She rested her hand on the fine material of his brown jacket. "Jude, don't say such things. You know its better this way."
His eyes flashed with mischief as his gaze came to rest upon her face. There was her Jude. The playful man she knew. "Why is that?"
"If she hadn't married my father, you and I would not be brother and sister."
He chuckled. "I beg your pardon, Lady Chloe. Until lately, I hardly viewed you as a sister."
She took a step back, her hip coming to rest on the door stick. "What does that mean?" She eyed him with suspicion.
He shrugged noncommittally, his countenance stern. "It means nothing. Now come along. It's rude to keep our guest waiting."
"Guest?" she asked, relieved that he stepped away and offered her an escape…relieved and somewhat confused. He had changed so much in their time apart. She didn’t understand his new complexities.
"Yes, remember? In the garden?"
He offered her his arm and she curled her fingers around the strength of his forearm, the muscles hard and tight beneath her touch. Dear Lord, if he were going to introduce her to his fiancée, how would she feel? How? For having him by her side felt so comfortable and yet strangely new and exciting. She realized, with a start, that she didn’t want to share Jude.
"Who is in the garden?" she asked as they moved slowly beneath the arched doorway that led into the conservatory. She couldn’t stop looking at him, wanted to memorize every detail, old and new. If it wasn’t for the feel of his warm body next to hers, she'd scarcely believe he was here.
"Oh, yes. My dear friend, Fredrick Von Richter. I happened upon him when I arrived." Startled she froze just inside the double doors that led out into the garden. When she should've been considering his statement, she found herself mesmerized by the way the afternoon sun glinted off his chestnut curls. Curls far too long for the current fashion and yet she found she liked them. Living in America had turned him into quite a man.
"Von Richter?" The name felt odd on her tongue. "He's the man your mother insists I marry."
"I see," he replied. "You could do far worse." She gazed at him, saddened by the sparkle in his eye. Was his obvious happiness a result of the news of her possible nuptials? How could he be happy for her? He knew how she felt. Knew she viewed the engagement as a trap. Knew she didn't want to marry. He knew so much. Why was he behaving so oddly? So completely out of character.
"Jude," she grumbled, tears coming to her eyes. "That is a machination of your mother." She dropped his arm and stepped further back into the room. "I don't wish to marry him. I just told you, I haven't even met the man."
The smile slid from Jude's face. "Well, he's a rather terrific fellow," he said, offering her his handkerchief. "And he will make a fine husband and a good match, indeed. He owns much land in Germany, has an estate in Scotland, and even has holdings in America."
"Wealth?" She snatched the handkerchief, and blotted her eyes, the delicious scent of sandalwood touching her senses and sending desperate sorrow pressing low against her abdomen. "Jude, you know me better than that. I don’t wish to marry for wealth. I want to be in love." She looked at him, needing him to understand. "Don't you remember how bad it felt when your mother wanted you to marry the duchess? It was horrible. You ran away."
"I didn’t leave because of that," Jude replied. "I left because the woman I loved didn't love me in return. I believe she thought I wasn't a man." His voice cracked with emotion and her breath sped from her lungs as guilt saturated every cell in her body.
"You left because of me? I told you I was sorry." This time the ache surged so deep she was forced to sit down upon the settee. "I didn't believe you loved me as a man loves a woman…"
"I told you I was in love with you." He pushed open the doors to the garden, a small burst of air swirled in the room carrying with it the strong scent of lavender. "But that's neither here nor there. That is the past and not likely to repeat itself. Love is one thing, security is another, and if you want your leave of my mother and her….machinations, take your freedom on the arm of Fredrick. He will love you and if you allow yourself, you will grow to love him. He's indeed a passionate fellow and you could do far worse."
She dabbed at her eyes and stared at him through tear soaked lashes. "I could do better."
He turned, standing there amongst the lilies. A picture she’d seen often before. But in the past his face had been relaxed, laughing. "Deal with the present, Chloe. It is, after all, the only thing you can truly be certain of."
