The American Bride

chapter Three

Cara bit her lower lip nervously. She knew how crucial this first meeting with the children would be. If they liked her, the month would pass quickly. However if the children preferred, they could make her time at Weathersfield quite unpleasant.

The new schoolroom glowed in the flickering candlelight and a fire crackled in the otherwise silent room. Comfortable chairs were circled in front of the hearth. An overstuffed sofa, patterned in a cheerful Scottish plaid, was pulled up to a low table, set with a mouth-watering assortment of cakes and pastries. The sweet smell of hot chocolate pervaded the air.

The door opened on a slight, sullen-faced boy.

Despite the frown, which Cara suspected was his habitual expression, Richard Weathersfield was a handsome boy. His light brown hair was cut in the Brutus style, curling riotously, despite the pomade that had been used to keep it in place. He was dressed in a dark brown velvet jacket, cut in the same fashion as his guardian. His cravat was simpler but the material was just as expensive as Wilton's had been. At least, Cara thought grudgingly, Julian did not appear to stint on the children's expenses. Under the gaze of steady blue eyes, Cara waited as the boy conducted his own scrutiny.

"I don't like governesses," Richard announced.

"That shows that you're growing up," Cara stated, her voice matter-of-fact. "I always hated mine."

"Did you?" Then before Cara could frame an answer, he continued in an aggrieved tone. "Actually I don't much like anything. Everything's frightfully boring."

With a graceful nod, Cara hid her amusement at his world-weary attitude. "I suppose it could be boring for a very young child. But now that you're nine, you probably find you are bored by things that used to interest you."

The boy was torn between his customary frown and a look of curiosity. The scowl won out, leaving his face petulant and his carriage slouched.

Before she could comment further, the door was thrown open and Agnes, the maid, appeared, dragging by the neck of her dress, what, Cara could only assume, was Belin.

Tangled black curls covered the child's head and shoulders. Curls that had not seen a brush, let alone water, for many days, hung down her back. Her dress was torn and streaked with dirt. Her scrawny arms and hands were smudged and scratched. Not ungently, Agnes deposited the girl on the rug in front of Cara and then beat a hasty retreat.

Looking down at the child, Cara flinched at the wide brown eyes which so closely resembled Lord Wilton's. She schooled her features into peaceful lines and tried not to wrinkle her nose with distaste at the child. Catching a glimmer of Belin's expression through her tangled hair, Cara's mouth widened into a grin.

"My stars, Belin. You must turn this entire household upside down," Cara chuckled with genuine amusement.

"Don't you laugh at me or I'll put a spell on you," the child snarled, looking as though she might bite in her angry frustration.

"I wouldn't waste your time, Belin. It wouldn't work on me anyway."

"Why not?" the girl asked.

"You see, I wasn't born in England. And I don't think any of your spells would work on someone from America." Cara leaned forward in unconcern and poured out three cups of chocolate. Richard accepted his cup with a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth that was returned by Cara. "Now, Belin, since it is my first night here, I will excuse a little dirt on your hands. But tomorrow if you wish chocolate or pastries I expect clean hands."

Then before the startled child could form a retort, Cara handed her a cup of chocolate and commenced to tell the two wide-eyed children about her ship's voyage to England. Perhaps the storms and adventures were more violent than had actually occurred but there was no one to contradict her. By the time the pot of chocolate was empty and the plate of cakes bore nothing but crumbs, Cara had given the children the idea that she had many more stories to tell. Sensing it was close to their bedtime, she handed them into the care of the servants. With a sigh of relief Cara sank to the carpet in front of the fireplace.

Staring into the dying flames, Cara realized she had only made a start with the children. The sullen Richard, at nine, was caught in the painful early stages of manhood. His breeding was evident in his perfect manners and intelligent, though stilted conversation. He did not appear to be shy but was bottled up with some unnamed tension. It was obvious that he was controlling his feelings under a layer of lassitude. Cara thought she would enjoy challenging Richard with new experiences until he released whatever emotions he had sealed away.

It was Belin who was the puzzle.

