Caroline stopped all movement, trying in vain to guess her aunt’s current state of awareness. Normally she would have been out of the bedroom before being found out by her aunt, since she was generally more like herself in the mornings. But last night had been difficult—not just because Frances had felt scared and unsure, but because Caroline herself was so very troubled over the way things had changed between her and Jonathan. She had not been able to find sleep until the small hours of the morning.
They stared at each other for a minute before Caroline gathered enough courage to break the silence.
“Auntie, it’s Caroline.”
Frances’s slack expression of dread transformed into something resembling aggravation, the fine, gray wings of her brows drawing down in displeasure. “I know who you are, for goodness’ sake. What are you doing in my bed?”
“You asked me to stay last night, so I did,” she replied simply, hoping Frances wouldn’t be too alarmed at her lack of remembrance.
But the alarm was plain to see. Her aunt’s expression didn’t change, but Caroline could see the wheels turning behind her eyes; could only imagine the terror she must be feeling.
Facts were facts. Frances needed more help. Caroline needed more help. And she had finally gone to find it. But no matter what choice she made, she ran the risk of losing someone she cared about . . . and unfortunately, she knew she had made the mistake of allowing herself to care about Mr. Cartwick. If Eliza were to find out she’d grown close to him, she might lose her respect and friendship. If she refused Jonathan’s assistance out of spite, she might place her beloved aunt in more danger. Her stomach churned.
Caroline was starting to feel like a lobster in a copper pot. She could jump out to escape the boiling water, but chances were she would meet the chef’s cleaver anyway.
Caroline wrenched her attention back to the gray halo of hair that surrounded Frances’s pale and timeworn features. Her aunt had always plaited her own hair before bedtime, but it was a habit that was becoming less and less common. The messy state of Frances’s hair was one outwards sign of the inner deterioration that was occurring. Steeling herself against the sight, she pushed herself up into a seated position.
“I’ll go and find Meggie, if you are ready for breakfast.”
Frances remained where she was, laying on her side with wrinkled hands tucked under her chin, eyes unblinking. “I’m not ready.”
“Would you like me to have a tray sent up?” she offered.
Her aunt only shook her head.
Reaching across the blankets, Caroline squeezed Frances’s shoulder, feeling the impossibly frail and small form beneath the drape of her nightgown. “Some tea then, perhaps.” It wasn’t a question; she was truly growing worried and hoped a warm drink might help her aunt’s mood. To her dismay, Frances closed her eyes with a bitter sigh.
“I . . . hate . . . this,” she whispered, almost unintelligibly, through clenched teeth.
It took a moment to fully comprehend Frances’s words, but Caroline’s chin quivered when she did. Crawling back up the bed to wrap Frances in her arms, she rocked the only mother she’d ever known like she was her own child.
“I know it’s hard, Auntie,” she said, hugging her tight. “But I’m here to help.”
“You have a life to live, dear,” she said, her voice muffled against Caroline’s shoulder. “Don’t waste it on the last years of mine.”
Caroline swallowed against the lump that had suddenly risen in her throat. “If it brings you cheer, you should know we will be receiving visitors soon. Today, in fact.”
Frances scoffed. “Who will be here today? Your parents?”
“No, but Mr. Cartwick will be here.” She couldn’t bear to divulge the true purpose behind his call. Not now, anyway. There was very little way to predict how her aunt would react to the addition of staff to the household and the new servants meant to assist in keeping her safe.
Frances pulled away from Caroline’s embrace. “The American?” she asked, her eyes widening.
Caroline glanced away with a smile. “Tell me, how is it you always remember him with such absolute precision?”
Tossing off the covers, Frances swung her legs over the side of the bed and tugged on the bellpull. She directed a critical look over her shoulder at Caroline. “If you don’t know that by now, my dear, then it’s no wonder you’re still unmarried.”
Caroline gaped at her. “You’re still unmarried!” she exclaimed.
“That’s only because I was proud and foolish in my younger years,” she said, pulling on her wrapper and turning to kiss the top of Caroline’s head. “My most fervent wish is that you not strive to emulate me. I’ll see you downstairs for breakfast.”
And without waiting for Meggie or anyone else, Frances threw open the door and charged into the hallway. From the sounds of it, she managed to startle the maid on her way downstairs, and Caroline felt the corner of her mouth quirk upwards into a little smile.
Say what you would about Jonathan Cartwick—and there was certainly plenty to say—he did seem to have a miraculously restorative effect upon her aunt.
Not an hour after rising, Caroline had both the pleasure and the distress of receiving two letters at the same time. They arrived on her doorstep after their journey from Kent, courtesy of her friends, Eliza and Clara, and she immediately rushed upstairs to her bedchamber to examine them in private.
The coincidence smacked of a coordinated effort between the two women, and Caroline took a moment to kick herself for possibly sharing too much in her latest letters to them. Upon reading the contents of Eliza’s letter, she set to kicking herself a bit harder.
Dearest Caroline,
I must admit to being concerned about your latest letter, and the upsetting news regarding Lady Frances. I know how very strong you are, but still can’t bear to think of you struggling through this by yourself, alone in the country.
