She swallowed. “Mr. Kirby is not ridiculous.”
“How that man could even hope to aspire to my daughter I do not know.”
Caroline said nothing. The reassurance she had felt from Lord Kenmore’s words concerning Mr. Kirby’s affection had faded during the night, and she was left in the quagmire of uncertainty between hope and despair. For it was all well and good for him to say such things, but until Mr. Kirby spoke of his heart, she could not be truly assured.
Mother eyed her for a long moment more, to which Caroline returned a bland look, before her attention turned to Cecilia and discussion over whether she wear her new pink sarcenet tonight at the Sefton’s ball. “I do think that color becomes you very well,” Caroline offered.
Cecy looked surprised, as if she had not expected Caroline’s compliment, which determined her to do more to show Cecy and Verity her true affections. God might not permit her to marry the man she loved, but she knew He wanted her to love the family she had.
The carriage pulled up in front of the town house, and a footman toddled down the steps to assist them—and their packages—inside.
The silver salver bore witness to visits paid while they were out. Mama rifled through the cards on the tray. “The Marquess of Londonberry! Well, I wonder what your father has done to earn his notice. And the Viscount Kenmore. I don’t know who that is, do you?”
Caroline’s pulse accelerated. She knew exactly who the latter was, and suspected why he had come to call, and possibly even with whom. “Mother, Lord Kenmore is the man we met last night.”
The butler cleared his throat. “If you please, m’lady, Lord Kenmore said he would return in an hour or so.”
“Well! He must be very keen to see us. I wonder what he wants.” She looked hard at Caroline, causing an internal squirm. “Do you have any notion of what he wants?”
“It is customary, is it not, for a gentleman to call on his dancing partners from the previous evening?”
“It is customary to acknowledge such things with a note or a posy, not necessarily a social call. Well, I suppose you had best go change and we’ll wait to see what he has to say for himself.”
A short time later, while Mary was arranging Caroline’s hair in the bedchamber, she heard a carriage arrive, and hurried to the window and glanced down. Lord Kenmore descended from the carriage steps, holding out his hand to—
Emma! And there was Mr. Kirby! Her fingers flew to her mouth. Her pulse heightened. What would be said? What did he want?
“Miss? If you don’t let me finish fixing your hair you’ll resemble a scarecrow, make no doubt about that. Now, come sit down and let’s get you looking as a daughter of a viscount ought.”
She meekly acquiesced, and sat just long enough for Mary to finish braiding her hair into something appropriate. “There you are now, miss. Very pretty. Especially with the young gentlemen downstairs.”
Caroline shot her a darkling look, then shot up and out the door. Surely their guests would have been plagued by her mother’s questions long enough.
But to her surprise, it was her father, not her mother, who greeted her as she entered the morning room. “Ah, here she is. Caroline, I believe you know Lord Kenmore, oh, and Mr. and Miss Kirby, too.”
Caroline ignored the heart pang, and offered a greeting and curtsy. She stole a peek at Mr. Kirby. He seemed much healthier looking than the last time she had seen him, his countenance more open, his scar gleaming palely on his tanned cheek, his gray eyes intent on her. Emma, too, seemed far happier, though still very frail, her movements stiff, her color wan, with shadows under her eyes.
She extended her hands to Emma. “How wonderful to see you again! You have been in my prayers.” She gave Emma a light hug and whispered, “Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” Emma murmured, eyes shining with a soft peace Caroline had not seen before, and envied.
She turned to her father. Perhaps if she maintained the conversational ball she might be able to avoid speaking directly with Mr. Kirby. And prevent her father from noticing Emma’s sudden radiance. “Father, I am truly thankful to have spent time in Sidmouth. I can only imagine how very lovely it is in spring. Grandmama talked about the daffodils that bloom atop Peak Hill.”
“I recall Mrs. Baker saying something of the sort,” Emma agreed.
“There is so much natural beauty in Sidmouth and its surrounds. I only wish I had my sketches here to show you what I mean.”
