“Did you ever think of clothes?” she shot back. She swept her hands demonstratively down the front of her nearly threadbare dress. “Do you think my mother would dress me like this and reserve finery for herself? I tell you, her wardrobe is much worse. And there are other things she will want to purchase, small items, like perhaps a toy for James. He is only seven, and has nothing with which to play. For Christmas last, my mother used rags to fashion him a gaily colored pillow. It was his only present besides mine, which was a book that had been damaged at the shop. He could barely read it.”
She found herself standing squarely in front of him, hands fisted at her sides and fully in the grip of a fine rage. He watched her from under heavy lids. “Very well, you have explained. You have your allowance.”
“Yes, but you are angry with me because I asked.”
His lip curled lazily. “I am not angry, Caroline. I assure you, when I am angry you will know it. In fact, there will be no doubt.” He trailed off, shutting his eyes for a moment. Shaking off the strange distraction, he looked at her once again. “Go on to bed.”
She gave him a questioning look. “It is early.”
“Then go read in your room or write a letter or something!” he snapped, loosening his collar.
“You are angry! I don’t—”
“Caroline,” he snarled. He went to his desk and leaned on it, palms flat on the cluttered surface, head hanging down. “Get out. Right now.”
It was then Caroline realized the truth. “You are ill!” she cried.
“Leave me.” His voice was growing hoarse, strained.
“Magnus, let me help you!”
“No! Get Arthur. Quickly.” He raised his head. His pallor shot a jolt of panic through her. There were beads of sweat clustered on his brow. “Please,” he said, eyes blazing.
After a moment’s indecision, she said, “Yes, yes, of course.”
She ran out of the room, flying down the corridors as she yelled most unseemingly for the very proper majordomo. When she found him, she said only, “Magnus—the master—he’s in the study” and the servant was off in a flash.
She followed, lingering outside in the hallway. Arthur was barking orders to several people within. Then two footmen came out, bearing Magnus’ limp form up the stairs. Caroline shrank into the shadows.
Tears spilled onto her cheeks, and her whole body shook so violently her teeth chattered. Magnus..so helpless. Dear God, is that what it was like for him? The image of that proud, magnificent man being borne away like a limp rag doll was too horrible.
As she crept up to her rooms, Caroline wondered how she was going to abide watching Magnus Eddington die.
Safely ensconced in his old room, Magnus stretched experimentally. He did not want to be near Caroline, not when he was like this, so he had kept this room as a retreat for when his illness struck. Rising shakily to his feet, he waited for the dizziness to subside before shuffling over to the washbasin.
This attack had not been a bad one, but he knew better than to be heartened by that fact, nor to interpret it as any sign of recovery. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to their occurrence, duration, or intensity.
The water was bracing and he felt much better after washing. A yank on the bellpull signaled the kitchens he was ready for a very late breakfast. He was ravenous, as usual. While he waited, he wandered over to the windows and began drawing the brocade hangings.
A gray, overcast day met him, but Magnus liked the majestic gloom. It matched his mood. This window overlooked the gardens, and a movement drew his attention downward.
A cloaked figure moved among the dead shrubs. There was no mystery as to the person’s identity. It was Caroline. He could never mistake that willowy form and the grace with which it moved. He watched her as she picked her way down the cobblestone path.
He closed his eyes against the quickening of his heartbeat. What had she thought when she saw him succumbing? Had she witnessed him being dragged through the house like a useless, defenseless.? Had she been disgusted?
He groaned, laying his forehead against the cold glass.
She turned, paused, and as if beckoned by the force of his thoughts, glanced up. She saw him. At least he thought she did. Her face remained toward him, a slight frown on the lovely features.
“Here are your eggs, your lordship.”
Magnus didn’t turn around. “Thank you, Arthur.”
Arthur came up to look over his master’s shoulder. “She has been very quiet. Mrs. Gervis has looked after her today.”
