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

by Bess McBride

  Roger looked toward the open window, perhaps more to avoid St. John’s piercing dark eyes. Roger had no secrets from his longtime friend and employer, but he did not wish to be a subject of discussion. He was far more comfortable living a quiet life of no particular notice.

  “Yes, Father excelled in his care for me after Mother died.” Roger lifted his chin, continuing to stare out the window.

  “I agree that he did. I remember how difficult that time was for you. I mourn her loss as well. She was kind to me when others were not.”

  Roger knew St. John spoke of his own neglectful and perpetually absent parents, but he swallowed and focused his attentions on the blue sky visible through the window. “Quite,” he said, hoping to end the discussion.

  St. John did not press him. Understanding each other as they did, St. John knew the subject was painful.

  Roger finished his drink and rose. “I had best attend to my duties.”

  “Yes, of course,” St. John said. “And I had best attend to our new guest. If you do see the fairy godmother, please apprise us as soon as possible.”

  “Of course,” Roger said, setting his glass down on the sideboard and leaving the room. He escaped through the front door and strode down the lane toward the gatekeeper’s lodge, wondering at the odd notion that he had “escaped.” The castle had loomed large for his entire life, and never before had he thought in such terms. He reminded himself once again that, according to Miss Bell, a baron was in her future, and he was no baron.

  Alternately fearing yet hoping that Miss Hickstrom would show herself as he walked, he was disappointed to reach the lodge without sight of her.

  He stepped inside and sat down at his small desk to attend to some estate paperwork. In the chaos of Miss Hickstrom’s visit and the arrival of yet one more lady from the future, he had forgotten a letter that had been delivered only that morning...addressed not to the estate or St. John but to him personally.

  He picked up the sealed missive and studied it. Of thick paper, it seemed quite official. He broke the seal and read the neat handwriting.

  Mister Roger Phelps

  Estate Manager

  Alvord Castle

  Dear Mister Phelps,

  Allow me to introduce myself. I am Mr. Nathaniel Perkins, solicitor for The Right Honourable The Lord Rowe, Twelfth Baron Rowe. I regret that I must inform you that your cousin, Lord Percy Rowe, expired last month.

  Lord Rowe, a lifelong bachelor, left behind no heirs, and as such, the title of Thirteenth Baron Rowe falls to you as his closest relative. Sadly, Lord Rowe sold the ancestral home in Hertfordshire last year to cover debts. However, though you do not inherit land, Lord Rowe did leave behind a modest sum of money to the next baron.

  If I might call upon you within the month, we could discuss transfer of funds to you. Please advise me of your desires.

  Respectfully,

  Nathaniel Perkins

  Solicitor-at-law

  London

  Chapter Five

  As soon as Clara and Mary stepped out of the drawing room, a tall, slender silver-haired woman in a lace cap and gray muslin dress stepped forward...as if she had been waiting. Her pale-blue eyes surveyed Clara without expression before she curtsied to Mary.

  “May I be of assistance, your ladyship?”

  “Yes, thank you, Mrs. Green,” Mary said with a chuckle. “As you can see, Hickstrom has been at it again. Could you ask Sarah to bring some water up to the Rose Room for Miss Bell, please?”

  “At once,” the woman said, turning away without further inquiry. She headed down a hall and out of sight.

  “That is Mrs. Green, the housekeeper. She watched me arrive lost and confused, and she knows about Rachel. Not much surprises her anymore.”

  Mary took Clara’s hand and crossed the foyer to lead her up a massive staircase. Light filled the interior of the staircase from myriad small windows. They emerged onto a long hallway, notable for a red carpet. The hallway was darker than the staircase, and Clara noted sconces with unlit candles along the walls.

  Mary stopped in front of a room and opened the door. Clara followed her into a magical room filled with light from a window. Rose-patterned paper decorated the walls, lending the room a festive appearance. The four-poster bed, coverlet and furniture upholstery matched the rose tones. Mahogany furnishings and a blue-and-red carpet completed the room.

  “I see why you call it the Rose Room,” Clara said, bedazzled by the luxuriousness. A marble fireplace anchored the wall opposite the bed. “This is beautiful.”

