BaronAndEnchantress_PGolden-eBooks

by Golden, Paullett

  To his surprise and chagrin, she laughed heartily, turning her eyes his way. The dark brown irises pinned him in place, filled with reproachful merriment.

  “A chaperone? I hope you’re jesting,” she said, the deep tones of her voice caused his stomach to somersault.

  When he did not respond quickly enough, she said, “Don’t be foolish, Lord Collingwood. I hardly need a keeper. At my age and with my background, my reputation is not at stake, not to mention we’re safely housed at my brother’s estate away from the prying eyes of your polite society.”

  Walter stammered. “But I care for your reputation, Miss Chambers. You’re a lady, and I am a gentleman, and it does neither of us favors to be seen talking privately without the presence of a chaperone, even among family.”

  She scoffed. “And what do you expect would happen if we were caught talking privately? Do you expect my brother to call you out? A duel on the castle lawn, perhaps? Do you suppose he would force us to marry for the sake of propriety? Oh, heavens. We do come from different worlds, don’t we?”

  Unsure how to react, Walter shifted from one foot to the other, glancing back at the castle before returning his stare to Miss Chambers. In some respect, it did seem foolish to worry about propriety when they were both in their thirties and in the company of family. But he was a gentleman through and through. Respect was ingrained in him.

  “Look around you, my lord. We’re in my brother’s own private world where decorum is neither here nor there. I appreciate your concern, truly, but there is no impropriety with which to worry yourself. Go back to the castle if you prefer. Or sit here with me. Your choice.”

  Before he talked himself out of this rare occasion, he sat next to her on the bench. The cold stone, shaded by the gazebo roof, contrasted with the warm day. He shivered at the touch.

  They sat in silence, her eyes returning to watch the waves, his flitting back and forth between the side of her face and the water. When had flirting become so difficult? Never in his life had he needed to initiate conversation, for typically the girls did all the talking while he smiled politely and listened or smiled politely and daydreamed.

  At a loss, he tried to think of what to say.

  Will you marry me?

  He choked at the thought of fumbling those words as a conversation opener.

  You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.

  He cleared his throat against the temptation of saying such a line.

  You’re a goddess.

  That would not do either. He smoothed his hand over his knee, becoming ever so tense.

  I don’t even know you, but I’m hopelessly infatuated with you.

  Instead, he blurted, “Lovely weather we’re having. Don’t you agree?”

  She turned, an eyebrow arched and a mocking smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

  He ventured to add, “I’ve never been this far north before. It’s unexpectedly warm. Do you find it this warm every year?”

  The amused smile tightened as she turned back to the sea without a reply.

  He cleared his throat again. “The bonnet you wore yesterday was most fetching. Is it your favorite color?”

  A mirthless laugh startled him.

  When she did not follow the laugh with an explanation, he said, “Have I said something to deserve derision?”

  The pair of dark eyes turned his way. “The weather? Bonnet colors? I’ve never heard such ridiculous conversation in my life.”

  Walter’s throat tightened. He did not think it possible to feel annoyance towards a goddess, but his ire rose as she continued to laugh. At him.

  “It’s called polite conversation,” he defended.

  “If that is polite conversation, then I’ve no wish for it.”

  Through gritted teeth, he explained, “This is what gentlemen and ladies do—they carry on polite conversation.”

  “What a waste of breath,” she said. “How does anyone get to know anyone else if everyone is talking of the weather and bonnet colors?”

  A retort at the ready, he paused in order to study her expression. If he read her expression correctly, it was not one of ridicule but curiosity. He did not want to be laughed at again. Examining his choices, he narrowed his decision to three possible actions. He could excuse himself and return to the castle. He could snap back a rude reply. Or he could answer her question candidly and risk the laugh.

  “They don’t get to know each other,” he answered at length. “There’s no need. The only purpose for a gentleman and a lady to converse is in the hope of a betrothal, which is secured for advancement, status, and money. A proper courting period is expected before linking family names, so to avoid silence during such a period, the individuals fill the space with an endless stream of polite conversation. Given most conversations are chaperoned, there isn’t much else to talk about, to be perfectly honest.”

  “How dreadful. Why anyone would want to be part of polite society is beyond my understanding,” she said, her lips lifting at the corners into a teasing smile.

  “Polite conversation has its virtues, Miss Chambers. It is an art we’re trained to do from birth. We engage in impersonal conversation to ensure others feel at ease. It’s called good manners.”

  “Sounds dull, if you were to ask me. What do friends talk about?”

  “Hmm. Well, the ladies gossip with each other, and the men talk about horses and gaming. Mixed company talks about the weather and fashion.”

  “Aren’t you glad, then, you’re not in the company of polite society? I say we dispense with all that silliness. Silence is underappreciated, in my humble opinion. It is rare to find someone with whom to share companionable silence.” After a heart-stopping smile, Miss Chambers turned back to the water, initiating silence.

  At first, he wanted to say something. He wanted to cut the silence. How awkward sitting with another person without saying a word. How was he to get to know her? How was he to charm her if nary a word was spoken?

