by Dawn Brower
Anna Caldwell peered into a tiny mirror, glancing at her reflection as she modeled a blue and white bonnet, turning her face this way and then that. The superficial little piece of baggage.
“Miss Caldwell,” he said, his tone sounding clipped even to his own ears. “I don’t suppose you know where your fiancé is, do you?”
She gasped slightly as she spun around to face him. “Lord Darling!”
“In the flesh. I need a word with Commander Ballantyne.”
Her face must have stung as she flushed a bright red. “Captain Gates didn’t send you to find him, did he?”
She’d probably like to think that, as she probably relished in the pain she’d inflicted on Lucien thus far. That was not a satisfaction Reese intended to give her, however. “Gates?” He shook his head. “As he’s currently entertaining a very pretty redhead, I doubt he even noticed Ballantyne’s appearance. But I—”
“Redhead?” she squeaked.
Had she honestly thought she could keep Lucien pining after her even after her betrothal to another man was announced the very same day she’d cut him loose? “Are you or are you not aware of the commander’s location, Miss Caldwell?”
She blinked at him. “He was going to meet me by the entrance to the house of mirrors.”
Which seemed a fitting location as the chit never did seem to get her fill out of looking at herself. “Thank you. I will search for him there.” He tipped his hat in farewell.
“Lord Darling!” she called after him. “Wait!”
Reese glanced back over his shoulder at the duplicitous heiress. “Yes, Miss Caldwell?”
She quickly closed the distance between them. “H-how is Lucien?” she muttered softly.
“Be careful or someone might think you actually had some affection for the man.”
“That’s hardly fair.” She pouted.
It was precisely fair enough.
“I mean, I have to look out for my own best interests. But that doesn’t mean I wish him ill.”
Was she saying that for Reese’s benefit or to alleviate her own guilt? Either way it hardly mattered. And he was quite certain the chit deserved Ballantyne as much as Ballantyne deserved her. Reese smiled tightly. “Lucien is quite well. In fact, I’m rather jealous of him at this moment.”
“Indeed?” She blinked, once more in confusion.
“The pretty redhead I mentioned earlier. I’d much rather be with her myself.” Then he nodded once more. “Good day, Miss Caldwell.”
Reese then navigated his way through the merrymakers until he spotted the naval commander beside the entrance to the house of mirrors, just as his latest fiancée had suggested. “Ballantyne!” he called across the din. “A word if you don’t mind.”
The man scowled slightly, but he didn’t turn tail and run away as he’d done back near the pleasure wheel. “What is it, Darling?”
Such flowery words from a fellow Reese had known most of his life. “I just heard the most interesting bit of on-dit,” he said in sotte voce once he reached the man’s side.
Panicked. Ballantyne definitely looked panicked. “Indeed?” he asked carefully.
“Tell me, how is it a man can have one fiancée in Bermuda and one in England? I am most curious.”
Charles Ballantyne sucked in a breath. “Now see here. There was never any sort of marriage contract drawn up between Mr. Beckett and myself. And—”
“Interesting,” Reese clipped out. “And when was the one drawn up between you and Mr. Caldwell? Before or after his daughter ended her agreement to Captain Gates?”
Ballantyne narrowed his eyes on Reese. “I hadn’t thought Lucien Gates would send you to fight his battles, Darling.”
Reese snorted. “I’m doing no such thing. I am, however, quite interested in how Miss Beckett’s sister fits into your plans, Charles. Is that girl aware that her betrothal has been broken?”
And somehow the man’s eyes narrowed even further to little, tiny slits. “A verbal agreement is nothing compared to one written in triplicate.”
“So you’re not worthy of your word? Is that what you’re saying?”
“I’m saying that none of it is any of your bloody business one way or the other. What do you even care?” Ballantyne sneered.
“I care that you have no qualms about ruining some innocent girl’s reputation.” No girl would recover from being jilted. It just wasn’t done.
“Indeed?” The man released an irritated breath. “You of the I-can-make-any-proper-girl-I want-fall-in-love-with-me fame? You’re concerned about the reputation of some girl you don’t even know? A bit of a pot and kettle situation if you ask me.”
