by Bess McBride
“What are the banns exactly? Roger said something about a reverend?”
“A notice of your impending marriage has to be announced in the local church for three consecutive Sundays. That allows people who believe there is an impediment to the marriage to speak out. So the reverend will call out your intent to marry from the pulpit. And if anyone objects, they will tell the reverend why.”
“Do people object?”
“I suppose they do. No one objected to my marriage, so that was the good news!”
“Is there anyone who would object to Roger’s marriage? Could Penelope?”
“No, they have to have a valid reason...like that he’s already married, or even that he entered into a promise of marriage with someone else.”
“Which he didn’t...yet.”
“No, though I don’t doubt Penelope would have managed that pretty soon. What am I saying? Hickstrom would have made certain of that. Poor Roger.”
Clara said nothing.
“Okay, I’d better go. We’ll have breakfast soon. This day is out of control!” Mary opened the door to find Lord Carswell on the other side.
“Oh! Good morning, Lord Carswell! I was just telling Clara that breakfast will be ready soon. We were just having tea, and I believe it is still warm. Do help yourself.”
“Good morning, and thank you.” Lord Carswell straightened from his bow and allowed Mary to exit before he entered.
“The drawing room so early in the day, Miss Bell? It is my habit to rise early, but not as early as you. I heard voices and saw Lord Rowe leave some time ago. Is all well? The house seems astir at such an early hour.”
Clara rose restlessly. She dropped a curtsy to Lord Carswell’s bow.
“Good morning,” she said. She stood stiffly, unsure of what to do. What she truly wanted was to get out of the castle, to get away.
“You seem ill at ease, Miss Bell. Is it I? Have I done something to offend you?”
“Oh, no, Lord Carswell! No, it’s not you!”
“Who then? Has Lord Rowe upset you? How can I help?”
“No! I...I...” Clara took a deep breath. “We’re getting married.”
Lord Carswell reared his head and stared. “Married? To Lord Rowe?”
“Yes?” Clara wasn’t sure why she made it sound like a question.
“I did not realize that your affections were engaged,” he said, still staring at her.
“Ummm...” Clara couldn’t think straight. “They are? Were? Are?” She shrugged. “Well, we’re getting married in two weeks. The banns, you know.”
“Please allow me to offer my felicitations,” he said with a bow. “Forgive my surprise. I simply had no idea. And please forgive my forward behavior. I will not lie. I believed your hand...and heart to be free, and I hoped to secure them for my own.”
Clara blinked, and her cheeks flamed. “Oh! I...” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. This is embarrassing.”
“Indeed,” he said, turning away to stare into the cold hearth. He clasped his hands behind his back.
“You’ve been so nice to me,” Clara said with a feeling of guilt.
“Not at all,” Lord Carswell said. He turned back to face her. “Then you intend to stay here in England?”
Clara swallowed hard. She didn’t know how to answer, and a small part of her mind wondered if Lord Carswell hadn’t been planted by Miss Hickstrom. Or that he didn’t report to Miss Hickstrom.
“Oh, sure,” she said, lies falling from her mouth. “I intend to stay here in England,” she repeated verbatim.
“And yet I sense you are ill at ease at a moment when you should be most happy. Dash it all, Miss Bell! I must be allowed to speak freely!” Lord Carswell moved forward, taking her hands in his. “Are you being forced into marriage, my dear? I can save you from such a fate.”
Clara drew in a sharp breath. She opened her mouth, but no words came out.
“You are being coerced! I can see that. How can I help? Do you wish me to speak to Lord St. John? To Lord Rowe? Or is it that strange Miss Hickstrom, the one who sees herself as a matchmaker? What power could she have to compel you to marriage? Shall I take you away to Bedfordshire? I am prepared to do so at once!”
To Clara’s shock, Lord Carswell brought her hands to his lips.
“Dearest Clara, let me take you away from here. I will not compel you to marry me, and if you wish to return to America, I will see you safely there. You shall not want for a chaperone, for my housekeeper will serve as such. Your eyes tell me that you are unhappy. Let me help you.”
