by Cheryl Holt
“Libby is probably busy, what with her wedding and all. She might not like us to bother her.”
“Miss Carstairs had a hard life, Miss Grey. I’m betting she’d be incredibly pleased to see you again—despite how busy she is. She’d receive great comfort from spending time with you and Joanna.”
Tears surged into Caroline’s eyes, and Mr. Periwinkle appeared stricken. He kindly patted her hand.
“Don’t be sad about it, Miss Grey.”
“I’m not sad. I’m happy and relieved! When we arrived in England, we were so young and so closely bonded. Then we were separated, and we weren’t allowed to say goodbye to each other. I’ve had no information about either of them.”
“Well, I have plenty—about their lives and what they’ve been doing. Would you like to hear some of it?”
“I would love to hear every detail you can possibly share.”
“And if you’re amenable, I have a plan for you and Miss Carstairs.”
“What plan?”
“Let’s find a restaurant and have a cup of tea. I’ll tell you what it is.”
“Would you sit down? You’re nervous as a cat in a thunderstorm.”
Luke Watson, Lord Barrett, glared as his soon-to-be bride, Libby Carstairs. She glared back and said, “I can’t relax. I’m too anxious. I feel as if something is about to happen.”
“Will it be bad or good?”
“I can’t decide.”
“Well, something is about to happen.”
“What?”
“We’re marrying next week.”
“Oh, that.”
She pronounced that as if their getting married was of no consequence.
He was an earl, a retired navy commander, a hero of the Crown, a rich aristocrat, and a handsome rogue. Any female in the kingdom would have cut off her right arm to wed him, but not Libby Carstairs.
She pictured herself as being much more important than he was, so she believed he was the lucky one in their pathetic duo.
She was beautiful, dynamic, and flamboyant—and famous to the point of being notorious. Since she’d returned from the Caribbean at age five, she’d been the kingdom’s darling, and with the revelation that she was Little Henrietta too, her acclaim had soared to astounding heights.
He had a very large ego, so he should have been incensed over the situation, but when he’d proposed, he’d been forced to acknowledge that life with her would never be boring. She’d never behave as a typical spouse would behave, would never do as was expected of her as his countess.
No, she was Libby Carstairs, Mystery Girl of the Caribbean, and she’d grown up in an unconventional manner, so she acted however she pleased. There would be no changing her, and he wouldn’t want to change her. He loved her just the way she was—even when she was maddening and impossible to tolerate or manage.
They were at Barrett, his country estate, and loafing in the front parlor. There was chaos surrounding them, but they were ignoring it. The wedding was in ten days, but Libby had no feminine inclinations that would have made her a competent person to handle the arrangements.
Her half-sister, Penny, had stepped forward to supervise the event. Penny had been raised to be an aristocrat’s wife, so she was the perfect candidate to be in charge. It was incredibly hectic. Servants were running to and fro. Tradesmen and merchants were delivering goods and offering services, and Penny was shouting orders like an army sergeant.
The wedding would be a very grand affair, with a week of parties and balls. The fact that he was an earl guaranteed it had to be fancy, but he was marrying Libby Carstairs. The whole country yearned to be included, so he was working valiantly to control the size and the cost.
The ceremony itself would be small, held in the village church that had pews for only a few dozen people, so they’d had to be meticulous about who they invited. They would compensate for the tiny amount of guests by hosting enormous celebrations afterward.
They probably should have tied the knot at the cathedral in London, but he wasn’t an ostentatious fellow. He’d recently inherited his title, and he didn’t like mobs or mayhem, so it definitely had him questioning—yet again—why he was so determined to proceed with her.
She couldn’t stroll down the street without a crowd gathering. She relished being the center of attention and having audiences drool over her. When standing by her side, he was completely out of his element.
“Let’s take a ride,” he said to her. “I’ll get you out into the fresh air, and it will help to calm you.”