She glared at him. This wasn't the Jude she missed and she wished him back to America, for his betrayal hurt far worse than the betrayal of her stepmother and even her father. This hurt cut her to her core. "That's not true. I am certain of one other fact."
"What is that?" Jude asked, tilting his head, a smirk marring his usually pleasant countenance.
"That there is far more of your mother in you then I ever wanted to recognize."
CHAPTER THREE
"It's my great pleasure to meet you." Fredrick Von Richter was a handsome fellow, with raven black hair and the bluest of eyes. Shorter than Jude but every bit as broad and strong, he cut an imposing figure in his slate gray morning coat and matching slacks. A single curl fell across his tanned forehead and a full mustache covered his upper lip. He bowed low, yet his attention never wavered from her face.
"Thank you, Baron. It's good to meet you, as well."
He straightened and took a step closer to her, presenting her with a daisy, plucked no doubt from her garden. Charming.
"It's a humble flower, from a man humbled by your beauty, Lady Chloe." His voice was deep with only the slightest hint of a foreign accent. She had expected a swarthy brute that smelled of bratwurst and spoke with a thick German tongue. He was not at all what she expected, and for that she was terminally grateful. Yet it would've been easier if he had been an ogre. Easier to hate Dorothea and loathe her son.
She cast a glance at Jude.
"She is rather lovely," Jude remarked. "You two carry on. I’m going to see to it that Mother and Lord Pembridge don't get too carried away. Will I see you at dinner, Lady Chloe?"
She ignored the question and turned her focus upon the baron. "So, you're from Germany. Where?" Despite her anger, her heart sank when Jude left and punctuated his exit with a slam of the conservatory door.
"Bavaria, but I have not been home in some months having been at sea. I'm only recently back from the Orient and now that I've seen Jude, I do believe my next stop will be America."
He offered her his arm and she hesitated.
"It’s all right, Lady Chloe. I know this is a rather odd predicament in which you find yourself. But allow me to assure you, nothing will happen between us that you don’t wish to happen. All I ask is that you spend a little time with me. Get to know me and then decide if I'm a man you could marry." He said the words, his tone earnest, his gaze soft and comforting. "Please understand, I want an amicable marriage and I want my wife to be happy."
He tilted his head and raised his arm a bit higher. "Please indulge me in a turn around the garden."
She fought back her anxiety and slid her fingers into the crook of his arm, his woolen coat rough against her fingertips. "The Orient? I have always longed to see the world."
He escorted her down a narrow path that led to a small, secluded pond. "Yes. It’s a fantastic world. Where would you like to visit? Perhaps some day you would see fit to visit my homeland? My house is magnificent. It has been in my family since the seventeenth century."
"Ahh, much like Pembridge House," she said looking over her shoulder, the glorious stone house still awed her with its imposing columns and turrets. It aged but it never got old. She would happily live and die with the house as the backdrop to her life.
He nodded. "Your home is amazing and your father tells me that he wants it to stay in his direct lineage. That means you and your children."
She knew what it meant and she knew what he meant and despite his
innocent tone and expression, her stomach once again knotted and her heart fluttered. "Yes, that's what it means."
He offered her the smallest of smiles but his gaze was direct and unnerving. "Do you like children?"
She stopped walking and allowed her hands to fall to her sides. He was moving too fast. He had gone from pleasantries to the guts of his intentions in less than a ten foot stroll. "I know you want marriage and heirs, isn't that what all titled gentlemen want? Isn't that what they look for in a match?" Suddenly it was too much. All of it. Her father had turned on her. Her stepmother would see her sold to the highest bidder and the one man she thought she could trust had pushed her away…and now this man, this stranger, wanted only to breed with her. Anger scorched her heart and she stepped back, opening her arms wide. "Do I have the hips of a breeder, Baron?"
His face blanched and his mouth opened wide. "Och mein Gott, Lady Chloe, you wound me with your anger. I’m a good man seeking to improve my fortunes and the fortunes of my children. I came here wanting nothing more than to meet someone who wanted the same. Instead, I get—" He pointed an accusing finger toward her. "I get a woman who would rather not marry, who would watch the family home she claims to love be taken over by the highest bidder. A person who would see her father in debtor’s prison."
