“Papa, no.”
“If you do something foolish like running off,” Papa went on as if she hadn’t protested, “vicious tongues will wag. Lizzie has assured her future, but you will destroy Pippa’s prospects.”
“There’s nowt further to be said.” Adrian carefully clipped each syllable, and Caro sensed the underlying struggle. “I’ll be gone in the morning, your grace.”
“Adrian, wait.”
But Caro might as well not have intervened. Adrian gave a little bow before pivoting on his heel and striding from the study. His footfalls faded down the corridor.
Caro lifted her skirts, prepared to follow, but her father wasn’t finished with her. “Don’t you dare turn this into a greater spectacle,” he commanded.
Her fingers tightened into fists in the fabric of her skirts. The cool silk ought to have soothed, but somehow it only enflamed. Yet, something in Papa’s tone kept her feet planted where she stood.
“I have allowed too much latitude in your life,” Papa went on, “careening all over the place dressed as a stable boy. You’ve become headstrong. But for once, you will listen to me. That man took advantage of you.”
Though Adrian had walked out on her, an urge rose in her to jump to his defense. “No, Papa, he didn’t. I wanted what happened between us. I wanted every last thing we did.”
Begged for it, actually, but Papa’s gaze was already hardening to granite.
“A man of his position still should have known better.”
“I’m afraid I insisted.”
“Then why did he not resist?”
“He’s not the sort of person you’re making him out to be.” Damnation, the backs of her eyes were burning. She never cried. She was stronger than that. “I’ve known that from the first day, when he stopped in the pouring rain to help what looked to him like a pair of urchins getting into mischief. As far as he knew, there was nothing in it for him.”
And Adrian had proved himself on more than one occasion. He’d nothing to gain from helping Sadie, yet he’d made certain to place her beyond Fletcher’s reach. He’d resisted every last one of Lady Wyvern’s advances out of loyalty to his former employer.
“He’s a good man, Papa. The best.” She swiped at the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. “And you’ve chased him away. I’ll never forgive you for this.”
—
At some point the following day, the door to Caro’s bedchamber crashed open. The intruder marched across the carpet and threw open the curtains to let in an obscene amount of mid-afternoon sunlight.
Caro blinked against the sudden glare. When the spots cleared from her eyes, Lizzie stood next to her bed, arms crossed. Her foot beat a rapid tattoo on the floor.
“Pippa told me I’d find you here.”
“And a good day to you, too.” Caro pushed herself onto an elbow. Yes, her tattle-telling younger sister hovered on the threshold. “I trust you had a pleasant journey and all that.”
“Never mind that now. I come home to find our estate agent’s been dismissed and you’ve taken to your bed. I’d like to know how that came about.”
Caro pulled up her knees and hugged them. She’d indulged herself in a good cry, and she suspected her eyes still bore the evidence. “Papa’s made it a custom in this family to take to his bed when life does not suit him. Perhaps I thought I’d give it a try.”
Pippa tiptoed farther into the room. “You need to tell her everything that’s happened since she’s been away. Everything between you and Mr. Crosby.”
“There’s nothing of import. Not now.” Not since he’d left her. And he had, no matter what Papa had done. Damn Adrian, he didn’t even try to argue.
“Why did Papa dismiss him?” Lizzie asked. “Did he not perform to satisfaction?”
Heat exploded in Caro’s cheeks, while Pippa hid a giggle behind her hand.
“If you insist on phrasing your question in such terms,” Caro said, “it sounds like you know all you need to.”
“I, for one, should like the story,” Pippa said. “I clearly have not heard it all.”
“And it’s not as if we couldn’t work out for ourselves that something was happening between you,” Lizzie added. “The way he carried you into the house the night you sprained your ankle.” She gave a little sigh, as though she could think of nothing more romantic—even after everything she’d been through with her own husband before they married.
The reminder of that night only injected an extra dose of sadness into Caro’s mood. “He didn’t ruin me, if that’s what you want to know.”
“More’s the pity,” Pippa burst out.