The door opened, and of all people, Roger walked in.
“Clara, I—” He stopped short when he saw Lord Carswell.
Clara pulled her hands away and jumped back.
“What is the meaning of this?” Roger growled in a voice Clara had never heard him use.
“Nothing!” she said. “Lord—” She was cut off by Lord Carswell.
“Yes, indeed! What is the meaning of this? Someone is coercing Miss Bell into a marriage she does not want, and I intend to know who. Quite clearly, since you are the intended groom, you are a participant in this travesty.”
Clara’s jaw dropped.
“I beg your pardon?” Roger said, his voice deepening. “A marriage she does not want? Is this true, Clara? Miss Bell? Is this true?”
“Wait!” she cried out, looking at the two men. “This is all a mistake!”
“I think not,” Lord Carswell said.
“It seems not,” Roger ground out at the same time.
“Miss Bell, I beseech you to gather your things and come with me. I shall procure a chaperone from the village, and you shall come to Wayburn Hall with me. I can only say that I am surprised St. John has allowed this...perhaps even condoned it.”
“How dare you?” Roger spat.
“Do I hear my name used in vain?” another male voice added to the fray.
St. John and Mary stepped into the room, and Mary closed the door behind her. She moved to Clara’s and pulled her to the side, away from the argument.
“St. John!” Lord Carswell barked. “What is the meaning of this? It seems very clear to me that Miss Bell is being coerced into marriage against her will.”
“Gentlemen,” St. John said in a deeply resonant voice. “Do please calm yourselves. Mary, please take Miss Bell from the room.”
“No!” Clara cried out. “You’re not going to talk about me behind my back. This has to stop!”
“Very well then, Miss Bell,” St. John said, stepping between the two angry barons. “I only wished to protect you. Do please stay out of the way, ladies.”
He looked at the two men, twisting his head from side to side.
“I am not the one coercing Miss Bell into marriage, Lord Carswell.”
Lord Carswell bowed, a very perfunctory crisp movement.
“My apologies, St. John. I could not believe such, but my eyes and ears do not lie. Someone is compelling Miss Bell.”
“Did Miss Bell say those words to you?”
St. John looked at Clara, and she blinked. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out yet again.
“She intimated as much to me when we met,” Lord Carswell said.
“This is not your concern,” Roger said. “You do not know of what you speak.”
“But I do, young man. I most certainly do! I saw the tears in Miss Bell’s eyes when she spoke of being forced into marriage.”
“You wept?” Roger asked in a gruff voice, directing his question to Clara.
“I—” Clara could only shake her head. She had no idea how to stop the argument without telling Lord Carswell about Hickstrom. She recalled tearing up when she had first met him on the road, when he had asked her if she was being forced into marriage. Only a day ago, yet it seemed like a lifetime.
“Yes, she wept!” Lord Carswell snapped. “And lo and behold, you, a commoner elevated above his station, are to be the happy groom. Not while I live!”
“Lord Ca
rswell, some decorum, please,” St. John said.
“I may be a commoner,” Roger blurted, “but at least I am not a man beyond his prime lusting after a young lady!”
“Oh, noooo,” Clara moaned.
“Roger!” Mary protested.
“Gentlemen!” St. John snapped. “That is enough. This is my home, my drawing room, and you will conduct yourselves in a manner befitting gentlemen. Lord Rowe is a gentleman, Lord Carswell, as are you. No one in this room is forcing Miss Bell into an unwanted marriage.”
“I most certainly am not,” Roger said, blue eyes spitting fire. “And I withdraw from our agreement, Miss Bell, since it causes you to weep.” He bowed in Clara’s direction, pivoted and stormed out of the room.
“Good!” Lord Carswell retorted, not at all ashamed of himself.
“No!” Clara moaned again, tears running down her cheeks.
“Oh, Clara,” Mary sympathized.
“Well, this is a pretty kettle of fish!” St. John murmured.
Lord Carswell approached Clara and bowed before her.
