slender forefinger about the edge of her wineglass. It was a legitimate question and one that caused her a moment of fleeting embarrassment. The truth of the matter was that she had been piqued by the earl’s lack of interest in her, but she did not want to admit that to him. She said only, “You did not appear eager to inquire into my antecedents, my lord.”
Lord Chatworth barked a short laugh.”No, I suppose that I did not.” He tossed off the wine and set the empty glass on the mantel, then seated himself in the chair opposite her. “I owe you an apology, my lady.”
Babs looked over at him in some surprise. “In what way, my lord? You have done nothing.”
“I have been remiss in my observations in more ways than I thought possible. I should have guessed from the first meeting that you did not spring whole-cloth from the trades. There was an indefinable air in your bearing and your determination that owed itself to good breeding. I have treated you badly, my lady. I have never interested myself in your background. I would like to make amends for that now, if I may,” said Lord Chatworth.
Babs was silent for several moments, digesting his remarks. She was not at all sure that she liked his abrupt turnaround. She had no experience to judge by and only her own intuitive sense of preservation to guide her, but she rather thought that the earl’s curiosity was more than idle. “I am my father’s daughter, my lord. But I owe my sensibilities and my education first to my mother, Amanda Harrowby Cribbage, and after her death, to her sister, Lady Azaela Terowne. Is that what you wished to know, my lord?”
“Then you were not raised in your father’s house?” asked Lord Chatworth.
Her fingers tightened about the wineglass. Now she knew exactly what he wanted from her. His lordship was fishing for reassurance that her well-bred appearance was genuine and not merely a thin veneer that would crack under the rigors of her duties as the Countess of Chatworth. In a carefully neutral voice, Babs said, “I was ten when I went to live with my aunt, my lord. I suppose that may be seen as fortuitous, since otherwise I would not have had the benefit of Lady Azaela’s mentoring.”
Lord Chatworth’s keen eyes did not miss the telltale whitening of her fingertips on her wineglass. He suspected that there was something concerning her early childhood that she preferred not to openly discuss with him. He did not begrudge her that, he thought. Any child exposed to Cribbage’s harsh personality must have acquired some sort of resentments, and her mother had died too soon. Perhaps that was the crux of the matter: the poor woman had been driven to her grave by an overbearing vulgar husband, and the sensitive child had naturally blamed her father for it. “I am persuaded that Lady Azaela took you properly in hand,” he said.
Babs relaxed at his banal observation, reassured that he did not mean to press her further. “Indeed, my aunt could be quite a taskmaster.” A reminiscent smile played about her mouth.
A thought occurred to her and she looked quickly at the earl, who was watching her with a lazy interest in his eyes. “My lord, that brings me to a question that I have wondered about. Ours is a marriage of convenience, and so the traditional roles cannot be taken for granted by me. Exactly what are to be my duties as the Countess of Chatworth? Am I to be complete mistress of this establishment, or shall you wish that I defer to you in every domestic detail, such as the servants’ squabblings or the ordering of the kitchen?”
“Good God, no,” said Lord Chatworth, taken aback. He was appalled by the very suggestion that he interest himself in the running of the household. “You have free rein, of course. There is Mrs. Sparrow, the housekeeper, to assist you, and Smithers, of course. With their guidance into my habits and particular likes and dislikes, I am certain that you will make a splendid job of it.” He
Lord Chatworth barked a short laugh.”No, I suppose that I did not.” He tossed off the wine and set the empty glass on the mantel, then seated himself in the chair opposite her. “I owe you an apology, my lady.”
Babs looked over at him in some surprise. “In what way, my lord? You have done nothing.”
“I have been remiss in my observations in more ways than I thought possible. I should have guessed from the first meeting that you did not spring whole-cloth from the trades. There was an indefinable air in your bearing and your determination that owed itself to good breeding. I have treated you badly, my lady. I have never interested myself in your background. I would like to make amends for that now, if I may,” said Lord Chatworth.
Babs was silent for several moments, digesting his remarks. She was not at all sure that she liked his abrupt turnaround. She had no experience to judge by and only her own intuitive sense of preservation to guide her, but she rather thought that the earl’s curiosity was more than idle. “I am my father’s daughter, my lord. But I owe my sensibilities and my education first to my mother, Amanda Harrowby Cribbage, and after her death, to her sister, Lady Azaela Terowne. Is that what you wished to know, my lord?”
“Then you were not raised in your father’s house?” asked Lord Chatworth.
Her fingers tightened about the wineglass. Now she knew exactly what he wanted from her. His lordship was fishing for reassurance that her well-bred appearance was genuine and not merely a thin veneer that would crack under the rigors of her duties as the Countess of Chatworth. In a carefully neutral voice, Babs said, “I was ten when I went to live with my aunt, my lord. I suppose that may be seen as fortuitous, since otherwise I would not have had the benefit of Lady Azaela’s mentoring.”
Lord Chatworth’s keen eyes did not miss the telltale whitening of her fingertips on her wineglass. He suspected that there was something concerning her early childhood that she preferred not to openly discuss with him. He did not begrudge her that, he thought. Any child exposed to Cribbage’s harsh personality must have acquired some sort of resentments, and her mother had died too soon. Perhaps that was the crux of the matter: the poor woman had been driven to her grave by an overbearing vulgar husband, and the sensitive child had naturally blamed her father for it. “I am persuaded that Lady Azaela took you properly in hand,” he said.
Babs relaxed at his banal observation, reassured that he did not mean to press her further. “Indeed, my aunt could be quite a taskmaster.” A reminiscent smile played about her mouth.
A thought occurred to her and she looked quickly at the earl, who was watching her with a lazy interest in his eyes. “My lord, that brings me to a question that I have wondered about. Ours is a marriage of convenience, and so the traditional roles cannot be taken for granted by me. Exactly what are to be my duties as the Countess of Chatworth? Am I to be complete mistress of this establishment, or shall you wish that I defer to you in every domestic detail, such as the servants’ squabblings or the ordering of the kitchen?”
“Good God, no,” said Lord Chatworth, taken aback. He was appalled by the very suggestion that he interest himself in the running of the household. “You have free rein, of course. There is Mrs. Sparrow, the housekeeper, to assist you, and Smithers, of course. With their guidance into my habits and particular likes and dislikes, I am certain that you will make a splendid job of it.” He
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