Journeys Read online

  “And?” Helen prompted.

  Dorothea wasn’t sure what Helen wanted her to say. “And?”

  “Accept the offer.”

  Accept the offer? But what if Helen is wrong and it is dishonest? And even worse, what will Baron von Lunenburg expect in return?

  She grasped at a last straw. “I assume that no favor will be expected of either Helen or Luke in return for helping me?”

  “Indeed not!” Baron von Lunenburg sniffed.

  “If I had anything to fear, I would not ask you to take the favor.” Despite Helen’s bravado, she glanced to Luke in an obvious side ploy to secure his approval.

  “Indeed,” Luke agreed. “I would trust Baron von Lunenburg with my life.”

  “Very well. I shall accept with untold gratitude the favor you offer me.” Dorothea sent the baron a forced smile.

  Baron von Lunenburg’s mouth puckered in a way that almost seemed like a plea for a kiss. “The pleasure, I assure you, is my own.”

  ❧

  Lord Stratford Brunswick leaned against the wall even though his mother, God rest her soul, had taught him better. The party had proven to be a crashing bore, as events of this sort were liable to be.

  He regarded the banquet table laden with all sorts of tempting pastries and appetizers but spied nothing new. Even nuggets of stuffed quail didn’t seem different enough to spur him to try them. Since he had let his cook have the night off, Stratford wouldn’t have another chance to eat an evening meal, so he contented himself with a piece of pork pie and a cherry tart.

  Raking his gaze over the offerings, he noted that the same sumptuous treats appeared at all the parties, with little variation proving impossible simply because there was always so much food. Each hostess tried to serve more and better treats than the rest. From what he could see, the sheer number and variety of foodstuffs served by Helen had eclipsed the Crumpton gathering held the past week. Food at any party provided plenty of talk for the local gentry for weeks, sometimes even longer, but to Stratford’s mind, such competition was vain in both senses of the word.

  As he halfway listened to Halifax tell him yet again about his latest hunting expedition, he looked about the crowd and noted that the guest roster varied little from last week. That, he didn’t mind. He took comfort in being around the same people, friends he had known for years. If being in their presence often meant listening to the same stories more than once, so be it.

  He never lacked for people with whom to converse at any given function. As an eligible bachelor, Stratford’s presence was expected. And of course, his marital status—or lack thereof—brought the matrons and their daughters running to him. Only one, an attractive but catty woman he had spurned as politely as he could last season, confined her conversation with him to greetings and salutations.

  Few of the worldly crowd into which he was born and bred understood his level of faith, his true desire to walk as closely to the Lord as he could. Most of them preferred to visit God’s house on Sundays, as was expected, and all but ignore Him except in the most perfunctory manner the rest of the week. Stratford knew he was a misfit of sorts; the type of woman he sought usually settled down with a vicar. Women in his set expected him to be more like the other worldly-wise and titled gentlemen they knew, and they had been reared to act according to those expectations.

  Yet tonight he had seen someone who brought renewed interest to his heart. He had spotted a young woman hovering in the drawing room doorway. What was her business there? If only someone had been good enough to introduce them. He had looked around for her all night but never saw her beyond that initial eye contact from across the empty room. Had she been a beautiful vision, a dream beyond reality?

  How silly. Of course he wasn’t seeing visions. And no doubt once he became acquainted with her, she would prove to be just as frivolous as the rest.

  Still, curiosity wouldn’t let go of his thoughts.

  He wondered why a woman would arrive in the midst of festivities unless as a guest. Maybe she lived far away, had somehow timed her arrival poorly, and was hoping to gain a position as a servant. No. The woman he had seen had been wearing a traveling suit that would have blended in with any worn by the other aristocratic ladies he knew. He doubted even the most prestigious servant could have afforded such a garment.

  Could she be a nanny, perhaps? Sometimes ladies who had fallen on hard times resorted to such employment. A possibility, except he had overheard Helen telling the other women that she had the most superb nanny in the parish in her employ. So surely she wasn’t looking for a new nanny.

