The Beauty

by Connolly, Rebecca

  He prayed not.

  “Miss Perkins, will you play for us so that we might dance?” Miss Fairchild asked before any of them could get settled. “I have the mad desire to dance!”

  Will could have groaned. If he was going to dance, he wanted to dance with the woman playing not with the rest. But he was, unfortunately, a gentleman, so dance he would.

  “Yes, Miss Perkins, you must play,” Miss Sheffield insisted in a stern tone. “A lady must play in public for her talent to be considered real accomplishment. Off you go.”

  There was certainly no cause for that sort of behavior, but Miss Perkins did as she was bid, as she usually did.

  As it happened, she played rather well. Better than he had expected with her reserve and her background, but Miss Perkins would ever be a surprise, it seemed. And what a delightful surprise she was.

  The company danced quite a few dances, and Lady Ashby seemed to delight in them all. Miss Perkins did not seem to tire in the slightest, and her music was consistently perfect.

  But of course it was.

  “Come, Miss Perkins,” Gates said as they finished yet another dance. “Miss Smythe can take a turn at the instrument while you dance. And I’ll not hear a word of protest, for even a future wife of a curate must dance once or twice, if a curate is still your preference.”

  Good fellow, Will thought with some respect, though he wished the notion had been his own. He glanced around the room and noticed that Miss Sheffield, for one, looked fairly ready to shriek.

  He would let Gates dance with Miss Perkins all night if it would render that reaction.

  “I am afraid that I am quite fatigued,” Lady Ashby sighed from her chair. “Don’t let me stop you from your enjoyment, but I must retire.”

  “Of course, my lady,” Miss Perkins replied immediately, rushing from the instrument as though she had been saved from danger. “I will take you upstairs and read for you.”

  “Well, why not do your reading down here, Aunt?” Sheffield suggested with his usual warm joviality. “None of us will mind a reprieve, and it will keep both you and Miss Perkins with us a bit longer.”

  The group all sounded their agreement and approval of the suggestion, though Miss Perkins looked rather as if she wished the floor would swallow her whole.

  “Oh, very well,” Lady Ashby sighed. “Have my copy of John Donne fetched, and Miss Perkins may favor the company with a poem.”

  The book was fetched, Miss Perkins situated, and from the moment she began to read, Will was sunk.

  Her voice, low and without airs, seemed too perfectly situated to the words, and her careful attention to each word forced their attention to the content of the poem as well as her presentation of it. What exactly she was saying, he couldn’t recall, as his attention was too wrapped up in the experience for comprehension.

  “‘If our two loves be one, or, thou and I/Love so alike, that none do slacken, none can die.’” Miss Perkins closed the book with a faint exhale, and kept her eyes cast down as though awaiting their judgment.

  What judgment could there possibly be for something so lovely?

  “I say, Miss Perkins,” Mr. Jacobs said then, sounding rather impressed, “you do the thing properly, don’t you?”

  “She certainly does,” Sheffield replied in the same.

  Will found both comments lacking but said nothing.

  “I will never be so gifted,” Miss Fairchild bemoaned, drawing attention back to herself as the men assured her of her many talents.

  Miss Sheffield, Will noticed, watched Miss Perkins with an unreadable expression, but her eyes held a suspicious sheen. “Miss Perkins take my aunt to bed,” she suddenly snapped. “Can you not see that she is most fatigued?”

  “I am well enough,” Lady Ashby sighed. “I was lulled by dear Caroline here and quite comfortable. But now it would be lovely to rest, if you do not mind, my dear.” She extended her hand to her nephew, who helped her to rise.

  Miss Perkins smiled at her patroness. “Of course, my lady.”

  Will moved the moment she went to set the book aside, his hand extended to take the book and assist her

  She looked up at him in confusion as she handed the book to him. “Thank you.”

  “No,” he replied simply, words escaping him. “Thank you.” Then he smiled at her. “You are full of secrets and surprises, are you not?”

  “No,” she insisted, her cheeks heating. “I am not.”