“Oh, but I have brought one, Miss Hatherleigh,” Emma said, withdrawing a piece of paper from her reticule. “I wanted to return this to you. It is the sketch you drew in the cave.” She turned to Caroline’s father. “I wish I had something of your daughter’s talent with drawing …”
They exchanged quiet conversation, freeing Caroline to examine the piece of paper, as memories surged of the cave-in. “It seems a lifetime ago,” she murmured.
“I have thought the same,” Mr. Kirby’s baritone voice said from beside her.
She stilled. How had he got there? Were Lord Kenmore and Emma maintaining Father’s attention sufficiently to allow them a few moments of private conversation? Did she even want to speak with Mr. Kirby? She turned, and placed the paper on a nearby walnut bureau. Was he here only from obligation?
“I am pleased to see you looking well, Miss Hatherleigh,” he continued. “Looking very well,” he added in a voice just for her.
Her insides curled with pleasure. She would have to give Mary an extra coin for her good work today. But … but she would never let him know how much her heart still hurt, that his words from weeks ago still caused her pain.
“I am very glad you are safe. I find it hard to forget that dreadful day,” he said.
“As do I,” she admitted, with a shiver.
“Please, do not dwell on the less pleasant aspects. For myself, I count it as one of the most fortunate days of my life.”
She glanced swiftly at him. “How can you say that when Emma was injured so terribly?”
“That, of course, was not something any of us wanted. But this dreadful situation has finally led to good, would you not agree?” he said, motioning to the happy couple.
Well, yes. She glanced down, confusion muddling her brain. How could he look at her as if he cared, then not say anything to the matter? Was she such a fool as to believe he cared when he did not? What was it he had said to Pratt? That he cared only for his sister and his fossils? Is that why he had not spoken to her?
“I suppose you are glad you finally found your fossil,” she said in a flat voice.
His brow puckered. “Well, yes.”
There. Confirmation. She bit her lip, felt the burn in the back of her eyes. She drew back, half turned to join the conversation Lord Kenmore still valiantly sustained.
“Finding such a thing was indeed quite marvelous,” Mr. Kirby continued, his words halting her movement. “But not as marvelous as another discovery I made.”
He paused, as if waiting for her to ask him what discovery it was. But she could not ask to be rejected once again.
“You do not ask me,” he continued in a low voice of disappointment.
Her heart prodded. Was she not supposed to live at peace with others? Was she letting pride sway her actions yet again? She swallowed, and finally said, “What discovery is that, sir?”
“My treasure.”
She looked up. “Did you find smugglers’ gold?”
“No, something far more valuable.” He smiled. “I realized my treasure did not consist of gold, and was not to be found in the past, but was standing before me all the time.”
His touch on her arm sent heat soaring through her skin, escalating her pulse and her breathing. No, he didn’t mean her. Did he?
“Miss Hatherleigh, dearest Caroline …”
Her pulse scampered.
“I learned more of your character through that experience, and prior, when we were trapped in the cave, than I would have in a month of snatched conversations in ballrooms. I
thank God for that, I assure you. I thank God for you.”
“You … you exaggerate.”
“I simply tell the truth,” he said, honesty writ in his eyes. “And then, later, when Kenmore told me of your faith, well, you cannot know how glad I was to learn this, to feel that we both could share in what I consider the most important part of life.”
She glanced down once again. But if this was so, why had he not spoken to her until now? Why had he not sought an interview with her father?
Further questions were cut short by the entrance of Mama, whose apologies at her delayed arrival and murmurs about a useless maid soon faded as she glanced at the guest seated close to Caroline. “The nerve!” she hissed, before casting him a narrow look then turning her back on him, making her disapprobation very plain.
“Mr. Kirby,” Father said, the warning in his voice and eyes enough to shift him away from her. “My mother wrote to explain a little about matters in Sidmouth—”
Caroline’s breath hitched. Oh, what had Grandmama said?
“—and the accident you underwent. I am pleased to see you have made a recovery. May I ask when you propose to return to your scientific work?”