  Then who was the beautiful woman he had seen in the foyer?

  He spotted Lunenburg, a fairly recent arrival to their parish, approaching. How could he avoid listening to the great Baron von Lunenburg boast, something he was sure to do if allowed to come within earshot. But approach him he did, and there was no way he could duck Lunenburg without appearing unforgivably rude.

  “Brunswick, old boy! What a night this has been.” Lunenburg took a swig of his drink with the vigor of a pirate who had just discovered a hidden cache of rum on the ship.

  Stratford braced himself for a barrage of boasts. He didn’t want to take the conversational bait, but courtesy demanded a response. Unable to think of anything witty that would distract Lunenburg from his intended topic, Stratford responded, “What a night, indeed.”

  Stratford noted Lunenburg’s victorious smirk, and he held back a sigh.

  Lunenburg leaned toward Stratford as though he were about to share a secret that, if overheard, would compromise the security of the empire. “I have pulled off quite a coup. Without any effort whatsoever—well, perhaps with a bit of effort.” He curled his fingers and polished his nails against his frilled shirt, then inspected them with a look more suited to considering the acquisition of fine jewels than to checking the state of his fingernails.

  Since his arrival in the parish, Lunenburg had made quite a show of boasting about how wise he was with money. He advertised himself as a businessman with concerns in a number of African mines and interests in America, as well. He spoke about his enterprises as though they were guaranteed investments sure to garner huge chests of money for their financiers.

  Stratford wasn’t so sure. In his ongoing efforts to be the best possible steward of his family fortune, he shied away from such risks. Yet he had witnessed Lunenburg in the act of convincing many a smart man that he should be part of such schemes. So far, Stratford didn’t know of anyone who had invested with Lunenburg, but he suspected some people outside of their inner circle had taken the bait. What Stratford did know was that Lunenburg was in the process of procuring more investment partners for his concerns. His lure: that a new mine was being tapped, and slots for new backers might soon become available.

  Intrigued, Stratford had listened to Lunenburg. He had every sales tactic down to a science—sense of urgency, rare opportunity, privileged inner-circle status. Stratford didn’t doubt that Lunenburg would find willing—even eager—investors. But so far, he had not become one of them. Lunenburg had made it plain that he wanted to change Stratford’s mind. He worked constantly, through efforts at friendship and nebulous references to the promise of more wealth, to spin Stratford into his web.

  Knowing all this about Lunenburg, Stratford had no doubt that the man was about to brag that he had increased his number of shareholders or some other equivalent to the pot of money at the end of a rainbow.

  “Do not keep me in suspense any longer,” Stratford managed with as great a degree of interest as he could. “What did you accomplish with little or no effort?”

  “The thing that every man wants to do from time to time, and especially when he is in a new place.” He took another swig of his drink and announced, “I have secured for myself a lovely new mistress.”

  Three

  Stratford didn’t answer right away.

  “Are you envious, Brunswick?” Lunenburg asked. A slimy smirk curved his mouth. “I would be
if I were you.”

  Stratford tightened his own lips in response. He wasn’t surprised by Lunenburg’s news. Since he had breezed into their parish two months ago, the baron had made it his business to worm his way into Stratford’s social circle and to cut a fine figure at every event. In short time, he had become the center of everyone’s attention, so much so that his friends were celebrating his birthday in a style more suited to a longtime friend than to a new acquaintance.

  In a way, he could understand why. Men and women alike were captivated by Lunenburg’s flattering words. Stratford enjoyed a compliment as much as the next man, but he had no intention of falling into a trap laid by his own vanity. He had a feeling that if he did, he would pay a dear price.

  Stratford suspected Lunenburg to be a man who lusted more for money than women and decided to couch his response in way that would reflect that suspicion. “And I suppose your procurement of a new mistress—and your bold announcement of the fact—is intended to impress me with your investing prowess, as well?”

