She returned to the ribbon-tied fabric on the bench, running her fingers along the silky length of it. The deep shade of blue was exquisite, shimmering with the slightest hint of purple. Tucked behind the ribbon was a calling card. Mr. George Barrington, it declared.
She pulled it loose, unsure why he’d placed one of his cards inside. A quick perusal, however, revealed a note scrawled across the back.
My dear Caroline,
I spied this in a shop in London, and its beauty immediately brought you to my mind. I hope you will enjoy it as much as I believe you will. I further hope the weather this afternoon will prove mild enough for you to undertake your customary walk in the gardens, as I know being denied that pleasure is particularly painful for you.
~Your George
“My George.” He had never before referred to himself in that manner. Neither had he ever described her as beautiful.
She untied the ribbon and unfolded his offering. It was not, as she’d assumed, a length of fabric, but rather a shawl with intricate embroidery along the edges. She seldom saw anything so elegant, and she’d certainly never owned anything falling so firmly in that category. This was not the gift of a gentleman bought for a lady with whom he was merely a friend or an acquaintance.
“And he purchased it in London, long before our discussion last evening.” So he must have been thinking of her in more personal terms already. But if she was not thought of as merely a friend, how was she thought of? There were so many degrees between “friend” and “true love.” Where did she fit in his mind?
And where did he fit in hers?
She’d always prided herself on being focused and determined. How had she so quickly turned into this quivering mass of indecision? What was it about George’s offer of marriage that had overset her in a way no one else’s would have?
She wrapped the shawl around her shoulders as she sorted out her thoughts. If she could understand why she was struggling with her feelings so much, she might know how to best move forward. When Father left for London with his list of names, Caroline had simply reconciled herself to the inevitability. She formulated plans for making the best of her situation, for finding satisfaction in the usual, cold marriage of convenience. Discovering she’d been promised to a gentleman with whom she’d never had a cold or indifferent connection had upset those plans entirely.
With the other men on Father’s list, she’d had nothing to lose. With George, she stood to forfeit a lifetime of affection.
She leaned her forehead against the window frame. She might have found some happiness in a loveless marriage to a man for whom she cared little, but that would never be enough with George. They would either be miserably aware that theirs was not a marriage of the heart, or they would love each other. There could be no middle ground.
She wanted him to love her, and she knew with sudden and terrifying clarity that anything less would be devastating.
She’d granted him three weeks to demonstrate that he was in favor of their marriage. But she needed to discover so much more; she needed to know if he could love her.
Chapter Five
George made a second circuit of the garden. Caroline never waited so long for her daily walk. He had joined her for this part of her day any number of times over the past five or six years, ever since he’d realized how fully she’d captured his heart. Those afternoons, along with a great many evenings spent playing cards and mornings spent in the library, discussing topics of interest, had rendered the state of his affections permanent.
He’d come to Gloucestershire fully expecting to be permitted those same indulgences. The night before, when her willingness to receive him had been cast into doubt, he thought his request for three weeks of leniency had secured his reception once more. It seemed he’d been mistaken.
“Is that you, George?”
He would have known Mr. Downy’s booming voice anywhere. Indeed, his future father-in-law was striding up the garden walk toward him.
“I see you arrived here ahead of Edward and me.”
“Tom and I reached Downy House yesterday.” George offered the expected short bow.
Mr. Downy waved that off. “None of these formalities, boy. We’re to be family.” He chuckled. “Truth be told, I find it a little odd that we are not yet family. You’ve felt like one of us for so long.”
“I do not know that I have thanked you and Mrs. Downy properly for having received me so warmly all these years.” Indeed, they had been more of a family to him than his own ever had.
“Nonsense.” Mr. Downy slapped him on the shoulder. “Having you as an honorary son was thank you enough. Though you’ll not be honorary much longer.”
At least Caroline’s father was pleased at the prospect. “Another thing for which I need to thank you. I am certain what I had to offer paled in comparison to others you intended to approach.”
Mr. Downy motioned for George to walk beside him. “I had held out some hope, George, that you meant to offer for her. Edward insisted you would.”
“Edward? How did he know?”
Mr. Downy’s sizable shoulders shook as his mouth turned upward. “Edward is not so thickheaded as his brother. He has sensed in you a growing fondness for our Caroline.”
George hadn’t realized that anyone had taken note of his growing devotion. “She is not at all happy about this, sir. I’ve had to enter into something of a devil’s bargain, I am afraid.”
Mr. Downy turned to George with drawn brows. “What is this bargain?”
They rounded the corner and passed the rose bower. George wondered if the flowers he’d sent to her had done anything to argue his case to Caroline. He’d heard nothing from her.
“While I had no guarantee that her feelings for me were anything but that of a friend, I could not imagine her being satisfied with a marriage as uncaring and lifeless as she was likely to find with another gentleman. I am not saying she would have been mistreated; she simply wouldn’t—” How could he put into words the fears he’d hardly dared voice even to himself? “I cannot be certain anyone else would have treated her with the kindness and thoughtfulness that she deserves.”
