An Unwilling Baroness (2 page)

Dorothea dropped her hands to her sides and
leaned forward, her gaze piercing deep into Chloe's psyche. Dear
God what was the woman up to? But with the lurching of her stomach,
Chloe knew. Her Father's funds were getting lower. She had heard
him shouting at the housekeeper, his barrister, his steward. That
meant it was time for new blood to enter the family and being that
Jude had left the night he had received his orders to marry, she
was the only one left to auction off. Which hideous old man would
she be guilted into wedding?

The mere thought of lying in a stranger’s
bed tightened the invisible vice around her head. She rubbed her
temples in a vigorous, yet vain attempt to chase away the horrible
pain.

"Lady Dorothea, I'm terribly ill. If you
don't mind, this discussion is going to have to wait."

She opened her eyes, but only wide enough to
see the woman straighten and step back. "It won't wait long, Chloe.
Tomorrow your first suitor arrives. He's a fine nobleman from
Germany. How would you like to be a baroness?"

Chloe ignored the question and pushed
herself to standing. On weak knees, she struggled toward her
bedchamber. For there was no way she was going to ask Dorothea for
help. She would fall crashing to the floor before she asked or
accepted anything from the bane of her existence. The woman was
little more than a headache dressed in satin.

"I'll have that girl come to your room
bright and early. Do wear one of your newer gowns. You look
fetching in the silver silk with the lace collar."

"Dear Lord," Chloe murmured. Would the woman
never shut up?

"And be sure she styles your hair. Of late,
you've done little but tie those glorious auburn curls into a
rather messy knot."

Chloe stumbled up the stairs, the graying
harridan close on her heels. "I'm going to lie down," she said,
without looking back. "Please, can we not discuss this later?"

She could hear the thud of her stepmother’s
feet as she raced after her and at the sharp intake of Dorothea's
breath, Chloe inwardly shuddered. At the sharp poke on her
shoulder, she outwardly cringed. "Are you dismissing me?"

Still she kept her attention focused on her
door. Two steps, she was but two steps away from sanctuary. What
Dorothea induced calamity would befall her next?

"I demand an answer, Chloe."

Finally reaching her destination, she
glanced back at her stepmother, the woman's cheeks red, and her
eyes alive with anger. "Of course, I’m not dismissing you. But
please, show some consideration, I feel faint."

"I should take a horse whip to you,"
Dorothea retorted. "And don't think your father won't hear of this.
He will and you'll be sorry." With her venom duly dispersed, the
woman spun around and in a flash of dark blue silk, disappeared
down the long, narrow hallway.

"I'm already sorry," Chloe whispered and
entered her room, glad to be in the cool comfort of the pale green
chamber. Her own little piece of heaven spread out before weary
eyes. This was one of the few places where she could find some
measure of peace and quiet. Well, most of the time.

Loosening her hair from its tight knot, she
allowed the curls to flow unhindered down her back. The pain eased
a little as she lowered herself atop the bed, the pillow cool
against her cheek. Still, in spite of the pain, anger coursed
through her. Not anger at Dorothea. No, the woman was a predictable
sort. What she wanted from life was money, and a place amongst the
ton
. It didn't matter how she got it. Chloe laid the
responsibility of her predicament on her father's shoulders. How
could he have remarried so quickly after losing her mother, allowed
Dorothea to flutter in and lay claim to all that belonged to his
dead wife and then turn a blind eye when the woman mistreated his
daughter?

She rolled over, and shoved the down-filled
pillow beneath her neck, praying it would ease the throbbing in her
forehead. With her eyes closed, she tried to free her mind of her
worries, but to no avail. Lady Dorothea had her title but without
the money there would be no privilege and she couldn't be expected
to wear last season’s gowns during the new season, could she?

"Ugh," Chloe grumbled. "Gowns, coiffures,
jewelry and quadrille." She loathed the silliness of the
ton
. How she longed for the days when she and Jude would
stroll the grounds around the estate. She missed sharing the
butterflies, wildflowers, and red deer with him. Horseback riding,
dipping her toes in the creek beyond the stables, that was her joy.
Not the constant round of entertainments, balls, teas, and picnics.
The fakery of it all sickened her.

