Velvet Chains (Historical Romance) (5 page)

"Please, Tom, kiss me," she pleaded.

Tom didn't stop to consider. He knew there would b« hell to pay over this day's incident, but he couldn't resist her plea. His arms slid about her slender waist and he rolled her beneath him, seeking her lips. He knew if it were not for the audience that would soon descend upon them, he would have felt that he had diet and gone to heaven at the taste of the beautiful Lad} Season's honeyed lips. He would have been willing to wager that nowhere in all England was there so fair a maiden. She was as far above him as the sun was from the earth.

However, since everyone on Chats worth knew of the lady's trouble—being betrothed to the ancient earl- Tom realized immediately that she was playing a game and trying to free herself of the Earl of Ransford. At that moment, however, the stable boy would have died for her had she asked it of him.

"Here, what's this?" Lord Ransford's enraged voice boomed out.

Season braced herself for whatever was to come. She pretended to be shocked as she pushed Tom away and sat up, pulling a piece of hay from her tumbled curls.

"My lord, I… had no notion you were coming. I did not expect to see you." She was surprised at how guilty her voice sounded. She hadn't known she could be such a convincing actress.

Lord Ransford's face was red with anger and indignation. "You sly baggage," he choked. "I will never give my name to a harlot such as you!" He couldn't look his companions in the eye, knowing they were as shocked as he was. He had wanted Season as his bride. He would still have wed her, had it not been for the fact that she had shamed him before his good friends.

"How long has this been going on behind my back?" he demanded to know.

"Oh, my lord," Season said, standing up and nervously pressing a wrinkle out of her gown. "Please do not think I behave this way at all times. Besides Tom here, I have been with no more than six other men," she said, playing her part to the hilt. "I thought you might well appreciate having a wife with some experience." Delighted by her own daring, she could hardly contain the joy she felt at the stricken look on the old lord's face.

"You, miss, are the most unscrupulous tart of them all. You haven't heard the last of this. Your actions today will not only reach your father's ears but also the ears of the king!" He turned his anger on the boy, Tom.

"You, young man, will pay a high price for tossing this lady in the hay! I wish you a good day as well as goodbye. He turned abruptly and stalked out of the stable, followed closely by his two stunned friends.

Season stood motionless for a moment. It had been too easy. She knew there would be reprisals from her father and realized she hadn't heard the end of today's deed; still, she smiled. No matter how angry her father would be when he heard about what had occurred, she felt her heart lighten. She was free of Lord Ransford!

The Lady Season turned slowly to face her accomplice and smiled slightly. "Tom, I hope you do not believe I am promiscuous as did Lord Ransford. I doubt that you understand why I acted so brazenly."

"But I do, my lady. We all on Chatsworth know that you ain't been happy." He grinned rakishly. "If you don't mind me saying so, and meaning no disrespect, my lady ... it was a real pleasure to help you out."

Season couldn't help but laugh at his bold reply. "Be that as it may, Tom, I have brought trouble down upon your head. My father will not be well pleased when he finds out what happened here today. It would be well for you to be gone from here when he returns home."

Tom ran his hand through his sandy-colored hair. "Well, my lady, I have this powerful itch to see Dublin. My father has long had his mind set on me visiting my aunt who lives there."

Season nodded, wishing she had somewhere to hide from her father's wrath. As she walked out of the stable, she watched Lord Ransford's departing coach roll down the driveway. She knew he was on his way to London to see her father.

Tom came up beside her, and they both watched the coach until it was out of sight.

"I suppose after today my reputation will be ruined," Season observed softly. "It seems a high price to pay for one's freedom."

"No one will hear about today from me, my lady," Tom stated loyally.

Season smiled inwardly as her spirits began to soar. It didn't matter what trouble resulted from today's actions. Whatever happened, whatever price she would have to pay, being rid of Lord Ransford was worth it. She gazed at the winding tree-lined roadway, where only the dust created by Lord Ransford's departing coach remained as a grim reminder of his visit.

