The American Bride

chapter Two

The coach, although well sprung, rocked Cara from side to side as it traversed the bumpy corduroy. For the hundredth time her mittened hands adjusted the unfamiliar folds of the headdress covering her hair. Dust seeped into the coach, covering her face with a fine layer of grit. Despite her excitement of early morning, she had little enthusiasm left after three hours of jolting.

As the coach swerved and the horses began to slow, Cara's heart beat a frightened tattoo.

Craning her neck for a view of Weathersfield Hall, she gaped at the grandeur of the estate. The enormous edifice stood squarely amid legions of trees, which were dwarfed by the sheer immensity of the building. Formal gardens were laid out in front of the carriage sweep. Wide shallow steps funneled up to an enormous double-doored entrance. Any courage Cara possessed fled at the magnificence of the stone ancestral hall. There would be no need to play the timid governess; she was in truth cowed by her surroundings.

With a shaking hand Cara handed the Duchess' letter of introduction to the imperious butler who opened the door. Her boots echoed on the marble floors as she hurried after a footman as he wound a labyrinthine path through the silent corridors. They stopped before an ornately carved door.

"Miss Farraday, my lord," the footman announced in stentorian tones. He placed the letter on the desk in front of Lord Wilton and then bowed himself out the door.

Cara's heart was pounding against her ribs and her knees were shaky as she stood just inside the door.

"Well, girl, get over here," Julian Weathersfield barked.

"What?"

"Don't just stand there holding up the wall. Get over in the light where I can see you."

Instinctively Cara's chin went up at his rudeness. Barely in time she remembered her grandmother's strictures and she scurried to comply with Wilton's order. Unable to withstand the baleful brown gaze trained on her, Cara stammered her introduction.

"The Duchess of Landglower was, eh, is pleased to send me to your lordship to fill the position of governess."

"Pleased, was she?" Julian snorted, glowering across the desk at the youthful figure before him. "The Duchess sends a child to look after my wards."

"I am not a child," Cara snapped. "I am nineteen years old, your lordship."

"Such an advanced age," he sneered. "Good Lord, girl, my nephew is nine. You're only ten years older."

"I believe I will be able to handle the boy. I have had a great deal of experience in those ten years."

"Oh, to be sure," Julian scoffed. "Well, sit down while I read the Duchess' letter. It should prove amusing if nothing else."

"I would prefer to stand," Cara answered primly, although she would have felt much steadier anchored to a chair.

"Then stand and be quiet," was the exasperated reply.

As Julian broke the seal on her grandmother's letter, Cara was grateful for the opportunity to make her own inspection of the man who was her husband.

The sheer size of the man was impressive. He was well over six feet and heavily built, although there did not appear to be an ounce of excess weight. He had the well-muscled body of an athlete, with none of the apparent dissipation so often evident in moneyed gentlemen. The fawn velvet jacket fit him like a second skin. His shirt gleamed white at his cuffs and his neck was bound by an intricately tied neckcloth of silk and lace. The delicacy of his cravat contrasted drastically with the aura of masculinity that emanated from the man.

"Quite finished with your inspection, Miss Farraday?" Julian asked in amusement as he looked up and noticed the girl's concentration.

"Yes, thank you, my lord."

With the pert response, Julian caught the barest flash of angry blue-green eyes before the flustered chit dropped her head to stare at the toes of her scuffed half boots.

"The Duchess claims you are from America and are very used to children."

Julian's drawling voice lent skepticism to the simple statement. Clenching her teeth to keep back a sharp retort, Cara took a deep breath before she felt capable of a serene reply. "Yes, my lord." Inwardly she seethed at her inability to snap back at her inquisitor. "My last post was as governess to the Blakely's six children."

"Then I'm sure you are well qualified to take over the care of my two termagant wards." Julian's acid tones left little doubt that he felt her capabilities fell far short of the mark.

"Do you doubt my ability?" Cara drew herself up to her full five foot three height.

"Miss Farraday," Julian snapped in exasperation. "There have been four governesses in the last two years. All of them left under less than auspicious circumstances. Do you really think with your extreme youth you will be able to handle your charges where the others have failed?"

"I don't know," Cara answered honestly. Then as Julian arched an inquiring eyebrow, she stuttered. "I-it seems to me, that is, I believe that...." She ground to a halt then summoned courage to plunge ahead. "I am quite sure I shall be able to fulfill all of my responsibilities."

