The American Bride (2 page)

"Have I any choice?" the girl asked.

"In actual fact, no."

"Then I accept." Caroline grimaced but, with the resilience of youth, was caught up in the excitement of the proposal. "How can I meet him without Wilton knowing who I am?"

"First, does anyone know that you have arrived in England?"

"No one except you. When I sailed I used my mother's name. I arrived as Caroline Farraday. Bethel, my maid, came with me from America. She's English and once war was declared between England and the United States she wanted to return home. It was difficult in the beginning to book passage so she was forced to wait until I was able to leave."

"And when you arrived this evening? What did you do?" The Duchess knew the answers to the questions but she needed more time to formulate the partially conceived plan in her head.

"We came straight from the ship in a closed hackney. I was veiled. After all I am still in mourning. Besides I know that I bear a strong resemblance to my father and I was afraid of being recognized by someone on your staff. When we were admitted I handed the sealed note to your butler and demanded that he present it to you."

Liela smiled imagining the amount of determination it must have taken to coerce her household into waking her. Her own abigail, Anna, had tiptoed in and gently shaken the Duchess, expecting at any minute to incur the wrath of her mistress. The note had identified Caroline and asked that they meet in privacy to discuss a most urgent matter.

"Anna has been guarding the doors and keeping your Bethel away from the others. I would trust Anna with my life. She already knows more secrets about our family than is good for her. However I suppose one more won't kill her," the Duchess finished wryly.

"You've got some kind of plan, haven't you, Gran?" Cara's eyes were alight with mischief.

"Just how much did your father tell you about Lord Wilton?"

"Not very much. He said he was the son of an old friend of his. I gather since he approved of the father he assumed the son would be a good husband." Cara winced at the final word still unable to come to grips with the fact that she was married to the man.

The Duchess left her chair and rummaged in the pigeonholes of an inlaid rosewood desk. Pulling out a letter she gave a sigh of satisfaction and returned to her chair. She squinted at the pages for several minutes and then smiled at the curious girl.

"Lady Trehune always keeps me abreast of the latest gossip. Can't understand why anyone would tell her anything in confidence because before you could get out the door Netty would have told at least three people. At any rate she has her uses when you need to know anything about the
ton
."

"She wrote you about Lord Wilton?"

"Indirectly," the Duchess said, smiling at her granddaughter's eagerness. "About three years ago Lord Wilton's brother and his wife were killed in a carriage accident. There were two children and they are wards of Wilton. They live at his country estate and according to Netty they are in need of a governess. Knowing of your marriage she was delighted to inform me that their last governess left under some sort of a cloud."

"You mean that I could go there as a governess? Oh, grandmother, what a lark!"

The girl laughed deeply, much to her grandmother's approval. She was a fine healthy animal who seemed to appreciate a good joke. No missish girl, this one, nodded the Duchess.

"Do you think you could carry it off?" Liela inquired.

"I had a perfectly awful governess after Mother died." Even now there was a note of sadness in Cara's voice as she remembered her mother. "Madame Regenard was an absolute dragon." She jumped to her feet and strutted across the carpeting. "Should I be French? I can speak it perfectly, even though my accent is a bit awkward,"

"No, child," the Duchess drawled. "No one would ever take you for anything but an American."

Cara whirled in her excitement and hugged herself. She debated for a moment if the proper old lady would permit herself to be hugged. Then with a flurry of red hair the girl catapulted herself across the room and gave her astounded grandmother a hearty kiss.

"Enough, you flighty wench." Despite the gruff voice it was obvious that the Duchess was pleased.

"It's not what I came all the way from America for but I guess it will have to do." Good breeding and a practical nature were definite assets as Cara viewed her grandmother's proposition. "I do thank you for this, Gran. How much time will I have?"

"A month. That should be long enough for our purposes. Besides any longer might be dangerous. All you need do is remain inconspicuous, observe Wilton in the background. No one notices servants so you should be quite anonymous."

"It sounds perfect, Grandmother."

