“Indeed it is.”
Caroline met her mother’s scrutiny with a look she hoped did not give away her misgivings. Mama would not be best pleased to learn Mr. Amherst had escorted Caroline—at her request.
Cecy stood, somewhat unsteadily. “Please, Mother, may I be excused? I have something of a headache.”
“Of course.” Mother waved a hand. “This news is shocking, and I would not have you perturbed, my dear.”
Judging from the anguished look on Cecilia’s face, she was certainly a great deal past perturbed. Caroline would have to check on her sister after their guest took her leave.
“Poor thing. I’m afraid the past few weeks in London have been something of a trial,” Mama said, with another wave of her hand. “Cecilia is a good girl but not used to crowds.”
“Of course,” Lady Heathcote murmured. “She has always been a trifle shy.”
“We enjoyed ourselves in London, did we not, Caroline?” Mama continued, as if unwilling for Lady Heathcote to cast aspersions on any of her daughters. “You have never had any compunctions about meeting new people, have you, my dear?”
“No, Mother,” she said, relaxing once again as she saw the approbation in Mama’s eyes. “I quite enjoy it.” Really, Caroline thought, she and Verity were as different from Cecy in this regard as Caroline and Cecy’s chestnut curls differed from Verity’s straight black locks. Such confidence had always made Caroline think she would make a perfect hostess one day, just like Mama. Now to find a gentleman who might see and appreciate these excellent qualities.
As Mother and Lady Heathcote continued, Caroline returned to her usual daydream about her perfect suitor. He would be rich, handsome if at all possible, someone who enjoyed the finer things in life just as she did, someone who would wish her to live in comfort all her days. And if they could share a degree of mutual affection, then so much the better. Finding such a man would not prove too difficult, would it? After all, her first season had been simply a practice run, to get used to society’s ways. Next season she would begin her hunt for the perfect husband in earnest. Hunt! She smothered a smile. How ridiculous to think she would be the one to do the hunting—
Mama’s mention of her name broke into her musings. “… a lovely time this past season, did you not, my dear? Attending the drawing rooms, and meeting the royal dukes and princesses.”
“I enjoyed myself very much,” Caroline said with a polite smile, as if they had not had this discussion many times before.
“I’m sure you did,” Lady Heathcote said, a faint trace of exasperation in her eyes.
Ah. Best to change the topic. Mother did not seem to notice that her stories were not always fresh enough to guarantee continued interest. “I do hope Mr. Amherst gets better.”
“Oh yes. Well, I’m sure you do, seeing as you are such good friends and all. And of course, we all wish that young man a speedy recovery.”
Mother cleared her throat. “Such talk seems a little gruesome. I’m sure I would much rather talk about pleasant things, like dear Cecilia’s plans for her presentation.” Mama determinedly returned to her previous topic. “I wonder if they’ll even hold it next year. It’s been rather inconstant these past years, what with Queen Charlotte’s sickness, and then the deaths of the poor Princess and the Queen.”
“A sad time for them all,” Caroline murmured. One could only wonder whether the King might soon succumb as well.
“I do hope they will still hold the Drawing Rooms next year,” Mother said. “I know Sylvia still has a few years until she is presented, but I would not like Cecilia’s come out put off for any great period of time.”
“Yes, that would be most unfortunate,” Lady Heathcote said in a flat tone. She rose abruptly. “You must excuse me. I’m sure you are as busy as we in this Advent season. I just wanted to come and wish you the joy of the season.”
Caroline stared at her. By telling them this awful news about Mr. Amherst?
“And we hope you will have a pleasant time also,” Mother said. “Thank you for coming.”
“A pleasure.” With a nod, Lady Heathcote gathered her skirts and exited.
“Well!” Mama said, sinking back into her chair. “That was most unexpected. Poor Mr. Amherst. I should probably write to Lady Rovingham and send our condolences.”
“Ned is not dead, Mama,” she said, stifling a trickle of fear.
