Kaleidoscope: A Regency Novella

by Hannah Meredith

  “About David, then?” his father asked. His face was so white as to be bloodless. “What do you suggest I do with him? I feel you have the right to have your say.”

  The right to have his say? Was his father a complete idiot? Did he think this would suddenly make everything right? The strange void in his emotions constrained his rage, but it was still there, beating itself against the bars of nothingness. And if his fury were loosed, it would want blood and mayhem and pain.

  Luke smiled, but the effect must not have been reassuring, since his father winced. “As I see it, David is your problem. He’s a self-confessed thief, adulterer, and liar. I could also name him murderer, for his actions caused Lady Belinda’s death, as well as that of her unborn child. He also killed my own youthful hopes and dreams. What are the penalties for these crimes?”

  The smile disappeared and he scowled at his father. “Of course, your problem in determining a just punishment is that you were complicit in most of David’s actions. While you didn’t steal my mother’s jewels, when I asked you about them, you told me they had been given to French émigrés without determining of this were actually the case. At the time, you wanted nothing to do with me, since you’d also chosen to believe the lies David had spread. I suspect you were secretly glad that I was left with nothing. It was easy for you to wrap yourself in false righteousness and turn you back on your youngest son—a son who had always lived his life so you would find pride in his actions. If David killed my intended future, you were his collaborator.”

  Luke suddenly laughed without humor. “You ask what I want you to do? Be damned. For I truly want nothing else.”

  He looked at the shrunken, weeping old man and at the bloody slug that was his brother. And he felt nothing but disgust.

  He walked from the room. The servants who had gathered just beyond the door silently opened a path for him through their numbers. As he left the house, he wondered if it had ever been his home.

  He was pleasantly surprised to see Tremaine’s odiferous carriage still sitting on the street. “Can I take you anywhere?” his friend called from the window.

  He imagined Caro, waiting sleepy and warm in her bed—and he knew he could not go there. He was simultaneously too hollow and too filled with rage. He didn’t want her to see the ugly person he’d become because of his family’s betrayals. A creature with bloodied knuckles and a shriveled soul. He couldn’t pollute her goodness and honor with his own blackness.

  “I can’t think of anywhere I want to go,” he said.

  The carriage door swung open. “Good. Get in. We’ll get drunk together. That’s what I do when I have nowhere to go.”

  “Do you often have no destination?” Luke asked, pulling himself into the carriage.

  “Always, my friend. And I long ago discovered that even if I start out for one location, I will undoubtedly end up in another, so getting drunk is the best solution. Let’s start at my club and work down from there.”

  Luke nodded. Getting drunk sounded like the best idea he’d heard today.

  Patterns for July 1825

  Sanjeet knocked on her door but opened it without waiting for a reply. “A message, Memsahib. The runner is waiting for a reply.” He motioned to the outside door located across the large outer office of Rydell Shipping. A ragged boy, nearly lost behind the tall clerks’ desks, leaned against the doorjamb.

  Sanjeet crossed to the desk and handed her the paper. The small man then shifted from foot to foot, as if unsure whether to retreat to give her privacy or to remain to give her support. He knew she’d been upset for these past two weeks and had undoubtedly guessed the reason. To forestall his having to make the decision to stay or leave, she immediately slit the seal and opened the note.

  Would it be too late to hope for a dinner invitation for this evening? LH

  No explanation. No apology. Her hand wanted to crumple the heavy paper into a ball and throw it across the room. Her heart wanted to take flight. She listened to her heart. Oh, she was a fool.

  She pulled out a clean sheet of paper and wrote, Eight then, in her clear script, signing it CR. She folded the page with meticulous care and sealed it, part of her still tempted to sweep everything into the trash. Before she could act on that impulse, she handed the return message to Sanjeet. “Here’s the reply.”

  He quietly exited, leaving her to stare at the original note. The first seven words seemed to express the real question—Would it be too late to hope?

