by Cheryl Holt
“Not long. I was gambling, but I got weary of the company, so I quit.”
She scowled. “Who is gambling?”
“Gregory and his friends from town. There is quite a game in progress in a rear salon.”
At the news, she was astonished. Grey’s Corner was her home, was Janet’s home, was her Uncle Samson’s home. They had a house full of impressionable footmen and housemaids. How dare Gregory bring his dissolute habits into their midst!
She suffered a rare burst of fury that was potent in its intensity, but she tamped it down. Usually, her rage rippled just below the surface, and she never unleashed it. She was terrified it might incinerate the whole world.
“Gambling is regrettable,” she tepidly said. “I can’t say I’m glad you told me about it.”
“Gregory is addicted to wagering. It’s obvious you weren’t aware of it, so I’m sorry to have apprised you.”
“I guess it’s better than wallowing in the dark and not knowing.”
“I wouldn’t agree to that. Some secrets should remain buried.”
“Now that you’ve informed me of Gregory’s situation, will you tell me how to deal with it?”
“I’m not smart enough to counsel you on the topic. There are so many men in London who labor under the same failing. It’s an impossible dilemma, and there doesn’t appear to be a cure—except for the fellow involved to simply give it up. It’s the only remedy that seems to work.”
“Does anyone ever stop?” she asked.
“Not that I’ve witnessed.”
She sighed with resignation. There would have to be a stern discussion with her uncle and with Gregory, and she couldn’t picture it. Her life cruised down a smooth road where she never complained or rocked any boats. She’d learned as a girl, through her grandfather’s vicious chastisements, to keep her mouth shut and remember her place.
But she managed the manor for Uncle Samson, and she was about to wed Gregory. Clearly, she had to assume more control, but the notion exhausted her.
At the moment, she didn’t want to fret about Gregory though. She’d stumbled into a private encounter with Mr. Ralston, and she wouldn’t waste it. He’d be gone shortly, and she’d be a wife and bogged down by the domesticity that drove her cousin, Janet, to rail about the unfairness of women’s lives. Caroline would never see him again, but she’d fondly recollect their conversations. For years, she’d mull every word.
“What was your brother’s trouble that got you kicked out of the navy?” she asked.
“If I confess it, will you promise not to call me an idiot?”
“It depends on how idiotically you acted. I will be extremely blunt in my assessment of the debacle, and I shall give you my valid opinion.”
“I was afraid you’d say that. Maybe I can’t bear to hear your valid opinion. Maybe I’d like you to lie and say I conducted myself brilliantly.”
“It’s probably not in the cards.”
“No, probably not.”
“You mentioned that you were protecting your brother. What did he do?”
“It wasn’t him so much as his friends. He was cordial with some aristocrats’ sons, and they were pilfering supplies and pocketing the money.”
“Aristocrats’ sons! Stealing from the navy?”
“A lot of those boys are pinching pennies. They’re all waiting for their noble fathers to cock up their toes so they can inherit the bank accounts. Until then, they often don’t have much in the way of funds. My brother was helping them, but he was young and stupid and didn’t realize the danger.”
“And the two of you are not aristocrats’ sons.”
“No. We’re very, very common.”
“Your brother would have been charged with the theft. The others, who had titled, important fathers, would have waltzed away with no penalty imposed.”
“You’ve pegged the predicament exactly.”
“So you—being the loyal sibling you are—stepped forward and took the blame.”
If there had been a lamp lit, his cheeks would have been flushed with chagrin. “Yes. Was I an idiot?”
“Absolutely. What became of your brother?”
“He’s still in the navy, but I beat him bloody for being so gullible and running with a bad crowd. He mostly behaves himself now.”
“You beat him bloody?”
“He’s incredibly stubborn. It requires quite a bit of persuasion to make him listen.”
She chuckled. “I can’t ever decide if you’re being truthful or not.”
“He’ll be here tomorrow. Or I suppose it’s today, isn’t it? You’ll see what he’s like, and you can ask him how I handled it. He’ll tell you.”
“Do you miss the navy?”
“Every minute that ticks by.”
“I’m sorry to hear it. I really am.”
“I used to imagine I’d draw my last breath on a navy ship. I was that devoted, so it was hard to walk away. I think I’m bitter.”
“Of course you are.”
She sensed it was a stunning admission for him and that he was a proud man. She wondered if he’d ever shared the details about the fiasco with anyone but her. She told herself he hadn’t, that the room and the dark and the quiet were fostering confidences.
Without pondering whether she should or not, she reached out and patted his wrist, anxious to comfort him in some small way, and he surprised her by linking their fingers as if they were adolescents who were courting.
“Was it difficult growing up here?” he asked.
“It was very difficult. My grandfather raised me, and he wasn’t the kindest person.”
“What happened to your parents?”
“They died when I was little.” She didn’t explain how they died: during a violent storm in the Caribbean. It spurred too many questions she’d learned not to answer. “He had to take custody of me, but he didn’t want custody. He wasn’t a father figure by any means, but I get along with my uncle. It’s been much easier since he became head of the family.”