“But he might very well soon be. And then what will happen?” She sighed. “This is a terrible business. He has always been rather too fond of the company of you girls. And I cannot help but regret that we allowed him so much latitude in his interactions with you. I would hate to think you might be ostracized by society, and no man willing to make you an offer.”
Caroline’s chest grew tight as her earlier pretty daydreams shattered to the floor. “We did not know what would happen, Mama.”
“What if people were to learn he had escorted you alone?”
Mama knew?
“Oh, don’t look at me like a simpleton. I know you visited Serena with him.”
“I am sorry, Mama.”
Her mother waved an impatient hand. “Never mind that. We must make it very clear that he means nothing to this family. People might start speculating about you the way they speculate about poor Amherst.”
Caroline schooled her countenance to hide her rising panic. Did Mother truly fear for Caroline’s reputation?
“I cannot like it,” she continued. “I see now that we have erred, and it will not do for your matrimonial prospects to be adversely affected because of this. I think it best if you were removed from his vicinity, so that no one can make assumptions. Perhaps we should see if your grandmother is amenable to having you stay.”
“Grandmama?”
“Yes. I don’t mind admitting to you, my dear, that I did not particularly care for the way Lady Heathcote studied you. Nor, for that matter, how she eyed your sister. Really, I would have expected Cecelia to have more self-possession than what she displayed! Aynsley ladies do not embarrass themselves, or others, and they stay away from any whiff of scandal. At least I can trust you, Caroline, to always behave in a manner worthy of the Aynsley name.”
The sop to her pride was no doubt intended to mollify Caroline’s objections to the scheme to banish her. “Mother, truly I have no wish to leave. Perhaps Cecy would—”
Mama sighed. “It is apparent your sister needs more instruction in matters of propriety, and would benefit from a mother’s careful guidance, something that would perhaps be achieved more easily without her sisters in attendance. With Verity returning to school in the new year, if your father can persuade his mother that you would benefit from a stay by the seaside—”
“But it’s winter!”
“That is neither here nor there. Yes.” Mama nodded resolutely. “Once Christmas has passed, I’m sure you will find a visit to Saltings to be of great benefit.”
Protest erupted in her chest. Why was she being banished when she had done nothing wrong? “Forgive me, Mother, but I do not think this fair, and I cannot agree with you.”
“But you would agree it best to avoid further speculation about your supposed attachment with such a man, would you not?”
“There has never been any attachment,” she insisted.
“Exactly. Which is why we must do all in our power to ensure no gentleman is put off by thinking that there is.” She rose. “I will speak to your father at once.”
Mother swept from the room, leaving Caroline in a welter of confusion, rejection, and with a decided feeling that she most certainly did not wish to go to Saltings. South Devon in winter? She shuddered.
This Christmas held a number of firsts for Gideon. The first spent in Devon. The first—his heart wrenched—without their parents. Yet the first, in what felt like a long time, that held a measure of hope. He glanced at Emma as she dutifully paid attention to the minister in the pulpit, then turned his head to do likewise. These past weeks of attending services had led him
to believe Reverend Holmes’s sonorous tones demanded attention, if not respect. Not that Gideon had anything against the man—his father was a minister before circumstances changed, and Gideon generally held men of the cloth in high regard—but this reverend seemed a little too certain of himself, as if his version of the world must be the only correct one, and anyone who did not agree was a sinner of the greatest magnitude.
Gideon had come across this attitude before, with people whose learning only seemed to increase their loathing of anyone who dared see the world in a different way. He couldn’t help but think such attitudes a little pharisaical and narrow-minded. Yet his own understanding of the Bible had been challenged of late, forcing him to delve deeper into the meaning and context as he struggled to balance his faith with his science. And he knew that reasoning and logic weren’t everyone’s forte.
“Let us pray.”
