An Unwilling Baroness (5 page)

"Yes, but a wolf who is well aware of duty
and manners. Take heart. Jude and his fiancée will also be there
and of course Lady Pembridge will be chaperoning."

Fiancée? He had brought the woman. She was
here. In England. With him. Her stomach churned at the idea. How
was she going to cope? How was she going to speak kindly to the
woman when all she wanted to do was stand at Jude's side
herself?

Had she really just pictured herself as his
bride? Standing at the altar with him, his ring upon her finger?
She swallowed the notion. It was ridiculous. The entire idea had to
be nothing more than her mind searching for an escape. She cursed
herself. It wasn't fair of her. Not when she condemned him for the
same thing three long years ago. God, but now she wished she hadn't
rebuffed him. It would've been so much more pleasant to be his
wife. The arrangement seemed so perfectly natural and comfortable
now. But hindsight was clear, it was the present that was
blurry.

"Did you hear me?" Fredrick asked, his voice
pushing away the cloud confusion. "I said Lady Pembridge will be
chaperoning."

"Dear old Mummy." Chloe sighed and held back
her dismay. But still the fact that Jude was engaged and soon she'd
meet his future bride clung to her like thick morning dew. Why did
her heart suddenly stop racing and dip low as if she were in the
deepest of trouble? "I dare say I almost prefer my chances with a
wolf."

Again he laughed, the sound pleasing to her
ears. "There will be plenty of time for that, I assure you."

CHAPTER FOUR

Chloe slowly entered the dining hall. Dinner
at Pembridge House was never just a meal. It was a time to
belittle. A time for Dorothea to pick and pester until she garnered
much needed information. A time for her stepmother to glower at her
over split pea soup. It was never pleasant and never conducive to
the digestion. Yet manners and yes, protocol had her sitting across
from her nemesis every evening. Oh the days when Dorothea could go
to London to the townhouse…the townhouse that had recently been
sold.

"Chloe, so good of you to join us," Father
said, standing, a small, brown stain marring his pale cravat.
Aghast, she stared at him. He had once seemed like an Adonis to
her, so gloriously handsome when he smiled. Now, he was a fat
fellow, with a bald head and sagging jowls who meal after meal
destroyed at least one article of clothing. God, it was no wonder
they hurt financially! He soiled three cravats a day.

"So nice of you to wait until I arrived,"
she retorted, scanning the room for Jude, both saddened and
relieved that he wasn't there.

"Sit down before your food gets any colder,"
Dorothea cooed. Her features were soft and her eyes softer. What
was going on? The woman looked like a snake that had recently
devoured a fat field mouse.

"Yes Ma’am," she replied. She reached for
the chair only to have her father bumble toward her, pulling it
out.

"There daughter."

With a wariness that threatened panic, she
lowered herself into the chair and watched them. Dorothea, sipping
from her soup spoon, Father seating himself and gulping down a
mouthful of wine.

She followed suit, hoping the alcohol would
calm her nerves. It didn't. It would take more than a glass. Dear
God, it would take a barrel to end her misery.

"The baron says you're going to attend the
picnic tomorrow," Dorothea remarked, her gaze and tone far too
gentle. Chloe imagined she was the field mouse, tight in the
serpent's jaw with no hope of escape.

"I wish I could attend," Father interjected,
slamming his glass down and lifting up his spoon. Joy of joys, she
was going to get to watch him try to eat soup without soiling the
tablecloth, his clothes, the floor. She'd rather watch him slurp
from the rim of the bowl.

"But I’m off to town to see to some
business. There's a buyer interested in that bay stallion."

"You mean Sebastian?" Her heart sank.
Sebastian was the most beautiful horse in their stable. He was
their breeding stallion. The animal fetched the most when at stud.
He was also the sweetest. The horse she rode when hunting. He had
been her mother's horse and now hers.

"Aye. The very one."

She shoved away from the table, looking from
him to her stepmother. The woman positively beamed with
satisfaction. Damn her. Damn him. Damn them all. "You can't mean to
sell him. You know how much he means to me. How much he meant to
Mother."

