The American Bride (3 page)

Cara's heart was pounding against her ribs and her knees were shaky as she stood just inside the door.

"Well, girl, get over here," Julian Weathersfield barked.

"What?"

"Don't just stand there holding up the wall. Get over in the light where I can see you."

Instinctively Cara's chin went up at his rudeness. Barely in time she remembered her grandmother's strictures and she scurried to comply with Wilton's order. Unable to withstand the baleful brown gaze trained on her, Cara stammered her introduction.

"The Duchess of Landglower was, eh, is pleased to send me to your lordship to fill the position of governess."

"Pleased, was she?" Julian snorted, glowering across the desk at the youthful figure before him. "The Duchess sends a child to look after my wards."

"I am not a child," Cara snapped. "I am nineteen years old, your lordship."

"Such an advanced age," he sneered. "Good Lord, girl, my nephew is nine. You're only ten years older."

"I believe I will be able to handle the boy. I have had a great deal of experience in those ten years."

"Oh, to be sure," Julian scoffed. "Well, sit down while I read the Duchess' letter. It should prove amusing if nothing else."

"I would prefer to stand," Cara answered primly, although she would have felt much steadier anchored to a chair.

"Then stand and be quiet," was the exasperated reply.

As Julian broke the seal on her grandmother's letter, Cara was grateful for the opportunity to make her own inspection of the man who was her husband.

The sheer size of the man was impressive. He was well over six feet and heavily built, although there did not appear to be an ounce of excess weight. He had the well-muscled body of an athlete, with none of the apparent dissipation so often evident in moneyed gentlemen. The fawn velvet jacket fit him like a second skin. His shirt gleamed white at his cuffs and his neck was bound by an intricately tied neckcloth of silk and lace. The delicacy of his cravat contrasted drastically with the aura of masculinity that emanated from the man.

"Quite finished with your inspection, Miss Farraday?" Julian asked in amusement as he looked up and noticed the girl's concentration.

"Yes, thank you, my lord."

With the pert response, Julian caught the barest flash of angry blue-green eyes before the flustered chit dropped her head to stare at the toes of her scuffed half boots.

"The Duchess claims you are from America and are very used to children."

Julian's drawling voice lent skepticism to the simple statement. Clenching her teeth to keep back a sharp retort, Cara took a deep breath before she felt capable of a serene reply. "Yes, my lord." Inwardly she seethed at her inability to snap back at her inquisitor. "My last post was as governess to the Blakely's six children."

"Then I'm sure you are well qualified to take over the care of my two termagant wards." Julian's acid tones left little doubt that he felt her capabilities fell far short of the mark.

"Do you doubt my ability?" Cara drew herself up to her full five foot three height.

"Miss Farraday," Julian snapped in exasperation. "There have been four governesses in the last two years. All of them left under less than auspicious circumstances. Do you really think with your extreme youth you will be able to handle your charges where the others have failed?"

"I don't know," Cara answered honestly. Then as Julian arched an inquiring eyebrow, she stuttered. "I-it seems to me, that is, I believe that...." She ground to a halt then summoned courage to plunge ahead. "I am quite sure I shall be able to fulfill all of my responsibilities."

For a moment Julian had an overwhelming urge to laugh at the unflinching determination stamped on the young girl's face. He rubbed a hand across his forehead wondering at his own patience with the exasperating child. Normally he would have resolved the question instead of entering into a battle of words. There was some quality in the girl that had piqued his interest.

He took a closer look at the colorless figure, standing before his desk. There was nothing attractive about the bland-faced chit. He shuddered at the dun-colored tweed dress that effectively muffled her body, from the tip of her stubborn chin to the toes of her boots. There was so much excess material that Julian suspected the dress would be able to stand up without anyone inside. The wimple-like headdress annoyed him as it completely covered her hair. He had little hope the color or texture of the hidden tresses would be worth the trouble of a peek. In his various dealings with women it was his impression that if a woman's hair was notable at all, she flaunted it in elaborate curls and ringlets. All in all the girl appeared to be a nonentity but there had been the slightest trace of defiance in her voice that gave him a moment of disquiet. Shrugging away this nonsensical feeling, Julian continued his questioning.

