by Julie Daines
“Leave me be. Get yourself off to bed.” Grandmama’s heavily ringed hand patted Caroline’s arm. “Sleep well. I hope your dreams are naughty ones.”
“You’re incorrigible,” Caroline told her.
“And I’ll die happy,” Grandmama said.
Caroline kissed her. “But not yet, please. Good night.”
In her own room, Caroline dismissed her maid and stood leaning against the door, fingering her lips, fighting a smile. If she and Jack weren’t the worst rascals in Bath, the title surely belonged to her grandmother.
Whatever would Kit say? Not that she was ever planning on telling him.
* * *
Jack dressed with care the next morning, ignored Percy’s raised eyebrows at his early departure, and walked to the house of the Dowager Countess of Lynher. It was in Camden Place. He’d checked the subscription book.
He was received, to his surprise, by Caroline’s grandmother. “Come to call on my granddaughter?” she asked.
“Ormonde,” Jack answered. “We fancy each other.”
The old lady laughed, a fuller sound than he’d expected from someone of her years. “Then you won’t be disappointed. I’ve heard the beast snuffling about, but I haven’t yet seen Caroline.”
She offered him a chair and set to work quizzing him about his relations. In several instances, the facts required brazen answers, but Jack knew there was no shrinking. He’d be surprised if the countess hadn’t ferreted out all the answers already. She seemed that type. In the middle of their conversation, Ormonde nosed into the room. He took up a post beside Jack, his tail beating eagerly against Jack’s boots.
“You weren’t jesting,” the countess observed as Jack scratched the hollows behind the dog’s ears.
“He and I understand each other.” Jack smiled.
When Caroline hurried into the room, buttoning her gloves, she was a different girl again, glowing and flustered, as if the kisses he’d pressed on her last night were painted on her skin. Not what he’d expected. She never was—one day prim as a daisy, the next a calculating sophisticate, then a blushing ingenue. He shouldn’t stare at her.
“Forgive me,” she began.
“Overslept?” Her grandmother’s question darkened her blush.
“You look beautiful,” Jack said. “Can I persuade you to lend me Ormonde for an hour’s walk?”
She stopped in the middle of a nod. “Just Ormonde?” She was dressed for walking, in low-heeled half boots and a green wool pelisse.
“Well, I know I’m a favorite with him.” Jack smiled. She was so easy to tease. “I didn’t want to presume your willingness. And I worry when the world sees you, it might cause an accident in traffic.”
Caroline snorted.
“I have no prejudice against doctors, not when they are as well-mannered as you,” Lady Lynher put in.
“If you like, we could walk past the outskirts of town,” Jack suggested. “There is a bluebell wood—or so I am told.”
“You’ll like that, Caroline,” Lady Lynher said. “The woods are always pretty this time of year. I’ll expect you both for luncheon.”
“Dr. Edwards might have other engagements,” Caroline said.
“None so important as me,” Lady Lynher said.
Jack smiled. “You’re quite right, ma’am. Thank you for the invitation. I’m happy to join you.” He bowed and was barely upright before Caroline hurried him from the room.
“If you let her have her way this easily, you’ll never recover,” she warned him. “She’ll order you about till the end of her days.”
“Oh, I think the invitation was for your sake,” Jack said. “She’s keeping me respectable.” He liked the dowager countess, who looked after Caroline in her own unconventional way.
Caroline pressed the back of her hand to her lips, smothering a laugh. “Grandmama is the least respectable person I know. Including you, and that’s saying something.”
“Clearly, she’s above such mundane concerns herself. I, on the other hand, must abide by the rules.”
“Except that you never do.”
Not when I’m with you. Jack shifted to his other foot. “I’m not usually— Our first meeting, and last evening . . . That was uncharacteristic of me.”
She bent to fasten a lead to Ormonde’s collar, looking up once he was safely tethered. “Do you want to play by the book?”
Jack licked his lips. “I’ve broken rules already, but I should keep your grandmother’s.”