“I have already returned, sir,” he said. “My work does not require me to stay only along the shore. While in London I have made use of my time in visiting various scientific societies and sharing about my discoveries.”
“I see. And may I ask how long you have been in London?”
“For the past fortnight.”
Two weeks and she had not known? Caroline turned to him, brows raised. He offered a small smile that looked tinged with apology.
“You must forgive us for not calling upon you sooner,” Mr. Kirby said. “Had I but known of your stay in town I would have ensured we were here the first available hour.”
“It matters not,” Father said, to which Mama agreed most vehemently.
“I am so glad you think so,” Lord Kenmore said, eyes dancing. “I do feel myself to be something in error, especially as Emma here has been desiring to renew her acquaintance with Miss Hatherleigh.”
Father cleared his throat. “I fail to see why such a thing should be of your doing, sir. Surely such a thing should be the responsibility of a father, or at the very least, a brother.”
“I know,” he said humbly. “It is simply that one always tries to do one’s best when one is accounted a host,” he added, neatly avoiding any mention of his secret marriage.
“Our father died a year ago, Lord Aynsley,” Mr. Kirby said, eyes watchful.
“Oh? And who might your father be? I’m afraid I do not recall any Kirbys of our acquaintance.”
“Of course,” he said, bowing his head. “Kirby was my mother’s maiden name.” He glanced at Caroline, eyes filled with apology. “Please forgive my slight bending of the truth. You must know that I could not afford to be known by my family name, not with Pratt certain to search for us.”
“And what exactly is your family name, sir?” Mama asked, her expression of disdain for Mr. Kirby thawing to curiosity. “Surely the deception is no longer necessary.”
“Again, I must beg pardon.”
“Your name, sir?”
“Of course, madam,” he said, bowing slightly. “My family name is Carstairs. My father was the Marquess of Londonberry.”
Gideon glanced at Caroline as he said that, saw her widening eyes, her whitened cheeks, the way her gasp echoed her mother’s.
“I beg your pardon. Did you say your father was the Marquess of Londonberry?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“Then, then”—Lady Aynsley’s eyes were almost popping from their sockets—“then are you the Marquess of Londonberry?”
He smiled at her obvious shock and delayed approval, and the disappointment he knew was sure to be hers. “I’m afraid that title has gone to my brother. I am known as Carstairs.”
“Carstairs, not Kirby?”
“Carstairs,” he affirmed.
“Oh. But I suppose you cannot be merely a mister, not if you’re a marquess’s son. Well! This is quite the turn up!”
Gideon glanced at Caroline who still seemed shocked. “I am sorry I did not tell you before. For one reason or another, it was never the correct time.”
She blinked. “You did not think being trapped together for nearly five hours constituted enough time?”
Now it was his turn to blink. He hadn’t expected her response to be quite so … blunt. “Please forgive me,” he said, as humbly as he could.
“Well, my lord,” her mother said again, glancing between them both. “Did you not think such information might have proved helpful when you approached me to offer for my daughter’s hand?”
“You did?” Caroline said, her eyes filled with confusion. “I thought—” She pressed her lips together.
“You did not know?” he asked her, before questioning Lady Aynsley with upraised brows. “I sent letters which were returned to me.”
“It is most improper for a single gentleman to write to a young lady. And Caroline certainly needed no such distractions,” she said with a shrug. “And it would seem I was right in withholding such information, as you have obviously withheld rather crucial aspects of your own life, sir.”
He bit his tongue, aiming for a conciliatory tone. Nothing would be gained from speaking what he really felt. “Lady Aynsley,” Gideon finally said, “I must beg your forgiveness in not being completely open concerning my family’s name and connections. Such an omission was in no way an attempt to deceive, but simply to protect. I will say, however, that I did impart this information to Miss Hatherleigh’s grandmother, which may be why she was initially supportive of my suit.”
“But she is not responsible for Caroline.”
