The Baron's Charade (Regency Stories Book 3) Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Newsletter

  Other Titles by the Author

  Chapter

  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

  Epilogue

  The Baron’s Charade

  Catherine Mayfair

  Copyright © year 2019 Catherine Mayfair

  All rights reserved.

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  Other Titles by Catherine Mayfair

  Stranded with the Marquess

  Duke of Chance

  Chapter

  Miss Isabel St. Clair wanted two things in life more than anything else: to get to London for the Season so she could find a true gentleman and to fall madly in love, just as had her best friend Miss Elizabeth Haddington.

  It was not that no men in the small town of Eaton in the county of Bedford thought themselves gentleman, for there most certainly were plenty who thought themselves as such, and many of whom had titles proving them the right to be considered so. However, their actions proved them much more the contrary.

  “Isabel,” Elizabeth whispered, “I believe today will be the day I speak to Mr. Forthright. He is not surrounded by other women vying for his attentions as he typically is.” Then she gasped and patted her chignon. “He is looking my way! And he looks ready to devour me.” She gave a dramatic sigh that made Isabel want to laugh.

  Isabel looked over the guests who were in attendance at the home of Lord Sherman, Marquess of Cragston, a portly man whose stomach tested the strength of the fabric and the placement of its buttons. His tongue came out and moved across his lips in a ravenous manner and caused Isabel’s stomach to turn. Despite his insatiable hunger, he was, according to her father, a savage businessman who brought that hunger beyond food to get what he wanted in his business ventures; however, that did not in any way make him a man a woman would find herself attracted to. She was glad Elizabeth did not have her eyes set on him.

  Beside their host stood the man in question, a thin young man of twenty years who had a comeliness to him with his defined cheekbones and curled locks. He and Elizabeth would make a handsome couple—if the girl could catch his eye.

  As it were, Elizabeth had fallen madly in love with Mr. Forthright—or so she had said on more than one occasion—and was hoping the man would ask to court her. The problem was, neither had spoken more than a few words to one another, a vague greeting here, a nod there, but never an entire conversation with one another that one would consider a complete discourse. The man simply had no courage to speak, for it had been Elizabeth who always began any sort of communication with the man.

  “He is most certainly hungry,” Isabel said. Elizabeth responded with a nod, but Isabel wanted to tell her friend that the man had his attention on the silver trays of food the footmen carried through the crowd and not Elizabeth. However, Isabel could not break the woman’s heart. Instead, she offered kindness. “I have never seen a man so overcome with…love.”

  Elizabeth sighed. “Yes.” Then she gasped. “Here he comes! Do I look presentable?”

  Isabel smiled. “You look beyond that, my friend. You are most becoming.”

  Mr. Forthright came walking up, and Isabel found herself shocked the man would approach them first. She could feel Elizabeth tense beside her, though her features were smooth and calm.

  However, rather than stopping to talk, the man walked past them and over to a long table filled with various finger foods.

  Isabel patted her friend’s arm.

  “Why does he ignore me?” Elizabeth demanded. “I fear there must be something wrong with me. Perhaps I am meant to be a spinster—doomed to a life alone.”

  “Do not say such a thing,” Isabel said. “It appears the man is needing nourishment.” When Elizabeth gave her a dubious look, Isabel quickly added, “However, the truth may be that he is much too shy to approach you at all.” She forced her friend to turn toward the two tables laded with food, and they watched as Mr. Forthright filled a small plate.

  “I suppose you are right,” Elizabeth said, clearly disappointed. Then she brightened. “Then we will find a proper gentleman for you. Has anyone caught your eye?”

  Isabel sniffed. “Hardly. You and I both know that Bedford has very little from which to choose. Besides Mr. Forthright, of course,” she added quickly. She took a glass of wine offered by a footman, as did Elizabeth.

  The two women walked over to stand beside a painting of wildflowers and looked out across the ballroom. Isabel’s parents were engaged in conversation, just as were most others who were in attendance. The sounds of laughter filled the air, most with that familiar underlining sense of drunkenness that was common at such functions.

  “Must you leave for London?” Elizabeth asked. “Surely some young man here will be acceptable.”

  Isabel let out a small laugh. “Why do you insist I not leave for the Season? Do you wish for me to become a spinster?”

  “No, of course not. It’s just that I will grow lonely without my friend.” She sighed. “Oh, I cannot lie. I worry that I will not know what to do when Mr. Forthright speaks to me, and I know he will. I just do not know when.”

  “You have nothing about which to worry,” Isabel said. “I believe…”

  The sound of a burst of laughter had her turning toward a group of men and women who stood nearby, and her eyes fell on a man with whom she had the misfortune of making an acquaintance.

  “Lord Daniel Charmain, Seventh Baron Charmain,” Elizabeth said as if Isabel needed to be reminded of the man’s name. “If there was a man more arrogant, I do not know of him.”

