by Allison Lane
* * * *
Caroline recovered quickly from her bout of tears. She must not let her feelings show in public. Nor could she consider the future until her emotions were better controlled. Besides, Drew was due to take her driving.
But evidence of distress could not be completely banished. Drew took one look at her face and turned his phaeton toward the quieter confines of Green Park. He also signaled his tiger to leave as soon as they were out of sight of the house.
His flirtatious banter continued until they were quite alone, then he set himself to discover what disturbed his favorite cousin.
“You look under the weather today. Are you sleeping all right?”
“As well as can be expected,” she responded obliquely.
“Ah,” he replied suggestively, then continued with exaggerated mourning, “Mannering is one lucky fellow. I think I’m more than half in love with you myself.”
“Fustian,” she snorted, responding as usual to his teasing. “You confuse friendship with love. If you didn’t waste all your time pursuing new conquests, you might find someone who could be both a friend and a lover.”
“Like you and Mannering?” But he halted abruptly at the pain that flashed across her face. Though his bantering words were those he used to great effect with other women, an element of seriousness underlay the claim. He cared deeply for Caroline. And he now knew what before he had only suspected. She was very unhappy. Nor was there more than one possible cause.
“Is he still making an ass of himself over Lady Darnley?” he asked quietly, pressing her hand in silent commiseration.
She could no longer maintain the pretense. But Drew would never hurt her by using her confidences to fuel further rumors. Her face crumpled and she nodded. Tears threatened again to spill over.
“Oh, my dear cousin, I am so sorry.” Drew snubbed the ribbons and pulled her head against his shoulder. “Cry it out, Caro. You need to.” He continued to cradle her until her weeping stopped, ever alert for any sign of observers, silently cursing a man who could overlook a jewel like Caroline in favor of a scheming slut.
“I’m sorry, Drew,” she apologized sheepishly when she finally pulled herself away. “I’m afraid I’ve ruined your coat.” Accepting his silently proffered handkerchief, she blew her nose.
“Glad to help. You love him, don’t you?”
“I fear so,” she admitted. “And I really did not need that particular complication just now.”
“Do you want me to seduce the lady and show her up for what she is? You must know her reputation by now.”
“I’m well aware of her reputation, thank you, but it would do no good. Thomas is obstinately blind when it comes to Lady Darnley. And he would never forgive me for interfering. No, Drew, all I can do is trust that sooner or later he will admit the truth. Then he might possibly stop blaming me for standing between him and marriage to his heart’s desire.”
“What a bloody fool!” he exploded. “Pardon my language.”
“No need. I have often thought the same. But obsession is a form of madness, falling outside all bounds of sense or reason. There is nothing to be done.”
Drew flicked his horses into motion while she straightened her hair. Nothing could improve her eyes, which were red and swollen. She could only pray that they met no one she knew.
Fortunately the daily promenade was at its height in Hyde Park, and she was able to slip into the house without encountering anyone but the footman at the front door. Sam would say nothing. Summoning Dawson, she set about the daunting task of hiding all traces of agitation and preparing for an evening of fun and frivolity at the Staffords’ ball.
Governessing looked better and better.
Chapter 14
Life continued, despite Thomas’s turmoil and Caroline’s despair. The hardest part, she found, was pretending in public that all was well between them. It gave her a better understanding of what he faced each day, and she tried to make the charade easier for him. Aware of the importance he placed on public opinion, she worked to maintain the fiction that they were a loving couple. But at the same time, she had to hide her true feelings from Thomas. This was one situation in which honesty was the worst policy.
His disdain was obvious, from his stilted conversation and cold, clipped voice to the way he recoiled from any physical contact. Nor was she any happier. His touch affected her like no other, but the resulting shivers knifed her heart rather than stoking her passions. How long could this continue? She did not know. At some point they must air their feelings. Neither of them could stand the strain much longer.
She was descending the stairs for breakfast one morning, intent on appearing relaxed and content, when it happened. Two footmen carried a settee along the corridor. It was a heavy piece, and both strained with the effort. Suddenly, one of them fell, grunting in pain and surprise. His end landed on the top step, throwing the other off balance so that he lost his grip. The settee hurtled downward, bouncing from step to step, with Caroline squarely in its path.
She screamed.
Grabbing the rail with both hands, she flung herself atop it. And just in time. The settee bounded past, bruising her thigh before crashing to the floor below.
Footsteps pounded as servants raced to the scene.
Caroline shakily regained her feet and turned her eyes from the wreckage below to the crowd above. The footmen wore identical expressions of horror, which immediately changed to relief when they saw that she was unharmed. Thomas also stood rooted at the top of the stairs, but his face bore a different expression. Horror was there, but mixed with – disappointment?
Convulsed in shudders, she sank to the steps and dropped her head into her hands. Surely it was an accident. Thomas derived too much pride from his honor. He would never consider jostling a footman into dropping that heavy settee to sweep an unwanted wife to her doom. Would he?
Would he?