  “It is, isn’t it? I love this room. It was the first room I ever stayed in here at the castle. I think Mrs. Green left some clothing in the wardrobe. You seem to be the same size as Rachel and me.” She moved over to a mahogany wardrobe and opened it.

  “Ohhhh! Here’s the dress I first wore when I got here.” Mary pulled a length of pale-blue muslin out from the wardrobe. Sky-blue satin ribbons dangled from a high waistline. White lace edged the collar and hemline. She laid the dress down on a small bench in front of a dressing table and opened a drawer to pull out several white garments.

  “Go ahead and get undressed. It’s chemise and stockings first, then the corset and petticoat and finally the dress.”

  Clara’s eyes widened. “Seriously? All that? It’s a struggle for me to want to wear a sports bra. I can’t even imagine wearing all that.”

  Mary grinned. “Seriously.”

  “Could we try calling for Hickstrom first? I’m not trying to be rude, but I really need to get back.”

  “Sure,” Mary said. “Call out.” She picked up the clothing and sat down on the bench as if to wait.

  “What do I say?”

  “Just call out to her. She can hear you...if she wants.”

  Clara looked at Mary uncertainly before raising her head to look at the ceiling.

  “Hickstrom?” she whispered. She dropped her chin to look at Mary. “Do I have to shout?”

  Mary continued smiling, and Clara knew a moment of irritation.

  “No, I don’t think so, but I’m not sure she can hear your whisper either. Remember, she doesn’t always come.”

  Clara cleared her throat and raised her head again.

  “Hickstrom? Can you come talk to me?”

  Nothing happened, and Clara turned to Mary. “Does she just appear? Or...”

  “She can if she wants. I’ve seen her open doors and walk into a room though, so I’m not sure how she might come. She’s very unpredictable.”

  “Hickstrom?” Clara called out again, more loudly. When nothing happened, she turned to Mary again.

  “Would you call her? Maybe she’ll come if you call.”

  “Sure, I’ll give it a try.” She drew in a breath and spoke loudly. “Hickstrom!” She waited a moment and called out again. “Hickstrom! Can you come and talk to Clara?”

  The fairy godmother did not appear, and Clara sank down onto a nearby chair.

  “I’m sorry, Clara” Mary said. “She will come. I just don’t know when.”

  “I don’t mean to seem ungrateful for your hospitality. I wouldn’t mind visiting for a bit, but I just keep thinking that Janie must be frantic looking for me. She’ll call the police soon.”

  “Yes, I’m sure she will.”

  A knock on the door brought Clara to her feet, but it was the housekeeper, Mrs. Green, followed by a small maid dressed similarly in a gray muslin dress covered by a white apron. Escaping the confines of her white cap were unruly red curls. She carried a white porcelain pitcher.

  The women curtsied, and the maid moved over to a dresser and poured steaming water into a basin. Mrs. Green pulled linen towels and soap out of a dresser drawer and laid them next to the basin. All was done in silence until Mrs. Green spoke.

  “Will there be anything else, your ladyship?”

  “No, thank you, Mrs. Green.”

  The women curtsied again, left the room, and Clara sat down again, washing her face and hands the last
thing on her mind.

  “I imagine you were hoping that was Hickstrom.”

  “I was,” Clara said with a nod.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Thank you,” Clara said. “You must think I’m so ungrateful, so rude.”

  “Not at all. You should have seen me when I first arrived. St. John was the first one to find me, and neither of us was very happy...not then.”

  Mary’s face glowed again when she spoke of her husband.

  “But you are now.”

  “Oh yes, very much. We have a child now, a baby girl. She’s napping at the moment.”

  “Really?” Clara narrowed her eyes. “You had a baby in the nineteenth century? Without anesthesia?”

  Mary grinned. “Yes, without anesthesia. Everything went well though. I’ll admit that I was scared of...everything. But people have been having children for centuries, and I managed too. Rachel is pregnant now. I would love for you to meet her. Maybe I should send a note around to her now, to ask her to come over.”

  “No, don’t!” Clara exclaimed. “Not yet. I’m overwhelmed as it is.”