“Forgive me for causing such a scene in your presence, Miss Bell, but I cannot dislike that Lord Rowe released you from your bondage. I do not know how he coerced you, and I wonder if that odd lady, Miss Hickstrom, was instrumental. However, you are free. This is not the most auspicious time or place, but I offer myself to you as an alternative, Miss Bell. I will care for you and cherish you, and I will always allow you the freedom to be whom you wish, do what you want and go where you must. I shall never force you to do anything you do not wish.”
Clara’s eyes widened, and her knees wobbled. Mary’s arm around her waist was the only thing that kept her standing. She tore her eyes from Lord Carswell’s sincere gaze and turned to Mary.
“Hickstrom,” she breathed. “Hickstrom.”
If someone knocked on the door, Clara didn’t hear it, but the door opened, and as if she had conjured the fairy godmother, Hickstrom walked in.
“Yes, my dear. I am come. What a very ‘pretty kettle of fish’ this is indeed!”
Chapter Seventeen
“Miss Hickstrom!” Lord Carswell said in a startled voice. He gave her a perfunctory bow, as did St. John.
“Lord Carswell. I see you have been proposing marriage to our young lady.”
Lord Carswell’s pale cheeks reddened almost as much as they had when he and Roger were at each other’s throats.
“I am not certain how you might know that, but I am also uncertain how that is your concern.”
“Miss Bell’s happiness is my concern,” she said, not intimidated in the least by his disdain.
“And it is mine.”
He turned back to Clara, who watched the events unfolding as if they were happening to someone else. Her hand in Mary’s was cold. Mary’s hand was clammy. St. John shook his head, as if he couldn’t quite believe what was happening.
“Please do not answer right away, Miss Bell. Do think about it,” Miss Hickstrom instructed.
“I think we should sit,” St. John said.
Miss Hickstrom promptly settled herself on the sofa, patting the cushion next to her. Mary led Clara to the sofa, and they sat.
“I will stand, thank you,” Lord Carswell said.
St. John inclined his head and took a seat opposite the sofa.
“Well, Clara, my dear,” Miss Hickstrom began. “You summoned me. What is your heart’s desire? Do you mean to trade one baron for the other? That would be perfectly acceptable. Both men suffer from loneliness, though neither will admit to such.”
“I beg your pardon?” Lord Carswell rasped. “Madam, I do not even know you. How can you claim to know me so well?”
Miss Hickstrom arched a gray eyebrow and searched the room.
“Oh dear! My ears must have been attuned elsewhere. Does Lord Carswell not know?”
In unison, St. John, Mary and Clara shook their heads.
“Know what?” Lord Carswell asked.
“Goodness!” Miss Hickstrom exclaimed. “Are my powers waning? How could I not have realized?”
“Well, you can’t catch everything,” Mary offered.
“Do you think I was unaware of the plot Lord Rowe and Miss Bell concocted?” Miss Hickstrom asked, directing her question to the women.
Clara’s flush face blanched. She could feel the blood leave her cheeks.
“There is little of which I am unaware,” Miss Hickstrom said, “but I was not going to allow Clara to return to her home.”
“Hickstrom!” Clara gasped. “How could you? You lied!”
Hickstrom smiled benignly. “Yes, I did, and I was not the only one, was I, dear?”
“What is the meaning of all this?” Lord Carswell demanded. “Who are you that you feel you may control Miss Bell?”
“I am her fairy godmother,” Miss Hickstrom said with laugh. “I did not realize that you were to be one of my charges, but apparently you are. If Miss Bell wishes to accept your offer of marriage, then I can have no disagreement with her choice...since you are a baron, after all.”
“Fairy godmother indeed!” Lord Carswell laughed, though it wasn’t filled with humor. “What does my title have to do with anything, and what could you mean...I am to be one of your charges?” Clearly frustrated, he moved to take another chair opposite the sofa.
“But what about Penelope?” Clara eked out.
“Penelope?” Lord Carswell repeated. “Do you mean that young woman, Miss Whitehead?”
Clara nodded, but it was to Hickstrom whom she had directed the question.
St. John crossed and recrossed his legs, settling back into his chair as if watching a play.