Still she lay there waiting for the pain to
ease, longing for word from Jude. Wishing her friend hadn't left
her alone to deal with Lady Dorothea's idea of marriage.

Of course, had he stayed, he'd have been
married off. He wouldn’t be seeing the world and making his own
fortune. Sometimes she longed to be a man, for they knew a freedom
she only dreamt of.

Hearing a soft tap on her door, she groaned.
It was Lady Dorothea, no doubt come to discuss what slippers to
wear when she met the baron, or what comb to put in her hair.

"Lady Chloe?"

Relief sped through her at the sweet sound
of Maggie's voice. "Come in."

Maggie walked in, her round face aglow, her
blue eyes as warm as any sisters. "I'm sorry you're feeling so
poorly," she said, gently closing the door behind her and securing
it with the lock.

"Just a headache," Chloe said, sitting up
and pulling a pillow across her lap. Small sparks of hope shot
through her. Maggie hardly ever closed the door and when she did it
usually meant she'd heard gossip or overheard an argument, or had
news of Jude. "Is everything all right?" she asked, excitement
tingeing her words.

Maggie dipped her knee. "Yes, Miss,
everything's fine. But this just arrived in the morning post and I
thought it might make ya feel better."

Chloe's heart lightened. Was it what she so
wanted? Had she received her monthly letter from Jude?

She watched as Maggie reached into the
pocket of her stained apron and pulled out a neatly folded letter.
"I recognized the young master's writing and knew you'd want ta see
it as soon as the mistress was done talking."

Maggie looked over her shoulder nervously,
as if she were afraid Lady Dorothea stood at her back.

Her hands shook as she pressed the missive
excitedly into Chloe's palm. "I do hope he's well. Last we heard he
was in America," Maggie said, her words coming in a great rush. You
would've thought the letter had come to her. Still, Chloe didn't
blame her. Jude's news was always something to be welcomed. The
contents were almost as exciting as any Gothic novel. "Do ya
suppose he's still there?"

"I don't know," Chloe replied, her headache
all but forgotten as she stared down at the smooth flow of Jude's
quill. With a smile, she noted the care he took in writing her
name, the lovely flourish of the first letter.

Long and deep seated guilt tugged at her
heart. How could she have been so thoughtless? He had loved her and
she rebuked him. Oh, how she wished she could turn back the
calendar to that night and handle his loving confession better. She
had no clue of the stress Lady Dorothea's demands had placed on him
until those same burdens fell upon her shoulders. She would most
assuredly apologize again in her next missive.

"Aren't ya going ta open it?" Maggie asked,
breathlessly.

With trembling fingers, Chloe opened the
letter, her eyes devouring the lines with the ferocity of a
starving dog.

"Dear Miss Pembridge,

I am writing from the front porch of my
former benefactor's home. The land is lovely, the grass coming to
life after a rather chilly winter. The air in Virginia is fine this
time of year, the flowers just ready to bloom. This leaves me
wondering how the spring fares for you in England. I often walk the
garden path with you in my memory, recalling with great fondness
the sound of your laughter and the sight of your charming brown
eyes.

Today, I was offered acreage on the west side
of Mister Rutherford's estate at a very decent price and have
accepted the proposition. Tobacco will be my first crop and I have
begun the process of building my home. I have several farm hands
ready and willing to work and I must hire an overseer as I intend
to continue my work in shipbuilding. My first ship is near
completion and I am enthused by the progress. She will be ready for
her maiden voyage late in the spring. She is to sail to France
where her buyer will take possession.

I must thank you, my dearest Miss Pembridge,
for opening my eyes that night three years ago. I am loathe to
think of what my life would be like had I allowed Lady Dorothea to
set my course for me, rather than setting my own. I hope all is
well with you and that you're finding your heart's desire. Thanks
to you, I believe I have found mine.

Before I close, I must mention my impending
engagement. I have met the woman I intend to marry and I am hopeful
that you will wish me all the happiness that I wish you.

Always,

Jude.