  Mary nodded. “You’re right. Do you want to get dressed? I don’t recommend you hide out in the room until you do get a chance to talk to Hickstrom. We don’t know when that will be. It could be days.”

  “Days?” Clara gasped. “I can’t be gone for days.”

  “I didn’t think I could either, Clara, but there’s nothing we can do. There’s no magic amulet to transport you back through time, no time travel machine. We don’t even have the book of fairy tales. Only Hickstrom has the power to return you to the twenty-first century. I know that’s not what you want to hear.”

  Unexpected tears of frustration welled in Clara’s eyes, and she brushed at them impatiently, staring at the moisture in her hands.

  “I’m sorry! Look at me crying here. I’m so embarrassed. I never cry. Not since—” Clara pressed her lips together.

  “Not since?” Mary prompted.

  “Not since I was a kid.”

  Clara looked up to see Mary staring at her curiously. She took a deep breath.

  “My mom left my dad and me when I was nine. I guess she just didn’t want to be married, at least that’s what my dad said. I never saw her again, and I haven’t cried since. I heard that she died last year.”

  “Oh, Clara! I’m so sorry.”

  Clara fought back the unaccustomed tears. “Thank you. It must be the shock making me cry.”

  “Well, that or another sense of loss. You’re worried about losing your life in the twenty-first century and being stuck here in the past. Don’t. Hickstrom will send you back. I’m sure of it. But she’ll wait till she’s good and ready to do so.”

  Clara nodded and proffered a shaky smile.

  “Again, I apologize for my behavior. I know you’ve gone through the same thing and that you understand.”

  “I do.” Mary bit her lip and opened her mouth to speak again, but appeared to hesitate.

  “What is it?” Clara asked.

  “This might seem rude, but I’ll ask it anyway. You said earlier that you don’t intend to marry. Is that because of your mother?”

  Clara hadn’t really given the matter much thought. She shrugged.

  “Maybe. I don’t know. I only know that I’m not going to marry some old man in the nineteenth century, baron or not!”

  Mary’s grin returned. “How do you know the baron, whoever he is, will be old? Maybe he’ll be Baron Charming!”

  Clara managed a grin. “Even Baron Charming. I just don’t see me married.”

  Mary nodded and lifted the clothing in her lap.

  “Well, I see you in this dress, so peel off some of those clothes. You can keep your undies on if you want, but you’re going to get tired of washing them out every night.”

  “What do you wear?”

  “Nothing,” Mary said with a laugh. “The chemise and petticoat are enough. I’ve gotten used to ‘going commando.’”

  “Oh! Oh, I don’t think I can do that just yet!”

  “So keep your undies on. You can wash them out at night, especially if you’re not staying for long. Come on! Out of that polo shirt, corduroys and shoes. You can wear a pair of my slippers. I think we’re about the same size.” Mary stood and laid most of the clothing down on the seat again. She offered up a white linen garment that looked like a plain shift.

  Clara reluctantly undressed, self-conscious about her curves.

  “Hold up your arms,” Mary said. “This is the chemise.” She dropped the shift over Clara’s head, then bent to pick up what appeared to be white silk stockings.

  “No pantyhose. Sorry,” she said with a chuckle. “Stockings and garters. No elastic though. The stockings stay up pretty well. I was surprised.”

  Clara sat down and pulled the stockings up over her legs, accepting blue satin and lace ribbons from Mary to tie above her knees.

  “Okay, the dreaded stays. Arms up!”

  Clara complied, and to her surprise, Mary dropped a white linen corset over Clara’s head, settling straps on her shoulders.

  “Oh, they come with straps?”

  Mary moved behind her to tighten the laces.

  “Yes, they do here. Okay, push up your—”

  “Push what? You mean suck in my stomach?”

  “No, push your breasts up. The corset is designed to push your chest out. You’re going to get squished in there if you don’t.”

  Clara’s face burned as she repositioned herself. As soon as Mary pulled the laces of the stays, she realized why she’d had to readjust herself. An unyielding bit of something ran down the front of the stays, and she tapped on it, revealing a wooden sound.

  “So no bending over? At all?”

