Page 12 of Lady Farah Creates a Scandal (The Season of Secrets #2)

“N ormally, I’d love to accept, Maeve, but I’ve left my sister, Ashley, at the dressmaker’s around the corner and I must get back.

I promised her a trip and she was most keen to also try and locate our friend.

The man I’m looking for is her best friend’s fiancé.

May I hold your wonderful offer until another day? ”

She hid her disappointment well and exclaimed, “My club is always open to you. Come and visit me when you don’t have your sister in tow.”

He kissed her cheek. “I most definitely will do that. Thank you.” He skipped down the stairs and didn’t even care that it was now torrential rain.

He had a lead that matched with what the grain merchant had told him.

He needed to get to Malahide as soon as possible.

The sooner he found Lucien, the sooner he could get back to London and try to avert a possible scandal.

But a part of him wondered if it wouldn’t be the end of the world if he had to marry Farah.

*

In the elegant parlor of Orla’s dressmaking establishment, Farah sat perched on a cushioned chair, her fair hair cascading in loose waves around her shoulders.

Orla, a seasoned dressmaker with a keen eye for fashion, bustled about the room, pulling out bolts of fabric in an array of colors and textures.

Farah was having fun. Mrs. Ahearn—Fiona—was so obvious in her need to learn all about her “brother.” Talk about infatuation. Mrs. Ahearn almost hero-worshipped Rockwell. It wasn’t every day a young lady got to spend time with a man’s paramour.

“Your coloring is nothing like your brother’s,” the woman said as they poured over some fabrics.

“I take after my mother. The rest of my family are dark haired. I like light blues and greens,” she suggested to Orla.

“How many gowns will you require?” Orla, the dressmaker, said.

Remembering what Rockwell had said—another lie—she said, “My trunk went overboard, so I have nothing. I really need about three dresses for everyday wear and two that I could use if going out on a social occasion. And I’ll need undergarments too.

Plus a night robe—a warm one. The nights are cold here. ”

Right now, all she had was the gown she wore when she’d been locked in the trunk.

“When will you require the gowns?”

She hesitated. They would travel north in a few days. “As soon as possible, I’m afraid. Perhaps you could add a warmer cape, with some muffs if you have them. I didn’t realize it would get so cold at this time of year.”

“When the storm fronts come through, the temperature drops. It should be warm again in a few days.”

There was no way she was letting Rockwell leave her behind.

She could just picture him thinking she could stay with Mrs. Ahearn, but that would not happen.

She wasn’t about to be pawned off on his ex-mistress, even if the woman was entertaining.

“Could I have them all within two days? Rockwell will pay whatever is needed to make it happen.” He had said he would pay, and Rockwell had plenty of money.

“I can do that. But we need to get on and choose fabrics and then take the measurements,” Orla said.

Then she walked over to the other side of the room. “And Lady Ashley, my dear, I have just the thing for your gowns,” Orla declared, her voice brimming with excitement as she presented a selection of fabrics before her client.

Farah leaned forward, her green eyes alight with interest as she examined the offerings. It was quite odd to be playing the role of Rockwell’s sister. “What do you suggest, Mrs. Ahearn? I want something that will complement my complexion and flatter my figure.”

Mrs. Ahearn nodded thoughtfully, her fingers deftly unfurling the delicate folds of fabric. “For your fair complexion, I recommend soft-pastel shades that will bring out the rosy undertones in your skin. Perhaps a blush pink or a pale lavender?”

Farah’s lips curved into a smile of approval. “I do adore pastels. They lend such a delicate charm to any ensemble.”

“Indeed, my lady,” Mrs. Ahearn agreed, her eyes twinkling with enthusiasm. “And for the fabric, I would suggest a lightweight silk or muslin, something that will drape gracefully and move with your every step.”

