A Timeless Romance Anthology: Sarah M. Eden British Isles Collection

by Sarah M. Eden

  In light of all that, she’d earned a touch of drama.

  Chapter Three

  That had not gone well.

  “Do you really wish to endure such a display for the rest of your life, George?” Tom’s customary grin sat firmly in place. “Women are deucedly dramatic.”

  “That is not a word you ought to speak in your mother’s hearing, Thomas,” Mrs. Downy scolded. Her gaze darted from George to the now-empty doorway a few times before settling on him once more. “George, please do not hold this outburst against her. She has not quite been herself this past month, not since…” The sentence dangled unfinished, but George knew perfectly the words she’d left unspoken.

  Not since she learned of our betrothal. He’d worried that the manner in which the match came about would give Caroline the wrong impression. But when Edward, the oldest of the Downy children, said that his father had come to London with the express purpose of finding someone willing to offer a bit of much-needed income to the family in exchange for Caroline’s hand, George panicked.

  His plan had always been to court her when she had her Season, to make his case in the traditional way, by convincing her of his love and devotion. But she never had a Season, and her family left her no opportunity to be wooed.

  “Is she terribly unhappy about this?”

  “Not at all,” Mrs. Downy assured him. “She seemed perfectly resigned to it until today.”

  Perfectly resigned. That was nearly as bad. He hadn’t expected her to be overflowing with excitement, but he’d hoped that knowing she was marrying someone whose company she enjoyed, and who was not several decades her senior, would have rendered the prospect a bit more appealing than “perfectly resigned” indicated.

  And, it seemed, she wasn’t even feeling that any longer. What a mess he had on his hands.

  “Pardon me,” he offered to the others before swiftly following Caroline’s path. If he caught up with her before she reached her bedchamber, perhaps he’d have an opportunity to better ascertain the state of her feelings and do what he could to soothe them.

  In a much appreciated bit of luck, he reached Caroline before she turned down the corridor to the family rooms.

  “Caroline.”

  She stopped at the sound of her name and glanced over her shoulder at him. That particular posture had never failed to clutch at him in a way he couldn’t explain. Something in the look, in the stance, seemed to warn him that she could leave him behind at any moment. He inevitably found himself both intrigued by the unspoken challenge of earning her affections and nearly frantic at the thought of losing her. For years he’d felt the pull of those competing emotions.

  He reached her side in the very next moment. “I am sorry about your headache.”

  “It will pass with time and rest.”

  He’d developed a talent over the past few years of keeping his arms firmly at his side in the face of the almost overwhelming wish to reach out for her. “Is there anything I can do for you? I do not like the idea of you being unwell.”

  The tiniest of smiles flitted across her face. “You always were more felicitous than either Tom or Edward. But then, older brothers do have a tendency to be inexcusably inconsiderate of their sister’s wellbeing.”

  “If I had been fortunate to have a sister, I would like to think I would not have been so blind.”

  Her smile grew by the smallest of degrees. “I do not doubt you would have been an excellent brother. You were always considerate of me during our childhoods.”

  Good heavens, did she think of him as a brother? A lady might learn to feel more than indifference for a match not of her choosing, but who could possibly find any excitement in the prospect of marrying her brother?

  “At the risk of sounding rude, I would like to lie down.” Caroline’s patience was clearly being tried by the delay.

  “Allow me to walk you to your door.” He motioned for her to proceed him, which she did. “Has your maid been sent for? I would be happy to see that she is summoned.”

  “I will ring for her once I reach my room. I would rather lie down that much sooner than wait for her to arrive.”

  Was she more unwell than she’d admitted? “Ought I to send for the apothecary?”

  “As I said, you are far more attentive than my brothers ever were. But no, I am not truly ill, simply worn thin. The past weeks have been quite trying.”

  A horrifying truth that was beginning to sink in. “Has this been so terrible for you?”

  She tipped her chin upward in a show of firmness. “I have found I do not at all like being listed amongst my family’s sellable assets.”

  Sellable assets? This grew worse and worse. “You have known me more than half of my life, Caroline. Do you truly believe that this, to me, is nothing more than a financial arrangement?”

  “I am grateful that Father chose you. I truly am. I saw the list of gentlemen he intended to approach, and—” A sudden surge of emotion cut off her words. Caroline, who seldom grew overset, seemed unable to finish the thought.

  She had seen the list? What had Mr. Downy been thinking to expose his daughter to the harsh reality of arranging a match? George allowed himself a momentary lapse in his iron-clad control and reached for her hand, holding it in what he hoped was a reassuring clasp.

  But she quickly slipped her hand from his. “Despite my lack of social graces today, I promise I will do all I can to make certain you don’t regret your”— she pulled in a shaky breath and stepped further away—“your purchase.”

  “Caro—”

  But she had already rushed off, hurrying inside her bedchamber.

  Her door closed with a sharp snap. She thought of him as a brother. A brother who had acquired her with the same level of tender emotion one calls upon when purchasing a horse or a bit of land. Far from pleased by their match, she was disheartened and resigned.