She had problems with anxiety and claustrophobia. They were symptoms left over from the shipwreck she’d survived, and he was adept at assessing the signs of her escalating discomfort.
“I can’t leave right now,” she said.
“Why not?”
“I just. . . can’t.”
She looked bewildered by her reply, and he laughed. “Because something is about to happen?”
“Yes.”
“The only thing about to happen in this house is more havoc erupting.”
He went to the sideboard and poured her a whiskey. She possessed numerous habits that no gently-bred female would ever dream of exhibiting. A taste for hard spirits was one of her oddities.
He handed her the glass, and she downed a hefty swallow. Alcohol soothed her quickly, and he studied her as she visibly relaxed, and it was definitely no great chore to stare at her. She was the most gorgeous woman in the world, and he was about to bind her forever.
For quite awhile, he couldn’t have predicted if he’d win her or not. She’d certainly had no burning desire to be a wife, but he’d pestered her until she’d relented.
“Go by yourself,” she said, and she rose on tiptoe and kissed him. “You need to escape this nonsense. I’ll be fine by myself for a bit.”
He pondered his route, thinking he’d visit her father, Charles Pendleton, who was Lord Roland. His estate adjoined Barrett, and he and Luke were cordial. They could chat about how much they hated weddings.
“Will you sing for me when I return?” he asked. “May I have a private concert.”
“I might sing for you—if you’re very, very nice to me once you’re back.”
“I shall view that as a challenge.”
He initiated a kiss of his own, then pulled away. She overwhelmed him, and if he wasn’t careful, he’d dawdle all afternoon, gaping at her like a halfwit. He was besotted as a green boy, and his infatuation sizzled hotter every day.
He walked out to the foyer. It was teeming with stacks of boxes and trunks that were filled with nuptial supplies. Servants were riffling through the boxes to note what had arrived.
He’d planned to skirt all of it and climb the stairs to his room so he could don his riding boots and fetch his coat, but when he passed the front door, his butler, Mr. Hobbs, was arguing with a man who seemed familiar to Luke. For some reason, Luke was instantly annoyed.
He stopped to focus on why he’d be irked, and the reason swiftly occurred to him: It was Howard Periwinkle, the oafish reporter who’d been harassing Libby about the shipwreck anniversary. He was also the infuriating tattle who’d written the stories about her being Little Henrietta. The articles had set off a wave of pandemonium that hadn’t been totally quelled.
Luke had ended up being glad about the revelations, glad that Libby’s identity had been discovered. If it hadn’t been for Periwinkle being so dogged at his task, the truth likely would never have been exposed. Still though, Periwinkle had some nerve showing up at Luke’s home. The last time they’d spoken, Luke had volunteered to thrash him for being so obnoxious.
He marched over and said to Hobbs, “I’ll deal with this, Hobbs, and please take a good look at this lout. If he ever knocks in the future, grab several footmen to hog-tie him and drag him off the property.”
At the command, H
obbs couldn’t hide a shocked grimace, then he said, “The man’s face is memorable, my lord. I won’t soon forget him.”
Hobbs eased away as Periwinkle doffed his hat and said, “Hello, Lord Barrett. We meet again.”
“You have some gall to bluster in, Periwinkle.”
“I’ve heard that about myself,” the cheeky dolt agreed. “I have so much gall.”
“I’ll give you exactly thirty seconds to tell me why you’re here, and it better not be because you’re hoping to bother my fiancée.”
“I don’t intend to bother Miss Carstairs. I’ve brought her a surprise.”
Periwinkle stepped to the side, and Luke could see a pretty, dark-haired woman had been concealed behind him. He scrutinized her, then frowned. “Should I know you? You’re awfully familiar, but I can’t place you.”
She blanched. “You’re Lord Barrett?”
“Yes, I’m Barrett.” Recognition dawned, and he blanched too. “You were at the prison the day Libby was released from jail.”