“You wished to save her from that?”
George nodded firmly and decisively. “She deserves to be loved.”
“Then what is this terrible bargain you have been forced into?”
“Coercing her to accept me would not secure her happiness. Indeed, I very much fear it would doom our marriage from the beginning.” He inwardly cringed at the thought. “I asked for three weeks in which to prove that we could be happy together, that I did choose her for herself and not for reasons of social standing, or pity, or any of the many nonsensical notions she currently entertains.”
“And should you fail in this lofty goal, what is the consequence?”
Again George swallowed the lump that never seemed to leave his throat. “I will release her from our engagement with no arguments, no bitterness, and no retracting of my financial pledge.” He wanted to make certain Mr. Downy knew that the family would not suffer should George fail.
“Oh, good heavens, son.” Mr. Downy released a long, drawn-out whistle. “You’ve set yourself to the task of fully wooing a woman in a mere three weeks? That is a devil’s bargain if ever I’ve heard one.”
“Especially considering she doesn’t seem willing to let me try.” He looked around the empty garden. “She’s forgone her usual walk to avoid me.”
“I know my girl, and I believe I know what she is struggling against.” Mr. Downy tucked his fingers into the pocket of his waistcoat, his jacket pulling backward. “Caroline has a terrible fear of losing people. Ever since she was a child, whenever I depart for London she begs to know when I will return, pleading with me to be safe in my journey. When the boys began leaving for school, she cried and cried, insisting they would return having forgotten her and no longer allowing her to participate in their larks. She still grows teary when they depart. She fears being left behind.”
George tried to reason out how that particular worry applied to his current predicament. “But I am offering precisely the opposite. I am asking— pleading— for her to make a future with me. She would not be left behind or forgotten.”
“She would be if marriage means that you’d treat her differently from how you once did, that you resent her or dismiss her.”
How could she possibly believe his adoration of her would change in any way other than grow? “I could never resent or dismiss her. I love her.”
“Yes, but does she know that?”
“No, I do not believe she does.”
Mr. Downy pointed a stubby finger at George’s chest. “Then how can she think any differently? A wife chosen for any reason other than love can never feel fully valued in her marriage. That knowledge left me dreading my task this Season.”
“Would you have chosen one of the others if I hadn’t approached you?”
Mr. Downy took a deep, tense breath. “Only if I felt confident that they would have, at the very least, not mistreated her. I hope, George, that you do intend to be careful with your income and assets. It is a terrible thing for a father to see his daughter’s future hang so precariously in the balance.”
A wife chosen for any reason other than love…
“Ought I to tell Caroline of my feelings for her?” He hadn’t done so out of fear of rejection, but he was already being turned away.
“I would advise against it at this point. She will likely suspect any declaration was an attempt to convince her not to break off your engagement.”
“Surely she would not believe that I would lie to her.”
They had nearly reached the garden gate. “I am only suggesting, son, that your actions will speak far louder than your words. Show her your feelings, and then the words you speak will have meaning.”
“How can I show her if she never leaves her bedchamber?”
Mr. Downy grinned. “You are in luck. She is coming this way.”
Indeed she was. And, though nothing in her posture spoke of true pleasure, she was wearing his shawl, which he chose to view as a good omen.
“Allow her to see the sincerity of your feelings, George. That will give her the confidence to move forward.”
“I will do my best.”
Only a moment later, she was beside them. “Welcome home, Father. We have missed you.”
Caroline kissed her father’s cheek. He patted her hand. “I have not yet greeted your mother. I will leave you with George. Be certain to set the dogs on him again if he misbehaves.”
On the instant, color touched her face. “I was nine years old when I did that, Father.”
“And,” George quickly added, “I deserved it.”
“You were teasing me rather mercilessly, and my kitten was unwilling to attack.” Caroline, thank the heavens, sounded more like herself in that moment than she had in the past twenty-four hours. Perhaps all hope was not lost.
“Would it improve your opinion of my eleven-year-old self if I told you that calling you Cry-o-line was Thomas’s idea?”
He detected a smile beneath her continued discomfort. “I fully believe Tom was the instigator. But you fell in full step with his devious scheme, so you are just as much to blame.”
George sighed dramatically. “He was a terrible influence.”
“Perhaps that is why you spent more and more time with me as the years passed.”
He nearly choked on the absurdity of that explanation. “That was not at all the reason.”
Her continued light expression entirely dismissed the possibility that his reasons had been quite personal. She knew so little of his feelings.
He slipped his hand around hers, ready to pull away should she make the least objection. Much to his relief, she intertwined their fingers and, without the slightest protest, walked at his side as he undertook another circuit of the garden. At some point, Mr. Downy had slipped away, leaving them to the quiet solitude of trees and flowers and pebbled pathways.
“Thank you for this shawl,” she said as they walked. “It is the most beautiful thing I have ever owned.”