No, no she’d read it wrong. It couldn’t be!
She quickly reread the letter and there it was…engagement. The word
was as vile as any. Chloe’s heart squeezed painfully. She couldn’t
catch her breath. If he married someone else, he'd be gone from her
for good. No wife would allow him to correspond with another woman.
He’d never leave America and return to England. He would be lost to
her.

Shaking in disbelief, Chloe read the last
passage, over and over until the meaning sunk in. Jude was to
marry. She folded the paper and looked to Maggie. "H-He's engaged.
I’m certain that will well please Lady Dorothea." Her voice cracked
as she fought for composure.

Maggie sat down on the edge of the bed,
scratching her chin thoughtfully. "I always thought he'd come home
ta marry."

Chloe lowered her head back onto the pillow.
Why did it shock her that he was imminently engaged? He was a
handsome man and now he was a successful one. He had grown up much
in the past three years. It only made sense that he'd wish to begin
a family, to have a son to pass his businesses on to.

"Are ya all right, Miss?" Maggie asked and
leaning over her, her face was masked in sorrow, her full lips
dipping into a deep frown.

"Yes." Chloe replied without conviction.
"Lord Arden is to marry. He’s the success I knew he could be. I
should wish him all the happiness in the world, just as he's
requested." She sat up once again and drew in a deep breath, hoping
to calm her jittery nerves. "I ought to make haste with my reply.
This letter is well over a month old."

Chloe stood, but the pounding of her head
pulled her back toward the bed. Lying down, she moaned and dragged
the pillow over her eyes. "But it'll have to wait just a bit."
Maggie touched her shoulder and she allowed herself to relax.
Maggie was the only person in the entire house that was solely
faithful to her. The girl was so much more than a sister and closer
than any friend…save Jude.

"Is there anythin' I can do, Miss?"

Chloe sighed. "Yes, Maggie. You can marry
the baron."

Maggie giggled. "I think he'd notice the
difference. I'm near twice your size."

Chloe squeezed her hand and peeked at her
from beneath the pillow. "You're beautiful, my friend and filled
with pure goodness and heart.

"No, Miss, I’m not," Maggie confessed, her
chin to her chest. "I want ta pummel the lot of them on your
behalf."

CHAPTER TWO

Chloe stood before the parlor window,
wondering if the fields in Virginia were nearly as green and as the
lovely English countryside. Was the terrain smooth or rocky? What
was it like in Hampton, Virginia? Did the summer sun beat at Jude’s
tobacco crop? Or were the fields as fertile as the fields she now
longed to walk through?

"Oh Jude," she mumbled. What was he doing
now? Was he at work in the shipyard or was he wooing his future
bride?

She pursed her lips into a bitter line and
wished that envy didn’t coil around her heart. But was it truly
envy or anger at herself for allowing him to leave on such a bitter
note? For she had her opportunity and she let him go. She forced
him from Pembridge with her dismissal of his feelings as false.
Yet, how could she trust him? How? When he toyed with women’s
emotions and took pride in soiling their reputations?

But here and now, she missed him and longed
to see him more than she cared to admit. Was it time softening the
pains of his rakish behavior, or had she always stifled her
feelings because she didn't dare to hope that when he said he loved
her he meant it? She shook her head, an outward sign of her inner
turmoil.

"No," she mumbled. "Twas not love he felt,
but desperation."

Smoothing back her freshly coiffed hair, she
wanted nothing more than to pull it from its combs and run
screaming from the parlor. The damned baron would be here soon. Her
future was no doubt a dour old man with a paunch and oily pate who
wanted only to father children…lots and lots of children.

Her stomach roiled and she wished she could
tell Jude all her news. She understood his situation so much better
now. Damn her tongue! How could she have been so dismissive of
him?

"Don’t speak of your feelings, Jude," she
said. "You’re merely panicked. I cannot fathom why all of the
sudden you come to me like this, when you yourself boast that the
pride of last fall was bedding Lady Archmont." Even as she spoke
the woman’s name, jealousy constricted her heart. Of course she was
attracted to him, of course she cared. But my God, what did he
expect?

"Does that bother you?" He asked and leaned
in close, the divine aroma of sandalwood penetrating her senses.
Even now when she smelled that scent, the thought of him pushed
full force into her mind and left her aching to see him.