“Good. She informed me yesterday that you are permitted to kiss me—” Jack laughed, but she went on, “with occasional pawing.”
He winced. “Was I so clumsy?”
“Her word, not mine.” She stood up much too close to him. A large, antlered umbrella stand kept him from taking a step back. “If you just came round to make apology, why stay for luncheon?” Her tone was cool.
“I—” There really was no elegant way to say this. Games were fine, but he wanted her to think well of him. “I want you to know I’m not a fortune hunter.”
“You said you didn’t have the stature to match me. It’s true, though I like your height.” She must look straight in the eyes of most men, but he had a few inches’ advantage. Just now, he needed them.
“I flirt with you only because you are too lovely to resist. I expect nothing.”
“Thank you.”
Ormonde butted against his boots. “He’s been remarkably patient, but I think it’s time we were gone. If we want to go as far as the bluebells,” Jack said.
Caroline nodded, and Ormonde took the signal and tore off. They hurried after him, out the door and down the steps to the street. Ormonde strained at the lead, sniffing all over the flagway, keeping them at a brisk pace that brought color to Caroline’s face and had Jack puffing.
“At least he’ll never get fat like Lady Margaret’s pug.” Caroline said. “Tired already?”
Jack shook his head. His breath was fast, but it was good for him to be up and about. Kept him from brooding.
“You look a little pale,” Caroline told him, tugging Ormonde to heel and slowing her pace.
“I sleep poorly,” Jack told her. “Bad habits.”
She gave him a sideways look. “But you are here for a holiday,” she said, her inflections gently scolding.
Jack shook his head. “A cure. I took sick over the winter. My family insists on it.” In Suffolk, he often saw patients from early morning till long after dark, riding by the light of a lantern if there was no moon. He must take more long walks, so he’d return fit for duty.
“That can’t do much good to your reputation,” she said. “Doctors aren’t supposed to get ill.”
“I’ll try not to do it again.” Nine graves. Jack was silent.
They passed the turn to the park, and Ormonde lunged backward. Caroline’s whistle brought him about, but his ears hung sulkily until a carriage rattled by. Ormonde veered away from the wheels, barking indignant protests once they had passed.
“You’d think he’d be used to them by now,” Caroline said.
“He’ll be happier once we get to the wood,” Jack promised, hoping the scenery would be as good as Henrietta’s guidebook claimed.
“I spoke with Lady Arundel later at the dance. She told me you saved her son. Is that how you became ill?” Caroline asked.
“Henrietta is a rattle,” Jack said.
“But not, I think, a liar,” she said quietly.
“If I take credit for the patients who get well, must I blame myself for the ones who don’t?”
“Lady Arundel says you do. She says—”
“How much did you talk with her at the ball last night?”
She looked at him, absorbing his reluctant smile to widen her own. “Enough.”
“Should I be afraid?”
“No. I’ll leave you be.” And after that, she didn’t press him.
Ormonde’s prance quickened as they left the town. “I should bring him into the country more ofte
n,” Caroline said, watching him frisk around Jack’s feet.
“Have you always lived in London?” It was easy to imagine her there.
She shook her head. “I grew up in Cornwall. After my parents died, we lived with my uncle until Christopher—my brother—was elected to parliament.”
“Which riding?”
“Penryn. It was my father’s. Christopher is a nominee of my uncle, but the margin was narrower than he’d hoped. He takes the responsibility seriously.”
“And you?” he asked, though he knew already.
“In my own small way.”
“I never trust you when you pretend modesty. Makes me think you got him elected yourself.”
Her eyelashes fell onto her cheeks. “Ladies do not vote, Dr. Edwards.”
“I thought between us, it was Jack. You may not vote, but I expect you pay calls on everyone in Penryn who does. Is he married?”
She frowned.
“Your brother.”
“No.”
“Then you run the household for him?”