  “I need not impress you when I have plenty of others eager to entrust me with their investments. And I must admit, I enjoy my little game of keeping you in great suspense by not telling you right away who the lucky lady is.”

  “Never let it be said you were one for modesty,” Stratford quipped.

  “A man of my talents has no need to put on a show of false humility.” He inhaled deeply, as a victor surveying the spoils of war. “I am sure you are having trouble guessing which one is now my mistress since so many of the women in this room have made it known they have looked my way with interest.” At that moment, he looked with interest at one woman in particular, a known flirt named Miss Morrow.

  “I assume you mean she is the one.” Stratford knew he shouldn’t ask, but he couldn’t help himself.

  “Her?” He shook his head. “I would not stoop so low.”

  “Is that so? Most men think she is one of the prettiest in the parish.”

  “I am not most men. I concede that she is attractive, but she does not employ the type of discretion suitable to a man of my station. And of course, I do not want to compromise myself so that I am forced to take a wife before I am ready.” He studied Stratford. “What about you? Are you among those men who consider Miss Morrow so comely?”

  He shrugged. “Yes, but my taste runs in other directions.” Stratford remembered the stunning, light-haired beauty standing in the shadows. He set his glance over the crowd of women wearing dresses in an array of colors and men in their best evening suits but saw only familiar faces. Where was the blond?

  He had about given up hope he would see her again that evening.

  “The blond, perhaps?”

  “The blond.” Stratford startled as a pang of unwarranted jealousy ripped through his stomach. “I beg your pardon?”

  “The one in the corner, waving her fan in our direction.”

  He eyed the woman in question, and a sense of relief washed over him. “Oh. That blond. Fan waving or not, she is on the brink of betrothal to Lord Evanston.”

  “Ah. Then I would deduce that she is on the brink of conquest, too. Surely she would enjoy one last flirtation before confining herself to the dull duties of a matron.”

  Stratford knew Evanston to be hot-tempered. “I would not prod that hornet’s nest with a stick if I were you.”

  “No matter. My new mistress is entering at this moment.” Lunenburg looked eastward.

  Stratford followed Lunenburg’s glance to an arched entry-way on the far side of the room. The woman was wearing a blue gown, and her light hair was curled into ringlets on either side of her face, a style that had become popular in recent years. Most of her hair was covered by a broad ribbon in the same color that had some sort of proper name, one he couldn’t remember.

  But when she turned her face toward the fire, he saw those blue eyes and lips as pink as a spring rose. Stratford nearly dropped his glass of lemonade. “Her? That is the one?”

  “Indeed.” Lunenburg smiled, then took another swig of his drink.

  Jealousy returned with a vengeance. Stratford tried to put on an appearance of maintaining his composure by drawing himself up to his full height and taking in a breath. “She is new here, is she not?”

  “You should be more privy to that knowledge than I, since you have been a lifelong resident here.” The baron smiled with the expression of one who held the key to secret knowledge. “I know. I am a sore winner. I should not tease you in such a manner. Of course you do not know her. That, my friend, is Lady Dorothea Witherspoon, Helen’s cousin visiting from London.”

  Lady Dorothea Witherspoon from London. So that was the identity of his mystery woman.

  “Lovely, is she not?” Lunenburg prompted.

  Too lovely for you.

  The image of Lunenburg embracing the woman that Stratford had admired from afar left his stomach roiling. He swallowed. “Uh, yes. She is lovely. Quite so. And I hardly think a lady with a title would agree to be your mistress—or anyone else’s.”

  “Now, now, old man. She has not agreed yet. But titled or not, once she has heard my sweet words whispered in her ear in the dark, no doubt she will.”

  “You seem a bit too confident.”

  “I admit that I have more than sweet words to offer.” Lunenburg’s empty smile didn’t reach his eyes. “No, let us say—my timing was such that I was able to step in and do her a monumental favor, which placed me in the happy position of becoming the recipient of her gratitude.”