Magnus grunted. Moving away from the window, he let the curtain fall back into place. “Make certain she is never to come near me when it happens.”
“Yes, my lord.”
He gave Arthur his instructions. Then he finished his meal and went back to bed, giving up on the hope of spending time with his bride. His body just wouldn’t follow his will, and as he reclined in obedience to his fatigue, he was surprised to discover he missed her.
Caroline handed her cloak to a parlor-maid and asked for the fire to be lit in the small parlor. When it was done, she sat at the lady’s desk and wrote a quick letter to her friend, Lucy, who had worked with her at the bookseller’s. After that she was still restless. She went in search of Arthur.
When she located him in the pantry, she asked, “How is my lord?”
Arthur blinked. “Well, my lady,” he answered after a moment’s hesitation. “He is recovered; but resting.”
“Will he be at supper tonight?”
“I do not believe so, my lady. Would you like me to give him a message?”
“No. Yes. Please tell him I hope he is feeling better very soon and that he is in my prayers.”
“Yes, my lady, as you wish,” was his correct response, but Caroline detected a softening in his face, and his lips quivered just a bit in something suspiciously like a smile.
Thinking to amuse herself with a book, she entered the library. The smell of leather and dust was thick, but it was a pleasant, masculine scent, combined with the sweetness of the oil used to polish the furniture and floors. She found several of the latest popular novels, as well as some old favorites. She chose a few and brought them up to her room.
She started three of them before giving up, for her mind refused to settle into any of the stories. She dozed out of boredom, then woke feeling cross.
A knock at the door sent her heart leaping in hopes it was Magnus. She had a great need to see for herself that he was well. When she flung the door open, she was met by Mrs. Gervis.
“My lady, I have the dressmaker here.”
Caroline frowned in confusion. “Pardon me? Dressmaker?”
A large woman breezed past the housekeeper and declared, “You remember me, don’t you, Lady Caroline? Oh, of course she does. Come along”—this to a trio of heavily laden servants who bore in chin-high towers of material. “Do not be all day! Oh, madam, wait until you see what I have brought for you!”
Caroline did indeed recognize the overbearing woman as Mrs. Dungeness, the seamstress who had created her wedding gown. She had had a devil of a time with the woman, whose tastes ran to the more ostentatious rather than elegant. Caroline had had to fight to attain the artful, dignified style for her wedding gown, fretting the whole while that she would end up at the doors of the church looking like a magnificently attired tart. Mrs. Dungeness had surprised her—pleasantly—for the gown had been flawless and exactly as Caroline had stipulated.
Caroline had no idea, however, what the seamstress was doing here in her room.
She would have asked if another servant hadn’t appeared at that moment and handed her a folded piece of paper. Opening it, she read: You need clothes. Mrs. Dungeness will be visiting your mother as well.
It was signed simply “M.”
The seamstress was upon her. “Here, you must look at these sketches. Have you ever seen anything like that? And this—no, that is not quite the thing, but look! It would be magnificent for you. In purple
brocade!”
Caroline quickly became absorbed in the project of acquiring a new wardrobe. Refusing to be bullied by the other woman’s persuasive comments, she chose several day dresses to be made up in muslin, a few more formal gowns from the heavier silks and brushed wool, a riding habit, dainty nightdresses of a sinfully sheer batiste and various undergarments, stockings, gloves and a smart wide-brimmed hat topped with a jaunty plume.
They had worked through tea, and as a result, Caroline was famished when they finished. It was already dark, but Mrs. Dungeness seemed not to mind at all the late hours. “I will send over the dresses as they are made instead of waiting to fill the whole order. His lordship said they had to be finished as soon as possible.” She clapped her hands together and Caroline guessed she was being paid handsomely for a timely delivery.
Exhausted, Caroline ordered her meal sent to her room. She ate little, then retired. When morning broke, she rose early, feeling a bit sluggish. It was her normal warning of her monthly courses. After breakfast, she fixed a tonic her mother always gave her to ease the discomfort and tried to interest herself in one of the books she had borrowed. This time, the story entranced her and it was already luncheon when a knock sounded and Lillian entered.
