That conversation was unexpected and unwanted. Despite the shock, Caroline masked her discomfort in a question. “But what about the scandal? I have been compromised.”
“My dear, I do not give a whit about scandal.” Her mother arched a brow. “This family is made of sterner stuff, as are you.”
“Don’t worry about me.” Caroline tugged a small piece of lint from the hem of her sleeve. “I am fine.”
“I do not think you are being honest with me or yourself. Do you love Lord Lockwood?”
Lifting her chin, Caroline looked her mother in the eyes.
With teeth clamped on her bottom lip, she promised herself she would not cry for Trevor, at least no more than she had already. “I have given Lord Lockwood my declaration, which you witnessed. What I feel is irrelevant.”
“I see.” She gazed out the window. “It is a pity, really, because I believe Lord Lockwood has developed a tendre for you.”
“Mama, Lord Lockwood is marrying me because Blake will kill him if he does not restore my honor.” She snorted. “He does not want me, nor does he love me.”
“Can you be so sure?”
“No. In light of my recent lapses in judgment, I am not sure of anything anymore.” Her hands fisted in her skirts, Caroline gulped. “Everything is so confusing.”
“That is because you are trying to rationalize that which is irrational. Love defies reason. It is not meant to be understood, my dear, but recognized, accepted, and cherished. When you are in love, you take your mate as he is, imperfections and all.” A whimsical expression invested her patrician features. “You might say you love Lord Lockwood in spite of himself. No doubt, when it comes to him, you find yourself tolerating behavior that would move you to violence if committed by another suitor.”
Caroline nodded her agreement. “How did you know?”
“I felt the same about your father. And I am positive Lord Lockwood cares for you, just as I am equally certain he is not happy about it.”
“I do not understand.”
“Your father, rest him, used to say I was his greatest strength and his worst weakness. I practically dragged the great Nautionnier Knight, kicking and screaming, to the altar.” Her mother chuckled. “Caroline, love can leave a man feeling extremely vulnerable, something to which I assure you they are unaccustomed. Most men find the stuff of poetry an incoherent language and, in some respects, a threat.”
“I am terrible where men are concerned.” With nervous agitation, she wrung her fingers. “Everything I do seems so awkward. I know I am not attractive, and he could find someone more appealing.”
Without a word, her mother stood and paced the floor. “My dear, you do yourself a grave disservice. I shoulder the blame for not recognizing how deeply the incident with Lord Darwith affected you, but you must know he was never worthy of your hand. I would wager he regrets choosing that harridan he married.”
The duchess returned to the chaise, sat at Caroline’s side, and clasped hands.
“Darling, you are a beautiful, intelligent, strong-willed woman. Any number of men would count themselves fortunate to have you for a wife. Who would be so brave as to stow away on a ship full of strange men headed for a foreign land? And how many men can wield a sword as well as you?”
Ill at ease, Caroline shifted in her seat. “Mama, you know very well that tonnish men do not consider those qualities desirous when seeking a suitable bride.”
“All right. Then let us focus on what has already occurred. As you have made it clear, you willingly gave yourself to Lord Lockwood.”
At the bold declaration, Caroline’s cheeks burned with a ferocious blush. “I did.”
“Tell me, did he take your maidenhead soon after he kidnapped you from Dalton’s ship, or did he wait to do the deed?”
To convince herself she was fully compos mentis and engaging in this highly improper conversation with her mother, Caroline pinched herself. The sting distracted her from the embarrassment. “We did not...come together...until weeks later.” In haste, she added, “But it makes no difference. He only wanted me because he thought I was Dalton’s mistress.”
“Why, then, did he wait?”
“Because of the terms we negotiated. I asked that he not compel me to surrender, else he would have had his way much sooner.”
“I disagree.” The duchess shook her head. “Had Lord Lockwood forced his attentions on you immediately, I would have to concur with your conclusion, and we would not be planning a wedding. However, since he did not, then he must have made love to you because he wanted you. My guess is that he waited because he hoped you would come to feel the same for him.”