“Yes. We’ve always been a political family. I’d say a good half dozen of our ancestors lost their heads over it. Long ago, thankfully. Not in these times—” She broke off, realizing her mistake. “I mean— I’m sorry. That was incredibly clumsy of me.”
Jack looked into the trees, lifting the corners of his mouth. He couldn’t manage the rest.
“Was your family . . . ?”
“Yes, but I never saw it.” Jack resumed walking, his eyes on the dirt path. “We were in hiding then, my mother and sister and me.” But as they’d escaped their burning home, he’d seen what the mob had done to his grandmother’s dog. He’d never forgotten the sight of the pitiful body scattered in pieces on the Turkish carpet. “You said many of your ancestors have been in parliament?”
She accepted the diversion with relief. “Yes. But it was my father and then my uncle who first joined the Tory party. My brother sits with them, which is at least partially why he and Grandmama don’t get on. Would you like a turn with Ormonde?” She offered the end of the leash. Jack took it, keeping her hand as well and tucking it in the crook of his free arm. It felt better in moments like these to touch someone. “In case I come over faint,” he explained, provoking a smile.
“Were you very ill?” she asked.
“Yes. It’s quite embarrassing. I nearly lost Henrietta’s baby and her middle boy. Brought him round just as I took ill myself.”
“She must be grateful to you for saving them.”
“It always frightens me. Treating family.” Hoping to distract her, he motioned to Ormonde, who had his nose pressed to the ground.“What do you suppose he’s stalking this time?”
She only smiled a response, growing thoughtful. It made him uneasy. He didn’t want her thinking overmuch on what he’d said. Some things were best left alone.
Chapter Five
Caroline hadn’t walked so far in years, not since Kit had moved to London. At Coberton Park, she’d spent more time outside, every moment that was her own. The countryside and gardens there had been her escape, for Uncle Warren’s home was beautiful, but not a comfortable one. She missed her slow hours wandering cliffs in the sunshine or, on days when the sea turned growly, the satisfaction of walking far and fast into a wind.
It told. Her leg muscles were warm, though this path wasn’t steep, nothing like the cliffs by Coberton. They’d found bluebells though, thick and brilliant in the wood’s shade. Caroline stopped. “It’s been too long since I visited Arcadia.”
“You like it?” Jack looked back at her, his shoulders splashed by sun.
“It’s paradise.” She couldn’t see or hear the outside world from this little hollow. It was unspoiled, perfect. Once she’d had hopes instead of ambitions—fairy tale dreams to liven the lonely years when Kit left Coberton to go to school. She’d missed him terribly, living for his letters. Then he came back for her, full of plans for their future, eclipsing those foolish fancies she’d lived with for so long.
“Should I let him run?”
Ormonde danced, anticipating freedom.
Caroline smiled, returning to the present. “He’d like to, but I don’t know if he’ll come back.”
From his coat pocket, Jack took a folded napkin. “I brought some ham from breakfast.” Ormonde barked, his tail wagging madly. Jack fed him a morsel. “He’ll come back.”
Caroline nodded, and Jack let go of the lead. Ormonde whined anxiously, but once he saw no ham was forthcoming, he picked his way through the bluebells, circling a tree trunk, then bounding after some sound, stopping with his ears pricked when he lost his direction.
“I’d like to sit awhile,” Caroline said. They’d passed a stone wall some yards back, but she chose a bit of sloping ground beneath a tree. Jack took the place beside her, propping his arm on one bent knee. Since waking, she’d hummed with hopes of kissing him, but pride and the remnants of habitual decorum held her back. For now. The wood was beautiful, but she couldn’t stop looking at him. “Thank you for bringing me here. It’s as good for me as it is for Ormonde. Do you deal this handily with all creatures?”
“Canines are easy to understand. I manage all right with most humans.” He smiled at her. “Not very good with horses. Spent too many years in the navy.”
“A sailor, a doctor, and a count? How many lives have you had?” There was more to him than what he showed in his easy smile.
