by Matilda Hart
He gave her a barely perceptible wink.
She paused mid-step, flustered by this break in protocol. “Keep walking,” she told herself, and she gathered her dress in her hands and briskly approached him, dropping into the briefest and iciest of curtsies.
“Your Grace,” she muttered.
He extended a hand, which she took limply. Before she knew it, he had lifted her up. She withdrew her hand.
“Miss Caroline Tibbot,” and again he smiled, “let me welcome you to the Broad House, my summer home – and soon to be our summer home.”
He stepped back to allow her to walk through the grand double doors. “’Our summer home? That is yet to be decided.”
“Oh? Has the merchant’s daughter come with some conditions?”
She ignored him, stepping in to the entrance hall. It was spacious and magnificent, eliciting the sense of grandeur that it was supposed to – if this was the summerhouse, what was the main residence like?
“No demands just yet, Miss Tibbot? Perhaps after dinner you may be ready to barter with me? I much prefer to bargain with a lady by a fireplace. This room is far too exposed to create the intimacy such a negotiation should engender.”
She focused on a portrait on the wall.
Annoyingly, he was by her side to explain. “That is my grandfather, the 8th Duke of Durham. They say I get my good looks from him. He was an old rogue, though, he gambled, he drank, and he womanized from here to Carlisle. He was evidently quite good at it. He may have gone beyond Carlisle…there are rumors of Scottish cousins, with flowing red beards and bawdy manners.”
Caroline pursed her lips.
The Duke dropped his voice. “This talk of Scottish dalliances by an English lord must be tiresome to a Welsh lady after such a long journey. Rest up. You’ll need your strength.” He turned and addressed a mousy looking girl with freckled cheeks. “Eliza, take you new mistress to her rooms, and see that she is well rested. I think the roads have jiggled the words from her lovely lips.”
While Eliza moved to them, he leant in to Caroline and she could feel his breath on her neck. He was not touching her, but it felt like he was on top of her, overwhelming her. There was a faint, musky scent to him, and she breathed it in. “Just remember, Miss Tibbot, that these are the initial hands being played. You may set your stake high, and I may lose some money, but by the end of the game, you will marry me and you will enjoy me.” He withdrew from her, and she breathed out in relief.
Eliza replaced him – a much more diminutive and manageable presence. “This way, miss.”
Gratefully, she followed Eliza up the stairs, only to hear his voice bellow out: “I look forward to continuing our conversation over dinner, Miss Tibbot!”
This was going to be so much harder than she had anticipated. She had never met a man quite so taken with himself.
Chapter Three
Eliza busied herself with unpacking, unfolding, admiring and frowning over her new mistress’ clothes. Each item was met with some form of vocalization, from an “oooh” to a “mmmm?” to the dreaded, “oh dear, oh dearie, dearie me.” Finally, it was done, and Caroline brushed her hair, wondering what she would have to do over dinner to put this boorish man off.
Eliza came over and took the brush in one hand, and then admired the color and length of Caroline’s hair.
“Oooh,” she said, as she set to brushing Caroline’s hair with long, rhythmic strokes. “You’re a beauty, you are. So pretty. Even after a long journey, you look like a painting.” Eliza stopped, appalled at herself. “Oh miss, I’m so sorry. Don’t mind me – I often go off and speak before I’ve been addressed. I can’t help it. If I feel something, I just have to say something out loud. Begging your pardon.”
“Don’t apologize, Eliza.” Caroline, despite herself, had found the chatter comforting. “I have two sisters at home, and we would talk at such a rate of knots to one another.”
Eliza beamed. “Two sisters? That’s like me. Mine are older, though, and without freckles. Or my red hair. I’m not sure where that comes from.”
“The 8th Duke of Durham did not pay a visit to your family, did he?”
“No, we were are too low – oh! I see, you are wicked, Miss Caroline!” And her laugh was joyous. Caroline tried to resist, but she laughed – quietly – as well. Dinner could wait, she decided, because her hair had never been brushed so well.
