The American Bride - By Karla Darcy Page 0,5

of exposure."

"Yes, Grandmother," Cara agreed meekly.

For a moment the Duchess thought the change of clothes and the sober hairdo had taken the spirit out of the girl until she noticed the twinkle in the blue-green eyes and the betraying dimple in her cheek. Even in the atrocious dress there was still a definite air about the girl that would not warrant close scrutiny.

"Caroline Farraday. It sounds perfect. Very sturdy." She smiled at the girl's moue of distaste. "In the reference I have written I have explained how you became acquainted with my granddaughter and have included the details about your life that we went over tonight. Hopefully this will suffice to procure the position for you. I am sure that Wilton will wish to please his future bride."

"What is Lord Wilton like?" Cara asked, curious despite herself.

"I wondered when you would get around to asking. I'm afraid your inquisitiveness must go unchecked. I will not tell you either the good points or the bad that I have heard and seen. You are going there to make your own appraisal and I would not prejudice you either way. Just do your best not to disgrace me."

"Yes, Grandmother." This time the meekness was genuine as Cara acknowledged the seriousness of her undertaking.

Long after Cara was shown to her room she lay in bed unable to sleep. After the long voyage and the coach trip she still felt disoriented. She had come to England determined to have the marriage set aside. She realized now the immaturity of that hope. At least her grandmother had given her a month in which to observe her new husband. She was practical enough to accept the fact that it was beyond the bounds of reality to think she would fall in love with a stranger. All she could pray was that she would find some qualities in the man she might admire. For better or worse, Lord Wilton was her husband.

On that frightening thought Cara slept.

Chapter Two

The coach, although well sprung, rocked Cara from side to side as it traversed the bumpy corduroy. For the hundredth time her mittened hands adjusted the unfamiliar folds of the headdress covering her hair. Dust seeped into the coach, covering her face with a fine layer of grit. Despite her excitement of early morning, she had little enthusiasm left after three hours of jolting.

As the coach swerved and the horses began to slow, Cara's heart beat a frightened tattoo.

Craning her neck for a view of Weathersfield Hall, she gaped at the grandeur of the estate. The enormous edifice stood squarely amid legions of trees, which were dwarfed by the sheer immensity of the building. Formal gardens were laid out in front of the carriage sweep. Wide shallow steps funneled up to an enormous double-doored entrance. Any courage Cara possessed fled at the magnificence of the stone ancestral hall. There would be no need to play the timid governess; she was in truth cowed by her surroundings.

With a shaking hand Cara handed the Duchess' letter of introduction to the imperious butler who opened the door. Her boots echoed on the marble floors as she hurried after a footman as he wound a labyrinthine path through the silent corridors. They stopped before an ornately carved door.

"Miss Farraday, my lord," the footman announced in stentorian tones. He placed the letter on the desk in front of Lord Wilton and then bowed himself out the door.

Cara's heart was pounding against her ribs and her knees were shaky as she stood just inside the door.

"Well, girl, get over here," Julian Weathersfield barked.

"What?"

"Don't just stand there holding up the wall. Get over in the light where I can see you."

Instinctively Cara's chin went up at his rudeness. Barely in time she remembered her grandmother's strictures and she scurried to comply with Wilton's order. Unable to withstand the baleful brown gaze trained on her, Cara stammered her introduction.

"The Duchess of Landglower was, eh, is pleased to send me to your lordship to fill the position of governess."

"Pleased, was she?" Julian snorted, glowering across the desk at the youthful figure before him. "The Duchess sends a child to look after my wards."

"I am not a child," Cara snapped. "I am nineteen years old, your lordship."

"Such an advanced age," he sneered. "Good Lord, girl, my nephew is nine. You're only ten years older."

"I believe I will be able to handle the boy. I have had a great deal of experience in those ten years."

"Oh, to be sure," Julian scoffed. "Well,