A Baron for Becky

Chapter thirteen

After they agreed to consider a future together, Mrs Winstanley took him to see Sarah, with Aldridge trailing along.

"Do you feel better now, Lord Overton?" the little girl asked, politely.

Hugh had no wish to discuss their last meeting. "I am, thank you." What could he say to give her mind another direction? "How is your doll, Miss Winstanley?" he asked.

Her eyes lit, but she retained her reserve. "Very well, thank you, Sir."

"My daughters liked the ones I bought them in the same shop." And talked about them and showed them off to anyone who would listen. Surely this grave child would take the bait? "I chose one with dark hair for Sophie, and fair hair for Emma. Sophie's doll is named Frances, and Em's is Charlotte."

Sarah admitted her doll was called Anne, and—at a suggestion from her mother—went to fetch the toy and its wardrobe. After half an hour sitting on the carpet in the parlour, displaying all the doll's treasures, Sarah had thawed only slightly, largely because 'Uncle Lord Aldridge' was down on the carpet with them.

If Hugh made little progress with the daughter, he had, at least, pleased the mother. When he left after the proper thirty minutes, she gave him the warmest smile he'd yet seen.

"We are invited to Mrs Winstanley's for the evening," Aldridge told him, when they met to dress for dinner at Haverford House. "Miss Winstanley's actually, but Becky is moving to stay with her daughter." He exaggerated his sad face, pushing out his lips and drooping his mouth and his eyes. "She says she cannot lie with one man while she is contemplating marrying another."

Hugh forbore to comment. Or to punch Aldridge, as the man deserved.

"She is still under contract," Aldridge complained. Hugh rethought the punch, then saw Aldridge's lip twitch in a half-smile. The man used to needle the masters at school just so—to relieve boredom, satisfy curiosity, or out of sheer devilry.

"Poking the bear, Aldridge?"

Aldridge just laughed.

*****

Hugh's admiration for Mrs Winstanley grew in the course of the evening.

Aldridge's claim that she came from the gentry was borne out. She showed it in a thousand ways. Gentle manners and speech could be learned, of course, but she was natural, and at ease, and never made a slip.

She showed a keen mind, too, and was clearly well read, discussing with equal ease the impact of enclosure on the good health of farming workers, Walter Scott's new narrative poem, and the war on the Peninsula.

They left early, but not before Mrs Winstanley had accepted his invitation to go driving the next day.

*****

Becky and Sarah were waiting when Lord Overton arrived at two o'clock, just as he had promised. Becky paused on the doorstep. He had borrowed a curricle from Aldridge; she recognised the horses. It would be a tight fit for the three of them.

Sarah had no such qualms, and was already down in the street, renewing her acquaintance with Prince and Brown Beauty, chattering away to the groom Lord Overton had also borrowed, another old acquaintance.

"We'll tuck Sarah between us where she will be warm, and out of the wind," Lord Overton said, correctly interpreting her concern. "Neither of you are large. We will fit."

It was a tight fit, and at first Sarah shrunk away from Lord Overton. Soon, though, she was telling him everything she knew about the horses, as they made their way through the streets to the park, the groom up behind.