by Quinn, Paula
There, the illusion stopped, and Julian felt as though he’d been awoken from a dream, except he had the weight of a small boy on his lap. The woman before him blinked slowly as though she, too, experienced what he had seen.
Manston’s borrowed barouche attracted attention. Some riders slowed out of curiosity – most had not met the new Viscount Carmarthan and his bride, and so were disappointed to see only the livery and not the personages.
Margaret and Lydia took advantage of the interest. If the gentlemen they saw on the Row were particularly well known, then they practiced their most flirtatious glances. Lydia, it seemed, had completely overcome her earlier complaint at Lady Lavene joining them.
Meanwhile, Aunt Harriet preened herself beside Caroline, basking in reflected glory.
Caroline tried to hide an amused smile behind her hand, but Julian saw it and smiled also, savoring the warmth in his chest on realizing that, once again, they likely shared the same thoughts.
As they stopped momentarily to allow another carriage to pass, a couple on horseback recognized the widowed Lady Lavene. Baron and Baroness Thornley approached to speak a few words. Julian couldn’t help but listen in. Caroline’s late husband was well regarded, it seemed, and, if he hadn’t died so young, would likely have taken his place in the House of Lords in due course.
Then there was curiosity about the child who had now climbed down off Julian’s lap and up onto his mother’s. Caroline assisted Lucas without breaking her conversation. The action prompted a speculative lift of an eyebrow from the baroness.
That was odd. What could be more natural than a mother interacting with her son?
“And, who might be this young fellow be here?” the peer asked with a syrupy tone of voice.
Caroline stiffened ever so slightly and held Lucas to her a little more closely.
“This is my son, Lucas.”
She rubbed his back which seemed to prompt the lad. “It is very nice to meet you,” he said parrot fashion, an exercise in etiquette no doubt drilled into him.
“Your son? I wasn’t aware you and Lord Lavene had had a son. How old is he?” the baroness asked. She continued her questions without waiting for answers. “He seems rather small for what? Six? Seven years of age?”
“I’m four!” the child added helpfully.
Baroness Thornley’s look of surprise was impossible to miss. So was the malicious speculation that gleamed in the woman’s eyes a moment later.
He knew exactly what was being inferred about Caroline, and he would not stand for it. The very plain suggestion that Lucas was a bastard child was reprehensible – and a few other choice epithets that he preferred to keep locked behind his teeth.
Realizing he could be an imposing-looking man when he wished, he straightened in his seat, using his bearing to draw attention away from Caroline and Lucas.
“You will excuse us,” he told the baron and his wife firmly. “I do need to return the ladies home. I will pass on your regards to the viscount. Onward, driver!”
He continued his level stare after them as the barouche lurched into motion. Julian watched the baroness tug her husband’s sleeve and whisper. He was relieved Caroline had her back to the spectacle as they moved away, but by the stiffness of her back and the tilt of her head as regal as a queen, it was clear she knew herself to be the subject of gossip.
Lydia and Margaret exchanged significant glances. Julian offered one of his own to Margaret, silently warning her to speak her next words carefully.
“Isn’t it the Westhavens’ card party tonight?” Margaret inquired of Lydia after a moment. “I should rather like to make the acquaintance of Dougal McFife. He’s the heir to Sudbury Castle, don’t you know?”
“Is he really?” Lydia asked with exaggerated attention. “Do tell me more.”
Inwardly, Julian seethed, annoyed at being made impotent. He couldn’t reprimand Lydia and Margaret because they had said nothing inappropriate, but they’d plainly made their judgement about Caroline nonetheless.
“To my townhouse, please, driver. Mrs. Erskin will be most anxious for the Misses to be home.”
If there had ever been a skerrick of attraction to Lydia prior to this – after all, she was considered a beauty – Julian was well cured of it now. He saw his cousin and especially her friend for the children they still were. Nothing on earth could compel him to make an offer of marriage for Lydia, no matter how much the girl and his aunt desired the match.
