Lady of Charade Read online

  Lady of Charade

  The Unconventional Ladies

  Book 4

  Ellie St. Clair

  Copyright © 2019 by Ellie St. Clair

  Kindle Edition

  Published by Dragonblade Publishing, an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Additional Dragonblade books by Author, Ellie St. Clair

  The Unconventional Ladies Series

  Lady of Mystery

  Lady of Fortune

  Lady of Providence

  Lady of Charade

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  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Additional Dragonblade books by Author, Ellie St. Clair

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Near Baltimore, 1813

  Sarah picked up her musket, hoisting it over her shoulder as she closed the door behind her and walked outside, inhaling deeply as the sounds of forest life filled her ears.

  She smiled to herself as she began down the path toward the gathering of houses. She greeted the people she met within the small village as she continued on through it, her boots crunching over the leaves at her feet as she re-entered solitude—from the human variety of living creatures. The forests around her were full of animals of every type. The birds sang to her as she continued along, the rustle of trees around her telling her that there were squirrels or rabbits or something of the like following along beside her. She felt no fear, however—only appreciation for the company. She carried the musket as a precaution, if ever a bear, wolf, or human decided to attack, but she had rarely had to use it, and hoped not to require it anytime soon.

  Sarah was well aware that she could have waited for a neighbor to accompany her for her weekly visit into the town, but today she had felt the need for a walk alone. Her mother, gone two years now, would have chastised her, but it was on days like today that Sarah felt her presence remaining with her the most.

  She stopped suddenly, seeing long green stems with white, fluffy flowers—black cohosh—emerging from the greenery just off the path, and she clipped a bit of it before placing it into her bag. One never knew when it might be required, for she had found it quite effective in treating a variety of women’s ailments.

  An hour later she emerged from the brush into the cleared land, where the slowly growing town awaited her. Sarah’s mother had taken her east to the city enough times for Sarah to know that this town was still rather primitive despite the influx of new residents, but she enjoyed being away from the busyness of Baltimore or another such settlement. She appreciated knowing the names of all who lived near her, and being close to nature, which called to her. She could hardly imagine living in a place surrounded by tall stone buildings and strangers rushing by her, deep within their busy lives.

  “Hello, George,” she said as she entered the general store, which also doubled as the post office.

  “Miss Jones!” he said, his lips beneath his great beard and mustache turning up into a smile. “I was wondering when you might come in. Here for supplies, are you?”

  “I am,” she said as she began to quickly peruse the shelves for her regular purchases, before more slowly searching the shop for a few additional items.

  “Let me guess,” George said, leaning over the counter on his thick arms. “You are looking for food stores for not only yourself, but also for others in that little village of yours.”

  “Mabel just had her babe, and Landon has no wish to leave her at the moment,” she said with a smile as she thought of the young married couple. “They do not need much, just a few things to get by.”

  “You’re quite a woman, Miss Jones,” George said, eyeing her. “My Lois and I worry about you, out there all alone.”

  “I’m not alone,” she said, raising her eyes to his. “There are people settled all around me. I only need to shout and my protectors will come running.”

  “That may very well be,” he agreed, “But are you not lonely?”

  “I am far from lonely, George,” she said with a smile. “In fact, there always seems to be someone at my door seeking my company.”

  “Company or treatment,” he amended, and she nodded.

  “True. But I am happy to help.”

  Sarah had learned from her mother, Mary, how to use the land to tend to the ailments of others. Her mother had learned from her own mother in England, where she was considered something of a witch. Here in America, Mary had added to her wisdom with knowledge assumed from both villagers and an Accohannock woman, who was married to a white man and had seen in her a shared spirit.

  “Well, one of these days, I hope you accept a man who comes calling upon you,” George continued, not moved from his mission. Sarah inwardly sighed. He meant well, but she did wish that for just one week she could come to see him without having to discuss the fact that she remained alone, unmarried. It was not as though she had not had any propositions—oh, no, there were plenty of them. But each man seemed to come from a place of wanting a woman to take care of him, rather than being interested in her, Sarah Jones.

  “I appreciate your concern, George, truly I do, but I promise you that I am perfectly fine. If the right man comes along, well then, I would not turn him away. But I have yet to find him, and so I will remain alone with my potions and my nearby friends.”

  “Very well,” he said, throwing his hands in the air as if he simply had to accept defeat. “Oh, before I forget—I have a letter for you.”

  “A letter?”

