“I’m certain it will be the first thing they take care of upon their return. In the meantime, however, I hope you will do us the honor of accepting Minnie and Beatrice into your home, where they will assist your staff as best they can. Lady Caroline believed you might be open to the idea.”
Frances stopped abruptly, her shoes making a harsh scuffing sound on the gravel drive. She glanced back at her niece.
“She did?”
Caroline nodded, looking hopeful. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“No—not at all, dear,” she said faintly, shaking her head. “Whatever you think is best.”
Her aunt turned back around and he could see Caroline’s shoulders drop with relief.
Frances smiled at his mother. “I know we’re supposed to invite you in for tea, or some such thing, but I would love to walk through the gardens before the weather takes a turn,” she said, casting a wary eye at the azure sky that was heavily dappled with suspicious-looking clouds. “Perhaps you will indulge me?”
“I’d be delighted,” she replied, casting a questioning look back at Jonathan and Caroline. “And you two will help Beatrice and Minnie get settled?”
Caroline gestured to her own maid, who had been waiting patiently for acknowledgment and came forwards to dip into a curtsy. “Meggie will be happy to get them introduced and moved into their rooms.” She tipped her a meaningful nod. “Thank you, Mrs. Cartwick.”
With that, the two ladies ambled around to the side of the house, disappearing beneath the gentle green sway of a willow tree. And once the maids had bid their temporary farewell to their master, they ventured to the service entrance on the other side of the house, following Meggie’s lead. The driver pulled the carriage down the drive, and with a jolt of realization, Jonathan saw that he and Caroline were alone again. She must have noticed too for she froze like a startled fawn, eyes darting about, then recovering as best she could. Clasping her hands before the low, pointed waist of her dress, she let out a laugh that he guessed was supposed to sound casual but didn’t quite hit the mark.
“What’s in the box?” she asked awkwardly.
He’d almost forgotten he’d been holding it. It was unsettling how her presence affected him. With a grin, he held it out in her direction.
“Care to hazard a guess?”
The wind teased a lock from her mass of upswept hair, and he stared as the reddish-brown strands gleamed in the sun, wrapping in front of her neck to trace along her collarbone. Her hair almost had a life of its own—wavy, touched by fire, and always seeming to be one hairpin away from breaking free of its styled imprisonment. Mesmerized, Jonathan envisioned his fingertips taking the same lazy route, and called to memory the impossibly soft feel of that skin against his lips. He would sell his own soul to have her in his arms again, her bodice tugged out of place, perfect breasts only partially concealed by the fall of her dark ruby hair. But with a stern shake of his head, he admonished himself. Not only was it not meant to be, but thinking of her in that way was the surest path to insanity.
Desire must have been plainly readable in his eyes, but thankfully she was oblivious, her gaze directed to his hands while she attempted to speculate at the contents of the box. Realization dawned at last and she leveled him with a wry expression.
“The bonnet.”
Jonathan’s eyebrows raised in faux surprise and he lifted the lid to reveal said bonnet. “Congratulations. You’ve just earned yourself this, er—” He tipped his head at the collection of garish ribbons and feathers. “—rather festive headpiece.”
Caroline tried to keep a straight face, but her dark eyes grew unaccountably bright a split second before she broke into laughter. He watched her as she claimed the box, utterly charmed at the purity of her amusement. It was a side of her he’d never seen.
Her show of mirth came to an abrupt stop, almost as if some internal governess had just given her a sharp rebuke for the outwards display. Or perhaps it was more because she remembered the circumstances in which the bonnet came to be in his possession. She cleared her throat and started for the front steps of the house.
“I appreciate you returning this, I’ll just—oh. Thank you, Taylor.”
The butler had appeared in the front door as if he owned some supernatural affinity for the needs of his mistress—or as if he could have been watching from one of the windows. The man received the box from Caroline with a dignified bow, but did not miss the chance to shoot a subtle warning look at Jonathan. He could respect that. Cartwick nodded to the gray-haired butler, and with a gruff nod in return, Taylor marched back inside the house with the bonnet.