“And he found you a husband. Let’s not forget that grand gesture.”
“That he did, and don’t you dare denigrate either my uncle or my future spouse. I’m fortunate to be marrying, and I won’t have you making me second-guess.”
“Are you second-guessing? Am I having that much of an effect on you?”
“No!” she hastily said. “You’re a contrarian who likes to stir mischief. I won’t allow you to stir any with me.”
“Well, then, I won’t even try.”
He gazed down at her, his blue eyes studying her with an intensity that was astonishing. How had she survived for twenty-four years without being stared at like that? How would she live without it after he left?
Of a certainty, Gregory never looked at her so fondly. He barely noticed her, and when he deigned to pay her some attention, he treated her just as he treated his sister, Janet.
Caroline had always believed she didn’t mind his lack of strong regard, but should she have searched for a husband who adored her? Should she have demanded a spouse who might have delivered a love match?
She’d presumed those sorts of relationships only occurred in stage plays and romantic sonnets. Was amour real? Could a girl marry the perfect man?
The notion that she was contemplating such an unusual conclusion was alarming, and it underscored how reckless she was being by tarrying with him. What good could come from his fomenting so much yearning? It would simply lead to frustration in the end.
Yet even as she reflected on those issues, he was still holding her hand, and she hadn’t pulled away.
“Do you ever wish you had a different life?” he asked. “Do you ever wish you could pack a bag and head out into the world?”
“I wish it all the time.”
“If you could leave and go anywher
e, where would it be?”
“I’d pick a tropical island in the Caribbean.” She frequently dreamed about her deserted island. Was there a way to discover its location? If she had a ship to command, could she sail it into that pretty bay?
“A tropical island?” he said. “How exotic of you.”
“I read a book once, where the author described the beautiful turquoise color of the water. I’d like to see it for myself.”
“I have seen it, and it’s spectacular.”
“You’ve been there?” Her voice dripped with envy.
“I was in the navy, remember? I was stationed in the Caribbean for years.”
“You men are so lucky. You can travel around the globe and have adventures. We women have to sit at home and knit by the fire.”
“Are you filled with wanderlust?”
“I am, and what about you? Are you still brimming with wanderlust or did it vanish after you were forced out of the navy?”
“It never completely vanishes.”
“If you could go anywhere, where would it be?”
“I’d probably return to the Caribbean. I was born in Jamaica.”
“You were not!”
“I was.”
The news made them seem even closer. She felt such a connection to Jamaica and the Caribbean. It was a spot that haunted her, and he was born there! Fate must have brought them together.
“I lived there until I was ten,” he said.
“What happened then?” she asked.
“My mother died, and my father had already passed away. Our vicar sent us to our British relatives.”
“Then at the first opportunity, you joined the navy and went back.”
“Yes, but I’m trapped in London now, and I can’t escape. I’m earning so much money all of a sudden, and my brother, Blake, has been stationed here. I couldn’t abandon him. Plus, my dear friend, Sybil, is here too. She helps me run my business.”
Caroline suffered an odd spurt of jealousy. “Who is Sybil? Is she a sweetheart?”
“No, she was my mother’s maid when Blake and I were boys. She accompanied us to England to ensure we arrived safe and sound, then she stayed on and acted as our champion.”
“Why did you need a champion?”
“We weren’t exactly welcomed by my father’s kin.” She must have looked as if she’d pry into topics best left alone because he quickly said, “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you about it someday.”
She let the matter rest. She understood about skeletons in closets, so she changed the subject. “If you weren’t stranded in England, would you reside in Jamaica?”
“I would.” He grinned a devastating grin. “Would you come with me?”
“Oh, yes,” she teasingly replied, for she would never board a ship again. “I would flee my marriage and my husband, just so I could sinfully traipse off to the Caribbean with you.”
“It’s a lovely fantasy, isn’t it?”
“It is.”
They were quiet for a bit and staring outside. Out on the horizon, a hint of dawn appeared. And he was still holding her hand.
“What are your plans once the sun is up?” he eventually inquired.
“I’ll be busy with chores. We have more guests showing up this afternoon.”
“My brother is one of them.”
“I can’t wait to meet him, so I can ask him about the thrashing you administered after he got you kicked out of the navy. Was he ever sorry?”
He snorted at that. “Sorry enough, I suppose.”
“Has his behavior improved? Is he choosing better friends?”
“No and no. He’s simply learned to be more furtive.”
“If you had to save him again, would you?”
“Of course. He’s my brother. If he’s not worth saving, who would be?”
“You just might be a very good man.”
“Not really. I’m merely pretending to be gallant, so you’ll assume I’m amazing.”
“You’re much too vain, and I wouldn’t want to stroke your ego.”
“It is very inflated. I admit it.”
“Will I like your brother more than you?”
“Everyone does.”
