However, the notion was foolish. She did not know him. Furthermore, she was a married woman, at least she was in writing. Even having thoughts of spending intimate time with another man without the express consent of her husband would be wrong in the eyes of the law, and her own. She was not a trollop like Miss French, willing to give herself to any man who offered himself to her.
She laughed to herself. What a silly woman she was. The man had not even offered her a cup of tea let alone himself! Yet, he had offered her water…
“Of course, Your Grace,” Philip said. “That is why the branches grow so strong. The art of pruning is a tedious, but necessary, task.”
Caroline scrunched her brow, wondering what the man meant, but then a voice behind her gave her understanding.
“Do not bore the help with your silly questions,” the Duke snapped. Then a fit of coughing doubled him over for several moments, a sick, rattling sound. When it subsided, he cleared his throat and added, “Come, dinner will be served soon, and I do not wish to wait.” He spoke as if breathing had become difficult, and Caroline felt a pang of concern rush through her. How strange that she should be worried for his health after all he had done. Yet, she was not an uncaring person; even those who did not deserve her concern received it.
She made no comment, however. “Come. It is time for dinner,” she called out to Oliver, who was throwing blades of grass in the air and watching them float to the ground.
“Yes, Mother,” the boy replied and came running up to her. He placed his hand in hers as they followed Reginald into the house.
Caroline felt relief wash over her. If the Duke had caught her in simple conversation with Philip, his anger would have been great. However, the kind gardener had saved her once again. And somehow, she found his protection of her endearing, even if the idea of them becoming friends was out of the question.
***
The cough with which the Duke suffered continued through that night. Each day after, the hacking increased until the man had to be confined to his bed. He had spoken no words in the past two days, for it only brought on another bout of coughing that took his breath away.
Caroline waited on a chair outside his room while the doctor performed his examination. She wrung her hands as she awaited his findings, unsure if she should be worried or delighted with the fact the man was ill.
No, that was wrong. She was not the type of woman to revel in the sufferings of others, even one such as her husband.
The door opened and Caroline stood.
“Your Grace,” the doctor said, his hands clutching his medical bag in front of him, “I’m afraid the prognosis is bleak.”
Caroline tilted her head. “Please, tell me plainly.”
The man sighed, and for the first time she noticed his reddened eyes and heavy lids. The poor man had been called from his bed in the middle of the night to help with a difficult birth and had only returned home when he was called to Blackwood Estates.
“I am afraid his condition has only worsened. I do not believe he will survive the week. If he is lucky, he will make it two, but certainly no longer. I’m sorry.”
Caroline allowed the words to ring in her mind. Although she had every reason to hate her husband, she still felt pity for the man. Even with her recent planning, she did not want to see him suffer, at least not in a physical manner.
“Thank you, Doctor,” she said. “I hope you do not think me rude, but if you would see yourself out, I will go to my husband.”
He gave her a kind smile. “Of course. And I am sorry to bring you such grave news. If there is anything I can do, please do not hesitate to send for me. I have done all I can to make him as comfortable as possible. If you will excuse me.”
“Yes. And thank you again.”
He gave her a bow and walked away.
Caroline steeled herself and entered her husband’s room. The Duke lay in the bed, his face pale and his breathing shallow.
As she neared the bed, a light tap on the door had her turn. Miss French entered without invitation—a symbol of her time at Blackwood Estates—and she carried a large carpet bag, which she had to carry with both hands. She had come with nothing as far as Caroline knew, but the bag appeared quite heavy upon her leaving.
“I have come to say goodbye to Reginald,” she said with a sneer.
Caroline narrowed her eyes at the woman. “How dare you…”
“I have every right,” Miss French said. “You will have him all to yourself when he dies, so at least allow me to say goodbye.”
What Caroline wished was to throw the woman out of the house. However, if the woman was leaving anyway, what harm could it do?
“Very well, you have two minutes and then you must leave.”
Miss French pursed her lips but said nothing as she pushed past Caroline and made her way to the bed. Caroline could not stand to watch, so she walked over to the window, her hands balled into fists at her side. What was wrong with her? How could she allow this woman to bully her? Yet, she still said nothing.
Exactly two minutes later, Miss French stood, and Caroline followed her into the hallway.
“So, I see you have gotten your greedy hands on the gifts my husband bought for you.”
The woman gave her a derisive sniff. “I have. I loved him and he loved me.” The woman curled her lip. “But what do you care? You care only for yourself.”
Caroline understood the game the woman played. “You know your way to the door; see to it that you never enter it again.”
With a shake to her head, Miss French turned and headed down the hallway, her slippered steps hushed by the carpeted stairs as she made her way down them. The slamming of the front door was the only indication that the woman had left.
With a sigh, Caroline returned to the bedroom. The frail figure of the Duke in his bed was highlighted by the main candles that lit his room. He never liked the darkness, had always insisted on having as many lights lit as he could whenever nighttime came. It was daytime now, the sky covered in dark clouds, though the room was nowhere near dark. Perhaps it was his fear of that eternal darkness that awaited him that had him asking for candles to be lit.
