"He's going out the side door. We'll catch him as he comes out," Meadows exclaimed, and hustled the ladies outside by a different door and around the corner.
As they hastened along, a door a little farther down the building opened, the straw-colored head peered out, and looked both ways before exiting. It occurred to Laura that the man was hounded like a hunted animal. If it was attention he had sought, he had succeeded beyond his wishes.
Hyatt spotted Mr. Meadows and smiled impatiently. "Meadows. I didn't see you inside," he said in a pleasant voice. As he spoke, his infamous dark eyes skimmed over the ladies. A pair of provincial misses, he noted. One too young and unlicked to be of interest, the other a shade past the first bloom. Just the sort of ladies he would expect Meadows to be escorting.
"Baroness, Miss Harwood, this is Lord Hyatt, the artist," Meadows said. "Hyatt, I'd like to present Baroness Pilmore, from Cornwall, and her cousin, Miss Harwood."
The ladies curtsied; Hyatt bowed and murmured, "Charmed.”
"I've never seen anything as pretty as your pictures," Olivia said. "Would you paint me?"
"It is a mad temptation." He smiled. "But alas! My calendar is full to overflowing." He tossed up his hands, to show the impossibility of obliging her and his sorrow at that turn of events.
"I made sure it would be, when you make all the ladies look so much prettier than they really are. Except Lady Devereau. She really is stunning. I am surprised you are leaving, when she has just arrived," Olivia said.
Hyatt looked as if he had been dowsed with cold water. His eyes opened wider, his jaw fell, and for a moment he was speechless. He soon recovered and assumed a tight smile. "Rumor to the contrary, we are not joined at the hip, Lady Devereau and I. I am late for an appointment," he said, casting a strange eye on Meadows. Laura, watching closely, discerned a glint of accusation, anger, and amusement in his look.
There was obviously some trouble between Hyatt and his mistress. He had been brutally curt with her, and he was not at all happy at Olivia's blunt question. Outrageous for the girl to have mentioned Hyatt's mistress in that insinuating way!
"Don't let us detain you, Lord Hyatt," Laura said.
They were the first words she had uttered. Hyatt turned his impertinent gaze on her and studied her for a long moment. The provincial miss wore a very ironical smile. There was knowledge in her eyes and amusement at his predicament. Although Hyatt had nothing against debs, he preferred experienced ladies. This quiet one seemed to embody the old saw that still waters run deep. It was a fleeting thought, soon forgotten.
"Yes, I really must run. It was delightful to meet you, ladies. I expect I shall see you at all the balls."
He bowed and hurried off.
"My, is he not pretty?" Olivia said, and immediately forgot him. "If Lord Hyatt is too busy to paint me, we should get hold of another artist soon. Mr. Lawrence, did you say, Laura?"
"Sir Thomas Lawrence."
"You should contact him at once," Meadows suggested. "He will have his hands full, too, but he seldom turns down a commission. Paints too much, some say. His work is a little uneven. I am sorry we could not get Hyatt. Perhaps I can twist his arm a little."
"Offer him twice his usual commission," Olivia said.
"That wouldn't do it. He contributes his earnings to charity." But Meadows had a notion what might turn the trick. As soon as Hyatt learned the commission he had turned down was the lady who drove the Turtle, and who would certainly be one of the Originals of the Season, he would be more interested. Hyatt liked Originals.
"What was your meaning, then, Mr. Meadows?" Laura asked.
He gave a mischievous wink that sat oddly on his stolid face. "I shan't tell you until I have succeeded. Would you like to return to the exhibition or go for a drive in the park?"
Olivia chose the park, and as she was usually deferred to in such matters, that was where they went. They alighted and strolled around the grounds, where an unconscionable number of gentlemen accosted them, all eager to meet the baroness. They were, per force, introduced to Laura as well. When it came out that she had made her bows five years before, some of them claimed to remember her, but the blank look on their faces belied this polite lie.
When the ladies were taken home, Olivia said, "You certainly have a great many friends, Laura.”
Laura just smiled, for she knew the futility of disclaiming credit for the throng of blue jackets. As they dressed for dinner at Mrs. Aubrey's that evening, she could only marvel at how well the Season was turning out, after her fears that it would be another disaster. They had even met the Season's social lion, Lord Hyatt. That would not have happened during her first Season.
The most outstanding feature of Mrs. Aubrey's dinner party was that their hostess handed them cards to Lady Morgan's ball. Lady Morgan had never met any of them, but like every other informed hostess, she had heard of the baroness, and was eager to get this large fish in her net.
The rest of the evening was pleasant but not outstanding. Mrs. Aubrey had taken pains not to include any competition for her nephew. Her only complaint was that Robert spent a little too much time with Miss Harwood.
Chapter Five
Monsieur LaPierre, who came to arrange the ladies' coiffures the next morning, was as good as Madame Dupuis had promised. He tamed the baroness's curly mop to some semblance of fashion, and, after informing Laura that the cheribime was passee, decided that it suited her.
"Oh, dear!" she exclaimed.
Monsieur LaPierre hurried on to reassure her. "You, mam'selle, are a lady who prefers style over fashion. That is rare. To be a la mode-that is accomplished by the latest bonnet or gown, easily acquired by anyone. Mais le vrai style-that is a gift," he said, and bowed.
Laura blinked to hear her quiet mode of dressing suddenly raised to the eminence of "style." "Merci," she murmured.
Monsieur Pierre smiled and continued, "You have the wisdom, mam'selle. Not for you the froufrou and furbelows au courant for the hour."
When he had left, Laura examined her coiffure and was pleased with it. Her natural curl was enhanced by the shorter length. One wayward lock slid over her forehead, to flirt about her temple. Her curls bounced gaily when she moved. She felt lighter, younger… Next she examined her gown. It was of simple blue sarcenet, for the weather was not yet warm enough for sprigged muslin. The gown's severe cut followed the line of her body, not the fashion of the Empress style, which she had always found unattractive. Ladies were given small waists; why hide them under a bag dress?
Yes, the gown was attractive, but it was almost too severe. It lacked that dash that would set it apart. Olivia, taking pity on her cousin's drab ensemble, handed her a mulled gold shawl.
"Try this around your shoulders," she suggested.
Laura tried it at her shoulders but was not satisfied. She let it fall lower, to the waist. Then lower still, till it rested on the top of her hips. That was different… When she tied it, the fringed ends hung below her knees and swayed when she walked.
"That looks funny," Olivia said, frowning.
"I am too old to worry about appearing funny," Laura said, and tossed her shoulders at her own folly. "If such an aged creature as I did not look a little 'funny,' she would not be noticed at all."
"You told me it was vulgar to appear different."
"It is the last resort of ape leaders, child. At your age, you have no need of such stunts. My, that coiffure does look nice!"
Olivia was satisfied with this compliment. She was further pleased with Mr. Meadows's compliments, when he brought another carriage around for her to try that afternoon. "That is a very dashing coiffure, Baroness," he said.