  Minutes passed, and he sensed her relax next to him. In the distance, kittiwakes dipped towards the waves, calling above the howl of the wind and the roar of the waves.

  As a quarter of an hour passed of the two listening to the world around them, he realized with a startling awareness that this was perhaps the best conversation he had ever shared with a woman. He chuckled to himself.

  “The ocean has no expectations, no judgment, no prejudice,” she whispered throatily, ending the silence. “I would love nothing more than to find a cottage by the sea to live out my days.”

  Walter continued to practice companionable silence.

  “No words about the weather, my lord?” she joked. “This is what real people talk about. They talk about life, dreams, plans, fears, anything of substance. Do you have any substance to add?”

  He racked his mind for something of substance. Here, at last, he sat with the woman of his dreams, and yet his mind was blank of anything meaningful to say. In truth, he’d never exchanged meaningful conversation with anyone but family. Where to begin with a stranger, and more pointedly, a stranger with whom he desperately wanted to make a good and memorable impression?

  “I want to do more with my life,” he blurted, though he knew not from whence the words came.

  “More than be a baron?” she inquired.

  “I don’t know if you believe in someone having a calling, but I’m sure I have one. Only, I don’t know what it is. I happened into my title, a consequence of birth and death, nothing more. I don’t begrudge it, but it’s not who I am. I want to make a difference, you see, do something with meaning. Dash it all—I’m babbling.”

  Miss Chambers angled herself on the bench to see him more fully, her eyebrows raised, warmth in her eyes. “Ah. So, there is more to you. I had wondered.”

  She did not explain her meaning.

  Instead, she a
sked, “What have you done to answer this calling?”

  He gave a short ha. “Nothing. Nothing of note, anyway.”

  “Why not? Seems to me, if I had money, influence, and charm, I’d allow nothing to stop me from achieving my dreams.”

  “Well, I don’t know how. I know not how to see any of my ideas to fruition. It takes more than money, influence, and charm to achieve goals. I can’t simply throw money at fantasies.”

  “My, my, Lord Collingwood. Who knew you would be the type to make excuses to keep you from your dreams? Nothing stops me, I’ll have you know. If I have a plan, I see it to the end.”

  Her words may be true, but he did not consider himself an excuse maker. Never had he intentionally devised an excuse. He would like nothing more than to see his plans to fruition, but nothing was so simple.

  “Yes, well, then, what are your dreams?” he said, turning the table to avoid talking about himself further. This whole conversation of substance was not nearly so fun when the focus was on him.

  She looked away, brushing the strands of hair out of her eyes with an irritated swat of her hand.

  “I was speaking hypothetically, of course,” she said in a tense, tight voice.

  Walter would have felt smug that she did not like having the attention on her any more than he did, though she had been the one to wish for a more substantive conversation, except he did want her to feel at ease with him and did want a genuine conversation to get to know her.

  Giving her his most charming smile, he asked, “If you could have any dream in the world, what would it be? Anything. Don’t hold back.”

  Her shoulders rounding, she folded her hands in her lap and stared at them, lost in thought. “My dreams are simple. I want that cottage by the sea. It would be large enough to have a sitting room for guests, for I do enjoy entertaining friends, but nothing ostentatious or grand. It would have a garden, a place for me to grow my own herbs and flowers. When not knee-deep in the soil, I would spend my time usefully, purposefully, doing something to help people.”

  “That’s a beautiful dream, Miss Chambers.”

  “There’s no need to mock me. I know peers of the realm would find a quaint cottage humble, gardening beneath their dignity, and being useful ungenteel.”

  “Did I mock you?” He pressed a hand to his heart. “No, indeed, Miss Chambers. You heard my own confession. I, too, want to help others and be of some use to this world. And while my home is not precisely a cottage by the sea, it is modest, naught but ten miles from the Jurassic Coast. We’re not so different, you see.”

  As if he had said something to offend, she stood, tightening the knot of the shawl. Walter rose, surprised by her sudden movement.

  “We are from different worlds, Lord Collingwood, different worlds entirely. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must return before it rains.”

  He watched her retreat, unsure what he said to offend. A bright sun shone above, mocking him.

  Three days later, the family walked along the Embleton coast in two-by-two formation with Lizbeth and her father Mr. Trethow leading the troupe. Lord Collingwood and his mother walked in the middle. Sebastian and Lilith took up the rear.

  The sun beat against bonnets and tricorns, the wind wrapping them in a warm embrace, the wet sand a fine chambré, all in contrast to the frigid ocean bravely lapping at their soles.

  Aside from Lord Collingwood and his mother, all pairs carried shoes and stockings in hand, the wet sand squishing between their toes in a warm and grainy squelch. Lilith welcomed the sensation of tugging her feet against the quicksand of the wet beach. It reminded her of life before the orphanage, those memories she clung to and dug for, hoping to pull the variations of her life together into a single narrative.

  “And how are you finding your welcome?” Sebastian asked his sister, his arm under hers in gentlemanly support, though she did not need his aid. “I hope my in-laws are increasing the pleasure of your stay. I believe you’ll like Hazel’s company once you get to know her.”

  Lilith delayed answering, casting him a polite smile from under her straw bonnet. She need not look up into the sun to see his face, as they were nearly the same height.