Gideon started guiltily, and bowed his head in acquiescence, listening as the reverend beseeched and implored and advised God. Amusement tugged at his lips, and he filtered out the reverend’s prayer and lifted his own pleas to heaven.
Heavenly Father, thank You for all Your good blessings, for our new home, for Emma’s health. Keep her safe, and help us to serve You, and use us for Your kingdom.
“Amen.”
He echoed a second later, earning a glance from Emma. He patted her knee, then assisted her to rise for the closing hymn.
Within minutes they were outside, waiting for an older lady to finally finish speaking to the minister, an older lady who clearly thought herself more important than the rest of the congregation, seeing as she didn’t seem to mind leaving everyone else to shiver in the queue behind.
He swallowed a complaint, glancing at Emma again. Cold weather was never helpful for her condition, and being left to stand here like this …
“Hurry up, dearie,” a voice lilted behind them, a voice inflected with the rolling r this part of Devon was renowned for.
Gideon drew Emma closer, patting her arm gently. “I’m sure it won’t be long now.”
“Don’t count on it,” came the disgruntled woman’s voice again, forcing Gideon to peer over his shoulder. “Her highness thinks it ’er duty to let the minister know what he can improve upon for next time.”
“Her highness?” Emma said, eyes widening.
“Well, more of a duchess or a countess, really. The Dowager she be known by ’round these parts at any rate. Thinks she can dictate the sermons simply because she pays the minister’s wages.”
“Fancy that.”
Emma pinched his arm, whispering, “There’s no need to talk so.”
“Talk like what? Can I help it if we both know a certain someone who behaved in much the same way?”
“Father was not the only man in the family whose methods could be thought a trifle high-handed at times.”
“You wound me.”
She smiled, and the line finally released to begin moving again, the duchess or countess or whatever she was moving in a stately fashion to a waiting carriage.
“Well, and here we are. Hello, again.” The minister clasped Gideon’s hand briefly, but his gaze had—as usual—slid straight to Emma. It was not surprising, Gideon supposed. While not generally considered a beauty, she possessed a great sweetness that made ordinary men act in ways that could lead to discomfiture and no small degree of awkwardness.
And worse.
Gideon put his arm possessively around Emma. “Thank you, Reverend Holmes. We shall see you in services next week. Good day.”
“Ah, yes, of course. Thank you. And to you, of course.”
Gideon herded Emma away to where other congregants chatted, by the great yew that centered the churchyard. Beyond, he could see a row of horse-led vehicles lining the field on the other side of the gravestones. “I’ll be back after I’ve checked on Nancy.”
“No need to worry. I shall be perfectly content here.”
After removing Nancy’s blanket and readying the gig, he returned to find Emma talking—or rather listening—to their somewhat critical fellow congregant. Emma drew him to her side. “Gideon, I’d like you to meet Mrs. Baker. Mrs. Baker, this is my—” He eyed her sternly. “Mr. Kirby,” she finished with a blush.
“Ah,” the woman said, eyeing him curiously. “I been seeing you these past weeks. Messing about near the cliffs.”
He inclined his head. “I am interested in the petrifications.”
“Is that it? I wondered. Well, you just be careful. There be rockfalls and such to beware of, as well as certain other things.” She gave him a significant look, then with a “Mrs. Belcher!” waddled off to talk to someone else.
“What other things?” Emma asked.
He led her past the low stone wall of the churchyard to where Nancy waited patiently, breath huffing white in the frosty air as she tossed her mane. “I do believe that was a veiled reference to the free traders.”
Her eyes widened so the green became pronounced. “Smugglers?”
“I don’t believe that’s a term these people particularly appreciate. But”—he handed her into the gig—“it can hardly be wondered over, given the nature of these coves.”
“I suppose not,” she said, glancing back at the congregants still milling about. “Do you think some of the people here are involved?”
“Undoubtedly.”