Caro cast her a quelling look. “What I mean is, he did not have to. Snowley saw to my social ruin all on his own when he sent my hunting party guests packing. After that it hardly mattered what I did with Mr. Crosby.”
“And so Papa found out about you,” Lizzie prodded.
“What can I do about it?” Caro crossed her arms. “He’s sent Crosby away, and Crosby left.” Her throat tightened. “He didn’t even fight for me.”
Pippa leaned a hip against the high mattress. “I don’t think you’re taking the proper approach to the situation.”
“Oh?” Caro shot back. “And what would you do in my place?”
Pippa plopped herself on the bed and crossed her legs beneath her voluminous skirts. “I’d ask myself what Great-aunt Matilda would do.”
“That’s easy enough. She’d ask Sven to give her one of his cures and depart on a grand tour of Europe.”
“No, Pippa is right.” The mattress dipped as Lizzie took a spot on the opposite side. “What would Great-aunt Matilda do? Or perhaps we ought to ask what Caro would do.”
Caro stared at her sisters, sitting shoulder to shoulder at the end of the bed, a wall of concern and caring. Daft as brushes, the pair of them. No, she couldn’t think that—it was how Adrian would have phrased it in his soft Yorkshire burr.
She waved an arm at the bedchamber, disturbing the dust motes floating through a ray of sunshine. “Here’s your answer.”
Lizzie reached out and touched her knee. “I mean the Caro who dressed me as a stable boy and sent me haring after Dysart. The Caro who always badgered me about living up to the family name.”
“Are you saying I should do the same thing? I’ve done nothing but behave like a hoyden since Adr—since Mr. Crosby’s arrival. You see where it’s got me.”
“After what you’ve done with him, after what you’ve had to feel to do as much…” Lizzie trailed off and stared at the plaster cornice for a moment as if she couldn’t quite find the words. “This is your chance. Don’t ruin it.”
Caro recognized those words. She’d said as much to Lizzie when, by all appearances, Dysart had left her behind to chase down their former estate agent. Lizzie was merely throwing her own advice back at her. “I pursued Mr. Crosby, not the other way around. Don’t you see? It’s his turn to pursue me, and he’s gone.”
“Caro.” Pippa leaned forward. “Do you love him? Because that is all that matters.”
“It’s not enough if he doesn’t love me back, is it?” Caro fought to keep her voice steady.
Lizzie laid a hand on her wrist and squeezed. “Does he know how you feel about him?”
“No. I didn’t tell him.” She’d only shown him with her body, her kisses, her touches. She’d have shown him over and over if only she’d had the chance. “I didn’t realize it would be necessary.”
“Then you need to tell him and you need to find out if he feels the same way. You need to have everything clear before you make any more decisions.”
“Decisions,” Caro echoed. “To what end? Nothing can come of it. If I marry a man of Mr. Crosby’s standing—if anyone ever finds out I so much as kissed him—I’ll ruin Pippa’s prospects.”
“My prospects?” Pippa leapt off the bed to stride across the room and back. “My prospects? You must know I care no more for my marriage prospects than you do. Do you think I’ll find
a husband indulgent enough to allow me to pursue my art in the proper manner?”
Caro knew just what her sister meant by that remark. A serious artist studied the human form in all its states—both clothed and unclothed.
Pippa came to a halt by the side of the bed. “If you’re in love with Mr. Crosby, you need to follow your heart. Which means you need to follow him and make everything clear between you. Do you know where he went?”
Wyvern Manor. He’d said as much last night. Except Papa had also pointed out that she might have difficulty settling in to such a place. Especially if the current Lady Wyvern found a way to stay on.
No. Caro would never suffer occupying the same estate with that woman.
“Yes, but…Assuming he feels as I do, what can we do about Papa?”
“Papa accepted Dysart,” Lizzie pointed out.
“Of course he did. In the end, Dysart came from an acceptable family.”
“I didn’t know that when I went after him. You leave Papa to us. He could never bring himself to deny you for long. You’re his favorite.”
