Page 8 of Lady Farah Creates a Scandal (The Season of Secrets #2)

F arah really believed that they would get away with this charade unscathed.

But then she was the little mouse who lived a life in a safe circle of close friends.

But now she’d stepped outside of her circle and it was taking her a while to catch up.

He suspected her friendship with Ashley made her think any scandal could be overcome.

He couldn’t think of anyone in Ireland who’d met Ashley, so it just might work.

Perhaps he should play along. If they came back with Lucien, then perhaps the ton wouldn’t realize it wasn’t Ashley with him, but Farah. The excitement and shock at Lucien’s return might make the confusion work.

“That is a good idea, posing as my sister while we are in Ireland.” It would be less complicated.

However, would his body listen to that advice?

The saucy notes she’d left him, and her proximity made it very difficult for him to think of her with brotherly concern.

He remembered the feel of her body when he’d carried her and the urge to reach across the table and scare away the na?ve trust in her eyes, saw him pick up his teacup once more.

“I’ll signal another ship near Portsmouth and ask them to take a missive to Wolf.

We’ll ask if he can stop your brother returning early to London and spin a story that will keep your scandal from surfacing.

Of course, we’re assuming I find Lucien and quickly.

If not, you may have no choice but to wed me. ”

She looked at him as if that outcome would be the end of her world. And didn’t that just sting.

*

The weather thankfully held, and after a brief stop to hand a note to another ship, they reached Dublin harbor within three days. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm orange glow over the calm waters of the Irish Sea, Farah stood on the deck, watching the coastline get ever closer.

Soon she could make out the quayside. A crowd had gathered, their faces aglow with anticipation and curiosity. Fishermen, merchants, and dockworkers alike paused in their tasks to glimpse the approaching ship, their voices mingling with the distant cries of seagulls overhead.

The sound of creaking wood and taut ropes filled the air as the ship drew nearer, its hull slicing through the water with graceful precision. The rhythmic thud of footsteps echoed along the wooden planks of the deck, accompanied by the occasional shout of orders from the crew.

As the ship eased into its berth, a chorus of cheers erupted from the onlookers, their excitement palpable. Men hastily secured the mooring lines while others scurried to unload cargo from the hold, their movements a synchronized dance of efficiency.

From the ship’s deck, the scent of salt air mingled with the tantalizing aroma of spices and exotic goods, hinting at the treasures brought from distant lands.

She watched as the ship next to theirs was offloading barrels of rum and crates of silk carefully hoisted onto the docks, their contents destined to fill the coffers of eager merchants.

Farah twirled on the spot with her arms in the air while men ran round her finishing the docking and readying to unload. She was free. Free of her brother’s overview and free of society’s demands. But only for a short while. Only until they sailed back to England.

She couldn’t wait to disembark. The first stop would be to procure clothes. She needed other items too. Plus, she really needed a bath. A long hot soak in a tub.

Rockwell appeared at her side. He was still angry about the situation she’d put him in because he’d hardly spent any time with her. He worked up on deck most of the days and stayed in his cabin at night. She’d spent most of her days and nights in the stateroom, reading.

“I’ve organized to have our things sent to the Twin Heads Inn. I’ve taken private apartments so remember you are now Lady Ashley Ware when we are in public.”

She swiped the wisp of hair from her eyes.

“I know what part I must play. I swear I won’t do anything to make our situation worse, or to trap you into a marriage you don’t want.

I know what your freedom means to you. You’ve traveled most of your life, visited places I can only dream of and would be too scared to visit.

All the ladies know you’re not husband material because we would sit at home alone.

Do you think I want to tie myself to a man like that? ”

He looked down his nose at her. “But I’m a better option than Lord Franklin? Is that it?”

She looked away at the bustling dock. It seemed a bit more frightening now that night was falling.

“My plan wasn’t supposed to go this far.

You weren’t supposed to be trapped into marrying me.

I just needed you to help me fall from grace enough to send Franklin fleeing.

So, can you try to forgive me?” With that, she stalked off toward the gangplank that was being lowered.

At least he was still talking to her. She could understand his anger.