Caroline shrugged. “It does not signify.”
“Actually, it does.” Her mother caught her in a piercing stare. “Be honest with me, darling. Do you care for Lord Lockwood?”
What she would have given to voice a denial. But she refused to lie to the woman who had given her life, so she had to admit the truth. As the pain of Trevor’s deception revisited her senses, Caroline could only manage a curt nod.
“Then go after him.” Her mother waved a fist as though rallying the troops. “Take Lord Lockwood in hand, and make it work. I know you’re hurt, but if you give yourself half a chance, I believe you will find love. And afterward, you can teach him to fear your wrath.”
“You make it sound so simple.” Drowning in a sea of confusion and skepticism, Caroline shivered, ignoring the nausea welling in her throat, and frowned. “But I do not even know where to begin.”
“My dear, men are no real mystery or challenge. All you have to do is be the bold, beautiful woman you are, and Lord Lockwood will fall at your feet. You’re a fighter, darling, and I know you can do this. But having been burned once, I fear you are a tad battle-shy.”
Unsure what to make of the gleam in her mother’s gaze, Caroline hugged herself. “What is it?”
Tapping a finger to her chin, the duchess walked to the armoire and pulled the doors wide. Hands on hips, she whirled around and caught her daughter in her sights. “My dear, it might be time for new armor.”
The next thing Caroline knew, she was ensconced in the Rylan town carriage with her mother, making the rounds between the milliner’s, the hosier’s, and the corsetiere’s. While being measured for a wide array of new gowns for every possible occasion, she fidgeted under the scrutiny of the seamstress as fabric was draped, situated, and pinned. Gone were the conservative, girlish pinks and pastels that made up her current wardrobe. Her new apparel embraced bold necklines and svelte cuts all done in vivid, but tasteful, jewel tones.
Once her mother deemed that particular aspect of their mission accomplished, they returned to Elliott House for their afternoon repast and were finishing their meal when the hairdresser arrived.
As Caroline sat still as a statue, the diminutive coiffeur studied her as if he were Michelangelo and she his model. The severe chignon she usually favored was loosened and her ends trimmed. Her rich brown mane was piled in carefree curls atop her head, with soft wisps teasing the back of her neck, and whimsical ringlets artfully framing her face.
And all the while, Caroline wondered what had possessed her to stand before her mother and proclaim, “I’ll do it.”
#
It has often been said that trial by fire is the best test of a new idea. The next evening, as she sat at her vanity, Caroline studied her reflection in the mirror and questioned her sanity. With her hair perfectly coifed, she almost did not recognize the woman staring back at her. Made of plush crimson velvet, her gown boasted a plunging neckline and a cut that hugged her curves in a tantalizing display of feminine prowess. It was common knowledge that some of the more brazen women of the ton often wet their chemises in order to achieve the same effect her skilled seamstress had attained.
“Oh, I say. Lord Lockwood will swallow his tongue once he sees you in your finery, my lady.”
“Thank you, Annie.” Facing her maid, Caroline grinned. “I do so hope you’
re right.”
When she descended the stairs of her family home, further reassurance was found in the gaping mouth and wide-eyed stare her brother sported upon spying her.
“Thank you, Blake.” She kissed his cheek. “I needed that.”
He blinked one, twice. “A-are you going out in public d-dressed like that?” The stuttering evidenced his stupefied state.
“Indeed, I am.”
“But I can see your--” Blake held his hands to his chest.
“They are called breasts, my dear son.” Their mother, dressed in violet silk satin, glided regally to Caroline’s rescue.
“I know that.” Her brother appeared on the verge of an apoplectic fit. “But you can see her bosom.”
Her cheeks burned, and Caroline bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing and thus incur his wrath.
“Don’t be a boor, Blake. Your sister looks stunning, and she has a lovely figure. I daresay she gets it from me.”