The days passed slowly, and despite strong feelings for Eliza, Caroline became more and more determined that she would not pander to the Duke’s wit, suggestions and flirtations. On the fourth day, she sat, isolated, at the far end of the table, while he rambled away on almost every conceivable topic…she drifted in and out, blithely ignoring him.
“…The weather, of course, can turn suddenly as we are so close to the coast here at Whitby. Summer can descend into winter at a moment’s notice, and winter and its chill can suddenly heat up. Much like a young woman’s feelings.”
She took the bait. “I can assure you, your Grace, that my feelings are constant, and will not turn suddenly.” She placed her napkin in her lap, and waved for the servants to clear her place. “And, like your summery hopes, I shall now take my leave.”
He stood, his face unmoved. “As you will, Miss Tibbot. Yet none of us can control the weather and its whims. Our hearts are much the same.” He gazed outside as the wind had picked up. “Who knows one’s heart and the whims that buffet it?”
“I have no whims,” she hissed, her temper aroused. “I am a woman of my word. You would do well to remember that.” She whirled – deliberately and dramatically – to make her point and left the table. But not before his parting shot:
“I think, Miss Tibbot, that you will find my word both harder and of greater endurance than you imagine on this matter. In certain circles, I am known for it.”
His arrogance bit into her, and she retreated to her rooms.
In bed, Caroline could not settle. The wind had picked up, and according to Eliza, a summer storm was crossing the coast. Eliza had ventured her view of the weather before she retired downstairs to her quarters for the night. In the distance, a low rumble of thunder matched Caroline’s tempestuous mood. She threw back her covers, undressed, and quickly pulled on her riding gear. The Duke was beginning to get to her – his taunts, his crudity, his playfulness. At dinner, she had spoken more than she had for her entire stay. That could not continue.
It was time to leave.
She stole downstairs, thankful for the increasing thunder that was abetting her escape. Getting to the stable was easy, but the horses were unsettled from the shifting weather. Caroline saddled up a dappled grey – Carnarvon – and rode out, heading towards York where, using the little money she had, she planned to escape the wretched, limited life her father had consigned her to. The grey neighed in protest as she dug her knees into his flanks, but responded by surging across the fields and away from the Broad House, which was diminishing in the now steady rain.
The violence of the storm intensified. A clap of thunder that dwarfed all others boomed across the sky, and Carnarvon – already nervous – reared and tossed Caroline to the mud soaked ground. She landed on her side, and as she rolled onto her back, she saw the grey galloping madly away. She called out, but her voice was weak in the wind.
Wet, sore and shamed, Caroline stood up. The rain was soaking her to her skin, and her dress clung to her form. Crying, she cast one last look at the Duke’s summerhouse, and resolved to walk to York regardless.
Yet, in the distance, she spotted a figure riding towards her. Upright in the saddle, he was impossible to mistake. It was Thomas, approaching at breakneck speed. Caroline remained frozen to the spot, watching as the duke, dressed in what appeared to be only his nightshirt, breeches and riding boots, his hair lank and stringy from the rain, reined up next to her.
“Miss Tibbot,” he growled. “What madness has taken you?”
She remained stubbornly silent.
“Very well, be silent
then. However, before we return, you will hear me on this. You have indeed been fortunate tonight. Had Eliza not gone to check on your well being and discovered your absence, you would have remained out in this weather. Who knows who would have found you – a young woman, defenseless, friendless against the elements and heavens only knows who else. Your dislike of me is your own business. But to let that drive you to this foolishness,” he spat the word, “is behavior I would expect of a spoilt child, not a young woman determined to change the course of her circumstances.” He shook his head. “I expected better.”
He then offered Caroline his hand.
She paused and then, chastened, allowed him to pull her up on to the horse. Involuntarily, she nestled back into his hard, wet chest, shivering from both the cold and something she could not yet name. By the time they reached the Broad House, he had warmed her, and she was flushed with embarrassment as the servants helped her down and bundled her into a blanket.
