“Your book must be quite enthralling,” Dorothea noticed.
Helen startled and sent her hand to her chest. “It is, but oh, my, Dorothea, what are you doing here? I thought you went to bed long ago.”
“I need to speak with you if I may.”
Helen glanced at the small clock on her night table. “At this hour? It must be urgent.”
“It is.” Dorothea cleared her throat. How could she confront her cousin, a woman who had opened her home to her for an indefinite period of time, with the fact that she was a schemer?
“Then tell me what it is.”
Where to begin? “It is about Stratford.”
“Stratford.” Helen’s mouth twisted into an unhappy curve. She shut her book and let it rest on her legs, which were concealed by a green brocaded coverlet. “Why is it that whenever his name is mentioned, unpleasantness follows?”
“Do you really dislike him that much?”
“I did not especially like or dislike him until the night he met you. He was just another party guest before, a man I could count on to make my dinner table even and who knew enough about current events and such that his presence added to the festivities. But lately, he has been troublesome. For example, did you know that he disrupted an important business meeting tonight, possibly foiling a shrewd investment Luke was planning to make?”
Dorothea dug her slipper-covered heel into the bare floor. “I. . .uh. . .”
“No. Of course you do not. You only see him as a dashing man who is keeping your life interesting by offering a rival of sorts to Baron von Lunenburg.” Helen sighed. “I understand you, Dorothea. Really I do.”
“You do?”
“Yes. I was a maiden not so long ago. I know how enthralling it is to witness two men battle over one’s affections.”
Dorothea studied Helen’s attractive face, which wore a wistful look. She could discern that Helen was remembering her own courting days with fondness. “So two suitors battled over you, and Luke won.”
“Eventually, although he was not even a participant in this particular match.”
“Helen!”
“The men in question lived in Dover.”
“Ah. At your parents’ town home,” she guessed. “So why did you not choose one of them and remain in the city?”
Helen shrugged. “I like the country better, and Luke was the perfect match.”
“A love match?”
“I suppose all marriages are based on a type of love. And I have grown to love Luke more as the years have flown by.”
“But what if you had been madly in love with one of your suitors in Dover?” Dorothea asked, mainly to see how Helen would respond. “Would you have let anything stop you from seeing him?”
“My father would have stopped me from seeing anyone who was not a suitable match, if that is what you mean. I do hope, though, that you are not suggesting that I ever would have been inclined to take up with a stable boy or some sort as that.”
“Oh my, never. Why would you think I was contemplating anything of the sort? I do honor to my station.”
“Never mind.” She paused. “Some girls are too romantic for their own good. I did not think you would be using such poor judgment, especially when you owe Baron von Lunenburg such a debt of gratitude.”
Dorothea knew that Helen was unaware that Stratford had assumed her debts. Since Stratford had shared the truth with her in confidence, she felt it best not to reveal what she knew. “Is that why you encourage me toward him? You believe I should let him court me based on the gratitude I owe him?”
“No doubt your gratitude can easily turn to love. After all, anyone can see that Baron von Lunenburg is a handsome and charming man. And even more important, he is wealthy. If you choose him, you will never have to worry about money again. And a woman in your situation should appreciate the value of such security,” Helen noted. “Would you find it so very hard to love him?”
“Under other circumstances, perhaps not,” she admitted. “But I have given my heart to someone else. Someone who has been writing me letters.”
“Letters?” Helen’s face wore the proper amount of surprise and innocence.
“Yes. Letters that I have not had the privilege of reading. I wonder why that is?” Dorothea studied Helen and absently rubbed her fingertip against the round rim of the brass candlestick she still held.
Helen picked up her book and flipped through the pages, ostensibly to find her place so she could resume reading her story. “I wonder why.”
“Helen, are you going to pretend that you have not hidden Stratford’s letters from me?”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“He told me he wrote to me. In fact, he has been writing me every day. Yet I never received his letters. Not a one.”
“Really? How appalling. I shall speak to the servants.”
“I do not blame the servants, because none of them has reason to hide my correspondence. I beg your pardon, but you do.”
She looked up from her book. “Me? Why ever would I want to hide your correspondence?”
“Because you want me to concentrate my attentions on Hans.”
She shrugged. “What if I do? That is no secret.”
“So you admit it. You hid my letters.”
“I admit nothing.” Helen set her gaze back on her tome.
“If you will give me any of them—any of them at all, I promise not to be upset with you. I know you have my best interests at heart. All I want is to read what he wrote.”
“That is not possible. I am not in possession of any letters.”
Dorothea could guess what happened to Stratford’s letters. She stared into the dying flames in Helen’s fireplace. Anger rose up in her, but she held her emotions in check. “Did you read them before you destroyed them?”
“How could I read a letter that I did not see?”
Dorothea pursed her lips.
“Dorothea, I do not appreciate your tone. I have retired for the night only to have you accuse me of hiding your correspondence. This is most upsetting. I suggest you consider that I have more than repaid your branch of the family anything I might have owed them with the hospitality I have provided you as of late. Now that your debts are paid and you are enjoying a profitable hobby as a painter of portraits, I assume you would have little difficulty setting up housekeeping anew in London or perhaps Dover.”
