Joan Smith - The Barefoot Baroness

"We shall want the carriage right away."

They alighted and spent a delightful hour strolling through the shops, buying a few gewgaws, and ogling the ladies' toilettes.

"The ladies are very skimpy dressers," was Hettie's comment. "I expected more elegance. Why, you see prettier bonnets than this at home in St. Ives' Church on Sunday."

Laura was busily examining an arrangement of silk flowers in a shop window, wondering if the primroses might lend an air of style to last year's bonnet, when she felt a touch on her arm, and a man's voice said, "It is Miss Harwood, is it not?"

She looked up, surprised, and recognized Mr. Meadows. She would not have called him an old friend, exactly-more of an old acquaintance. Although he did not live in her parish, he had relatives there and had been attending the assemblies on and off for some years. A respectable bachelor of some fortune and a fairly pleasing countenance, he was not the sort of gentleman to excite a lady to passion. He was tall and rather heavy. His hair was dark, his features regular, but lacking that dash of liveliness that might have won him the term 'handsome.'

"Mr. Meadows, what a pleasant surprise.”

"Are you in London for the Season?" he asked.

"Yes, with my cousin." She introduced the others, and they stood chatting while the crowds strolled by.

If she had met Mr. Meadows on the street of Whitchurch, they would not have exchanged more than three phrases. Having met in London, however, made them feel closer. Mr. Meadows asked if he could buy the ladies a cup of coffee.

Hettie expressed keen interest in a cup of tea, and before more was said, he had whisked them into a tea shop.

"Where are you staying?" Mr. Meadows asked, and was told.

"I hope you will call on us, if you have a moment free, Mr. Meadows," Laura said. "We do not have many friends in London yet."

"Is Baron Pilmore in town?" he asked Olivia, and had confirmed what he already suspected. The baroness was a deb. "Where are you from?" he asked with growing interest.

"I am from Cornwall," she replied.

"You have had a long trip!" he said, smiling equally at Olivia and her chaperone.

"We could never have done it without the berlin," Hettie told him. "It is an old carriage. It causes a bit of bother on the highways, but it gives a wonderful ride."

A little smile of surprise lit up his face. "A berlin, you say? I believe I… saw it myself. A green, rounded roof?" His eyes met Laura's; she blushed.

"Mrs. Traemore plans to buy a town carriage," she said.

"And I want to buy a mount," Olivia added, looking significantly at Laura.

Laura caught her meaning at once. As Mr. Meadows was being uncommonly friendly, she said, "Perhaps you could advise us, Mr. Meadows. We are four ladies without the benefit of a man in our household."

There is nothing more likely to flatter a gentleman than to be appealed to for advice on horses and carriages. Mr. Meadows knew of half a dozen excellent rigs and mounts that were on the block. The ladies spent the next half hour outlining their needs. Olivia wanted a lively goer for herself, and it was soon made clear that money was no object in the purchase of the carriage. The only stricture was that it must have a good, firm backing for Mrs. Traemore. After two cups of tea, he escorted them to their carriage, promising to devote his afternoon to securing what they wanted and to call on them that same evening to report.

"He seemed very gentlemanly," Hettie said. "I am so thankful that you came with us, Laura, for Livvie and I would have had no notion how to set about finding a carriage and horse."

They returned home for lunch, with Laura in high aroma. She was grateful that Mr. Meadows had come to her rescue, but one gentleman hardly constituted the necessary circle of friends for a successful debut. When she discussed the matter with her mother, they decided that as they were staying at such a fine house, they might screw themselves up to dropping Mrs. Aubrey a note. She was Mr. Meadows's aunt, the relative he visited at Whitchurch. She was toplofty and domineering, but she might open a few doors.

Before the note could be written, Collins came to the door and announced, "Mrs. Aubrey, to see Mrs. Harwood."

In Whitchurch, Mrs. Aubrey only called at Oakdene when an election was in the offing. She was considered very much a grande dame. Her sister was married to Lord Perry; she herself had nabbed a member of Parliament and lived in a fine mansion. In the larger pond of London, she was a much smaller frog, but any ally was welcome. As she had bounced her only daughter off the year before, she would be au courant with the necessary steps to launching a deb. In appearance she was a tall, hatchet-faced lady who turned out stylishly on the slender allowance she had to work with.

She came sailing in, showing no trace of her usual haughtiness, but all covered in smiles and eagerness. Even while she greeted the Harwoods, her eyes skimmed across the room to assess the baroness. This was the reason she was here. She meant for her nephew to nab the Season's prime heiress, and it would be helpful to know what plans the Harwoods had for the baroness. Mrs. Aubrey was a little disappointed to see that the girl, while no tearing beauty, was by no means an antidote. There would be stiff competition. Her being practically a giant was no problem; Robert was tall as a tree himself.

"I came running the instant Robert told me he had met you, Miss Harwood," she said, simpering at Laura. "I know your calendar will soon be full, and I must get you all for dinner one evening before you are booked up. Say, tomorrow?"

The baroness and Hettie looked to Laura for guidance.

Laura said, "As we just arrived yesterday evening, we are not very busy yet. That will be lovely, Mrs. Aubrey." She went on at once to add, "We have just been discussing our toilettes. Perhaps you can suggest the best modiste?"

"They are all so busy this time of year, but I shall ask my woman to look after you. Madame Dupuis-the French do have a certain style, do they not?"

"Oh, indeed," Laura agreed, and mentioned Madame LaRue from Andover.

Mrs. Aubrey complimented the baroness on Lord Montford's house, on her bravery in coming all the way from Cornwall, and on anything else she could lay her tongue to. Tea was served, and while they partook of it, Laura dropped a few hints to discover what amusements the Season had to offer.