  How could she answer such a question when none of his in-laws had given her a reason to dislike them except their status in society? Even as she thought this, she knew it was unfair to dislike someone on status alone, just as the ladies in Allshire disliked her on status alone. But she knew their type well enough to warrant the distaste.

  Yet, how could she say she did not like them because they were aristocrats when her own brother was an aristocrat? She did not see him in the same way, though, for he was simply her brother. His birthright could not be helped any more than could his in-laws; nevertheless, they were different. Their clothes, their manners, even their accents were all so different, so…austere.

  Her brother’s eyebrows raised in anticipation of her answer.

  “They are perfectly amiable,” she replied politely albeit curtly.

  “Ah. I see. Yes, that tells me everything I need to know. I can read you like a book, you know, dear sister. Promise you will give them a chance?”

  She nodded without looking at him. It was not about her giving them a chance but the other way around. If they but knew what she really was.

  “And what of Collingwood?” he hedged. “I note a distinctive twinkle in his eye when he looks at you.”

  Clenching a fist about her shoes, she said with clipped words, “And what of him? Lord Collingwood is a peer who would no sooner look at me than he would a beggar in the street. Have you already forgotten what I am?”

  Sebastian exhaled his exasperation. “I meant no offense, Lil. I only thought you might find in him a friend. He has a desire to do some good in this world, just as I believe you do.”

  As if his ears burned from Sebastian’s words, Lord Collingwood looked back to Lilith and cast a soft smile.

  “I’ll beg you not to meddle. He and I have nothing in common.”

  “At least give him a chance before you judge too harshly. Give them all a chance. If I can love them, you can. And before you say the fondness is because I’m of the same blueblood, let me remind you of two points. The same blood flows through your veins, though you’re loath to admit it. And, more importantly, they saw past my boorish reputation with which I first made their acquaintance. They saw me for who I am, not for who others believed me to be. For my final defense, lest you forget, my father-in-law is not a peer, nor was Hazel before her marriage. So, before you judge them, get to know them. They might surprise you.”

  “It’s not my judgement of them that’s the problem,” she defended. “It’s what they would think of me if they knew the truth. Do you think Lord Collingwood would speak to me if he knew of my illegitimacy? I think not.”

  Her brother chuckled. “Has it ever occurred to you that he speaks to you because he wants to? Because he finds you charming and attractive?”

  Lilith scoffed. “Don’t be silly. He speaks to me because he thinks I’m of his ilk. It was wrong of you not to warn them, and it’s dishonest not to correct them.”

  “Lilith. Stop. Your birth does not define you. You had a loving mother and still have a loving brother. You belong in this life, in my life, as Lady Lilith, just as our mother intended.”

  Lilith scoffed again but said nothing. Her heart was torn asunder, one part belonging to the mother who had loved and raised her as her own, the other part trapped with the stranger who birthed her and abandoned her.

  To her dismay, Lord Collingwood dragged his feet, allowing his mother to continue ahead of him. Within seconds, she and Sebastian had caught up to him. Her brother winked when she cast him an accusatory glare.

  “If the two of you wouldn’t mind,” her brother said, “I’m going to catch up to my wife.”

  Sebastian offered Lord Collingwood his place at
Lilith’s side. Inwardly groaning, she allowed the man to take her arm in her brother’s stead. Leaving them alone and very much distanced from the group, Sebastian trotted ahead.

  “May I carry your shoes, Miss Chambers?” Lord Collingwood said in way of a greeting.

  Did he suppose they were too heavy for her feeble arm? What a toff.

  “No, thank you, my lord.”

  “Yes, I suppose you’ve been independent for a long time,” he said cryptically.

  They walked in silence for a time, a companionable silence, to her surprise, much like when he brought her the shawl on the cliff side. She liked that he did not attempt conversation about the weather or bonnets this time, instead falling into the rhythm of their footsteps slapping wet sand. Against her better judgment, she relaxed into the silence, feeling comforted by his presence rather than tense.

  “If I may be so bold,” he said when the others ahead of them stopped to pick up seashells, “I would like to say, you look most fetching. The sun and exercise have flushed your cheeks becomingly.”

  If it hadn’t been an aristocrat to say such words, words she was sure he doled out to every lady he met, she would have added a blush to her already pink cheeks. Instead, she pursed her lips to keep from smiling.

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  “I’ve been thinking since our last conversation.”

  He said it with such novelty, she almost laughed aloud. Should she commend him for thinking?

  “I might like to open an orphanage,” he declared. “I’ve been in search for how I might help others, but nothing has felt right, not to mention I’ve no idea how to start a business venture. But this feels right. And with your help, I shan’t fail! I’m sure this is my path, my calling. Fate has brought us together, you see.”

  She did laugh aloud this time. “Aristocrats don’t own orphanages, my lord.”

  “Why not? And here I thought you would like my idea.” His tone was pouty enough that she could not keep from smiling.

  “If you’ll pardon my bluntness, aristocrats do not acknowledge that side of the bed from which most orphans are sired. They certainly don’t associate with such riff-raff by owning establishments for housing them.”