Caroline gave her another one of her knowing smiles. “Oh, I understand now.”
Isabel gave the woman a glare but refused to respond. She knew exactly what Caroline thought, and as far as Isabel was concerned, none of it was true.
“Oh, and by the way, he is not my Baron,” she said with a sniff.
“Of course not,” Caroline replied simply. “Shall we choose what you will take with you to London?”
Sighing, she pointed out which dresses and gowns she would pack, only her finest, of course. Once she arrived, she would go to the dressmaker’s to order more, but these would be acceptable until the first parties began. The nights were to be spent at parties, but the days would be for dreaming, for she knew that, at any moment whilst in London, the right gentleman would be introduced to her and then all her dreams would come true. And then she could put Lord Daniel Charmain out of her mind for good.
Chapter Four
The sky was gray and threatened rain as Daniel turned from the window of his office in his Shelford home. As a country home, it was grander than anything he would ever need, but it had been in his family for seven generations, and it would be expected that he marry and fill it with children. The idea of sharing his home with a wife was more than a little daunting, for he was not ready to settle down and start a family. Life had too much to offer for him to take such a tremendous step, and he had plans to fulfill before making that pledge. His mother, however, did not see it the same way.
“Time will pass faster than you realize,” she had told him during one of their many discussions about her expectations for him. “Soon you will be old and gray, much like myself. I remember my younger years, believing I would live forever. How quickly I learned that life does eventually come to an end.”
He had not replied, but he was still young. He still had plenty of time.
The weather matched Daniel’s mood as his mind went back to the events of the night before. The fiery redhead had captured his attention and his mind. When he had finally found the courage to express his opinion of her—it was oftentimes difficult for him to speak to beautiful women despite his ability to make grand speeches before large groups—her mother had interrupted them. His story about the wolves was dubious, of course, but it was the first thing that came to mind. Plus, the woman had seemed to believe him.
The reality was that most of the tales he told were far from true. In fact, especially when it came to the stories of his travels to India, all were complete fabrications. It was not that he enjoyed telling falsehoods exactly, for he knew the damage lies could cause, yet he held a deep secret about which he feared people would learn, and building an imaginary life kept that secret tightly under wraps. A secret was not a lie as far as he was concerned; it was simply an omission of the truth. The stories he told were more an illusion to hide the truth. That always sounded better than him telling lies.
Sighing, he stared out the window and brought his thoughts back to Miss St. Clair. In one sense he had not lied, not when it came to her beauty and charm. She possessed the sweetest of voices, a songstress who called out to him with her words. What he wanted to do above all else was to be able to call on the woman, present himself as a proper suitor, and perhaps even offer a courtship. He wanted to engage in conversation with her for hours on end. She appeared a knowledgeable woman, well-read and eager to converse. Well, perhaps she was more eager to question or to call him out for his stretching of the truth, but in her case, it was all the same as far as he was concerned. She could pick any topic, and he would be happy to simply be in her presence to hear what she had to say about it.
“My son spends his last hour at home gazing out the window?” his mother asked from behind him. He had not heard her enter the room, but he had been far away so it was not surprising. She wore a pleasant smile, and her hair matched the silver thread in her blue dress.
“I was just thinking,” he replied. “Will you be leaving tomorrow?”
“I will. I do enjoy visiting here with you, but it is time for me to return home where I belong.” She sat in a high-backed chair by the fireplace, the same chair she had sat in whenever she spent time in the room during his childhood. “I spoke with Lady Prindle earlier today while I was in town.”
“Oh?”
She nodded. “She said that her husband told her you were leaving for India again. I told her he must have misheard, for I understood that you were leaving for Scotland.”
Daniel shook his head. “I’m afraid the man’s consumption of wine has made him confused.” He let out a small laugh. “I did speak of my travels to that great land last evening; the poor man must have misunderstood. Or his inebriation got the better of him.”
His mother smiled in agreement. He did not enjoy skirting the truth with her, but it was a necessity. She could never learn the full truth. “He does tend to drink beyond what is sensible,” she said and then sighed. “He reminds me of your father, preferring the ways of drink rather than spending his time with his own wife.” Her voice held a tinge of remorse, and Daniel could not help but wish she had not brought up the topic of his father. The man had been dead five years now, and yet he still dictated their lives from the grave just through his memory. Daniel could have easily pushed the man from his mind, but his mother could not, as was evidenced by this common discussion.
Her next question, however, made him wince, just as it always did. “Do you not think it is time you find yourself a bride?”
Pulling out the chair, he sat down and placed his hands on top of the desk. Rain started pelting against the windowpane in a steady rhythm. “Do you wish for grandchildren so soon?” he asked with an offered smile, in hopes to deflect the conversation even for a short time.
“I do,” she replied with firmness. “And I want to see my son happy.”
“I am happy.” Only a slight untruth there, for he was not necessarily unhappy. “As for a bride, I shall find one in Scotland perhaps. A daughter of a sheep farmer.” When her jaw fell, he laughed. “I’m only teasing, Mother. I will find a bride, but not at this moment.” He pushed out the chair and stood once again. “I really must be going. I’m sorry I cannot see you off, but if I am not on my way this very moment, I will never leave.”