Dorothea was so upset with Helen for trying to interfere in her choice of a suitor that she almost threatened to take her suggestion and leave the following morning. But she stopped herself. If she did, she might never again see Stratford. And though she had lost his original letters, perhaps he could be persuaded to write her more. Or even better, tell her in person anything he had to say.
“I beg your pardon,” Dorothea finally said. “I am distraught over the matter of Stratford’s missing letters. If I jumped to an erroneous conclusion, I am sorry. Good night.”
She knew she could never again trust Helen.
Fifteen
Dorothea counted the silver utensils to be sure they had set out the proper number for the evening’s entertainment. In honor of the departure of Baron von Lunenburg, Helen had planned a gathering and had been working toward its success for more than a week. “This looks like the right number.”
“Good.” Helen sighed as she thumbed through her best table linens. “I cannot believe Baron von Lunenburg is departing the country so soon. I shall miss him. I wish that I could have had more than a few days’ notice when Luke suggested that we host a farewell event for him.”
“You can pull together in a week a grand affair that most other hostesses would take a month to accomplish.”
“Thank you, but I am not sure that Lady Lydia would agree.”
Dorothea shook her head. “The rivalry between the two of you shall never cease.”
“Probably not.” She inspected a linen napkin to be sure the cloth appeared pristine enough to include with the others. “I am about ready
to let our laundress go. She is not as particular about her tasks as Mindy used to be. I do believe that is a lobster bisque stain on this napkin.”
“If you let her go, who will do the wash? Am I to assume you will take over the chore then?” Dorothea jested.
“No, but I would like to find someone who does not allow stained linens back into our Sunday best pile.” She wrenched her lips and tossed the napkin in a disheveled heap next to the folded linens on the table. “So are you anxious about unveiling the portrait of our guest of honor this evening?”
“The unveiling of any new portrait is always a cause for a degree of nervousness, I suppose, but I feel he will be generous in his assessment of the likeness.”
Dorothea knew she had already pleased at least one person—Stratford. As instructed, Dorothea had played on Hans’s vanity to detain him, and he had stayed long enough for her to put the finishing touches on his image. She still didn’t know why Stratford had asked her to make sure he delayed his departure. She had a feeling there was more to the story than he was ready to reveal to her. She didn’t care. All she knew was that if she planned to marry him one day, her vows would include a promise to obey him. If she could not abide by his wishes now, she would not be able to find the will to comply with his requests in the future.
As promised, she had said nothing to anyone. In whom would she confide, anyway? She had enjoyed exchanging pleasantries with new acquaintances in the country and had even developed a fondness for several of the women. But her only close friend and relation in near proximity was Helen, and after learning that her cousin hid her letters from Stratford, Dorothea was in no frame of mind to take Helen into her confidence. When anger threatened to fester, Dorothea reminded herself that she owed Helen a debt of gratitude and that her cousin was a fellow Christian who deserved her love and respect.
“This soiree will be bittersweet,” Helen remarked. “I had once hoped that you would have good news for us by now, but I have given up all hope that you will be announcing your intention to become betrothed to Baron von Lunenburg. Unless he is saving his proposal for tonight.”
“How you manage to cling to false hope, I do not know, Helen,” Dorothea told her. “Surely you realize that even if Hans were to propose tonight, I would decline.”
“So you say, but he has been known to change many a mind with his sweet words.” She exhaled a resigned sigh with a sound that filled the room. “I hope Baron von Lunenburg does not regret calling in the favor with the judge on your behalf. Considering you came to this house destitute and begging for relief from overwhelming debt, I suppose you could do worse than Lord Brunswick. I only hope he is not expecting a large dowry from you.”
Dorothea deliberately lifted her chin in pride in response to the dig, whether intended or not. “Stratford and I have been honest with each other. During our discourses I admitted the plight that brought me here.”
“Dorothea! How could you reveal such a disgrace?”
“The disgrace was my father’s, not mine. And many a titled woman have overcome far worse.”
“Thankfully Lord Brunswick is not known as a gossip. Do not even think of breathing a word to Lady Lydia. She will be sure the Witherspoon name never recovers.”
“I feel sorry for any woman who has nothing better to do with her time than to nurse her personal pettiness and jealousies with attempts to darken the reputations of others. But I do understand your meaning, and for your sake, I shall reveal my father’s indiscretions to no one else.”
“Good.” Helen discarded yet another napkin.
Dorothea noticed a spot of tarnish on a fork and set it aside to be touched up with polish. “Because of my honesty, you need not worry. Should Stratford choose to propose marriage, I am sure he expects nothing in the way of financial gain. You know, it is freeing, really, not to have much money. I know no one is interested in me solely because he can enrich his coffers.”
“Only someone as impoverished as yourself would make such a statement. But I suppose we all tell ourselves little white lies. And you need not worry, either. For the sake of family pride, Luke will provide you with a reasonable dowry to offer a groom, and I will help you with your wedding trousseau.” Helen paused in her work long enough to study Dorothea. “At least your appearance is such that you do not need a large dowry to attract suitors.”
