Page 2 of Lady of Charade
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 theHercules. I booked it long in advance as I am unsure how long this letter will take to reach you. You have until June 1st 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, from 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 and 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 theHerculesfollowing a quick but wearying journey, looking back at the land that had become her home, Sarah wondered whether she would ever see it again.
CHAPTER1
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.”
