by Cheryl Holt
She had no funds of her own, and she was a very aged twenty-four and about to be twenty-five, so she’d been waiting to tie the knot for seven long years.
Gregory had never been in much of a hurry to proceed. He lived in London and reveled in the sort of excitement all gentlemen pursued there. It had begun to seem as if she wasn’t betrothed, as if she wasn’t destined to be her cousin’s bride, but during his last visit, Uncle Samson had put his foot down and insisted Gregory set the date.
So. . . a week hence, she would be Mrs. Gregory Grey rather than Miss Caroline Grey.
After the ceremony, not much would change. Gregory would still carouse in town, while she resided in the country. She’d still manage the servants and the house, but she’d have the security and respect that came from being a wife.
She was trying to be happy about what was approaching. It was her wedding. It was the event every girl supposedly dreamed about, but she didn’t feel much of anything. Not elation. Not joy. Not even much interest, if she was being truly honest.
Once they spoke the vows, she would formally bind herself to Grey’s Corner. She loved her home and wanted to stay in it, but bubbling just below the surface, she had her father’s wanderlust.
On occasion, her world was so small that she yearned to scream at the fetters shackling her to it. She yearned to run away and experience the kind of escapades her father had relished. Why, he’d even journeyed to Africa with the notorious explorer, Sir Sidney Sinclair! But it was madness to think she could have a bigger life than what had been provided.
Females weren’t allowed to travel and engage in wild antics, and she’d had plenty of dangerous adventure when her ship had sunk in the Caribbean. She had to remember that there was great solace in the quiet passing of the decades, where there were no huge swings of circumstance.
She was glad she was finally marrying. She was relieved. Wasn’t she?
“I will admit to being the bride-to-be,” she said, “but I won’t admit to blushing. I’m not the blushing type. I’m much too confident and composed.”
“Wonderful. I can’t abide trembling maidens, so I’m sure we’ll get on famously.”
“Since you’ll be at my wedding, I should probably learn a bit about you. How are you acquainted with Gregory?”
Mr. Ralston paused for an eternity, then said, “We’re friends.”
“It took you long enough to select the term to describe your relationship with him.”
“I’m not exactly a friendly person. Gregory and I frequently socialize. Does that make us friends? I’m not certain.”
It was a peculiar reply. Their wedding guests would be neighbors, the larger tenant farmers, and the important merchants in the village. There would be several pews filled with distant cousins and their spouses too. The only attendees who would raise her curiosity in the least would be Gregory’s companions from London.
He’d distributed invitations to his London circle, but Caroline didn’t know any of them. In fact, she had scant notions of how he carried on in the city—except that he spent money like an aristocrat. Considering the fiscal condition of the family when her Grandfather Walter was still with them, it was bizarre to see Gregory with money and to watch him fritter it away with such a reckless abandon.
Grandfather Walter had been exhaustively pious. As a result, he’d eschewed frivolity and ostentation so, under his iron thumb, they might have been monks laboring under vows of poverty. Once he’d died though, her Uncle Samson had quickly proved that he and Gregory didn’t subscribe to his father’s parsimonious ways.
They’d both inherited fortunes from her grandfather, and they were happy to use them so all their lives would be more pleasant. They often scoffed at how her grandfather had been so determined to be miserable. They didn’t intend to be.
She and her cousin, Janet, hadn’t benefited from the inheritances though. Janet had a small trust fund from her maternal grandmother, but no bequests had been delivered to them from their Grandfather Walter. They blundered on fairly much as they always had, although they were now able to buy a new gown or slippers when the mood struck them.
She’d even been permitted to have a dress specially sewn for the wedding. Gregory had sent a modiste from town to take her measurements and show her fabric samples. It was a sweet gesture and one that was surprising from a man as self-centered as Gregory had always been.
Obviously, he wanted them to get off on the right foot. Perhaps he even felt a tad guilty about the lengthy delay between proposal and ceremony, and the gown was his method of telling her that he was delighted to proceed. She had to cease being so negative about every little issue.
“How long have you known Gregory?” she asked.
“A few months.”
“Months? I assumed it would be years. Gregory told me his London guests were his dearest chums.”
“Gregory doesn’t have chums. I met him at a faro parlor that’s run by a good friend of mine.”
She scowled. “Faro is gambling.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Gregory doesn’t gamble.”
Mr. Ralston stared at her with a pitying look that indicated he deemed her a naïve fool.
Was Gregory a gambler? She had no idea. He received quarterly disbursements from his trust fund, and he regularly overspent and had to borrow from the next disbursement. He and Uncle Samson repeatedly argued about it, but she’d figured he wasted his money on ordinary expenses such as food and clothes.
Was he throwing it away in the gambling hells? Excessive wagering was a scourge among a fast crowd in town, with men losing their properties and fortunes. For many, it was like an addiction that couldn’t be controlled.
Was Gregory addicted? Was that it? And if he was, had she the right as his wife to have an opinion about it? Then again, since he would continue to reside in the city and rarely visit Grey’s Corner, did it matter how he carried on?
