A Lady of Hidden Intent Read online

  A Lady of Hidden Intent

  Copyright © 2008

  Tracie Peterson

  Cover design by Brand Navigation/Deanna Pierce

  Author photo by Mark Dixon

  Cover photography by Steve Gardner, PixelWorks Studios, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  Published by Bethany House Publishers

  11400 Hampshire Avenue South

  Bloomington, Minnesota 55438

  Bethany House Publishers is a division of

  Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan.

  Printed in the United States of America

  * * *

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Peterson, Tracie.

  A lady of hidden intent / Tracie Peterson.

  p. cm. — (Ladies of liberty)

  ISBN 978-0-7642-0472-2 (hardcover : alk. paper) — ISBN 978-0-7642-0146-2 (pbk.) — ISBN 978-0-0762-0473-9 (large-print pbk.) 1. Fathers and daughters—Fiction. 2. False imprisonment—Fiction. 3. British—United States—Fiction. 4. Women dressmakers—Fiction. 5. Philadelphia (Pa.)—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3566.E7717L327 2008

  813'.54—dc22

  2007035138

  * * *

  To Judy Miller,

  my dear friend and occasional partner in crime.

  It is such a joy to work with you and to call you friend.

  I cherish our friendship and thank God for you.

  Books by Tracie Peterson

  www.traciepeterson.com

  A Slender Thread • What She Left For Me • Where My Heart Belongs

  SONG OF ALASKA

  Dawn’s Prelude • Morning’s Refrain

  ALASKAN QUEST

  Summer of the Midnight Sun

  Under the Northern Lights • Whispers of Winter

  Alaskan Quest (3 in 1)

  BRIDES OF GALLATIN COUNTY

  A Promise to Believe In • A Love to Last Forever

  A Dream to Call My Own

  THE BROADMOOR LEGACY*

  A Daughter’s Inheritance • An Unexpected Love

  A Surrendered Heart

  BELLS OF LOWELL*

  Daughter of the Loom • A Fragile Design • These Tangled Threads

  Bells of Lowell (3 in 1)

  LIGHTS OF LOWELL*

  A Tapestry of Hope • A Love Woven True • The Pattern of Her Heart

  DESERT ROSES

  Shadows of the Canyon • Across the Years • Beneath a Harvest Sky

  HEIRS OF MONTANA

  Land of My Heart • The Coming Storm

  To Dream Anew • The Hope Within

  LADIES OF LIBERTY

  A Lady of High Regard • A Lady of Hidden Intent

  A Lady of Secret Devotion

  RIBBONS OF STEEL**

  Distant Dreams • A Hope Beyond • A Promise for Tomorrow

  WESTWARD CHRONICLES

  A Shelter of Hope • Hidden in a Whisper • A Veiled Reflection

  YUKON QUEST

  Treasures of the North • Ashes and Ice • Rivers of Gold

  *with Judith Miller **with Judith Pella

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  EPILOGUE

  PROLOGUE

  Bath, England

  December 1850

  Catherine, my dear, I want you to meet Mr. Carter Danby of Pennsylvania in America.” Nelson Newbury raised his voice to be heard above the stringed quartet providing dancing music for his guests. “Mr. Danby, this is my daughter, Catherine Newbury.”

  Catherine let her gaze sweep quickly over the dashing stranger before meeting his dark eyes. He wore an evening coat of some value; the cut and the materials were the finest available. His face was clean-shaven and his dark hair groomed to a meticulous point of fashion. He was, as her friend Elizabeth might have proclaimed, “Fit enough for Her Majesty’s court.”

  “How do you do, Mr. 1Danby?” She gave a perfunctory curtsy.

  “I do quite well, Miss Newbury. Thank you.” He offered a bow and a charming smile that Catherine was sure had melted more than one young woman’s heart. The twinkle in his eyes seemed to promise something more—maybe mischief, maybe understanding. Perhaps he could read her thoughts and knew how unimpressed she really was.

  Having been called a handsome young woman since she was twelve, Catherine was used to men vying for her attention. She’d been promised the moon, given her share of silly trinkets, and endured more than one slobbering ninny twice her age begging for her hand in marriage. Perhaps Carter Danby was to be the next in line.

  She couldn’t help but smile at the thought. At least he was closer to her own seventeen years. She guessed him to be twenty and five, maybe a year or two younger. He had an assured air about him, however, that suggested he was confident of his position and personage. That alone put him head and shoulders above the rest. Not that he needed help in that department either. He was quite tall.

  “Mr. Danby is studying architecture and has come to Bath to visit some of our finer examples,” her father relayed.

  Catherine smiled at her father. “I’m glad he could join our Christmas party. It would be quite dreary to spend the holidays looking only at stone and scrolling.”

  Mr. Danby chuckled, causing Catherine to once again extend him a glance. He seemed genuinely amused and did not appear to be putting on airs. But then again, he was from America, and what few Americans she had met were quite a mystery to Catherine.