  Isabel had been in the presence of Lord Charmain on more than one occasion, though they had not said more than a few words of greeting to one another, and each time she found him more odious. However, she could not help but strain to hear what he was saying to the group that stood circled around him, for she did find the tales of his travels curious, if not a bit far-fetched.

  “Well,” Elizabeth said, “despite the fact he is arrogant beyond belief, he is well-traveled. Perhaps he is the one for you.”

  Isabel gave a derisive sniff. “I loathe the day he dares speak to me. The man clearly has too many faults, like most of the men here. It’s why I, and many other women my age, leave for London. That is where the perfect gentleman resides.”

  They sipped at their wine and continued their observation of the party, and then Elizabeth glanced around before leaning closer to Isabel and whispering, “I am to meet my cousin Diana in the gardens. She has procured a small bottle of whiskey. You should come and join us.”

  Elizabeth bit at her lip. Though the idea of sneaking away and partaking of whiskey, something she had never tasted before, brought on a small amount of excitement, she also knew it was no way for a lady to act. To be caught in such a predicament would ruin her good name and bring about the scorn of her parents, not to
mention that of the ton, neither of which she had any desire to acquire.

  “I’m sorry,” Isabel whispered. “I cannot. There is too much at stake if we are caught.”

  Elizabeth sighed. “I understand; however, I find the greatest risk brings about the greatest pleasure.”

  Isabel gave her friend a smile. Though inwardly she agreed with what Elizabeth said, and for a brief moment even considered following her outside, she pushed the urge aside. For no matter how thrilling the reward, the consequences would be detrimental to her cause. She had to go to London with an untarnished reputation if she was to find a true gentleman.

  “Thank you for the invitation,” she said finally, “but I believe I will stay here. I do hope you have fun, however.”

  Elizabeth laughed. “If that is what you want. And I’m certain I will have fun.,” She waved and then made her way through the crowd to the door that led to the gardens.

  Finishing her glass of wine, Isabel hoped her parents would be wanting to leave soon. At eighteen, Isabel was ready to embark on her next phase in life, but she had no desire to remain here. The fact was the party was boring, and although she did have the one opportunity to find something fun to do, she did not regret her decision to not join Elizabeth and Diana in their drinking. It was not that she felt she was better than everyone else; there were simply actions a lady did not do, and drinking whiskey was one of them.

  Peals of laughter rang out from the group beside her once again, and she stepped closer to hear what was being said. Lord Charmain was still speaking, of course. A handsome man with dark hair and eyes that shone as he told his tales, he always seemed to enjoy the sound of his own voice. She could not help but admit that he wore his coat well, the muscles in his arms well-defined beneath the sleeves as he raised his wineglass to his full lips.

  She shook her head. He could be as handsome as ever, but it did not change what she thought of the man himself.

  “It was when the villagers began to scream that I came running from my hut,” the man was saying, the others around him hanging on to his every word as if what he was saying was of the utmost importance. “Then I saw a sight that brought fear like nothing I had ever encountered in my life.”

  “What did you see?” an older man asked with wide eyes.

  “A young boy, perhaps no older than ten years of age, and not five paces behind him…a tiger!”

  The crowd gasped and Isabel found herself just as drawn into the story as the other listeners. She had to admit that he did have a gift for storytelling.

  “The beast was salivating, and I knew it meant to harm the child. Yet, what can one man do?” Lord Charmain looked up to the ceiling, and Isabel found herself doing the same, as did the others listening. “I approached the beast,” he said in a loud whisper as he tiptoed where he stood as if reenacting what had happened that day.

  “Certainly a death sentence!” a second man said, his voice also low, and others nodded their agreement. “Did you not care for your safety?”

  “A gentleman cares not for his own life when others’ is at stake,” Lord Charmain said as he made a fist and placed it over his heart. “For I have sworn an oath to save anyone from harm, rich or poor, as long as I am able.”

  The others in the group shared in smiles of admiration, and Isabel wondered if she had misjudged the man. Although she had never been to India herself, she had read several books about it, and she knew wild tigers were known to enter villages at times, creating havoc and scaring the residents. This man was showing that he was indeed a gentleman if he put his own safety above that of others.

  “I neared the tiger, its teeth bared. It reared back, and I knew my time had come to an end.”

  Isabel felt her heart race as she listened, as intrigued as the others listening. She would not have been able to turn away if she tried.

  “Then, I took a banana from my bag and held it out as a way to offer peace to the beast.”

  The crowd gasped, but Isabel scrunched her brow. Something bothered her with this story, but she was not sure what it was.

  “The animal sniffed the banana and then took a bite. As he finished off the fruit, purring as he did so, I patted its head as it lay down in the dirt of the village street. Once they saw that the tiger had calmed, the villagers came out of their homes.”

