The Baron Finds Happiness (Fairy Tales Across Time Book 3) Read online

  The Baron Finds Happiness

  Bess McBride

  The Baron Finds Happiness

  Copyright 2018 Bess McBride

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to the publisher and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  Cover art by Tara West

  Contact information: [email protected]

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  For my editor, Dori, who never fails me though I fail her...often! For Melanie, my faithful beta reader.

  And for lovers of Regency stories and fairy tales everywhere.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Foreword

  Chapter One

  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

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Books by Bess McBride

  Foreword

  Thank you for purchasing The Baron Finds Happiness. Third in a series of fairy-tale time travel romances called Fairy Tales Across Time, The Baron Finds Happiness is set in England’s Regency era. And as always, I enjoy paying homage to my ancestors, —yes, I have a great-great-greatish aunt named Clara Bell.

  Here’s a bit about the story.

  What’s a fairy godmother to do when she has too much time on her hands? She must meddle in the affairs of others, of course! So begins the third tale in Hickstrom’s Book of Fairy Tales.

  Clara Bell cleans houses for a living. She’s grounded, down to earth and not a particular fan of anything historical. Nor is she interested in marriage. While cleaning a vacant house one day, she finds a fascinating old book of fairy tales, the only item in the house not nailed down. She has no idea when she starts reading a story in the book that it will transport her back in time to a land far, far away...to Regency England.

  Roger Phelps is perfectly content to manage the estate at Alvord Castle as his father did before him. He has no plans for marriage—in fact does not wish to wed...ever.

  Fairy godmother Hickstrom has plans for the estate manager, and his wishes are no concern of hers!

  Thank you for your support over the years, friends and readers. Because of your favorable comments, I continue to strive to write the best stories I can. More romances are on the way!

  You know I always enjoy hearing from you, so please feel free to contact me at [email protected] or through my website at http://www.bessmcbride.com.

  Many of you know I also write a series of short cozy mysteries under the pen name of Minnie Crockwell. Feel free to stop by my website and learn more about the series.

  Thanks for reading!

  Bess

  Chapter One

  A very long time ago in a land far, far away there lived a fairy godmother. This isn’t her story.

  Over Two Hundred Years Ago, England

  Roger Phelps, estate agent at Alvord Castle, closed the door of his small gatekeeper’s lodge behind him. On the verge of setting out down the lane toward the castle, a rare ray of sunshine caught his eye, and he looked up. Sunlight sparkled through the oak trees, and he closed his eyes, allowing the warmth to caress his face. The gentle caress of a female?

  The sensation, so foreign to him, took his breath away for a moment, and he forced himself to draw in air. He touched his clean-shaven face with one hand. The skin was indeed warm though he had been chilled only moments before.

  Roger opened his eyes again but blinked against the sunlight. He shook off the foolish notion that he had been touched by the warm palm of a woman. A confirmed bachelor, he had eschewed such intimacies. That was not to say that he did not enjoy the company of females. He delighted in the friendship of the Earl of St. John’s wife, Lady Mary, and Viscount Halwell’s wife, Lady Rachel.

  But neither good lady caressed his face as the sun now did. Certainly not! Roger touched them no more than was necessary to escort them into the dining room or on a walk across the castle grounds.

  He sighed heavily and descended the stone steps of the gatehouse, setting out down the lane at a brisk pace.

  No, he certainly did not take liberties with either lady. Not only were they both happily wed, they were far above his station. Far. Though Roger enjoyed a familiarity with the earl based on their childhood friendship, he never forgot that he was a commoner. The son and grandson of estate agents, he had been privileged to call the present earl his friend, had been educated with him and had played with him as a child, but Roger knew his place. If he ever forgot it, the Earl of St. John would no doubt remind him.

  Roger surveyed the surrounding parkland as he walked. A fine morning, he felt quite content. He returned his attention to the lane...and stopped short. The castle rose before him, always an impressive sight. But it was not the usual view of the fanciful building that arrested his forward progress.

  There in the lane, as if awaiting him, stood Miss Hermione Hickstrom. Attired in a gown of brilliant ruby satin from a bygone era, she beckoned that he should approach.

  The appearance of Miss Hickstrom never boded well. Roger quickly cast his mind over the people whose lives she had altered beyond measure, albeit ultimately to their great advantage. Still, her methods were cruel. He did not forget that she had essentially imprisoned St. John in his castle for two years on some preposterous supposition that he must admit he desired love.