  Luke had disappeared from her life a fortnight ago. The night he said he might be late, she’d waited for him until nearly dawn. She’d planned to thank him for going to the shipyard. She wanted to make him laugh with Sanjeet’s version of his overbearing lordly behavior.

  But he did not come. Then or the next night—at which point, she was frantic, imagining all sorts of terrible fates. What if he were again floating in the Thames and she was not there to find him?

  She finally sent a disgusted Perkins to Luke’s lodgings, but her butler returned with the information that he was not at home. Not knowing whom else to contact, she’d written to his friend, Viscount Tremaine. At least Tremaine had answered, although she doubted his letter’s truthfulness. He said Luke was involved in a family crisis and had been called out of town. He assured her Luke would contact her as soon as he was able.

  And then, nothing. Just lonely silence as if Luke had never been—as if they had never been.

  Slowly, concern coalesced into anger. Was she so unimportant that she could easily be dismissed from his mind? Amala read her distress and began again muttering about the dangerous habits of pye-dogs and how one should kick the curs and be done with them.

  Eventually, her anger turned to pain. Why had he bothered to lie and tell her he loved her? She would have tumbled into bed without the need of a ruse.

  But mostly, she missed him, the essential Luke, the man who listened to the problems of her day with understanding and could make her laugh when she least felt like it. Oddly, the loss of this closeness was more painful than the absence of the passion she’d come to enjoy. Memories of his body moving over hers haunted the hours when sleep would not come. But it was upon awakening that the hole in her life became most apparent.

  Before meeting him, she’d learned to live with loneliness, but now loneliness had become a living beast with claws and fangs that raked her skin. Being with Luke had shown her how sterile her life had been. She feared returning to her solitary ways.

  And now, after all this pain, he’d chosen to reappear.

  Would it be too late to hope? She hated that she still hoped. Foolishly hoped. She knew there could be no permanence, eventually he would discover she didn’t fit into his world, but she had hoped for more. More time. More closeness. Was it too late for both?

  She’d always needed to know what lay on the far side of the hill, and so she could not let him disappear from her life without discovering the reasons for her sudden dismissal. While the knowledge might hurt, possessing it was better than not knowing.

  But she could not, would not, let him know how devastating his disappearance had been. She would be calm and collected, the consummate hostess. She would look him in the eye and stare him down.

  To do so, she needed to make preparations. Lord, yes, major preparations. A sumptuous dinner served by a beautifully dressed woman who was the epitome of indifference. She had so much to do before he arrived at eight.

  Her feet crossed the room without her willing them to move. She opened her door and stuck out her head. “Sanjeet, order the carriage to come around. I need to go home.”

  “Yes, memsahib,” he said.

  Caro was crossing to retrieve her bonnet when it dawned on her that Sanjeet hadn’t been surprised with her request. Instead, he’d given her a knowing smile.

  Luke walked up to Carolyn’s front door. He was done with sneaking in through the mews. He’d just finished reclaiming a large portion of his life. Now he was here to claim a bride. Unfortunately, he wasn’
t particularly confident about that outcome of this last endeavor.

  At the door, Perkins was aloof but not overtly hostile. Luke hoped this boded well for his visit. This optimistic interpretation lasted the length of the hall but disappeared when he entered the dining room. The large central table had been set for two people, one at each end. Nearly twenty feet of pristine white linen separated the two places. Caro had made it very clear that the intimate dinners at the small table by the window were now relegated to the past.

  Caro herself looked like a queen. She wore a cream-colored dinner dress that shimmered in the candlelight. Her midnight dark hair coiled elaborately around her head. Her chin tilted upward at a haughty angle. Her eyes were mysterious and unreadable. She was incredibly beautiful and completely unapproachable.

  Luke had known his behavior would be hard to explain. He’d come prepared to grovel, if necessary. It now looked like he would not be offered the chance.