She chuckled. “So, you think the Belcher, and the Baker—”
“And the candlestick maker are involved? Yes, yes I do.” He gently snapped the reins. “I have, in fact, heard stories where even the church minister allowed the church premises to be used for the storage of French brandy and the like in the cellars.”
“Surely you jest!”
He smiled, but shook his head. “I’m afraid not. Some people prefer to skirt the law than pay taxes, and when one thinks of the ridiculous sums being demanded for all manner of things”—he gestured to the windows of a large stone house they passed—“then it cannot be a surprise that some people would object.”
“I suppose not. Although I can’t quite see Reverend Holmes being party to such a scheme.”
“Perhaps not.” Although Gideon could see him being coerced into turning a blind eye. Money had a way of doing such things.
She exhaled and huddled into her warm coat as he encouraged Nancy to a trot. Really, the sooner Emma could be inside the better. At least the weather was milder than what they had grown up with.
“We shall just have to be very careful.”
“Well, you will,” she countered. “It is not as though I will have much opportunity for encounters with smugglers.”
“I should hope not.” He slid her a look then guided Nancy through the whitewashed stones marking their drive. “But I still think it important to continue the fiction we agreed upon.”
She eyed him, biting her lip. “But what about when Lord Kenmore comes?”
“He knows the truth, so of course we shall have to reconsider things then.”
“But won’t it make things awkward?”
Her eyes held a somewhat pleading quality, causing his own to narrow slightly. Was it possible Emma held something of a tendre for his Irish friend? He shook his head. No, such a thing was impossible, could never work. Why, he might as well set his sights on the likes of the imperious duchess from the services.
His grin grew wry. Not that either of them could do such a thing, not while they maintained this illusion of marriage.
CHAPTER THREE
January
“I JUST THINK it important that you be careful, Cecy,” Caroline said, smoothing down her pelisse. “You should not let a gentleman be too confident in your affection, else he will become complacent, and not treat you in the way you deserve.”
Cecilia eyed her with a mutinous look but said nothing. Really, Caroline thought, the chit almost deserved to know about Ned Amherst’s decided non-interest. Especially after all her carrying on during Lady Heathcote’s visit; why she had acted as if she thought
herself in some way bound to the young man—a young man who very likely never gave her a moment’s thought!
Such behavior was certainly not worthy of an Aynsley, Mama had later said. Young ladies did not give in to the baser emotions—and especially did not exhibit those emotions to young men who cared little for them. Not that she would say such a thing to her sister. Well, she might to Verity—very likely she would say something like that to Verity, but not to Cecilia. Cecy, the shy, sweet, sensitive sister.
Cecy averted her gaze, her tightly compressed lips suggesting she was withholding further comment and had no wish to engage with her older sister. And on the very day said sister was leaving. Irritation at Cecy’s determined silence finally made her say, “I’m sorry, Cecy, but Ned is simply not interested in you.”
As her sister’s mouth fell open, her eyes filling, then spilling with tears, Caroline felt a moment of remorse. Apparently she was that kind of person, after all. But wasn’t it better to live in reality than daydream about impossibilities?
“I am sorry if what I say sounds harsh.”
“You don’t sound very sorry,” her sister said, wiping at her damp cheeks.
“Cecy, I am sorry. I simply care about you too much to let you indulge in foolish fantasies. Ned Amherst is not the man we thought him, and I simply cannot advise you to seek him out.”
“But he is our friend, and he is injured—he could have died!”
“And his actions have brought great embarrassment to his family and, need I say, by association, to ours. As it is, Mama is none too pleased Lady Heathcote’s gossip means I am being forced away”—a pang struck; Mama didn’t really want Caroline to leave, did she?—“so I do not think it wise to compound her displeasure and distress by speaking about the man who is responsible for our parting.”
Cecilia shot a glance at the mantelpiece clock, as if anxious for Caroline’s departure.
Regret filled her chest, leading Caroline to force her lips up and adopt a conciliatory tone. “I have no wish to part with discord between us. I only wish for your happiness.”
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