A cold wind was blowing, and a light snow had begun to fall. Season lifted her face to the sky, feeling free and light-hearted at last. She wouldn't worry about the kind of punishment her father might choose to inflict on her. Nothing he could do to her would be as bad as being forced to marry Lord Ransford!

4

As it happened, Season had to wait in fear and uncertainty for a fortnight before her father finally came to Chatsworth. During that time, the castle was unusually quiet; even the servants seemed to be on edge and spoke only in whispers. No one mentioned the incident that had taken place in the stable except Season's personal servant, Molly. The maid had tended Season since birth, and she said things to Season that no one else would dare express. Molly had not hesitated to make known her views regarding Season's conduct with Tom, and she was sure the roof would cave in on them all when the master returned home.

Season was out riding Cinibar when her father arrived. Upon her return, she saw her father's coach and six being unhitched by the new stable boy. She swallowed the lump in her throat and made her way to the house.

Fear gnawed at her insides when Simms gave her a sympathetic smile.

"Your father is waiting for you in the study, my lady. He asked to see you at once."

As Season approached her father's study she had to force one foot in front of the other, and her hands were trembling when she reached the heavy, nail-studded oak door. Squaring her shoulders, she rapped lightly.

"The door's open," her father's voice boomed out.

Season took a deep breath and entered the room. Her father was seated at his desk, and his eyes pierced her with an angry glare. Her heart seemed to plummet as he drummed his fingertips on the surface of the desk.

Lord Mason Chatsworth was a handsome man. His face was finely chiseled, and his body was still firm and hard. His hair was devoid of powder, but otherwise his appearance was immaculate, as always. His pale blue satin cutaway coat had pearl buttons down the front, and his matching knee breeches had white trim down the side seam. He stood up slowly and motioned Season into a chair, while his angry green eyes never once left her face.

Season still clutched her silver-handled riding whip in her hand as she sat on the edge of a red velvet chair, watching her father's every move.

"Hello, Papa," she said in a small voice. "I'm glad you are home."

He walked the length of the room and back before he stopped in front of Season. "Are you, miss? Are you indeed glad to see me?" he asked in a strangled voice.

Season lowered her head. "Yes, Papa. I am always glad to see you."

"You know why I'm here?" he demanded, reaching out, gripping her chin, and raising her face so she was forced to meet his eyes.

"Yes, Papa."

"Lord, I must be cursed to have such a daughter. I am thankful that your mother isn't alive to witness the shame you have brought upon this family. However, I suppose I have no one to blame but myself; I trusted you to act in a manner which would befit your station in life. I should have been more strict instead of being so indulgent with you."

Season blinked in astonishment. By no stretch of the imagination had her father ever indulged her. True, she had been given everything that money could buy, but she had never had the pleasure of her father's company save for a few short weeks in the summer. Never had she had his love or indulgence.

"Do you have the slightest notion what you have done, miss?" he asked pointedly.

She raised her chin proudly. "Yes, Papa, I know exactly."

"I don't think you do. Allow me to enlighten you. Because of your disgraceful performance, Lord Ransford has withdrawn his marriage agreement, and who can blame him?"

"I was sure he would," Season said in a voice hardly above a whisper. Her father seemed to loom over her, bigger than life, and she didn't know what punishment he had in mind for her.

"That's not all. Ransford has spread the most ungentlemanly tales about you, miss!"

"I'm sorry that you are angry with me, Papa, but I'm not sorry that Lord Ransford has canceled his marriage contract with me. I decided I just couldn't marry that awful man."

Her father's eyebrows shot up. "It wasn't your decision to make, Season. You are too young to know what's good for you."

"Papa, I tried to talk to you about Lord Ransford, but you wouldn't listen to me. When you weren't looking, he would put his hands on me and make the most lewd statements. I... hated him."

Lord Chatsworth's eyes darkened. "I suppose there was no reason to hope he would act charitably toward you. Perhaps he had already gotten wind of your reputation and saw no reason to treat you with respect. What is done cannot be undone, but you will rue the day you shamed me, miss."

