The American Bride - By Karla Darcy Page 0,2

fair to Lord Wilton to let you run away."

"Fair!" the girl flared. "None of it's fair to me."

"Cara, your father had your best interests at heart. He could have married you to anyone but I think he chose well. Lord Wilton is young and very handsome. I'm sure he has many fine qualities." Sunk in her own despair Cara failed to note the uncertainty of the Duchess' appraisal. "Who knows? Given time you may grow to love him."

"But, Grandmother, that's just the point. I don't have any time. We're already married. He'll never give me time to know him. We shall be introduced and then he'll have the right to do with me whatever he wants."

The older woman could not dismiss the note of distress in the girl's voice nor the blushing agony in her face. She knew the girl was correct. The things she had heard about Wilton left her in little doubt that he would not immediately bed the beautiful girl. Even at her advanced age she chafed at her granddaughter's predicament.

Once more the room was silent. The two women were separated by a generation but joined by a common bond of blood. Wistfully Liela searched the lovely features of the girl at her feet seeing herself at the same age filled with the passion and romance of youth. Because of her love for her husband Liela had come joyfully to the marriage bed. She had blossomed under Paxton's gentle lovemaking. Even now she could imagine the pain and embarrassment if he had been a lustful stranger.

"Sit up, Cara." The Duchess' voice was brisk in decision. "I can not set this marriage aside for you. But I could arrange for you to get to know Wilton without him suspecting who you are."

"Oh, Gran," Caroline said. The bodice of her dress rose and fell as she panted in her agitation.

"No, don't hurl yourself on me." Liela held up her hands in alarm. "Just sit still. If this can be arranged would you be content to accept this marriage?"

"Have I any choice?" the girl asked.

"In actual fact, no."

"Then I accept." Caroline grimaced but, with the resilience of youth, was caught up in the excitement of the proposal. "How can I meet him without Wilton knowing who I am?"

"First, does anyone know that you have arrived in England?"

"No one except you. When I sailed I used my mother's name. I arrived as Caroline Farraday. Bethel, my maid, came with me from America. She's English and once war was declared between England and the United States she wanted to return home. It was difficult in the beginning to book passage so she was forced to wait until I was able to leave."

"And when you arrived this evening? What did you do?" The Duchess knew the answers to the questions but she needed more time to formulate the partially conceived plan in her head.

"We came straight from the ship in a closed hackney. I was veiled. After all I am still in mourning. Besides I know that I bear a strong resemblance to my father and I was afraid of being recognized by someone on your staff. When we were admitted I handed the sealed note to your butler and demanded that he present it to you."

Liela smiled imagining the amount of determination it must have taken to coerce her household into waking her. Her own abigail, Anna, had tiptoed in and gently shaken the Duchess, expecting at any minute to incur the wrath of her mistress. The note had identified Caroline and asked that they meet in privacy to discuss a most urgent matter.

"Anna has been guarding the doors and keeping your Bethel away from the others. I would trust Anna with my life. She already knows more secrets about our family than is good for her. However I suppose one more won't kill her," the Duchess finished wryly.

"You've got some kind of plan, haven't you, Gran?" Cara's eyes were alight with mischief.

"Just how much did your father tell you about Lord Wilton?"

"Not very much. He said he was the son of an old friend of his. I gather since he approved of the father he assumed the son would be a good husband." Cara winced at the final word still unable to come to grips with the fact that she was married to the man.

The Duchess left her chair and rummaged in the pigeonholes of an inlaid rosewood desk. Pulling out a letter she gave a sigh of satisfaction and returned