Caroline glanced at him inquisitively. “Would you care for some tea?”
“Since landing on these shores, I think I’ve drunk more tea than I did throughout my lifetime in America.” He shook his head. “Thank you, but no.”
It appeared she was trying to decide whether or not to be offended by his answer. “Oh? And what is your highly refined American preference?” she asked, her tone light and flirtatious.
“Honestly, I prefer coffee in the morning. Whiskey or beer later in the day.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Beer?”
“Lager is my preference, but I’ve had some passable ale down in the village,” he said.
“It’s not a very dignified drink, I don’t believe,” she teased, eyeing him with a raised brow. It made him want to show her how very undignified he could be, but instead he lifted his shoulders into a small shrug.
“How very British of you to say. Have you ever tried it?”
“What do you think?” she answered with a light scoff.
Jonathan approached and extended an elbow in her direction. He didn’t truly expect her to take it, but to his surprise, her graceful arm looped through his in acceptance and they started down the steps. He thought remaining in the fresh air would be a good change, and perhaps just the thing necessary to keep her at ease in his presence.
“I think you shouldn’t formulate an opinion until you’ve tried it.”
“And just when am I supposed to try it?” she asked, gazing up at him incredulously while they crossed the drive.
“We could walk into the village now, if you like.”
A flicker of excitement came to life behind her eyes; those shining pools that entranced him with their changeable nature. Right now they were the color of tumbled river rock, but he had seen them ignite with curious dark fire many times. Much as he didn’t care to admit it, he found her unpredictable moods both confounding and thrilling. She was—as he’d once accused her of being—an enigma. Although unlike before, he no longer believed it was something she could help.
To his dismay, her expression closed and she pulled her arm free.
“That’s not a good idea,” she said hoarsely. “I can’t be seen in the village drinking ale with . . . with . . .”
“A man?” he offered.
“Yes,” she said flatly. “But more specifically, with you.”
Hurt sliced through his chest, and he couldn’t prevent himself from delivering an answering glare. “May I ask why, specifically, you find me so offensive? Have I not tried to be a gentleman?”
“Yes, certainly you have—” she said, recoiling at his reaction.
“And just today, did I not bring two servants to help ease your strain?”
She wound her fingers together anxiously. “You did, sir, and I am in your debt—”
“There is no debt. You owe me nothing . . . not even a drink in the village. But I would appreciate an explanation for why—”
Stepping forwards, she shocked the offense right out of him by placing one small palm on his chest. They stared at one another in silence for a moment, then she cleared her throat.
“Eliza and her husband are on their way to Hampshire,” she whispered.
And that was all the explanation he required.
Chapter Thirteen
Jonathan stared bleakly out the window as the carriage swayed a
nd bounced along the uneven country road. After spending most of his life in the busy shipyards of Massachusetts, he could grudgingly admit to appreciating the rural scenery of Hampshire. At this moment though, the sight of leafy hedgerows and passing birch groves did nothing to improve the state of his mood, and he was no good at hiding it. With a sigh, his mother threw her hands up in frustration and stared at him plaintively.
“My goodness. I’ve no idea what Lady Caroline could have said to upset you. I know she can be a bit brusque at times, but you haven’t said more than two words since we left Willowford House. What happened?”
Releasing a breath, he ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. “It’s nothing.”
“Was she rude to you?” she asked anyway.
“Not particularly.”
Dorothea’s eyes remained steady on him. “Then what is it?”
Taking a moment to mentally debate the wisdom of imparting the true source of his troubles, he went ahead and said it anyway with a low growl of discontent. “She told me that Reginald Cartwick’s widow would be arriving soon with her new husband.” He shrugged and glanced away. “I suppose I just wasn’t expecting it.”
