “But fun for all that. However, I must not desert my friends. I am here to lend them propriety.”

  The beau laughed. “Like a swan lends propriety to a goose!”

  When they had left Miss Whitcombe-Hodge at her aunt’s house, Christian voiced his concerns to Lady Virginia.

  “Do you suppose we are lending her too much consequence with our friendship?”

  “Where are your Whig principles, Lord Shrewsbury? Why, I do believe you are a snob. My brother is journeying up from Dorset to stay with Mama and me for a time, and we are agreed that most likely William will take to her. He is a baron, as well.” She twirled her parasol, and raised her left eyebrow. “I see no objection. Her mother was of noble birth, her father a gentleman. Her lowly financial station is none of her fault. As for her employment, a schoolteacher is one of the few jobs countenanced for a woman of gentle birth.”

  Christian was silenced. She was attempting to shame him, he knew, but it did not work. French noble blood counted for little these days. And her father had either been a spendthrift or a very poor second, third, or even fourth son of some unknown family. In fact, ever since he had met Miss Whitcombe-Hodge, he had harbored ill feelings toward a father who would sire eight children and leave them entirely unprovided for—literally starving. That was not the way of a gentleman.

  As for Christian’s Whig conscience, he did not know whence it had disappeared where Miss Whitcombe-Hodge was concerned. It seemed to have gone into hiding during their first conversation when he realized that a woman such as she was not for him. Almost everything about her had been off-putting. Almost everything.

  His thoughts darted away from that first meeting. Lady Virginia has a brother. A baron. And she desired that he court her new friend. The man must be warned, surely. Miss Whitcombe-Hodge in her new finery was deceptively appealing. Yes. He would have to have a talk with the baron.

  *~*~*

  With this design in mind, Shrewsbury called at Rose House the following morning before luncheon. Lady Virginia received him in the butter-colored saloon that she favored for morning callers.

  “Oh, splendid, my lord! You are just in time to meet William before he goes off to White’s for luncheon.”

  A very tall, very fit man in a lapis blue topcoat with black velvet lapels unfolded himself from the sofa where he had been reading the Times. He had blue-black hair combed straight back, tied with a ribbon. His brows thick and straight, he had the look of a Romantic hero—squared-jawed and blue-eyed.

  Shrewsbury took him in instant dislike. Nevertheless he held out his hand. “Christian Elliot, Baron Shrewsbury.”

  The man shook it, saying, “William Mowbray, Baron Delacroix. I’ve been hearing your praises sung all morning.”

  Thinking of Lady Virginia doing such a thing made him deuced uncomfortable. “If you’d care to enter the portals of Brook’s, I’ll stand you lunch, Delacroix.”

  “Yes, Ginny did say you were a Whig. But I’ve heard Brook’s food is a sight better than White’s. I would be pleased to accept your invitation. It is time we got to know one another, you and I.”

  Christian’s discomfort increased. He did not care for the inference that he was ready to offer for Lady Virginia. Is that what she thought? He’d thought her a comfortable enough companion. But ideas of marriage were certainly a long distance off.

  Taking careless leave of his sister, Delacroix put a hand on Christian’s shoulder and piloted him out of the room. The baron’s feelings were so muddled he entirely forgot to take leave of the lady.

  *~*~*

  Before they had spoken very long over a before-luncheon bottle of claret, Christian decided that his initial impression of the Baron Delacroix had perhaps been faulty.

  “How long have you been a member of the Four-in-Hand club?” he asked the baron.

  “About six years, I think. It is a grand lark. Would you like me to put your name up?”

  Christian said, “No, but thanks for the offer. I have more in hand than I can deal with at the moment.”

  “Oh? What are your interests?”

  He related the details of the girls’ school and orphanage. “Also when Parliament sits again, I will be taking my seat.”

  “And then there is the time you spend courting my sister,” the man said with a smile. “She quite dotes on you, you realize.”

