The Baron Finds Happiness (Fairy Tales Across Time Book 3)

by Bess McBride

  “How clumsy of me,” he said in a stiff voice. “Apologies.”

  Mary glanced at him with a puzzled expression before returning her attention to Clara.

  “Hickstrom manages to get us to read from the book. That’s the catalyst for the time travel to the past. She can reverse the process without the book though. What fairy tale did she have you read?”

  Clara wasn’t sure her eyes could get any wider as she stared at Mary.

  “I can’t remember. Ummm...wait. I think it was called The Baron Finds Happiness.”

  Mary turned to look at the men. “Who’s the baron?” she asked them.

  Roger set his cup and saucer down on small marble table beside his chair.

  “A baron?” he echoed. “Well then. That is splendid! I wish you well!” He smiled for the first time, the expression lighting his face in the most endearing way. His dimple deepened and his blue eyes glowed.

  “I cannot think to whom that might apply,” St. John said, giving Roger a narrow-eyed look. “Roger, it is likely that Miss Bell does not know to what you refer. Your congratulations would seem precipitate.”

  “What are you talking about?” Clara asked Roger specifically.

  He ducked his handsome head before giving it a dismissive shake. “I spoke out of turn. Do not mind me.”

  Mary took her cup and settled herself on the couch next to Clara.

  “What I’m going to tell you is probably worse than hearing that you’ve traveled through time.”

  “I’m still struggling with that bizarre idea, so go easy on me,” Clara said, gulping her tea like a lifeline.

  “I wish I could. I remember the shock. So far, Hickstrom has brought two women from the twenty-first century to match with men in the nineteenth century.”

  Clara interrupted. “Match?”

  Mary’s cheeks bloomed a lovely shade of rose. “You know, matchmake? Fall in love?” She glanced at her husband, whose chiseled face softened when he met her eyes.

  The love between them was almost palpable. Clara knew a moment of envy. She had never been in love like that. Love meant loss.

  Mary continued. “You are the third woman she has brought here...that we know of. Her pattern would suggest that she has brought you here to help someone fall in love.”

  “What?” Clara whispered. Her eyes immediately shot to Roger, but she pulled them away to focus on Mary. “Help someone fall in love? Here? No!” She shook her head emphatically. “That’s impossible. No, she’s got the wrong girl for that. I’m a nobody. I clean houses. People don’t fall in love with me. No. That’s ridiculous!”

  She leaned forward and set her own clattering teacup and saucer down on the table in front of the sofa.

  “I really need to go!” Rising, her knees wobbled unexpectedly, and she sank back down onto the couch. Mary laid her hand on Clara’s knee.

  “I know this is a shock, but there’s nowhere to go right now, Clara. Be patient and enjoy your time here. Despite Hickstrom’s probable plans for you, you really don’t have to follow through on them. She normally lays some weird curse on the men, but not the women. If you convince her that you can’t fall in love with whatever lonely-hearted baron she has selected for you, then she’ll probably let you go back.”

  “When?” Clara whispered.

  “I don’t know. We don’t even know whom she’s picked. I don’t know of any single barons.”

  Clara eyed St. John and Roger wildly. Even in her shock, she saw Roger’s eyes blink and shift away. He cleared his throat, not as if he would speak but as if he had something caught in it.

  Mary caught the sound and turned to Roger.

  “Do you know any barons, Roger?”

  “No, my lady. I do not.”

  “Well, what’s that odd expression on your face? You seem...shocked, even more shocked than when I showed up, and I was the first.”

  St. John chimed in as well. “Yes, I agree, Roger. You seem particularly troubled, when we should be growing used to Miss Hickstrom’s antics. Whatever is the matter?”

  Roger cleared his throat again. He lifted a finger to his cravat, as if it were too tight.

  “Just this morning, I encountered Miss Hickstrom on the drive leading to the castle.”

  “What?” Mary exclaimed. “Why didn’t you say so? What happened? Is she still around?”

  “No, she vanished, as she is prone to do.”

  “Did she say anything to you?” St. John asked.

  “She did,” Roger said with a heavy sigh.

  Clara noted he seemed to avoid looking at her.