In her mind's eye Cara could recall the sad brown eyes in the dirty face. Something was tearing the six year old apart so that she lashed out in anger. Although her behavior appeared undisciplined there was a certain quality of intelligent planning that showed in her mannerisms. What catastrophe had befallen the child that she was in such a state of rebellion? Cara doubted that it was the death of the children’s' parents. From the servants' gossip the children had seldom been in their parents' company. Like most upper class children Belin and Richard had spent their time with governesses and others on the estate.

"How could Wilton have let this happen?" Cara fumed aloud.

The flames expanded to new life as a current of air circulated in the room from the opening door. Cara's breath caught in her throat as she stared at the shadowy figure framed in the doorway. For a moment she thought that she had merely conjured an image of her husband and she blinked her eyes to dispel the vision.

"Good evening, Miss Farraday."

Julian's deep voice sent a shiver along Cara's spine, breaking the almost magical spell that had held her in thrall. She scrambled to her feet, standing rigid with her back to the fire. As she stood tongue-tied, feeling graceless and childlike, anger suffused her at her inability to appear poised in the presence of her husband.

"G-good evening, Lord Wilton," she stammered out.

"I see that I have missed the children." Julian nodded toward the tray of dirty dishes. "Must have tarried too long over my brandy."

Warily Cara noted the snifter in Julian's hand and wondered just how much the man had

drunk. Although his movements as he approached the fire were well coordinated and his speech was not slurred, Cara straightened her back, preparing to deal with the man if, in fact, he were foxed.

"I'm sorry but the children have already retired, Lord Wilton. Perhaps another evening," Cara offered, hinting for the man to leave.

"The room looks well," Julian said, waving the snifter to indicate his approval. "I doubt if I've been up here since I was a babe."

"It's a beautiful room." Cara spoke warmly then blushed as Wilton's eyes swung around to her. She was infuriated at her own reaction to Julian's presence. Staring at the toes of her boots, she cursed her lack of backbone.

The silence was broken by the sounds of Julian's steps as he strolled around the room. As he neared the windows Cara dared to peek at him through her lashes. Framed by the sparkling panes of glass, the somber black evening clothes gave him the look of a silhouette. But there was nothing insubstantial about the man. Taut muscles rippled beneath the velvet jacket lying across his shoulders. Cara's eyes fell to the trim waist and then as they slid down the length of his thighs, she blushed in confusion. Her heart hammered in her breast and she experienced a strange breathless quality as her eyes roamed over the figure of her husband.

Damn, the man, Cara cursed silently. Why did he affect her the way he did? She tried to muster up some anger to counteract the helpless confusion she felt. Aloud she said, "Is there something you wanted, your lordship?"

Wilton turned away from the darkened windows, his gaze going to the girl beside the fire. In silence he took in the too-big wool dress that was at least three years out of date. The voluminous headdress he dismissed with a sneer but the white face beneath the wimple was studied with care. Why have I come here? Julian asked himself in puzzlement. What was there about the girl that had drawn him to the schoolroom?

"I just wanted to be sure that you had been settled properly, Miss Farraday, " Julian improvised.

Cara's eyelids flickered in disbelief but there was no sign on her expressionless face that she thought his actions were unusual. "Mrs. Clayton has been all that is helpful. I had a chance to wander around this afternoon. Weathersfield is an impressive estate. The gardens are beautiful and my rooms are charming."

"And do you find the children charming, too?"

Cara took a deep breath, opening her mouth to speak but under the sardonic gaze of her husband she was unable to continue. For five seconds her mouth hung open then in exasperation she snapped it shut and hung her head in dismay.

"Come, come, Miss Farraday," Julian drawled. "Such reticence from an outspoken American. I would never have suspected you could behave so circumspectly."

"Why does Richard still have a maid instead of a manservant?"

The words burst forth, surprising Cara as much as they startled Julian. She had so many questions about the children and was not even aware that Richard's bodyservant was one of them.

"What?" Julian barked.

"The boy is nine, Lord Wilton. He's no longer a baby to have a young girl fussing about him."

"Has the hafling complained?"