For a moment Julian had an overwhelming urge to laugh at the unflinching determination stamped on the young girl's face. He rubbed a hand across his forehead wondering at his own patience with the exasperating child. Normally he would have resolved the question instead of entering into a battle of words. There was some quality in the girl that had piqued his interest.

He took a closer look at the colorless figure, standing before his desk. There was nothing attractive about the bland-faced chit. He shuddered at the dun-colored tweed dress that effectively muffled her body, from the tip of her stubborn chin to the toes of her boots. There was so much excess material that Julian suspected the dress would be able to stand up without anyone inside. The wimple-like headdress annoyed him as it completely covered her hair. He had little hope the color or texture of the hidden tresses would be worth the trouble of a peek. In his various dealings with women it was his impression that if a woman's hair was notable at all, she flaunted it in elaborate curls and ringlets. All in all the girl appeared to be a nonentity but there had been the slightest trace of defiance in her voice that gave him a moment of disquiet. Shrugging away this nonsensical feeling, Julian continued his questioning.

"Aside from music and embroidery, have you any sort of classical education that might be of some benefit to my wards?"

Once again Julian caught the merest blaze of color before the girl's eyes closed as if in pain.

"I have had a firm grounding in mathematics, astronomy and the physical sciences. I am well versed in both ancient and modern poetry and a broad range of literature," Cara managed to grit out in a civil tone. "I speak and read French, Latin and Greek. Although I enjoy music, I have no ability to play an instrument and my embroidery work is still at the level of a four year old. But since these last two seem of little importance to you I still feel that I am qualified to accept the position," Cara finished briskly.

Eyes narrowed to icy slits, Julian leaned forward on his elbows, staring at the flush-faced girl with eyes demurely downcast.

"Miss Farraday," Wilton spoke softly but there was an underlying shaft of steel running through his voice. "Yours is not the sort of conciliating attitude expected in someone seeking a position. You seem curiously oblivious to the honor of having my wards as your charges."

"In America one does not beg for a position," Cara snapped, unable to control a flash of temperament. "We take pride in our work no matter who employs us."

Nonplussed at the girl's impertinence, Julian could only gawk at the young woman. In all his remembrance no servant had ever dared to speak to him in this manner. He rose to his feet, watching in satisfaction when the girl's eyes widened in fear as he towered over her diminutive figure.

As he rounded the corner of the desk, Cara begged her feet to remain firmly planted on the carpeting. With all her heart she wanted to turn and run as Julian stalked toward her. Cara gulped in trepidation, then closed her eyes to block out the bulk of the angry man. Despite her terror she refused to back away, squaring her shoulders as if ready to sustain a blow.

Julian had to admit she had courage.

Perversely, he found her very composure a challenge. Without considering his actions, Julian's hand shot out, his fingers closing on the girl's chin. Lifting the bowed head he looked down into the heart-shaped face of the little American. He could feel her jaw muscles jump in fear and waited until the colorless lashes lifted to expose the girl's eyes. Then with an expression of supreme disinterest, which he was far from feeling, Julian's eyes scrutinized her face then let his eyes drop to roam at will over her body.

Heat washed up into Cara's face at the insulting examination. She wanted desperately to cover her chest as Julian's eyes skimmed across her bosom, seeming to probe for the figure beneath her dress. Gritting her teeth she willed herself to stand quiet beneath his inspection.

The absolute stillness of the girl broke through Julian's rancor and in self-disgust he whirled away, marching to the windows, to stare out at the garden.

Cara shuddered in relief at the absence of the man's oppressive nearness. She was puzzled at her own reactions which hovered somewhere between fear and excitement. Glancing up, her eyes searched the brooding figure framed in the mullioned windows.

He was undeniably handsome, Cara noted with a quickening of her pulse. A heavy thatch of black hair was cut fashionably short, curling around his neck and across his forehead.

Tracing the lines of Wilton's face, Cara tried to view the disconcerting man objectively. His features were clear-cut. A high forehead, over jutting black eyebrows, dominated the upper part of his face. The left brow was cut through by a jagged scar that gave his face a look of perpetual sardonic amusement. His nose was straight and his mouth full lipped, hinting at a controlled sensual nature. His chin was square indicating stubbornness and determination. His eyes were hidden behind heavy lids but Cara had no trouble recalling their piercing regard. Unable to bear the continued silence, she plunged into speech.