“I am pleased that you like it. You wear a great deal of blue, so I felt safe in assuming that it is a favorite color of yours.”
She watched him with blatant curiosity. “I do favor blue, just as I prefer white roses. How is it you remember so many trivial things about me?
“I would wager there is very little about our past time together that I do not recall. You have been, without question, the very best part of the last twelve years of my life.”
Her smile blossomed once more. “You can hardly count the first years. We merely endured each other then.”
Perhaps that had been true for her, but he had been top-over-tail in love with her even in those earliest times. “I have not spent any significant amount of time here this past year or more. Tell me, do you still ride in the mornings?”
“Most mornings, yes. Followed by a walk in the gardens after tea. Then after dinner, Mother insists on reading aloud to us all, sometimes for more than an hour at a time.” Her tone and expression were equally rueful. “Do you not envy me my exciting existence? I have all of this whilst you have had to content yourself with the minuscule diversions of London.”
“I will issue my promise once more. You have but to say the word, and I will take you to London myself, where you may enjoy those diversions to your heart’s content.” He felt he knew Caroline well enough to know she would never wish to spend her time in truly frivolous or scandalous behavior, but he suspected she would be thoroughly delighted with the theater and the opera, with balls and musicales. She would easily make friends amongst the other young matrons and would pass many cheerful afternoons making calls and receiving visitors.
“Where do you spend your time when the Season is over?” she asked. “Do you descend upon Bath or Brighton, or are those months passed in Shropshire?”
“Shropshire. I have at last managed to see the house refurbished and the estate fully prospering. I have time enough now to live as a gentleman of leisure, but have found myself most comfortable at home. I am afraid I am doomed to live a most dull existence.”
She smiled at him. “I doubt your life will ever truly be dull. You have always possessed a knack for finding adventure wherever you may be. You are the one, after all, who found himself wedged into the tiny window opening at the back of the stables.”
“Why is it that we are forever attacking each other with our childhood misdeeds?”
“Perhaps because there are so many of them.” She nearly laughed; he could hear it in her tone. Oh how he hoped that meant she was feeling more at ease in his company. “And, more likely still, because we were always present for each other’s disastrous failings.”
“There have been good moments as well,” George reminded her. “The time we convinced Cook to secretly give us tarts, and then we ran all the way here to the garden to eat them without anyone knowing.”
She moved a bit closer to him, holding tighter to his hand. “You also danced with me at my first assembly. The first set, in fact.”
“I remember. I had to punch Edward in the face to claim that privilege.”
She stopped walking at once. “You did what?”
He laughed at the shock in her expression. “Did no one ever tell you about that row?”
“No.”
“All of the male members of your family were terrified that you would have a less-than-enjoyable experience at your first assembly and had, therefore, concocted an elaborate scheme to ensure its success.”
“And that scheme involved striking Edward?”
He slipped his hand from hers and set his arm across her back, guiding her around a puddle in their path. “I suggested that I ought to be permitted the first dance. Edward insisted on claiming it himself. In the end, I had little choice but to dim his lights a bit.”
Once again she stopped walking to look up at him. “I am grateful you wished to help me,
but coming to blows seems drastic.”
“My and Edward’s motivations were, I assure you, not at all the same.”
She watched him, her gaze seeming to take in every inch of his face, as if searching for an answer in his expression.
With Mr. Downy’s warning ringing in his ears about not pressing his advantage too quickly, George kept to the least-revealing of his reasons. “I always did enjoy dancing with you. I haven’t in quite some time, you know, and I would like to be able to again.”
“A husband may dance with his wife anytime he wishes,” she said.
“Anytime she wishes,” he corrected. “A wife is not a slave, and a husband is not her master.”
“How refreshing.” She leaned her head against the side of his shoulder. “That is the best argument you have made for marriage thus far.”
“Did you believe I would treat you poorly?” He most certainly hoped not.
“Of course, not. I am simply pleased to know that I was right.”
Progress, however small. “Do you still enjoy dancing?”
“I am so seldom permitted the opportunity that I hardly know.”
He settled his arm more comfortably around her middle. “I have wanted to ask your mother if she would plan a ball, but in light of the undecided nature of our connection, I fear that would be presumptuous. One cannot, after all, throw a betrothal ball for a couple who may or may not remain betrothed.”
“I suppose that would be uncomfortable.” She sounded hesitant. “It is a shame, though. We haven’t held a ball at Downy House since I was a little girl.”
He had suspected she would enjoy a ball. “What if we did not declare it a betrothal ball? We could simply put it about that your family is celebrating being together again.”
“It has been some time since all of us were here.” She was at least a little in favor of the idea, then.
“We could plan it for three weeks from now.” He knew he was pushing a little, but he had such little time that hesitancy was the enemy. “If you have decided to accept me and my hand, then we could officially announce our betrothal that night. If not, we need not say anything.”
A Timeless Romance Anthology: Sarah M. Eden British Isles Collection Page 3
