The Bargain of a Baroness Read online

  The Bargain of a Baroness

  Linda Rae Sande

  This is a work of fiction. The events and characters described herein are imaginary and are not intended to refer to specific places or living persons. The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author and do not represent the opinions or thoughts of the publisher. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all the materials in this book.

  The Bargain of a Baroness

  ISBN: 978-0-9964433-9-5

  All Rights Reserved.

  Copyright © 2021 Linda Rae Sande

  V1

  Cover photograph © Period Images.com

  Cover art by Twisted Teacup Publishing

  All rights reserved - used with permission.

  Edited by Katrina Teele-Fair

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient.

  Also by Linda Rae Sande

  The Daughters of the Aristocracy

  The Kiss of a Viscount

  The Grace of a Duke

  The Seduction of an Earl

  The Sons of the Aristocracy

  Tuesday Nights

  The Widowed Countess

  My Fair Groom

  The Sisters of the Aristocracy

  The Story of a Baron

  The Passion of a Marquess

  The Desire of a Lady

  The Brothers of the Aristocracy

  The Love of a Rake

  The Caress of a Commander

  The Epiphany of an Explorer

  The Widows of the Aristocracy

  The Gossip of an Earl

  The Enigma of a Widow

  The Secrets of a Viscount

  The Widowers of the Aristocracy

  The Dream of a Duchess

  The Vision of a Viscountess

  The Conundrum of a Clerk

  The Charity of a Viscount

  The Cousins of the Aristocracy

  The Promise of a Gentleman

  The Pride of a Gentleman

  The Holidays of the Aristocracy

  The Christmas of a Countess

  The Knot of a Knight

  The Heirs of the Aristocracy

  The Angel of an Astronomer

  The Puzzle of a Bastard

  The Choice of a Cavalier

  The Bargain of a Baroness

  Beyond the Aristocracy

  The Pleasure of a Pirate

  Stella of Akrotiri

  Origins

  Deminon

  Diana

  Contents

  Prologue

  1. A Gentleman Awakens with a Start

  2. Preparing to Paint

  3. Cousins Reunite

  4. An Heir Apparent Returns

  5. A Bargain Revealed

  6. Cousins Reunite

  7. Billiards Begets a Baron

  8. An Unexpected Introduction

  9. Twin Talk of Possibilities

  10. A Plan for a Reintroduction

  11. A Grandson Explains Much

  12. A Reunion of Sorts

  13. A Plot is Pondered

  14. A Family Reunion

  15. A Pending Portrait Portends a Problem

  16. An Invitation Arrives

  17. A Portrait Revealed

  18. In the Wrong Place at the Right Time

  19. Mistaken Assumptions

  20. A Coach Ride Reveals Much

  21. An Identity Revealed

  22. Pontificating About a Painter

  23. An Artist’s Perspective

  24. Posing is Hard, Pretending is Harder

  25. A Turtle Prepares for Pursuit

  26. A Discussion of Utmost Import in the Park

  27. Commiserating with a Sister

  28. Dueling Dinners

  29. Second Chances

  30. A Dinner Guest is Missed

  31. Confessions and Convictions

  32. A Truth Revealed

  33. A Different Sort of Dinner

  34. The Morning of a Momentous Day

  35. Finally Reunited

  36. Revelations

  37. Bestowing Gifts of Love and Affection

  38. Asking Permission Begets an Apology

  39. A Night at the Ball

  Epilogue

  Author’s Notes

  Also by Linda Rae Sande

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Summer 1815, Cherrywood Estate, Derbyshire, England

  Under a canopy of blue sky, Hannah Simpson lay on the freshly scythed lawn and stared up. The sun had long ago burned away the morning dew, but it hadn’t yet made it high enough to blind her as she watched the white clouds float overhead.

  Hannah had a thought her mother would be cross if she knew she didn’t have a blanket beneath her. A maid would be forced to remove grass stains from her gown if she wasn’t careful. Her thoughts turned to more pleasant subjects, such as the elephant that had formed from a single cloud and was now chasing—very slowly—a turtle.

  She recalled how the day before, Graham had, for the very first time in his eleven years, lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. He and his parents, Thomas and Emma Wellingham, had just arrived at Cherrywood, the Burroughs’ family country estate in Derbyshire, for a rare holiday away from town.

  Hannah lifted that very hand so it hovered above her eyes, blocking out the golden ball of light that threatened to blind her.

  Had Graham noticed how her hand had trembled in his? How her pulse quickened with his touch? How a pink blush colored her face and every bit of skin above the neckline of her sprigged muslin gown?

  “It’s good to see you again, Miss Hannah,” he had said before he stepped back and bowed.

  “And you. It’s been far too long,” she had responded, only a hint of a scold in her voice.

