Joan Smith - The Barefoot Baroness

"Ah, well, he did not want you to set up a rebellion against the scheme," he said, placing her hand on his arm and strolling toward the dining room.

“Why would I do that? I am honored that you are joining us."

Hyatt had expected some persiflage and was momentarily reduced to silence by her polite reply. How did she manage to say all the right things, yet give the impression that she was far from honored? One could not fault her for a lack of politeness. She smiled and conversed intelligently, but when the dinner was over, Hyatt was left with the unusual sensation of having been tolerated, rather than welcomed. He had not made a conscious decision, but somewhere at the bottom of his mind the idea was floating about that he would squire the baroness about for a week or so to get to know her. He always painted the face last, after he knew his model fairly well. These outings would be more enjoyable with a conversable lady along for diversion.

Intrigued, he forged on. "Shall we have our second dance now?" he asked, as they returned to the ballroom.

"You have forgotten the baroness is to go home early, as she has an early rising."

"I have not forgotten. Her aunt or Mr. Meadows can take her home."

"And how am I to get home?" she asked.

"In my carriage, ma'am. We also have an early rising, but as we are not to be captured on canvas, a soupcon of dissipation will not matter."

"It will be better if I accompany Olivia and Mr. Meadows," she said with another polite smile to conceal her mood. She was greatly excited, yet more than a little terrified at Hyatt's persistence. She would no more have gone alone with him in a carriage than she would have gone with a tiger.

He tilted his head to one side and studied her. "Which of us is it you distrust?" he asked bluntly.

She returned his look, then said, with just a touch of asperity, "I have never found Mr. Meadows anything but completely trustworthy, Lord Hyatt."

His smile stretched to a grin, and he said recklessly, "He sounds a dull dog. No wonder you refuse to be his hare. Whenever you feel a need of some… danger in your life, my carriage is at your disposal. A demain." He bowed and left.

Laura escaped, uncertain whether she had just received a setdown or a compliment. The baroness was voluble on the way home, chattering about the wonder of her first 'real' ball, for the do's at home hardly merited the name ball after the present evening's wonders.

"Who was the Guards captain you were standing up with, Livvie?" Mrs. Traemore asked. She had dragged herself out for the ball and spent most of the evening in the card parlor, along with Mrs. Harwood.

"That was Captain Milton. He got a bullet in his shoulder in the Peninsula. The man who moved like a wooden soldier was Sir Edward somebody or other-only he was very old. Thirty or more. Lord Peter Croft told me I had lovely hair, and Mr. Yarrow said-oh, by the by, Laura, he is coming to watch Lord Hyatt do my picture tomorrow. You don't think Lord Hyatt will mind?"

"We were not to tell anyone! Lord Hyatt does not want a crowd!" Laura exclaimed in vexation.

"I only told Mr. Yarrow."

"He is the very one you should not have told. He is a gambler."

"I'll hint him away," Meadows said. He was sunk to riding bobbin in the crowded carriage. "Your cousin is right, Baroness. You don't want Yarrow's rackety set traipsing at your heels. Not the thing. Isn't that right, Mrs. Traemore?"

"Indeed, yes!”

"What is the matter with him? He seemed very nice," Olivia persisted.

"He goes through money like water," Meadows said.

"He would not go through my money. How he spends his own is of no interest to me. I do not plan to marry him after all."

"That is true," Mrs. Traemore said, for she never liked to deny Olivia anything.

"You'll marry from among the set you associate with," Meadows explained, "so it is best to associate with gentlemen who are fit to marry. Only common sense."

"That is true, Livvie," her aunt agreed.

"Mr. Yarrow was the most amusing gentleman I met all evening," Olivia pouted.

"He did seem a lively, good-natured fellow," Mrs. Traemore said at once. "Livvie brought him to the card room. He got me a glass of ratafia. Very gentlemanly of him, was it not?"

Mr. Meadows accompanied the ladies to the door but did not go in. He found a moment to speak to Laura after the others had gone inside.

"I am a little surprised that Mrs. Traemore was not more helpful about young Yarrow," he said, frowning.

"She never denies Olivia anything. We must keep an eye on him, Mr. Meadows. And on Lord Hyatt as well. His conversation is not… is a little… I mean for a young girl," she ended in confusion.

"Perhaps I did the wrong thing to arrange this sitting with Hyatt. I had no idea how it would turn the baroness into an object of curiosity."

"What of Lord Hyatt himself? Can we completely trust him?" she said, and listened closely for Meadows's verdict.

"He would never throw himself at a young deb unless he meant to marry her. For amusement, he prefers more mature ladies." He gave her a knowing look and said, "It is you who must be wary of him, Miss Harwood." Then he laughed, but it was not an easy laugh. He had seen how Hyatt dangled after Miss Harwood and was concerned on her account. She was a regular greenhead. "You must not take his attentions seriously."

"I did not come down in the last rain, Mr. Meadows. I recognize a flirt when I see one. It is Livvie I am concerned about. I would appreciate your help in watching Yarrow."

"Between the two of us, he won't get a sniff of her."

He left, satisfied that his quest of the baroness was proceeding satisfactorily.

The baroness had no trouble arising at six o'clock the next morning for her sitting. Laura was fatigued, and she looked it. They had not got to bed till one o'clock. She was a little annoyed to see that Lord Hyatt showed no sign of dissipation. He had his easel set up when they arrived and had been working on the background since daybreak. Some of the trees and sky were filled in already.

"You must have been here for hours!" she exclaimed when she saw the canvas.

"You weren't supposed to peek once I began applying paint," he scolded.