It wasn’t as if she’d ever have to be confronted by his mischief. If he disgraced himself, why would she care?
A thousand questions flew to the tip of her tongue, and she was anxious to pry into the details about Gregory’s life in London. It seemed Mr. Ralston knew secrets to which she desperately needed to become privy. If she inquired, would he reply candidly?
He realized he’d revealed a fact he shouldn’t have. He pointed down the lane, cutting off her chance to delve into several topics that ought to be addressed.
“Is the house close?” he asked.
“Yes, yes, and I’m preventing you from arriving. Let me show you the way.”
They walked side by side, his horse plodding behind and nudging him in the back as if urging him to hurry.
It should have been a companionable stroll, but she was suddenly overwhelmed by problems she should have been contemplating for ages. Her wedding to Gregory was an inevitable conclusion, and there hadn’t ever been a reason to worry about him or his antics. Should she start worrying?
“I don’t want to call you Miss Grey,” he said, breaking the awkward silence. “With the manor full of your relatives, there will be numerous Miss Greys traipsing about. I’d hate to have to keep explaining which one I mean.”
“It’s fine with me if you call me Caroline.”
“Thank you, but I don’t like Caroline either. It’s too much name for you.”
She snorted with amusement. “It’s the only one I have.”
“You’re such a tiny sprite of a woman, so it doesn’t suit you. I believe I shall shorten it to Caro. Caro would be much better.”
She sighed and chuckled. “Little Caro. . .”
“Why is it funny?”
“I haven’t been thought of as Caro in a very long time. An old friend used to use Caro, and I’ve missed it.”
On their deserted island, she’d been Caro to Libby and Joanna. She’d been Caro to Cap
tain Ralston too. The whole trip to England, she’d been Caro, but once she’d been ensconced in her grandfather’s grim, sad home, she’d been referred to correctly.
Little Caro had vanished, and quiet, bewildered Caroline had emerged instead.
They reached the end of the trees, and the house loomed in the curved driveway. It wasn’t the grandest mansion in the land, but nonetheless, it was quite imposing. Three stories high and constructed of a tan-colored stone, there were dozens of windows and a set of fancy stairs leading to the front doors.
The property had been in the family for two centuries, and under her grandfather, it had fallen into an embarrassing state of disrepair. Her Uncle Samson had swiftly rectified her grandfather’s neglect. The roof had been replaced, the window trim repainted, the chimneys modernized.
He’d permitted her to hire more servants too, so there were many more people to help maintain the enhanced condition.
She was inordinately proud of it. It was a bucolic abode, sitting in a grassy meadow with woods and hills beyond. It was the sort of pastoral scene a painter might have captured: Rural England on a Summer Day. . .
“It’s not nearly as impressive as I was expecting,” he suddenly said, then he winced. “That was a horrid comment, wasn’t it? Please pardon my awful manners.”
“You’re pardoned, but why is it less impressive than you anticipated?”
“With how Gregory waxes on, I figured it would be second only to Buckingham Palace.”
“You have to forgive him. He likes to brag.”
“Yes, he does.”
She peeked over at him, and he was standing with his feet apart, his legs straight, his hands clasped behind his back. It was how sailors stood as they balanced against the roll of the waves.
“By any chance, Mr. Ralston,” she said, “were you ever in the navy?”
“I served for over a decade. How can you tell?”
“Your posture gave you away.”
“I guess a man never really stops being a sailor.”
“Are you retired?”
“You could describe it that way.”
He didn’t add any details, leaving her with the distinct opinion that he wasn’t keen to discuss his separation from the navy.
She tiptoed out onto a limb and inquired, “I’m acquainted with a navy captain from when I was a girl. Miles Ralston? Might you be related to him?”
He pulled his gaze from the manor and stared at her for an eternity. She could practically see the thoughts flitting around as he decided how to answer.
Finally, he said, “I’ve never heard of him.”
She suspected he was lying, but why would he deny knowing Captain Ralston? She wanted to scoff with disgust. It was the sole time she’d ever uttered Captain Ralston’s name aloud, and it hadn’t proved satisfying in the least.
“Your wedding is almost here,” he said, deftly switching subjects.
“One week from today.”
“Has Gregory arrived?”
“Last night.”
“How long have the two of you been engaged? I remember him telling me it’s been a few years.”
She wasn’t about to admit that she’d agreed when she was seventeen, that she’d been waiting for Gregory to get on with it, and he’d only proceeded after significant nagging from his father. He hadn’t been very eager to become a husband. Or maybe he wasn’t eager to become her husband, which was too humiliating to consider.
“We’ve been betrothed for awhile,” she blithely replied. “We’re both busy, and there was never a reason to hurry.”
“You’re about to tie the knot. Are you excited?”
“What a strange question. Yes, I’m excited.”
“Well then. . . good. I’m happy for you.”
“Gregory and I are cousins. It’s the best ending we could have devised.”