Having fully expected him to meet her gaze
and come up with some ridiculous excuse, she was shocked when he
kept his attention focused on his soup and admitted the truth. "I
know. But I've a loan coming due and the old fellow will just about
pay for it."

Standing, she held tight to the skirt of her
russet gown. "Sell something else! But don't let him go. Father
please, I implore you." Hysteria bit at her heart, perspiration
immediately springing from her brow as the small gulp of wine
pounded on her throat for release. "My lord, please."

Lord Pembridge finally looked upon her, the
despair in his eyes great. The sorrow washed heavily across his
countenance. "I have no choice, dear daughter. If I did, he'd be
the last animal in the stable. But, he has to go or the creditors
will start taking our furnishings."

She set her hand to her breast, trying to
quell the pain that shrouded her heart. The baron had spoken the
truth. Things were far worse than she knew. Far, far worse.

"I see."

His lower lip trembled as tears threatened
to fall from his eyes. She could feel the shame sliding out of his
pores. "I know you do, and I never wanted you to."

"And now, do you see why it's imperative you
seriously consider your options?" Dorothea said, her brow raised,
her chin high in an attempt to appear the proud matriarch. It was
truly a sad display. The pitiful woman relied on a stepdaughter who
loathed her almost as much as she loved Pembridge House.

"So, It's up to me to save us all?"

Father looked away, his silence all the
answer she needed.

Her gaze fell upon the pathetic pair,
sitting there, trying to be the Lord and Lady of the Manor. How had
her proud father allowed this to happen to them…to her? But it
wasn't difficult to imagine. She had known for years.

Lady Dorothea loved her father's money. She
loved being welcomed by the
ton
. But most of all, she loved
the associations that being a member of the Pembridge family
offered to her. She took the greatest joy in telling all who
listened that she owned the country house. That she'd owned the
London townhouse. That she was every bit the lady that the former
Lady Pembridge had been. Sadly for her, it was a truly impossible
desire. For her mother garnered respect and attention without ever
having to actually demand anything.

Her mother was by far, the softest, sweetest
woman to have ever graced the planet. She missed her everyday, but
today she ached for her. Needed to be coddled and told everything
would be all right. Looking at Dorothea and her father, she knew
none of that was forthcoming.

Biting back her worry, she stumbled away
from the table. There was no room in her stomach for food, as
nerves balled up tight inside her. She longed for fresh air, and
needed to put distance between herself and the pathetic fools. A
pair who ignored and mistreated her and now demanded the only thing
she had left. Her freedom.

"Don't go," Father said finally, but it was
a weak request, one with no substance or conviction. His pleading
stare and quivering jowls offered no warmth or compassion, only
questions. Only need. Only fear as to what she'd say or do. What a
delicate web they wove.

"I'm going to the garden." She longed to
tell them she wanted to run away from their foolishness. To scream
at the top of her lungs that she hated the position they put her
in. Wanted to scold herself for allowing them to lock her into
marriage with a stranger. And that was what was going to happen.
She was going to marry Fredrick. What choice did she have?

Dorothea lifted her glass, her hand
trembling. "You
must
sit down and discuss what you expect
from the baron. He has asked for nothing but your hand and the
promise of Pembridge House," she looked to Lord Pembridge. "When
the unfortunate time comes."

"I have yet to acquiesce to his proposal,
but—"

Dorothea rose to her feet and slammed the
glass down with such force that red wine sloshed over the rim and
marred the white tablecloth. "Your father humbles himself in front
of you and you still refuse to comply? Have you no respect, no
admiration, no love for the man who gave you life?"

Ire flared from the deepest recesses of her
body. How dare the hag speak to her as if she owed either one of
them anything? Father had made her life a living hell, hadn't
mourned her mother near long enough. Never once had he treated her
as a loving father. She was a nuisance, a lowly girl, not a proper
heir to Pembridge.