Pot and Kettle! Was Ballantyne honestly comparing his destruction of a girl’s reputation with Reese’s foolish bet? They were hardly the same thing at all. “I have half a mind to call you out.”
The commander did blanch at that. “I certainly can’t stop you if you’re of a mind to do so. But you should consider that girl’s reputation you seem so focused on. As it is, no one outside of Caitrin’s family knew anything at all in regard to our previous entanglement. So as long as they say nothing, Caitrin’s reputation will be perfectly intact. But should we make a dawn appointment, odds are that the truth will find its way out and then she truly will be ruined in fact.”
Meaning Ballantyne would make sure everyone knew he’d jilted the girl. Before Reese even knew what he was doing, he’d balled his hand into a fist and crashed it into Ballantyne’s right eye.
The man stumbled backward at the same moment Miss Caldwell let out an ear-piercing scream as she raced toward them.
“Oh! Commander! Are you all right?” The girl threw herself into Ballantyne’s arms and held onto him as though to shield him from another assault.
Reese could do nothing else but stare at the pair. “I do believe you deserve each other,” he said as he turned on his heel to make his way through the crowd and to the menagerie, wherever the devil that was.
Goodness! Reese looked like a storm cloud as he stalked toward their group. Cara swallowed a bit nervously. She couldn’t help it. She hadn’t seen him sport such a murderous expression since she’d met him. And while she didn’t know him terribly well, she didn’t imagine he wore such expressions often. What in the world had made him so furious in so short a time?
“He is beautiful, isn’t he?” Emma asked, moving closer to the caged lion before them. “So large and…Such intelligent eyes.”
Cara flicked her gaze away from Reese, toward the lion, which really was a magnificent creature, though focusing on it was difficult at the moment. “Umm-hmm,” she said turning her attention back to a quickly approaching Reese.
“It’s his teeth I’m looking at,” Mr. Atherton said.
“The bigger to eat you with, my dear?” Lucien teased.
“Oh, you are amusing,” Mr. Atherton returned.
“Are you all right?” Cara asked as Reese finally reached them.
“I’ve been better,” he grumbled. “Though I shall try not to let my sour mood affect your fun.”
“Where did you run off to?” Lucien asked, moving closer to Cara’s side.
“Not now, Gates,” Reese replied. Then he seemed to force a smile to his face. A feigned one for certain. The usual twinkle in his hazel eyes was quite missing, and there was something rather alarming about that. “We should enjoy ourselves, if we can.”
“We were just admiring this amazing specimen,” Mr. Atherton said. “Though I think I am in the mood for a different entertainment. Anyone up for the house of mirrors?”
Reese frowned at that. “I, uh, spotted a fire breather not too far away. And a baker with a number of pies to sample.”
“I am always up for sampling pies,” Lucien said as his stomach grumbled. Then he bit back a smile. “Apologies. I might have missed breakfast this morning.”
“Well, I should hate to have you faint from exhaustion,” Emma said. “We should make sure you get your fill of pies right away, Capt
ain Gates.”
“Lead the way, Darling,” Lucien said.
Reese nodded toward his friend and said, “Offer your arm to Miss Beckett, Luce.”
What in the world was that about? Cara blinked at Reese.
Lucien looked as confused as Cara felt, but the army captain dutifully offered his free arm to her. “My dear.”
She slid her hand around Lucien’s elbow though she couldn’t help but feel slighted. Ever since they’d arrived at the fair, Reese hadn’t seemed like himself. The feeling that something wasn’t right washed back over Cara, but she forced a smile to her lips anyway.
Reese headed up their group with Emma and Mr. Atherton following after him, while Cara with Lucien, leaning heavily on his cane, brought up the rear.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” Lucien asked as they fell further and further behind the group.
“We do not have entertainments such as this in Bermuda,” she replied. “Corinna will be quite disappointed to have missed the lion.”
“And Caitrin the pleasure wheel.”
