The Wild Baron (Baron 1)

“Found out,” he said and kissed her. “Who made you so cynical?”

“I am just a realist.”

“What you are is a ninny,” he said and kissed the tip of her nose.

This was observed from a short distance by Sinjun Kinross, Countess of Ashburnham, who showed no reticence at all. She yelled out, “Rohan! Is this your wife?”

“This, my love,” Rohan said to Susannah, who was staring at the beautiful young lady who was bearing quickly down on them, “is Sinjun Kinross. She is a favorite acquaintance of mine. That gentleman striding after her is Colin Kinross, her husband. I doubt he ever catches her unless she wants him to.” He grinned at Sinjun and released his wife. “Well, little one,” he called out to the very tall young lady, “you’re looking fit as ever. Colin, you still seem to be breathing evenly.”

“I shouldn’t let Sinjun near you,” Colin Kinross said, eyeing Susannah with interest. “But she said that since you’re married, she’s safe from all your amorous advances, not that she can ever recall you even attempting to advance, which disappointed her. She imagined herself ugly and uninteresting. It took me nearly a week to dissolve that silly notion.”

“Susannah,” Sinjun said after a moment, “this can’t be all that easy for you, particularly given Rohan’s reputation. I think that we should march right in this dismal place and take the dragons head on. What do you think of that?”

To Rohan’s delight, Sinjun Kinross took Susannah under her wing and led her about, as if she were a proud mother presenting her little chick.

Lady Sally Jersey, when presented to Susannah, said, “Tell me, my dear, have you yet met your incomparable mother-in-law?”

“Yes, ma’am. I am blessed. Charlotte is the sweetest, kindest, most beautiful woman I have ever known. She has been wonderful to both me and Marianne, our daughter.”

Lady Jersey obviously wasn’t expecting such an enthusiastic review. It somewhat curdled her smile. Charlotte wonderful? Sweet? Well, Charlotte was many things. Perhaps this was simply another side of the incredible woman. “Hmmm. Ah, but what does dear Charlotte think about being a grandmother?”

“She and Marianne—our daughter—are great friends.”

“Just imagine,” Lady Jersey said, “our dear boy a father. And he was just a very young boy when he married you and sired the child.”

“I was a younger girl than he was a young boy, ma’am,” Susannah said, her chin well up. “But I ask you,” Susannah continued, wearing a fat smile now, “who could turn down Rohan? He has a charming, wicked smile. I much enjoy being his wife and always have.”

Lady Drummond Burrell, another patroness at Almack’s, said, “Surely dear Charlotte wouldn’t allow herself to be dubbed a grandmother. She is far too beautiful, too accomplished, too—ah, there are so many things that Charlotte is. But a grandmother? That is difficult to comprehend. Surely she can’t accept it with equanimity.”

“Perhaps it is difficult for any lady to accept yet another generation. It means that we are all growing old, surely a disagreeable thought. Actually, ma’am, Marianne calls her Charlotte. It seems to suit both of them.” Susannah smiled with just a bit of effort at Lady Burrell, a very plain lady who had the tongue of an adder and all the warmth of a lizard and who, for some reason unknown to anyone, had managed to become one of the most powerful Society ladies in London.

“Your story is so very romantic,” Lady Jersey said, sitting forward, her eyes avidly fixed on Susannah’s face. “Here our dear baron was riding ventre a terre to visit you whenever he wasn’t visiting one of his many ladies here in London.”

Lady Burrell said in a clipped voice, “I imagine the dear baron would only ride ventre a terre for a month or so. This marriage has lasted close to five years. Surely his visits weren’t all that regular, particularly after the child was born. Gentlemen do not care for pregnant ladies or for infants.”

Rohan, bless him, seemed to know whenever Susannah was close to falling into a social abyss. He came to stand beside his wife now, saying easily, his charm so palpable that Susannah felt herself glowing, “With Susannah, it was always ventre a terre. It’s odd, but my horse Gulliver loves her as much as I do. I could have slept in the saddle, and he still would have run his hooves off to get to her.”

He smiled that wonderful smile of his at Mrs. Burrell. “Actually, when you meet my daughter, you will want to do nothing more than have her lay her wet little fingers—she sucks her fingers, you know—on your cheek. It is endearing.”

Even Mrs. Burrell smiled, an event, Roland later told Susannah, that should be recorded for posterity, since no one would believe it.

35

THE FOLLOWING MORNING TOBY

CAME INTO THE BREAKFAST room, carrying Susannah’s racing kitten, Gilly.

“Cook was feeding him little bites of roast pork,” Toby said. “I have told her that Gilly is a racing kitten and must be kept lean and tough, but she just laughs and says the little mite would race only if he could see food as a prize.”

“That isn’t a bad idea,” Rohan said, taking the kitten, who wasn’t so much of a kitten anymore. He held the cat up and looked him right in the eye. “Is this true? Will you run only for food?”

Gilly batted Rohan’s nose.

Toby said, “Gilly really should be in training, Susannah. He really should be taking classes with the Harker brothers. They both believe he has potential as a first-rate racer.”

“What do you think, Rohan?”

“I would just as soon return to Mountvale House. We’ve been in London a good two weeks. It grows wearing. We can return to the country for a month or so, give our Gilly all the racing instruction he needs, visit a few cat races, perhaps do some sailing, go on some picnics.”