"Papa! I never allowed a man to ... I didn't... you don't understand." She was horrified that her father should believe she had behaved in an unmaidenly fashion. "I'm sor—"

"Stop saying you are sorry. You don't yet know what the word sorry means—but you will, Season. By God you will!"

"What are you going to do to me?" she asked, raising frightened eyes to him.

"You might well ask. I will tell you in good time, but first I want you to know what a scandal you have caused in London. Your conduct has even reached the ears of the king!"'

Season couldn't remember ever having seen her father so angry. Her fondest wish had always been to please him and make him proud of her. She would have done anything to gain his approval—anything but marry Lord Ransford. She had always known she had been a disappointment to him, because she, his daughter, was alive, while his son and heir was dead.

Now as he towered above her, Season could see his nostrils flare. "Ransford has blackened your name, miss, and in doing so, he has blackened my name as well. I called him out, but he refused to fight, saying you weren't worth his life or mine. What do you think of that, Season?"

"Oh, Papa, I didn't think about you calling him out. I would never have forgiven myself if anything had happened to you," she cried, tears streaming down her face. Her father had always been a proud man, and she hated the fact that she had shamed him before the whole world. For the first time she wished she had willingly married Lord Ransford.

"You can spare me your tears, Season. They will neither soften my heart, nor the stand I have been forced to take on your behalf. Do you have any notion what's being said about you in London?"

"Yes, I assume it's being said that Lord Ransford and his friends found me in the hay . . . with the stable boy."

"Yes, that and more. I couldn't believe that my own daughter would behave in such a disgraceful manner." He seemed to shrink visibly. "You look so like an angel, Season."

"Papa, I never ... I would never—"

"Dammit, girl, stop stuttering. If you have something to say, say it! However, I don't see how you will find anything to say in your own defense, though God only knows I wish you could."

Suddenly Season became angry. Her father believed her guilty. How could he have so little faith in his own daughter? Tears of frustration blinded her as she stood up, looking her father squarely in the eyes.

"How can you, my own father, believe what Lord Ransford told you about me? My greatest guilt lies in staging a tête-à-tête for Lord Ransford's benefit. I would hope that as my father, you would have more faith in me."

Mason Chatsworth's eyes gleamed dangerously, but Season saw something besides anger in their green depths. Could it be that she saw pride in her father's eyes? "You had better explain yourself, Season. What are you telling me?"

"I am telling you that before that awful day I had never been so forward with a man. I used poor Tom, the stable boy, to my own advantage. I was angry because Lord Ransford had come to my home while you were away. I wanted to make the earl think I wasn't worthy of being his wife. Nothing happened between me and Tom but a harmless kiss. It was all staged for Lord Ransford's benefit, Papa."

Season saw her father's lips dip into an almost smile, and she did see a glint of pride in his eyes. "By damn, did you now? I always thought you were sweet and mild like your mother, but by heaven, I'm finding out you have some of me in you."

Season was astonished. She had always been in awe of her father. Thinking he wanted her to be a proper lady, she had tried to please him with her soft manners. On the rare occasions when he had been at home, she had always tried to act timid to make him like her. She wondered how different their relationship might have been if she had just been herself.

"You aren't mad at me, Papa?" she asked in a voice filled with wonder.

"Oh, yes. I am furious with you, but I can see that there may yet be hope for you. It seems you will not allow anyone to push you around, including me—will you? You fought me on this, and dammit, you got your way!"

"I didn't mean to fight you, Papa," she said meekly.

"Oh, yes, you did, Season—but I'm afraid your victory will be short-lived," he told her almost reluctantly.

"What do you mean?" she asked, fearing her father had somehow convinced Lord Ransford to forgive her conduct and continue with the scheduled wedding.

"I mean, miss, that King George was not at all pleased when this unpleasant incident reached his ears. He sent me home to settle your future." Season's father studied her lovely face for a long moment before he spoke again. "How would you like to see the American Colonies, Season?"

