He caught sight of himself in the tall mirror and was surprised at the look of himself. His nightshirt hung lifelessly off his shoulders. He still wouldn’t quite call himself scrawny, but her alarm had been justified. He’d lost a troubling amount of weight to whatever illness this was. His cheeks were hollow, lending an even more monstrous look to his face.
When he saw that a tray of light food was beside his bed, he found to his relief that he actually had an appetite. Although he had little hope of keeping the food down for long, he was not repulsed at the sight of the dry toast and tea, and he sat down on the edge of the bed to nibble at it.
A whole season at home. The air outside still carried the crispness of winter on the breeze. It would be a very long time until summer arrived and he could return to his true home. The thought depressed him, and he laid back against his pillows and waited. Soon enough, his butler appeared to announce the arrival of the physician and Jeffrey braced to hear his sentence from the man’s own mouth.
He tried to listen to the man’s advice, but one sentence only turned over and over in his mind.
“I cannot, in good conscience, recommend a return to sea at least until the summer months, if by then you have regained all of the muscle and resilience that this illness has cost you.”
Chapter 4
Barbara loved nothing more than to walk. Every morning, if the weather allowed -and sometimes even if it didn’t- she would gather her hat and her reticule and her shawl and set out from home toward town. The estate in which she had grown up was situated on the very edge of what could be called countryside, which afforded a very picturesque walk most mornings. Her father liked to joke that he kept one foot on the farms and one foot in the city.
On this morning, a brisk wind tempered the heat of the sun that warmed her face. She untied the ribbons of her hat and carried it in her hands, tilting her face up to the sun. As a child, she had never been permitted to walk unchaperoned. She had only recently wrested that right from her father, and now she took full advantage of the luxury of privacy. On her walks, she was free inside her own mind, and her thoughts turned expansive, as though they too had been freed from the bounds of the house.
Her mind brimmed with ideas as she put one foot methodically before the other. Sometimes she composed whole poems in her mind on her morning walk. Other times she devised charity foundations. Or designed embroidery patterns. Sometimes she didn’t think at all, but merely lavished peace and quiet on herself.
Days when she could not walk, and had to be driven to town in a carriage due to rain or snow, were sad days indeed. Because of this, she never felt quite right when the weather was harsh.
On this day, her mind was occupied by thoughts of this new suitor her father had found for her. As always, there was that glimmer of excitement.
Perhaps he will be someone interesting; perhaps Father has found a true match after all.
Although Barbara was gaining the reputation of a recalcitrant spinster, it wasn’t true that she was adverse to the entire idea of men or marriage. In fact, the idea of it rather thrilled her. But she just couldn’t tie herself down to a gentleman who didn’t truly excite her, and it seemed that such a gentleman may not exist.
She sighed, jamming her hat back on her head and hastily tying it under her chin as the street into town became more crowded and the orphanage came into view.
Being excited about meeting someone new is all well and good, but you know better than to get your hopes up.
The orphanage was located in what had once been a church, before a grander cathedral had been built nearby. The building still retained the look and feel of a church, with its steeple and its bell. Only now, a whitewashed sign hung above the heavy double doors that read: Cluett Home for Orphans. She smiled when she saw the sign and climbed the steps eagerly to let herself in.
While the orphanage still looked like a church from outside, the interior had been transformed completely. Only the stained glass windows that cast colorful shafts of light across the floor hinted at the building’s past life. The sounds of children playing could be heard echoing off the walls and when a woman in a uniform rounded the corner to greet her, she was slightly out of breath and a flush colored her cheeks. She looked as though she had just been laughing.
“Lady Barbara! Good morning!” She called.
“Good morning Miss Lawton,” Barbara greeted her as one of the newest children, a three year old by the name of Heathcliff, toddled up to her and wrapped his arms around her knees. Barbara bent down to pick him up, perching him on her hip. “How is Little Jane this morning?”
“The fever broke in the night and she’s had an appetite this morning. I believe she’s sitting up now if you’d like to visit her first.”
Barbara nodded, handing Heathcliff off to Miss Lawton before heading to a room toward the back of the orphanage, rather affectionately called the sick room, where children who fell ill were kept away from the others to prevent the spread of illnesses. The room was kept cheerily bright and well aired, at Barbara’s instruction. She never wanted any of her children to feel frightened or uncared for.
“Jane?” she called softly as she entered the room. A young woman nearing her teen years was sitting up in a bed with a ladies magazine across her lap. “How are you feeling this morning? I’ve heard you’re improving.”
“Oh yes, I’m feeling much better,” Jane replied.
There was always activity at the orphanage. It was a welcome respite from the quietude of home, and Barbara eagerly threw herself into the tumult for several hours each day. Normally she just helped with odds and ends and spent most of her time simply playing and visiting with the children.