  “Lord Lucien, please be seated,” she said without preamble, being seated herself by a hovering footman.

  Luke has no choice but to follow suit. From his end of the table, he had a view of a large silver epergne overflowing with flowers. From the far end, only the top of Caro’s head and the puffs on her sleeves peeked around the massive arrangement.

  A footman offered a choice of two types of soup. Luke chose something clear. If it had a distinct taste, he didn’t notice. His mind was too busy planning ways to breach the physical and emotion distance that stretched out before him. Only the click of spoons on fine porcelain broke the silence.

  Luke waited until he’d been served the next course and the footman had backed away to stand by the wall. Then he would wait no longer. “I much prefer a cold collation in your bedroom,” he said in a carrying voice.

  “My lord, we are not alone. I don’t believe this is a suitable topic for conversation.” Caro spoke more softly, but Luke could hear embarrassment lace her words. He wished he could see if he’d caused her color to rise. The more uncomfortable he could make her, the sooner she would dispense with this lunacy and actually talk to him. As plans went, this was not a particularly good one, but it was the only one he could devise.

  “Don’t mind the footmen, dear,” he said. “I suspect everyone below stairs knows of my bedroom visits.”

  “Luke, stop!” She stood, her face appearing above the centerpiece like Venus rising from the waves. The closest footman made a grab for her chair, which was evidently in danger of toppling over. Her face neared the color of her dress. Luke realized she was more angry than embarrassed. But he also noticed he was now Luke rather than Lord Lucien.

  “Why not ask the audience to leave? Then we can conclude our business in private and get on with enjoying what has every indication of being an excellent meal.” Luke held his breath to see if she would follow his suggestion.

  Caro looked at the attendant footmen. “Please leave,” she said, to his relief. “I’ll ring for the next course.”

  She sat down again, once more disappearing behind the blooms. This would certainly not do. He picked up his plate, silverware, and wine glass and strolled the length of the table to take the place to Caro’s right.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” He noticed the defiant jut of her jaw. Yes, she was definitely acting queenly tonight.

  “I’m getting close enough for a conversation and didn’t want to let this excellent fish get cold.” As if to prove his point, he took a bite. When she continued to sit and stare at him, he took a slow sip of wine, his eyes never leaving hers.

  It was obvious that she was not going to speak and make it easy for him. Luke wasn’t sure how to begin. She had every right to be angry. His behavior had been reprehensible. He knew he’d disappeared with no explanation, but how could he explain he couldn’t see her while he’d felt he had a hole in his soul.

  It was one thing to have your family falsely accuse you of wrongdoing. It was quite something else to discover someone in your family had set you up to take the blame for his own failings. He’d found the knowledge corrosive and had feared she wouldn’t like the empty person he’d momentarily become.

  He’d tried to hide in a bottle. He’d spent two days nearly insensate with drink as he wallowed in self-pity in his rented rooms. Then his eldest half-brother Templeton had arrived like Galahad on a white steed. Templeton, the biggest self-righteous prig he knew, squinting at Luke’s unshaven face and demanding he pull himself together.

  Had it been anyone other than Temp, he might have laughed in his face and continued on his destructive spiral. But too often in his life, Templeton had looked down his nose and found Luke wanting. So Luke had stiffened his spine and met his oldest sibling with anger. Somehow, in the loud and boisterous argument that followed, Temp had convinced him to let their father try to make amends. Temp made it sound as if Luke would be giving their father the gift of forgiveness, rather than their father giving Luke anything.

  Who would have thought Temp could be so persuasive? Luke ended up cleaned and shaved and on his way to Greyling Hall, the family countryseat in Surrey, before he’d had time to think through his actions.

  Perhaps Luke had enjoyed his father’s groveling. Perhaps he felt that some reward was his due. He didn’t think his actions showed much character, but the results were oh, so sweet. He was about to get everything he wanted from life—if only Caro would agree.

