My Lady Caroline

by Jill Jones

  “I’m sure she did. She wasn’t the type to let small details get in her way. Things like the fact that Byron was young enough to be her son. Or that he was having an affair with her daughter-in-law. As long as they were discreet about their extramarital affairs, the women of her time could have all the lovers they could attract. That was a problem for Caroline Lamb, however.” Kathleen closed the door to the Lady Melbourne Room and beckoned Alison to follow down another hallway.

  “How so?” Alison looked up in awe at the ornate glass-paned dome which topped the three-storied stairwell in the center of the mansion.

  “Discretion was paramount to their clandestine affairs in the Society of the day, but Caroline didn’t seem to know the meaning of the word. When she wanted something, she went after it with a vengeance, whether it was a trinket or a man. And usually she didn’t care who knew what she did. Lady Melbourne, on the other hand, had far more illicit affairs, but she was smart enough to keep them in the shadows. That’s why she chose this room for the Prince,” she added, escorting Alison into a dazzling suite with a huge scarlet-covered bed and hand painted Chinese wallpaper. “So he wouldn’t have far to go.”

  Alison was charmed by Kathleen’s delightful narrative as she continued the tour. At last they came to a room which overlooked the pebble drive at the front of Brocket Hall. Decorated in a distinctively feminine manner, it was smaller, far less imposing than the rest.

  “This was Caroline’s room,” Kathleen explained. “She loved it here.” She went to the window and pulled back the curtain. “From here she could see the river and the park. I think she was more at peace here than at Melbourne House in London, especially,” she added with a wry smile, “when her mother-in-law wasn’t in residence.”

  Alison expressed her surprise that Caroline would have been given such a small room, when all the others were so much more opulent, but Kathleen replied, “No, I think she chose this room, probably because it was remote and she could enjoy her privacy here.”

  That was probably why she had taken refuge frequently at Dewhurst as well, Alison decided. And why she had chosen the old hunting lodge as the hiding place for Byron’s memoirs. Remote privacy. At Dewhurst Manor, her secret would more likely be safe until the time was right for it to be revealed.

  At the end of the tour, Alison thanked Kathleen for her time and the colorful stories she’d shared along the way. “Please give Lord and Lady Brocket my regards,” she said, shaking Kathleen’s hand. “Perhaps we will meet soon.”

  “I’ll will advise them of your visit, and that you’re a new neighbor,” Kathleen replied, an enigmatic look in her eyes, and Alison sensed that the present day residents of Brocket valued their privacy as much as Caroline had.

  Dark clouds had gathered over the peaceful Hertfordshire countryside by the time Alison reached Dewhurst Manor, giving her a strange sense of foreboding. From both of her visits, she’d learned little she didn’t already know about Lady Caroline’s life and peculiarities, except that it seemed somehow different, more real and alive, having heard the stories from the locals and seen Caro’s beloved Brocket Hall with her own eyes. The ghost’s pathos was even more poignant now, and Alison was anxious to attempt to call up the shade and try to jog its memory.

  A dark and stormy night should do nicely.

  She entered the house just as the first heavy drops of rain began to echo against the slate roof. She started to call out to Mrs. Beasley, but decided she’d take a quick look around first, to see if Mr. Jeremy Ryder had wreaked any more havoc in her house. She crept to the library and eased open the door, and through the rain-darkened gloom she saw that some of the books had been reinstated on their shelves, while others had been placed in neat piles on the library table. Well, at least the task had been started. She’d help the servant finish up tomorrow.

  She wandered into the Great Hall, gratified that nothing seemed amiss here. Except…what was that? She saw a thick, dark brown briefcase on one of the chairs. Jeremy’s? She didn’t think it looked like the one she’d seen in his room.

  Her curiosity roused, she headed down the twisting, darkened hallway toward Mrs. Beasley’s apartment. She heard a toilet flush, and a moment later, a vaguely familiar figure suddenly stepped into the hall in front of her.

  “Alison!” A solicitous male voice resounded in her ears. “There you are.”

  It took only a split-second for her to recognize him. “Mr. Hawthorne?” she croaked in surprise. “What are you doing here?” The hall seemed to close in on her, and she found it difficult to breathe. He stepped toward her.