She had no idea why she’d offered the justification, but under his heightened scrutiny, she felt a desperate need to clarify the situation. She’d consented to the betrothal when she’d been too young to wonder if she should refuse. With her having no dowry, she’d assumed she would never marry, that she’d dodder around at Grey’s Corner forever as an unwanted spinster.
Her uncle had saved her from that fate, and she’d been glad of it, but she was more mature now and more accustomed to speaking up for herself. She could have told her uncle she’d changed her mind, but she hadn’t changed it. Not really.
She was about to be a wife. It was the normal path for every woman. She’d be fine. Wouldn’t she?
The worst wave of dread swept over her, and her anxiety spiraled. She took several deep breaths, struggling to calm herself.
He studied her even more intently. “I’ve distressed you.”
“No, you haven’t. I’m just. . . ah. . . tired. We have a full house, and I’m overwhelmed by chores.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-four. Almost twenty-five.”
“You’ve been valiantly marching toward this destiny, but you don’t have to go through with it. Not if you don’t want to.”
For the briefest instant, there was the most outlandish perception in the air, as if Time had stopped ticking so she could ponder his suggestion.
Not go through with it. . .
The words sounded so thrilling, and a potent surge of relief flooded her. She nearly twirled in ecstatic circles, but as rapidly as she was riveted by the sensation, it vanished.
Of course she’d wed Gregory. Why wouldn’t she? It was silly to mull any other conclusion.
Mr. Ralston shook himself as if he’d been in a stupor. “I can’t believe I said that to you.”
She grinned to lighten the mood. “Neither can I.”
“I can’t figure out what’s come over me. Will you pardon me again?”
“Certainly. There’s no harm done.”
“I will confess that I am a terrible insomniac. I never sleep.”
“Never?” she asked.
“Well, not often and not for any useful length of hours. I fear fatigue is making me act like an idiot, and I can’t control my unruly tongue.”
“You’re not acting like an idiot precisely. I find you to be quite odd, but that isn’t necessarily bad. I’m very sheltered at Grey’s Corner, and it’s a rare occasion when I hear a comment that’s new or different.”
His expression sobered. “Seriously, Miss Grey. Caro. Don’t listen to me. I would never presume to advise you in your personal choices. I wish you all the happiness in the world.”
“I’m sure you do, and I thank you for it.”
She stared up into his magnificent blue eyes, and he stared back, his gaze fantastically enthralling. She’d met so few handsome men in her life, and there’d definitely never been one who assessed her so meticulously.
It felt as if he was cataloguing every detail for subsequent reflection. It was an exhilarating realization, and she caught herself leaning toward him, as if she might simply fall into his arms.
Any marvelous thing could have happened, but from over by the manor, Gregory called, “Ho, ho! Ralston! Is that you?”
They glanced over to see Gregory standing on the stairs. He’d been nervous and jumpy, watching for his guests and as eager as a boy on Christmas morning.
“It appears I’ve been summoned,” Mr. Ralston said, as he slipped her the basket.
“Let’s get you inside,” she told him. “Once you’re settled in your room, perhaps you should take a nap. If you rest for a bit, it might prevent you from uttering indiscreet remarks.”
“I would try to take a nap, but it would probably be pointless.”
“Good luck with your socializing then. I predict you’ll step in numerous holes.”
“Just for you, I vow to be exhaustingly polite.”
“I shall ke
ep hope alive, Mr. Ralston.”
He sauntered off, his long legs covering the ground much quicker than hers could, so she was left alone to observe as he greeted her cousin.
To her great exasperation, he’d immediately forgotten that they’d been strolling together and that they’d shared a. . . a. . .
There was no term to describe what had occurred. Whatever it had been, it had seemed important and vital—and even a tad dangerous. The hottest fire had ignited in her chest, as if his arrival would spark changes she’d been waiting for forever. But had she been waiting for changes?
One fact was certain: The days leading up to her wedding would be very interesting. She’d assumed Gregory’s London friends would be tedious and selfish, just like him, but maybe they wouldn’t be. Maybe they’d all be just like Mr. Ralston, which was delightful to consider.
She dawdled as a footman came out to tend Mr. Ralston’s horse, then Gregory escorted him in. The door was shut behind them, and she continued on at a much slower pace.
Mr. Ralston was staying for a whole week. Fancy that!
She smiled and headed for the servants’ entrance at the rear. She had chores to complete and a staff to supervise. She didn’t have time to moon over an intriguing Londoner.
No, she’d save her drooling for later on, when she was in her bedchamber and had a quiet interval to figure out what had transpired.
“We’re hosting a party every night until the wedding. But it will always be different guests, so you won’t grow bored with the company.”
Caleb Ralston stared at Gregory and smirked with annoyance. “I won’t grow bored.”
“We’re the premier family in the area,” Gregory boasted. “We have to keep up appearances by inviting the appropriate people. These rural folks can be so prickly if they’re not given suitable attention. We can’t have anyone feeling slighted.”
“Doesn’t everyone hate to feel slighted? It’s not just rural folks.”
“True, Ralston, true,” Gregory quickly agreed.