Moving to the wash basin, Caroline rinsed the cloth and returned to the bed. Her husband had fallen back into a fitful sleep and had no reaction to the cold compress she placed on his forehead. The man deserved no mercy nor her care, but enough suffering had been endured in this house and she would allow no more.
As she sat beside him, she wondered at how this man could be so angry with her. His first wife had died young, leaving him with no children, and she suspected that it was because of his loss that he acted as he did. Replacing a love was perhaps too much of a task, something the Duke may not have realized until he had married Caroline.
Glancing down, she saw movement. He opened his hand, the first time he had made any physical movement in two days outside of his fits of coughing. She reached down and clasped his hand as his breathing came in short gasps.
“Might you finally find the peace you need,” she whispered.
The Duke gave her hand a weak squeeze, inhaled, and then his chest stopped moving, never to move again.
Chapter Five
The month after the passing of Reginald Hayward, Duke of Browning, left Caroline with a free spirit, a feeling she had not experienced for many years. Free to say what she pleased. Free to spend as much time with her son as she wished. Free to be herself. She should have been plagued by guilt for allowing such emotions to exist in a time of mourning, but somehow she could not allow herself to worry about it.
She did put on a face of mourning—for the sake of Oliver. The boy had grieved, of course. What child would not grieve for the passing of his father? However, his spry spirit returned a week later, his cheerful smile and laugh brighter and happier than Caroline had ever seen them.
Now, as the Dowager Duchess of Browning, Caroline found herself in control of a vast empire, through the inheritance of her son, of course
. However, at eight years of age, he would be unable to fulfill those duties. Granted, she had no idea how she would go about preparing Oliver for his eventual responsibilities, but she would do what she could to see him ready and able to assume the title of Duke.
“Poor Reginald,” Neil lamented beside the fireplace, a glass of brandy in his hand, “I shall miss my brother.” He lifted his glass as if to toast the ghost of the former Duke and downed it in one go. Then he walked over to the liquor cart and poured himself another, not once asking Caroline if she would like anything other than the tea she had sent for when the man arrived.
Oh, how the man was vile! She wished she could simply throw him out of the house, but the man was her brother-in-law and he had just lost his brother. Who was she to eject a man who was in mourning?
Neil turned to Caroline with that concerned look on his face that seemed so disconcerting to her. “I do feel sorry for Oliver. The poor boy must be beside himself with grief.”
“Yes, he does miss his father.” It was not a lie; the man had been his father, and although Reginald had never mistreated Oliver personally, the boy had witnessed too often the mistreatment he poured on Caroline.
Lord Hayward sat across from Caroline. The room was opulent, but it was much more garish than Caroline would have liked with its gold velvet chairs and dark wooden tables. It had maintained a manly presence, unlike other sitting rooms which were more feminine in nature. How was a woman to enjoy such a room? Unfortunately, it had not been updated in many years, and most of the décor and furnishings were more than a hundred years old, and if previous Dukes had the countenance of Reginald, it was no wonder the women had no say in how the room was decorated.
“Well, I am glad that it is you who will help Oliver grow to the man he must be. He will need extra help in order to take over where his father left off. It is a comfort to know that his inheritance is in good hands.” Then he quickly added, “And his future, of course.”
This was the second call the man had made on her this week, most of the time lamenting on the loss of his brother. In most cases, this would have been natural, expected; however, with this man she could not be so certain. What were his intentions? Not once had he placed a compliment on Caroline before—outside of commenting on her beauty or some other forwardness—and if he came to see Reginald, she might as well have been away for all he cared. One thing was certain, his current speech made her uncomfortable.
Neil rose once again. He made a move to return to the liquor cart but turned instead, looking down on her with watery eyes. “Title, wealth, and beauty,” he said as he placed his glass back on the table. “You certainly have it all.”
She remained silent, wishing the man to say his piece and leave.
He walked around the sofa where she sat to stand behind her. When he placed an arm on her shoulder, she kept herself from shivering with disgust.
“You have no husband and no experience with business,” he said, his voice now with an oily tinge to it, like a slippery eel sliding through ocean depths. “How will you ever handle it all?”
“I will learn,” Caroline said as she rose from the sofa with the pretense of poking at the low fire.
Moving did not keep him at bay, however, for when she turned, he stood behind her, close enough to smell the brandy on his breath. He took her hand in hers and said, “Marry me. Allow me to counsel Oliver and secure his future, as well as yours. He will be the next Duke of Browning…nay, he already is. And it is a title that needs a strong, guiding hand.”
He took a step closer and wrapped his arms around her waist. Panic welled up inside her, and she tried to move back, but he was too strong. He pulled her to him, pressing his body against hers. “Allow me to take care of you.” His voice had an alarming huskiness to it that made her tremble in fear.
The meal Caroline had consumed at midday threatened to discharge itself from her stomach. The man was vile, yes, but the alarm that erupted inside went beyond this man. In her mind’s eyes, images of Reginald and his harsh treatment of her flew before her. She had to get away!