He walked over and kissed her cheek before heading to the front door where his bag was already waiting. As expected, the carriage had been brought around and a footman came and collected his bag.
“Do take care,” his mother called out as he stepped into the rain, water streaming off the brim of his hat and down his back in a most uncomfortable manner. “I fear the weather is dreadful.”
“Do not worry!” he called back once he was inside the carriage. “I shall see you in a few months.”
The carriage moved forward and he gave his mother one last wave before settling back into his seat. In the distance, lightning flashed, followed by loud peals of thunder. He regretted lying to his mother, but she would never understand the decisions he had made for his life. None of the ton would. However, he had a desire, a passion that could not be shared, nor could he stop himself from enjoying what he was doing. It was only by contriving elaborate untruths that he could partake in it at all. And it was not something he was willing to give up on anytime soon.
***
The carriage came to a stop in front of the small cottage, and Daniel peered out the rain-streaked window. Moments later, the front door opened and Miriam stepped outside, a carpet bag on one arm as she held her cloak tight around herself with her other hand.
His smile widened and he threw open the door, Miriam screeching as she ran to the carriage doing her best to avoid the puddles. Despite her attempts to stay dry—her hood had blown off in her dash from the house to the carriage—her hair was plastered to her head and her dress was now soaked. He took the bag from her and helped her into the vehicle.
“This rain is awful!” she exclaimed as she took the seat opposite him. Miriam was six and twenty, and a spinster, a fact for which she was quite
proud. “Forgive me, my friend! It is good to see you.”
Daniel laughed as he closed the door and pounded on the ceiling to inform the driver they were ready. A breath later, they were off. “It is good to see you, as well,” he said, handing her a towel he had packed for just such occasions. For the first time in quite a while he spoke with honesty, and he reveled in how good it felt to do so. “How has the year treated you thus far?”
Miriam was the daughter of a farmer and she possessed her father’s mannerisms and forwardness. However, like Daniel, she was adept at pretending to be something she was not, and impersonating a woman of great sophistication in speech and conduct came just as easily to her as her native speech.
“Oh, it has been a most dreadful year!” she said in reply to his inquiry. “My estate in Birmingham burned down just last week, if you can believe that! I am not all that upset about it, for I have a dozen others.” Her nose lifted regally. “A lady of the ton cares more for the dresses she owns than in which house she resides. Well, as long as the house is grand and befitting a lady, of course. And speaking of dresses, does mine meet your approval?” She wore a dark-green traveling dress with yellow embroidery and matching ribbon in her dark hair.
Daniel laughed and gave her a nod. “You are indeed a lady, and your dress is the finest I have ever seen.”
Miriam giggled at his words, and the two old friends spoke for a few moments of what had truly transpired since they had last seen one another, which had been some five months earlier when they had returned to their homes for the summer. Miriam was a dear friend, and Daniel had taken her in his confidence some time ago. He cared for and respected her deeply, not as a man would care for a woman, but as a brother might care for a sister. He admired her for many reasons, but the fact she had taught herself to read and was ever the one with a bright outlook on life had topped the list.
“…then he turned to my father and offered a gift of four pigs!” Miriam was saying as she concluded her story. “Can you believe the audacity of the man? My hand in marriage in exchange for four pigs!”
Daniel shook his head. “The rudeness!” he said in mock affront. Then he added, “I would have offered at least five!”
This brought on another bout of laughter, and Miriam slapped at his leg playfully. The rain beat against the roof of the carriage, but inside they were warm and dry. Or at least drier than they had been when they first entered.
“Oh, Daniel, another year is upon us. I remain a spinster and I wonder if you are to remain alone just as I am.”
He chuckled. “My mother inquired about my unattachment not three hours ago. I’ll tell you as I told her. I will find a bride in due time, but not now. I have too much I want to do first.”
Miriam smiled, her hands clasped in her lap. “So, am I your ever-faithful cousin on this journey? Perhaps we should be two lovers who are running away to be married.” She gave him a mischievous eye, and although she was a comely woman, he was not attracted to her, and least not in that sense.
“I believe you shall still be my cousin,” he replied. “I fear England is simply too small and any deviance from our original story would cause suspicion if someone we met previously came upon us again.”
“Oh, you worry too much,” she said with a wave of her hand.
The carriage started to slow, and Daniel leaned over to peer out the window. A white carriage was ahead of them and it appeared to be stuck in the mud, so he lifted the door handle and set out to give what aid he could.
Chapter Five
The carriage tilted, and Isabel gasped, fearing the vehicle would tip. A moment later it corrected itself and she let out a sigh of relief. The rain had been coming down in buckets since they had left the house, and a journey that should have been full of excitement had been nothing but dreary and uncomfortable. How her mother could sleep through it was beyond her, but her father mumbled his annoyance, echoing the thoughts in her head.
“I will need more than one drink tonight,” he grumbled. “The weather, these roads. It’s a wonder this country has not fallen apart!”