  Will could have grinned, the heat of her cheeks giving him hope. “You are.” He leaned a bit closer as he helped her rise, though she needed no aid. “Is Caroline your real name?”

  Her eyes darted to his. “I…”

  “Caroline, darling, don’t forget your wrap,” Lady Ashby said, soundly half asleep.

  Miss Perkins jerked her hand from his and twisted to get her wrap, but he had already grabbed it and draped it around her. He took the briefest moment of indulgence to adjust the wrap, his fingers brushing against her arms and her back as he did so.

  She was still as he fiddled with it, though her breathing did not seem entirely steady.

  “There,” he murmured, wishing to the heavens that they were alone.

  As if she nodded, Miss Perkins stepped forward to take Lady Ashby from Sheffield, who smiled with warmth, but not adoration, much to Will’s delight. Miss Perkins did not look at Will as they left the room, and somehow, he knew she would not rejoin them once her charge was settled.

  He did not mind that as much as he thought he would. He was content for the night.

  Her name was Caroline.

  And he was in love with her.

  Chapter 9

  Caroline sat quietly at the pianoforte, her fingers absently playing in whatever semblance of melodies and harmonies they wished, no structure or form to any of it. But it was full of feeling and it soothed the turmoil and confusion within her. Music had always been able to do so for her, even when she had only been able to play on the tinny instrument that had sat in the corner of their house on the docks. Her attempts had been far less musical then, but the soothing had been the same.

  She was in desperate need of soothing now.

  Not for anything particularly troublesome, or discouraging, but simply due to the feelings that had begun to course through her at the mere thought of Mr. Debenham.

  She had never felt anything like it, her experience with men being limited to her father’s employees and the other men at the docks, and occasionally the parents or brothers of her friends. She had never even had the girlish rush of impossible romance for someone she could never have. Caroline Perkins had always been far too sensible for anything of the sort, even as a child.

  It seemed she would be making up for that deficit now, and with compound interest. Mr. Debenham was certainly not the simple country curate she had imagined for herself, but he possessed the gentle and good nature she had always wanted. He was intelligent and considerate, reserved without being aloof, and he seemed to miss nothing in his observations. He was handsome enough to warrant a second or third look every time she saw him, not that such things mattered.

  The only thing she could say to his detriment was that he did not see her as she truly was, but that could only be due to his kindness.

  He was also impossibly above her in station, fortune, in manner, and in every way that mattered. She might have had the respectable dowry of any woman in Society, but she was a tradesman’s daughter. And not even a respectable one at that,

  Dreaming and thinking of him would only lead to her anguish later. It would be best for all concerned if she would forget him and focus instead on finding herself a husband more within her reach.

  But how to forget Mr. Debenham at all?

  This was the song her heart and fingers played, and she waited in vain for its resolution.

  “Miss Perkins,” Fellows intoned rather stiffly from the door of the room. “You have a… a visitor.”

  Caroline frowned over at him. “A visitor? For me?”<
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  Fellows looked at her with distaste. “Indeed.” He inclined his head, and stood back, letting the visitor proceed in.

  From the first sight, Caroline’s heart plummeted into her stomach.

  Her father.

  He wavered into the room, barely able to walk straight, and the stained and faded linen shirt he wore under his tattered blue coat told everyone who would see him exactly where he belonged by station.

  “Caro!” he cried, extending his arms out as if to hug her, though she had yet to rise, and he was still a distance away.

  Her lack of reaction disgruntled him, and his thick, bushy brows snapped down. He pointed a finger at her as he approached. “Don’t ‘ee give me that look. I still be your father, and t’ Bible says ‘ee honor me.”

  Caroline was convinced that her father had never read a single word of scripture in his life, but she could not fault the statement. She rose and bobbed the barest hint of a curtsey. “Papa.”

  He grunted without satisfaction. “Caroline, you’re being disloyal to your old man,” he said, leaning against the pianoforte, which made her wince. He was so dirty and disheveled he was sure to leave traces on the instrument that she would have to clean later.