Yet, sensibility somehow pressed through. This was not Reginald. This man held no power over her, not like that which her husband had used to beat her down. And as the fear began to dissipate, anger took its place. She wanted nothing more than to slap this man across the face, to show him how his disregard for her, for who she was, made her feel. She tried to push him away, but he only pulled her in tighter.
“You know we would be good together,” he whispered. “Marry me, Caroline. I have always wanted you; you should know that.” His lips came dangerously close to hers, and she could feel his hot breath on her face.
“Your Grace?” a voice said from the doorway, “I apologize for interrupting, but I was told you needed to see me?”
Neil released Caroline so quickly that she had to catch herself on the arm of the sofa to keep herself from landing on her backside. She looked over, grateful to see Philip, the gardener, standing at the door, his hat in his hands in front of him.
“You fool!” Neil shouted. “Can you not see that Her Grace is engaged in a conversation?” Then he grimaced at the man. “No, of course you cannot, for that wild hair of yours blocks your vision. Go! Leave us at once. Her Grace will be available to speak with you at a later time.”
Caroline stepped forward. “He will remain,” she said, the fear she had now replaced by a wave of red-hot anger, “and you will leave.” How dare this man order her servants as if they were his own? More importantly, how could he even dare to try to kiss her? She would take no more abuse from any man, regardless of who they were!
“You dare throw me out of my brother’s home?” Neil said, sputtering with anger. “I am blood! You cannot do this!”
Caroline smiled, her eyes meeting his without a drop of her previous fear. “This home may have belonged to your brother, but it is not yours,” she said, surprised at the authority in her voice. “Nor will it ever be. Do not return, or I will have you removed bodily and the story spread about the ton that you laid a hand on the widow of your brother.”
The man faltered for a moment, his cheeks red with anger. “You will regret this,” he said, spittle spraying from his lips. “Fool,” he mumbled as he stormed past the gardener, who stood with his head bowed and his hair still covering his face, and out the sitting room door.
When the front door slammed, Philip looked up. “He is gone. Are you safe…Caroline?”
She took a moment to steady herself, for the room had begun to spin precariously around her. The interaction had upset her more than she thought. Taking a deep breath, she replied, “Yes, I believe so.” She studied the man who had helped her on more than one occasion. She had not called for him, and yet he had arrived at the exact moment she needed him.
He did not raise his head, and she somehow found herself wanting to push back the curtain of hair that obscured his handsome features.
“How is it you know when I am in danger? It is as if you can sense me.”
He smiled down at her through his hair. “Luck,” he replied. “Or stupidity. I have not quite decided.”
She could not stop herself from laughing. “I promise you that you are not stupid,” she said. “For that, I am glad.” It was difficult to pull her eyes away from his, but she did so and moved to the seating area. “Please, come share a drink with me. The tea will be cold by now, but you are welcome to a glass of spirits. I have brandy.”
“I should not…”
“Oh, come now,” she said. “Can I not offer a drink to the man who has saved me not once but thrice?”
He was hesitant, but then he nodded. She poured him a measure of brandy and handed him the glass.
“Thank you,” he said in a low voice.
Caroline walked over and sat on the sofa, offering him the place beside her. Rather than accepting that spot, however, he took a seat in the chair Neil had vacated. Well, if that was what he preferred, she would not argue with the man.
&nbs
p; “Neil sought my hand in marriage,” she said with a laugh. “Can you believe such a thing?”
“I can,” he replied without hesitation—and without mirth.
“You can?” she asked in shock.
“Yes. It will not only be him, but other men will soon be looking to win your heart. Your title and wealth will call to the vultures. He is not the last, for many more will come.”
“That title and wealth does not belong to me,” she said with a laugh.
He gave her a half-smile. “No, it is that of your son. And how long will it be before he is old enough to take on the responsibilities of that title?” He did not wait for her to reply. “Many years. Therefore, men will come in droves to weasel their way into your life, even if they are only able to enjoy the benefits of your son’s money for a relatively short time.”
“Oh, so what you are saying, then, is that men only seek my attention because I now have wealth?”
His cheeks reddened. “Well, no, for you are a beautiful woman; that alone would cause a man to seek your favor.” He cleared his throat and looked back down, his hair once again returning to cover his face. “I am sorry. I have spoken out of turn.”
Caroline took a drink of the brandy she had poured for herself hoping to ease the sudden flushed feeling that had come over her. She hoped she was not falling ill. Yet, she had been under a lot of stress as of late. Yes, that would explain the strange warmness she was feeling.
“No, Philip, you have not spoken out of turn,” she replied. “I find myself now in control of things about which I know nothing, and then the brother of my husband comes with his brazen ideas to win me over. With me in my mourning period and the need to learn the ways of business before someone decides to take advantage of my lack of knowledge, I admit that I am more than a bit overwhelmed.”
“Your husband had no bookkeeper? No one who took care of his finances?”
Regency Hearts Boxed Set Page 45