  “I came to save you from yourself,” he replied cynically, and his tone of voice sent a shiver down Alison’s spine. In the clinical atmosphere of his Boston law office, Drew Hawthorne had always treated her with respect, albeit condescending respect. Here, in the darkened hallway of Dewhurst Manor, he seemed like a different person.

  “I don’t need saving,” she replied, gathering her shattered nerves. “And I don’t recall having invited you here. So please leave.”

  “Now is that any way to treat your legal counselor, especially one who has made a very long trip to help you out?”

  “You are not my legal counselor, Mr. Hawthorne. You’re unfortunately in charge of the Cunningham trust, but you are not in charge of me, and I don’t appreciate your barging in on me like this.”

  He leered at her, looking for all the world like a lecherous old man, and panic burned suddenly at the back of Alison’s throat. “I may not be your legal counselor, honey,” he replied in a low voice, “but I have a lot more grasp on the world than you do. And as the Director of the Cunningham trust,” he added smoothly, “I also have the power to force you to deal with your affairs in a responsible manner, whether you like it or not.”

  “You don’t have any power over me other than manipulating my trust, Mr. Hawthorne. And after this intrusion, I will find a way to have you removed as Director.” She was aware that her voice had edged upward a notch.

  “I doubt it, sweetheart. But for now, perhaps we should get to the business at hand.”

  “We have no business.”

  “Oh, but we do. And this is no casual intrusion. Since you don’t seem inclined to return my phone calls, I have had to travel halfway around the world to let you know that I have filed an injunction against the release of funds from your bank to purchase this dreadful place.”

  “You’ve what?” Alison eyes widened in outrage. How could this be? The will had clearly stated that the insurance money was not attached in any way to the trust. She saw the satisfaction on Hawthorne’s face at her reaction.

  “It’s only a temporary measure, to give you time to change your mind,” he said, his voice now kindly reassuring. Fatherly even. “The trustees have only your best interest at heart, Alison. It’s what your father wanted, remember that.”

  Alison was appalled at the man’s audacity. He’d treated her like a child before, even talked down to her, but she’d never dreamed he would interfere in her life outside the affairs of the trust. “Are you telling me that the money hasn’t been transferred into the escrow account?”

  “That’s right.” He sounded proud of the fact, as if he’d done her a big favor. “And if I do my job, it won’t ever leave the safety of your bank in Boston. I’m here,” he said, lowering his voice and touching her cheek, “to try to talk some sense into that sweet little head of yours.”

  She recoiled as if she’d been bitten by a snake. “You’re a creep, Hawthorne,” she said, resisting the urge to call him something more vulgar, something more suitable to his behavior. “Get out.”

  “Leave her alone, Hawthorne.” A deep voice emanated from the shadows behind the attorney, and Jeremy emerged from the doorway where he’d been listening to the exchange. “She’s asked you twice to leave. I suggest you do it.”

  “Who is this guy?” Although he knew full well who Jeremy was, Hawthorne turned a mocking grin to Alison, and added, “Your latest lover?”r />
  Alison had to restrain herself to keep from slapping this insufferable man, but her cheeks grew hotter at his insinuation. Was it a little too close to the mark? “It’s none of your business who he is. None of this is any of your business.”

  “You’re overwrought,” Hawthorne said, suddenly conciliatory. “We’ll talk about all this in the morning.”

  But Jeremy stepped between Hawthorne and Alison and put his arm protectively around her shoulders. “There’s no need to talk about any of this, now or in the morning, or ever, if the lady doesn’t want to.”

  Whatever her doubts about Jeremy Ryder, she was utterly grateful to him at the moment. His touch reassured her, gave her strength. She put her hand on his. “I understand you mean well, Mr. Hawthorne, or at least I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. But what I do with that insurance money is out of your hands. You had no right to place an injunction on that transaction. It’s illegal as hell, and I’ll have you canned for doing it.”

  He gave her an ingratiating smile. “Your old friend Judge Frieberg handled the request himself. Seems he’s known your family a long time. Said he thought a ten-day cooling off period was a good idea, under the circumstances.”