  Mr. Downy had made the direness of her situation and the coldness of the arrangement apparent to her. How could she not assume he shared her father’s view of things?

  How much worse could the situation become? He hardly dared consider the possibilities.

  What he needed was a plan.

  George was elbow deep in ribbon when Tom wandered into his bedchamber.

  “The birds aren’t going to shoot themselves,” Tom scolded. “I thought we came to the country for a bit of sport.”

  George didn’t look up from the bow he was attempting to tie. “There are times, Tom, when I wonder if perhaps you have recently been dealt a blow to the head.”

  “What are you going on about this time?”

  “Why would you think I came to your family home, where the lady to whom I have recently become affianced lives, in order to shoot birds?” George gave his friend a laughingly annoyed look. “This journey was always about Caroline.”

  Tom’s eyes pulled wide even as his brows arched in surprise. “Boiled beans, man! You’re not undertaking a courtship, are you?” He had always been something of a simpleton in matters not related to sport.

  “I am not certain which aspect of ‘betrothed’ you haven’t come to terms with.” George set himself back to the task of adorning Caroline’s present. “We’re to be married, and I would much prefer that she be pleased with the prospect.”

  “Boiled—”

  “If you say ‘boiled beans’ one more time, I’ll boil your beans.”

  Tom chuckled. “What does that mean?”

  “I have no idea.” George examined his rather pathetic attempt at tying a bow. He could only hope Caroline would look past it.

  “But the arrangements are already made.” Tom sat on the chest at the foot of George’s bed. “Seems to me that that ought to relieve a fellow from the necessity of making up sweet to a lady. A match of convenience ought to be… convenient.”

  “You needn’t speak as though I’ve volunteered to spend an afternoon in close company with a rabid dog.” George leaned back casually in his chair, grateful for a momentary repriev
e from his heavy thoughts and worries.

  Tom’s nose scrunched as though he smelled something particularly putrid. “You won’t be making cow eyes at her, or anything equally disturbing?”

  “What would you define as ‘equally disturbing’?”

  “As it turns out, this conversation.” Tom fingered the discarded lengths of ribbon with a look of disdain. “Is gift-giving part of your courtship strategy?” Tom indicated the folded bit of fabric and its poorly tied bow on the end table.

  “This is merely something I thought she would like.” He pushed it a little away from him. The light blue shawl had seemed like the perfect engagement gift, but now he wished he’d chosen something a bit more impressive. Such a feeble offering was unlikely to increase her enthusiasm. “Do you think the gardener would let me pick some flowers?”

  “I can’t imagine why not.”

  That was good enough for him. “I’ll see you at dinner,” he said on his way out the door.

  He knew that Caroline would assume his offering was out of expectation and obligation rather than out of the warmest, sincerest regards. He hoped she might sense at least some of the tenderness behind the gesture, that the offering would act as the first step in a successful plan to convince her of his regard. He no longer had the least confidence.

  Chapter Four

  Caroline tucked herself away near the empty fireplace in the library that evening, unable to force herself to join the family for dinner. Should anyone walk in, they would see nothing more worrisome than a calm and sensible young lady reading a book. They would never guess her heart and mind were in turmoil.

  A quick knock echoed off the library door. Caroline dropped her gaze to the open book in her lap. “Come in,” she said calmly.

  “I commandeered your dinner tray.”

  Her gaze snapped upward at the realization that George, of all people, had stepped inside. Her tongue tied in knots, though whether by embarrassment or emotion or simple confusion, she couldn’t rightly say. Gone were the days of feeling utterly at ease in his company.

  George set the tray on the end table beside her chair.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, not looking directly at it or him. She settled her gaze on her book once more.

  “Would you be terribly put out if I stayed for a moment or two?” he asked.

  Yes. No. She wasn’t at all certain what she wanted where he was concerned. But tossing him out on his ear seemed inexcusably immature. “Of course you may stay.”

  He wore the earnest expression she’d seen so many times: when she had been ill, when he’d helped search for her missing kitten, when he’d found her hiding in the orchard to avoid her brothers’ teasing. He did care about her— she did not doubt that— simply not in the way a husband ought to care for his wife.

  George sat gingerly on the far end of the sofa. He’d left the library door ajar, and they were affianced. Given the circumstances, few would have found anything amiss in his sitting directly beside her, but this long, awkward distance was more fitting. A chasm was growing between them, one they didn’t seem likely to span.

  “I understand your father and Edward are due to descend upon us from London tomorrow.” It was as innocuous a comment as a mention of the weather or the general state of the countryside.

  “Yes, I believe their business in Town is now complete.”

  Indeed, Father had found her a husband and, in so doing, had secured money enough to pay off the estate’s debts and return home with hardly a care in the world.

  “Have you ever wished to visit London?” George asked.

  “It does not do to wish for things one can never have.” That had been her reasoning for years.

  “I spend a portion of every Season in Town,” he said. “If you wish, you can as well, after we— once we are—”

  He couldn’t bring himself to even speak of their marriage in solid terms. How lowering.