  “We are just friends, for the present,” Shrewsbury said.

  Their waiter arrived and they ordered luncheon. Delacroix inquired knowledgeably about wines and decided upon what he wanted. He lazed back in his chair and regarded Shrewsbury. “So old Ginny has jumped the gun, eh? Or are you playing with her affections?”

  “Nothing of the sort. We were introduced by my mother. We have been together a handful of times at various functions, and I have taken her riding in the park. Once with a mutual friend. Hardly the stuff to encourage her to think of marriage.” Shrewsbury kept his manner off-hand. “We are just getting to know one another, however, so I wouldn’t rule it out entirely. She is a comfortable woman.”

  “She told me you are still getting over a sad affair.”

  He stiffened. “Yes. That, no doubt, is the reason for my holding all women at a distance at the moment.”

  Delacroix leaned forward. “She has spoken to me of a Miss Whitcombe-Hodge. A beauty, she says. Thought I might like an introduction.”

  Shrewsbury drew a deep breath. Why are my thoughts so jumbled when it comes to the lady?

  “She will only be in Town a few days more. The lady is a schoolteacher in the orphanage I spoke to you of.”

  “Yes, Ginny told me all of that. Do I detect a measure of reserve in your manner?”

  Their luncheon was served, and Shrewsbury took advantage of the interruption to question himself. If the man knew of her circumstances, who was Christian to put a spoke in her wheel? But he now felt protective toward his schoolteacher. Undoubtedly she would be as straw to the flame of this man’s charms.

  “I doubt she would suit you. She is a woman of radical feminist persuasion. Her opinion of men is decidedly low.”

  “If you’ll pardon my saying so, you sound dog-in-the-mangerish.”

  Christian squirmed inside and drummed his fingers on the table. “Not at all. I just mean to warn you that she is not used to ton society and does not wish to become so. I find her a difficult woman.”

  “Ah, I like a challenge,” the man said with a decidedly wolfish grin. “Ginny says she is uncommonly beautiful.”

  “As to that, you must make up your own mind. She is certainly out of the common way. But, as usual with women, her looks do not tell the whole story.”

  “You confuse me, Shrewsbury. Are you enamored of the woman or are you repelled by her?”

  Squirming, he took a sip of claret. “I really do not know,” he said. It was the most honest statement he had made the entire afternoon.

  *~*~*

  Find her a difficult woman, he might, but it seemed he was destined to be frequently in Miss Whitcombe-Hodge’s company. Lady Clarice had invited him to dinner that night, along with the Ruisdells. The duchess was her niece, and they sha
red several charitable interests. Of course, the schoolteacher was there, as she was a house guest of Lady Clarice.

  While conversing in the drawing room prior to dinner, Shrewsbury singled her out and asked, “Has the Baron Delacroix managed an introduction to you as yet?”

  “The Baron Delacroix?” She was fabulously turned out in a silver silk tissue evening gown that displayed more of her charms than Christian was comfortable seeing.

  “Brother to Lady Virginia. He has just come up from Dorset to visit. He intends to make your acquaintance.”

  “Then he undoubtedly will,” she said, raising an eyebrow in an unspoken question: Why was he interested?

  “He is handsome as sin, so you will have to take him down a peg or two. I imagine he is well used to having his way with the ladies.”

  She raised her chin and gave him a smile. “You intrigue me, my lord. Are you setting me a challenge?”

  “You could look at it that way.”

  The duchess strolled up to the pair of them. “My dearest Hélène. You look magnificent in that dress. It never suited me so well.”

  Shrewsbury raised the duchess’s hand and kissed the knuckles. His companion sketched a curtsey. “Your grace,” she said.

  “Oh, fustian! How many times have I told you to call me Elise? And no curtseys.”

  The duchess turned to Shrewsbury. “And how does your courtship of Lady Virginia progress?”

  He forced a laugh. “You have got the wrong bit between your teeth, your grace. I am not, in fact, courting Lady Virginia.”

