An Unwilling Baroness

by Harris Channing

  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.

  "Should it?" she replied, setting her full attention on the portrait of Lady Dorothea that hung above the fireplace. Damn, the woman infiltrated every aspect of Pembridge House.

  "If you harbored any romantic notion toward me, perhaps it should." Gone was the jovial Jude, the carefree rake. In his stead was a serious man she didn't recognize.

  "Do you bed women to catch my att
ention? For if you do, believe me sir, that is not the sort of attention you should strive for."

  "So, you not only don’t love me now, you see no possibility of it in the future?"

  She lifted her chin and stared at him, not knowing how to answer. If she confessed she could see loving him for the rest of her life, she could very well be falling for his charm and beauty as so many others had. She would sacrifice her heart on a gamble that could cost her everything and leave her with nothing but a broken heart.

  "You can’t even answer me?" He straightened, his dark eyes reflecting his disappointment. "So, I am not a man or a man you could love."

  At that moment, he ceased to speak and before she could stop him, he was gone. The ugly exchange was the last unwritten words they had spoken to one another. Yet, at that time she'd been completely convinced it was simply his panic speaking and not his heart.

  "No," she whispered, her warm breath tinting the window glass. "Had he not been such a scoundrel, I may have considered his suit." Frustration pummeled her with fresh hands. "Had you not offered your love as an escape, perhaps I could've believed you."

  She pushed her emotions deep down into her already aching stomach. There was nothing to be done. He was gone, practically married.

  Still, to see his face would be water to her parched soul. To walk and talk with him again more than welcome, and to feel close to the one person who understood her dilemma, ever so refreshing.

  However, that was not meant to be, she reminded herself. This moment was all she had. The last moment before the matrimonial guillotine blade fell. The idea was enough to send her back to bed with a headache…only she didn’t have one. Not yet, anyway.

  But at the sound of Lady Dorothea's voice, the beginnings of the severest of headaches planted their painful seeds deep in her skull.

  "Lady Chloe, be certain to stand in front of that window. Baron Von Richter is due here any moment and your silhouette will be quite the enticement." The way the woman hovered and chatted, one would think that they were expecting a joyous occasion and not a funeral for her freedom.

  Chloe didn’t move and refused to turn toward the source of her loathing. She stood there as instructed, her hands coiled tight around the pale blue velvet curtains, the fabric soft in her fists. Fists that would only relax after they punched the woman.

  "It's said he's handsome enough."

  "Enough for who?" she asked, her tone every bit as strained as the rest of her.

  "For you," Dorothea replied, her voice rising with her anger. "Don't think for a moment that turning into a shrew will deter him. His missives have been direct and if he's at all the man I believe him to be, your courtship will be short and your marriage immediate."

  Dread clung to every bit of her. Did she truly have no choice? Perhaps she'd run away just as Jude had. Wouldn't starving be preferable to this?

  "I can't believe a man as handsome and wealthy and titled as Baron Von Richter would want a woman with a minute dowry and a father who owes much." Still she didn't move, her eyes pinned to the countryside, the once bright blue sky losing its luster as gray clouds pushed in over the horizon.

  "Regardless of your father’s debts, he's still a man of wealth and title." Chloe finally looked to her stepmother as Dorothea lifted a brow and pursed her lips. "Pembridge is worth a small fortune and will be an asset to the man who inherits it. That man will be your husband. The baron desires a foothold in England. You, daughter, are perfect for him."

  Chloe glared at her tormentor, ready to scream and shout and claw her way out of the sack in which her stepmother had tied her. "And if I refuse?"

  "You won't."

  At the sound of her father’s voice and the massive presence of him in the doorway and her ire flared. So the bear finally emerged from his cave. Damn the sight of him.

  "Father," she mumbled, her teeth clenched. His being there, the sound of his voice, everything about him hurt and disappointed her.

  "You've always been a dutiful daughter and this time will prove no different. You will have tea with Baron Von Richter. You will speak gently to him. You will allow yourself to be wooed."

  "Wooed?" The word sounded as stupid on her tongue as it did circling around her frantic brain. There had to be a way out. "Don't you mean sacrificed upon the altar of your wife's greed?"

  "How dare you!" Dorothea shouted. Her shrill tone had Chloe's ears aching.

  The hag rushed toward her, her hand raised to strike. She closed her eyes and braced herself.

  "Mother! Really!"

  Chloe's eyes sprang open just in time to see the woman stop as if in mid-flight. The color drained from her cheeks as she slowly faced her son.

  "Jude!" Chloe exclaimed, a lightness of mood rushed through her heavy bones. Her synapse's suddenly alive with relieved delight. He was like a beautiful dream. She had to be dreaming. The stress had finally snapped her mind. She wavered on her feet, lightheaded.