"No, sir, but I have met Janey. She's a good country girl who chatters away and, I suspect, treats him like an idiot younger brother." Cara felt the hot flush rising to her cheeks under Wilton's probing eyes, and she faltered to an end. "I-I think he should have a man to do for him."

"Anything else in my household you would change?"

"N-no, your lordship," Cara muttered.

Eyes glued to the pattern of the rug, Cara missed the amusement that flashed across Julian's face as he made his way to the door. It was only hearing the soft click of the closing door that made her aware that she was alone again. Her cheeks blew out as she expelled the breath that she had been holding in expectation of a setdown. What a coward I am, Cara muttered in annoyance. Why didn't I ask him about the children? Why didn't I find out what is wrong with Belin. She castigated herself all the time she prepared for bed then crawled beneath the covers, only to lie awake late into the night.

In the morning Cara had breakfast with the children in the nursery. Although Belin was in a clean dress and her hair was pulled back and tied with a ribbon, she was still far from clean. She fidgeted continually during the meal, snatching food with quick jerky movements. Whenever she caught Cara watching her, the child refused to eat, sitting rigid with her hands in her lap. Richard ate glumly, his face cast in an unappealing expression of discontent. Despite the leaden feeling in her heart Cara approached the day with a determined cheerfulness.

"Today we shall not have lessons," she announced with enthusiasm. "Since I am new here I have to learn my way around. I know that you both could show me all the important places. As you are the oldest, Richard, you may lead for today."

The sullen expression lifted from the boy's face and Cara wondered if part of Richard's problem was simply that no one paid him any attention. All boys liked to show off their knowledge and if there was no one to impress, it might indeed make him sulky and taciturn.

"If I can't lead, I won't go," Belin screamed.

"You may suit yourself, Belin," Cara sighed. "However if you do not go with us you will have to remain in your room until we return. Now that you have a governess again it is time you learned to follow some rules."

Sad brown eyes lifted and Cara flinched at the searing pain they reflected. She noted all the signs of impending rebellion as Belin's chin jutted mutinously forward. In a moment Cara knew she would be involved in a full-blown battle of wills she was far from certain she could win.

"I so wish you would come with us, Belin," Cara ventured in her most coaxing manner. "I forgot last night to tell you about the cat that we had on board ship. I thought if we found a good spot to rest I could tell you about her and, of course, the kittens. In fact you could pick out a different spot to eat the lunch that Mrs. Clayton has made for us."

Belin brightened at the idea and agreed to accompany them.

By the end of the morning they had covered a great deal of ground. Cara felt a little like Scheherazade, spinning endless tales whenever there was a sign of restlessness in either of the children. On the edge of the lake she sat and told them the promised story of the cat and the kittens. It was a tale full of near disasters she made up out of whole cloth. The stories kept the recalcitrant Belin at her side, eager for more. Even Richard left behind his usual bored expression hearing the exciting adventures in a new land. However it was the Indian accounts, complete with battles and narrow escapes that captured his total fascination.

"Can't we pretend we're Indians, Miss Farraday?" Belin pleaded.

"Of course, we can," Cara laughed, pleased that she had managed to stimulate their imagination.

"We'll need some feathers and some axes and some arrows," Richard said, intent on a realistic enactment of mayhem. "Come on, Belin. I know just where to look."

Cara watched as the children raced back and forth in the woods looking for anything that could be considered a possible weapon. With a final whoop of triumph, Richard raced to Cara's side, proudly displaying two rather woebegone feathers.

"Well done, Richard," Cara praised the flush-faced boy.

"What will we use for paint?" Belin wailed.

"I think we could probably play without warpaint," Cara suggested. The downcast faces forced her to reconsider. Remembering her own joyful games she grinned in triumph and issued instructions. While the children gathered red berries from the nearby bushes, Cara rummaged in the empty lunch basket for a dish.

"First you mash the berries up a bit." She demonstrated with a stick and then let an eager Belin take over the task. "Watch your clothes. I suspect that concoction will stain."