She chuckled and finally tried to pull away. She’d been very reckless, and there was no excuse for her conduct except to note that no one had ever held her hand before. Not since she’d been on the island with Libby and Joanna. If there was an adult who had after that, she couldn’t recall.
The sense of well-being he generated was too powerful to ignore, and she couldn’t bear to have the encounter conclude. But she was betrothed, and he was a guest who’d been invited to her wedding. It was scandalous to be loafing in the dark with him.
Unfortunately—or fortunately, depending on one’s point of view—he wouldn’t release her.
“Are you leaving?” he asked.
“I have to.”
“Why?”
“I’ve sequestered myself with you again, and I can’t figure out why. I keep telling myself to stay away from you, but I can’t manage it.”
“You shouldn’t stay away from me. I’m the most interesting thing that’s ever happened to you.”
She smirked. “That is definitely not true.”
“What has ever happened to you that was more interesting than meeting me?”
A thousand words flooded to the tip of her tongue, but they were words she would never voice aloud: I’m one of the three Mystery Girls of the Caribbean. I was on that ship with Libby Carstairs when it sank all those years ago. I survived with her and was rescued by navy sailors too, but my family deems it a shocking story, so I never talk about it.
What event could ever occur in a female’s life that would be more astonishing than that?
“I stand corrected,” she said. “You are, by far and away, the most interesting thing that has ever happened to me.”
“That’s more like it.”
“You are also an incredible bully.”
“Yes, and you are such a milksop. It’s easy to push you around. After sufficient acquaintance, what do you imagine I’ll be able to coerce you into doing?”
The answer to that question was too frightening to consider, for she was certain he could spur her to all sorts of activity she shouldn’t contemplate. Each time she stumbled on him, she wound up tarrying longer than was wise. Where would it lead? Where would it end?
Before she realized what he intended, he dipped down and kissed her. The move was sudden and unexpected, and for the briefest instant, she dawdled like a statue and let him proceed.
She’d been kissed in the past, at the harvest fair and other places, when she was much younger. Once her betrothal to Gregory had been announced, she’d never walked with any boys again, so it had been ages since anyone had dared.
She was stunned and aghast and happier than she could ever remember being, but she was also blatantly aware that she was participating in a very wicked, very immoral deed. She was engaged! When her wedding was so close, why would she allow such mischief? More importantly, why would she enjoy it so much?
Her heart was pounding so hard she feared it might burst out of her chest. She lingered for a second, then a second more, then she physically yanked herself away, but it took such ferocious effort that she staggered and had to latch onto a nearby chair to keep herself upright.
“What are you thinking!” she wailed with dismay.
“I was thinking that you look like a woman who desperately needed to be kissed.”
“I’m about to be married!”
“Poor you,” he murmured.
His comment brought on a surge of bizarre emotion. She wanted to throw herself back into his arms, to kiss him and kiss him and never stop. She wanted to risk everything—her security, her respected position as a wi
fe—simply to have him hold her for a few more minutes.
What was wrong with her? Why did he have such a potent effect?
He was very handsome, very different from other men, and she was so lonely. Was that the problem? Had she been a spinster for too many years?
“Goodnight, Mr. Ralston,” she said.
“Call me Caleb.”
“I doubt I ever will.”
She jerked away and ran from the room, recognizing—if she didn’t hurry—she’d never escape.
She yearned to grab the lapels of his coat, to beg him to take her away from quiet, stifling Grey’s Corner. She wanted him to help her, to save her, to rescue her from the conclusion that was winging toward her on her wedding day.
But she’d been rescued once by navy sailors, and she’d learned from the experience that a person could completely change her circumstances, but that nothing changed at all.
She raced to the stairs and headed to her bedchamber, and all the while, she scolded herself. She had to buck up and be satisfied with her lot. Caleb Ralston was like a sparkly object that Fate was dangling in front of her to tempt her in ways she shouldn’t be tempted.
He was excitement and fun and thrilling kisses in the dark, but Gregory was real life. Gregory was home and family and the world she’d been given by her grandfather. She’d taught herself to be content with that. She always had been and always would be.
“I have a question for both of you, and I’d like your opinion about it.”
“Yes, Caroline, what is it?”
Samson Grey peered at his son, Gregory, and they exchanged a patronizing smile. Caroline was a peculiar female, and it was always humorous to discover how her convoluted brain was churning away.
They were in the dining parlor, just the three of them with no guests stumbling in yet to eat breakfast. Three footmen hovered, ready to be helpful, and he bit down a smug nod of satisfaction. His father, Walter, had been a grouchy, unlikeable miser who had had his fingers in several very large pots of money, but he’d deemed the funds too ungodly to spend.
He’d forced them to stagger about like paupers, dressed in black as if they were Puritans in perpetual mourning. They’d had to sit through nightly Bible readings and listen to Walter’s constant admonitions to walk the straight and narrow. Heaven forbid that any of them exhibit a whiff of independence as Caroline’s father—his brother, Winston—had done.
