by Bess McBride
St. John looked up at Roger, who didn’t respond.
“Yes, a very recent inheritance,” St. John filled in. “You must stay at Alvord Castle, Lord Carswell. Where is your carriage?”
“Thank you. I accept your gracious offer, St. John. My carriage is just out of sight around a bend in the road.”
“Roger, could you ride ahead and ask the coachman to return and collect Lord Carswell and Miss Bell?”
“At once,” Roger said, spurring his horse into a trot without a backward glance.
Lord Carswell patted Clara’s hand again. She gently tried to extricate herself, but the baron didn’t release her...or didn’t notice that she was trying to pull away.
“How is Lady Carswell?”
Lord Carswell tsked and shook his head. “Resting in the arms of angels, no doubt,” he said. “She left this earth ten years since.”
“Please accept my condolences,” St. John said with a blink.
He shifted his eyes to Clara, and she thought she read something pointed in them. She had no doubt that he thought the same as she. Did Hickstrom bring another bachelor baron into the fray?
“Yes, I have been a bachelor these many years,” Lord Carswell said, as if reading Clara’s thoughts. “I may reconsider my situation though.” He smiled at Clara, whose cheeks flushed.
“Miss Bell is visiting us from America. She returns in two weeks.” St. John’s words sounded like a warning.
“So she told me. I have just returned from America myself. From Virginia, where Miss Bell tells me she is from. It is not so difficult a journey. Perhaps I might venture there again soon.”
St. John blinked again and directed another look at Clara. She widened her eyes but said nothing.
“I hear that you are happily wed, St. John, and a father?”
“I am, and yes, we have a child now.”
St. John went on to talk about Mary and the baby, while Clara listened with half an ear. The rest of her attention was on the return of the carriage...and Roger.
They soon appeared, Roger trotting ahead of the carriage, and upon arrival, he still refused to meet Clara’s eyes.
She lifted her chin and allowed Lord Carswell to help her into the carriage. Having never ridden in a bona fide nineteenth-century carriage, she enjoyed the gentle jostling as it moved sedately down the country road.
They reached the castle fairly soon, and one of the coachmen opened the door and helped them down. A groom took St. John’s and Roger’s horses after the men dismounted. Clara noted they exchanged several words, with Roger pointing in the direction of the drive...or the gatehouse. St. John shook his head, and Roger nodded, albeit reluctantly.
“The castle is as fine as I remember,” Lord Carswell said as St. John approached.
Clara felt her hand captured in the baron’s arm again, and short of getting into a tug-of-war, she had to leave it there.
“Thank you,” St. John said. “The castle has fine bones.”
“Indeed,” Lord Carswell said.
The door opened, and Mary stood there.
“Lord Carswell, allow me to introduce my wife, Lady Mary St. John. Mary, this is Lord James Carswell, Fifth Baron Carswell, an old friend of the family. He has come to visit.”
Clara heard St. John’s emphasis on the word baron.
“Just a day or two, I promise,” Lord Carswell said with a laugh. “I was passing through and thought to look in on St. John. I am so pleased to meet you, Lady St. John.”
They climbed the stairs to meet Mary, who eyed all of them with lifted brows.
“Welcome, Lord Carswell! Please call me Mary. It is so nice to meet a friend of the family. And does your wife travel with you?”
Mary threw Clara a look of surprise, clearly wondering how she had ended up in Lord Carswell’s carriage.
“No, I am a widower,” he said.
Mary blinked. “Oh, how sad. I am so sorry.”
“Thank you,” he said with a bit more sincerity than he had shown so far regarding his wife’s death. “I had the good fortune to meet your guest, Miss Bell, who was out walking, and we have become acquainted.”
“I see,” Mary said. She drew in a deep breath and plastered a bright smile on her face. “Come in!”
They entered the castle, a very reluctant Roger bringing up the rear. Clara wasn’t sure if his eyes were boring into her back or whether she hoped they were. If so, that would mean he had at least looked at her.