She looked at Orla for confirmation. Farah nodded in agreement, her mind already envisioning the finished gowns. “That sounds perfect, Mrs. Ahearn. But I would also like to incorporate a touch of richness into some of the designs. Perhaps a deep emerald green or a regal sapphire blue?”

Orla’s smile widened at the suggestion. “Ah, a pop of jewel tones to add contrast and sophistication. An excellent choice, my lady.”

As they continued to discuss colors and fabrics, Farah and Mrs. Ahearn worked together to curate a stunning selection of gowns that would not only showcase her beauty but also capture the notice of a man.

This was the first time she’d created a wardrobe just for her, not worrying what her brother would think.

It was so very liberating. So why then did Rockwell’s face swarm into view.

It infuriated Farah that she wanted Rockwell to notice.

But she couldn’t compete with a woman of Fiona’s beauty and experience.

With each bolt of fabric chosen and every detail meticulously planned, Farah’s anticipation grew, knowing that the gowns would soon come to life in Orla’s expert hands. Dublin wasn’t nearly as backward as she thought. These were very rich French fabrics.

Mrs. Ahearn picked up on her thoughts. “The French and Irish trade freely. The Irish are more aligned with France than England. It’s wise to remember that if you are out and about by yourself. The English are not well liked here.”

“Have there been other uprisings since the one in 1803?” she asked. Orla’s head popped up. “My best friend lost her fiancé in the uprising,” she added.

“Is that why Rockwell—Lord Ware is back? He’s still looking for this friend?

” Fiona asked. “I told him that no Englishman wounded in the uprising, who was captured by the Irish rebels, would still be alive.” She sighed.

“I admire his loyalty, but it’s a waste of his time.

” She gave a saucy smile. “I can think of other ways to amuse your brother.”

“He is quite focused on his task. We only came back to search for our friend.”

Fiona sighed. “I knew he was not looking for anything other than amusements when he was last here. Lord Ware is a wanderer. A restless soul. I pity any woman who marries him, for his heart desires only adventure.” She winked at Farah. “But a woman can enjoy him while she can.”

Farah tried to hide her shock. “My brother does like to travel. But I’m sure the lure of hearth and family will soon catch up with him as he gets older and realizes there is more to life than sailing around the world by himself.”

“Perhaps. Although I got the impression that since he lost his fiancée all those years ago, he’s quite reluctant to let his heart engage.”

Farah almost tripped over the trail of fabric she was holding. “I beg your pardon. What fiancée?”

Fiona’s face colored, and she cursed under her breath. “Oh, no. He said no one in his family knew the story. But he let slip Charlotte’s name one night in—that is—I asked him who Charlotte was. He didn’t want to tell me, but I persisted and he told me the story.”

“What story? Who is Charlotte?”

“She is no one of consequence,” a deep voice said from behind her.

Rockwell. “You’re back early,” she said gaily, trying to hide the fact they’d been talking about him. “I’ve selected the material, but they need to do my measurements yet. Why don’t you come back in half an hour?”

He looked at Fiona, who seemed to have shrunk under his gaze. “That’s all right. I’ll wait. Then he sat on the chair near the window.

Orla looked at the two women. She clicked her fingers. “Refreshments for Lord Ware. Come, Lady Ashley. Behind the screen you go and we will get your measurements and soon have your garments in hand.”

Fiona gathered her things. “And I must dash. Orla, can you deliver my gown by Friday? I’m happy to wait longer if Lady Ashley’s order needs to take priority.”

“Of course, Mrs. Ahearn.”

“Oh, that’s too kind,” Farah added.

“Then I bid you good day.” Mrs. Ahearn hugged Farah. “I wish you luck on your hunt. But remember what I said.” Then she whispered in Farah’s ear. “Your brother may need a shoulder to cry on when he realizes his friend is dead.”

Before Fiona left, Farah called, “Oh, but you will dine with us tonight?”

Fiona looked at Rockwell’s face and shook her head. “Another time perhaps.”