"Since my own servants will be talking I will not be able to hide the fact that you have arrived from America. However I will put it abroad that you are still grief-stricken over the death of your father and have gone into seclusion. Your maid, Bethel, will remain here playing your part while I send you to Wilton. We will say that my granddaughter befriended you on the ship." Liela was silent contemplating the girl, and then as though coming to a decision she waved at Cara. "Go to the door and bring Anna and your maid. There's a great deal to do before morning."

After a brief explanation to Anna and a stunned Bethel, the Duchess set them all to work with a vengeance. It was well past midnight before the transformation of Caroline Leland, heiress, to Miss Farraday, governess, was completed.

Standing in front of the mirror, Cara winced at her image.

The only remaining clue to the young lady of fashion were Cara's eyes, luminous pools of startling blue-green. She gazed in the glass at the drab creature in the shapeless black dress. The merino wool hung limply around her figure, hiding the curves and giving her the look of a child dressed in her older sister's clothes. Her glorious hair had been scraped away from her face and braided, then fastened securely at the base of her neck. A cowl-like headdress covered all of her hair, tying at the back of her neck and hanging down to her waist in lifeless folds. Rice powder had been applied liberally, hiding her natural color and giving her face a bland appearance.

"Oh, Gran, I look awful," Cara groaned.

"Dreadful, isn't it," the Duchess pronounced smugly. "But at least looking like that, Wilton won't have any hesitation in hiring you. Vanity, my dear, has no place in this arrangement."

"I think you're actually enjoying all this," Cara exclaimed.

"I am, child. I most definitely am." Liela chuckled as she eased herself into a chair. "There are very few pleasures left to me these days. I was just beginning to wonder if it wasn't time to stick my spoon in the wall. You've brought some excitement into my life. I think I'm going to like having you in England."

"Is the headdress necessary?"

"Now, Cara, be sensible. Your hair is far too beautiful not to be noticed. Best to keep it covered. You can tell them that it's an American custom. Everyone knows how bizarre you colonials are supposed to be. Don't bristle. It's rather a dangerous game you're playing."

"I know, Gran. I'll be careful," Cara promised, her voice hinting at the seriousness of the masquerade.

"For all your freedom in America you've been a sheltered child. When you go to Lord Wilton's, you go as a servant with very few privileges. You will have little protection from the realities of life. It is necessary to remain inconspicuous, not only to avoid a scandal, but for your own safety. Even now I'm not sure that this is the wisest course, Cara." The Duchess worried her bottom lip in indecision.

"I'll be careful, Gran," Cara repeated.

After Anna and Bethel had been dismissed to complete the altering of Cara's new wardrobe the two women sat in front of the fire with a snack, provided by Anna. The Duchess watched as her granddaughter ate with the enthusiasm of youth. For herself she nibbled some cheese and sipped a glass of wine. She was well satisfied with the chit. Although thrust into a difficult situation she had handled herself with courage and resilience. Liela hoped that the opportunity would work to the girl's advantage.

"I do not wish to frighten you, child, but I must warn you that exposure of your true identity would mean social disaster," Liela cautioned. "A young lady of the
ton
is allowed to do certain things in England but to play act as a servant is not one of them. It is conceivable that you would never be received in polite society if your charade were discovered."

"But, Gran, I'm a married woman now," Cara reasoned. "Poppa said that in England I would be less confined by rules than if I were single."

"That part is true, of course. As a married woman you do have a certain amount of license. However society would not be amused by this sort of prank. Besides have you considered how Wilton would feel?"

"As you know, Grandmother, I have tried to think about Lord Wilton as little as possible," Cara answered.

Ignoring the girl's sarcasm, Liela continued, "If Wilton saw your masquerade as a form of spying then he might refuse you the protection of his name. If thoroughly angered he might even institute divorce proceedings."

"I thought you said that a divorce was impossible?" Cara asked in amazement.