“I talked to you,” the woman said, “but I didn’t realize who you were.”
Periwinkle puffed himself up. “This is Miss Carstairs’s surprise. This is Little Caro.” Luke glared at him, the name meaning nothing, and Periwinkle added, “Caro? Caroline Grey? From the shipwreck? She’s a Lost Girl too.”
Luke jumped as if he’d been poked with a pin. He recalled Miss Grey from the prison. She’d been bedraggled, as if she’d been experiencing personal difficulties, and he’d worried she was a tad unbalanced, so he’d been very abrupt with her.
She’d told him who she was, but the import hadn’t registered, and the encounter had slipped his mind. To his great dismay, he hadn’t mentioned it to Libby.
He was feeling discombobulated, amazed at how Fate worked in such strange ways. He was about to head over to apprise Libby about her visitor, but when he turned, she’d emerged from the parlor and was staring at them.
“Caro. . . ?” she murmured. “Is it you? It’s you, isn’t it?”
“Yes, I’m Caro. Do you remember me, Libby? If you say you don’t, I couldn’t bear it.”
Libby was still holding the glass of liquor he’d poured for her. It slid from her fingers, the contents splashing onto the rug. Then she ran across the room, and she slammed into Miss Grey so hard that they nearly fell to the floor. He and Periwinkle leapt to steady them.
The two women were hugging, crying, and through her tears, Libby said, “I’ve been waiting for you to arrive. Every minute since we were separated, I’ve been waiting.”
“I’ve been waiting too,” Miss Grey replied, “but I didn’t know how to find you.”
“Everything will be all right now,” Libby said to her. “In fact, everything will be perfect.”
Caroline was brimming with gladness. It was very late, and she and Libby had been sequestered for hours. Lord Barrett had locked them in Libby’s bedroom suite. A housemaid had snuck in and out occasionally to check on them, but other than her quiet monitoring, they’d been alone.
Caroline had told Libby her entire history, starting with her being sent to live with her grandfather. She described how dreadful those years had been, how she’d been abused and mistreated and maligned.
Then she’d explained how her life had improved after her grandfather had died, how her Uncle Samson had taken charge of the family, but that it had never been particularly good. She talked about being engaged to Gregory whom she didn’t like very much and didn’t wish to wed.
She confessed how her relatives viewed her as a peculiar and damaged person merely because she’d endured a tragedy, and it was marvelous to have Libby listen and commiserate. As Caroline had suspected, Libby understood how terribly distressing her return to England had been.
Libby had told Caroline her entire history too, starting with her Uncle Harry claiming her from the authorities. He’d been allowed to waltz off with her, but he hadn’t been a relative. He’d simply been acquainted with her mother, and for reasons no one could clarify, he’d pretended to be her kin.
He’d been aware that she was Lord Roland’s missing daughter, but he’d hidden the truth and had raised her as his own child. Having recognized her flamboyant tendencies, he’d trained her for the stage, and she’d grown up, traveling around the country, regaling audiences with tales of the shipwreck and their survival after it.
It was such a relief to confer over what they recollected, to jog their memories and fill in the blanks. They’d been so young when the disaster had happened, so they’d forgotten many details.
“Mr. Periwinkle has met with Joanna,” Caroline said.
Libby gasped. “You’re joking.”
“He asked her to join us for a reunion, and she’s agreed.”
“I thought I hated Periwinkle, but maybe I don’t.”
“He was kind to me, and if it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t be here.”
Libby smirked at the notion. “I’ll send Joanna an invitation to the wedding. If need be, Luke can have someone fetch her to Barrett.”
Caroline’s pulse raced at the prospect. “What a spectacular ending that would be for the three of us.”
“I have to show you something.”
They were stretched out on the bed, lying on their sides, nose to nose. Libby slid away and went to the dresser. She retrieved a page that had been cut from a very old newspaper. It was yellowed with age, the paper tattered and brittle from being folded and unfolded.