"Debtors prison?" she shouted. "Where did you hear such a lie? We may be struggling but surely it isn't that bad."
His cheeks grew a dark red, his blue eyes narrow slits. "You call me a liar?"
"No, sir…" She looked back at the house and then to Fredrick. "I…"
"You know so little of your father's debts? Of your mother's overwhelming charges? You, Lady Chloe, offer little in this deal with the exception of your lovely face and your title. Why, Pembridge House has liens against it." He pointed toward the manor. "Have you not noticed the slates missing from the roof? The shutters in need of paint? Even the garden, as lovely as it is, is in need of weeding."
She stared dumbfounded at the house. Dear God, he was right. How had she not seen how shabby it had become? Indeed, all of the shutters were faded. Some even hung at an angle, the rusty hinges no longer able to hold the weight. The house, the gardens, the stables all needed of attention. Attention that cost money.
She moved numbly away from Fredrick and toward the heart of the garden for a place to sit. Finding the small wooden bench, she lowered herself down, her legs too leaden to take another step. Surely, the gossip Fredrick had heard had been wrong. Yes, they struggled. Some staff had to be let go. A few horses sold. A plot of land was auctioned here and there…but liens against Pembridge House itself?
She set her hand to her breast, her heart thrummed hard against her fingers as sweat gathered on her forehead and waves of nausea settled deep in her stomach.
Was she truly the only hope of saving Pembridge? Was she the only one who had anything to offer? And why then did she have to offer herself? Tears sped to her eyes and she allowed them to fall, unchecked. This was her duty to her family. "Give me strength," she sobbed, burying her face in her hands.
"I'm sorry, Lady Chloe."
She didn't look up, refusing to meet Fredrick's gaze. He lowered himself down at her side and despite her irritation, the warmth of his body next to hers offered a strange sort of comfort. "I speak too bluntly sometimes. I meant no disrespect."
He touched her sleeve, his hand outstretched, offering her his handkerchief.
"Thank you," she said, dabbing her eyes with the lacy linen. Where Jude's handkerchief smelled of sandalwood and comfort, Fredrick's offered nothing but citrus and starch.
"Do you accept my humblest apologies?"
She sniffled and finally forced herself to meet his gaze. His blue eyes were heavy with concern and the slight tilt of his head and curl of his lips had him exuding a boyish charm she'd not have thought him capable of.
"You must forgive me as well. This is a trying time. I knew there were difficulties, I simply refused to see how desperate times were." She studied the man’s handsome face, looking for answers. "Why would someone like you want to marry into such a debt?"
"Oh my dear Lady Chloe, any woman who has captured the lasting admiration of Jude Arden must be special. And having seen your fire, charm, and beauty, for the life of me I don't understand why he'd choose to marry the woman to whom he's engaged."
The reminder of his engagement brought with it a fresh wave of anxiety and despair so strong, she felt the sob start in her toes and was unable to halt it as it sped to her lips. She again buried her face in her hands and rose, unsteadily to her feet.
Fredrick came to her aid, his large hands on her waist, his strong frame a support she was grateful to have. "Bitte, Frauline…please, I don't know how to help you."
The pleading tone in his voice calmed her. What a fool she was making of herself. He would no doubt be leaving on his next adventure a single man. For why would anyone wish to marry her knowing all he did…having seen all he'd seen?
Dear Lord, she wasn't this simpering goose. Until this marriage nonsense she couldn't remember the last time she actually cried. Of course she'd moaned and groaned about her stepmother. But shed actual tears? And then she realized, the last time she cried was when Jude had left her, his goodbye a short note with a promise to write.
She forced down the wave of agony and held tight to his arm. "Please Baron, forgive my outburst. You have learned far too much about me this day."
He gingerly touched her hand and offered it a reassuring squeeze. "You’re a woman carrying the burden of your father's expectations. I understand that sentiment only too well. It’s my father's desire that I wed an English woman…or it was."