  “Aye. Seems to be all the way from England.”

  “England?” Sarah raised her eyebrows. She had no ties to anyone in England, as far as she was aware. “You are jesting.”

  “I am not,” he said, holding the envelope out to her. It was slightly torn in one corner, looking as though it truly had traveled all the way from her mother’s country.

  The moment she had the letter in her hands, every instinct within her was telling her to rip it open to determine just what the contents held, but she decided to wait until she was within the confines of her own home, where she could read and react accordingly. Sarah could tell George was nearly as curious as she was herself, but she simply thanked him, paid for he
r items, and slung her bag over her shoulder as she left the store, greeting others she knew before she made the return trip home.

  She was halfway there when she could no longer resist the suspense. She could practically feel the letter calling out to her, begging to be read. Sarah walked over to a fallen log, and took a seat upon it as she rifled through her bag before finding what she was looking for. She pulled out the envelope, ripping the seal at the back, opening it to find a light scrawl atop a piece of flimsy paper. Crisp bills fluttered out with it, as well as a ticket.

  Sarah,

  You do not know me. I wonder at how you are—have you made a life for yourself there in America? I can hardly think of living in such a place, but then, your mother was always something of a wild one. She could not be contained, certainly not by her father, nor by any other man.

  I have heard of her passing, and for that, I am sorry. I can imagine what you must be feeling. Now that this has occurred, I have found myself wrestling with the thought of whether or not to share the following information with you.

  I finally decided, however, that I would want to know, and so I will tell you.

  Your father remains in England. He is certainly alive and well, and I am sure he would want to know his daughter. I urge you to return, to make his acquaintance. He is a powerful lord, one who could provide you with a fortune, I am sure.

  I have included for you enough funds to help you find your way to New York City, as well as a ticket aboard the Hercules. I booked it long in advance as I am unsure how long this letter will take to reach you. You have until June 20th to find your way on board.

  Good luck, Sarah. I hope you will consider my words.

  Yours truly,

  A friend.

  Sarah allowed the letter to float to the floor of the forest at her feet. Her father? She couldn’t deny that she had wondered about him from time to time. Her mother had always been enough, but in the same breath, she longed to know about the man who had sired her. Her mother had always refused to speak of him, though whenever Sarah mentioned his name, a sad, faraway look came into her eyes.

  Sarah lifted her hand in front of her, staring at the ring fitted around her thumb. She had found it after her mother’s passing, had known that it must have belonged to her father. It was a man’s ring, heavy and gold, an intricate symbol inlaid into its black surface. It had fit perfectly on her thumb, and she became inclined to wear it, despite the fact that it was impractical for her way of life. Yet, somehow, it had never fallen off. She had known it was silly, for the ring should mean nothing to her. However, she had felt a strange tie to it, and to a past that she had never known but could now be there, waiting for her to learn it.

  Her thoughts in turmoil, confusion and a strange yearning to know more swirling within her, Sarah carefully tucked the letter back into her bag. June 20th. The date was but a month away now. If she was going to follow the instructions of the letter and find herself on that ship, she would have to make arrangements quickly, for it would take nearly a week to travel to the port in New York City. Her heart began to beat wildly. Could she really do it? Leave all of this behind—her friends, the people who were near to family?

  And yet… there was some truth to George’s words. She was close to many here, true, but she was the only single woman in sight. Did the people truly appreciate her for who she was—Sarah Jones—or did they simply want her for her healing powers and what she could offer them? She had no idea, but she wouldn’t like to leave her villagers without anyone to tend to their ailments. Abigail, the daughter of one of the original families, had been following her for a time now, but she was young, and not nearly experienced enough in the ways of healing. The town was nearby, however, and there was a healer there. Perhaps she could be enough.

  “We’ll be fine here,” Abigail assured her, the girl’s eyes bright and innocent when Sarah tentatively raised the idea of leaving the next week. She had been unable to think of anything else but the letter and the ticket since she had first received it. This morning they were foraging for supplies not far from the village and it seemed like the ideal time to raise her concerns.

  “Of course you will be,” Sarah said, not wanting Abigail to see her hesitation. “I just wish… that I had taught you more.”

  “You’ve taught me plenty. And not only that, but there are others nearby I can turn to for help, if needed,” Abigail said, before laying her hand on Sarah’s arm and proving herself wise beyond her years. “And Sarah, if you do not go, will you not spend the rest of your life wondering about who your father is?”