  “Well, someone needs to inform her ladyship of that fact. She is waiting to name the day.”

  For the second time that day, Shrewsbury found himself irritated by this assumption. “I am nowhere near to declaring myself, for your information. She is a comfortable woman, that is all.”

  Miss Whitcombe-Hodge laughed, and to his ears, it sounded a bit shrill. “I was under the impression that someone such as that is precisely what you are looking for in a wife.”

  “Oh?” The syllable came out sharply. “And why is that?”

  To his surprise, she blushed. “I am a keen observer. Remember women have a sixth sense.”

  “Well, yours is not working properly,” he said. He was aware that the duchess was looking from each to the other in interest.

  At that moment, the dinner gong rang. But he was not to be released from his discomfort. Miss Whitcombe-Hodge was his dinner partner.

  Casting about for some neutral topic of conversation, Christian asked, “Do you play the piano forte?”

  “What an unexpected question!” She laughed and somehow, he felt the laughter was at him and not the question itself.

  Confound her! She knew how uncomfortable she was making him.

  “Of course I do. No aspect of my education was neglected by my parents. I read both Greek and Latin, as well. And all my brothers were forced to learn piano. My mother was very proficient.”

  “You know, we are to have a recital at the school in the next couple of weeks. The patrons will be there. Miss Flynn is to play, as well as the duchess. Would you like to be included in the program?”

  She bit her lower lip. “I have not played in some time. But I suppose I have plenty of leisure to practice. It would be a good thing for the girls to see me play something. Any specific requests?”

  “The duchess is to play a something by Bach.”

  “Oh! I adore Bach. He makes such sense out of the vicissitudes of life. I shall pick up some sheet music while I am here in town to help me brush up.”

  He turned to speak to the duchess on his other side. Later, when the gentlemen joined the ladies in Lady Clarice’s drawing room, they were paid a visit by Henry Five, Lady Susannah’s tortoise. The schoolteacher was entranced by him.

  “Oh, I wish my students could see him! What a magnificent creature he is!”

  “He travels well in his basket, strapped to the top of the coach,” Lady Clarice said. “Perhaps I will bring him down one day when I am making a quick trip.”

  Her childlike enchantment left Shrewsbury in charity with Hélène Whitcombe-Hodge at the end of the evening. When he looked at her she seemed framed in an aura of child-like enjoyment, a naïve young woman, no longer a hard-edged Feminist.

  { 10 }

  ON THE MORNING of her third day in London, Hélène received a visit from Lady Virginia and her brother, the Baron Delacroix. Strictly speaking, he was even more handsome than Lord Shrewsbury. But whereas Lord Shrewsbury’s looks had warmth, this baron’s looks were dark and a bit forbidding.

  “Oh, Hélène, I am in transports of happiness!” Ginny declared. “My brother has offered to take you, me, and Mama to Vauxhall Gardens this evening! You will love it above all things!”

  Hélène was a bit dubious about that. “The pleasure gardens on the river?”

  “Yes! You’ve heard of Vauxhall, then?”

  “What does one do there?” she asked.

  Lord Delacroix answered in a deep voice. “I think you would find it pleasant. I have hired a box. We will dine and have a stroll through the gardens. Then there is dancing. And at midnight, a display of fireworks.”

  Dancing! She had never thought to go dancing, though her ever optimistic mother had taught all her sons and daughters how to dance.

  “It does sound enjoyable. What does one wear?”

  “An evening gown,” Ginny answered. “But you must also take a cloak. It can become chilly at night along the water. Particularly this time of year.”

  *~*~*

  In the afternoon, the duchess came calling and invited Hélène to make some calls with her. “I think it is past time that you met Lady Shrewsbury, the baron’s mother. She will have heard a lot about you from her son.”

  “Do you think so?” For some reason the idea of meeting the man’s mama made her quake. No doubt the woman shared her son’s view that she was a troublesome bit of baggage.