Thomas and I would like to join you at Willowford House as soon as possible to help secure capable assistance and ease the transition for you and your aunt. We are aware of your parents’ impending arrival and would be glad to stand by your side on that front as well. Please write back with your thoughts as soon as you can.
With love to you and Frances,
Eliza
Her stomach plummeted. Eliza was an intelligent woman. If she ventured here to Hampshire, she would most certainly end up meeting the new owner of the Cartwick estate, and it would take only seconds for either her or Thomas to detect that her relationship with Cartwick was anything but benign. Likewise, Caroline had already accepted his offer of help so their assistance was not entirely necessary. While she loathed the idea of withholding information from her best friend, she worried that Eliza would question Caroline’s willingness to involve her new neighbor in this very personal facet of her life. She knew she would question it, were the roles reversed.
Setting the parchment aside, she braced herself for Clara’s letter. The lady was equal parts formidable and friendly, and Caroline had grown to cherish her friendship too. It had been only lately that she’d enjoyed the luxury of having two close and trustworthy companions . . . and it was just her rotten luck that they both lived halfway across England.
Breaking the seal, she unfolded the letter then scanned it with a pensive sigh.
Dear Caroline,
By now, you will have received Eliza’s letter to you. What you have probably not guessed, however, is that regardless of your answer to her, Eliza and Thomas plan on making the trip to Hampshire anyway. Sadly, I will not be able to join them since I have grown to the size of a house and travel is considered unsafe at this point. But please know I would be there if I was able. It was not a risk William was willing to allow for myself or the baby, and I prefer to be careful at this point as well.
My hope is that once your parents arrive back home, they will give your household—most particularly its occupants—the attention it deserves. But until then, please know that we
are thinking of you and Frances. We will be out to Hampshire at the first possible moment.
Much love,
Clara
Caroline flopped backwards onto her bed with a groan, the letters scattering beside her upon the ivory coverlet. Why, oh why, were her friends trying to be so helpful? It made the fact that she’d basically thrown herself at Jonathan Cartwick just that much more repugnant. Good friends helped each other in times of trouble. Bad friends allowed themselves to be beguiled by handsome American neighbors. Not only had Caroline ignored Eliza’s request to make things difficult for him, her propensity to find herself wrapped in the man’s arms showed both a lack of judgment and a serious deficiency of character.
The sick feeling in her gut reminded her that it could not happen again, and especially not now that she knew her friends were on their way. But the thought of seeing him again this afternoon still managed to fill her with a hot undercurrent of anticipation, her pulse singing faster at the remembrance of his tongue sliding against hers. At the feel of his fingers tugging at her bodice. The pleasure that had exploded between them, his deep groan reverberating against her flesh—
With a cry of frustration, she rolled off the bed and gathered her letters, taking a moment to wrest her thoughts away from where they had inadvertently wandered. It was the same place they’d been straying since fleeing yesterday in her carriage, and she was beginning to think that any interaction with him from now on would threaten the already tenuous state of her self-control. Unfortunately for her, there was no respite in sight. He would be arriving this afternoon and it was much too soon for her to pretend all was well, but do it she must.
If she knew what was good for her, she’d keep pretending until it became the truth.
Right now, she needed to concentrate . . . think about what on earth she was going to say to Eliza. How much should she confess before her friend’s return to Hampshire? It wouldn’t do to have Eliza show up at the estate—Frances surrounded by Cartwick’s servants—with no warning. She would need to admit to some of this now.
Gripping the letters tightly in a trembling fist, Caroline threw open the door and headed down the stairs to the library. Frances was napping and Meggie was watching over her, so she had a bit of time to finish her task uninterrupted before Cartwick arrived to make a mess of her head again. The heavy door closed behind her with a loud click but her slippers made no sound on the thick patterned carpet as she hurried across the large room, gathering her parchment and pen before seating herself at the desk. Caroline closed her eyes for a moment, knowing what she was about to tell Eliza could not be taken back and praying for some sort of divine guidance to help her friend understand. When she felt she was finally ready, she dipped her pen in the inkwell and began.
My dear friend Eliza,
It brings me joy to think of seeing you and Thomas again, even if this situation is anything but joyful. Soon this house will be full of friends and familiar faces. Although I wish I could see Clara too, I understand why it would be difficult when one is “the size of a house.”
Since you will be here soon, I should inform you that I have been in contact with the Cartwick heir. We have sufficiently squabbled over the boundary line near Windham Hill (a battle I’ve yet to concede, although I realize my efforts are wasted), and I’ve told him what I think of him (he took it better than expected). He’s also had the dubious honor of seeing Frances at her worst, an event that prompted him to offer two of his servants to me.
I hope you may receive this news without any of the emotion that could be attached to my associating with a man whose presence here has brought you pain. My circumstances are such that it did not make sense to reject the arrangement, and I hope you would know me well enough to remember where my loyalties lie. They will always be with my friend, whom I love like a sister.