  “How so, Papa?” she replied as calmly as she could, lacing her fingers before her.

  He glared at her through his bloodshot eyes, no affection in his gaze. “‘Ee have grown so high and mighty, so proper, so full of the airs of a class to which you don’t belong, that you refuse to help me. I’m on hard times, Chickee, and you ignore my letters!”

  Caroline shook her head, “I have not ignored anything.”

  “Don’t shake ‘ee head at me, you tart!” he scolded, staggering towards her. “I never saw one letter from you! And I know you’ve been writing Coolidge!”

  She bit her lip and tried to look sympathetic. “I wanted to know how bad it was,” she whispered. “I needed to know the truth.”

  “Then you should have written to me about it!” Her father began to pace around awkwardly, his steps uneven and faltering. “And ‘ee can’t even spare some of your salary to save us.”

  “I write to ‘ee all the time,” she said, not even caring that her old accent was running rampant. “Do ‘ee know how hard it is to get a letter sent to ‘ee from where I am now? Do you know how worried I have been?”

  “Not worried enough, Chickee,” he said with a cold laugh. “Not by half.”

  His voice had grown so harsh, so dark and unlike the man she knew as her father, that Caroline had to grip the edge of the instrument to steel herself.

  “It is not my fault you haven’t seen the letters,” she said firmly, trying to regain the accent she had trained for. “Ask Mrs. Briggs or Mr. Coolidge if you can’t see them. And I have no coin to give you. I don’t earn salary, I’ve told you! I’m no’ a servant to Lady Ashby. All I have is pin money.”

  “Then get that!” he barked. “Get it or, so help me, Caroline Perkins…”

  “So help you what?” she demanded, lifting her chin, quivering despite her tone. “You’ll cut me off? You’ll take back your permission? You can’t cut me off, Papa, I know how my fortune works. And your permission means nothing anymore, because I have friends and connections.”

  He laughed harshly. “Friends? ‘Ee think any of these toffs are interested in a ladder climbing guttersnipe? ‘Ee are a plaything for the con… for the condescen…. for the pity of the vacant minded rich!”

  “Says the man wasting his life away on drink and whores,” she shot back.

  Before she knew what happened, Caroline’s father slapped her across the face with so much force she tumbled to the floor.

  “Pay me, Caro!” he screamed. “Pay me or lose me!”

  Rage unlike anything Caroline had ever known surged within her, and she turned to face him, getting to her feet, one hand at her stinging cheek. She glared at her father, eyes watering. “No’ one penny,” she rasped, feeling strangled by the words. “No’ a bleeding one. No’ ever.”

  He snarled and moved to strike her again, but something changed in his eyes. “I knew it,” he hissed, shaking his head. “‘Ee cannot be a daughter of mine. Paul’s little brat got by my wife. No flesh and blood o’ mine. ‘Ee be nothing t’me, Caro. Nothing.” He sniffed noisily and turned from the room.

  Caroline sank onto the bench as her knees gave out, breath rushing from her lungs. She knew that her father could not prove any illegitimacy, but his accusation wounded as much as the blow had. She exhaled again, closing her eyes, praying for strength.

  “What in the world was all that about?” came the calm and quiet voice she had come to love so much.

  Oh, her humiliation could not be more compounded than at this moment, and she raised her eyes to see Mr. Debenham coming into the room. Thankfully, she had not cried, and her tears remained contained.

  She could not do this. She would not. “Nothing to trouble you, Mr. Debenham,” she murmured, rising to go.

  He waved his hand for her to remain and tilted his head at her. “Miss Perkins…”

  “Caroline,” she whispered, sinking back down, fatigued by the whole charade now.

  He nodded. “Caroline, then. I know it was your father. I heard everything.”

  “You were listening?” she managed, mortification and shame washing over her in succeeding waves.

  He shook his head slowly. “Not by intention, Caroline. I would never invade your privacy, you know this. But neither of you were keeping your voices down.”