"For you to get either a divorce or an annulment is an impossibility." Came the dampening answer. "If Wilton were angry enough he could divorce you." Then at the considering look in her granddaughter's eye, the Duchess continued. "This is not a way out, my dear. Your objection has been at the cold arrangement of the marriage, not marriage itself. A renunciation by Wilton would mean you would be finished in polite society. Both here and in America. No decent man would ever consider aligning himself with a divorced woman."

"It's not fair!" Cara exclaimed.

"You're not a child, Cara. The world doesn't have to be fair. The situation exists and you'll just have to make the best of it."

"If only Poppa had seen reason none of this would have been necessary."

"From his letters I know he wanted your safety and well being. You are an heiress. At his death you would have been alone in America with no family to protect you from the fortune hunters and charlatans. With your beauty and your money there would have been a bevy of suitors for your hand," Liela continued. "Your father thought that if he could arrange for you to be married and living in England he would be doing all he could to protect you."

"I do see that, Gran," Cara sighed. "I just wish there had been another way."

"Well there's no point in spending your time with the past. Now is the time to look forward, my dear. Tomorrow you will begin your adventure. Anna will supply you with the remainder of Bethel's clothes. If they show as little taste as the dress you are wearing, your disguise should be foolproof. As long as you behave yourself and remain in the background I can see little danger of exposure."

"Yes, Grandmother," Cara agreed meekly.

For a moment the Duchess thought the change of clothes and the sober hairdo had taken the spirit out of the girl until she noticed the twinkle in the blue-green eyes and the betraying dimple in her cheek. Even in the atrocious dress there was still a definite air about the girl that would not warrant close scrutiny.

"Caroline Farraday. It sounds perfect. Very sturdy." She smiled at the girl's moue of distaste. "In the reference I have written I have explained how you became acquainted with my granddaughter and have included the details about your life that we went over tonight. Hopefully this will suffice to procure the position for you. I am sure that Wilton will wish to please his future bride."

"What is Lord Wilton like?" Cara asked, curious despite herself.

"I wondered when you would get around to asking. I'm afraid your inquisitiveness must go unchecked. I will not tell you either the good points or the bad that I have heard and seen. You are going there to make your own appraisal and I would not prejudice you either way. Just do your best not to disgrace me."

"Yes, Grandmother." This time the meekness was genuine as Cara acknowledged the seriousness of her undertaking.

Long after Cara was shown to her room she lay in bed unable to sleep. After the long voyage and the coach trip she still felt disoriented. She had come to England determined to have the marriage set aside. She realized now the immaturity of that hope. At least her grandmother had given her a month in which to observe her new husband. She was practical enough to accept the fact that it was beyond the bounds of reality to think she would fall in love with a stranger. All she could pray was that she would find some qualities in the man she might admire. For better or worse, Lord Wilton was her husband.

On that frightening thought Cara slept.

Chapter Two

The coach, although well sprung, rocked Cara from side to side as it traversed the bumpy corduroy. For the hundredth time her mittened hands adjusted the unfamiliar folds of the headdress covering her hair. Dust seeped into the coach, covering her face with a fine layer of grit. Despite her excitement of early morning, she had little enthusiasm left after three hours of jolting.

As the coach swerved and the horses began to slow, Cara's heart beat a frightened tattoo.

Craning her neck for a view of Weathersfield Hall, she gaped at the grandeur of the estate. The enormous edifice stood squarely amid legions of trees, which were dwarfed by the sheer immensity of the building. Formal gardens were laid out in front of the carriage sweep. Wide shallow steps funneled up to an enormous double-doored entrance. Any courage Cara possessed fled at the magnificence of the stone ancestral hall. There would be no need to play the timid governess; she was in truth cowed by her surroundings.

With a shaking hand Cara handed the Duchess' letter of introduction to the imperious butler who opened the door. Her boots echoed on the marble floors as she hurried after a footman as he wound a labyrinthine path through the silent corridors. They stopped before an ornately carved door.

"Miss Farraday, my lord," the footman announced in stentorian tones. He placed the letter on the desk in front of Lord Wilton and then bowed himself out the door.