It wasn’t until they’d made the complete circuit of Hyde Park and crossed back into Mayfair that his temper cooled.
In fact, a chill had fallen over the party altogether, and the ride continued in silence. Julian didn’t trust himself to even look at his cousin or her friend. Instead, he kept his eyes on Lucas who was sleepy. The boy rested his head against Caroline’s breast and brought a thumb to his lips as he struggled to keep his heavy lids open.
The barouche came to a stop in front of his London home. Julian alighted with great reluctance, his training as a gentleman forcing him to assist his young charges from the vehicle.
“Will you be at the Westhavens’ tonight, Julian?” Margaret’s meek inquiry told him that she was chastened by his stern silence.
“I have yet to decide whether to send my regrets,” he said.
Margaret made a quick glance to Caroline, then simply nodded her head in reply. Lydia wisely kept her mouth shut. He climbed back into the barouche and didn’t look back as it departed.
“There was no need to have gone out of your way,” said Caroline, softly. “Lucas and I could have taken a hansom cab home.”
Julian shook his head to protest when an absurd thought occurred to him. He burst out laughing.
“I don’t even know where you live,” he confessed.
After a moment’s hesitation – and dare he witness it, another blush – Caroline broke into a smile and the warmth he’d felt in the park returned.
“As it so happens, I live only two streets away.”
“Then it is not out of my way at all.”
From then on, the silence in the carriage was companionable. Julian entertained the fantasy of being a man enjoying a fine winter’s afternoon in the company of his wife and son. Yes, he was more than ready to settle down with a wife, a lover, a companion, a mother. And in his mind, this paragon was beginning to take on the form of Lady Caroline Lavene.
Ahead, he heard the cries of a young paperboy on the corner.
“Paper! Paper! London’s public disgrace! More from The Nightingale!”
In the gloom of the early evening, it would have been easy to miss the change in Caroline’s posture, except that it startled Lucas’ awake.
“Paper! Paper! London’s public disgrace! More from The Nightingale!”
It was tempting to order the driver to slow enough to purchase a copy from the open carriage, but he did not.
Why would she react that way to the newsboy? No doubt she had heard about The Nightingale – who in London could have failed to? And there was no shame in a woman interested in current affairs. If she was so interested, why did she not say so?
Hyde Park.
The motley choir led by a priest.
The pamphlets
Did Caroline know who The Nightingale was?
Another thought occurred to him; did he know who Caroline was?
All too soon, the carriage arrived at her door. It was opened by a middle-aged man who didn’t seem quite at home in his butler’s uniform.
“We’re glad ye’ve returned, my lady. We’s were gettin’ a bit worried,” he said, holding open the door of the barouche and taking a sleeping Lucas from her arms.
Julian moved to assist Caroline down the steps. Although he was not a stickler for correct protocol himself, he did find it strange that a servant would speak in such a familiar manner.
“I bumped into friends today, Fordyce,” she said and shot a glance Julian’s way. “This is Mr. Winter who was kind enough to invite us to join hi
m and his cousin for a ride through Hyde Park.”
Fordyce smiled a gap-toothed grin. “Ah, no wonder the little ’un is knackered. Bet he enjoyed that.”
“We both did.”
“Leave ’im to me, my lady. I’ll take ’im up and ole Nanny’ll ’ave him ready for bed in a trice.”
He and Caroline stood alone at the open front door. Caroline seemed reluctant to go inside and Julian was honest enough with himself to know he was reluctant to leave. He was aware of being on a threshold – literally and figuratively – but neither of them knew the next step to take.
He suspected it had been a long time since Caroline had entertained, let alone entertained a gentleman visitor.
“I’d like to call again, if I may.”
Yellow light spilled from the house but her face was in half-shadow. He cursed the darkness that concealed her expression from him.