"Besides their lessons, what other responsibilities will I have with the children?"

Julian laughed shortly at the persistence of the girl. Not only had he failed to intimidate her but now she was interrogating him. It crossed his mind that Americans were by and large a troublesome lot. Their independent way of life had undermined the working class. Unhappily he remembered that his own wife was an American. Perhaps this is just a foretaste of my dealings with my new bride, Julian shuddered. On that uncomfortable thought, his brow furrowed and he sank back down into the leather chair behind his desk.

Damnation, Julian thought in frustration. Granted the Duchess had sent the girl and it would be a diplomatic move to hire her, it was still on the tip of his tongue to dismiss her out of hand. His instincts warred with his wish to accommodate his unseen bride and he debated his decision concerning the governess. Shrugging, he briefly outlined Cara's duties. When he finished there was silence; each of the antagonists considering the other.

"I will be solely responsible for them?" Cara questioned in order to clarify things in her own mind.

"For their every breath, Miss Farraday."

Cara ignored the sarcasm in Julian's reply, asking sweetly in her turn. "And the salary, my lord?"

Julian mentioned a figure and watched as the girl tilted her head, then after a slight hesitation, nodded in decision.

"I will take the position, my lord."

Julian was dumbfounded by the audacity of the girl. She accepted as though she were conferring a favor on him. Finally the humor of the situation broke through his irritation and laughing he stood up facing the cheeky child.

"Thank you, Miss Farraday," Julian replied, making a mocking leg.

Before Cara could open her mouth to vent her anger, Julian strode to the door. Throwing it open he summoned the hovering footman.

"Travis, take Miss Farraday to the children's wing and ask Mrs. Clayton if she would attend her there."

Cara's mouth snapped shut. Thus dismissed, she whirled to follow the departing footman.

Chuckling in amusement Julian returned to his desk. His verbal duel with the little mouse had been a welcome break in the otherwise humdrum daily grind of running the estates. Miss Farraday, despite appearances to the contrary, might be a lively addition to his household. Having met many Americans, Julian was aware that the women as well as the men prided themselves on their independence. Beneath Miss Farraday's whey-faced exterior there was a glimmer of a fiery temperament. No matter her youth, at least the children would be properly chaperoned. His hiring of the little American might be an interesting experiment. She would certainly bear watching.

Cara would have been terrified had she known Lord Wilton's thoughts. As it was, she trudged after the footman through endless corridors until she found herself in the upper story of the children's wing. Opening a door the liveried servant informed her that Mrs. Clayton would be with her shortly.

The bedroom was larger than Cara had expected. All the furnishings were old but buffed to a fine satiny patina. Soft summer sunlight filtered through the dainty floral curtains, drawing her to the windows.

The view outside was breathtaking. A patchwork of greens of every shade met her eyes as she scanned the landscape laid out before her.

Weathersfield Hall was U-shaped, with her room at the top, inside corner of the U. An enormous stone terrace spanned the entire base of the building. Down several shallow steps, a formal garden was laid out and beyond that, a lake glinted through the treed landscape. There were wilder woods to be seen on all sides and through the trees she could see other buildings, which she assumed to be stables and other more practical buildings for the actual function of a working estate.

Feeling more oriented, Cara sat on the window seat thinking over her arrival.

She had come to Weathersfield Hall hoping to find her husband presentable and admirable. Well he was presentable, she admitted, with looks handsome enough for the Devil himself. However never had she met anyone who was more arrogant, rude and probably debauched, she added, recalling the lustful way his eyes had caressed her body. He was domineering, frightening and a bully, Cara continued, listing his faults. She would never be happy married to such a man, she moaned in despair.

Cara's hands clenched as she recalled her interview. Perhaps she had come with too many expectations but Julian's rude interrogation had immediately antagonized her. She had almost told him how she viewed his autocratic attitude. Had it not been for the footman's arrival, she would have disgraced herself and her grandmother, by speaking to Julian in a manner wholly unlike a governess. Cara's knees felt weak remembering her near disaster.

"I'll just have to mind my tongue," Cara promised. Although with a sinking heart, she realized that it would not be easy for her to accept the role of a compliant servant.

At the sound of scratching, Cara hurried to open the door. She admitted a tall buxom woman who peered at her through sharp brown eyes. Next to this bustling dynamo, Cara felt like a recalcitrant schoolgirl.