They filed into the drawing room, where Mary directed tea be served. Roger refused a seat, taking a stand by the fireplace. The other men sat in available chairs, and Mary and Clara sat on the sofa. Everyone watched everyone, including Lord Carswell.
Clara supposed he assessed the situation, given her foolish hints that she was being coerced into marriage.
All that was needed to complete the nightmare was Hickstrom.
A knock at the door brought a tea service, complete with sandwiches, and another footman announcing the arrival of a Miss Hickstrom.
Clara stiffened and tried to stand, only to be returned to her seat by a gentle tug from Mary.
Hickstrom sallied in, still wearing her dazzling gown of gold satin.
“Good afternoon,” she said. “I see that I am just in time for tea. I am famished!” She settled onto the sofa next to Mary.
Lord Carswell jumped up to bow, as did St. John, albeit unenthusiastically. Roger noticeably failed to do so.
“Miss Hickstrom,” Mary said as Lord Carswell reseated himself. “May I present Lord James Carswell? Lord Carswell, this is...Miss Hermione Hickstrom.”
“Miss Hickstrom, my pleasure,” Lord Carswell said.
“And mine, Lord Carswell. And shall I meet Lady Carswell?” Miss Hickstrom looked around the room, as if that lady were hiding behind the sofa or the curtains.
“Alas, no, Miss Hickstrom. I am a widower.”
“Oh, no!” she said, her smile belying her expression of regret. “That is too bad.”
“Indeed,” he said.
Mary poured out tea and offered food. Hickstrom helped herself to a napkin full of food.
“Are you visiting, Lord Carswell?”
“Yes, I am an old friend of St. John’s parents and thought to look in on him on my way to my estate.”
“Your estate?”
“Yes, Wayburn Hall in Bedfordshire.”
“Ah! You are a baron, I think?”
“Indeed, you are correct. How did you know?”
The tension in the room was palpable. Only Lord Carswell was unaware of the undercurrent of the discussion.
“I try to keep abreast of the peerage,” she said, directing a beatific smile around the room.
“Have you known the family long?” Lord Carswell asked.
“I introduced Lord St. John and his lady,” she said. “In a manner of speaking.”
“Oh! Excellent! You did very well, I see. The affection between them is marked.”
“Yes, I think so,” Miss Hickstrom said, almost purring.
Clara, Mary, St. John and Roger looked on in various states of fascination and horror as the two engaged.
“I pride myself on my matchmaking skills. Are you in need of a match, Lord Carswell?”
Even Lord Carswell colored at this. He coughed behind his napkin.
“Well, I had not thought so, but I might reconsider.” He turned a glance on Clara, who dropped her eyes to the teacup clutched in her cold hands.
“Miss Bell is a lovely young woman, is she not?”
“Miss Hickstrom, please,” Mary protested.
“She is indeed,” Lord Carswell said, suddenly alert. He glanced at the faces in the room. “Matchmaking and coercion are not the same thing,” he said suddenly.
Hickstrom looked momentarily startled...for once.
“In my experience, people often need encouragement to seek happiness. Bliss does not always fall into one’s lap without help. Would you not agree, Lord Carswell?”
“I agree that happiness is n
ot a guarantee and that one must strive for it, certainly, Miss Hickstrom. But surely the decision to be happy or not should fall to the individual.”
“Yet some people do not realize they are unhappy.”
“I understand your sentiments. Still, I maintain that one cannot force happiness upon another.”
The rest of the room continued to watch the exchange, captivated.
“No, of course not,” Miss Hickstrom said, nibbling at her sandwich. “But one can encourage.”
“So long as that encouragement is not coercion. I return to my original point.”
Hickstrom chuckled. “Touché, Lord Carswell! However, it is possible that people do not know if they are being coerced, encouraged or surreptitiously guided?”
“Surreptitiously guided, madam?”
“Indeed, Lord Carswell.” Hickstrom beamed at the room in general. “There are often forces at work beyond our comprehension.”
“What forces are those?”
Clara thought the two had begun to enjoy the quasi-bickering.
“Magical forces.”