“Ma’am,” she said with a perfunctory bob that was her abbreviated curtsy, “Mrs. Gervis wanted me to tell ye ‘is lordship is askin’ for ye. ‘E’s waitin’ luncheon—”
Caroline was on her feet in an instant, her book falling onto the floor, forgotten. Lillian dressed her hair, pulling it loosely away from her forehead and curling the gleaming blond tresses into an artful twist. There was no help for her clothing, not until her new dresses arrived, so Caroline simply pinched her cheeks and bit her lips and hurried down to the dining room.
Chapter Nine
The smaller dining room at Hawking Park could hardly be called cozy, yet Magnus much preferred it to the other. He waited impatiently for Caroline, growing annoyed at the delay.
When she swept into the room, flushed and smiling, she fairly took his breath away. Caroline exuded life. It vibrated from her in every nuance of her moods, for she never did anything by halves. And now, from her face and the way she moved toward him, he could tell she was pleased to see him.
“Magnus, you look well!” she exclaimed. Almost as if she had been concerned. His heart gave a curious flop.
“I am much improved,” he said. His hand itched to reach out and touch her, just her arm or hand. He needed to establish some contact, and it was the intensity of this need which frightened him. He curled his fingers into fists at his sides to stifle the urge.
“Thank you so much for the clothes. They are going to be lovely, and much appreciated. I cannot tell you what that means to me that she is to visit my mother as well. You are too generous!”
Was that why she was so delighted with him then, for the few pounds he had laid out for her wardrobe? The bitter thought almost made him groan before he pushed it away from his mind. Outwardly, he merely shrugged. “We will outfit you properly when we go to London.”
“London? When are we going to London?”
He led her to her seat and held her chair. “I haven’t made the arrangements yet, but it will be soon. It is necessary for you to become established with fashionable society. We don’t want any disparaging gossip about you or our marriage. It will reflect on the child.”
She was silent, apparently thinking on this latest revelation of his plans. Though she made no objection, he sensed she was disturbed. After a while, she asked, “Will we stay long?”
“A month, perhaps. The opera a few nights, and a ball or two. When the season starts, perhaps earlier. I detest the crowds and all those glaring matrons sizing you up for son-in-law potential.”
She laughed. “I hardly think you will be troubled on that account any longer.”
“What an idiot I am!” he declared, chuckling, too. “Thank goodness those endless interrogations shall be no more.”
“See,” she teased, her eyes dancing. They really were a fascinating shade of blue-violet. “I am of some use.”
His look must have showed something of what he was thinking, for she blushed and turned away.
Schooling himself, he gathered his wits together and addressed the meal in front of him. He was burning for her. Their one night together had far from sated his desire, for the memory had driven him nearly mad all day yesterday as he waited for his body to gain strength. Tonight could not arrive fast enough as far as he was concerned, and though he himself saw no reason to have to wait that long, he was determined to have consideration for her inexperience.
“I was in the garden yesterday,” Caroline said in between bites. “And I noticed it looked a bit neglected. Your gardener needs to cut back the perennials and dig up the annuals, and some of the shrubbery should be trimmed before winter.”
He paused, his fork suspended in midair. “How do you know gardening?”
“I don’t, really,” she admitted. “I have never done it myself, but I do admire gardens, and I ask a lot of questions. Most of the groundskeepers for the London parks run when they see me coming.”
He laughed. “You are incorrigible, then?”
She pretended offense. “Knowledge, sir, is a valuable thing.”
“Well, I shall be glad to let you test that knowledge. I tend the garden here, at least most of it. I find it relaxing. It can be backbreaking work, but it is one of the few interests a gentleman is allowed, besides horsemanship, that can physically challenge. And there is the aesthetic side of it, as well. I enjoy beauty.” His eyes flickered over her in a way that told her of his appreciation of her beauty. Though she colored in response, she didn’t look away and the hint of a smile tugged the corner of her mouth.