"For a woman who has no one but me to come
to for help, you certainly do pretend to have some power. If I
marry the baron, it will be because I choose to. Not because Father
becomes weepy or you demand it. Lady Dorothea, take care, for
aiding you in your search for respect and dignity are not at the
top of my agenda. My loves for Pembridge House and for my mother's
memory are the only things that have me considering the engagement.
Not your bullying."

Dorothea's anger faded, her face sagging as
she plopped unceremoniously back into her seat. "So, you're
considering it?"

Without meeting her father's gaze and
without answering Dorothea, Chloe marched from the room and toward
the conservatory. She'd find peace in the garden and with luck,
maybe a few answers.

***

The dusky sky and pleasant breeze offered a
strange sense of normalcy and calm. Something she needed. She
thanked God for the moment of serenity, for maybe, without her mind
clamoring, she could actually figure a way out of this mess. A
solution that encompassed saving Pembridge House, saving her
father's pride, and her sanity. But no, all three couldn't be
saved, even if she married the baron. And yes, he seemed a fine
man. And yes, he didn't repulse her, the opposite, really. But love
him? It was too soon to tell, and with the impending sale of
Sebastian…well dash it all, she needed a plan sooner than
later.

She stared out into the garden, her
paradise, now marred by leaves and disrepair. Everywhere she looked
screamed for her martyrdom. The ruined house, the sad garden, her
beautiful horse.

"Oh Sebastian, what sort of life will you
have in the hands of a new master?" she asked of herself and
turning walked the wide path that led to the garden gate and just
beyond that, the stable. Her heart ached at the idea of saying
goodbye to the steed. He had been a constant in her life since Jude
left and even though he had returned, she realized that another
woman could turn to him. She could not.

Setting her hand to her breast, she realized
how lonely he must have felt that day she rebuffed him. Guilt
buffeted her, for with her understanding came a shame so deep that
her gut burned with sorrow.

With the remnants of the sun at her back,
she strolled toward the open stable door. The sweet aroma of hay
filled her senses and brought back memories of her last hunt. Oh
how free she'd been on Sebastian, how exhilarated at the barking of
the dogs, how alive with the wind in her face, the thrill of
outracing near everyone. It was a tremendous day, one of the best
in recent memory, especially when the fox had gotten away.

"I'll never get away," she lamented, and
crossed the threshold into the faded gray stable. At the low murmur
of voices, she stopped and scanned the long, dusty aisle.

She couldn't see anything out of the
ordinary. The wall lined with tools, the pile of bedding straw,
Daisy with her gray head hanging over her stall door, long golden
strands of hay dangled from her lips. The poor old girl would
surely mourn Sebastian's even more than she would.

"I said I will double the offer. You would
say no to that?" Jude's angry voice echoed from the small stable
office and down the deserted aisle.

Daisy threw her head back and snorted,
startled by the furious outburst. Chloe rushed to her, and pushed
for forelock from her eyes. "There, there girl, tis all right," she
whispered.

"I won't take charity from the likes of
you."

It was her father, his words cutting her to
her core. Good Lord, why wouldn't he allow Jude to help? Why was it
the only charity he'd accept had to be stolen from her? Perhaps the
price of the horse would ease their woes…give her more time to find
her escape.

"The likes of me? You're near to losing your
ancestral home. Hell man, you know it's worse than that. You're
nearing debtor's prison. Tis past time for foolish pride. Take my
offer. I want the horse for my wedding day."

The words sliced, severing her heart in
half. "My horse." She clenched her jaw, her fingers curling at her
sides. He would marry another and have her horse too? There was
nothing left for her at Pembridge. Damn them, she may as well marry
the baron. At least her financial worries would be over, the house
and grounds safe and there would be distance between her and all
who would use and neglect her.

"What do you say, my lord?"

There was a long, painful silence, one that
had her forcing herself to remain still and quiet when all she
wanted to do was race into that room and tell them both to go to
hell.

"Well, your having him will ease dear
Chloe's mind," her father finally said.

"Compassion…for me?" she mumbled
sardonically and leaned against Daisy's stall for support. The old
girl nudged her with her muzzle and snorted hot, moist breath at
her, impatient for a stroke. Chloe complied, for she too needed the
contact.