Chapter Four
Caroline awoke the next morning with a sore side, and bruises just beginning to show. She gingerly held her ribs and moaned. Eliza, tending the hearth, turned and shook her head, but somehow managed to hold her tongue.
Until Caroline sneezed loudly, and then proceeded to cough.
Eliza rushed over, and held a hand to her forehead. “My lady, you are burning up.” She tut-tutted. “I was afraid of this. You’ve not been eating properly and now you’ve caught a chill. I was speaking to Brandon – the Duke’s man – and it seems that he too is unwell this morning. Brandon says his master did not sleep a wink, and spent the night in the library.”
“The library? If he was so unwell, why did he not retire to his room?”
“The library is cosy, which some comfortable reading chairs, and a lovely fire. He often retreats there when he is troubled.”
“Troubled?” Caroline’s head began to ache.
“My word he is troubled! The woman he is to marry takes off in the middle of the night, in a storm, no less!” Eliza’s flushed features suddenly blanched. “Oh, dearie, dearie me, I’ve spoken out of turn again.”
“No matter, Eliza, I know you have my best interests at heart.”
Eliza beamed.
“I think I would like to go to the library as well.”
If Eliza could have smiled any harder, she would have cracked, Caroline couldn’t help but think. She was then bundled into a warm dressing gown, and Eliza took a blanket as well. They walked down to the library, and found Thomas there, in his dressing gown and wrapped in a blanket. He was asleep. Brandon hovered by him, nervously studying his master.
They helped Caroline into a chair next to Thomas, and brought her some tea with lemon. She could barely smell it, but the warmth cheered her somewhat. Later, she had an herb infusion. Still, Thomas slept and Caroline read. She began to fade, and then another of her sneezes awoke the Duke.
“Miss Tibbot, you’re still here? How did you enjoy your ride last night?” He rubbed his eyes, and again Caroline noted the depth of color.
“My ride was damp and disappointing.”
He laughed, then coughed. “Not many ladies complain to me of a damp and disappointing ride. I will have to do better next time.”
“It was not your fault, sir. The fault was entirely mine.”
Thomas sat up. “Is this contrition, Miss Tibbot?”
“Possibly.”
He looked around. “There is no one here, holding you against your will, no ropes binding you to your chair? You were not here when I retired – did you by any chance choose to be in my presence?”
Caroline flushed with embarrassment. “I, it was my intent to stay in my room – but I, I wanted to say ‘thank you’ to you.”
“You were fortunate that a gentleman found you last night.”
“So you say.”
“There are other men who would have taken advantage of your situation. You must be aware of that.”
Suddenly, she felt hot and dizzy. The next thing she knew, she was in the firm grip of Thomas, and Eliza was buzzing about. He lifted her up and lay her down on the sofa.
“You swooned, Miss Tibbot,” he said in explanation.
Caroline looked blankly at him.
“Fortunately, I am adept at spotting the signs of a swooning woman.”
She drifted off to sleep, the smell of him her last sensation.
Despite her fainting, Caroline preferred the library to her room during the days of her and Thomas’ recovery. Gradually, she warmed to him, and beneath his flirtations she began to sense there was more to him. Seeing him unkempt at the start of each day also amused her. His hair was matted, his nose red, his eyes bleary and blood shot. He did not seem to care about this, and often brushed Brandon aside when he attempted to make the Duke look more “ducal”.
On the third day, he suddenly sat up, and asked her to put down her book.
“I need to ask you – do you like balls?”
She ignored his smile. He was insufferable.
“I have not attended any, so I could not say.”
He looked appalled. “Can you dance?”
“My sisters and I were more prone to playing sports, rather than dancing. But I would say we could dance adequately.”
“’Adequately’? Miss Tibbot, you will need to do some dancing over the next few weeks. My mother, the Dowager Duchess, is planning an event to formally announce our engagement. You will be expected to dance, and to dance with me.”
He stood up, and yet again extended his hand.