  They both lived on the same street in London, after all, although Graham and his parents sometimes made the trip to their real home, Woodscastle, in Chiswick. The townhouse in King Street had been his mother’s before her marriage to Thomas Wellingham, and they used it when travel to Chiswick proved difficult.

  The Simpson townhouse—practically a mansion—was directly across the street.

  “School,” Graham had replied, in answer to her scold. “When it’s done, I promise I shall see more of you.” All at once, his face had reddened, his eyes darting sideways as he realized what he had said.

  Hannah had giggled at the thought of what he might be thinking. “If we’re to be married, then I expect that will be true,” she countered, hoping to assuage his embarrassment.

  Hannah had often wondered what life with Graham Wellingham would be like when they did finally marry. Their parents had frequently spoken of a day when the two would wed. Talked as if a marriage had already been arranged in some formal sense.

  The Wellinghams—Thomas and Emma—were good friends with her parents, Sophia and James Simpson. Emma had acted as midwife when Hannah was born. Hannah’s older twin brother, Henry, had been too impatient to await Emma’s arrival that fateful night when four babies had been born to three mothers.

  Graham, nine months younger than those babes, had probably been conceived that night.

  The sunlight that warmed Hannah’s face suddenly disappeared. “You look like an angel.”

  Hannah blinked as she dropped her hand to her midriff. Although the one who interrupted her reverie was cast in shadow, she knew immediately it was Graham. She grinned. “You say that as if you’ve actually seen one,” she chided.

  Graham lowered his gangl
y body to the grass and stretched out next to her. “Every time I see you,” he said with a wink. His gaze moved to take in the clouds above them, and he allowed a guffaw. “I thought you might be napping, but now I know you are deciding who will win the race.”

  Hannah giggled. “The race?” she repeated.

  “There’s an elephant chasing a turtle,” he said as he pointed to the clouds directly above them, “and a race horse, too.”

  Continuing to giggle as she followed his finger, her eyes widened when she saw exactly what he described.

  “So, are you betting on the turtle? Or the race horse?” he asked, his gaze turning to her.

  Hannah allowed a brilliant smile as her hand once again shielded her eyes. “I don’t see a finish line.”

  “If I was the turtle?”

  Hannah turned her head in the grass to regard him, sobering at his question. “I would bet on the turtle, of course. But why ever would you cast yourself as the turtle rather than the horse?” she asked in a whisper.

  “Because a turtle will live far longer than the horse,” he replied, his hand reaching for hers.

  Closing her eyes to concentrate on the warmth of her hand in his, Hannah grinned and allowed a long sigh. “Promise?”

  Graham turned his head in the grass. “And if I do?”

  Hannah’s eyes fluttered open, and she angled her head to regard him through blades of grass that had escaped the edge of the scythe. “Then I suppose I shall have to marry you,” she said with a prim grim.

  “Promise?” he countered.

  Her brows furrowing at the seriousness in his expression, Hannah said, “Of course.”

  “And if the horse wins the race?”

  Hannah lifted herself onto an elbow and stared down at Graham. “Are you asking me to place a wager on this race?”

  Graham inhaled as his gaze once again went skyward to see that the elephant was no longer, its shape pulled apart into a series of wispy clouds. Only the shapes of a horse and a turtle remained above them. “Only to agree to a bargain,” he finally replied.

  Inhaling sharply, Hannah directed her attention to the clouds and allowed a sound of disappointment. “He’s gone,” she whispered.

  “The turtle is still there,” Graham countered.

  “As I suspect he always will be,” Hannah murmured. “I’ll make you a bargain, Graham Wellingham. No matter what happens—no matter who wins the race—I will be your wife one day,” she vowed.

  Graham allowed a brilliant smile. “Quite a bargain, considering I have not yet proposed marriage,” he teased. An ‘oof’ escaped his lips when Hannah pounded a fist onto his midsection. “As if we have any say in the matter,” she said in complaint.

  He inhaled slowly and lifted one of her hands to his lips. “We do, and we shall. Miss Hannah Simpson, I accept the terms of your bargain.”

  Settling back onto the grass with a grin of victory, Hannah’s attention was once again captured by the clouds.

  The horse had won this particular race, although his shape had shifted with the slight breeze, his legs breaking away into wisps and his head separating from his body. A moment later, there was no sign of the horse.

  The turtle, however, continued its slow crawl across the sky.

  Chapter 1

  A Gentleman Awakens with a Start

  Monday, March 25, 1839

  The sky was barely gray when Henry Simpson’s eyes opened with a start. His gaze swept past the ornate blue fabric canopy above his bed and to the window. Thinking that whatever woke him was behind the drapes and beyond the glass, he stepped out of the bed and hurried to the window.