He didn’t want to marry her. He’d already told her that at the ball the other night.

Still, she was sure she could sort the situation out once they returned home.

And she needed to get home as soon as possible.

She had better work out a way she could help ascertain, one way or the other, whether Lord Furoe was alive and find out why he hadn’t returned to England.

The first place she’d check was with the doctors who’d helped the wounded that night.

Surely someone would remember finding him.

Furoe was a very handsome man. Lucien was at least six foot three, tall, and broad shouldered.

He would be hard to forget. He had black hair with the greenest of eyes. Most women never forgot his face.

There was an idea…

She stood tall at the head of the gangplank, waiting for Rockwell to escort her to the waiting carriage he’d organized. Her body trembled as he stepped close behind her. “After you,” he said.

*

The coaching inn was lovely, clean and tidy and seemed to have a certain upper-class clientele.

“Good evening, I’m Mrs. O’Donnell. I own this establishment.

Welcome, Lady Ashley and Lord Ware. I have your rooms ready and will have some food delivered shortly to your private sitting room after you have freshened up. ”

She removed her hat and gloves and said, “That’s perfect, thank you. While we are eating, could you organize a bath to be placed in my room and one in my brother’s room? It’s been a long trip.”

Mrs. O’Donnell beamed at Rockwell. “Of course. I’ll get it organized at once. By the time you’ve eaten, the baths should be ready.”

“Oh, and could you arrange to have my gown cleaned and pressed? I have nothing else to wear. The men dropped my trunk into the sea, so it seems I’ll be needing a whole new wardrobe.”

“I’ll send word to Mrs. Clearbrook, an excellent seamstress. She can help with your clothes.”

Mrs. O’Donnell closed the door of the private dining room and left them alone.

Farah wandered around and saw that both bedchambers led off this private living room of sorts.

She watched as Mrs. O’Donnell’s son put Rockwell’s things in one room, leaving the other for her.

She’d be quite safe at night. Someone would have to get through the private living area to reach her bedchamber.

And she knew that Rockwell would ensure the door into their private quarters was locked.

Rockwell held a chair out for her, and she sat. Still standing, he poured her a sherry before taking his seat.

“I’ll organize with the local dressmaker to set up an account for you. I assume you’ll need more than a few outfits. Once it’s become known we’re here, we might be invited to social events.”

“How lovely.”

“I just pray there is no one in attendance who knows Ashley.” He grimaced. “I don’t want you wandering Dublin without me by your side. The English are still not very popular here, and a high-born lady could be a target for kidnapping and the likes.”

Farah didn’t want to think what “the likes” might be.

“Then you’ll have to escort me to the dressmakers in the morning.

” He looked even more stern. She ignored his stare.

“Then I thought we should talk to the local doctors. Lord Furoe is not a man easy to forget. Surely someone must remember if they treated him or buried him.”

Rockwell stopped eating, a piece of bread dipped in stew halfway to his mouth.

“I have already talked with as many doctors as I could find. No one remembered him. In fact, I talked to the local saddlers, blacksmiths and taverns…and got nothing. However, I have a lead. I’m going to visit a grain merchant.

He deals with all the local farmers. I thought maybe someone had taken him out of Dublin.

“And have you talked to the women?” At his quizzical look, she added, “I suspect women would not forget a man like Lord Furoe.”

“How so?”

“Don’t be obtuse. He’s as handsome as sin. Surely, the ladies of society who mixed with the officers would remember him. If he were still alive, and roamed the Dublin streets, it would be a woman who remembered seeing him.”

Rockwell laughed. “I would never have thought of that. But you’re right. I’ve been looking in all the wrong places. We need to check the brothels. Perhaps those near where the grain merchant is situated.”

Farah dropped her fork. “No. Wrong again. Lord Furoe was madly in love with Lady Courtney. He would never do—use—prostitutes.” Lucien wouldn’t disrespect Courtney ever.

She’d envied what the couple had shared.

They were so in love and so happy. Then she’d watched Courtney fall apart when Lucian had been killed, and for a moment, she’d thought how lucky she was never to have to go through that kind of pain.