“What about Miss Whitehead, Clara?” Miss Hickstrom asked.
“Well, you...are you still going to make Roger—” Clara looked around the room but couldn’t string together a coherent sentence. “If I don’t marry him?”
“Whatever is this all about?” Lord Carswell demanded. “How is Miss Whitehead a part of any discussion?”
Mary sighed heavily. “She’s a part of it,” she offered cryptically.
“I do not often discuss my plans with people who are not directly involved, Lord Carswell. That you have recently immersed yourself in this situation requires careful consideration on my part. I do not care to be rushed.”
“Rushed?” he snapped.
“Oh, so you didn’t bring him here?” Mary asked. “We wondered about that.”
“Bring me here? I came in my own carriage, Lady St. John. I had never met Miss Hickstrom before yesterday.”
“It’s more complicated than that, Lord Carswell.”
“It would not be if someone would explain anything to me...at all!”
All eyes turned on Hickstrom.
“I did not bring Lord Carswell into the fray, as it were. Please do not stare at me as if I have any explaining to do.”
“Are you kidding?” Mary asked.
“Not at all. I never jest without a proper cup of tea. Is that tea still warm?” Hickstrom asked, eyeing the tea service that remained on the table near the sofa.
“I have no idea,” Mary said, seemingly unwilling to get up and check.
“I shall treat myself to a cup if you do not mind.”
“Help yourself!” Mary said.
Hickstrom poured herself a cup of tea and began to sip it.
“Hickstrom...” Clara said pitifully. “Please explain everything to Lord Carswell. I don’t think I can.”
“Yes, please do!” Lord Carswell said. “You can see that Miss Bell is distressed beyond measure.”
Hickstrom settled her cup back into its saucer.
“I have already attempted to do so once, my dear. But let me try again.” She turned to Lord Carswell. “I am a fairy godmother. It is my happy task to bring together lovelorn souls, hopefully to see them happily wed.”
“A matchmaker then,” Lord Carswell said.
“Such a banal term, but yes, I do match people.”
“And i
s coercion part of your practice?”
Clara’s eyes widened as she awaited Hickstrom’s response.
“Yes, it is.”
“I suspected as much! I demand that you release Miss Bell from whatever coercive tactics you have employed to ensure her marriage to Lord Rowe.”
Clara cringed.
“As I understand it, Lord Rowe released himself, though in truth, the marriage was to be a sham.” Hickstrom directed a disapproving look in Clara’s direction. “Therefore, there is no further coercion.”
“What about Penelope?” Clara persisted.
“Well, as to that, my dear, yes, Lord Rowe must still marry Miss Whitehead.”
St. John let out a sound that could have been interpreted as a curse.
“But why?” Clara asked, leaning forward. “Why?”
“He must marry,” Hickstrom said, as if all was explained.
“What’s this?” Lord Carswell asked. “Now Lord Rowe will marry Miss Whitehead? Was he not engaged to Miss Bell only moments ago?”
“Hickstrom hasn’t explained everything to you, Lord Carswell,” Mary said. “Clara isn’t the only one being forced into marriage.”
“I protest, dear Mary. Clara has never been forced into marriage, as you say. I long ago agreed to return her to her time.”
“Her time?” Lord Carswell said quickly. “You mean to say her home?”
“Did I?” Hickstrom lifted her cup to her lips. “Perhaps. But you have offered Miss Bell your heart and home, Lord Carswell. Very commendable. Miss Bell has much to consider over the coming weeks.”
“Please send me home now. I can’t do this anymore, Hickstrom.” Clara’s eyes filled with frustrated tears. Roger had turned his back on her, and he would have to marry Penelope. Had he realized that when he broke off the engagement? She needed to talk to him. She needed to go home and never talk to him again. She needed to see him.
“I have said that I will escort you home, Miss Bell,” Lord Carswell said. “I cannot bear to see you so distraught. Please accept my offer.”
Clara shook her head. “You can’t.”
“I most certainly can. I have the means. I have the time. And I have been to America. You know this.”
“Hickstrom?” Clara asked.