“Mama, you did this?”
With cool elegance and well-honed hauteur, mother approached son. “Do not take that tone with me, Blake Thornton Deverell Elliott.”
In the process of tugging on her gloves, Caroline winced. It was not smart for her elder sibling to tangle with their mother when she invoked the full compliment of his given names.
“While you may forever see Caroline as your baby sister, you must remember she is now a grown woman, soon to be married and a countess, at that. It is imperative she dress as befits her station.” With a pat of his cheek, she said, “It is time to let her go, my son.”
“As you wish.” Though his response implied consent, the glance Blake shot Caroline conveyed a wealth of meaning to the contrary.
When their mother strolled out the door, she added, “And if you find yourself lacking for things to do, I suggest you follow your sister’s example and get yourself a wife.”
On a shudder, he raised his eyes to the ceiling as if in silent plea for divine intervention. “Caroline, I am beginning to think it would have been much less complicated to run Lockwood through with my best sword.” He helped her put on her cloak, then offered his arm.
“Nonsense.” As she clutched the crook of his elbow, she said, “And how often have you remarked that blood forever ruins the shine on the blade?”
“You are quite right.” Blake handed her into the coach. “I say, it is a cool night. Perhaps you should retain your cloak for the evening? I would not want you to catch a cold.”
“Fret not, brother mine.” Caroline sank into the squabs beside her mother and grinned. “Should I become chilled, I will make my affliction known to Lord Lockwood, and you may rely on him to remedy the situation and warm my person, posthaste.”
She did not need the lamps lit to know her sibling was not too happy at that moment. During the ride, she mentally girded herself for the fight that was to ensue. Though her objective had changed, as had her original plan, her method of attack was the same for any goal she hoped to attain. When the carriage stopped before the main entrance to Trantham House, Caroline was resolved to dive in headfirst.
Shadows played on the Italian marble floor, as couples danced under the light of glittering crystal chandeliers, in the ballroom at Lady Trantham’s opulent London mansion. As was her duty, she stood behind her mother and brother as they were announced. Her name was called out, and she stepped into the arena where many a man was felled by delicate, but nonetheless lethal, weapons of silk, satin, and lace.
After bidding their mother a pleasant evening, Caroline held tight to Blake as he forged a path through the crush. In silence, she prayed she would be up to the task she had set for herself. That somehow, she would be able to win her future husband’s heart. But she knew it was going to take a lot more than a new gown and hairstyle.
Nearing the far wall of the massive ballroom, her brother indicated he had found their group. Just then she caught sight of Trevor standing amid their friends. A collective of jaws dropped when the gathering took note of her. With head held high, she smiled and walked into the fray with unimpaired aplomb. But she laughed aloud when she overheard Damian tell Alex, “Don’t even think about it.”
#
Through a haze of raw lust, Trevor struggled to restore the self-control that had been shredded by the mere appearance of a goddess in red velvet, or as she was more commonly known, his future wife. What he had previously considered a chore of courtship now seemed the perfect venue for seduction. Nervously, he cleared his throat and took extra care not to swallow his tongue. His skin tingled from head to toe, and his palms itched at the thought of roaming her shapely curves.
With the face of an angel and the body of a sylph, his bride-to-be had caught the attention of every inch of him, and a handful in particular. At the same time, he attempted to summon the suggestions on wooing a lady that Everett had laughingly provided. Of course, his friend had said nothing about courting a highborn beauty while fighting a rampant erection. At this rate, he was going to be hard until Christmas.
“My lord, a penny for your thoughts.” Caroline stood before him with an expression of cherubic innocence.
“A thousand pardons, my lady, that I should neglect you so.” He bowed and, upon straightening, raised her gloved hand to his lips. “May I say your beauty held me entranced from the moment I first saw you.”
“You may,” she replied while staring at him through her flirty lashes.
“May I also say that gown is an inspiration.”
“You may.”