She took it, and noticed its warmth. His palms were slightly moist as he enveloped her hand in his.
“Come,” he said, pulling her after him. “I will clear some space and we can practice.”
Thomas’ instructions were clear as they began to move together. He was well practiced, and moved with both grace and with a consideration of his partner’s inexperience. As Caroline placed her hand on his arm for one last dance, she felt the muscle beneath his sleeve move and shift, and in response she pressed her hand on that spot, ever so slightly, to feel the hidden movement. She was curious.
Thomas suddenly stopped. He looked at her with curiosity and, just as suddenly as he had ceased, he moved once more and whirled her in a circle.
Her laughter rang out, surprising herself and any members of the household within earshot.
When they had stopped, he caught her eye. “Why is it, Miss Tibbot, that you have such objections to marrying me?”
She lowered here eyes. “It is less about marrying you, than it is about the confinement of marriage itself. I had planned on journeying with my mother and father across oceans and seeing wondrous lands. But now,” she sighed, “it seems all I can look forward to is journeying between Whitby and Durham. Twirling in a ballroom is a sad replacement for sailing across unknown seas.”
He released her, and nodded. “You have at last been honest. I would hope that there would still be unknowns that we can cross together.”
Tears sprang to her eyes, and she picked up her shawl and left the library, in a state of confusion and anxiety.
Chapter Five
Caroline found Thomas arguing with Brandon some days later. “Brandon, I do not particularly care for commentary from the servant’s quarters. The Dowager Duchess has decreed that the ball to celebrate my engagement to Miss Tibbot will occur here at the Broad House in the coming week. The ball room here will suffice, and you will have to ensure that the evening runs according to the Dowager’s plan.”
Brandon cast an eye at Caroline. “Yes, sir. And Miss Tibbot’s family?”
Thomas turned to her.
She shook her head. “With the Dowager staying, it will be too much of an imposition, I fear.”
“The Dowager has her own summer house, but never mind. I think we will keep the numbers small, Brandon. Of course, the eligible ladies may not attend in the numbers we are quite used to, so that will help our cause.”
Caroline moved on – just when she thought h
e had the capacity to be charming and considerate, the Duke inevitably found a way to be boorish. Her anxiety over the ball, and meeting those attending, was causing her sleepless nights. This was not escaping Eliza, who was not averse to commenting on the bags creeping under her mistress’ eyes.
The day of the ball arrived with unnerving haste. Eliza was dressing Caroline in a new ball gown, a subtle but alluring light blue color with deep blue embroidered hems. It was simple, but tasteful and elegant. Looking at herself in the mirror, Caroline couldn’t help but wonder what her mother would think of her. Would she be proud of her daughter, who looked every inch the part of a Duke’s fiancée? Or would she be concerned, that her headstrong daughter was heading towards a marriage of confinement? She felt cornered, and ever since she had shared a dance with Thomas in the library, she did not entirely trust herself to run away. If only he could do something tonight, something horrible, she may well be convinced that escape was still a possibility.
“Oooh,” cooed Eliza, “you do look pretty.”
“It’s a lovely dress, such a charming color.”
“It brings out your eyes, and don’t you know it, he has wonderful taste when it comes to that sort of thing.”
Caroline adjusted her hair ever so slightly. “Do you mean to say that the Duke picked this dress?”
“Of course! And with great care, I’m told by a certain someone.”
Caroline pursed her lips, and silently prayed that the evening would end quickly.
The ball began late in the evening. When she came downstairs and was announced, Caroline felt suffocated by the attention. There were those who were attentive and polite to her face, but as she left their company and glanced back over her shoulder, she could see the half smiles cross their faces. Others barely acknowledged her, as she was clearly not of their status. Lord Gilroy, a stern man in his thirties, was particularly cold to Caroline. When Thomas joined her, Lord Gilroy was slightly warmer in his address and conversation. There were others too, young women all of them, who sneered at her but glowed if the Duke but paid them the scantest of attention.