She thrust the suspicion away, but it continued to lurk. Without the warning provided by the footman’s groan, she would now be sprawled on the floor below. How convenient if she simply disappeared from his life. Alicia was no longer tied to Darnley.
No!
She forced her mind away from an accusation, convinced that Lady Darnley would never consider marriage to an untitled younger son. Especially one who lacked a fortune. Such a match would force her to discard her own title, would negate the only possible reason for her first marriage. But did Thomas know that? He had misjudged her from the beginning and showed no sign of revising his impressions.
He reached her side.
“Are you all right?” he asked stiffly, offering a hand to help her to her feet.
She cringed from his touch, ostentatiously inspecting her dress for damage. A tear in the hem was all that was visible, though her thigh throbbed painfully.
“I believe so,” she responded shakily, then grabbed the railing to pull herself up, again ignoring his proffered hand. Touching him would shatter her precarious control. What would she do? Cling to him in tears? Hurl accusations at his face? Neither was desirable. Turning abruptly away, she forced her feet back to her room.
Thomas watched her go, confusion raging. His emotions had undergone so many convolutions in so little time he could not decide what he felt. He had been just behind the footmen when one of them caught a toe on the edge of the runner and fell. But he was not close enough to catch the fellow. Horror paralyzed him as the settee hurtled downward, followed swiftly by relief that she was safe, then by the unworthy thought that if she had died, he would be free to go to Alicia. That engendered anger at himself which immediately became fury at the footman for unwonted clumsiness.
But the worst of it was meeting Caroline’s eyes a moment later. Clearly she suspected him of initiating the accident. The realization hurt. And he was aghast that he could ever wish injury on another. The momentary thought of freedom had filled him with joy.
How had they come to this pass? What had he done to deserve this coil? He had marr
ied her without love, to be sure, but he had tried to treat her with respect.
Respect? mocked his conscience. Betrayal. Unjust condemnation as you vented your frustrations on her. Revulsion and neglect.
He shook away the voice, but could not ignore the message. One by one he examined his actions over recent months. His conduct was appalling.
He sank to the step Caroline had just vacated, burying his head in his hands.
He had spent four months angry at his wife. Why? Because she was not Alicia. The one thing over which she had no control. Was he to blame her for fifty years because she was not Alicia? Of course, there were other things. Her interference in Crawley’s operation, her independence, her nauseating competence.
But further thought surprised him. Her efforts with Crawley no longer bothered him. Somehow he had come to accept and even applaud the work she had started. Her willingness to step into whatever role needed filling provided insurance whenever he was absent from the estate. And never had she tried to usurp his own position, insist on her own views, argue against his decisions, or interfere when he was present.
Nor was her independence something he could honestly condemn. True, a man liked to feel protective of his women, but Caroline never made him feel less than a man. And until today she had never refused his assistance. Some of her independence had been forced by his own actions. He cringed over the memories. He had fled Crawley with no thought to the estate problems he left behind, then stayed away longer than necessary. He had callously tossed her into the ton without so much as an introduction. A clinging, helpless chit would have broken under the strain and embarrassed him and his family. Instead, she was a credit to both.
And could he condemn competence in a female? Emily was equally blessed, something he had always pointed to with pride. Did he really want to go through life with a wife who was unable to accomplish the simplest task without making a mull of it? Wasn’t that one of the complaints against Miss Huntsley that had caused him to welcome Caroline’s hand in the first place?
In retrospect, he had indeed treated her badly. On the other hand, their relationship was not so simple that he could forget the past, beg forgiveness, and live happily ever after. Two stumbling blocks stood in the way.
The first, of course, was Alicia. No change in his perception of Caroline could alter the fact that he loved Alicia, nor could he banish the companion desire that it was she to whom he was married. Never before had he accepted second best, and facing a lifetime married to a woman who fit that description was daunting.
Nor could he forgive or forget Caroline’s association with Wroxleigh. Despite warnings and outright orders, she continued her liaison with the fellow. What should he do? Catch them together and call Wroxleigh out? Accept being cuckolded as fitting punishment for his lapse with Alicia and allow the affair to run its course? He did not know, and having no answers angered him as much as her conduct.
Sighing, he turned his footsteps upstairs. His first duty was to apologize for his unfair judgments and find a way to mend their relationship. Perhaps they could recapture the friendship they had shared during that first week together. How badly shaken was she? Had the settee struck her?
But he never saw her. Dawson informed him that Caroline was resting and would accept no visitors. Hurt at being thus labeled, Thomas left for his usual rounds of sparring, shooting, and visiting his clubs. Appearances must be maintained. Never would he allow the ton to suspect that all was not well with his marriage.
* * * *
Caroline spent the morning resting. Her leg was bruised and scraped, but not seriously damaged. However, she refused to sleep after a nap ended in nightmare. Again and again that flash of disappointment twisted Thomas’s features. In her dream he pushed the settee down on top of her, then followed with other forms of mayhem when his scheme failed. Awake, she refused to believe him capable of perpetrating such a crime.