But today, there is business to attend to.
After visiting with Jane for a few minutes to determine that she truly was recovering well from her fever, Barbara excused herself from the sick room and resisted the temptation to join the other children in their raucous game on the lawn, instead searching out Mister Bradley, who was beneath only herself in authority at the Orphanage.
The man was, as ever, in his office. The office had once been the rectory, and the vestiges of a small kitchen in the back corner of the office served as a reminder of that. Mister Bradley was an older man, though younger than Barbara’s father. He had thick brown hair that curled stubbornly around his ears and he wore half-moon spectacles on the tip of his nose. He had a warm, fatherly air about him, and had been chosen specifically by her to run the business end of the home. Although he frequently was called upon to serve as disciplinarian to the children, Barbara never had reason to worry that he would be overly strict or cruel, so gentle was his nature.
“Lady Barbara, please come in.” He stood from his desk as she entered, nodding his head politely.
“Good Morning, Mister Bradley,” she said as she sat down opposite him. “I shall not take up too much of your time, but merely come out and say that I have heard some troubling rumors about the state of our finances here.”
Mister Bradley sat back down, nodding with a slight frown on his face. “Yes, I was going to bring it up with you soon. I didn’t want to trouble you with it until it became a larger problem, but with this new influx of children, our resources are being spread rather thin these days.”
He removed his spectacles and began wiping them on the hem of his waistcoat. He was anxious about asking her for more money, she could tell.
“I’ve talked to the Duke about it, and unfortunately, all of our income is tied up in various foundations. But I can assure you, Mister Bradley, that I am busy at work coming up with ways to raise the money needed. I shall not fail.”
Mister Bradley smiled warmly at her. “I’ve the utmost confidence in you, My Lady.”
“Do you already know exactly how much extra is needed or shall we draw up those numbers together?”
Mister Bradley chuckled gently. After all these years he still seemed taken aback at times by her willingness to engage so directly with business matter
s. He gestured for her to come around the desk and they sat side by side, putting their heads together as they calculated what was needed to provide the orphanage with all new linens, a larger weekly allowance for healthful groceries, and even several more beds.
“But how will you raise the funds, if it’s not too bold to ask?” Mister Bradley said when they had settled on a number.
Barbara smiled and winked at him. “I don’t know yet, Mister Bradley. But it’s a nice long walk back home. I’m sure I’ll cook something up.”
He was clearly comforted by her bravado, leaning back in his chair. Barbara took up the slip of paper they’d been working on and folded it before slipping it into her reticule.
With that business out of the way, Barbara pushed all thought of money and fund raising out of her mind and joined the children on the green. It was easy to forget her worries surrounded by so much life and joy.
It was mid-afternoon by the time she reluctantly left the orphanage to head back home. The orphanage, many days, felt more like home to her than the big empty estate. As she walked, she retrieved the paper from her reticule and stared down at the numbers on it.
How on earth will I come up with all this?
She chewed on her lip until the sting of it brought her back to the present. She shoved the paper away and determined to stay positive. There were several well-off people she thought she could ask for a loan, but it seemed so gauche to just simply ask for money.
I’ve got to dress it up somehow. People are eager to give to charitable foundations when they know they’ve got an audience to see them doing it.
A wry grin spread across her face as the idea struck.
A charity ball.
She would give all the high society a chance to dress up and show off to each other how generous and rich they were. She laughed. It was a perfect scheme. Barbara had never planned or hosted a ball by herself before, and the idea gave her a mild case of nervous flutters, but she told herself that it couldn’t be any more difficult than running an orphanage.
As she walked, the sight of a man on horseback up the road took her by surprise. This road was not often travelled, and when she did pass someone on her morning walk it was almost always a working-class woman out for a walk or children out causing mischief. Her hackles rose at the sight of him and she found her gait growing stiff and self-conscious. The last thing she needed was a meddlesome flirt to accost her on her solitary walking habits and insist on escorting her home. She imagined with horror her father’s reaction to her returning home in the company of an unknown gentleman.
As he drew nearer she prepared to greet him with a smile or a nod, but as he passed they made eye contact for only a split second before he purposefully turned his attention away from her. She was surprised at first by the rudeness, but in that split second she could see that half of his face was severely burned. Perhaps his rudeness was merely a result of shyness.
The sight shocked her somewhat, and she remembered her dream. Her heart skipped a beat and, looking up the road in the direction he had come from, she wondered what he had been doing. Up the road was her home, and beyond that, vast countryside. Could he have been visiting her father? He did not look as though he were returning from a trip to a further town, he’d been dressed too smartly for that. He must have been from out of town, however. Due to her engagement in charitable foundations, she was well acquainted with anyone in the town who had money to spare, and he certainly was dressed as though he fit that bill. It was impossible that a gentleman as unique as himself would have escaped her notice all this time.