While Richard set to work constructing a bevy of makeshift weapons, Cara tore a band of material from the bottom of her petticoat to fashion two headbands. The feathers were a little bedraggled but it was obvious that the children would not care. Checking the soggy mess Belin was pulverizing, Cara announced that the warpaint was ready. Using a corner of a napkin, she painted garish symbols on the children's ecstatic faces. After tying on the headbands, Cara stood back to survey her work.

"Well, you look like proper little savages," Cara pronounced, inspecting their ferocious expressions.

"I'll paint you, Miss Farraday," Richard offered.

"I thought I might just be a settler."

Cara was unsure of her role as governess but she was positive that running through the woods with a painted face would not be considered wholly dignified.

"Please, Miss Farraday? It would be much more fun if you were an Indian, too," Belin pleaded.

"I suppose I could be a squaw but they don't wear paint," Cara explained. However one look at the crestfallen faces and she relented. "Unless of course it happens to be during the harvest festival."

Both children nodded solemnly.

"I was afraid of that," she laughed as the children dissolved in giggles. "In that case, the squaws would have a streak of paint right down their noses. Like this."

Cara drew the red-soaked napkin from her forehead down to the tip of her nose. Wide-eyed with pleasure the children covered their mouths to muffle their laughter.

"Never mind, you little beasts. I think I make a charming squaw," Cara intoned then grinned as the children collapsed in glee.

"I'd say you look all the crack," Richard acknowledged when he could control his laughter. "Absolutely smashing!"

After parceling out the various crude weapons the garish threesome split up to stalk buffalo and settlers. Richard was more enthusiastic in the pursuit of settlers on the theory that his

chances of a good fight were better. There was much shrieking and whooping as each of the Indians battled with the elements, imaginary enemies and with each other. The game finally resolved itself into hide-and-seek.

Hurrying along the trail, Cara mopped at the perspiration dotting her upper lip. Readjusting her headdress she cursed the profusion of material, wishing she might abandon her disguise and let her hair loose in the warm June sunshine. She searched the woods for a possible hiding place. Nothing suited and she walked farther along the path. Hearing the rustling of someone moving behind her, she threw herself behind the nearest bushes hoping to evade detection. The footsteps came closer, hesitated then walked directly toward her hiding place.

Cautiously parting the greenery Cara gasped at the sight of two polished Hessians planted on the dusty path.

With a groan of pure embarrassment, Cara's eyes slid up the boots to the muscular thighs encased in buckskin breeches. She licked her dry mouth, tasting the salty perspiration on her upper lip and her eyes traversed the trim waist and expanse of chest in the many pocketed hunting jacket. Her glance faltered at the granite hard chin but, as if to punish herself, she completed the survey of Julian's expressionless face and ruffled black hair.

"Are you hurt, Miss Farraday?" Lord Wilton inquired in a deep voice that sent a shiver along Cara's nerve endings.

"Thank you, my lord, but I'm perfectly all right."

Cara ground out her answer, her eyes closing in agony. Praying that Julian would walk on or vanish off the face of the earth, she pressed her burning cheeks against the cool grass. When Cara continued to lay inert on the ground, the boots shifted restlessly.

"Are you planning to remain there for long, Miss Farraday?"

"For the rest of my life." Cara cursed under her breath. Then realizing the futility of the situation, she sighed in defeat and answered, "No, your lordship."

Summoning what dignity she could, she stumbled to her feet. It took all her determination to face her husband with a look of disdain which was somewhat marred by the streak of warpaint on her face.

"You're injured!" Julian stepped forward in concern. "What happened?"

"Indians," Cara declared straight-faced.

"I saw Richard and Belin a little while ago," Julian chuckled. "I thought their warpaint was fearsome but I didn't realize that you were a member of their tribe."

Taking Cara's arm Julian turned her toward the light so that he could get a better look at the painted face turned up to him. He had to admire the girl's coolness in such an awkward situation. Except for the flush on her cheeks, she appeared unconcerned as he scanned her features.