  “A cooling off period? The only thing that needs cooling off at the moment is my temper, Mr. Hawthorne.” A flash of angry lightning pierced the blackened sky, and thunder rattled the eaves and shutters. “Do you have a car?”

  “No. I came by cab. I figured with all these empty rooms, you would surely put me up while I was here.”

  “You assumed too much, Mr. Hawthorne,” Jeremy said, his voice calm, but Alison felt his hand tighten on her shoulder. Another assault of lightning, followed by ear-splitting thunder. Alison vacillated for a moment. She wanted Hawthorne out, but at the same time, she couldn’t just throw him on the doorstep to spend the night in the storm. And she had no inclination for anyone to get out in the weather to take him to a nearby inn. “I have a rental car. You can take it. Find an inn somewhere for the night, and then get on back to Boston tomorrow. You’re not welcome or wanted here.”

  “I’m not driving anywhere in this storm, especially on the wrong side of the road!” he protested. “No sir. Not me.”

  “I’ll be more than glad to take you, or call you a taxi,” Jeremy began, but Alison cut him short with a nudge in his ribs. A slight smile crept over her lips as she saw the ghost signaling to her.

  “Let me have at him tonight,” it said, mischief lighting up its eager face. “I’ll give him a scare that’ll send him back to the pigsty he came from.”

  Of course.

  Alison didn’t hesitate. “I have decided you can stay, Mr. Hawthorne. But just for one night. Follow me.” She ignored Jeremy’s protest. He hadn’t seen the ghost, and he had no idea what Caroline likely had in store for him. Alison was silently and maliciously gleeful as she led the two men back toward the Great Hall, where Drew Hawthorne retrieved his oversized briefcase in which, he said, he’d packed a few clothes, just in case. She took him down another hall into the new wing where he would be as far from her, and Jeremy, as possible.

  “I’ll send Mrs. Beasley with something to eat,” she said. “Goodnight, Hawthorne.”

  “Uh, thanks, Alison. You’ll see things differently by the light of day, I’m sure of it.”

  “Don’t hold your breath,” she said, then added in a warning voice, “By the way, I wouldn’t advise wandering about in the night. It’s a big place, and some people say it’s haunted. Sweet dreams.” She relished the startled look on his face before shutting the door to his room firmly between them.

  She was about to return to the Great Hall where she’d left Jeremy scratching his head over her sudden change of heart, when her eye fell on the door to the swimming pool. She’d almost forgotten about it. Suddenly, she knew that a swim was just what she needed to, as she’d told Hawthorne, cool her temper.

  As an adolescent, swimming had often provided Alison with a way to cope with stress and the runaway emotions of a teenager. She’d started swimming when she’d discovered that it helped her to overcome the loneliness, self-doubt, and the perceived clumsiness that plagued her even today. Over the years, she’d become good at the sport, winning ribbon after ribbon, almost making the Olympic team, an achievement that she’d never shared with her parents. Later, as the wealthy jet-setter she’d become, she’d chosen to fly off to places with outstanding aquatic facilities, or the ocean. Perhaps subliminally, it had been the fact that Dewhurst Manor had a pool that had swayed her to buy the place.

  With Hawthorne put away for the night, she felt suddenly eager to dive in and feel the familiar delicious coolness of the water soothe her rattled nerves. She hurried back to the Great Hall and headed for the stairs, the only thought in her mind being which swim suit to wear, when she heard Jeremy’s voice.

  “Why did you let him stay?”

  She turned to him and saw a look of concern for her in his face. It was nice that he was pretending to care, but she wasn’t going to fall for that one again. “Why not? He’s a nuisance, but not a threat.” She found to her amazement, she meant it. Hawthorne was a bother, that’s all. No longer did he loom as omnipotent over her fate and future. The thought felt good all over. “Tomorrow, I’ll call Judge Frieberg and find out what this is all about and get it straight. And I’ll insist that Hawthorne leave. Which brings me, Mr. Ryder, to a discussion of a similar nature that we need to have. But not tonight. I’m going for a swim, then have Mrs. Beasley bring dinner to my room. You’re on your own tonight. You may dine where you wish, only,” she paused and frowned at him slightly, “I would prefer that you stay out of the library from now on.”