“Oh, Father,” Isabel said, keeping her voice level, “the country is as strong as this carriage. Nothing will stop…”
Her words were cut off as the carriage came to an abrupt stop, throwing both Isabel and her mother forward. If it had not been for her father’s quick reaction, her mother would have ended up on the floor with a broken bone—more than likely her neck. That did not stop Isabel from letting out a yelp as she reached out and caught herself on the cushion as she went down to her knees beside her father.
“That does it!” her father bellowed as he reached for the handle on the door. “I will dismiss young David and drive the carriage to London myself since he has no idea how to get us there safely!”
“Peter,” Isabel’s mother exclaimed, but he paid her no heed as he exited the carriage, slamming the door behind him.
Isabel listened to the muffled voices that went back and forth. She let out a sigh. The Season would soon begin, but she hoped the weather and the unfortunate carriage ride were not signs of what was to come.
Several moments went by and then the door opened, her father’s rain-soaked face greeting them. “The carriage is stuck,” he said. “David and I shall try to remove it. There is a large tree on the side of the road where the ground appears relatively dry where you can wait. You did bring the umbrella, did you not?”
Isabel nodded. “I did.”
“Good. The two of you, out.”
Her mother reached under the seat and sighed. “I think we may have forgotten the umbrella after all.”
Her father glared at them. “It makes no difference. You must be out of the carriage whether you have an umbrella or not.” He pointed a finger at Isabel. “Be that as a warning to bring one with you the next time it is raining.”
Isabel followed her mother out of the carriage, and she traversed the mud, making attempts to find the least likely spots that would ruin her slippers but failing miserably as each step made a squelching noise no matter how hard she tried. Her mother had warned her to wear her boots, but Isabel had ignored the warning. See what not listening to her parents got her? Wet clothing and muddy slippers.
Arm in arm, Isabel and her mother made their way to the place her father had indicated, and it was indeed drier, though not as dry as inside the carriage, which was where Isabel would rather have remained. Unfortunately, she had to agree with her father; the carriage would be much easier to move without anyone inside, and it would be much safer.
She watched with interest as the two men pushed the back of the carriage, her father letting out a string of curses that made her mother take a deep inhale of breath. Isabel choked back a giggle.
Her mother seemed to misunderstand the reaction Isabel had to her father’s language. “Pay no attention,” her mother said as she patted Isabel on the hand. “Your father is just tired is all.” She sounded as if she were trying to convince herself more than Isabel.
Though the leaves on the branches above them blocked most of the rain, a fair amount still fell upon them, and the two women embraced one another for warmth. The sound of a carriage trumbling from down the road made her turn, and it came to a stop behind the men pushing. The door swung open and a man and a woman exited, their hoods pulled over their heads to protect them from the rain. Despite the cloak, however, Isabel could make out fine clothing, the man in brown breeches and high black boots and the woman in a green dress. At least the woman had worn her boots.
“Well, Lord Charmain!” her father shouted at the man. “What brings you out this way?”
Isabel’s eyes went very wide as she recognized the man from the party the night before. A thousand thoughts went through her mind as she wondered how he had come down this road right at this moment, and more importantly, who the woman was beside him. Even from this distance, Isabel could see she was very pretty and was of a strong mind; the woman had a way of standing, her head high, and yet she did n
ot appear arrogant, for a look of wisdom beamed from her bright cheeks.
“It looks as if you have gotten yourself into quite a pickle,” Lord Charmain said in that same eloquent and theatrical speech he had used at the party. “As to how I come to be here at this precise moment? I am a man of many travels, and fortunate for you, it is fate which has brought me to you.” He looked over at Isabel and her mother. “Ladies,” he said as he bowed, his hand on his hat to keep it from falling.
Isabel could not help but smile, which was greatly confusing. What she thought of the man had not been approving, but somehow his arrival had excited her. She almost called out his name in greeting, but she decided against it. Just because they were in a dire situation did not mean she could behave in such a forward manner. Plus, they had not left on the best of terms the previous night.
“Now, let us move this carriage before the rain carries us away,” Lord Charmain said in that boisterous voice.
Isabel watched in fascination as the three men went to the side of the carriage that was mired in the mud. Her heart skipped a beat as the woman lifted her skirts and ran to the front of the carriage.
Her father noticed, as well. “My lady, surely you cannot…”
“I have ridden the finest of steeds,” she called back through the downpour. “I am no stranger when it comes to horses.” She did not seem to mind that her hood had fallen back, exposing her head to the rain.
“It’s true,” Lord Charmain said. “Miriam is a lady among ladies, though her help will be imperative. We shall say nothing more on this matter.”
Then, to Isabel’s shock, her father simply nodded! The man who had told her on more than one occasion that no woman should ever be seen performing any task delegated to men! For some reason she could not comprehend, Isabel found herself bursting with jealousy and anger. The woman cared nothing for etiquette and social expectation, and there she was, making herself an equal to the men!
The Baron's Charade (Regency Stories Book 3) Page 3