Mary drew in a sharp breath, and Clara wondered if Hickstrom was about to out herself as a fairy godmother to the baron.
“I do not believe in magic, Miss Hickstrom,” Lord Carswell said with a chuckle.
“Perhaps you should, Lord Carswell. But enough of our tête-à-tête. We are being rude to our hosts. How is it that you come to visit Lord and Lady St. John?”
Clara stared at the fairy godmother, who may or may not have winked in her direction.
“I was on my way to my estate and thought I might look in on St. John. It has been years since I saw him.”
“You had not planned to visit in advance?” she asked.
“No, I had not, else I would have written ahead. St. John and Lady Mary have graciously offered to host me for my impromptu visit.”
“I wonder what prompted your...impromptu visit?”
Lord Carswell shook his head, but his eyes twinkled.
“Nothing magical, I am certain of that.”
Hickstrom quirked an amused eyebrow but said nothing else. Clara had no doubt in her mind. The fairy godmother had brought the baron to Alvord Castle, but to what end, Clara could not imagine. Was she so determined that Clara fulfill the promise of the fairy tale and marry a baron that she would continue to parade barons in front of her for selection? She swore to ask Hickstrom as soon as possible.
“What an interesting exchange,” St. John murmured.
“Quite,” Hickstrom said. “And how are you today, Lord Rowe? You seem very quiet.”
“I am well, thank you, Miss Hickstrom,” Roger said through tight lips. “Very well...just as I am.”
Clara knew he spoke for Hickstrom’s ears only, but Lord Carswell caught the strange finish.
“Tell me of your unexpected inheritance, Lord Rowe,” Lord Carswell said. “How very fortunate for you! And yet you continue on as estate agent?”
Roger looked toward St. John, who had heretofore done all the talking for him, but St. John picked up a sandwich and made a show of eating.
“I have been a baron for only a day and am not yet used to the idea. It seems that a very distant relative of my mother’s, previously unknown to me or my father, died leaving me as the titular heir to his title. There is no estate.”
“Hopefully, the title comes with income, but that is of course your concern. And you intend to remain here as estate agent?”
“I do, for the foreseeable future. I had not thought to live or work anywhere else. This has all come as a surprise.”
“You and your father lived in the gatehouse, is that correct? Do you still reside there?”
“I do, quite happily. It is very small. Very small indeed. Quite cramped for two people, but cozy enough for one.” He gave Hickstrom a pointed look.
Clara rolled her eyes.
“That sounds very small indeed. Once you marry and have children, you may want a larger place. Is there a house nearby you might purchase or rent should that happy event take place?”
Roger’s face turned bright red, and he dragged a hand across his chin.
“I cannot imagine such an event. I am quite content. Very.”
“Ah!” Lord Carswell said. He surveyed the faces in the room, including Clara’s. “The subject of marriage has come up quite often this day and has undertones that I do not understand. I considered myself very content in my bachelorhood as well. Perhaps you will change your mind.”
“I do not believe that I will,” Roger said stubbornly.
“No, perhaps not,” Lord Carswell said. He turned to St. John. “But you and Lady Mary are quite content with your situation, so there is hope for us all yet!”
“Indeed,” St. John said. “There is always hope...and magic.”
Hickstrom beamed. “I have a convert!” she cried out.
“A reluctant convert,” St. John replied. He did not smile at the fairy godmother, but in fact, gave her a dark look.
Hickstrom dabbed at her lips with her napkin, set it down on the coffee table and rose. “I really must be on my way. It was lovely to meet you, Lord Carswell.”
The seated men rose and bowed. Roger barely inclined his head.
“The pleasure was mine, Miss Hickstrom.”
Mary rose to escort her out, but Hickstrom signaled she should remain.
“I will see myself out. Good day!” She sailed out in a billow of gold, and the room fell silent as everyone watched her leave.
Mary expelled an audible sigh and brightened. “More tea, anyone?”
“I should go,” Roger said. “I must attend to some paperwork.” He bowed to the room in general and left.
“Lord Carswell? Clara? More tea?” Mary asked.
