Baroness in Buckskin Read online

  Baroness in Buckskin

  A Regency Romance

  Sheri Cobb South

  Chapter 1

  More than kisses, letters mingle souls.

  JOHN DONNE, Verse Letter to Sir Henry Wotton

  Dinner at Ramsay Hall began just as it had every evening for longer than anyone seated at the table could remember. The head of the family (at present one Richard Ramsay, the seventh baron of that name) sat in state at the head of the long table of polished walnut. The two spinster sisters of his lordship’s late father—known collectively as the Aunts—had walked up from the Dower House, as was their usual habit when the weather was fine, and now flanked him, Miss Charlotte Ramsay on his right, and Miss Amelia Ramsay, the younger by two years, on his left. Ramsay Hall had no mistress at present, for Lord Ramsay at age thirty-one was still unwed, but his lordship’s distant cousin Miss Jane Hawthorne (she of the classic English rose complexion, ash-blonde hair and speaking grey eyes) now occupied the place at the foot of the table, just as she had done since the declining health of his lordship’s mother, Lady Ramsay, had necessitated that she delegate this task to her companion.

  The present arrangement was admittedly a trifle irregular, since with the death of Lady Ramsay more than a year ago, the honour of acting as hostess should have fallen to the elder of the Aunts, but Miss Charlotte Ramsay had been quite scandalized by the suggestion that she should alter in any way the routine which had been established by his lordship’s dearest mama. And so Miss Hawthorne—distant cousin, poor relation, and, according to the less charitable residents of Lower Nettleby, general drudge —remained in the position rightfully belonging to the lady of the house. At Miss Hawthorne’s right sat Mr. Peter Ramsay, yet another distant cousin, who at the tender age of three-and-twenty had already served as Lord Ramsay’s steward for almost two years.

  The conversation, too, followed a long-established pattern, first taking in everyone’s opinion of the weather, and then widening in concentric circles to encompass the estate and then the village beyond. (The concerns of the wider world would be taken up by the gentlemen after the ladies had retired to the drawing room, where they would no doubt exchange their own views on this subject, on which the male contingent assumed them to be entirely ignorant.)

  “Another fine day,” was Lord Ramsay’s opening observation, delivered as the soup was served.

  “Indeed yes! If we don’t have rain soon, I fear for my poor roses,” fretted Miss Amelia, whose garden, besides being her consuming passion, was one of the glories of Lower Nettleby.

  “Much as I regret being forced to disagree with you, Aunt Amelia, I hope the rain will hold off until the tenants’ cottages can be inspected and any necessary repairs made.” Young Mr. Peter Ramsay turned to address his lordship. “Jem Pittingly says the thatch on his roof needs to be replaced.”

  Lord Ramsay nodded. “Very well. I shall see to it in the morning.” His visage was somewhat stern, but the smile he bent upon his aunt was surprisingly sweet. “After all, we cannot expect Aunt Amelia’s roses to wait forever.”

  “Perhaps I might tell Sir Matthew that they died,” she pondered wistfully. “He will keep badgering me for cuttings, and you may think it unchristian of me, but I do not want to share!”

  Miss Hawthorne came quickly to her defense. “Naturally you do not, for you cultivated that particular color yourself, did you not? But although his entreaties may grow tedious, I do not believe there is any real harm in Sir Matthew. You have only to tell him how you feel, and I am certain you will find him understanding. On the subject of gardening, anyway,” she added somewhat obscurely.

  “Wise Jane!” applauded Lord Ramsay from the opposite end of the table. “I feel sure you may place every dependence on her advice, Aunt Amelia, for she has handled Sir Matthew quite adroitly for nearly a decade.”

  Miss Hawthorne gave him a reproachful look, but Aunt Amelia seized upon his advice. “My dear Jane, would you speak to him on my behalf? Just a subtle hint, you know.”

  Having assured Aunt Amelia of Sir Matthew’s willingness to see reason, she could hardly demur, although she had never seen any evidence that their nearest neighbor was open to subtle hints. She agreed, albeit reluctantly, to speak to the baronet on Amelia’s behalf.