You should not take chances, whispered the voice. She thrust the thought aside, not wanting to even consider the possibility. Yet she let Dawson turn him away a second time, rather than face him with her mind in turmoil.
What should she do? Her attitude toward their marriage had changed. She paced her room restlessly, trying to decide just what she wanted. Love...
And pigs will fly, she scoffed. Be reasonable! All right, she loved him. But that deplorable situation was not responsible for the change.
She paused to peer into her mirror. She was different. Not just the hair and the fashionable clothes. Not even the improved social graces. The whole image had changed, right down to the core. And with it, her view of Thomas had also changed.
She had originally agreed to marriage out of desperation, expecting nothing beyond friendship and more security than she could have found as a governess. Believing Thomas to be well above her touch, she had determined to serve him faithfully without demanding anything in return – a role combining the duties of housekeeper and mistress. Fool! How could she have denigrated her own worth so thoroughly?
But London had improved her self-image, beginning with her appearance. She was not the plain dowd she had considered herself after a lifetime of comparisons with her beautiful sisters. Nor was she beneath the touch of the polite world. Her two grandfathers were an earl and a baron, a more exalted lineage than many of the ton could boast. Her mother had taught her the skills needed to hold her own in the drawing rooms and ballrooms of Mayfair. And she had acquitted herself well. If anything, her credit now surpassed his.
Never again would she consider herself either the lesser of two evils or a millstone around his neck. Nor should he. She had allowed him to retain those images far too long. It was time to abandon her passive role and fight for a place in his life and affections. No longer was it possible to remain in the background while he worked out his problems for himself.
The battle would not be simple, she admitted, dropping onto the bed and staring at the canopy. Obsession was a formidable foe. And his inability to acknowledge errors in judgment would compound the problem. Her words to Lord Marchgate still held true. Under head-on assault Thomas would dig in his heels and cling ever more tightly to his mistakes. He was not a man to be coerced into anything. Nor would she want him to be. She despised men who lived under the cat’s paw.
Instead, her campaign must approach through the back door, taking advantage of every opportunity to support or assist him. Her presence must become an integral part of his life, essential to his well-being. But her behavior must remain matter-of-fact. Never again would she play the role of servant. Nor would martyrdom help. And no matter how difficult, she must never criticize either Alicia or his behavior. If ever she succeeded in breaking Lady Darnley’s hold, she must put the past behind them and never refer to it, even if he did not turn his support to her.
Can you really manage that? asked the voice.
It was a question she hoped never to have to answer.
She resumed her normal schedule in time for afternoon calls and attended a ball that evening. It would not do to advertise the mishap.
“How lovely you are tonight, Caro,” exclaimed Robert, leading her into the first cotillion. “We go well together.” Indeed, her blue silk was the identical shade of his jacket, though she would never have donned anything like his lemon waistcoat, gaudily embroidered in acanthus leaves and bluebirds. He sported a new style of cravat.
“Is that one of your own designs?” she asked.
“Yes, a variation on the Oriental.”
“Exquisite.”
“Thank you. Did you hear about young Delaney’s latest scrape?”
“A bit, though no one seems to know why he was there. Lady Beatrice imputes the most scandalous motives.”
“She would. But he was merely saving the poor woman.”
“Oh? From what?”
“My dear, thuch horrorth!” His lisp intensified with the affected words. “His youngest brother had to come to town for a few days – visiting the tooth drawer, I believe.�
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“Poor chap. How old is he?”
“Just eight. He didn’t like the idea at all, as you can imagine, so he brought along a few items with which to amuse himself. One was a baby hedgehog.”
“Oh, dear.” Caroline giggled – she’d had plenty of experience with young boys and their pets.
“Oh, dear, indeed. The poor thing escaped, as one must expect of such creatures, and turned up in Lady Feldham’s bedroom – when the poor lady was barely awake. She succumbed to hysterics. Young Lawrence was the first on the scene.”
She giggled once more. “I take it Lady Feldham has little use for small animals.”
Robert tittered. “Very little. She was standing on a chair, one hand clutched to her bosom, the other shaking out her skirts, her eyes in danger of popping out. The terrified hedgehog succumbed to its own hysterics, cowering on the hearth, rolled up in a little spiny ball, only its tiny black eyes peeping out. Lawrence collapsed against the wall, laughing too hard to rescue the beast.”
“Laughter would hardly be appreciated under such circumstances.”
“How right you are. By the time Lady Feldham’s dresser arrived, she was screeching at him to stop staring and take himself off. The hedgehog had summoned the courage to escape out the door, and Lawrence was in a pickle.”
She was having a difficult time restraining her own laughter. “And what of his brother?”
“Back home.”
“Sans hedgehog?”
Robert giggled and nodded. “The poor creature has not been seen since. Much to Lady Feldham’s horror.”
“The poor lady must be having twenty fits every day,” she choked.
The music swirled to a close and Robert raised one hand to his lips before escorting her to join Emily and Helena. “Delightful, as always.”
“Has Lord Potherby accepted your school plans?” she asked Helena as Robert departed.