  The air surrounding him was chilly. Henry was sure he saw his breath when he exhaled. The last chunk of coal in the fireplace was barely a burning ember, and it was far too early for his valet to arrive with more.

  Pulling the drapes apart, he quickly discovered the source of the sound that had awakened him.

  Neighing horses. Two of them. From the looks of their coats and their size, Henry was sure they were shires.

  Almost directly across the street, a glossy black town coach hitched to those shires had stopped in front of the townhouse located at 3 King Street. Their heads bobbing, the horses stomped their impatience at having been halted.

  He watched as the driver stepped down from his perch and opened the coach door, moving aside to allow the equipage’s lone occupant to emerge.

  Having paid witness to this scene at least two other times—both Monday mornings at dawn—Henry knew exactly what, or rather whom, to expect to step down from the coach.

  A rather comely young woman.

  She was always garbed in a fine wool redingote and a stylish, warm hat. She always carried a valise, and she always gave the driver a curtsy before she hurried to the red door. Then she would use a key to gain entrance and disappear behind the door.

  For the brief moment after she stepped over the threshold, but just before she shut the door, she glanced up and down the street as she removed her fashionable hat and gave the driver a final wave before he set the horses into motion.

  That’s when Henry had the chance to see her crown of blonde curly hair. A moment to take in her pleasant expression, as if she was glad to have arrived at the townhouse of Emma and Thomas Wellingham. A second to determine she possessed a porcelain complexion and cheeks blushed pink from the cold. And another to watch as she turned and shut the red door against the morning chill.

  This morning, she afforded him a longer look. For after she stepped down from the coach, she rushed to stand in front of the two horses, one gloved hand raised so she could shake her forefinger at them.

  The two horses immediately quieted, and their heads dropped. Then the young woman pulled a couple of apples from her reticule. She held first one and then the other to each horse and watched as they downed them. Next, she dipped a curtsy and displayed a brilliant smile.

  Henry blinked, sure the horses bowed their heads to her curtsy. He blinked again when he was sure she had briefly directed her attention on him, giving him as large a smile as she had afforded the horses.

  A moment later, and the young woman and her valise disappeared behind the red door.

  Henry allowed a long sigh of disappointment as he let the drape settle back into place. Given it was too early to be rising for the day—he usually had his valet wake him at seven o’clock so he would be ready for breakfast with his parents before he departed for the Bank of England—he crawled back into his still-warm bed and replayed the young woman’s arrival in his mind’s eye.

  He imagined what it would be like to meet her at the curb. What he might say in response to learning who she was and why she always arrived so early at the Wellingham townhouse on Monday mornings.

  Was she related to the Wellinghams? Or was she a servant of some sort? Her clothing certainly suggested she was a woman of some means, but Henry had long ago learned appearances could be deceiving.

  Maids were often given their mistress’ cast-offs, both clothing and shoes.

  He had thought it might be easy to gain an introduction, but with the Wellinghams leaving so early for their positions at Wellingham Imports every morning but Sunday, and usually returning well after dark, Henry found he couldn’t invent an excuse that would have him paying a call on them whilst the young woman was in residence.

  Staring at the dark blue velvet above him and then the matching counterpane that covered most of the bed and a few of the pillows, Henry imagined what she might look like with the velvet wrapped around her body. From his brief sightings of her, he was sure she had a pleasant figure beneath the broad skirt of her otherwise fitted redingote.

  He imagined what it might be like to unwrap the soft blue fabric from her body. What she might do as he peeled back the velvet and revealed her nakedness. What it might be like to smooth his hands over her silky soft skin.

  How would she react if his hands were cold? Would her skin pebble with goosebumps much like his mistress’ had? B
ack when he employed a mistress? Letitia always squealed and scolded him when he attempted to warm his hands on her.

  Or would she welcome his touch? Lean into it and cover his hands with her own to guide them over the places she wanted cooled?

  Henry closed his eyes and imagined what it might be like to have a lover he didn’t have to pay for the privilege of a shared evening. What it might be like to have a lover who looked forward to spending time with him as much as he looked forward to spending time with her. A lover who sometimes made the first overture.

  His eyes shot open as he considered his father had such a lover.

  His mother!

  The two were hopelessly in love. Hopelessly devoted to one another.

  And so happy.

  Was it too much to ask for the same for himself?

  His thoughts went back to the young woman he had spied from his window.

  Only by accident had he discovered the young woman took her leave on Saturday afternoons, and then only because he happened to be in the front parlor for tea with his mother when the same black coach and driver stopped and waited for a time until she appeared from behind the red door and stepped up and into the coach.

  Of course his mother had noticed his attention on the window rather than on his cake or cup of tea. The twinkle in her eye had him giving her a quelling glance, until he thought she might know the identity of the young woman.

  “Who is she?” he had asked, thinking she of all people would know.