Page 2 of The Baroness of Sin
“Papa, did you hear me?”
The Earl of Barristen, James Williams, looked up from the paperwork he had lost himself in to see the pouting face of ten-year-old Amanda Williams, his daughter.
“I’m sorry, dear one.” He smiled sheepishly. “I was distracted.”
“You said that you wouldn’t work while we were playing,” Amanda said while stamping her foot.
“Now, Lady Amanda, remember that your father works very hard and has a very important job.” Amanda’s governess, Sarah Blake, spoke up from the corner of the room where she stood. James always found that the governess was more than noteworthy in appearance. Tall with black hair and dark piercing eyes, she made a striking figure, and, admittedly, it gave James second thoughts about hiring her on to take care of his daughter. But she had proven to be a more than a capable choice.
“It’s quite all right, Miss Blake,” James reassured the governess. “Fathers should keep their promises, after all,” he said, turning to address his daughter.
The little girl acknowledged this lapse in parental decorum with a nod and a hum, then, forgiving and changing the subject as quickly as only children can, asked, “Papa, what happened to mommy?”
The question struck James like a physical blow. Each time he thought that the next time the subject of his wife was brought up he would be more prepared, but that was never the case. Leave it to a child's social naivety to disarm even the most stoic of gentlemen.
“Do you not recall from the last time I told you?” James asked. He tried to keep his tone light and playful, not wanting to deter his daughter from asking about her own mother, but his words sounded hollow on his dry lips.
“I remember,” Amanda told him, almost hesitantly. “There are just some things I don’t remember about mommy, since I was so little, and I don’t want to forget what you told me.” She looked thoughtful before adding, “Like the things I forgot from when I was a baby. I don’t remember any of that.”
The Earl took a deep breath before recounting the tale. It was a carefully crafted version of events that was honest but told in such a way to spare his daughter the more dire and painful aspects of that night, perhaps to protect himself a bit as well.
“I was traveling back from Boulogne, and you and your mother had come with me in order to see the coast. She always loved the sea. We had returned to England and were staying in an inn called the Salt and Spray, just a small distance from the port. Late that night, there was a fire. No one was able to determine how it started, but it started on the second floor while I was in the common room reading over some business papers.” The Earl took another deep shuddering breath before he could continue.
“I ran upstairs to the room to try and get to you and your mother. The fire had spread in front of the door to our room. Your mother handed you to me; you were so small I could carry you in one arm. When I took your mother’s hand to pull her from the room, a burning ceiling beam fell on my…” James looked down at the light burn scars that traced his right hand and disappeared into his sleeve. “Fell in my way. I didn’t want to leave your mother, but we both knew that I had to get you to safety. By the time I got you outside, the fire had consumed the entire top of the inn. I couldn’t go back in to get her,” James looked at his daughter, “and while that makes me very sad, I was glad that I could save you.”
Amanda sniffled as she usually did when she heard the story. “I am sad too, Papa. Not too sad though,” she said and brightened up a little.
“Oh?” James asked with genuine curiosity, “and why is that?”
“My friend Posey says that when her Mommy died when she was little, she got a new one. That means we can have a new mommy, right Papa?” Amanda asked her father with a sniffling smile.
Lord Barristen struggled to maintain a weak smile. “I’m afraid it isn’t all as simple as that,” he told his daughter, not dismissively but honestly.
Unfortunately, no matter how gently bad news is delivered, some children still struggle to understand. Big wet tears were streaming down young Amanda's face now as she wept for the loss of a mother she could only barely remember, not that James could blame her.
As her wails of sadness became louder and more distressed, James swept his adolescent child up into his arms, cuddling her like he did when she was much younger. James was able to do this with surprising ease, speaking both to his strength and gentle fatherly concern.
“I’m so sorry, dear one. Maybe someday we will be able to find you a nice mother,” he promised, this time knowingly lying to his daughter. The guilt panged lightly in his chest. James knew that the chance of him wanting to marry again, to risk his heart in that way again, was very unlikely. But not impossible, he told himself mostly to assuage his guilt.
No, not impossible.
Chapter Three
Martha knew the speed at which she was able to arrange the ball must have really surprised Emma, because it surprised her, and she was the one doing it. Honestly, she had forgotten how much she enjoyed organizing events such as this. Her husband had become quite efficient at removing the joy from everything in her life, so she had forgotten the things that she really did like. The reminder was nice.
Martha had gotten hung up a bit on trying to find a theme for the event. She had nothing to celebrate, nothing tactful anyway, and most major public events or holidays had passed or had already been planned within the ton. Stepping on toes was the last thing that Martha wanted right now. Settling on no theme at all felt off at first, but the more she thought about it, the more appropriate it seemed. It seemed best to let the ball be about feeling, about freedom in general, rather than any specific idea.
Still, no theme was hard to plan around, so she decided she wanted to celebrate the return of color to her life by using as much as possible for the party. She instructed the decorators and the staff to use as much color as they could. “Nothing too garish, of course,” she clarified, “but I want it to feel like a springtime rainbow. Really colorful, really cheery.”
Not only did the staff do a superb job of helping her plan and decorate, but they also went the extra mile to work the colorful theme into their own attire. Martha was delighted, even if she didn’t understand why.
“Many of the staff were unhappy seeing you look so down, My Lady,” Letty informed her. “I know I am new, but it seems to me that many people here have known My Lady for a very long time.”
That had not even occurred to Martha, but she knew it was true. Much of the house staff had been around for a long time and probably remembered her from when she was younger. It warmed her to know so many of them cared.
The invitations were what most worried Emma. While Martha had managed to convince herself to be unconcerned with what the gossips of the ton would say about the timing of this ball, her sister was more than worried enough for the two of them. Martha and Emma had gone through no less than a dozen drafts before the wording was agreed upon. One thing that made Emma particularly uncomfortable, but Martha insisted stay in the invite, was the encouragement for colorful attire in order to “stay in the theme” for the grand ball.
“Ladies and gentlemen will think you aren’t taking their time seriously,” Emma cautioned her sister.