Season was astonished. "I haven't given it much thought. There is a war going on in the Colonies, and I have no wish to be scalped by wild Indians."

"Heaven help the Indian who would come up against you," he said laughingly; then his face turned serious. "You will pack your belongings immediately. I have made arrangements for you to take ship for the Colonies in three weeks time. When you reach your destination, you will be married to your cousin, Edmund Kensworthy."

Season's mouth flew open, but her throat seemed to close off before she could make a reply. How could she go to the Colonies and marry a man she hadn't even met? She was being sorely punished for her behavior. Her father was sending her to the end of the world to marry a stranger. Would it not have been better to marry Lord Ransford? At least had she married him, she could have remained in her beloved England.

"There's a war raging in those British holdings. The colonists don't like us," she said in a futile attempt to change her father's mind.

"So there is. If you are fortunate, you will arrive in the Colonies without incident. Pray your damaged reputation doesn't precede your arrival."

Season gripped her riding crop tightly in her hands. She was doomed! Surely this punishment far outweighed her crime. She feared she would be swallowed up in the wilds of the Americas, never to be heard from again!

As Season's father had promised, no less than three weeks later she boarded the frigate Good Hope, bound for the American Colonies. Her numerous trunks were stowed below, and she was offered the best accommodations on the ship. Her father had accompanied her to the ship to make sure of her comfort and to introduce her to Mrs. Tibbs, who would be her chaperone for the duration of the voyage. The short, chubby, Mrs. Tibbs was joining her husband, who was a colonel in the dragoons. It had been arranged that Season would be staying with the Tibbs in New York, until such time as she could be presented to her cousin, Edmund Kensworthy, as his bride.

When Mason Chatsworth took leave of his daughter, he bade her a brisk farewell and then left the ship without ceremony.

Season stood at the railing of the Good Hope, feeling alone and deserted. As she watched the shores of England fade in the distant fog, tears of hopelessness blinded her. She had no one to blame for her predicament but herself, she thought miserably. Molly, Season's faithful servant, stood at her side, crying into a handkerchief and declaring her poor lady had been banished from England forever.

As the days passed into weeks, Season was surprised to find she was enjoying the voyage. She was certain that if her destination were not America she would indeed feel happy. She was young, and her heart was full of adventure. Season tried, without success, to block out the thought of the stranger who awaited her arrival.

She found the captain and his crew to be very respectful of her. She had lived so long in the country that she hadn't realized her father was such an important man. She had always known that her father was a personal friend of King George III, but she hadn't known what importance others placed on that friendship. The realization only made her feel worse since her actions had cast a shadow on her father's good name.

Season tried to remember everything she had heard about her cousin Edmund. All she really knew was that he was the youngest son of her father's uncle, Hugh, the viscount of Pennyworth. She had no notion how old he was or what he looked like. Her father had told her he was a captain in the guard and had a brilliant future ahead of him.

Season had overheard the first mate of the Good Hope talking to a fellow officer. In their conversation, it became clear to her that everyone was wondering why the daughter of the Duke of Chatsworth would marry the youngest son of an improvished viscount.

Season pondered her situation. Perhaps it would be best just to take one day at a time. If the ship didn't sink, and if they weren't set upon by the enemy, all her questions about her cousin would be answered upon her arrival.

Mrs. Tibbs wasn't weathering the voyage very well. She spent most of the time in her cabin, burdened by seasickness. Season had sympathy for the poor woman, but was glad she herself hadn't succumbed to that malady. Each time Season would visit the unfortunate Mrs. Tibbs with an offer of help, the woman became nervous and agitated, blaming herself for not being a proper chaperon for the young girl. Mrs. Tibbs was overcome by the honor that the Duke of Chatsworth had bestowed upon her by allowing her to chaperone his only daughter. Indeed, the woman made Season feel uncomfortable with her continuous gushing and bowing.