  “Excellent!” exclaimed her aunt, much cheered. “He is certain to listen to you, for he has the highest opinion of you.”

  “But not half so high as his opinion of himself,” grumbled Aunt Charlotte under her breath, thereby winning a concurring smile from Miss Hawthorne.

  “I see no reason why Jane should be put to the trouble of routing Sir Matthew,” his lordship protested. “If he is plaguing you, Aunt Amelia, you have only to tell him that I will not allow it. He is as cautious of my position as he is his own, and will not press the matter if he believes it would offend me.”

  “Oh, but I could not tell so blatant a falsehood, not even in defense of my poor roses! ‘Not allow it,’ indeed, when you are the most good-natured boy imaginable! Why, when I think of how kind you have been to my dear sister and me, giving us the Dower House and a positively lavish allowance beside—”

  She might have continued in this vein indefinitely, had she not been interrupted by the soft-footed entrance of Wilson, the butler, bearing a silver tray on which reposed a formerly white rectangle of paper, now much smudged and creased.

  “Forgive me, my lord,” he said, proffering the tray and its contents to Lord Ramsay, “but the evening post has just been delivered, and I believe your lordship has been expecting a communication from America for some time.”

  “America?”

  A collective gasp was heard around the table. Lord Ramsay winced slightly, wishing for a bit more discretion on the part of his servant. Nevertheless, he took the missive lying on the tray and broke the wax seal, then spread the single sheet and perused its contents while his relations waited in silent expectation.

  “I beg your pardon, Peter,” he told his cousin, having reached the end of his correspondence. “I fear I must leave the matter of the Pittingly cottage in your capable hands. Do whatever the situation requires; I have every confidence in your judgment. I must away to London, but I shall settle any expenses you incur as soon as I return.”

  “To London, Richard?” asked Miss Hawthorne, speaking for the group. “I hope nothing is wrong.”

  “Not at all, but I must go to London to see the Archbishop about a special license.” His gaze took in every member of his family at a glance, from the bewildered expressions of his elderly aunts to the perplexed look of his steward to Jane’s curiously white, strained countenance. “You see, I am to be married.”

  A stunned silence greeted this pronouncement, broken only when Aunt Amelia exclaimed in blissful accents, “Married! A wedding at Ramsay Hall? How lovely!”

  “And you are marrying an American, Richard dear?” asked Aunt Charlotte with a faint air of disapproval. “I didn’t know you were acquainted with any.”

  A flicker of a smile lit Lord Ramsay’s stern countenance. “You make it sound as if I am taking a Red Indian to wife. As it happens, my betrothed and I have never met face to face, but her birth is quite respectable. Miss Susannah Ramsay is a distant cousin, the granddaughter of Benjamin Ramsay, who was quartered in Virginia during the war against the American colonies and remained there afterwards to marry a local woman. Old Benjamin’s son Gerald, Susannah’s father, died recently, leaving her alone in the world.”

  “And so you naturally considered it your duty to offer her marriage,” observed Miss Hawthorne without, she was pleased to note, a hint of irony in her voice.

  “But Richard!” exclaimed Aunt Amelia, her childlike countenance crumpling as her romantic dreams died a-bo
rning. “You cannot love her. Is this what you want, to marry a female sight unseen?”

  His lordship sighed, and his gaze drifted to the portrait adorning the far wall, the bewigged likeness of the third Baron Ramsay, who had almost bankrupted the family in the South Sea Bubble of the previous century, and who had been held up to his descendants ever since as a horrible example. “I haven’t the luxury of pursuing my own desires, Aunt. I myself am no more than a placeholder. It is my duty as head of this family to see to the welfare of its members, and to pass my birthright intact—and enlarged, if possible—on to the next baron. As Miss Susannah Ramsay is the sole heiress to considerable properties in both Virginia and Kentucky, I have in her person the opportunity to do both.”

  “Such romantic flights of fancy!” chided Miss Hawthorne with a twinkle in her eye. “Take care that you are not utterly carried away, Richard.”