“Indeed,” she agreed.
“But what about you, Cara?” he asked. “You’re the one here. Are you enjoying yourself?”
She had been. Mostly. “I am enjoying myself, though I feel a bit guilty, I suppose.”
“Even the most stalwart politician deserves a break here and there.”
Cara smiled in response. “Yes, but I simply cannot fail, Lucien. I have to prevail here just like Papa always did.”
“There will be plenty of time to win over votes this season,” he promised. “And you seem to be thick as thieves with Miss Atherton. I’m certain you’ll get the chance to meet influential fellows while you’re here.”
She agreed with a nod of her head. “Your grandmother said as much. And I’m lucky to have met Emma. She’s very sweet. Far kinder than most of society’s ladies I’ve met thus far.”
He seemed to think about that as they navigated their way around a family with small children who were blocking the way. “She is kind, isn’t she?”
Kind, indeed. With her heart somehow set on Lucien. The poor girl was headed for a heartache. “I do hope you’ll be kind to her should the situation arise.”
The army captain turned his head to better see her. “I beg your pardon? What do you mean by that?”
Cara shrugged, hoping she hadn’t said too much. “Just, should the situation arise.”
He frowned in response as he refocused on the path before them. “There they are. What do you bet Darling has eaten all the pies?”
Cara laughed. “I’m sure he saved you something, Lucien.”
Chapter 8
Dining Hall, Atherton Park
Hadleigh, Essex
If Cara could figure out why Reese didn’t seem himself, she could probably focus more on the matter at hand. As it was, however, she glanced across the large dining hall and noticed him scowling at her before he briefly met her gaze and then looked away, turning his attention to the lady at his side.
What in the world was that about?
She’d known something was bothering him most of the day. She could feel it in her bones. Everything had been perfectly fine until they’d stepped off the barge that afternoon. But now he’d begun scowling at her? Why would he do that? Was it possible that he somehow found out about the duchess’s wager? Perhaps he’d bumped into one of Her Grace’s friends and the woman, afraid she would lose the bet, had muttered something to him. That seemed far-fetched, but… Well, something was going on. Or perhaps—
“Miss Atherton mentioned you have an interest in the salt from the Turks islands.” Lord Chopwell, the fellow to her right, snapped Cara from her musings, and she met the man’s eye.
Had Emma intentionally placed her beside a fellow whose vote could be swayed? What a wonderful friend she’d turned out to be.
“Indeed.” Cara smiled at the fellow before spearing a carrot on her plate. “My sisters and I are the proprietors of Beckett Salt. So we have more than just a passing interest in the salt trade.”
While Lord Chopwell, appeared interested, the fellow to her left turned up his nose at the subject, and Cara felt thoroughly admonished. So she added in a softer voice, “Though I’m certain we shouldn’t discuss business at dinner.”
Lord Chopwell laughed, then tilted his head toward Cara and said quietly, “On my other side, Lady Bittesby is discussing needlepoint stitches.” He shook his head. “I’d much rather listen to you talk about anything, even the salt trade. I have a feeling you can make that sound quite engaging.”
His words appeased her slightly. Though she didn’t want to annoy the man on her left. So she suggested, “Perhaps after your port, we can discuss the trade in more detail.”
“I shall look forward to it,” he replied smoothly.
She spent the rest of the meal discussing the weather, her travel to Essex and the first day of the Hadleigh fair. Even as entertaining as Lord Chopwell was, Cara couldn’t help but return her gaze to Reese across the room. He did appear rather furious, or was that just her imagination? She swallowed down a lump in her throat as her belly twisted rather uncomfortably. Why was he suddenly so angry with her? She never should have agreed to the duchess’ scheme. Cara genuinely liked Reese, she genuinely enjoyed his company, and she genuinely liked the way she felt whenever she was with him. Alive. Gleeful. And full of hope. But if he was angry with her over the duchess’ foolish wager, she’d never forgive herself.
When it was time to leave the men to their port, Cara was more than relieved to relinquish her seat and leave the hall for the Atherton drawing room.