He noted the clean fresh quality of her skin and the soft brown hair of her lashes and brows. Throwing a look of disgust at the voluminous scarf on her head, he wondered idly if her hair matched her brows. His nostrils flared at the soft flowery scent that wafted up from her tiny figure. Though the girl neither cringed nor struggled in his grasp, he felt her physical withdrawal in her very stillness. Excited by the feel of her skin, Julian drew her closer.

"The warpaint is very becoming, Miss Farraday.”

Stunned by the sensual quality of his voice, Cara's eyes widened in consternation.

Once again Julian was caught by the jeweled eyes that stared up at him. Beneath his hand he could feel her body quiver. It reminded him of an injured sparrow he had once held in his hand. Julian was puzzled and dismayed at his reaction to the little governess. At thirty he was long past the easily aroused passions of a callow youth. Yet as he held the arm of the petite American he had an overwhelming desire to kiss the luscious mouth of the little innocent. Within those blue-green eyes he sensed a sleeping sensuality that he was curious to awaken. The urge to reach up his hand to soothe the girl’s fear was irresistible. Unable to stop himself, he stroked the back of his hand across her cheek hearing her indrawn gasp at the contact.

A low moan issued from Cara at the flame-like contact of Julian's hand. Her senses expanded and her arm burned where his fingers grasped her. Julian's male scent surrounded her and without volition she leaned in to his embrace. Her eyelashes fluttered like butterfly wings as Julian's mouth closed over her trembling lips.

Julian's kiss jolted Cara like a bolt of lightning. His soft warm lips molded to hers, sucking and teasing her generous mouth. At the touch of his tongue along the outer edges, her mouth opened slightly and her senses reeled as the tip slid between her lips. Cara was awash in erotic sensations as Julian's tongue probed the soft cushiony interior. Knees buckling, she lay against his chest absorbed in the sensuality of his caress.

It was the knowledge that this man was her husband that finally broke through the spell that Julian had woven. In horror she realized that Julian's actions were those of an adulterer. He did not know that he was kissing his wife. In his mind, Cara was merely the governess. An employee to be treated as a plaything, an object of his desires. As anger welled up inside her, Cara instinctively drew back her hand and slapped Julian's face.

The sound was as loud as a shot and just as startling.

At the blow Julian's head snapped back and his eyes, glazed with desire, changed to a hard brown. Disgust at his own lack of control gave his face a look of contempt as he glared down at the furious girl. As quickly as his emotions were revealed, a mask of indifference crossed his face and he stood back, bowing to the girl.

"Your pardon, Miss Farraday," Julian drawled. "I would say I was sorry but I fear I quite enjoyed the kiss."

"I find your behavior both insulting and depraved."

"Softly, my dear child. It was nothing."

Cara was stunned that the kiss, which had been so all consuming for her, could be dismissed so easily. She ducked her head to hide the film of tears which threatened to overflow.

"You are a married man, Lord Wilton," Cara accused.

"So far, only in name, Miss Farraday. As I am sure you are aware a man has certain, shall we say, urges."

Anger at his own behavior made Julian strike out at the girl. Watching her face whiten at his cruel words, he felt a momentary pang of regret. However it would not do to become involved with the little governess. Staring at the girl under lowered brows, Julian could not imagine what had possessed him. Her downcast eyes dimmed the vitality of the American and he was struck by the demure innocence that was quite outside his usual philandering. The virginal look of the girl should discourage any further approach, Julian admitted, after all the debauching of schoolroom chits was definitely not in his style.

"Look, Miss Farraday. It's Pennyfeather!"

At Richard's triumphant shout, Julian snorted in disgust. With a cool nod of his head, Lord Wilton spun on his heel and stalked off along the path.

It was a full moment before Cara could take in Julian's abrupt departure. Her body shook with the fury of emotions unleashed by the confrontation with her husband. Hearing the shouting of her returning warriors Cara tried to pull herself together, her mind still presenting scathing remarks she should have made to Julian. As the children approached she brushed at the leaves and grass on her skirts.

"This is Miss Farraday, our new governess," Belin lisped.

"And this is Pennyfeather," Richard announced.