“Thank you.” Dorothea sighed. Helen would never change. Perhaps that was part of her charm.
❧
Stratford peered out the window of his drawing room. Desperately, he searched for an unfamiliar carriage to pull into the drive, but so far no one had appeared.
“I see you have not given up hope, Stratford,” Gilbert remarked as he checked his tie in the hall mirror.
“I refuse.”
“I wish I held your optimism. But I think we may as well face facts, Stratford. He is not going to make it here in time.”
Stratford looked at the mantel clock. “We have an hour yet.”
“I knew we should have asked him to confirm his intentions.”
“True. Perhaps he has no intention of coming here at all. One would think that Baron von Lunenburg would want to protect his good name and reputation.” Stratford crossed his arms and kept his eyes on the horizon like a sailor watching the sea for an approaching enemy vessel. “Perhaps his reputation is worse than Forsythe’s.”
“Jest all you like, but I have the distinct feeling that Forsythe would not have chosen someone of less than flawless character to impersonate. After all, he is a confidence man, and he depends on trust to ply his trade.”
“At least we have managed to bring his trust into question by our appearance at the last meeting.”
“Yes, but this soiree that your friend Lady Helen is hosting tonight is sure to be the culmination of the deal. I have a feeling Forsythe will maintain most of his investors. For some men, the love of money knows no bounds.”
“I suppose everyone believes we asked to be included in the meeting thanks to our own greed, but at this point in time, I am willing to risk opinion to do what is good and right,” Stratford noted.
“Does Dorothea know all the details?”
“Not yet.”
“But she agreed to delay Forsythe.”
“Yes, and she did a fine job of buying us a few precious days. Speaking of time, we have precious little left.” Stratford dropped his hands to his side, expressing his feeling of defeat. “I suppose I should get my coat.”
“Yes. Let us not tarry. Perhaps we can yet find a way to convince our friends not to enter into such folly.”
“Unless we are wrong.”
“No. We are not wrong. I am sure of it.”
At that moment they heard the sound of a carriage pulling into the drive. Stratford pushed aside the cream-colored draperies that decorated his window and peered outside. “Who can that be? You do not suppose. . .”
“Let us hope the passenger is the real Baron von Lunenburg.”
They watched the driver pull the conveyance to a stop, then open the carriage door for its occupant to disembark. After what seemed an inordinate amount of time, a man finally emerged.
“Do you know this man?” Stratford asked.
A triumphant smile crossed Gilbert’s features. “Yes. That, my friend, is the real Baron Hans von Lunenburg.”
Stratford tried not to let his mouth drop to the tips of his boots. Though dressed in the finest cloth, the portly physique of Baron von Lunenburg didn’t do his suit justice. He paused long enough to eye Brunswick Hall through dark-rimmed round spectacles and then nodded in what looked like halfhearted approval. Stratford noticed that little bits of gray hair peeked out from under a stylish hat, and he suspected there was very little more hair atop the baron’s head.
“Are you absolutely certain this is the gentleman in question?”
“Absolutely. I met him aboard ship on a journey to Italy. He was a most delightful fellow.” Gilbert sent him a sideways glance. “Why would you doubt it?”
“I was expecting someone more. . .more. . .”
“More like Clayton Forsythe?”
Stratford hated to admit that he was right. “I suppose.”
“Then Clayton Forsythe is talented indeed. He has you convinced that the fake is better than the real man. From what I understand, our gentleman cut a fine figure in his day and was quite the ladies’ man among the powdered-wig set. In fact,” Gilbert added, “I watched him succeed in charming more than one lady half his age during our trip.”
Stratford had no time to consider such an incredible possibility, for Baron von Lunenburg was already approaching the steps. Since he did not know the man well, Stratford decided to allow him to be announced by the butler.
Within moments, introductions were made, and Baron von Lunenburg’s concern became evident.
“As you can imagine, I was extremely distressed to learn that someone else has been posing as me,” Baron von Lunenburg told them. “My daughters have been telling me that I must get out and about in society more, and the fact that someone else has apparently been successful in such vile trickery seems to prove their point. I can only hope I am not too late to see that justice is done.”
“No, although if you had been delayed by another quarter hour, all might have been lost.”
“Please do provide me with the details on this imposter.”
The two men complied, and finally Baron von Lunenburg decided that Clayton must have learned about him through a benevolence fund he had begun at his church. “That is the price I pay for allowing my name to be attached to the fund,” Baron von Lunenburg lamented.
Stratford bit back a verse that came to mind regarding pride. The man may have been vain, but clearly he did not deserve such a punishment for an attempt to help the poor. Instead, he felt it best to broach the matter at hand. “I wish I had time to offer you refreshment and relaxation, but we must hurry if we plan to stop Clayton Forsythe. First there will be a business meeting, followed by a celebration to bid him farewell.
“I understand, gentlemen. I did not anticipate my visit with you to be an extended holiday. I must say I am shocked by this development. I do not know how to thank you for the opportunity to stop this thief.”
Journeys Page 15