  Before he could reply, she darted up the stairs and out of sight. She might have overcome the threat posed by Drew Hawthorne, but Jeremy Ryder was another matter entirely.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “All who hate Lady Oxford—consisting of one half of the world, & all who abominate me—that is the other half—will tear the last rag of my tattered reputation into threads, filaments & atoms.”

  Lord Byron to Lady Melbourne.

  The winter was the blackest in my memory, although others since have proven even darker. The sale of Newstead did not go through as planned, & creditors hounded my heels even as Caroline stalked my every move. It is good she did not fall into collusion with them, or I would have been lost for certain!

  Society began to grow hostile, partly because of my flagrant affair with Lady O., who had many jealous enemies. Their hatred of me threatened to destroy what little reputation I had left, but as time was to prove, I did not need their help after all. I was quite capable of destroying that reputation myself.

  I spent most of the spring of eighteen & thirteen in the arms of Lady Oxford, much of the time at Eywood, where I also cast lecherous eyes upon her daughter, Lady Charlotte Harley. Lady O. did not find this amusing, especially as she believed ourselves about to become parents of what would be Charlotte’s half-sibling, another child in her Harleian Miscellany. Fortunately, it turned out to be a false alarm. It was during this time that Caroline apparently perfected her already excellent talent for forging my hand. She became so skilled, in fact, that she fooled even my publisher, John Murray, into giving her a portrait of me, the poor man believing the letter she gave him to have been penned by me. I was, quite naturally, enraged when I heard of this, as was my amoroso of the moment, Lady O., to whom I had promised the picture. I immediately wrote to Caroline demanding that she return the likeness, but her terms were too much for me. She would return the portrait, she informed me, only if I would meet her privately in my quarters. I knew Caroline well—oh so very well—& I knew what would transpire should I capitulate to her desires, not to mention my own! But I was vexed at her blatant blackmail & my patience was sorely tried at this point, so I wrote that I would indeed see her, but only in the presence of Lady Oxford. Of course, Caroline declined.

  Throughout this winter, she continued to behav
e irrationally, & from her letters, the contents of many of which bordered on the incoherent, I took heart, believing our letter-writing campaign, which had continued unabated, was succeeding brilliantly. It was clear to me, & many others, that Caroline could no longer be considered sane, although she had moments of lucid brilliance in her efforts to thwart me. Some of her antics I even found delightfully witty, such as when she had her servants outfitted in uniforms with new buttons engraved with the antithesis of the Byron motto—instead of Crede Byron (Trust Byron), they read Ne Crede Byron! A well-aimed thrust, & well-deserved, I allow.

  She continued to press for a meeting, threatening to haunt me with her ghost if I refused! I could tell that her harangues were playing havoc with Lady Oxford, whose husband had got wind of our affair & who was being pressured to send me away lest the ire of my former mistress Lady C. spill over into his arena. It mattered not, it seemed, that I had cuckolded him for months. I suppose he was used to that. It was Caroline’s mad behavior—& the accompanying scandal—he wished to avoid.

  With reluctance, hoping to end it once & for all, I agreed to a meeting. I had not seen her in months, & I was shaken by her appearance. Those golden eyes were dim & large against her thin pale face. She was wasted in body & so weak she had to be accompanied by her mother & Lady Melbourne, a fact I did not regret, not trusting myself to be alone with her. Still, seeing her so near death brought tears to my eyes, & I knelt and asked her forgiveness. It was a monumental blunder, for she did not, as I had expected, die shortly thereafter.

  The underwater lights sent an iridescent glow radiating through the aquamarine waters of the pool, a shimmering light that was accented by an occasional flash of lightning from the storm which still rumbled outside. Enchanted by the ambiance, Alison chose not to turn on the overhead lights. She tested the water with her toes. Perfect. Tepid, but not too warm. Safely protected from the weather by the thick walls and roof of the pool addition, she slipped into the pool at the shallow end and let her body become accustomed to the change in temperature, then pushed off vigorously from the side and began swimming laps with strong, sure strokes.