  Abigail’s words resonated. For Sarah had no desire to continue to question half of who she was, where she had come, and whether her father had ever or could ever care anything for her.

  “We don’t have much time,” Sarah said slowly, turning to look at Abigail now, and the girl blinked her eyes a few times, clearing tears, but nodded with a smile. “I won’t be able to share all with you, but over the next few days, we have to cover as much as we can.”

  And so they did. Sarah spent the next week full of nervous anticipation, continually questioning herself as to whether or not she was doing the right thing. This was the only home she had ever known, and how in the world would she go about finding a man she knew nothing about? She had to put her trust in this mysterious letter writer, and hope that when she arrived in England more information would be provided to her.

  When she wasn’t working with Abigail, she was speaking to all of the villagers who had spent part of their lives in England, attempting to learn all she could about her mother’s country.

  She didn’t feel nearly as prepared as she would have liked, but soon, with nearly all of her few belongings tied in a satchel at her shoulder, the money clasped in her palm, she began the arduous trip to Baltimore. There, she could take a small ship to New York to meet with the ship on which this mysterious messenger had purchased her a ticket, for Sarah had not enough to purchase another passage from Baltimore. She supposed the ticket had been specifically purchased so she couldn’t spend the money on anything else, and if she wanted to accept it, she had limited options.

  As she finally stood on the deck of the Hercules following a quick but wearying journey, looking back at the land that had become her home, Sarah wondered whether she would ever see it again.

  Chapter One

  London, 1815

  Lord David Redmond parried the blow from his opponent, quickly flipping his sword up and about until the man was disarmed and defenseless in front of him. He grinned in victory as he heard a slow clap from behind him.

  “Well done, Monsieur,” said the Frenchman, who had been David’s fencing instructor over the past two years. “Once again, you have proven yourself as one of the best.”

  “Of course,” David said, proud of himself. He only wished his father could see him here, where he wouldn’t be able to help but find some sort of admiration for his second son. “All because of you, Monsieur Perrault.”

  “You are far too kind,” the small man said, as David bent to pick up the fallen sword and pass it to Berkley, who stood with his hands on his hips, out of breath as he shook his head at his friend.

  “One of these days, Redmond,” he said, shaking a finger at him. “One of these days.”

  “A day I eagerly await,” David said with a grin, though he vowed the day would never come as he removed his fencing helmet.

  “Every time I come a little closer,” Berkley protested.

  “I would hardly agree.”

  “Perhaps we should ask Monsieur Perrault.”

  “No need. Evidence speaks for itself,” David countered, and Berkley laughed at that, shrugging to show that on this, perhaps, he agreed.

  He and Berkley continued to banter back and forth as they removed their fencing gear. David was well aware that the company he kept was somewhat above his station, as the second son of an earl. A duke and a marquess were lofty companions, but they seemed to enjoy his company, though he
often wondered if they were simply living somewhat vicariously through him, both of them now married, though happily at that.

  “Where are you off to now, Redmond?” Berkley asked as they walked out into the London sunshine. The weather was slowly drifting into spring. Before long, his family’s country homes would be opened, but David was unsure when or for how long he would visit. He found a sense of peace in the country, though in the same breath, if his family was present, they would likely spend the majority of their visit discussing his lack of intentions to marry and their intentions that he do so.

  “A return home for dinner, then I suppose I will find myself an engagement of some sort or another this evening.”

  Berkley eyed him. “And what type would that be?”

  “I haven’t yet decided,” David said with a wink at him. “One of my favorite widows has been rather lonely lately, so perhaps I’ll take her up on her offer for a nightcap after a game or two of faro at one of the clubs.”

  Berkley shook his head, though he seemed amused.

  “I’m not sure how you do it,” he said, and David shrugged.

  “It’s fairly simple—you just enjoy yourself.”

  “Do you never get tired of chasing after these women?”

  “It doesn’t take much, and they are chasing after me in equal measure.”

  “I used to think along some of the same lines as you,” Berkley said. “But there is something to be said about coming home to the same woman each night—a woman who knows you, and not just the superficial. Who can tell if you need time to yourself, who knows how to comfort you, how to discuss certain aspects of your life.”

  David shook his head. “I’m glad you have found what you are looking for, Berkley, but that life doesn’t suit me. I’m perfectly happy living as I am, and I don’t need a woman involved to make things more difficult.”

  “Suit yourself,” Berkley said, spreading his hands wide. “In my opinion, having multiple women would be much worse.”