  Roger forced his feet to move toward Miss Hickstrom. He had not seen her in a year, and had thought she was finished with her matchmaking schemes. His innate good manners dictated that he pause before her and bow. Upon straightening, he was struck once again by the odd blue coloring of her hair, tucked up beneath the rather ornate black-and-red beribboned confection serving as a hat.

  “Why, if it isn’t Mr. Roger Phelps,” the lady purred.

  “Miss Hickstrom. I did not hear you pass through the gate. Did you come by carriage? Surely you did not walk from...”

  Roger lifted an eyebrow in inquiry, uncertain w
here the lady was at present housed. She had vanished from the area some months before, following her surprisingly successful attempts to match Viscount Halwell to Miss Rachel Lee. Roger swallowed against a lump in his throat, reminding himself that he was a commoner. Though, if truth were told, Miss Lee had been a commoner as well. Still, what was done was done, and he remained confirmed in his bachelorhood.

  “Mr. Roger Phelps,” she said in a chiding tone. “Do you, of all people, truly ask me how I arrived and where I stay? You, who have witnessed my comings and goings? Who have seen my...particular gifts?”

  Roger drew in a sharp breath.

  “Miss Hickstrom, I have no notion of which you speak,” he protested.

  “Of course you do,” the short-statured lady said. “Do not prevaricate with me.”

  “I would not presume such impertinence,” Roger said. “Do you come to visit Lord and Lady St. John? May I escort you to the castle?” He could do nothing but extend his arm.

  To his surprise, Miss Hickstrom shook her head, tendrils of blue hair floating about her face.

  “No, it is you whom I have come to see.”

  Roger took a step back. “Me?” he asked, hearing the incredulity echoed in his voice. “Me?” he repeated foolishly.

  “Roger,” Miss Hickstrom murmured, as one might if soothing a child. “Do not be afraid.”

  “Madam, what have I to fear? I am not afraid. I do not know to what you refer.”

  “Why, I refer to your notion that you are a confirmed bachelor.”

  Roger took another step back, raising a hand as if to prevent the lady’s next words.

  “No, Miss Hickstrom. No. No. Absolutely not. No!”

  “Methinks you do protest far too much, my dear boy.”

  Her twinkling blue eyes danced with mirth, laughter he could not share.

  “Ah! I see you jest with me,” he said with hope. She was correct. He had seen her “particular gifts,” and he feared her mysterious powers. He had hoped never to see her turn her attention toward him.

  “Nonsense, Mr. Phelps. Of course, I cannot allow you to waste your life.”

  Despite the warmth of the sun, Roger felt as if a cold hand seized his throat, strangling him.

  “No, Miss Hickstrom. I cannot be one of your schemes. I am a commoner. I am no earl, no viscount. There is no need for me to marry. I have nothing to pass on. No need for heirs. No need to marry,” he repeated again.

  Miss Hickstrom tilted her head, and he wondered if she might topple over from the weight of her hat. She placed a finger to her painted lips and tapped as if in deep thought.

  “No, that is correct. You are not well placed, that is true. You can offer a wife an adequately comfortable home, but if a potential bride has at present a comfortable home, what incentive would she have to seek you out?”

  “Seek me out?” he gasped. “No, no, no! Miss Hickstrom. No. Yes. You are correct. I have nothing. I can offer nothing. I am determined to remain unwed.”

  Miss Hickstrom quirked an eyebrow.

  “My dear Mr. Phelps. If only you knew me well, you would have known not to offer me a challenge. I find your firm commitment to bachelorhood most inspiring—”

  “Yes! Exactly!” Roger interrupted, his voice strident even to his own ears. “I am firm in this.”

  “I did not finish my sentence. I find your firm commitment to bachelorhood most inspiring as a challenge.”

  The cold hand around Roger’s throat squeezed more forcefully.

  “Miss Hickstrom, I was not completely truthful with you. I am fully aware of your powers. Please do not turn them upon me. I am not worthy of your time or effort. I am but a simple estate agent with no prospects. Surely there are other, more needy lonely hearts that deserve your attention?”

  “Other lonely hearts, Mr. Phelps? Is that an admission that you are lonely?”

  Roger forced himself to stand his ground...literally and figuratively.

  “Did I imply such? Forgive me for misstating the situation. I am not lonely. I am perfectly content.”

  “I can see that you think you are content, Mr. Phelps, but—”

  Again, Roger interrupted, shocking even himself.

  “But I am content. Perfectly happy. I enjoy my life. I do not wish to be married, Miss Hickstrom!”