  “Well, what did she say? Did she say anything about Clara?” Mary’s voice rose.

  “No, she did not mention Miss Bell...specifically.”

  “Out with it, man!” St. John urged, his dark eyebrows drawn together.

  Roger obviously knew his employer’s limits, and he complied. “I had hoped Miss Hickstrom spoke only in jest, but I fear she did not,” he began, running an agitated hand across his chin.

  St. John leaned forward in his chair, and Roger continued hurriedly, not missing the obvious irritation on the earl’s face.

  “It seems that the fairy godmother has now turned her attentions to me. That is what she wished to convey to me this morning.”

  A damp perspiration broke out on Clara’s forehead, but her hands were oddly cold. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Mary turn to look at her.

  “You, Roger?” St. John exclaimed. The furrow in his forehead relaxed, and his lips widened into a broad smile of even, white teeth. “You. So the fairy godmother has decided that you shall not remain a bachelor?” He chuckled.

  “St. John!” Mary remonstrated. “I doubt that Clara thinks this is very funny.”

  Clara stared at the men open mouthed, barely aware that Mary turned toward her.

  “Clara, listen. Roger is not a baron. He’s our estate agent. She seems to stick with the characters in her stories, so whatever she has planned for Roger has nothing to do with you. Okay? Let’s wait and see what she’s thinking.”

  “When? How? I last saw her in 2018!” Clara couldn’t hide the anxiety in her voice.

  “I don’t know what century Hickstrom comes from,” Mary said. “From the way she dresses around here, it could be the eighteenth century. She can appear and disappear in any time. She’ll show up. She really is magical.”

  “You sound as if you admire the lady,” her husband said, his lips still twisted into a smile. “Even after all the heartache that she has caused.”

  Mary turned to look at St. John, her cheeks glowing again. “She brought us together. I know she treated you hideously, but she brought us together.”

  “Yes, that she did.” St. John’s dark eyes softened when he looked at Mary.

  “How can I contact Hickstrom?” Clara asked. “This really is a mistake. Cleaning women don’t marry barons anyway. This is just insane.”

  “Well, they don’t normally, at least not in the nineteenth century,” Mary acknowledged. “I’m kind of eager to hear how Hickstrom plans to pull this off.” She held up a calming hand when Clara opened her mouth to protest. “I didn’t say you have to go through with it, but I am interested in what Hickstrom has up her sleeve. I’m a commoner too, and so is Rachel.”

  “Rachel?” Clara asked. “Is that the other lady who traveled through time?”

  “Yes, Rachel Lee. She married Halwell. He’s a viscount. They’re neighbors of ours.”

  “A viscount? I’m assuming that’s some sort of title?”

  Mary smiled. “Yes. Somewhere below an earl and above a baron.”

  “Sorry. I don’t follow English nobility.”

  “I didn’t either, actually. How do you feel?”

  “Woozy, confused, frightened.”

  Mary covered Clara’s hand again.

  “Have no fear, Miss Bell,” St. John said kindly. “You are safe here. We do not bite. It is likely that Miss Hickstrom will send you back if you convince her th
at you are not able to comply with her plans for you.”

  “I’m counting on it,” Clara said, albeit in a whisper. The earl, with his dark looks and stern personality, intimidated her. He seemed like an alpha male. She preferred gentler and kinder beta males.

  “So it would seem that Miss Hickstrom is bent on making two matches?” he asked the room in general. He turned to Roger, whose teacup clattered onto its saucer again.

  “No, that cannot be,” he said, his face even paler than before, if that was possible. “I had hoped she changed her mind, that she had seen I was firm in my resolve to remain a bachelor.” He directed his attention to St. John.

  The earl looked at his wife, a small smile playing on the corners of his lips. “What say you, my dear? Can the fairy godmother make two matches simultaneously?”

  Mary smirked, an expression that bothered Clara, who hoped that these people understood how awful her predicament was. They seemed almost lighthearted about the entire surreal experience.

  “She’s Hickstrom. She can do anything. But it does seem odd that she would work on two matches in the same place. If she does plan to marry Roger off, where is that young woman?”