  “I assure you I am feeling far from dreary. I find the sights, especially in Bath, to be quite pleasing.” He grinned, seeming to know she would catch his meaning. Yet rather than wait for her response, Danby continued. “I plan to be home before Christmas. In fact, this is my last stop. We travel in two days’ time for Bristol and the ship that will bear us home.”

  “That’s wonderful, Mr. Danby. Perhaps you will travel on one of my father’s ships. He has the best fleet of passenger and cargo vessels.”

  “So I have been told. But, alas, I am not to enjoy that pleasure.”

  “Well, then, my good fellow, you must instead enjoy the pleasures of the evening and the hospitality we can afford you,” her father declared.

  Carter Danby eyed Catherine. “I intend to do just that.”

  Catherine felt her cheeks grow hot and quickly turned away.

  “If you’ll both excuse me, I have other guests to see to.”

  She hurried off in the direction of her friend Elizabeth, who happened to be sharing a rather private conversation with another of their acquaintances, Mrs. Witherspoon.

  “And that was the reason she could not be seen in good company. No one can be certain as to whether or
not the poor soul was with child, but it is, of course, presumed so,” Mrs. Witherspoon said with a tone that suggested grave concern.

  “Of course,” Elizabeth said, completely horrified. She looked up at Catherine and held her hand to her throat as if the entire matter were too much. “We were just discussing Lady Overton’s youngest daughter.”

  “It appears the conversation is not a pleasant one,” Catherine countered.

  “Indeed it is not,” Mrs. Witherspoon said, shaking her head and looking around suspiciously. “It is a sad day indeed when a young lady of good reputation ruins her chances in society by dallying with a man of ill repute.”

  “Sad, too, that society will be so judgmental of her actions.”

  Mrs. Witherspoon seemed taken aback. “My dear, we all live by the judgment of our society. There is no other mark by which we can base the value of a person’s character than by their actions.”

  “Be they perceived or known,” Catherine replied in a mocking voice that she hoped would put the older woman in her place.

  To her consternation, however, Mrs. Witherspoon nodded with great enthusiasm.

  “To be sure. And that is why we must be very careful that we give no perceived offense. I cannot express enough the importance of that point.”

  Catherine then watched as the two women began to smile brightly, as though the sun itself had just burst through the clouds.

  She turned and saw Mr. Danby.

  “Mrs. Witherspoon, Miss Merriweather, may I present Mr.

  Carter Danby of America.”

  The women curtsied and bowed their heads momentarily.

  Mr. Danby smiled and gave a crisp bow. “Ladies, I am quite delighted.”

  “What brings you to Bath, Mr. Danby?” Mrs. Witherspoon asked, her voice taking on a higher pitch in her nervousness.

  “I am lately here on business, ma’am, but presently have come to ask Miss Newbury if she would do me the honor of a dance.”

  Knowing that duty was more important than her own personal feelings, Catherine said, “Of course. You are kind to ask.”

  She allowed him to draw her away, the wide expanse of her silk ball gown swinging in bell-like fashion as Mr. Danby moved her to the dance floor. The music began immediately as they stepped in line with the others.

  Moving forward to the music, Catherine felt Danby take hold of her arm as he turned her ever so gently to the cadence.

  “You have a beautiful home, Miss Newbury, and I find your father quite congenial.”

  “He’s a good man,” Catherine replied as they came apart and circled with their partner to the right.

  Coming back together, Danby took hold of her gloved fingers.

  “And what of your mother? I’ve not yet met her.”

  They performed the steps perfectly in unison, then again pulled apart as Catherine answered. “She passed on with my younger brothers some two years past. It was influenza.”

  As they rejoined after completing a series of intricate steps and turns, she found him quite sober. “I am sorry, Miss Newbury.

  That loss must have been quite acute.”

  “Yes,” she murmured.

  They went on in this manner, sharing little comments about the holidays and the weather. At one point Catherine was rather surprised when he asked for her impression of America.

  “I have none, save that which I’ve experienced through her people or stories,” she answered as the dance concluded and he led her from the floor.

  “And have your experiences been good or bad?” He smiled as they stopped in a less-populated corner of the room.

  “They have been good overall, I suppose.” She looked at him and found his gaze intense. “Of course,” she added quickly, “Americans do tend to be confused by the protocol and social structure of England. Perhaps it was one of the things they threw off in their independence.”

  He laughed, and she thought it delightful the way tiny lines appeared at the corners of his eyes. Perhaps he was a happy man by nature.

  “I would prefer there be no social classes or divisions. I find charming company in most every circle. However, I assure you we have our social classes and taboos in America as well. It would have been nice to cast those aside with other archaic notions, but, alas, we have not so distanced ourselves from our mother country that we have allowed for that matter to be resolved in full. I am, however, working on a personal level to see it dismissed.”