“I… I don’t know.” Caroline stared up the porch stairs. “It’s been a long time… since I have Lucas, I don’t go out in society much.”
If the way she’d been treated today was any indication, Julian understood her reluctance completely. The implication of the baroness was clear enough. Lucas could not be the son of Caroline’s late husband. That only left one conclusion.
Bastard.
It seemed to Julian a nasty epithet better suited to duplicitous adults rather than an innocent child.
He was struck by a feeling that if he did not say something to her now, she would be forever out of reach.
“Tomorrow,” he said, hoping to forestall the door closing on him. “Please, let me take you and Lucas to see the menagerie at the Tower of London.”
She hesitated.
There!
“Lucas does love his animals,” she said.
“Then tomorrow it is?”
Caroline shook her head and Julian’s heart sunk. His gambit was lost. He started to turn away.
“Call on us the day after tomorrow. We would both love to visit the Tower with you.”
Chapter Seven
Through the heavy oak door and above the hubbub throughout the house, Caroline imagined she could hear the driver urge the horses on and the sound of clopping hooves on the cobbled streets outside.
Julian Winter appeared to be courting her.
She smiled and turned away from the door. Fordyce wasn’t smiling. He looked worried.
“I forgot my manners and whatnot, didn’t I?” he said. “I didn’t realize ye’d had a gentleman caller. I’m sorry. I ain’t really cut out for the airs ’n’ graces lark.”
He fiddled with his white gloves nervously. “If ye’re goin’ to be entertainin’ in the proper manner like, I don’t think I’m cut out for it, Lady Caroline, I’m not…”
“You are the finest manservant I’ve ever known, Fordyce,” she said. “I wouldn’t have hired you or anyone else in my home, in fact, if I didn’t think you were all up to the task.”
“But yer gentleman friend’ll ’ave other ideas.”
By now, they had an audience. Mrs. Stewart with a sleeping Lucas on her shoulder; Franny, the parlor maid who was lame in one leg who had just whispered something to her friend, Jane, who had slipped down a passage to the kitchen, no doubt to let Cook know something was happening upstairs.
Caroline silently counted to ten, waiting to ensure she had the full attention of those present.
Now was the time to nip any rumors in the bud.
“I run an unconventional household and I prefer it that way. But let me say this to you all now, I will not stand for gossip spread about anyone in this house including me,” she said. “Anyone who does not approve of the way I do things in my own household will not be welcome in it, whether he be a prince or parlor maid. Have I made myself clear?”
All nodded, none more intently than Franny. Even little Lucas raised his head and regarded her, bleary-eyed. Caroline softened her voice.
“Now, everyone, back to your duties. Fordyce, ask the groom to prepare a carriage for tonight. I plan to spend the evening at St. Luke’s.”
The gathered servants melted back into the house to attend to their work. Caroline was about to follow Mrs. Stewart and Lucas upstairs when Fordyce interrupted.
“My lady,” he said formally and bowed. “An invitation arrived while ye was out.”
He handed over a thick, white card. Caroline accepted it without looking at it. “Thank you, my friend.”
As she entered her bedroom, Caroline hadn’t appreciated how tired she was. She ought to have supper before she changed into a plainer, warmer gown.
She had feared this, the judgement of those who did not understand why she did what she did. She should not have to explain to a stranger that Lucas was adopted. As far as she was concerned, he was her son. She did not take him into her home and her heart as a conspicuous piece of pious theatre. She did so because she wanted to help him.
The last thing she wanted to do was let Lucas think he was anything other than her child.
Except he wasn’t.
Lucas had relatives somewhere out there. Relatives who probably had another name for him. Relatives who possibly never cared for him. Relatives who…
If they knew the child they abandoned had fallen on his feet, would they come to claim him? Would they press a claim on her?
Would they threaten to take Lucas away from her?