“Oh, I am not,” Caro protested.
“You are,” Pippa put in. “Of all of us, you take after Mama the most.”
Caro’s thoughts settled into sharper focus. She couldn’t act until she’d formed a proper plan. Whatever Papa said, Adrian would need a new position. They’d need funds until he found one—assuming he agreed.
Damnation, he’d have to agree.
Funds it was, a goodly amount. More than her pin money. No, she knew exactly where she could set her hands on a sizable sum, though it would take some time to set up. Meanwhile, she could assure Sadie settled in a permanent position, either here or at their London townhouse. As a gesture of goodwill, Caro could hand the treasure map over to Papa and Snowley on the off chance Barrows had left any as-yet-undiscovered valuables behind.
Throwing back the covers, Caro planted her feet on the floor and stood. Her nightdress fell in a swirl about her ankles.
“Where are you going?” Lizzie asked.
“I’ve a letter to write.”
Chapter 28
Adrian emerged from the York offices of Wyvern’s solicitors and smoothed down his waistcoat. His calloused palms skidded over rich brocade and brass buttons, threatening to snag on the costly fabric. He reminded himself to be careful with the borrowed togs, but for a moment, at least, he could pretend he was born to finery.
How different his life would have been had he come into this world on the legitimate side of the blanket. She didn’t want a gentleman. She didn’t want a title.
He pushed away those painful thoughts. They’d haunted him for the past fortnight, ever since his dismissal from Sherrington Manor. Such a lot could change in so little as fourteen days. Over the course of a fortnight, he’d gained and lost a position. Over the course of a fortnight, Lady Caroline had turned his heart to mush before cutting it from his chest. Over the course of the fortnight since, his circumstances had changed entirely.
But she still won’t want you. Not on a permanent basis. No, she’d pursued him until he’d given in and ruined her thoroughly. In the end, she wasn’t any better than Lady Wyvern.
Forget her. Nothing could ever have come of it.
Instead, he trained his attention to the street. In the cramped space between houses, Micklegate teemed with wagons, riders, and housewives with baskets on their arms pushing their way through the throng. Without doubt, most of them were making their way toward the markets on the other side of the Ouse beneath the bright sunshine.
Adrian’s stomach rumbled. Aye, and a bite wouldn’t go amiss. He joined the crowd, winding along the twisting medieval streets, across the bridge above where the muddy river slogged between the buildings on either bank, into the ancient maze of stalls and shops surrounding The Shambles.
Behind him, the masses parted to let pass several roughly dressed lads leading fine specimens of horses. As Adrian pressed his back to a wall, he caught a glimpse of a muscular chestnut mare, a deep-chested jumper who carried her head high.
“Just like Boudicca,” he muttered to himself. “Christ, what is she doing here?”
There couldn’t be two such mares. Could there? Damn it, he shouldn’t even care. What Lady Caroline did with her horse was none of his affair. But how the hell had the beast traveled the two hundred miles and more from Suffolk to York?
In spite of his misgivings, he fought the tide of people to catch up, but the horses had moved on. The narrow way gave out onto a square where a temporary ring had been set up. Well-dressed gentlemen surrounded the enclosure, calling out bids on the beast within.
Lord, he hadn’t thought about the monthly horse market held all summer. This had to be the last of the season. Adrian craned his neck to catch sight of Boudicca. Yes, there. On the opposite side of the ring.
And he wasn’t the only one to have noticed. A buzz went up from the onlookers at her appearance. One in particular, clearly a gentleman, in his beaver hat and intricately knotted cravat, all but stood at attention, his gaze all keen focus.
God almighty, Pendleton.
I can sell Boudicca, and we’ll live on the proceeds.
Caro’s words echoed through his mind, borne on her unearthly scream of protest when his grace had dismissed Adrian. Hardly the reaction of someone who didn’t care. That shriek in particular had carried a great deal of emotion.