Farah bit her lip as she looked into Rockwell’s stony eyes. He was angry. Really angry. He didn’t like that she had learned about his fiancée. What did that mean? Who was she? Where had they met? Did his heart still belong to her?

Most of all, it made her think Rockwell knew how to love. It was likely the problem was that he didn’t want to.

Rockwell didn’t utter a word while her measurements were taken, and the tension in the room could be cut with a sword. Even when she was ready to leave, he still said nothing. The rain had stopped, but a blustery, cold wind blew as they hailed the hackney.

She settled into the carriage and couldn’t bear the silence. “Did you find out anything important?”

He turned to stare at her. “You will never bring up the name Charlotte in my hearing or mention her name to any of my friends and family. Is that clear?”

She swallowed. “If that is your wish, then I promise.”

He merely nodded and then he carried on talking as if nothing strange had occurred.

“I think we have a valid lead. The gentleman’s club revealed they think a man who looked a lot like Lucien left with a young lady named Ava who worked at the brothel.

They went to her village, a place called Malahide. ”

She leaned forward, and a smile broke over her face. “But that’s the same village the grain merchant spoke about.” She clapped her hands in glee. “We are close. I can feel it. When do we leave?”

She looked so beautiful in her excitement. But he’d been shocked to hear the questions about his fiancée cross her lips. Charlotte was his ghost, his pain, and not one he wished to share. He didn’t want anyone to know.

Trust Farah to uncover his darkest secrets.

She was worming her way into his life and he couldn’t stop her.

It was as if she were peeling back all his layers and he didn’t like it.

He didn’t want to let a woman into his life again.

He was better off as a loner. A man with a woman in every port. He ran his hand over his face.

He didn’t want to take her to Malahide, but he couldn’t leave her here. What more would Fiona tell her? “If it doesn’t rain overnight, we’ll leave soon.”

“I guess I’ll be fine with what I have on for a few days in a small village. I won’t need anything expensive in Malahide. And my new clothes will be waiting when I return—with Lucien.”

He sighed. “Has it never occurred to you that if Lucien is living with this woman in Malahide, he may not wish to return with us? He has lived here for over five years, letting no one know that he’s even alive. He must have a good reason.”

The light in Farah’s eyes dimmed. She slumped back against the squab. “There must be a reason. I won’t think ill of him. Courtney has been pining for him all this time. Surely she couldn’t have been so wrong about the depth of his affections.”

Rockwell would have said his friend would never have hurt Lady Courtney.

If he said he loved her, he did. But now, he doubted everything he knew about his friend.

Why hadn’t he returned to England? A part of him thought that he just might punch him if he found Furoe alive.

Lucien had let him think he was dead. Dead! For five years.

“If we find him tomorrow, we’ll have our answers.”

When they arrived at the inn, he helped her out. “You go up to our suite. I’ll organize the carriage hire and whatever else we need for tomorrow.”

She bit her lip and he wanted to kiss her so much it was like a constant ache deep in his balls. What was it about this pixie woman that stirred him so?

She finally said, “I’m sorry if what Fiona told me was a secret, but I didn’t purposely—”

“Yes, you did. You wanted to learn more about me.” Then he got back into the hackney.

The wind was buffeting her tiny frame so much, she was almost swept off her feet.

“You can’t hold that against me. If things go wrong, we may end up married.

That’s scary. While I know you, I don’t really know you.

Can you understand? You’ve always just been my best friend’s older brother.

Not an actual flesh and blood man.” She stamped her foot. “I’m not explaining this properly.”

He leaned out the window and cupped her cheek. “I understand. But if we must marry, my life before our marriage is just that—my life.” Then he drew in a deep breath as the pain flashed in her eyes. As the carriage drew away, he thought the wind carried to his ears, “True love has no secrets.”

That was what he was afraid of. She wanted more than he could ever give. If they couldn’t sneak home and avoid a scandal, he was going to hurt her.

And he hated that.