While Caroline waited for supper to be brought to her room, she looked at the printed invitation bordered with decorative snowflakes. Her name was hand-written, but the rest of the card was printed
Midwinter Ball
Lady Caroline Lavene
is requested to attend the Ball
at Carmarthan House, home of Viscount Carmarthan
on 23rd of December current, at eight o’clock p.m.
She frowned. This was the single most sought-after invitation on the social calendar this Season. For some reason, the Prince of Wales himself had taken a liking to the newly-invested Viscount Carmarthan of Wales.
Yes, she read the social pages as well as the news.
Why on earth would they take an interest in her? Caroline didn’t even know them and she had been so long out of society that her presence was no longer requested at such events.
Then she remembered Hyde Park on the first of the month.
Mrs. Camp’s choir. Handing out pamphlets.
Lady Abigail Ridgeway. No doubt she was behind the invitation. It was said that she was very close to the Prince of Wales in her younger years.
Julian would be attending as well.
She closed her eyes but it didn’t stop her imaginings. It only assisted them in conjuring up an image of Julian in evening dress, his light brown hair dressed, a crisp white cravat setting off the sharp line of a black dinner jacket.
Stop it! she told herself sharply.
The fact the man was handsome and kind was no reason to entertain certain romantic thoughts.
*
Dinner for twelve had drawn to a close at Baron Westhaven’s home when Lady Abigail, seated opposite Julian, attracted his attention.
“You might be interested to know I’ve invited someone special to my goddaughter’s Midwinter Ball.”
He knew the look she gave him. Julian picked up his glass of wine and sipped, waiting for Lady Abigail to reveal the name, feeling very much like a fly who had landed right in the center of a spider’s web.
Did spiders grin? If so, they probably looked very much like Lady Abigail Ridgeway. A very charming and elegant spider, but a spider nonetheless.
Beside him, Lydia Stonely leaned forward, suddenly interested in this conversation.
“Might I inquire who, my lady?”
Lady Abigail gave Lydia only a half-look of acknowledgement. Rather, her main attention was centered on him. Julian felt a tingle at the back of his neck, a premonition of sorts. He set down his glass and waited for the spider to descend.
“I thought it would be lovely to have the company of Lady Caroli
ne Lavene. Don’t you agree?”
Julian picked up his water glass this time and took a sip as he regarded her.
“I think anyone you invite will be an asset to the engagement, my lady.”
“Very prettily said, Winter. I knew there was a reason I liked you.”
Baroness Westhaven rose from the table, indicating it was time for the ladies to withdraw. The gentlemen rose to their feet. Julian noticed Lydia share a significant look with Margaret and Aunt Harriet.
What poisonous gossip about Caroline had the girls poured into his aunt’s ear? He had no doubt he would hear more about it before the evening came to an end.
Following cigars and port, the gentlemen joined the ladies in the drawing room. Julian clearly saw Allie give her husband a flirtatious glance as they entered, but instead of going to her husband’s side, she attached herself to him instead.
“Have you seen the Westhavens’ fine portrait collection, Julian?” she asked.
He shook his head, unsure where his friend was going with the conversation – it was her husband who was the artist in the family – but it was clear that her words were for the benefit of the guests, specifically his relations.
Julian allowed her to lead him from the drawing room and up to the gallery landing where two hundred years of family portraits and pastoral scenes filled the walls.
They were well away from the others before she spoke.
“I see you’re still not successfully rid of Lydia, dear, yet your aunt tells me she still has hopes for a proposal before the end of the Season. At least she appears more amenable to casting the net wider,” she said. “Lady Abigail has arranged some suitable young gentlemen to be at Midwinter Ball and she’s made it very plain they’ve been instructed to exercise the full breadth of their charm on the girl.”
Julian barked out a laugh, but softened it as the sound echoed loudly down the hall. Allie tapped his arm lightly and gave him a mock serious frown.
“I promised to find you a wife and I intended to keep that promise. You know how dear you are to me, Julian. You are truly a good friend. But a little birdie tells me you may not need my help.”