  Caroline covered her face and groaned. “Oh, you heard how I speak. You heard my harshness towards him.”

  “That is what is troubling you?” he asked, sounding surprised. He took her wrists gently in his hold and pulled her hands away from her face, crouching down before her. “I barely noticed that. Caroline, he threatened you. And…” His jaw tightened as he saw the mark on her face. “And he hit you. Does this happen often?”

  She shook her head, swallowing. “Never,” she whispered. “He’s never been like this. But I couldn’t give into him. I won’t.” She exhaled slowly and nodded firmly to herself, steeling her resolve.

  Mr. Debenham smiled and shook his head. “Does anything get to you, Caroline Perkins?”

  Caroline reared back a little in surprise. “Of course, it does.”

  His smile grew and his hold on her seemed to warm a little. “You are always so calm, so stalwart, so unaffected. You possess an unnatural serenity.”

  She laughed once and gave him a look. “You heard me screeching at my father just now, Mr. Debenham. Hardly serene.”

  “Will,” he said softly. “And you are as serene as the dawn.”

  Caroline tried not to sigh, but it was fruitless. “I am as emotional and human as the rest of the world. I simply contain it until I can be alone.”

  “And then?” he prodded.

  She was desperate to look into his eyes but knew she would be lost if she did so. She focused instead on their hands, shrugging as she turned her hands within his hold, feeling the skin brush together. “I have found there is comfort and strength in tears.”

  His grip on her hands tightened and his expression turned earnest. “You should not have to bear it alone.”

  Caroline slowly, reluctantly, slid her hands from his and settled them in her lap. “How else can I? The ground on which I tread is tenuous at best. I do not mind being alone with my emotions. I prefer it, in fact.”

  He straightened, shaking his head slowly. “I don’t prefer it. Not for you, I don’t.”

  “It is far more ladylike, I can assure you.” She rose and moved past him, averting her eyes, suddenly uncomfortable. “I pray you never find me emotional.”

  “And I shall pray I do,” he murmured. “Comforting you would be such a pleasure for me. Not to see you in distress, but to be the one with you as you endure it.”

  She couldn’t bear this, couldn’t bear the picture he had painted in her mind. Her heart ached for it, longed for his arms ar
ound her, but her mind knew far better. She closed her eyes and clamped her lips together. “Good day, Mr. Debenham.”

  “It’s Will, Caroline.”

  Will. His name caught in her mind and swirled through every memory she treasured of him.

  Still she shook her head. “No,” she whispered, not knowing if he heard her. “No, it’s not. It can’t be.”

  She strode from the room, her heart fair breaking within her chest. How could he be so kind and generous after what he had witnessed? It was impossible to comprehend, and even more impossible to dwell on. What was worse was that he would not abandon her while their association continued. She knew him too well, he would always be this same gentleman, despite everything.

  It would hurt all the more to have him so. She could almost wish he would leave her entirely alone.

  But that thought hurt most of all.

  * * *

  If Will Debenham were a less than perfect gentleman, he would have thrashed Caroline Perkins’ father to within an inch of his life for the way he had spoken to her, let alone striking her. It had taken every ounce of his good breeding and manners to restrain himself from bursting in and coming to her defense, and had he known that her being struck was a risk, he would have been in the room with her.

  But alas, he was a perfect gentleman and he hadn’t known.

  And the love he felt for Caroline grew beyond limits he thought possible after that morning.

  The days following had found her more reserved than she had been, more attentive to Lady Ashby than was necessary, and more inclined to make her invisible to all others in the room. It would never entirely work, she was far too beautiful a creature to ignore, but she was reserved enough that it would have been simple enough to forget to include her in conversation.

  Gates and Sheffield did their best to bring her into discussions, and Miss Dawson made it a point to sit near her at every opportunity, but Caroline herself did nothing to encourage them.

  Miss Sheffield and the others were content enough to leave her be, forgoing even their customary teasing and husband planning. Lady Ashby spoke with Caroline as often as any woman does with her companion, but always in low tones that Will could not politely overhear.