"Lord love ya, Miss, you're not much bigger than the children," the woman said, echoing Cara's own thoughts. "Well it can't be helped," she continued. "I'm Mrs. Clayton, Lord Wilton's housekeeper."

Cara curtsied and made her addresses. "I'm still a bit overwhelmed by my surroundings."

"It is a bit startling at first," Mrs. Clayton replied kindly. "I understand you are from the Americas so I can imagine everything is quite different."

"Yes, ma'am. I suppose I'll get used to it but for now I doubt if I will be able to find my way anywhere. I'm not used to such an enormous household and I must admit I'm a bit intimidated."

Mrs. Clayton immediately took to the girl who was so ready to admit her own nervousness. The other governesses had been very proud of their positions and kept themselves apart from the rest of the staff. The last governess had given herself airs and graces where none existed. She was glad to see the last of her, Mrs. Clayton thought, pursing her lips in disapproval as she recalled the unsavory circumstances preceding her dismissal. The girl before her might be young but she did neither look to be flighty nor the kind to assume unwarranted conceits.

"Just what will be expected of me, Mrs. Clayton?"

At the raised eyebrows, Cara attempted to cover her ignorance. "Lord Wilton sketched out my responsibilities, but you see, Mrs. Clayton, I have never been a governess to an English family and I would like to be prepared so that I don't make too many mistakes. I would very much appreciate any advice you can offer me," Cara finished gracefully.

Thus appealed to, Mrs. Clayton was won over totally. She liked the girl's no-nonsense quality and determined to help all she could in what she considered a difficult situation. She gave a more detailed version of Cara's duties and then took her on a tour of the children's wing.

"Each of the children has rooms adjoining their respective body servants. Master Richard has this room," she continued, pointing to a room across the carpeted hallway. "Master Richard is nine. The boy is quiet, almost withdrawn." Mrs. Clayton sighed, obvious disapproval in her voice. It was apparent she would have preferred a young hellion, which was more typical of the males of the upper classes.

"Mistress Belin has this one." There was a definite wariness in Mrs. Clayton's tone as she mentioned the child. "Miss Belin is six. I'm sure after you have met the children you will be able to adapt your programs to each of their needs. I doubt if Richard will give you any trouble."

Cara gathered from the unspoken words, that Belin would give her a great deal of trouble.

Across from the children's apartments, Cara was shown the schoolroom. Facing the inner courtyard, the sun barely filtered through the tiny windows, which were curtained in a somber grey. The room was meticulously clean, Spartan in aspect, with none of the softer decorative touches that Cara had seen thus far. She winced thinking of the days she would spend penned in with the children.

Cara was thoughtful as they retraced the corridor toward her own room. Mrs. Clayton opened a door in the hallway and Cara caught her breath in pleasure when she entered.

At one end of the room there was a large stone fireplace. Cheerful blue figured tiles surrounded the opening and lay on the hearth where it jutted into the room. A luxurious Oriental carpet covered the floor in a floral pattern of soft blues and beige. The furniture was hidden beneath Holland covers but looked comfortable rather than decorative. The best feature of the room was the wall of beveled windows, which framed a vista of the woods beyond the gardens.

"What a delightful room," Cara sighed in pleasure

"It is charming," the housekeeper remarked. "It used to be the nursery but you may have it as your sitting room as it is little used now."

"But why ever not? It's the perfect place for the children to work and play," Cara exclaimed with pleasure.

"Well as you can see," Mrs. Clayton indicated a door on the opposite wall, "It connects with your room. The other governesses did not enjoy the close proximity to the children."

"If I am to have full control over the children's activities I would find it quite depressing to spend my time in the schoolroom. I will need this room to be prepared immediately." Oblivious of the housekeeper, Cara whisked back the covers on the furniture to peer at the objects underneath. "And a large supply of wood for the fireplace. The children ought to enjoy working in front of a roaring fire." Then noticing the housekeeper's startled expression at Cara's autocratic manner, she softened her voice to a more wheedling tone. "Please, Mrs. Clayton, tell me that you approve."

Unable to resist the impish grin of the little American, the older woman smiled in her turn. "I think it's a splendid idea."

Cara waited while Mrs. Clayton summoned servants to freshen the room and assist in unpacking her trunk. Thanks to Lord Wilton's efficient housekeeper, Cara was soon surrounded by a great bustle of activity. Now that her rooms were being set in order Cara was anxious to get to know her charges.

"Where are the children, Mrs. Clayton?" Cara asked.