  Before Dorothea could react, Chloe flew to him, wrapping her arms around him so tight that he let out a surprised groan. "Good to see you too," he remarked, but didn't return her embrace, just stood there like a maypole while she wrapped her ribbons around him.

  Embarrassed heat sped to her cheeks. Chloe stepped back. Smoothing her gown, she averted her eyes. Of course, he didn't want her to hold him so intimately, didn't want her making a fuss over him. He was, after all, an engaged man.

  "I beg your pardon," she said, finally looking upon him. If possible he had grown more handsome. His hair lightened by the sun, his skin tanned a deep bronze, and his body, well, my God he had filled out. And was it possible he had grown taller? Perhaps it was the confidence that now exuded from every fiber. He had indeed grown up and flourished in America.

  "No, I beg your pardon. You caught me off guard, that’s all." He grinned and the familiar dimples dotted his cheeks. His gaze was soft upon her and her stomach filled with butterflies.

  "It will not happen again. I assure you." He continued to stare at her, the glint in his dark eyes almost unnerving. Had his eyes always been so lovely and clear? Had he always looked at her with such precision? Finally, he looked away. "Now Mother, do you not have anything to say to your wayward son?"

  Dorothea glared at him with disdain as she moved forward. "You look well, Jude. What do you want?"

  Jude shrugged his shoulders. "Does a son have to want something to visit his mother? It seems that the only suspicion lies in what a mother wants from a son." He pulled out a letter from his dark suit pocket. "You say here you're in dire straits. Is that true? For the place looks acceptable and you my dear Mother, you're dressed, as always, in the latest fashion."

  "Give that to me," Father's voice boomed, his meaty fist jutted out of the sleeve of his white linen shirt. Jude allowed him the letter and ripping it open, her father began to read.

  "No, my lord, that's not necessary!" Dorothea yelped. "It says nothing to concern you…"

  "You accuse me of not taking care of my family? You would go begging to a son who deserted you?" Father curled the paper in his fist. Dorothea rushed him, her delicate fingers around his ham-sized hand.

  Jude stepped back, his mouth twisted in a derisive smile as he watched the pair fuss over the missive. A missive he came a long way to return.

  Chloe stared at him, her heart hammering against her ribs at his sudden reappearance. He looked lovely and tanned and healthy. Why was he here? Had he learned of her misery and rushed to her aid like the knights of old? But no, that was silly…

  "Give it to me, Jacob!" Dorothea cried as Father lifted his arm, he held the crumpled sheet of paper above her head like a carrot.

  "Not until I've read its entire contents!" he retorted, his eyes sparkling with…was it joy? My goodness the pair were as silly as children!

  Chloe looked to Jude and they both laughed as they had the last time her father and his mother had a row. Their parent's mutual loathing for one another so strong, it had her never wishing to marry for anything l
ess than true love.

  "Come out into the garden with me," Jude shouted over the fray. "I've someone I wish for you to meet."

  Chloe set her hand to her stomach, her amusement fading. Was he about to introduce her to his betrothed? Or worse…his wife? And why did it bother her in the slightest? They had been separated for over three years. That was plenty of time for someone of Jude's obvious wit and charm to find a lady eager to return a love he once offered to her. A love that had strings attached far more than the norm. A love that she doubted truly existed. But she could forgive him now, for looking to her for an escape. For, being snared in her stepmother's matrimonial trap, had her understanding far more than she'd care to admit. And marrying Jude seemed a rather pleasant alternative, especially now, seeing him so glorious, so fit, so very manly.

  Still, she did as he asked, walking numbly away from her bickering father and stepmother and alongside the man who had once been her best friend but who now felt like a stranger.

  In the hall, she closed the door, muting her father's bellows and Dorothea's unladylike screeching.

  Jude stepped closer and blocked her way. She looked up at him. The light dim, the heat of his body, the smell of sandalwood…oh my, what was happening?

  He reached up and touched her cheek and she closed her eyes, relishing the feel of his hand upon her skin. How she missed him.

  "You're far lovelier than I remembered," he said, his fingertips pleasantly calloused. "And far sadder."

  She lifted her lashes and gazed up at his full lips. "Well," she said, pulling back just a bit. It wasn't proper, for was he not engaged? "You understand why that is, do you not?"

  "No, do tell," he said, the momentary spell broken between them. "Why are you so sad?"

  "Because," she replied. "I am nearly engaged to a man I have yet to meet."

  He lifted a brow. "Ahhh, I see. Your little foot has replaced mine in the marriage trap."

  He flexed his jaw, a sure sign of his irritation, his gaze coming to rest sternly upon the door. "My mother. I wish I were born of a street whore. At least then I would know what sort of treachery to expect."