It was an artist’s sketch of them from when they were first back in England, and Caroline said, “What a precious picture. Where did you get it?”
“When the navy was searching for our kin, they disseminated a story about us.”
“I don’t recall it being drawn.”
“Neither do I, but my Uncle Harry kept this copy. He’d pull it out occasionally, and he’d snicker over how it didn’t look like me. One morning when he wasn’t home, I stole it. I’d gaze at it when I was feeling low, and I’d think of you and Joanna and wonder if you might be thinking of me.”
“I pondered you constantly. I used to dream that I could run away to the island, and you and Joanna would be there.”
Libby chuckled. “I fantasized about the very same scenario, but I put Captain Ralston in the middle of it. Do you remember him?”
“Of course! The day his ship dropped anchor in the bay? It remains the most thrilling and alarming moment of my life.”
“I would imagine he was my father and that he was hunting for me. He’d find me and carry me to the island so we could be there with you and Joanna.” Libby sighed. “Should we try to locate him? We could invite him to the wedding too.”
Caroline smiled, but sadly. “He’s passed on, Libby. Not long after he stumbled on us.”
Tears flooded Libby’s eyes. “Oh, no! I can’t stand that he’s not out there in the world somewhere. I’d convinced myself that he was fretting over me and regretting how he let the navy whisk me away from him.”
“I yearned for him to rescue me too. The years with my grandfather were especially gloomy, and I’d pray that he’d arrive to save me.”
“I wish your grandfather was still alive so I could punish him for how he treated you.”
“Should I have the same opinion about your Uncle Harry?”
“I had issues with Harry, but deep down, he was a terrific fellow. He pushed me to become who I am, and it was just what I needed. I couldn’t have been shackled to some dolt and forced to stagger around in a hovel with a dozen children.”
“No, you certainly wouldn’t have fit in a small existence like that.”
They laughed, then Libby said, “How did you learn about Captain Ralston’s death? I thought you’d never heard any news about any of us after you were returned to Grey’s Corner.”
“I met his two sons recently. They’re acquainted with my
cousin, Gregory.”
“I recall Captain Ralston being incredibly dashing. Are they anything like him?”
“They’re exactly like him.”
“What are their names?”
“Caleb and Blake.”
“Caleb and Blake Ralston. . .” Libby mused. “Would they visit Barrett if I asked them to? I would love to speak to them about their father.”
Caroline blew out a heavy breath, realizing she shouldn’t have mentioned the wily pair. “Could I tell you a secret about them?”
“Yes,” Libby replied, “but from your dour expression, I’m guessing it won’t be a positive report. I hope they’re not cads or wastrels.”
“I wouldn’t describe them as wastrels, but they’re definitely cads.”
Caroline paused to consider her next comment. There would be such relief to admit her situation with the Ralston brothers, and Libby wouldn’t judge her for her moral lapse with Caleb. Lord Barrett might be able to help too, but she’d only just walked in his door, and she would hate to be a burden.
She was worried about so many problems: her uncle, the family’s mysterious trust fund, her fling with Caleb, Janet’s affair with Blake, Caleb’s gambling business and it being such a dubious source of income.
Lord Barrett was a sophisticated navy veteran, so he might have some idea of where to start in addressing all of it. And wasn’t confession good for the soul? It’s what the papists believed.
Caroline opened her mouth and began to spill all.
“Are you feeling better? Now that Caro has arrived, is your anxiety gone?”
“Completely gone.”
Libby smiled at Luke. They were in the dining room, having breakfast. She and Caro had chatted late into the night, then they’d dozed off on her bed, snuggled together like puppies—as they had on their deserted island.
She’d left Caro sleeping, and she’d come down to eat without her. She was brimming with stories, with excitement, with joy, and she was eager to share every detail of their lengthy conversation with Luke.
“I waited up for you,” he said, “but after the clock struck midnight, I went to bed.”
