The American Bride - By Karla Darcy Page 0,12

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.

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