  Isabel shook her head as others complimented the Baron. Their words of admiration about his heroism were misplaced. Feeding a wild animal a banana? Surely that could not be true.

  The Baron raised his hands to quiet the group. “Every day since that fateful day, the tiger comes into the village, and the children feed it fruit. Now, everyone lives in peace. The villagers thanked me and offered me the grandest of homes in the village, but, of course, I refused.”

  As the man continued, Isabel observed how, as more compliments and praise came, the longer the story became. Then she realized that his tale was, in fact, a fable, and these people believed every word of it. However, Isabel knew better.

  Soon, people in the group began to ask questions, and Isabel decided that she would ask one, as well.

  Chapter Two

  Daniel Charmain, Seventh Baron Charmain, had tried to hide his pleasure from the admiring gazes and words of approval from the small crowd, but he had failed. Not only had he smiled, but he had grinned so broadly he felt the corners of his mouth just might meet his ears.

  As his listeners continued to sing praises of his tale, his eyes moved over to a woman he had seen before and knew by name and sight, Miss Isabel St. Clair. If one were to say the woman was beautiful, they would be mistaken, for she was exquisite. From her fiery red hair to her sparkling green eyes, she was truly a marvel and stood out from the other women.

  He had eavesdropped on her conversations in the past and knew of her complaints of no gentleman existing in the town. Apparently she was under the impression that such men only lived in London and nowhere else. He should have been offended that she did not consider him a gentleman, but he could not, for her smile as she soaked in every word of his tale was more intoxicating than the port being served. The more she smiled, not to mention his own ego at how the others listening praised him, the more he elaborated his story. Only slightly, of course.

  Oh, very well. He had concocted the entire tale, and it was because of the smile of the beautiful woman listening as much as the praises he received from the others. What harm could such a tale do?

  Miss St. Clair’s emerald eyes twinkled and a small smile played on her lips as the Marquess of Bottington asked, “Why did you not take up residence in the house they offered? Surely it was worth some great sum.” The man still wore the powdered wig of the older generation, and his coat, though finely crafted, would have been better placed in the previous decade. However, the Marquess was well-known for his dogged aversion to change, and how he dressed himself only proved the rumors to be true. Despite his unwavering lifestyle, he continued to have a solid hold on the inner workings of Eaton, and his opinion had great weight in many town decisions.

  “Excellent question, my friend,” Daniel replied. “And one that warrants an explanation.” He could not help but glance over at the green-eyed beauty once more before answering. He avoided the urge to wink at her, though it was difficult. “I must admit that I did not deny their offer immediately, for I spent some time thinking on the matter first. It came down to a single rationale: if every gentleman receives great rewards, such as a home as one example, for every noble deed we do, there would be no homes for anyone in which to live.”

  Everyone laughed again, and then another question was asked. Finding answers that would satisfy the questioner was not an easy task when a tale was contrived, but it was great fun regardless, for he had a grand imagination and never ran out of ideas.

  “I am curious about the tiger.”

  Daniel smiled, for this question came from Miss St. Clair. Her voice was that of an angel, sweet notes of a song. He could listen to her speak for hours—no, days!


  “Tigers are known to eat meat,” she said in that angelic voice. “Yet, now this one lives on fruit?”

  “That is correct,” Daniel replied, though his heart skipped a beat as the words tumbled from his lips before thinking. “Every day it enters the village and the children feed it.”

  Her smile widened, though he realized that she was no longer amused. Perhaps there was a hint of suspicion in her eyes now. “How can such a beast survive only on fruit?” she asked. “Let us assume that it is true that a tiger will eat bananas. Surely it must take large amounts of fruit to keep it well-fed. How do the villagers manage to not only produce, but also maintain, such large quantities?”

  The group went quiet, and Daniel saw doubt in their eyes. His gaze went back to Miss St. Clair, who gazed at him with expectation. Somehow, Daniel found himself swallowing hard. What if she outed him? Would anyone believe any of his wild stories again.

  Then a thought came to mind.

  “Have you had the pleasure of visiting India?” he asked. He found himself holding his breath. If she had, he might have to change his tactics, yet something told him the chances were favorable that she had rarely left Eaton.

  The onlookers turned toward Miss St. Clair, who replied, “No, I have not. However, I have read books…”

  He heaved a sigh of relief as he cut her off. It was just as he suspected, thank the heavens. “I have read books on giant men and flying beasts, and yet that does not mean what I read was true.” This brought on a bout of laughter from those around them. “Most books will give a general overview of such lands and its beasts. However, to your question, the villagers produce fruit that is at least thrice the size of what is sent here.” She went to speak, but he stopped her once again. “Of course, you can take my word for it or consult another book. Perhaps you or anyone else here would like to journey with me when my ship sets sail to return there next week?