  “Gratitude is a thin thread on which to base a romantic alliance.”

  “If you think such, then you underestimate the power of gratitude.”

  Stratford studied Dorothea. She seemed oblivious to any arrangement. He noticed that she didn’t once make an effort to catch Lunenburg’s attention or even send him wily but knowing glances. Her face radiated innocence, not the sly look of a woman of the world. He had an odd feeling. “Then I suppose you are not worried that anyone else will flatter her with beautiful words and lure her away from you.”

  “Worried, no.” Though they had been speaking in a volume too low to be overheard, Lunenburg brought his voice down to a near whisper. “But of course I must not be too obvious about our relationship, which is why I have made no effort to be by her side in this crowd tonight. I would not want to embarrass a lady of fine breeding and well-placed station.”

  “Then you will not mind in the least if I greet her.” Not waiting for a response, Stratford strolled toward Dorothea.

  ❧

  Dorothea tried not to break off her conversation in midsentence. She looked in the center of the crowd and noticed people parting like the Red Sea to let the man she wanted to meet pass. He was strolling toward her with such speed he looked as though someone were chasing him. She hadn’t expected him to look even more handsome in the more intense lighting of the hall. Her brief memory was of the man standing in the shadows. His countenance and form, she noted happily, were no disappointment.

  Dorothea fiddled with the fan she held and swallowed to ease her throat, which had become dry with nervous anticipation. She had been told she was attractive but didn’t dare flatter herself with the notion that she appeared so enchanting that men were running to meet her. Yet he did seem to be in a hurry.

  “I might have known,” Helen muttered.

  “Known what?”

  “Never mind,” Helen whispered. She turned her voice up several notches as the man reached them. “There you are, Stratford. I was wondering how long it would take you to notice my cousin.”

  “So you think I make a study of all the women, do you, Helen? Am I such a rogue as all that?”

  His melodious voice, its tone hinting at adventure and excitement, made Dorothea’s knees threaten to buckle. Was he a rogue? Rogue enough to lift her into his arms and take her away on his fine stallion, away from all memories of the evening’s degradation? If only he were a rogue, indeed!

  She waved her fan over her che
eks too rapidly to be considered polite.

  Helen shot her a warning look and responded to Stratford’s jest. “I do not suppose you are too much the cad for me to offer you a proper introduction to my distant cousin.” As promised, she complied.

  Lord Stratford Brunswick. So Helen was right—this is the man I described! And a fine man he seems to be, indeed.

  “I am enchanted by your presence, Lady Witherspoon.”

  Lord Brunswick took her hand in his and brushed his lips against the back of her knuckles. The soft motion left her wobbling with such joy that she found herself searching for an empty chair. Since the few seats available were occupied by dowagers and elderly men, she saw that she would have to stand on her own two feet. She hoped they would hold her up as she steadied knees that quaked anew.

  She resumed wild fanning even though they were positioned nowhere near the crackling fire. Now that she had gathered enough courage to look at him for more than an instant, she realized he was just as handsome up close as he had been from a distance. And the way his gaze held hers, she sensed she had piqued his interest, as well.

  “Dorothea,” Helen prodded, “you have not yet been introduced to Lady Wickford.”

  “Before you leave my presence, might I inquire how long we here in our little parish might enjoy the pleasure of your presence, Lady Witherspoon?” Lord Brunswick asked.

  Dorothea ignored her cousin’s hand tugging on her arm. She kept her focus right on his face, a face of fine contours framed by hair as black as coal. “My cousin has graciously extended me an invitation to remain here for a fortnight.”

  “Only a fortnight? But I should hope for longer. Perhaps she could be convinced to allow you an extended stay.” Sparkling eyes the blue color of lapis lazuli stones mesmerized her. She leaned her face as closely to his as she dared without being too forward.

  “I may not need convincing.” A strangely husky voice left her lips. Did such an intonation really belong to her?