  “I shall depend upon my practical Cousin Jane to keep my feet securely planted on the ground,” promised his lordship in like manner. “In the meantime, I have booked passage for Miss Ramsay on the schooner Concordia, and she is to arrive in Portsmouth in six weeks’ time.”

  “She is traveling all the way across the ocean alone?” exclaimed Aunt Charlotte, horrified. “She sounds a very ramshackle sort of female, I must say.”

  “I believe she is to be traveling in the company of a missionary couple, so there is nothing in the least objectionable about her undertaking such a journey.” He turned to address his steward. “Peter, I shall depend on you to meet Miss Ramsay in Portsmouth and convey her to Ramsay Hall.”

  Peter Ramsay’s fork clattered against his plate, the sound unnaturally loud in the strained silence. “Very well, Cousin Richard, if you wish it. But hadn’t you better—that is, would you not prefer to meet your affianced bride yourself? Forgive me, but I cannot help but think Miss Ramsay might perceive your seeming neglect as an insult.”

  “I can see you have little knowledge of women, Cousin Peter, and still less of marriage.” Seeing his steward’s puzzled expression, he explained, “Miss Susannah Ramsay will soon be obliged to see my face over the breakfast table for the rest of her life. Surely she will welcome this brief respite.”

  “If she is that unwilling, Richard, perhaps she would have done better to have declined your offer,” suggested Jane Hawthorne from the opposite end of the table.

  “Perhaps she would, at that,” Lord Ramsay concurred. “I can only hope that she is not so exacting in her requirements as certain other young ladies of my acquaintance.”

  Although these words were accompanied by his lordship’s surprisingly sweet smile, Miss Hawthorne’s cheeks burned nevertheless, and at the first opportunity, she rose from the table as the signal for the ladies to withdraw.

  Alas, there was no relief in the drawing room conversation that followed.

  “Well!” exclaimed Aunt Charlotte. “What do you think of that?”

  No one was left in any doubt that “that” referred to Lord Ramsay’s unexpected betrothal.

  “I would feel better if I thought dear Richard could love her,” fretted Aunt Amelia. “I can’t help feeling that she must be a shockingly vulgar creature!”

  “So many Americans are, you know,” agreed Aunt Charlotte, who to Jane’s knowledge had never met an American in her life.

  “Nonsense!” Miss Hawthorne declared briskly. “I am sure I feel quite sorry for her, being obliged to leave her home and travel across the ocean to be married to a man she has never met. I am determined to be kind to her if it kills me, and I hope both of you will do the same.”

  The two elderly sisters exchanged uncomfortable glances, then Aunt Amelia spoke for both. “Truth to tell, Jane dear, we rather hoped you and Richard would someday make a match of it.”

  Miss Hawthorne greeted the arrival of the tea tray with patent relief, and busied herself with the pouring and passing of cups.

  “I had my opportunity once, as you know,” she said, after the footman had withdrawn and the ladies of the house were alone again. “I had no desire to be married out of a sense of duty then, and no more do I now. If Miss Susannah Ramsay’s situation demands that she accept such an offer without so much as a glimpse of her prospective bridegroom, then surely she deserves our pity.”

  The Aunts gave her looks of silent sympathy but, thankfully, dropped the subject. Lord Ramsay and Peter joined them several minutes later, and the thoughtful frown creasing Peter’s brow gave Miss Hawthorne to understand that the gentlemen’s conversation had followed very similar lines. After partaking of tea with the ladies, Lord Ramsay rang for a footman to set up the card table, and he and Peter played at silver loo with the Aunts while Jane entertained them on the pianoforte. This long-established routine held until the clock struck nine, at which time his lordship turned once again to his faithful steward.

  “Peter, can I entrust you to escort Aunt Charlotte and Aunt Amelia back to the Dower House? Jane, I should like a word with you, if I may.”

  Miss Hawthorne was uncomfortably aware of the thudding of her own heart as she bade the Aunts goodbye and followed Lord Ramsay to his study.

  “Yes, Richard? What is it?”

  He sighed and withdrew a folded rectangle of paper from the inside breast pocket of his coat. “I feel I owe you an explanation.”

  “Nonsense! You owe me nothing of the kind.”