"Aside from music and embroidery, have you any sort of classical education that might be of some benefit to my wards?"

Once again Julian caught the merest blaze of color before the girl's eyes closed as if in pain.

"I have had a firm grounding in mathematics, astronomy and the physical sciences. I am well versed in both ancient and modern poetry and a broad range of literature," Cara managed to grit out in a civil tone. "I speak and read French, Latin and Greek. Although I enjoy music, I have no ability to play an instrument and my embroidery work is still at the level of a four year old. But since these last two seem of little importance to you I still feel that I am qualified to accept the position," Cara finished briskly.

Eyes narrowed to icy slits, Julian leaned forward on his elbows, staring at the flush-faced girl with eyes demurely downcast.

"Miss Farraday," Wilton spoke softly but there was an underlying shaft of steel running through his voice. "Yours is not the sort of conciliating attitude expected in someone seeking a position. You seem curiously oblivious to the honor of having my wards as your charges."

"In America one does not beg for a position," Cara snapped, unable to control a flash of temperament. "We take pride in our work no matter who employs us."

Nonplussed at the girl's impertinence, Julian could only gawk at the young woman. In all his remembrance no servant had ever dared to speak to him in this manner. He rose to his feet, watching in satisfaction when the girl's eyes widened in fear as he towered over her diminutive figure.

As he rounded the corner of the desk, Cara begged her feet to remain firmly planted on the carpeting. With all her heart she wanted to turn and run as Julian stalked toward her. Cara gulped in trepidation, then closed her eyes to block out the bulk of the angry man. Despite her terror she refused to back away, squaring her shoulders as if ready to sustain a blow.

Julian had to admit she had courage.

Perversely, he found her very composure a challenge. Without considering his actions, Julian's hand shot out, his fingers closing on the girl's chin. Lifting the bowed head he looked down into the heart-shaped face of the little American. He could feel her jaw muscles jump in fear and waited until the colorless lashes lifted to expose the girl's eyes. Then with an expression of supreme disinterest, which he was far from feeling, Julian's eyes scrutinized her face then let his eyes drop to roam at will over her body.

Heat washed up into Cara's face at the insulting examination. She wanted desperately to cover her chest as Julian's eyes skimmed across her bosom, seeming to probe for the figure beneath her dress. Gritting her teeth she willed herself to stand quiet beneath his inspection.

The absolute stillness of the girl broke through Julian's rancor and in self-disgust he whirled away, marching to the windows, to stare out at the garden.

Cara shuddered in relief at the absence of the man's oppressive nearness. She was puzzled at her own reactions which hovered somewhere between fear and excitement. Glancing up, her eyes searched the brooding figure framed in the mullioned windows.

He was undeniably handsome, Cara noted with a quickening of her pulse. A heavy thatch of black hair was cut fashionably short, curling around his neck and across his forehead.

Tracing the lines of Wilton's face, Cara tried to view the disconcerting man objectively. His features were clear-cut. A high forehead, over jutting black eyebrows, dominated the upper part of his face. The left brow was cut through by a jagged scar that gave his face a look of perpetual sardonic amusement. His nose was straight and his mouth full lipped, hinting at a controlled sensual nature. His chin was square indicating stubbornness and determination. His eyes were hidden behind heavy lids but Cara had no trouble recalling their piercing regard. Unable to bear the continued silence, she plunged into speech.

"Besides their lessons, what other responsibilities will I have with the children?"

Julian laughed shortly at the persistence of the girl. Not only had he failed to intimidate her but now she was interrogating him. It crossed his mind that Americans were by and large a troublesome lot. Their independent way of life had undermined the working class. Unhappily he remembered that his own wife was an American. Perhaps this is just a foretaste of my dealings with my new bride, Julian shuddered. On that uncomfortable thought, his brow furrowed and he sank back down into the leather chair behind his desk.