“I shall have another cup, my dear,” St. John said. He accepted a cup from her.
“What an interesting woman,” Lord Carswell said. “Have you known her long? Does she reside nearby?”
“We have known her for a few years,” St. John said. “I am never really sure where she resides. She seems to visit often though.”
“Does she have family?”
“Not that I am aware of.”
Lord Carswell took the hint and changed the subject. Miss Hickstrom might have been an easier topic than the next.
“From where do you hail in Virginia, Miss Bell?”
Chapter Twelve
“Oh, you must catch up on Virginia talk later, Lord Carswell,” Mary said, rising. “We have a ball to attend tonight at Fairchild House. Of course, you must come along. Clara should rest now though. She is not used to our late hours.”
The men stood again when the women rose.
“I’m sure your room is ready now, Lord Carswell,” Mary said. “St. John will escort you. We will see you again shortly.” She took Clara’s hand and led her from the room. As they climbed the stairs, Mary clapped a hand to her mouth.
Clara heard her giggling, and responded with a hysterical chuckle of her own.
“What is Hickstrom doing?” Mary whispered. “Is she trying to make Roger jealous or offering you a new choice of baron? What do you think of Lord Carswell?”
Clara took a deep breath to calm her hysterics. “He’s very nice, handsome too, but no, no, no! I’m afraid I said something sometime after I met him about refusing marriage and refusing to be forced into it. He asked if you or St. John was trying to force me into marriage. I said no, but he must have guessed Hickstrom was involved. That’s probably why he was challenging her.”
They reached the landing and walked toward Clara’s room.
“Why don’t you rest right now, and I’ll direct Mrs. Green to have Sarah bring some hot water in a few hours? I’ll bring over a gown and some shoes then too. These balls start late and go until early morning. I won’t stay till morning because of the baby, but still...we’ll be out late.”
“Okay,” Clara said docilely. They parted at her door, and Clara entered the bedroom. She dropped face first ont
o the bed and fell instantly asleep. Her dreams were disjointed but featured barons—big barons, little barons, old barons and young barons.
A tap on her door awoke her, and Sarah entered carrying two buckets of water.
“Lady Mary said to wake you and bring you hot water, miss. She said she will come soon with a gown for this evening.”
Exhausted from her dreams, Clara rolled over onto her back and pushed herself to a sitting position.
“Thank you,” she said, looking at the buckets. “Wait! Is there a tub in here somewhere?”
“Yes, miss. Just behind that screen. Lady Mary likes to have bathing tubs in several of the rooms.” Sarah nodded toward a silk screen that covered one end of the room. Clara hopped off the bed and followed her to where a small porcelain tub stood.
“I didn’t know this was here!”
“No, miss. It is hidden.” Sarah poured the buckets of hot water into the tub, which filled it about six inches. “Do you require more water, Miss?”
Clara took pity on her. “No, thank you.”
“The small table holds linens and soap. Lady Mary said to tell you the soap is suitable for your hair, but I am certain you know that.”
Clara didn’t, but time travelers couldn’t be choosy.
“Thank you, Sarah!”
She waited until the maid left and ran into the water closet to relieve herself. Returning to the bedroom, she wriggled out of her clothing and stepped into the hot water. She grabbed up the bar of soap and washed herself, dipping her hair in and out of the lavender-scented water.
The water soon cooled, and Clara reluctantly rose to dry herself with a linen towel. Wrapping the towel around her midriff, she dried her hair with another towel and stepped out of the tub.
Mary knocked on the door within minutes. She too appeared to have bathed, as her hair looked damp and she wore a pink silk wrapper. She carried an armful of clothing.
“Oh, I’ll have to bring you a wrapper. Did you enjoy your bath?”
“I did! Thank you. Sarah said you’d put tubs in several of the rooms.”
“The staff thought I was crazy, and I doubt if they’re happy that I bathe multiple times a week, but I’m the lady of the house, and I get what I want.” She smiled. “What I really want is indoor plumbing with hot and cold running water.”