She turned on her heel to watch him ride away, and in doing so she caught him in the act of looking back at her as well. Her breath caught in her throat and she turned back around, her face growing red.
Hatching ideas of how she would go about planning the event occupied her thoughts so completely as she walked home that it wasn’t until she saw a gleaming black carriage in front of the manor that she remembered the gentleman that her father had invited to dinner.
She sighed at the sight of the carriage. Glancing down at her feet, she was unsurprised by the discolored hem of her dress, dirtied by her playing with the children and by the walk.
I have to change!
When she came inside she could hear masculine voices coming from the front parlor. Lifting her skirts, she tiptoed silently up the stairs to her room. Rosie was nowhere to be seen, probably in the kitchens mending stockings. Barbara decided not to ring the bell for her, instead setting about dressing for dinner on her own.
The majority of her dresses had similarly discolored hems. She pushed through to the back of her wardrobe for her more special dresses, which she did not permit herself to wear on her walks. A blush pink gown with short, chiffon sleeves looked the best on her, and she pulled it on.
Glancing in the long mirror, she was pleased at the sight of herself. She was not vain, but she was also not blind or stupid, and she knew herself to be beautiful. The flush of her cheeks and lips from her day activities was brought out by the corresponding pink of the gown, and her green eyes glittered with health. Her hair had fallen slightly loose throughout the day, but the wisps of curls that now framed her face only enhanced the look, she reasoned.
Pulling on satin gloves to her elbows, she gave herself one last glance before descending the stairs toward the voices in the parlor. If this Lord Brookham turned out to be the match of her dreams, she would not lose him for lack of beauty.
Her heart began to beat rapidly as she came to the room and, just outside the door, she stopped herself to take several calming breaths.
Don’t get your hopes up, foolish heart.
She pushed open the door quietly.
“Father?”
Chapter 5
Jeffrey shifted awkwardly in the saddle. The decision to ride out on horseback had been his alone, but now he questioned his own sanity. His reasoning had been that the open air would refresh him much more than a ride in a carriage. After days spent in bed recovering, he had ached for a chance to take some mild exercise. The physician had assured him that the worst of his illness was over, he was no longer really ill and posed no threat to those around him. Now it was merely a matter of recovering his strength.
And what better way to do so than a ride along the country roads?
He hadn’t made it terribly far, just past the outskirts of town. Already his muscles were beginning to ache, and he could find no comfortable way to carry his weight on the horse’s back. He rode sedately along, gazing at the grand estates that nestled themselves into the gently rolling hills. Neat little tenant farms dotted the landscape as well, their flocks of fluffy white sheep languidly plodding along the grasses like clouds across a bland sky.
This early in the spring, there was not much to look at. The landscape was a dull sandy brown, with only fresh green grass springing up intermittently around fence posts and along the road. The fields would soon be verdant, however, and the bare trees were dotted with tight buds that would soon burst forth in flower.
His ride back into town was distracted from these pleasant ruminations on nature, however, by the chance meeting on the road with a young woman. He had spotted her yards away, and had been transfixed by the steady rhythm of her steps. Her dress caught the breeze and billowed around her legs as her hips swayed as steadily as waves on the sea. Her face was tilted up to the sun, and her pale hair seemed to be in open revolt against the constraints of her hair pins.
She was a pastoral vision.
Were I only a painter…
He imagined the scene, this woman atop a hill, her bonnet in one hand, the other raised above her eyes as she squinted out at the vast countryside that spread not before her. Like a natural queen surveying her kingdom.
I’ve been at sea too long.
He reminded himself of the impression he left on women and reined in his romantic daydream. After months at sea, it was almost easy to forget about his disfigurement. The men at sea had all s
een worse in their lifetimes, and after a time in such close quarters they grew accustomed to his face and stopped cringing when they looked at him It would take some time for him to readjust to living in polite society where his mere presence besmirched any gathering.
When they drew nearer to each other on the road, he thought of saying good afternoon, if only to hear the timbre of her voice when she returned his greeting. But at the last moment, he lost his nerve. He didn’t want to frighten her. He caught a glimpse of her vibrantly green eyes only for a moment before turning away from her gaze. His heart pounded in his chest, and as he rode away, he felt more idiotic than he ever had before.
Seven-and-twenty years old and can’t even say good afternoon to a girl on the street.
He would just have to invent a voice for her in his mind. He had no doubt that it would be as clear and bright as a bell. Sweet and innocent. Gentle.
A Seductive Lady For The Scarred Earl (Steamy Regency Romance) Page 3