  “Definitely.”

  They first made calls on two of the women who helped the duchess in the soup kitchen, and talked mainly of scheduling matters. When the Season was over, it became harder to find volunteers.

  Finally they approached Lady Shrewsbury’s home. “Does the baron live with her?”

  “No. He rents a separate establishment when he is in town. This is the home he inherited with the estate, but he is of the opinion that he and his mother remain better friends when they do not live on top of one another. It must be a sound philosophy, for they get along famously.”

  The duchess was right. Lady Shrewsbury was delighted to meet Hélène.

  “Oh, my dear girl, you have discomfited my son no end. It is so good for him!”

  Hélène took a seat in the French-styled parlor with its delicate gilt furniture. “I agree that I have made him uncomfortable, my lady. He and I disagree on many subjects.”

  “He thinks he knows best about everything, but sometimes he misses what is right under his nose, apparently. I have had hopes of him lately, but he is uncommonly slow.”

  Hélène saw the duchess exchange a knowing glance with the baroness, and knew she was speaking of Lady Virginia. Looking down at her lap, Hélène intertwined her fingers.

  “I understand,” continued the baroness, “that you are making a very great success of your teaching.”

  “I hope so. I think it is my true vocation,” Hélène said. “I have never been to London before, and am thankful that Lady Clarice has brought me, but I am anxious about my pupils in my absence. We were just beginning to establish a rapport.”

  “Tell me about your family, dear,” the baroness invited.

  She was in the middle of complying with the baroness’s request when the doors to the French parlor flew open and Baron Shrewsbury entered. Startled, he surveyed the company.

  “Pardon me, Mama. I let myself in the front door. Did not even see Sims, so I was not aware you had visitors.”

  “You are pardoned, son. Please join us. Miss Whitcombe-Hodge
was just telling me what a happy childhood she had in the vicarage. It made me wish yet again that you had not been an only child.”

  Shrewsbury sat down. After greeting both guests, he said, “Excuse me, Miss Whitcombe-Hodge. Pray continue.”

  Hélène knew the baron thought her childhood had been grim, and welcomed this opportunity. “My papa was a great scholar. He took a first in Classics at Oxford. And he was a gifted teacher. With eight of us, it was rather like he was holding tutorials. We read and discussed Homer, Aeschylus, Euripides, Plato, Socrates, and Aristotle. He made it like a game when we were little, and then, when we were older, he set up contests between the girls and the boys.” She looked at Shrewsbury and grinned. “Of course, the girls always won, being of a superior intellect.”

  “Of course,” he said, his voice resigned.

  “What did you read at Oxford, Lord Shrewsbury?” she asked.

  “Modern Philosophy—the Enlightenment, principally.”

  “Oh! I should so like to go there and study such a subject. But, of course, I know the real reason there are not any women at Oxford . . .”

  “I suppose you think they would outshine the men.”

  “I do!”

  “My dear,” interjected the baroness, “most of us have not had the advantage of your education. I fear I would do abysmally at Oxford.”

  “What do you enjoy, my lady?” Hélène asked

  “Reading novels, I am sorry to say.”

  “That is nothing to feel sorry about. You must know that the duchess, who is staying very mum, is one of your son’s favorite authors!”

  The four of them discussed modern literature in a lively manner. Hélène completely forgot her place and interjected her strong opinions readily. No one objected, however. Not even Lord Shrewsbury.

  Ultimately, however, it was time to take their leave. The baron walked the duchess and Hélène to the door.

  “And what wild form of entertainment are you to indulge yourself in tonight, Miss Whitcombe-Hodge?” he asked.

  “I am to go to Vauxhall Gardens,” she answered.

  “Oh!” He sounded taken aback. “And who is to accompany you?”

  “Lord Delacroix is taking his sister and mother and me. I am looking forward to the dancing. I have never danced with anyone but my brothers in the vicarage parlor with the rugs rolled back.”