She pursed her lips in thought, her eyes evaluating him carefully in the shadowy interior of the carriage. “Fine. I can see how news of Lady Evanston’s arrival might cause you to feel a bit uncomfortable. You received the estate she was living in and there is bound to be some awkwardness. But it still doesn’t explain the reaction I’m seeing—”
“And what are you seeing, Mother? How am I supposed to react to this?”
With a gruff noise of irritation, he returned his gaze back to the window while she sat across from him in silence. He knew full well she was busy mulling over the possibilities in her mind, and that his uncharacteristic loss of temper had given her plenty to consider. He also knew that it was very likely that she would reach the correct conclusion: that he had scrapped his better judgment and fallen for Lady Caroline—an aristocrat, for God’s sake—who would never consent to being his, with parents who would never agree to the match anyway. Eliza’s arrival would serve as the first of many nails in the coffin of a relationship that had been doomed from the start. He knew it, Caroline knew it and now his mother probably knew it too.
He reached up to massage his temples. They had started to throb with an annoying ache.
Rather than continue to pursue what was obviously a touchy subject, she simply made a tiny noise of acknowledgment then directed her eyes out her own window. “I certainly don’t have all the answers, dear. Although Lady Frances did tell me something rather interesting today.” She reached up to adjust the hat that sat upon her thick, black curls with wisps of silver woven throughout. “I thought you might want to hear it, but it seems you’re not in the mood for conversation.”
Her head stayed where it was, but her dark eyes shifted to the side, viewing him in amusement. She was baiting him, and despite the bleak state of his disposition, he couldn’t help the soft chuckle that escaped.
“Tell me. What interesting information did Frances impart to you?”
She clasped her hands eagerly in her lap. “Well, you remember hearing how Lady Caroline was close to Reginald’s parents when she was young?”
“Of course, I remember,” he replied. “Nicholas Cartwick gifted her a piano that matches the one at Greystone Hall.”
His mother nodded. “Indeed. Well it turns out, Caroline would often climb the fence between estates to visit Windham Hill. But one time, when she was just five years old, she took a fall doing it and broke her arm.”
“Five years old?” he asked, wide-eyed and incredulous. “But how could she have possibly climbed over the fence to reach Windham Hill, when it would have already been on her side of the fence?”
“Exactly,” replied Dorothea with a satisfied smile. “It appears the fences were changed at some point during her lifetime, which makes me wonder how much she truly knows about the change.”
Jonathan sat, lost in thought. His mouth was still wide in astonishment and he snapped it shut. “You don’t think Lady Caroline is concealing something about it, do you?”
“I was rather pondering whether her accident may have been the cause of such a change, not that she had some underhanded involvement in it,” his mother said quietly. At Jonathan’s wide-eyed silence, she arranged her skirts around her lap and gave a small shrug. “It’s hard to say for sure. But if Nicholas and Isabelle were indeed close to Caroline, is it entirely unthinkable that they moved the fence to accommodate her?”
“Yes!” he replied with a short bark of laughter. “It’s absolutely astonishing if it’s true. And of course, it would only make my insistence on correcting the border seem malicious in comparison,” he added with a wry twist of his mouth.
“That wouldn’t have bothered you before, I don’t think,” she observed, her dark eyes piercing him with a knowing look.
He glanced at her sharply, then looked away. Ignoring that pointed comment would be his wisest move. “We don’t even know if this story is true, by the way.”
“Why wouldn’t it be?” his mother asked in confusion.
Jonathan hesitated for a moment. “Because Lady Frances has had an episode where she’s even forgotten her own niece. It’s what prompted Caroline to change her mind about accepting our help.”
Now it was his mother’s turn to look incredulous. “She did? Why didn’t you tell me this?”