"Outside, I suspect," the housekeeper exclaimed throwing up her hands. "Or just roaming around inside the Hall. When there is no governess, the children are pretty much left on their own. They come in when they're hungry but otherwise no one pays them a great deal of attention as long as they stay out of trouble."

"And Lord Wilton permits this?" Cara asked in disbelief.

"Lord Wilton is not what one would call a doting guardian." The disapproval was heavy in Mrs. Clayton's manner. "He is not over used to children. He leaves it to the governess to keep them in order."

"I see," Cara said. Mentally she marked another flaw in the character of her husband. She acknowledged that so far there appeared to be little to admire in the man. "Well, until they turn up I suppose it would be all right if I wander around outside?" Cara asked. "It would be nice to begin getting my bearings in this place if I am to function at all well."

"I'll send along a light lunch," Mrs. Clayton offered. "What with traveling up from London and now so many new things to assimilate, I suspect you must be a might peckish."

With her clothes hung up in the wardrobe Cara felt more at home. For the moment her curiosity over the children outweighed her nervousness at her ability to play the part of a governess. She had had few opportunities to be around small children and was not convinced that she would be able to handle them correctly. Thankfully she was blessed with an abundance of common sense and a sound education. Assuming that they did not take an immediate dislike to her, she was sure they would scrape along well together. Determined to curb her impatience and explore her surroundings, she finished her lunch, tucking some cookies into her pocket to eat during her walk.

Mrs. Clayton had shown Cara the staircase beside her room that would lead her downstairs and outside. Following these directions, Cara discovered that the outside door led to the inside corner of the U. On her right lay the formal gardens and to her left lay the wilder woods and the outbuildings. After strolling through part of the vast gardens, she managed to locate the stables and was impressed with the size and quality of the operation.

Entering the yard, Cara located Glum, the venerable headgroom, and introduced herself as the new governess. Although reticent at first, Glum opened up under the obvious interest of the young American. His burly chest expanded under her praise for the cleanliness of the stables and the yard. Soon Cara was puffing to keep up with his short legs as they propelled him through his domain. Glum's gnarled hands stroked each horse and his weathered face puckered in pleasure as he extolled the lineage and attributes of each of the animals.

"Oh, what a beauty," Cara exclaimed, her eyes running over a dainty gray. "It's been months since I've ridden anything. And I must admit that I've rarely seen as fine a set of cattle as Lord Wilton has stabled."

"His lordship's grandfather was responsible for beginning the stud but Lord Wilton has added considerable to the bloodstock, Miss," Glum explained. "This little filly is one of the gentlest of the new lot. But she's got good heart and a stamina I'd put up against some of the top goers."

"Can she jump?"

"It's like watching the fairies at work, Miss. Her feet touch down with such grace she'd ne'er jostle a babe in arms," Glum chuckled.

"That, I'd like to see," Cara laughed in response.

"When you're settled in and ready, just come and see Glum. I'll seat you on nothing that will put your knowledge to shame."

Inside the Hall, Cara discovered that the work had already been completed in the night nursery. The room fairly sparkled. A fire had been laid in the fireplace and the furniture looked inviting and cozy. Entering her own room she was introduced to the children's maids, Agnes and Janey. They were cheerful country girls, inclined to snicker nervously but eager to impart their views on the household.

"Mrs. Clayton said as how we could do for you as well as the children, Miss," the dark buxom Janey offered.

"I appreciate your thoughtfulness," Cara replied cautiously, not wanting to get off on the wrong footing with the girls. "I've never had anyone to wait on me before. I'll feel like real gentry."

As Cara raised her nose in the air she smiled broadly at the girls which sent them into a fit of the giggles.

"Wait until you've seen some of the ladies what came up from London with Lord Wilton," Agnes gushed. "Oh the dresses are ever so fine and all their great jewels and glittery things."

"A houseparty?" Cara asked.

"Twelve of 'em, Miss," the irrepressible Agnes offered. "I peeked over the balcony just afore lunch. All prinked up and the ladies making eyes at his lordship. Not that he'd notice since Lady Valencia Greeley was hangin' on his arm, just like she couldn't make it all the way into the salon."

"Lady Valencia is elderly?" Cara asked hopefully.

This question set the girls off again into laughter.

"Not by half, she ain't," Janey volunteered. "A right tarted up beauty, if you ask me. Lots of town airs. Ever so sweet when any of the gents are around but a sly puss when they're not."