  “Yes, yes, dear boy, you may attest to your happiness all that you wish, but I am not happy with your situation, and so it must change. You have presented me with a problem for which I must devise a solution.”

  “No,” he moaned. “No, please do not do this to me.”

  “Mr. Phelps,” she remonstrated, again as if to a child. “I am doing nothing to you that is not for your own good.”

  “As you did to the earl? Trapping him on his estate for two years?” Roger heard the bitterness in his voice. He had never spoken so frankly to the interfering godmother, had never thought to do so. It was not...had not been his place.

  “Forgive me,” he said quickly. “I forget my place.”

  “Not at all,” Miss Hickstrom said with a wide smile. The sparkle in her blue eyes suggested she understood his ire but was untroubled by it. “St. John is your friend, and you watched him suffer far longer than was necessary...due to his own stubbornness, of course.”

  “Of course,” Roger ground out between clenched teeth.

  “Let us hope that such harsh measures will not be required in your situation.”

  Roger stared at the cheerful lady before lifting a hand to his cravat as if to pull at the hand clenched about his throat. He found himself bereft of words, unable to beg the lady any further.

  “I must hurry away now to scheme and plot, but the year’s end shall see you happily wed, dear boy. Mark my words.”

  With that, Miss Hickstrom vanished. She did not walk away. She simply vanished.

  Roger’s knees buckled, and he bent double to catch his breath. He had never thought to leave Alvord Castle, had planned to live at the gatekeeper’s lodge for the entirety of his life, but that could no longer be. He had to make good his escape from the fairy godmother’s clutches. He simply had to.

  Chapter Two

  Present Day, America

  Clara Bell sang softly while she mopped the kitchen floor. A quick glance at her watch showed that she had to pick up the pace. She and Janie had only thirty minutes left in the house before they had to grab a bit of lunch and move on to the next job, a new client. She mopped, rinsed, repeated and called out to Janie, dusting in the living room.

  “Are you almost done, Janie?”

  “Just about.”

  Clara and Janie had set up a housecleaning business several years ago, and they had done well, to the point of hiring four more crews and an office manager/bookkeeper. Clara had thought to step back from the more physically demanding task of cleaning to take over scheduling and administrative tasks, but Janie had stated in no uncertain terms that she could not work with anyone else, so Clara had continued cleaning.

  “Okay, I’m finished in here. Let’s get some lunch before the next house,” Clara said, wringing out the mop and wiping the kitchen sink down. She gathered up her gear, wrote out the invoice and left it on the counter before joining Janie at the front door.

  Clara’s longtime friend, a thirty-year-old petite blonde with teal-blue eyes, gathered her equipment, and the women left the house and climbed into one of the company cars. Clara and Janie had invested in cars for the cleaning crews only the year before. So far, everything had gone well in their small fleet. No one had been in an accident to date.

  “I hate this time of year,” Janie said.

  “Summer? Why?”

  “It’s not summer yet—it’s late spring. But that’s not what I meant. I meant Mother’s Day. That’s coming up.”

  Clara stiffened. She pulled out of the driveway and made her way down the street toward the exit of the housing area. Pleasant pastel-hued single- and two-story cookie-cutter homes with equally pleasant green lawns lined the road of the sleep
er community of Mt. Vernon, Washington. Clara normally enjoyed the tranquility of the quiet neighborhood after everyone had gone to work, but Janie’s words jarred her hard-won sense of peace.

  “Not my favorite day either,” she finally responded.

  “I know, Clara. We both hate it for different reasons though.”

  “I’ll say. Your mother passed away...when you were twenty-five. Still too young though.”

  “I think so,” Janie murmured.

  They fell into an uncomfortable silence.

  “I’m sorry!” Janie blurted out. “I should be more sensitive to how you feel about Mother’s Day.”

  Clara glanced at Janie before returning her attention to the road.

  “Janie, our moms are gone. Mine left a little bit earlier and maybe voluntarily, but they’re both gone. We both get to mourn, okay?”

  She pulled into a fast-food restaurant parking lot just in time to see a flamboyantly dressed little woman with blue hair enter the restaurant. Her bright-pink flowered floating dress seemed over the top for the middle of an overcast Pacific Northwest day, but why not? At least the woman had chosen to brighten up her day. Clara looked down at her own brown corduroy trousers and dark-blue polo shirt—the uniform that she and Janie had selected for the cleaning crews. The colors were as drab as her future, but practical for cleaning.

  “We should eat,” Clara said, hoping Janie was done with the subject.

  “Yeah, we have to get to the next job in about twenty minutes.”