Jonathan reached up to loosen his cravat, which had started to feel as if it might strangle him. “Caroline was very anxious about it. She made me promise not to tell you unless absolutely necessary.” If he were being honest, that was only part of the truth. The other part was that revisiting their torrid meeting in his mind was something he tried very hard not to do. Lady Caroline has changed her mind was simple, to the point and didn’t run the risk of him divulging any other details that were best kept unsaid and unthought.
His mother’s thunderous frown, however, was a clear indication that she disagreed. “After crossing the Atlantic to be here with you—at least for a while—I must say that I don’t like being kept in the dark.”
Well, she was in the dark on much more than that. He swallowed back the guilt that had risen in his throat, knowing the extent of her displeasure would be large indeed had she known every intricacy of his dealings with the duke’s daughter.
“My apologies,” he said with a dip of his chin. “It didn’t seem like essential information until now.”
Dorothea Cartwick stared at him then, her unhappiness lessening by visible degrees, expression gradually turning thoughtful. With a sigh, she gazed out the window again, setting her palm on the door to brace herself against an especially sharp turn.
“Do you know if Eliza is set to arrive before Caroline’s parents?”
“I believe so,” he answered. “Why?”
She gave a small shrug. “I imagine Lady Caroline will act differently depending on who is nearby.”
Yes, he thought with a pang. Caroline won’t want anything else to do with me, for one.
“Most likely,” was all he said.
“And Lady Frances probably can’t be trusted to attend public functions any longer.”
“I’m assuming that trust may have been broken sometime during last year’s season, although Caroline did take the chance on bringing her here to dine with us,” he mused out loud.
“It’s something I’ve noticed about her,” she replied. Her eyes lingered on the gardens that lined their drive, full of plants that would soon be in colorful bloom. “For as much as she’s been through, and as pessimistic as she tries to be, she still nurtures an awful lot of hope.”
His heart lurched painfully at hearing that word. Hope. He didn’t disagree with the statement but found himself shaking his head anyway. Perhaps because everything felt useless now with the arrival of Eliza.
“I suppose she does, beneath it all.”
His mother straightened as the ca
rriage came to a stop in front of their house and gave him a tiny smile. “We should help her with that, don’t you think? She’s going to need all the hope she can get.”
Caroline carefully tucked her needle into the linen edge of her embroidery and set it aside on the table beside her. With a sigh, she reached a hand up to shade her eyes against the sunlight. Needlepoint on the terrace was an unusual practice even for her, but she was determined to finish her project and Frances had wanted to venture outside. When Beatrice offered to accompany her aunt, the warm call of the afternoon sun had been too delightful to resist and Caroline had joined them, watching from her seat near the house and smiling at Frances’s occasional exclamations as she came across various plants that were starting to bud now that the warmth of spring had started to take hold.
Her aunt pointed at a nearby bush. “Caroline!” she called loudly. “The rosemary smells divine.”
“Won’t you pick me a sprig, Auntie?”
At the ready, Beatrice nodded and stepped forwards to snip a tiny bit of the bushy green shrub with a pair of tiny scissors. She deposited the rosemary into Frances’s waiting hands, who raised it aloft and smiled at Caroline before moving along to the rosebushes.
She appreciated the chance for this rare moment of contentment. Minnie and Beatrice had proven themselves capable and caring over the past few days, establishing a routine with Meggie that ensured Frances was always under close watch. This could have easily caused problems, for her aunt would detect and rebel against any attempt to smother her or minimize her privacy. Yet, the two women had assimilated into the household with an ease that was pleasantly surprising. There had been a couple initial hiccups, of course. Minnie had made the mistake of rearranging the pillows in the bedchamber, and Beatrice had accidentally offered to keep her company on that first night. Some of these adjustments would take more time than others and Caroline felt as if it could still take weeks before she was able to sleep in her own bed again. But Frances still seemed to appreciate their direct manners and no-nonsense personalities, and was all but willing to ignore the fact that they were clearly here to assist with her mounting difficulties, perhaps knowing in her heart that it was for the best.
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