Yours always,
Caroline
She leaned back in the ornate wooden chair to read it over, and the butterflies soaring inside her stomach did a little flip for good measure. This probably wasn’t going to be an easy letter for Eliza to read, but she could only hope that her friend’s belief in Caroline’s innate goodness would prevail in the end. With any luck, when Eliza finally came to Willowford House, she might miss entirely the charged undercurrent of attraction that flowed between Caroline and the man who had sent her packing.
The late morning air was brisk and refreshing, and Jonathan inhaled deeply as he tucked the box under his arm and stepped out of the carriage. His eyes automatically went to the small group that had gathered at the bottom of the steps of Willowford House, but he could not allow them to linger, tipping a brief nod instead before turning around to hand down the rest of the vehicle’s occupants. The flash of a salmon pink dress and the chestnut hair of the woman who wore it had not escaped his notice, however, and he could feel himself tense as his body set to burning. It was necessary to behave normally for this visit here today, but he was not encouraged by the way things had already started.
His mother smiled, first at him, then at the two women who had alighted beside her, their crisp, white caps glowing brightly under the cloudy haze of the sky. Minnie and Beatrice had served their family well for many years, and he trusted them not just to keep a watchful eye over Lady Frances, but to keep their own counsel. Thankfully, they had agreed to the assignment, as he didn’t feel it could be reasonably commanded for domestic servants to serve a mistress they did not know.
A delicate hint of rosewater reached him across a gust of spring wind. Unable to resist, his gaze shifted to Caroline, who looked sheepish and glanced away, almost as if she’d been caught staring. The rush of knowing he retained some kind of hold over her nearly caused him to charge over and seize her in his arms. Frances, beside her, looking every bit the refined lady in layers of skirts in a soft jade green, smiled broadly and hooked her arm through Caroline’s to approach the group.
“Mr. Cartwick, and your lovely mother, Mrs. Cartwick—it’s been too long since we saw you last.”
It hadn’t been that long, he recalled, but still he frowned slightly while feeling a well-earned twinge of guilt. Just yesterday at this time, he’d been ravishing this woman’s niece in his own study, and here they were today doing their best to act as if nothing had happened. Caroline was failing prettily, he could see, as a charming blush spread across her décolletage and up the length of her neck. The sight of her struggle worked to challenge his own sense of restraint, especially when the feel of her soft curves was still burned into his flesh, and the taste of her skin lingered on his tongue.
Caroline had become exceptionally interested in the passing of some robins overhead. Unaware of the discomfort between Cartwick and her niece, Frances extended her hand to him and he clasped it in warm greeting, bowing over it in a show of politeness.
“I agree, my lady. It’s been much too long.” His eyes flicked over to Caroline, who was looking painfully awkward, and when Frances withdrew her fingers, he reached for hers next. “Lady Caroline,” he said with a soft press of her hand. “A pleasure to see you again.”
He thought he’d behaved admirably, even preventing himself from kissing her knuckles, and yet she managed to flush even deeper. Realizing his error too late, it seemed that perhaps pleasure was a word best avoided from now on.
His mother was the next recipient of Lady Frances’s warm regard, with the elderly woman grasping both of Mrs. Cartwick’s hands in imitation of her own unfashionable friendliness.
“So good to see you,” she effused, then blinked in the sunlight at the two unfamiliar women standing nearby. Mrs. Cartwick smiled in return.
“And you, Lady Frances,” she said with a squeeze of her fingers. “I hope you will permit me to introduce Beatrice and Minnie, two dear members of our household staff.”
The two maids dipped into low curtsies, then smiled kindly at Frances. “Pleased to meet you, my lady,” they said in a respectful echo of one another.
Beatrice was older than some of
the other maids, solidly in her thirties, with light brown, frizzy hair that had been brushed into unyielding submission beneath her bright white cap. Her cohort, Minnie, was at least a decade younger, and her slight build almost made it seem as if you could break her in half. But she possessed an air of maturity well beyond her years, and her light blue eyes shone clearly with intelligence. Both maids had always shown just the right balance of understanding and kindness, two things Lady Frances would certainly need in the trying times to come.
Frances’s eyes grew round at the sound of their voices. “American as well?”
“Yes, Auntie. They crossed the Atlantic with them from New England, and now the Cartwicks wish to share their services with us—at least for a time. Isn’t that kind?”
“Well, yes,” she replied. “But why?”
At this query, Jonathan watched Caroline’s body turn rigid. “Well, we’re horridly short-staffed at the moment, and I’m afraid we will be for a while.” Caroline wisely left out any reference to her parents and their part in the situation, at least in front of company.
Frances still appeared confused. “But aren’t the duke and duchess taking care of all of that?”
Jonathan was sure that in the recent past, Frances would have known the answer to that question; that the Duke of Pemberton and his wife were far too busy off gallivanting about to bother with the mundane obligations of things like retaining staff for the family left behind. Caroline’s frantic eyes locked with Jonathan’s, beseeching him to say something, but his mother stepped in before he had the chance, looping her arm through Frances’s and starting the walk to the house. Her onyx earrings dangled merrily.
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