"Her abigail is done up by the end of the day what with her ladyship changing her clothes four times a day and wantin' this and that fetched 'til the poor gel is plumb wore out." Agnes lowered her voice to a confidential tone. "I was passin' her rooms after she'd gone off to lunch and the place was tossed all to pieces. Must have tried on ten dresses and each one of them thrown down in a heap. And she paints," she added, delicious horror in her voice.

"Lord Wilton don't seem to mind," Janey sniffed.

"I thought his lordship was married," Cara stated weakly.

"'At may be so, Miss," Agnes burst in. "But word in the Hall is that it was all arranged by his father. I hear she's a proper quiz. Comes from America which is full of rough brutish men and frumpy women."

Seeing Cara's startled expression, Agnes remembered the new governess was an American and clapped a hand over her mouth, rolling her eyes in embarrassment. Janey clutched her apron like a lifeline, her face mirroring the younger girl's discomfort.

"I'm ever so s-sorry, Miss," Agnes stuttered.

"Never mind," Cara replied. "I suspect most of the people in England think the same thing." Then changing the subject she asked about the children.

"They're better off orphaned, if you don't mind my saying," Janey announced in disapproving tones. "Their mother was a flighty piece of goods, no better than she should be. Some said if the carriage accident hadn't took 'em that their father would have been involved in an awful scandal. All set up for a duel, he was. Over some bit of muslin."

"It's lucky for the children that they've come to be with Lord Wilton,"

Agnes enthused. "He'll see to the right of things. A proper gentleman, his lordship is."

"He's not setting much of an example for the children if he's carrying on with Lady Valencia." Cara could not keep the note of censure out of her voice.

"Well, gentlemen must have their pleasures, Miss." Agnes, who Cara suspected was no more then fifteen, sounded for all the world like a weary matron. "He's a good man, is Lord Wilton."

"Got the Devil's own temper," claimed Janey. "Comes from gettin' his own way as a lad. But for all that, he's a fair man. He didn't used to spend much time in the country. He had his opera dancers and such in town. Lately he's been on the estate more and takes an interest in the doings. Fixed up all the tenants' cottages the last time. Better than most, I could mention."

By this time Cara had learned enough about Wilton to put her decidedly out of sorts. She had enjoyed the chatter of the girls but wanted nothing now except a wash and her dinner. She thanked the girls for their company, explaining that she would be delighted with a tray in the new schoolroom.

"Then after the children's dinner I would like you to bring them along to the nursery." At the girls' blank expressions she questioned, "Will they be going downstairs to Lord Wilton?"

"Oh no, Miss," chirped Agnes. "The children won't be seeing his lordship. He only sees them if they need seeing."

"I understand," Cara said although she really didn't. "Then bring them along and tell Mrs. Clayton I would like a pot of hot chocolate and some cakes if she can manage."

By the time that Cara had finished her own dinner she wondered just what sort of mysterious situation existed at Weathersfield. Everyone seemed to evade her questions about the children. References were made to them but she sensed a reticence that gave her pause. She already had enough to cope with Wilton but now she foresaw additional problems ahead. Four governesses did not bode well for her own success in the position.

Cara's head throbbed with an incipient headache. Tiredly she rested against the soft cushions of the sofa waiting for the arrival of the children. It had been an extremely long day. The excitement of her departure from her grandmother's had worn off after the exhausting carriage ride and then her disastrous interview with Wilton. She was unwilling to admit that her dejection had any relationship to some of the things she had heard about her husband. Despite the fact that Cara claimed total antipathy toward Julian, she was surprised at her reaction to his apparent unfaithfulness. His affair must be fairly blatant if it was common gossip among the servants. She had never considered the fact that he had not been eager for the marriage. Perhaps he too had fought against the arrangement. He might be in love with Lady Greeley and had wanted to keep himself free to marry the woman. Then, of course, his father like Cara's had forced him into an unwilling alliance.

Remembering her impression of Wilton's arrogance, it was inconceivable to Cara that Julian could ever be forced to do anything against his will. "I knew he was debauched," she muttered.

At the sound of voices in the hall, Cara sprang to her feet, brushing out the wrinkles in her skirt. Her heart pounded nervously as she waited to meet the children. At her own faint-heartedness she stamped her foot impatiently. After all they were only children. This part of her masquerade should be easy, she reasoned naively.