Emma met her in the corridor and they continued together toward their destination.
“Lord Chopwell seems nice,” Cara said as she linked her arm with her friend’s.
“One of Papa’s more charming associates,” Emma agreed. “Sadly, he has a sickly wife at home in Country Durham.” She frowned as she slowed their pace. “Though you’d never know it with as friendly as he always is.”
A sickly wife? “How awful for him, and for her.”
“Indeed.” Emma nodded in agreement. “Though I thought he might be one of the most amenable peers in attendance for you to persuade to your side. Did you have any luck?”
She was a sweet girl. “I might have except—”she tipped her head closer to Emma’s “—the fellow to my left seemed most annoyed by the topic, so I felt compelled to change direction.”
“Sorry about Lord Dunsfold.” A soft snort escaped her friend. “A complete sourpuss who does not care for anyone.”
“Why would someone so disagreeable in nature attend a fair?”
“Another associate of Papa’s.” Emma shrugged. “And speaking of Papa, Arch will have to plead your case to him. He is quite old fashioned as far as women having any sort of political views, let alone pressing parliament for votes.”
“I certainly will appreciate any help your brother can offer. The two of you have been so very—”
“Miss Beckett!” a deep voice called from behind them.
Cara and Emma both glanced over their shoulders to find Lord Chopwell quite purposefully headed in their direction.
“Here’s your chance,” Emma whispered.
“My lord,” Cara said as she released her hold on Emma’s arm and turned to face his quickly-approaching lordship. “You’re not enjoying your port this evening?”
He reached them and shrugged his answer. “I can enjoy port any other night, my dear; but I may not have another chance to discuss the Turks salt pans with you.”
Cara breathed a sigh of relief. His lordship did seem quite ready to be persuaded to her cause. “Thank you, Lord Chopwell. I do appreciate your willingness to hear me out.”
“Of course, of course.” He gestured to an open parlor door just ahead. “Why don’t we discuss the situation in there?”
In a parlor, with just the two of them? That seemed odd, didn’t it? Others were assembling in the drawing room, but…Wel
l, perhaps he knew better than she did. Perhaps the ladies in the drawing room would react just as Lord Dunsfold had done at dinner. She’d rather not risk that. So Cara nodded and said, “That sounds perfect.” Then she glanced at Emma and added, “I’ll find you soon enough.”
Damn it all! When the devil had Chopwell slipped from the dining hall? Reese ground his teeth together and ignored the quizzical glance Lucien cast him from across the table.
If he was a betting man...And, well, that had been quite established, hadn’t it? As he was a betting man, Reese would have bet his future marquessate that Chopwell had gone after Cara. The fiend had practically leered at her during the entire dinner like the lecher he was. That thought had Reese pushing out of his seat and rounding the end of the table in the dining hall in his pursuit to make sure that a certain tempting redhead was not in any sort of danger.
“Darling!” Arch Atherton called after him, but Reese paid his friend no attention at all as he escaped into the corridor without slowing his gait in the least.
The drawing room. He needed to make the drawing room with great haste. He started in that direction and didn’t stop until he reached the room in question. It was all for naught, however. He scanned the room quickly, but there was no sign of Cara or Chopwell, for that matter. He did spot Emma Atherton on a brocade sofa, talking with some blonde he wasn’t familiar with. Miss Atherton was his best lead, however, so he strode straight toward her, and frowned when the female population of the room collectively gasped and then all looked away, giving him the cut direct en masse.
“Oh for pity’s sake,” he ground out. “There’s not one of you in this room I have the least amount of interest in.” Which might not have been the wisest thing to say to a room inhabited only with women; but he was quite tired of being cast in the role of a villain, especially when a very real villain was missing at the exact same moment as Cara Beckett.
“Good heavens, Lord Darling.” Miss Atherton placed her dainty hand against her décolletage.
“A word, if you don’t mind, Miss Atherton.”
The girl glanced around the room at every other gawking lady in the vicinity, and then she shook her head. “I don’t believe that would be wise, my lord.”