  “Mary, please...” Roger muttered, surprising Clara by his use of her first name.

  “I’m sorry, Roger,” Mary said with a decidedly unsympathetic shrug of her shoulders. “You know very well that Hickstrom is a force of nature. She cannot be deterred.”

  “I pled with her to turn her attentions elsewhere,” Roger said with a bewildered shake of his head. “I am perfectly content. I do not wish to be wed.”

  “Well, you’re not a baron either, so I think Clara must be here for someone else,” Mary said before sipping her tea.

  “I’m not here for anyone,” Clara asserted. “No one! And I’m going home as soon as possible. So how do I call Hickstrom?”

  “It doesn’t really work like that,” Mary said. “In my experience, Hickstrom can hear you...if she wants. She’ll show up...when she wants. I’m sure she knows you want to talk to her. None of us have come willingly...” She paused and threw a cautious glance at her husband, who watched her enigmatically. “But Rachel and I have stayed willingly and happily, with no regrets.”

  Once again, Clara saw a look of profound affection pass between the couple. Roger’s expression, on the other hand, looked agitated.

  “I can see that,” Clara said. “It looks like Roger feels the same way as I do though. We both need to tell this lady that we’re not interested...no matter who she wants to match us with.”

  The look of surprise and gratitude that Roger sent her way made Clara’s heart thump.

  Chapter Four

  Roger looked at Miss Bell with surprise. She spoke with such vehemence in her opposition to a possible marriage with a baron. Though he had heard similar protestations from Mary and Rachel when they had first been hurtled through time, Miss Bell had included him as an ally in her quest to disentangle herself from Miss Hickstrom’s clutches.

  “Quite right you are, Miss Bell!” he pronounced, allowing himself a small smile. Miss Bell’s cheeks colored becomingly, and he attributed her blush to strong sentiments regarding their mutual distasteful predicaments.

  “I was just thinking that we should form an alliance against Miss Hickstrom’s machinations. Together, I feel certain we could dissuade her from her plans. The lady must be stopped!”

  Roger heard the outrage in his voice, and cleared his throat as he scanned the faces in the room. “Forgive me. My abhorrence for Miss Hickstrom’s arrogant matchmaking made me forget my manners. I apologize.”

  “Perfectly understandable, Roger,” the earl said. At odds with his words, a small smile curved his lips.

  “At least you haven’t been cursed yet, Roger,” Mary said, her mouth moving as if to stifle a smile.

  “Yet,” Roger murmured fatalistically. “I have no castle to which she might imprison me. She cannot threaten me with a loveless life of bachelorhood, since that is what I desire. I cannot imagine what curse she might impose upon me, nor did she make any reference to doing so.”

  “See?” Mary said with a mischievous smile that she no longer took pains to hide.

  “With all due respect, my lady, I cannot laugh with you.” Roger avoided Miss Bell’s darkly lashed, almond-shaped hazel eyes, the color of which appeared to switch from blue to green. He had already noted the delightful mane of wheat-colored curls that she wore high on the back of her head. From Mary and Rachel, he knew that Miss Bell’s brown trousers were de rigeur in the twenty-first century, but he still averted his eyes from the sight of her limbs, even as petite as they were. Her blue short-sleeved blouse did not fail to reveal a curvaceous figure...which he had already noted as well.

  “I agree,” Miss Bell spoke up, forcing him to look at her. “There’s nothing funny about this at all!”

  Mary patted Miss Bell’s hand, showing the young woman empathy that she did not seem to share with Roger. He pursed his lips. Surely Mary could see that his predicament was as dire as that of Miss Bell? Why then did she laugh at him and commiserate with the young lady?

  “No, of course not, most certainly not for you,” Mary said sympathetically. “Believe me, I wasn’t laughing when I was thrown back in time either.” She threw Roger a sideways glance. “Roger might be overreacting a bit, but not you.”

  “I?” Roger blurted. “Overreacting? But I told you what that woman said to me, Mary. Surely you can understand my concerns! You have seen what she can do to men—force their hands!”

  “While my freedom was taken from me, Roger, I dispute the notion that my hand was forced,” the earl said in a low voice.