Cara had been deluged during the day with the exploits of the children's friend. It was suspected that he might have been either a pirate or, at the least, a smuggler. Cara was amused that either occupation held high favor in the children's eyes. Although she wanted to make a good impression for the children's sake, Cara felt less than adequate with warpaint on her face and her wits scattered by Julian's assault.

"The children have been telling me of your many adventures, Pennyfeather." Cara smiled into the gray eyes of a, hopefully, benevolent giant.

Great hamlike hands snatched off the tweed cap perched on a thatch of frizzy hair. The hair was neither brown nor white. It looked as though Pennyfeather's whole head had been spattered with white paint. As the sausage-shaped fingers kneaded the cap, his keen eyes inspected the girl, discerning her agitation. The wild hairs sprouting from his eyebrows lowered over narrowed eyes as he squinted toward the Hall and Julian's departing figure.

"Found your Indians stalkin' a couple squirrels."

The children attempted a shamefaced expression but fell short of the mark. They capered around the big man who was as undisturbed as a cow by buzzing flies. With an economy of words Pennyfeather dispatched them to the stream for some water, giving the distraught girl a chance to collect her scattered poise. Without impatience, he waited in silence until they returned with a dampened cloth.

"Give over," Pennyfeather ordered, holding out an enormous hand.

"Aw, Pennyfeather, only babies get their faces washed," Richard muttered as the wet cloth descended on his face.

"Quit your bleatin', young sir, and let me finish."

In fascination, Cara watched as Pennyfeather scrubbed the paint off each of the children's face. His features screwed up in concentration, he bent to the task in total absorption. Although the children wriggled in his grasp, it was obvious that the huge man's touch was gentle. Without pausing, Pennyfeather turned to Cara, tipped her face upwards and proceeded to wash the paint from her forehead and nose. Although Cara was surprised that he treated her like just one more child, she was content for the moment with her role. Surveying the three shining faces, the old man shoved the red stained cloth into one of the pockets of his jacket, and started off along the path.

Hurrying to keep up with Pennyfeather's rolling gait, Cara was pleased to find that her ragged emotions were once more under control. She refused to think about Julian for the time being. Soon she was caught by the outdoorsman's knowledge of plants and animals as he kept Richard and Belin searching for objects of interest. The silence between the two adults was comfortable with little need of words. From time to time the children squealed for attention and then Cara and the old woodsman would admire each discovery. It amazed her that despite his heaviness, Pennyfeather's enormous boots trod silently on the paths, barely ruffling the leaves.

"You'll have to watch Pennyfeather," Cara suggested to the children. "Then you can move through the woods like shadows."

"Pennyfeather's a poacher," Richard confided in awe. "He's so quiet he can sneak up on the deer and pet them."

Cara glanced sideways to encounter the discomfited grin of her companion. She hoped the boy was exaggerating because she knew that in England the punishments meted out for poaching were still harsh. From Richard's chatter Cara was aware that Julian had gamekeepers always on the alert for trespassers.

As the late afternoon sun began to glow with a reddish hue, the children were rounded up for a return to the Hall. Standing beside Pennyfeather's enormous silent figure, Cara watched Belin twirling in the sunshine.

"What's the matter with Belin?" she blurted out. During her short acquaintance with Pennyfeather Cara had detected the giant's devotion to the children. It seemed right that she ask him how to solve the puzzle of the wild child.

"Tis not mine to tell," Pennyfeather's deep voice rumbled. It was not spoken unkindly.

"Will I be able to help her?"

The silent man towered over Cara's diminutive figure. Unlike her reaction to Julian, she found nothing threatening in the man's presence. Cara met his inspection calmly. Shaggy brows knitted over deepset eyes, the old man frowned down at the young governess. His glance was neither insulting nor impertinent. The pleated headdress covering her hair caused his eyes to crinkle in merriment. After a thorough scrutiny, Pennyfeather nodded his head, indicating his approval.

"If anyone can help the lass, I think you can."

Pennyfeather's heartening words rang in Cara's ears on the trip back to the Hall. However that evening as she waited for the children's arrival her heart was heavy with trepidation.