Dinner was another enjoyable meal, made more so by the ease of her company. His nerves were taut, strung to their limit with the single-mindedness of wanting her. Too often during their lively conversation, his mind drifted to irrelevant preoccupations such as the perfect shape of her breasts or her tiny waist. When at last the clock in the small drawing room chimed ten o’clock, he nearly jumped out of his chair.
“Shall we retire?” he said. She nodded, rising. He almost managed to behave respectably—almost. At the last minute, as they were about to exit into the hallway, he could resist no longer and captured her around her waist and spun her around.
She only gasped, melting against him as his mouth descended on hers. Without having spoken a word, he communicated the urgent press of need. Her arms twined around his neck, and when he pulled her in tighter, he could feel the swell of her breasts against his chest.
“I want you,” he whispered, trailing kisses to her ear. He felt her shudder. “I have missed you, Cara. Come, let’s go upstairs.”
She stiffened, and as he made to lead her to the door, she pulled back. He gave her a questioning look. “I can’t,” was all she said.
Puzzled, he said, “I don’t understand.”
She slipped out of his slackened grasp. “I am fatigued tonight, Magnus. Please do not ask me. I.”
A rage so huge it nearly blinded him descended like a landslide. The little idiot was denying him! Even as his reason warred with irrationality, a niggling voice hissed in his brain: she saw you, helpless and repulsively ill. And now she abhors you!
Fighting the unbearable urge to shake her, he snarled through clenched teeth, “We discussed this thoroughly, Caroline. You are to be at my disposal. Have you forgotten the terms of our agreement? I kept my part of the bargain. I paid out every shilling. Now I expect you to keep yours.”
Those delicately arched brows drew together fiercely and she clasped her hands together, working one over the other beneath her breasts. “Magnus, I know. I promise, another time.” Perhaps his face showed enough of his inner fury, for she stopped. Unable to meet his gaze, she studied the floor as she said in a very small voice, “I am sorry. I…I am.indisposed at the present time. I shall be recovered in a few days.”
>
At first the meaning of her words did not penetrate his inflamed state of mind. Then slowly, realization dawned. He closed his eyes and grimaced, unable to believe his stupidity.
When he opened them again, he saw that Caroline looked miserable. Chagrined, he reached for her. “Cara, don’t be so ashamed. We are married. You can tell me these things.” Albeit reluctantly, she allowed him to draw her back into his arms.
God, he was humiliating her further. He was behaving like an idiot, first throwing a tantrum because he thought she was spurning him and now shaming her beyond reason by referring to the unmentionable. True, he was her husband. Also true, he was a stranger, known to her a little over a week.
“We will not mention it again,” he murmured into her fragrant hair. She stirred a bit, seeming to nuzzle him in silent pardon. He wished he could cherish it, but he was too filled with self-disgust. He had embarrassed Caroline because of his damnably prickling pride, and suddenly that old tired voice which had stated his defects so succinctly in his mind resounded with new force.
These were demons to be wrestled with later. Gently, he disengaged his wife and tilted her face up to his. “Go to bed, Cara. I shall see you in the morning.” He set her away from him with determination. She still wouldn’t look at him. Nodding, she hurried from the room.
In the silence after her departure, Magnus went to the window and gazed into the black void. He used to love the night, used to crave the excitement of its entertainments. Filling the dark hours with drink and women and divesting his friends at White’s of their last shilling had actually seemed.fun.
Now night was simply the end of the day and without his anticipated evening with Caroline, it was cold. And lonely.
It always had been, he noted. All the diversions of his useless life were merely a way to dress his loneliness. But like a crone decked in queen’s finery, it had never worked, never filled the emptiness. He was only recognizing it now, but he had known it. Perhaps that was why he had so doggedly pursued infamy.
A Rose at Midnight Page 10