The Wild Baron (Baron 1)

“That is absurd!”

“That makes no sense at all!”

“You continue with your god-awful jests, my boy!”

Rohan spread his hands in front of him. He actually looked embarrassed, he was a bit flushed with chagrin. “Well, actually, let me be totally honest here. You deserve it. You see, I was trying to bring my mother around to accepting her,” the baron said. “My dear mother didn’t want me to marry so young, and indeed, I was the greenest young man when I met and married Susannah. But you see, I fell violently in love with her. I knew I could not take her for a mistress. She is a lady. On the other hand, dear ladies, I didn’t want to break my parents’ hearts. They wanted me so much to become a sensualist that Society could admire and they knew that it would require years of continual practice and refining of skills. Also, I didn’t want to make my father believe that I had no control over my, er, ‘lustful young man’ instincts. My father, as you know, believed that a man should be controlled so that he could always give of his best to the ladies.”

“That is true about your dear parents, baron,” Mrs. Goodgame said, “but you married this chit? When you were only twenty-one years old? It makes no sense.”

“And not tell your parents?” Mrs. Hackles said, an impossibly thick eyebrow inching up. “Surely they would come about if indeed you were married to the girl. You say she’s a lady? Just look at her—that loose gown, those cosmetics on her face.”

“That is my mother’s gown and my mother also applied the cosmetics to hide the bruises.”

“Well, it is a different matter when dear Charlotte wears a gown like that. She would look like an angel in that gown, not a loose chit like this girl looks.”

Susannah could only stare at Lady Dauntry. She wanted to scream at all of them that she was a lady, that her poor gambling father was half Irish but her mother had been a knight’s daughter who was unceremoniously drummed out of the family when she’d married beneath herself. She knew if she opened her mouth, she would yell and then she would be sick. But what to do? What was Rohan doing, claiming that he was married to her? Perhaps she had heard him wrong. Perhaps this was all a game to him.

He leaned closer to the three ladies, who were regarding him as if he had just escaped from Bedlam.

“You all have my best interests at heart, I can see that. You want to protect me. But it isn’t a matter of protection. Perhaps you can help me convince my dear mother that I love my wife and my daughter and it is time for me to bring them out of the cellar, so to speak.

“It was I who made up th

is tale about Susannah’s being married to George. Just look at that pathetic little face of hers, ladies. Even without cosmetics covering the bruises, she would look on the pathetic side. I ask you, could that face launch even one ship? No, not even a raft—that is what you’re thinking. But she is sweet and she is the mother of my child. She is my responsibility. I cannot very well kick her out.

“Yes, ladies, if my mother still doesn’t wish to accept Susannah, may I count on you to assist me to make my dearest Susannah accepted?”

Lady Dauntry was in the biggest quandary of her life. Her tongue was all sharpened, but what was she to fillet?

Mrs. Hackles readily agreed that the girl looked pathetic. What else could she say?

Mrs. Goodgame sighed, her heart touched despite herself. It was an affecting story. Rohan Carrington had disappointed all of them, truth be told, but he had married this girl and she had borne him a child. What to do? She sighed again. She saw clearly that her dear friend Lady Dauntry, their undisputed leader, was looking as if she’d been shot in both feet. She would deal with this, then. She said, “Almeria, Elsa, listen to me. We cannot let our dear boy down. If need be, we must help dear Charlotte understand that she simply must accept this girl here. But, my dear boy, a question. Why did you create this fiction involving George?”

“So I could bring Susannah here to my home. So I could prepare Mother for the treat. Marianne is her granddaughter. I could not bear to keep denying her the flesh of her flesh.”

“This would not necessarily be a treat, my lord,” Lady Dauntry said, “to our dear Charlotte.”

Rohan looked genuinely downcast. It was a very effective pose.

“Very well,” Lady Dauntry said at last. “We do not wish you to be hurt over this fiasco. If dear Charlotte cannot bring herself to accept this, then we will speak to her. For you, dear boy, for you.”

Rohan gave them a boyish smile that held such relief and gratitude, Susannah was certain he could rival Edmund Kean.

She decided to wait until the ladies left before she killed him.

Lady Dauntry eyed her, seeing that she looked very pale, despite the nasty cosmetics that made her look very pathetic, just as the dear baron had said, poor boy. “You look sickly, my lady. Don’t stare like a half-wit. Since you are the baron’s wife, you must be accorded the title.”

My lady? Oh, dear, oh, dear.

“Yes,” Lady Dauntry continued, in control again now, “it must be accepted that a husband could dress his own wife in his shirt and jacket. It must be accepted that he could carry her, his hand on her naked leg—the top of her naked leg—to her bedchamber. Yes, we will accept this and we will make our husbands stop looking at you as if you were a hussy. We will even accept that you were kidnapped and that our dear boy here saved you.” She paused, looking pointedly at Mrs. Hackles.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Hackles, jumping in with both feet now that she knew which direction to jump. “We will even overlook this strange tale the dear boy tells. If my own son had done such a thing, why, I’m sure that I would like to meet my grandchild, but I don’t know about Charlotte.”

Rohan said easily, “She has accepted Marianne, thank the good Lord. It’s just that she still believes that Marianne is George’s daughter, not mine.”

“That is something,” said Mrs. Goodgame. “It is just that dear Charlotte isn’t expecting this. Surely she believed you would marry a lady of her choosing, one who would be just like her or a milksop who wouldn’t say a word when her husband left her to be with his score of mistresses. There would be no other sort of wife for you, in Charlotte’s mind.”

Lady Dauntry bent a fierce eye on Susannah. “Are you like dear Charlotte?”