  “Perhaps not, but I should feel better if you allow me to make one all the same.”

  She inclined her head in agreement. “Very well, then.”

  He handed her the paper, and she spread the single sheet. It was a letter, as she had expected, but she was surprised to note that it was not the letter that had been delivered during dinner. This one was considerably older, bearing a date some three months earlier in the upper right-hand corner, a date written in a spidery, feminine hand. It had been folded and refolded so many times that the paper was worn quite thin along the creases; however unexpected his lordship’s announce-ment, the decision had apparently not been made without a great deal of consideration.

  “The Right Honourable the Lord Ramsay,” it read, “I hope you will pardon my presumption in writing to you without a proper introduction, but I fear my Christian duty demands nothing less. I wish to bring to your attention the plight of my young friend and your distant kinswoman, Miss Susannah Ramsay. Miss Ramsay’s father, Mr. Gerald Ramsay, recently died after a lengthy illness, leaving Miss Ramsay alone in the world at the age of eighteen. Her situation is most uncomfortable—not that she is penniless (in fact, she is the sole heiress to a town house in Richmond as well as a large property in Kentucky), but she is sure to be the object of attentions with which I fear she is ill-prepared to cope. It would be an exaggeration to say that her father lost his wits after the death of his wife when Susannah was only two years old, but there is no denying the fact that he became quite eccentric, burying himself and his small daughter in the wilds of Kentucky. He certainly prospered there, but at the expense of Susannah’s upbringing. Although she is both intelligent and kindhearted, she is in no way fit to be presented to Richmond society, and I confess I fear for her future. If you can see your way to providing for her in some way, I am sure all who care for her must be eternally grateful. Yours most sincerely, Mrs. Charles Latham.”

  Having reached the end of this extraordinary correspondence, Miss Hawthorne looked up at his lordship. “And so, discovering Miss Ramsay to be unsuited to Virginia society, you decided to inflict her on London society instead,” she observed with a hint of a smile.

  “Hardly that,” protested Lord Ramsay. “I am uninterested in cutting a dash in London, so it matters little whether my wife is fashionable or not.”

  “Has the girl no maternal relations who might take an interest in her welfare?”

  He shook his head. “According to her lawyer—Mrs. Latham’s letter was enclosed with his—her mother’s people cut her grandmother off during the war, when she took up with one of the despised redcoats. So Miss Ramsay ca
n look for no help from that quarter.”

  “But marriage is so—so drastic. And so permanent. Can you not simply bring her here and make her an allowance instead?”

  “I suppose I might,” he said with a sigh, “but truth to tell, I am reluctant to take responsibility for yet another dependent female.”

  Miss Hawthorne flinched. “I beg your pardon, Richard. I did not know you felt that way. If you will give me a reference, I shall seek another position at once—”

  “Jane!” he exclaimed in some consternation. “You cannot think I was speaking of you! No, I was thinking of Aunt Charlotte and Aunt Amelia. In fact, I am very grateful for your presence, for I have a particular favour to ask of you.”

  “A favour, Richard? What is it?”

  He gestured toward the letter in her hand. “If Mrs. Latham is correct, Miss Ramsay, however untutored, does not lack intelligence. Which is a very good thing, as I could not bring myself to take a stupid woman to wife, however dire her circumstances! I shall depend upon you to show her how to go on, to teach her what she must know to have charge of the running of a sizeable household.”

  “And if she resents my meddling?”

  “What meddling? You were companion to the last Lady Ramsay; why should you not be companion to the next? A suggestion here, a subtle hint there, and you will have her performing the rôle as if to the manner born. Please say you will, Jane, for I know of no other woman to whom I could entrust such a task.”

  She could not deny the practicality of Lord Ramsay’s proposal. She had no desire to leave Ramsay Hall and seek employment elsewhere. Nor, for that matter, was anyone more qualified to instruct the next Lady Ramsay in the running of the household which Jane herself had overseen ever since the dowager’s health had failed.

  “Very well, Richard. I accept.”

  “Bless you!” he exclaimed, seizing her hand and raising it to his lips. “I knew I could depend on you, best of cousins!”