  “No. You’ll have excellent posture,” Mary said.

  Clara looked over her shoulder to see Mary laughing.

  “You didn’t wear this when you were pregnant, did you?”

  “No, not one little bit! Even now I really don’t like to wear them, but the dresses don’t fit very well if we don’t.”

  “Okay, petticoat.”

  Mary came around to the front with another linen shift, one with shoulder straps.

  “Hard to believe there’s more.”

  “We’re almost done.”

  She helped Clara into the petticoat and fastened it before picking up the blue dress. The flimsy material settled around her figure, and Clara was thankful for her undergarments.

  Mary tied the ribbon behind Clara’s back and pulled her over to the dressing table mirror.

  “The dress looks beautiful!” Mary exclaimed. “Better than it did on me!”

  “Oh, I doubt that,” Clara exclaimed, once again admiring Mary’s russet-colored hair and fair complexion.

  “Your ponytail is fine. I’ll just twist it up into a bun.” She did so and turned away to return to the wardrobe.

  “Here’s a pair of shoes, and then you’re done.”

  Clara sat, and Mary helped her into a dainty pair of black slippers.

  “Okay! That’s it! You’re all set,” Mary said, rising and helping Clara to her feet.

  “So this is what good posture feels like.” Clara patted the busk in the front of her stays. “I feel taller. Do I look taller?”

  “Yes, you do.” Mary laughed, tucking Clara’s hand under her arm. “Come on. Let’s go downstairs and have some tea and a snack. The baby will be awake soon, and I’ll have my hands full. One of the maids helps out with her, but I still feed her.”

  Mary pulled a reluctant Clara with her to the door. Pulling it open, she gasped. Just on the other side, her hand raised as if to knock, stood Miss Hermione Hickstrom.

  “You called, my dears?”

  Chapter Six

  Clara echoed Mary’s gasp with a sharp intake of breath. Miss Hickstrom, no longer dressed in her flowing pink dress, glowed in a dazzling voluminous gown of purple silk, the color of which complemented her blue hair.

 
; “Hickstrom!” Mary said, stepping back and pulling Clara with her.

  Miss Hickstrom entered the room and surveyed it. “The Rose Room, correct?” she said. “I do so love this room.”

  “You’re here!” Clara said idiotically.

  Miss Hickstrom returned her attention to the two young women standing before her. She folded her hands across the bodice of her gown and quirked an eyebrow, as if in inquiry.

  “Yes, of course I am here, Clara. Though I have other lonely hearts that require my attention, I do not like to leave my charges unattended for long. And you called. The pair of you. How may I be of assistance?”

  “Well, Hickstrom, you know very well that Clara has questions about being here—”

  Clara interrupted. “Send me home. If you’re the one who sent me here, send me home!”

  Miss Hickstrom clucked, almost as if in sympathy. Her next words affirmed the emotion. “I truly wish I could, Clara, but it is not possible just yet. You have not even tried.”

  “I don’t want to try! If you’re planning to match me to some baron or something, I don’t want to try! I don’t want to get married! I just want to go home,” Clara ended on an embarrassingly pitiful note.

  Miss Hickstrom’s bosom heaved as she sighed heavily.

  “May I sit?”

  “Yes, of course,” Mary said, her arm still linked in Clara’s as she led the way toward a sofa in front of the fireplace. The three women sat, Miss Hickstrom taking most of the room on the sofa, with her wide-hooped gown.

  Clara felt trapped, as much by being seated between the two women as she did by virtue of being kidnapped and thrown into the nineteenth century. She jumped up and turned to face Miss Hickstrom, who wore an irritating expression of polite curiosity.

  “You can’t do this to me! You can’t just ‘steal’ people and drag them into the past! I can’t live here. No offense, Mary. But I can’t live here. I have a business to run. I have people who will wonder where I’ve gone. I don’t want to get married! Especially to someone I don’t know...in the nineteenth century. Again, no offense, Mary!” Clara wrung her hands like the damsel in distress that she was. “Please, Hickstrom, if you had the power to bring me here, you can send me back. Please send me back! I’m sure there are tons of women who would love to travel back to the past and marry some historical man. Not me though!”