  “My family and my governesses were forever treating me as though I hadn’t the intelligence for nuanced and layered conversations or the endurance for hearing uncomfortable news. But you, George. You never treated me that way. Until now.”

  He didn’t speak, but neither did he look away.

  “Is that what I have become to you? A lady with whom you cannot speak plainly, with whom you will never again be at ease?”

  He slid across the sofa, directly beside her. “I am sorry to be making such a mull of this. But, my dear friend, things have changed between us, and I do not yet know what our new footing is.”

  So he was as lost as she was. That only served to cast more doubt on the success of this arrangement.

  “Do you remember what you said when you were first told during my first visit that I would be spending the school holiday here?”

  She shook her head, unable to recall her exact words in that moment.

  “You said that you found it difficult enough sharing a house with two boys and could not possibly be expected to endure a third.”

  She likely had said that, as those had been her exact sentiments at the time. “I was only eight years old, you’ll remember.”

  “And yet, in many ways not much has changed.” He took her hand in his, a gesture of reassurance. “My first arrival here was an adjustment for you, for both of us. By the end of that holiday, we had made our peace with each other. We were even marginally fond of each other’s company. By the end of my next visit, we were very nearly friends. As the years passed, we became precisely that— dear friends, in fact. Did we not?”

  “We did.” She heard the wistful note in her words. No doubt, he did as well. Did he mourn the impending loss of that decade of friendship as much as she did?

  “We found our footing, Caroline, and I believe we can again.” He bent low enough to catch her diverted gaze. “Will you allow us to at least try?”

  She raised her head to look at him more directly.

  “Three weeks is all I ask,” he said. “For three weeks, permit us the possibility of changing what has always been between us— not throwing it away, but building on it. See if in those three weeks you can find reason to believe we can make this a success.”

  “And if I cannot?”

  “I could never be happy in this marriage if you were miserable. I will not force your hand, you have my solemn vow.”

  His words were so unexpected, she didn’t at first know how to respond. “You would release me from our engagement?”

  “I have only ever wanted your happiness.”

  She stood up, her thoughts colliding with one another at too fast a pace for sitting still. Her feet carried her to the fireplace, then the window, then past the sofa once more. “I am certain Father has already spent the money he received.” Being perfectly honest with George seemed the best course of action.

  “If you truly believe that money is more important to me than you are, then I have a greater task ahead of me than I realized.”

  He actually sounded disappointed in her. But how could she have believed otherwise? Her eventual marriage had always been about securing the family’s future. Always.

  “What is your decision?” he asked. “Am I to have three weeks?”

  She stopped, facing him from her new position near the window. “Will you answer me one question first?”

  “Of course.”

  Her courage nearly deserted her, but she rallied. “Do you truly want to marry me? I don’t mean do you want to marry in the general sense, but do you want to marry me?”

  He rose. Slowly, deliberately, and with measured step, he came toward her. No one would argue that he was still the gawky boy he’d once been. His movements had a masculine grace she could not ignore. He moved with purpose, with confidence, with a presence that filled any room he entered. And the way his gaze held hers without hesitation or uncertainty quickened her pulse with something bordering on nervousness but leaning in the direction of anticipation.

  “Caroline Downy,” he said once he’d reached her side. “I am
not one to be forced into an arrangement not of my choosing— not by guilt or pity or intimidation. I asked for your hand because I very much wished to be granted your hand.”

  “But why?”

  He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Three weeks, Caroline. Give me three weeks, and I sincerely hope that question will be one you no longer need answered.”

  The concern that had hovered in his expression when he’d first stepped inside the library had been replaced by sheer, unmistakable determination. He raised her hand to his lips and placed a kiss on her knuckles.

  George had never done that before. Not once. She would have remembered the tingling sensation and the way her breaths came in sudden spurts. She would have remembered wishing he would brush those same lips along her cheek. If he had ever done that before, she would have remembered feeling this entirely confused.

  He held her hand a moment longer. “I will see you tomorrow.”

  In the moment after George’s departure, Caroline’s eyes settled on the single white rose lying on the tray of food he’d brought for her. The staff would not have placed it there. Her family certainly would not have.

  He must have thought of the rose— a white one, her favorite. The thoughtful gesture was reassuring. Perhaps he was correct in believing the awkwardness would ease with time and a little patient effort. He had asked her to grant him three weeks. She did not want to give up on her happiness— on their happiness. Three weeks seemed little enough to ask.

  Caroline added another white rose to her growing collection in a vase beside her bed. The chambermaid had brought one in that morning. Another had been waiting for her in the breakfast room. She’d found another just now tied with a ribbon to a small, folded bit of fabric left on the bench at the foot of her bed. Including the rose she’d received with her dinner tray the night before, George had given her five.

  He’d not said the roses were from him, but she knew they were. The small tokens meant more than he likely knew. They served as reminders that he had a good heart, that she was fortunate to be marrying a man who was not unkind. He might not love her, but he was unlikely to mistreat her. More than that, he would treat her well. That was more than many women could say of their spouses.