"Of course the only subject on anyone's lips this year is Lord Hyatt," Mrs. Aubrey said.

This dasher's fame had spread as far as Wiltshire, though not quite to Cornwall. It was Laura who recognized the name. "The artist? I saw a copy of his painting of Lady Emily Cowper in Whitchurch. It was very lifelike."

"Lady Emily is excessively pleased with it. Hyatt has made her look beautiful," she said, with a disparaging lift of her brow. "Oh, yes, he is an excellent artist. He has an exhibition at Somerset House at the moment. Such a squeeze! Every lady in town is vying to have him paint her."

She guarded her lips with her raised fingers to indicate she was about to relay a choice bit of gossip and added, "Mind you, I would not let my daughter within a city block of the fellow. Rackety! He flaunts his mistress in public. Her portrait is the star of the show. Lady Devereau, a baronet's widow. Fast as greased lightning, they say, but she is accepted everywhere since she nabbed Hyatt. She is monstrously pretty, to judge by her picture."

"I daresay we can go to see his pictures without sinking ourselves," Mrs. Harwood said uncertainly.

"You mustn't miss the exhibition. You will meet everyone there. I have seen it, but Robert mentioned he planned to attend. I shall tell him you are interested." She looked sharply to see if any other gentleman's name arose as their escort. Incredibly, it seemed Robert had got in before anyone else in town. This was doubly remarkable in that, in the general way, Robert was as slow as a snail, and in her own opinion, about as attractive.

Before she left, she had taken the ladies under her wing for the entire next day. She would bring Madame Dupuis to them in the morning; Robert would take them to the exhibition in the afternoon, and in the evening, they would dine at her table. She left, flushed with success, to boast to her friends that she was giving her neighbors a hand in launching Baroness Pilmore-a great heiress. Forty thousand, along with an estate and a tin mine in Cornwall.

That evening, Mr. Meadows came to report on his search for a carriage and a mount for Olivia and to assure them that he would be delighted to escort them to Somerset House the next afternoon. All this was wildly exciting for the baroness, who usually spent her days riding and her evenings playing Pope Joan with the servants.

"Until we get you outfitted with a rattler and prads," he said, "we shall use my carriage." His eyes met Laura's, and again she saw that glimmer of a smile.

They had a moment's privacy while Olivia helped Mrs. Harwood arrange Hettie's recliner to the latter's satisfaction. Mr. Meadows inclined his head to Laura and said, "Am I correct in thinking the baroness's berlin is the rig that clogged traffic for ten miles east of London yesterday?"

"Absolutely correct, Mr. Meadows. The sooner you can find a suitable city carriage, the better."

"There is a cartoon in one of the shop windows. The berlin has been christened the Turtle. The whole town is curious to learn who owns it. Your baroness will certainly be the Season's Original."

His approving tone told Laura that this was acclamation of a high order, and she took it in the proper spirit. "Sunk before we begin," she laughed.

"On the contrary. I have had half a dozen fellows clamoring for an introduction when I mentioned that I had met the baroness. Her being unknown has raised curiosity to a high level. Will you all be attending Lady Morgan's ball this weekend? It is the first large do of the Season."

Laura frowned, as though uncertain whether that particular card had arrived. "I am not sure…”

"Do come," he urged.

"Actually, I am not certain that the baroness has met Lady Morgan, and I know that I have not.”

"Auntie will arrange it."

Hettie's recliner was arranged to her satisfaction, and the conversation continued along general lines for twenty minutes, at which time Mr. Meadows took his leave.

"We had best hit the tick, as we will be trotting all day tomorrow," Hettie said. "I wonder now, with Mr. Meadows along, do you think I need go to see the pictures with you, Laura?"

"Not if you would be more comfortable at home, ma'am," Laura said.

"I shall go to Mrs. Aubrey's dinner, but for the rest of it-I am sure we may depend on Mr. Meadows to look after you at that exhibition. He will not let Lord Hyatt get at Livvie."

Like Laura, Mr. Meadows had risen to the eminence of a deity. When Laura lay in her grand canopied bed that night, she could hardly believe that everything was working out so well-and it was all Mr. Meadows's doing. He improved on closer acquaintance. She detected a little humor in him. Although she had come to town with no thought of attaching a gentleman herself, it now seemed possible that Mr. Meadows might provide her a flirt at least. She slept like a baby, then awoke to another day of excitement.

Madame Dupuis was a tyrant. Olivia, while biddable, was by no means without a mind of her own. In her view, unfortunately, elegance was synonymous with clutter. She objected to having lace, spangles, ribbons, and buttons removed from her gowns.

"You do not require both flowers and lace at the bodice, ma chere," Madame Dupuis pointed out. "They would hide your necklace."

"My diamond necklace is quite large," Olivia said, frowning. "Very well, then, take off the lace."

"Oh, but flowers and diamonds-they would clash," Laura said, looking hopelessly at the modiste, who agreed wholeheartedly. "Keep the lace, and remove the silk flowers."

Seeing that her mentor was in league with Madame Dupuis, Olivia reluctantly subsided into acceptance. She had noticed that ladies in London had no notion of style and did not want to stand too high above them.

Before leaving, Madame Dupuis took a look at the coiffures of both ladies and recommended Monsieur LaPierre, who was a wizard with hair. It was arranged that he would come to them the next morning.

"I expect curls are not the style in London," Olivia sulked. "Monsieur LaPierre will shear us like a pair of lambs."

"I am sure he will not. You don't want to look strikingly different from the other ladies, Livvie," Laura said. "It will be taken as vulgar, seeking after attention."