He inclined his head. “I believed it to be otherwise, at least while Miss Hatherleigh was in Sidmouth. I will also own to being vain enough that I wished to win Miss Hatherleigh’s heart and not just her sense of obligation.”
He glanced at Caroline; her mouth had sagged once more. He smiled, and returned his attention to her mother. “I know my being a mere second son does not, perhaps, endear my suit as much as a grander title may, but I love her, so again, I ask for your permission to pay my addresses to her.” He turned to Caroline again. “That is, if you would be so good as to receive them.”
Her eyes filled with tears, and she dipped her head.
Gladness filled his heart.
“Oh! Well. Well, you should rather speak with Lord Aynsley.”
“Of course,” he said, turning to Caroline’s father, who nodded, with something like approval in his eyes, before murmuring about meeting tonight at Brook’s.
Hope kindling, he smiled at Caroline again. “I hope you do not find my suit too distasteful.”
“I do not find it distasteful at all,” she whispered.
“Then perhaps you might agree to accompany me to the Park tomorrow. I believe I saw some roses there that are almost the same color as your cheeks, and I would like to compare the two shades.”
She blushed to that satisfying color he’d remembered, before giving a shy nod.
“Lord Aynsley? I trust I might have permission to escort your daughter?”
“Yes, yes, of course. If Caroline should wish it, of course.”
“Does she wish it?” he asked her, again in a low voice.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Then I look forward to seeing you on the morrow.”
And, heart singing, he joined the others in making his adieus, and planning how he could best present his case to Lord Aynsley tonight.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NİNE
THE NEXT DAY Mr. Gideon Kirby—no, Lord Carstairs!—called in at four in the afternoon, the earliest time considered appropriate for a drive. Caroline was waiting, her hair tucked up under a hat of pale pink, her pelisse a richer shade that did wonders for her complexion, or so Mama and Mary assured her. After chatting briefly with Mama—her father absent, having matters to
attend in town—he escorted Caroline to the carriage, where they were greeted by Emma and Lord Kenmore. She knew their attendance was for propriety’s sake, but never did she wish more for propriety to be abandoned.
Gideon tucked the robe around her, his very nearness intoxicating. He glanced up. “I hope today will not prove too cool for you.”
She smiled, assuring him it would not. From the warm look in his eyes, she rather suspected she would not notice the temperature at all.
Her heart thrilled, and she barely noticed the brisk spring breeze or the others’ small talk as the carriage drove to Hyde Park, passing along the path where the plane trees arched overhead. Emma and Lord Kenmore chatted about inconsequential things, but Caroline could barely summon polite responses. A night of sleepless dreaming had left her too nervous to speak. She suspected she knew what Gideon wished to say to her, had spent half the night envisaging how he would say it, the other half practicing her reply. She had found some comfort in reading her Bible and praying. She only wished she might not disgrace herself by appearing too eager.
The carriage pulled alongside the lake, slowing to a halt.
Gideon glanced at her. “Would you care to join me for a stroll?”
Caroline glanced at the others, but Emma shook her head. “Please, go and enjoy a walk. It is such a lovely day, and the flowers are so pretty. But if you don’t mind I think I’d prefer to stay here.”
“I shall stay here with you,” Lord Kenmore said. “Go, don’t worry about us.”
Caroline bit her lip, but she supposed if they cared not for the proprieties then she would not either. Besides, there were so few people about, one need scarcely be concerned.
Gideon was waiting for her, holding out his hand. She took it, feeling the strength in his fingers as he helped her down. “I promise we shan’t be too long.”
“Take your time,” Lord Kenmore called.
Heat filled her cheeks.
For a few minutes, she could think of nothing to say, conscious of the fact that Gideon’s friend and sister no doubt watched them still. Such knowledge made her spine stiff, the old lessons in decorum still holding sway. Then, gradually, she grew aware of the heat of his nearness, of his delectable scent, of all sorts of feelings she suspected her mother would think most improper.
A Hero for Miss Hatherleigh Page 29