  He took her hand. At first it was hard, wooden. But as he stroked his thumb softly across her knuckles, it relaxed. Now if he could find his own persuasive words to turn his possibilities into realities.

  Caro could have held firm to her detached demeanor if Luke hadn’t taken her hand and played his thumb along her knuckles. The sensation was so familiar and soothing, the flimsy wall she’d built around her heart weakened and eventually crumbled. His tale was equal parts fascinating and horrifying. She empathized with his hurt and anger at his betrayal by his half-brother David. She could understand how he could hold all of his family equally culpable. And she applauded his reaching a rapprochement with his father.

  She was less understanding of his apparent desertion. But she had little experience with true despair. Sadness. Loneliness. Yes, she knew those well. She’d never felt the bleak nothingness that Luke described, however, and couldn’t imagine how debilitating this could be. The pride that kept him from showing her what to him was ugliness—this she could comprehend.

  But she had a sinking feeling that Luke had wanted to explain these things to her in person because they heralded the end of their affair. Deep inside, even if she refused to acknowledge it, she’d known he was too honorable and fair to leave without a word. This, she feared, was her notice.

  “I initially resisted taking the money and the estate,” Luke said. “I didn’t want to feel like my complicity had been purchased. But my father and Temp convinced me that the cash and land were of no more value than the gems guaranteed to me through my mother’s marriage settlement.” He squeezed her hand and grinned like a boy. “So, you see before you a man of property.”

  “I’m delighted for you, Luke.” She truly was, even if she did have to force the words out through a tight throat. She knew how much he hated lacking funds. And a country estate of his own was a long held dream he’d finally realized.

  “The property is called Thorneby Hall. It’s nothing palatial, just a manor house, but it’s in good repair and the attached acreage is lush. Wonderful pasturage. Perfect for horses. And best of all, it’s just a few hours from London. It will be easy to get back and forth on weekends and the like.”

  She could tell he wanted her to join his enthusiasm, but that was impossible. In her mind’s eye, she could see Luke proudly riding over his new property, accompanied by some perfect, blond English rose. Bile filled her throat. She attempted a smile, but suspected it was more of a grimace.

  Luke suddenly looked as unsettled as she felt. “Of course, some people will continue to believe I was involved with Lady Belinda. I’m
sorry if that will make you feel uncomfortable. My family will put the word out that new evidence has come to light that exonerates me, but I can’t point the finger at David. None of us can. Involving him in my old scandal, no matter how deserved, would simply further blacken the family name—and involve his wife Patience, who has had enough to contend with over the years. She shouldn’t suffer for his misdeeds.”

  “So David won’t be held accountable for his theft or for destroying your name?” The words came out louder than she’d expected, but the injustice of the situation rankled. Caro didn’t know David Harlington, but if they were ever to meet, she was quite sure she could denounce him for the thief and liar that he was. Luke deserved to have his name fully cleared.

  Luke shook his head. “David isn’t escaping penalty. It’s just being handled within the family. He’s been exiled to a family holding in Northern Scotland. It recently came to us through my grandfather’s sister, and while we have a competent manager, no one goes there. It is a singularly bleak and lonely place, isolated from any type of society. Nothing but moors, wind and sheep. Father’s pronouncement is that David can stay there until he rots. I suspect he’ll eventually be allowed back, but I doubt that will happen any time soon.”

  Luke reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a large jewelry box and two folded papers, and laid them on the table. “David did return the one gem that he had not sold, which he’d had made into a quite spectacular necklace. It’s the only thing I have of my mother’s, and I want it to belong to my wife. I haven’t changed my mind, Caro. I love you and I want you to be that wife.”

  She’d braced herself for goodbye. She’d been preparing herself for his departure with every word, telling herself that this was how it must be and that it was good they could part amicably. Luke had caught her completely unprepared. The wild joy that leaped up left her speechless. When she said nothing, he pushed the box and the papers toward her.