  “Archaic notions? You think it wrong, then, for the classes to be divided?”

  “I think people are people, Miss Newbury. Some are good.

  Some are bad. There will always be problems and issues to resolve so long as even one man remains alive and capable of thinking. Do you not feel imposed upon by the restrictions of your class?”

  “Not at all,” Catherine replied. “I know my place, and that is somewhat of a comfort to me.”

  “Perhaps that is only because you are at the upper echelons of society. Were you perhaps a scullery maid, you might feel differently.”

  “I doubt that. As a scullery maid, I would know my place— what was expected of me and what was out of my reach. I believe knowing one’s place prevents a great many misfortunes.”

  The music started up again, and Catherine found herself growing increasingly uncomfortable. She wasn’t sure if it was the topic of their conversation or the nearness of this stranger who seemed to completely captivate her senses.

  “If you’ll excuse me.” She didn’t wait for his response but gave a quick curtsy and hurried away. Her heart pounded rapidly as she imagined him watching her go. She forced herself to slow her pace, nod, and comment to those around her while escaping as fast as decorum would allow.

  Among the things Catherine loved about her life in Bath was the beauty of the buildings. She thought Mr. Danby very wise to have come to see their architecture. Why, the Roman Baths alone were worthy of the trip, but so too were some of the other beauties, such as the Abbey and the Royal Crescent. She wondered if Danby had been instructed regarding John Wood the elder and his son John Wood the younger. The two had been quite instrumental in creating designs for Bath. Of course, there were others as well, but those two were often heralded above all.

  Catherine accepted dances from two of her father’s friends. They chatted briefly about the weather and the holidays to come, but nothing of significance. Despite having had her new satin slippers stepped on more times than she could count, Catherine was pleased overall with the way things were going. Their servants were well trained and eager to please, so there was no need to worry about the food running out or the liquor being depleted.

  And yet for all her desire to forget him, Carter Danby remained present in her mind. He was quite handsome and clearly well-spoken. Catherine couldn’t help but wonder about his life in America. Then, as if thinking on such things had conjured the man in the flesh, he suddenly stood before her.

  “I wonder if I might entice you to take another turn with me.”

  Catherine looked up to find Mr. Danby smiling at her. The music that had just begun was clearly a waltz—that most intimate of dances. She hesitated a moment, but seeing Mr. Wooster heading her way, she agreed. At least Danby would not step on her feet.

  “I do hope you get a chance to visit America,” Carter Danby said as they turned into the flow of dancers. “I think you would find it quite entertaining—if not amusing.”

  “I have no intention of doing so,” Catherine replied. “I have more than enough to amuse and entertain me right here.”

  “So you think us not worthy of your time or attention?”

  She looked up at him and shook her head. “Hardly so. I simply do not think of you at all.”

  “Spoken like a true English patriot.”

  “And what is that supposed to mean?” She took great offense at his tone and stiffened in his arms.

  Mr. Danby laughed. “Meaning only that for many an Englishman it is far easier to forget our existence than to remember
the loss. American independence is not that ancient of a history. If you consider the conflict little more than thirty years past when your country attacked and burned our capital, then it’s even more understandable.”

  “I am not overly concerned with either your independence or our loss. To everything there is a season, and perhaps that season known as the American Colonies is best forgotten. The heartache comes from the sad way it divided families and destroyed livelihoods.”

  Danby nodded. “Perhaps you are right. Wrongs of the past are best forgotten.”

  She smiled knowingly. “So you admit America was wrong in rebelling.”

  He laughed so loudly that Catherine was immediately embarrassed as several couples looked their way. She wanted only to walk—no, run—from the room, but instead she forced herself to look at Danby.

  “You’re amused?”

  “Only that you could so clearly misunderstand me. Of course, you are very young. I did not imply that America was wrong. Rather, that England was at fault for her poor management, abuses, and neglects. Those are the wrongs that I believe are best forgotten.”

  The music stopped and Catherine quickly pulled away from her partner. “Thank you for your explanation, Mr. Danby. At ten and seven, I do find that many things escape my understanding.” She turned and left quickly, realizing that Carter Danby was the only man who had ever made her feel like running away.

  She was still thinking about him later that evening as she lay in bed trying to sleep. It was nearly four in the morning, and while the party had been concluded for many hours, her desire to put the American from her mind was not as easily accomplished.

  Getting up, she pulled on her housecoat and decided a bite to eat might settle her for the night. She’d eaten very little at the party, and prior to that had been much too busy in preparation to dine properly. Surely Cook had left something in the kitchen.

  The warmth of the velvet robe embraced her as she did up the buttons. The coat had been a gift from her mother, and though no longer fashionable and suffering wear, Catherine had been reluctant to cast it off for another. She smiled as she pulled her long brown hair from the collar.