"At this rate, you will be finished in no time."

"I am a fast worker," he replied, pinning her with a mischievous eye.

She refused to recognize any ambiguity in the speech. "Good! Truth to tell, I find these early mornings a trial after a late night."

"Aha! So you went on to another party last night. I thought as much."

"Indeed we did not. We went straight home.”

"Then why do you speak of a late night?"

"We were not in bed till one o'clock."

"That late," he said, laughing. "Three or four might be considered late-hardly one o'clock."

She looked at him as if he were mad. "I only had five hours' sleep. I feel like a dishrag this morning."

"You most assuredly do not look like one, if that is any consolation. Personally, I don't mind a touch of fatigue in my models. A slight drooping of the eyelids is romantic, if it is done right. And even a little shadow under the eyes."

"You may find those tokens in the baroness. My eyelids are not only drooping, but will be closed as soon as you begin work."

He mixed the pigments for the skin tone and selected a clean brush. "It was my understanding that ladies slept all winter, to be rested for the exertions of the Season."

"We do not quite hibernate at Whitchurch."

"A lively spot, is it? It stands to reason. If it has kept you from London all this time, it must have some peculiar charm."

As it had nothing of the sort, Laura did not pursue this topic. "Did you bring any coffee today?" she asked, looking for the thermos.

"In that hamper." He nodded at it.

"Would you like some?"

He shook his head and watched her as she poured. Hyatt was always looking for a new type of model. He had taken Miss Harwood for the typical older, experienced lady he often painted, but he was beginning to realize he had erred. She was older than a deb, and of course wiser, but he was beginning to doubt her experience. That thin veneer of town bronze faded at times to reveal the naive girl beneath. He soon decided he wanted to paint Miss Harwood and was considering what pose and what expression he would use to suggest that intriguing combination of-what was it? Innocence and something else that he could only call common sense. "No, but I'd like to paint you," he said, and watched for her face to light up in delight.

He seldom said this to a lady. More usually, they were begging for the honor. To his considerable astonishment, Miss Harwood appeared unmoved.

"I have already had my portrait done," she said.

"Lawrence?"

"A Mr. Wiggins, from Whitchurch. He made me look like a Methodist. I have sworn off having my portrait taken, but I thank you for offering, Lord Hyatt. I realize it is a great honor," she added as an afterthought.

Hyatt stood, momentarily stunned into silence. She had declined! Miss Harwood did not want him to paint her picture. He had refused to do the Prince Regent until he was all but threatened with treason, but a Miss Harwood from Whitchurch cavalierly dismissed his offer.

"I would not make you look like a Methodist," he said, when he had recovered from the shock of refusal.

His astonishment brought a very natural smile to her lips. "I know it well! You would, no doubt, transform me into a beauty, but still I must decline your extremely generous offer."

He couldn't make sense of it. "There would not be any charge, if that is what…" He could construe no other possible reason. Perhaps she had heard of the Prince paying him a thousand pounds, but that was really a donation to charity.

"It isn't the money. You are busy and have to work in these extra assignments at the crack of dawn. Much as I appreciate the offer, I cannot envisage rising at six for the remainder of the Season.”

He was about to suggest afternoon sittings, but he recovered his wits in time. He did not have to beg for models after all. Olivia resumed her pose, holding the hem of her skirt up, with her arm poised in the air, and Hyatt began to paint.

Laura sat with Meadows, considering Hyatt's startling offer. Why did he want to paint her? He only painted celebrities-and his mistresses… Lady Devereau was not precisely a celebrity, or had not been one before Hyatt painted her. What would people think if a portrait of Miss Harwood suddenly appeared at his exhibition? Olivia was different-she was to be the Season's star. But an unknown Miss Harwood from Whitchurch? Hyatt obviously had no serious interest in her. She was a passing fancy of the moment. A flirt, in other words. No, it would not do. He might get out of hand, and she knew she could not cope with a Lord Hyatt bent on romantic mischief.

She had observed people gossiping behind Lady Devereau's back at Lady Morgan's ball. Hyatt had hardly spoken to her. If that was the fate of his flirts, she was not eager to join them.

The painting session proceeded without interruption until after eight o'clock, at which time Mr. Yarrow arrived. He was casually outfitted in a belcher kerchief and a waistcoat of a strident canary yellow. The buttons on his jacket were not much smaller than saucers. Hyatt looked up with a scowl but said nothing. Yarrow nodded to Mr. Meadows and Laura but went to stand at Hyatt's elbow.

"A jolly fine picture, Lord Hyatt. But don't you think the baroness's hair is a little too dark?"

"I have not put in the highlights yet."

"And her gown-why is she wearing that old thing? Supposed to be an heiress. I should think a few diamonds-”

"Go away," Hyatt said, through thin lips.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to disturb you." He ambled over to Meadows and Laura. "The baroness invited me," he said.

"Lord Hyatt doesn't like a crowd when he is working," Laura said coolly.

"The baroness told me. I am hardly a crowd. I haven't told a soul." He looked hungrily at the coffee. "Hyatt is a bit of a grouch, ain't he?"

"Perhaps you had best run along, Yarrow," Meadows said.

"I'll just wait and have a word with the baroness. She told me I could come." He strolled off, but when the session was done, he was back, and Olivia seemed troublesomely happy to see him. She joined him at his carriage, while Meadows went to discuss the intrusion with Hyatt.

"I told him to shab off. Seems the baroness invited him," Meadows said.

"Tell her to uninvite him. He's the worst sort of distraction, a clapperjaw."