  “No, of course not, St. John. I meant no insult to you or Mary.”

  “No, of course he didn’t, St. John. I’ll admit I have been chuckling a bit at the thought of Hickstrom targeting Roger for marriage, and I shouldn’t. I’m sorry. People have all sorts of reasons for wanting to remain single, and I really don’t know yours, Roger, or that it’s any of my business.”

  She cast Roger a hopeful look, but he had no information with which to provide her. He simply did not want to marry. He did not want to fall in love. He did not want to suffer heartache. He did not wish to make himself vulnerable to a woman. That was all.

  He glanced at Miss Bell, watching him with a curious expression on her piquant face. He felt his cheeks redden. “There is no mystery. I am simply content as I am.”

  “And we need no reasons, Roger,” St. John offered. “However, poor Miss Bell’s situation does require some sort of remedy. When can we expect Miss Hickstrom to make her plans for Miss Bell known, my dear?”

  “You know her as well as I do, St. John. She’ll tell Clara when she’s ready. Think again. Are there any barons that you might have missed? Or maybe somebody who’s going to become a baron?”

  “No, my dear. The only baron I can think of at the moment is in his dotard, and he has been happily wed many years to his baroness.”

  “Well, let’s not wish anything on her. We’ll have to wait and see what Hickstrom has planned then.”

  “Can you call her?” Miss Bell asked.

  “You could probably do that better than I could,” Mary said. “This isn’t my situation, but she might respond to you.”

  “How do I do that?”

  “Well, I just called out to her when I was alone, and she came.”

  “Where could I go to be alone?”

  Mary winced. “Well, you could go to the garden, but I hate to let you go wandering around alone right now. You’re in shock. I suppose I could go out with you. I’m sure Hickstrom won’t mind if I’m there with you, but you really need to change clothes, Clara. The household servants are well trained, and they’ve seen a lot of unusual stuff, but we don’t want to push it. Come upstairs with me, and I’ll get you something to wear.”

  Mary stood and pulled Miss Bell to her feet. Roger and St. John rose and bowed as Mary led Miss Bell from the room.

>   “I think you need something stronger than tea, Roger,” St. John said, turning toward a sideboard holding a silver tray, decanters of spirits and glasses.

  “Yes, I think you must be right. Thank you.”

  Roger tottered over to a chair and slumped down into it.

  “Perhaps the arrival of Miss Bell signifies that Miss Hickstrom intends to defer her plans for me,” he offered as St. John handed him a drink before resuming his seat.

  “Perhaps. I still cannot see how the two are separate.”

  Roger choked on his drink, a fine Scottish whisky.

  “But I am not an aristocrat of any sort! You know that! Surely the two situations are separate.”

  “We must wait and see,” St. John said.

  “I wonder if I should call out to the lady to see if she will make an appearance.”

  “As you know, I had no such luck. It seems as if she will make an appearance for the ladies at their request, but not the gentlemen.”

  “The baron to whom you referred. Is his lady in ill health? Is he soon to be a widower?”

  St. John laughed, and Roger’s cheeks reddened again.

  “No, of course not,” Roger added hastily. “How unseemly of me to suggest such a thing. Perhaps someone whom we do not know comes from London, a young man who requires a bride, who is in need of Miss Hickstrom’s matchmaking...skills.”

  “Machinations, you mean,” St. John said. “I believe that was the word you used before, and it is most apt. Though her results are unparalleled, her methods are brutal.”

  “Machinations, yes. I do not require any results. I am perfectly content.”

  “So you have said, my friend. Many times this day.”

  “You of all people know that I wish to remain a bachelor.”

  “I do, of course, but do you know, I have never been truly certain as to why.”

  Roger sipped his drink and grimaced, withholding another inclination to shrug his shoulders. “I do not believe there must be a ‘why,’ but if I must offer a reason, can it not be enough that I am far too busy with the estate to entertain the notion of a wife and children demanding my attention?”

  St. John quirked a dark eyebrow. “I am master of this estate, my friend, and I have time to attend to my wife. Additionally, I make time for my child...gladly. Further, did not your own father, also the estate agent, find adequate time to favor you with his attention?”