“May I say that your hair is--good heavens.” Trevor wrinkled his nose. “What have you done with your hair? Is this an old fashion? Surely you have not cut it?”
“Only a little.” Pressing a hand to her temple, Caroline retreated a step. “Do you not like it?”
He frowned. “Well, I suppose it will grow back.”
“Perhaps,” Caroline stated in an icy tone that told him he had committed another egregious error. Holding his gaze, she added, “Dirk, would you care to dance?”
He almost pointed out that it was his waltz, but in the interest of keeping his head on his shoulders, Trevor acquiesced as the elder Randolph, with a sheepish backward glance, led her to the dance floor.
Blake rolled his eyes. Dalton, having recently returned from Jamaica, chuckled and rocked on his heels. Damian pretended not to notice his mistake. Lance leaned close and whispered something in Cara’s ear, and her countenance bespoke dreadful ire. Alex, Elaine, and Sabrina adopted identical stances, with arms folded and scowls that would make the saltiest sailor quiver in his breeches.
“You seem to have an affinity for digging your own grave, my friend.”
“Everett, I am not in the mood for your quips.” Trevor craned his neck to keep his lady in view. “I have upset Caroline.”
“Of course you have, you addled ass.” Markham clucked his tongue. “You never tell a woman her hair is démodé. Have I taught you nothing?”
“Bloody hell.” The fog lifted. “I was only trying to pay her a compliment. I preferred her hair as it was, is that so bad?”
“When it comes to women, indubitably.” Everett winked. “They are a mystery and a challenge. And that is what keeps us interested.”
“But I have never had trouble with doxies.”
“You would call your lady a doxy?”
Had they not been in the middle of a crowded ballroom, Trevor would have taken Everett’s head off. “I get your point. But surely courtship is not supposed to be so difficult? Give me a ship, and I would much prefer to sail the Horn than navigate this sphere, for it is truly a shallow pass with hidden shoals.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself.” Everett smacked him on the shoulder. “I suspect you have been too long at sea. This is not a sailor’s life.”
The waltz ended, and Trevor was not surprised when his future wife took refuge amid her friends, who favored him with icy glares. “The air has turned cold, has it not?”
“Indeed.” His only friend nodded o
nce. “What say we adjourn to the card room and a bottle of brandy?”
Trevor had hoped to strengthen the tenuous bonds with his future extended family, as they were an odd assortment of characters that he still did not understand. In their circles, he was an outsider and remained consciously aware of the fact. At first, he could not see how he would ever find his place in their clique, yet of late he had gained some small measure of ground. But it was evident that whatever inroads he had made were now blocked by his unintended insult.
“Perhaps you are right. Tonight is a loss.”
“And speaking of losses, I promise to keep yours to a few thousand pounds.” Everett grinned.
“How generous of you.”
#
The Elliott town coach bobbled through the streets of London bound for Chatham House the next night. The fête was one of the premiere events of the Season, and everyone who was anyone would be in attendance. Judging from the queue of carriages waiting to deposit their consignment at the entrance to the columned, Palladian style mansion, the ton was putting in a good show.
Twiddling her gloved thumbs, Caroline sat across from her mother and mulled her day. Blake had sent word that he would be spending the night at his bachelor lodgings and would meet them at the ball. She knew what that meant, and when he arrived that afternoon for an unscheduled fencing session, she had taunted and teased her brother until she yielded her foil to a vicious riposte.
Of course, she was grateful for Blake’s company. He served as primary distraction from the other man in her life who had neglected to pay call. In anticipation of Trevor’s visit, she had composed a conciliatory speech that was to be given prior to accepting whatever gift he had chosen to convey his regrets concerning his thoughtless comment at the Trantham’s ball. To her dismay, her fiancé had not shown his face during the prescribed hours, and Caroline would have gone in search of another ship on which to stow away had it not been for Blake.
Enter The Brethren (The Brethren of the Coast) Page 15