“If I were a cat, I’d have used up a few. I started my career in the navy, training as a surgeon. Between voyages I studied medicine. Served on board ship again after that until a few years ago. Now I’m a land animal again.” He made it sound ordinary, but it wasn’t.
“Where have you been?”
“Africa, the Caribbean, Gibraltar. Spent some time on the blockade.”
“Did it bother you, fighting France?” She studied him for clues, though it would have been easier to stare at her knees. Maybe she shouldn’t have asked.
He shrugged. “It might bother me if I ever went back. Perhaps I should feel more loyalty. At the time, I tried not to think of it. To be grateful I had the chance. We were poor, you know. I was lucky.” He plucked a blade of grass and rolled it between his fingers. “My brother was much older, but what I remember most of him was his pride in la patrie. He was a soldier of the National Convention and wore a blue uniform and the cockade.” There was bitterness here, fine as the blade of knife.
“He was the Comte d’Augines?”
“No. That was Father.”
Caroline swallowed. “Did they kill him too?”
Jack tossed away the ruined stalk of grass and plucked another. It hurt, watching his forced smile. “They killed everyone,” he said. “Anyone. My cousin from the convent. Our priest. Children from the village who spat at le tricolore. Of our family, only my mother and sister and I escaped. My mother died four years ago while I was at sea, but Laura is well. She lives with her husband in Suffolk.”
Caroline passed him a fresh piece of grass. He tossed it after the others. “Enough. It’s my turn now, if you insist on uncomfortable questions. Why aren’t you married?”
Caroline shifted on the ground. “Perhaps I choose not to be.”
His eyes met hers, compelling her to honesty.
“No, you’re right. For nearly three years, I was engaged to marry Sir Robert Symes. He was a member for Truro and a friend of my brother.”
“What happened?”
“He died. An accident.”
“Do you miss him?”
“No.” It sounded heartless, but it was the truth. If anything, she resented his dying, leaving her to start over. “If he hadn’t been content with only my promise, we’d have married long before. He might still be alive.”
Uncomfortable under his scrutiny, she looked for Ormonde, spotting him far away in the wood.
“Not a love match, then.”
“Does that disappoint you?” Caroline asked. She didn’t like being judged, especiall
y when her own verdict wasn’t commendable. “I don’t think he cared much for me,” she admitted. “I was useful, but not necessary to him.”
“How ungallant.”
“It’s the way things are.”
“But you’re hurt all the same.”
Caroline shrugged. “It’s nothing.” Not like the hurts he bore, uncomplaining. “Is it my turn again? How did you come by that scar?”
“Splinter. On my last voyage. I stitched it myself.”
Caroline winced. Served her right for asking.
“My turn.” He picked a longer blade of grass this time, brushing it across the top of her knees.
“Well?” Caroline prompted.
He laughed. “This is a difficult question.”
“Must be, if it’s taking you this long.” She felt herself tensing under her smile.
“If you believe that’s the way things are, why come here with me?”
She wasn’t sure what she’d feared, but this was answerable. Her breath loosened. “But I like you. You are gallant.”
“And that’s sufficient to overpower good sense? Because, you see, I’m planning to kiss you.” He said it as a matter of fact, like some observation on the weather, but the tone didn’t match his intent look.
“Jack.” Caroline made a show of widening her eyes, but she couldn’t maintain the pretense of shock for more than a heartbeat. Lowering her voice to a whisper, she leaned forward. “I’m glad. I thought it over, and I can stand one more.”
“Just one?”
“Well, say a few.”
He smiled. “Good. Come here, then.” He lay back on the grass, and Caroline followed like she was tethered to his coat buttons.
* * *
“Kissing’s a fine art,” he sighed, when she stopped to breathe. “You’re much better at it than Ormonde.”
Caroline smiled, tracing her finger along the edge of his waistcoat. With her head resting here, she felt his heart thudding, a satisfactory counterpoint to the double-time pulse in her throat. She measured both as they softened and slowed, savoring the tingle left in her cheeks from the friction of his skin.