He closed his eyes against the memory, for it cut, sharp and swift as a lethally whetted blade. Straight to the quick before he had time to steel himself against the blow.
No, not now. He’d work that out later. First he had to discover what Pendleton was up to. And where in the name of the devil was Lady Caroline?
Nowhere in evidence. A quick scan of the crowd proved as much. And why would a lady of her standing be present? Horse auctions were hardly a suitable place for a duke’s daughter.
In the ring, the auctioneer proclaimed a beast sold before holding up his hand for silence. After a long pause to be certain he commanded everyone’s attention, he nodded and the next horse was led in. As if aware of her audience, Boudicca pranced on the end of a lead line, ears pricked and alert. An even deeper hush fell over the onlookers.
“Now this is as fine a mare as I’ve rarely had the honor to present.” The auctioneer’s voice carried to the far reaches of the square. “Take a moment and admire her configuration. She’d be the pride of any hunt, and you can clearly see she’s got the heart to keep up with the chase the entire day. She’d also make a most excellent addition to anyone’s breeding stock, if you’ve got a mind in that direction. I have it on good authority, she’s in foal, so you’d be getting two fine bits of horseflesh for the price of one with this beauty. Now, what am I offered?”
Adrian barely heard the opening bids as his ears rang with that description. In foal, when Caro had been worried over that possibility. And Adrian had promised her he’d be on hand to help with the birth.
An empty promise, and doubly so now.
He narrowed his eyes on Pendleton. The man’s entire body was trained toward Boudicca, like a bull preparing to charge. He hadn’t placed a bid yet, but Adrian harbored no doubt he’d jump in when the moment was ripe.
A surge of competitive fire raced through Adrian’s blood. Whatever had transpired in his absence, he knew one thing: He could not permit Pendleton to lay hands on Caro’s mare.
—
“I’ve a bid for eight hundred on this fine mare,” the auctioneer’s voice rang out. “Would anyone like to say fairer?”
Damnation, Caro’s gamble hadn’t paid off. She’d expected an auction to drive up the price. Eight hundred was less than she’d hoped to garner from a private sale.
“Eight hundred once!”
She might have gone to Tattersalls rather than coming so far north, but she’d counted on the ton being absent from London this time of year.
“Eight hundred twice!”
Even the auctioneer sounded disappointed.
Blast it, why hadn’t she treated with Pendleton privately? She could see his smile broaden from across the ring. He was about to get a bargain, and he knew it.
“Bid, damn you.” She sent the plea to the crowd at large but no one raised a hand.
“Eight hun—”
“Eight fifty,” cried a new voice.
Like a candle flame in a stiff wind, Pendleton’s grin winked out. “Eight seventy-five.”
“Nine hundred.”
Patches of red formed on Pendleton’s cheeks. “Nine fifty.”
“One thousand.”
Caro placed a hand over her heart in a vain effort to contain its pounding, and scanned the crowd. The new bidder’s calls had come from a point partway down the ring, but on her side. She pushed herself onto her toes—if only she could catch a glimpse. But the broad brim of her straw hat and the tall men surrounding her only served to block her view.
“One thousand fifty.”
“Eleven hundred.”
His grin spreading, the auctioneer rocked back on his heels. Without a doubt he was counting his commission.
“Eleven fifty.”
“Twelve.”
Every time Pendleton upped the bid, the newcomer replied, the words flattened by the local dialect. That particular cadence warmed her. Adrian would have bid just this way, quick and confident.
“Twelve fifty.”
“Thirteen.”
Adrian.
Her heart rate kicked up another notch. Could he be the other bidder? At these prices, he could only be acting for Wyvern.
“Thirteen fifty.”
“Fourteen.”
Pendleton’s expression resembled a thundercloud about to unleash a fury of hail on the helpless countryside. He, too, had noted the identity of his adversary, to judge by the intent glare he shot from his place on the opposite side.
As the price kept rising, Caro ducked from her vantage and shouldered her way along the fringes of the crowd.
“Seventeen fifty.”
To Tame a Wild Lady Page 24