She offered him a curious look and what she saw in his countenance was not disgust or irritation but a smile, the sweetest of smiles. "Baron Von Richter, whatever do you mean?"
"I mean, I will now happily do his bidding if the object of my affection has brown eyes, auburn hair and a penchant for the dramatic."
She pulled away, relieved to finally be able to fully meet his gaze. "Are you speaking of me? After all you've witnessed, you're still considering me a decent match?" She sniffled and dabbed at her eyes and nose with the handkerchief. Like the baron, it grew softer and more comforting the longer she had it.
"I know no other English woman with all three of those attributes. Will you, Lady Chloe Pembridge, consider seeing me again? Spend a little time with me, won't you?"
She shrugged her shoulders. "How can I tell a man with such a forgiving spirit no?"
He slid his touch down her arm, his fingers wrapping her hand in the warmth of his grip. Lifting her hand to his lips, he gently kissed the knuckles, the hairs of his mustache bristly against her skin. "Will you join me for a picnic tomorrow afternoon?"
Her lips parted to protest, there would have to be more than just the two of them alone. It wasn't proper. Her heart hammered against her ribs but was it from worry or excitement? She pulled her lower lip between her teeth, well aware that it was a mixture of the two. "Well, I would like to say yes."
"Then you should say yes," he said, letting go of her hand, but still standing close. His broad chest blocked her view of the house. A cool breeze rustled the leaves of a nearby maple and sent the brisk, clean scent of Fredrick's citrus cologne swirling around her muddled senses.
"Who-who else will be in attendance?"
"Who Who." He chuckled. "Is that why you hesitate, my little owl? Are you afraid I am like the wolf?" He lifted a dark brow, his eyes taunting her with mischief.
Squaring her shoulders she returned his handkerchief. "Actually, yes that is why I hesitate. No, I mean…I’m not afraid of you, but there is protocol."
He took the hankie and shoved it into his pocket. "I am well aware of protocol. It has already kept me from kissing more than just your hand."
Heat sped into her cheeks and her heart again raced. No one, not even her drunken suitor had been so bold. A small, shocked laugh popped from her lips. "Baron, you are a wolf
."
"Yes, but a wolf who is well aware of duty and manners. Take heart. Jude and his fiancée will also be there and of course Lady Pembridge will be chaperoning."
Fiancée? He had brought the woman. She was here. In England. With him. Her stomach churned at the idea. How was she going to cope? How was she going to speak kindly to the woman when all she wanted to do was stand at Jude's side herself?
Had she really just pictured herself as his bride? Standing at the altar with him, his ring upon her finger? She swallowed the notion. It was ridiculous. The entire idea had to be nothing more than her mind searching for an escape. She cursed herself. It wasn't fair of her. Not when she condemned him for the same thing three long years ago. God, but now she wished she hadn't rebuffed him. It would've been so much more pleasant to be his wife. The arrangement seemed so perfectly natural and comfortable now. But hindsight was clear, it was the present that was blurry.
"Did you hear me?" Fredrick asked, his voice pushing away the cloud confusion. "I said Lady Pembridge will be chaperoning."
"Dear old Mummy." Chloe sighed and held back her dismay. But still the fact that Jude was engaged and soon she'd meet his future bride clung to her like thick morning dew. Why did her heart suddenly stop racing and dip low as if she were in the deepest of trouble? "I dare say I almost prefer my chances with a wolf."
Again he laughed, the sound pleasing to her ears. "There will be plenty of time for that, I assure you."
CHAPTER FOUR
Chloe slowly entered the dining hall. Dinner at Pembridge House was never just a meal. It was a time to belittle. A time for Dorothea to pick and pester until she garnered much needed information. A time for her stepmother to glower at her over split pea soup. It was never pleasant and never conducive to the digestion. Yet manners and yes, protocol had her sitting across from her nemesis every evening. Oh the days when Dorothea could go to London to the townhouse…the townhouse that had recently been sold.
An Unwilling Baroness Page 3