Damnation, Julian thought in frustration. Granted the Duchess had sent the girl and it would be a diplomatic move to hire her, it was still on the tip of his tongue to dismiss her out of hand. His instincts warred with his wish to accommodate his unseen bride and he debated his decision concerning the governess. Shrugging, he briefly outlined Cara's duties. When he finished there was silence; each of the antagonists considering the other.

"I will be solely responsible for them?" Cara questioned in order to clarify things in her own mind.

"For their every breath, Miss Farraday."

Cara ignored the sarcasm in Julian's reply, asking sweetly in her turn. "And the salary, my lord?"

Julian mentioned a figure and watched as the girl tilted her head, then after a slight hesitation, nodded in decision.

"I will take the position, my lord."

Julian was dumbfounded by the audacity of the girl. She accepted as though she were conferring a favor on him. Finally the humor of the situation broke through his irritation and laughing he stood up facing the cheeky child.

"Thank you, Miss Farraday," Julian replied, making a mocking leg.

Before Cara could open her mouth to vent her anger, Julian strode to the door. Throwing it open he summoned the hovering footman.

"Travis, take Miss Farraday to the children's wing and ask Mrs. Clayton if she would attend her there."

Cara's mouth snapped shut. Thus dismissed, she whirled to follow the departing footman.

Chuckling in amusement Julian returned to his desk. His verbal duel with the little mouse had been a welcome break in the otherwise humdrum daily grind of running the estates. Miss Farraday, despite appearances to the contrary, might be a lively addition to his household. Having met many Americans, Julian was aware that the women as well as the men prided themselves on their independence. Beneath Miss Farraday's whey-faced exterior there was a glimmer of a fiery temperament. No matter her youth, at least the children would be properly chaperoned. His hiring of the little American might be an interesting experiment. She would certainly bear watching.

Cara would have been terrified had she known Lord Wilton's thoughts. As it was, she trudged after the footman through endless corridors until she found herself in the upper story of the children's wing. Opening a door the liveried servant informed her that Mrs. Clayton would be with her shortly.

The bedroom was larger than Cara had expected. All the furnishings were old but buffed to a fine satiny patina. Soft summer sunlight filtered through the dainty floral curtains, drawing her to the windows.

The view outside was breathtaking. A patchwork of greens of every shade met her eyes as she scanned the landscape laid out before her.

Weathersfield Hall was U-shaped, with her room at the top, inside corner of the U. An enormous stone terrace spanned the entire base of the building. Down several shallow steps, a formal garden was laid out and beyond that, a lake glinted through the treed landscape. There were wilder woods to be seen on all sides and through the trees she could see other buildings, which she assumed to be stables and other more practical buildings for the actual function of a working estate.

Feeling more oriented, Cara sat on the window seat thinking over her arrival.

She had come to Weathersfield Hall hoping to find her husband presentable and admirable. Well he was presentable, she admitted, with looks handsome enough for the Devil himself. However never had she met anyone who was more arrogant, rude and probably debauched, she added, recalling the lustful way his eyes had caressed her body. He was domineering, frightening and a bully, Cara continued, listing his faults. She would never be happy married to such a man, she moaned in despair.

Cara's hands clenched as she recalled her interview. Perhaps she had come with too many expectations but Julian's rude interrogation had immediately antagonized her. She had almost told him how she viewed his autocratic attitude. Had it not been for the footman's arrival, she would have disgraced herself and her grandmother, by speaking to Julian in a manner wholly unlike a governess. Cara's knees felt weak remembering her near disaster.

"I'll just have to mind my tongue," Cara promised. Although with a sinking heart, she realized that it would not be easy for her to accept the role of a compliant servant.

At the sound of scratching, Cara hurried to open the door. She admitted a tall buxom woman who peered at her through sharp brown eyes. Next to this bustling dynamo, Cara felt like a recalcitrant schoolgirl.

"Lord love ya, Miss, you're not much bigger than the children," the woman said, echoing Cara's own thoughts. "Well it can't be helped," she continued. "I'm Mrs. Clayton, Lord Wilton's housekeeper."