He could go after her, could steal her away from the man she was promised to marry, and yet, he did nothing. He slumped into the chair and held his head in his hands. “Goodbye, Cara mia,” he whispered. But even as he said the words, hope still dwelled in his heart. She said she would come back and if—when—she did, he would be ready.
He grabbed paper, ink, and a pen and dashed off notes to his father.
• • •
As the wheels of the hired carriage rolled over the cobbled stone, Caralyn sat in the corner of the coach. She hadn’t looked back after she left the ship, afraid her resolve would soften and she’d tell Tristan of her plan to drop a bag of gold in front of the earl and demand to be released from her father’s promise. But she couldn’t tell him, not until she knew for certain the earl would accept her offer.
She didn’t speak to her companions, who sat across from her now, didn’t even look at them. She couldn’t. Unshed tears stung her eyes, tears she couldn’t release, fearful that if she started crying, she’d never be able to stop.
She twisted her gloved fingers around the silk ropes of her reticule and called herself every kind of fool.
She shouldn’t have fallen in love with the captain, but how could she help herself? The man was everything she’d always wanted—handsome, gentle, and compassionate, full of integrity and a spirit for adventure that matched her own.
Not only had she fallen in love with Tristan, but with his son as well. Jemmy reminded her of her brother, Charles, when he was younger—so much so it hurt. She closed her eyes, forcing the tears away, calling upon every fiber in her being to give her strength.
Caralyn wasn’t even aware the carriage had stopped, so lost was she in her own misery.
“Cara.” Temperance reached out to touch her hand and Caralyn jumped, startled by the light touch. “We’re here.”
The door opened and the driver placed a wooden box beneath the portal. He held out his hand. Caralyn grabbed it as if her sanity depended on it and stepped down to the street in front of an imposing brick building. A wrought iron fence surrounded a small flower garden where roses bloomed in a profusion of red, pink, and yellow, but she didn’t see any of the colors, only the massive iron gate that led to a flagstone walkway and the two crouching lions that flanked it.
Caralyn let out her breath in a huff as the driver deposited her trunks beside the door. He nodded to her, touched the brim of his hat then climbed into his seat. The carriage creaked as he took up the reins and settled himself.
“Will you be all right?” Stitch leaned out the carriage window, drawing her attention away from the stone lions.
Temperance’s head poked out beside his. As a last moment decision, her companion was refusing the salary Caralyn’s brother had promised her. Between her share of Izzy’s Fortune and Stitch’s, neither one would ever have to worry about money again. “I can stay, if you’d like, Cara. Brady will stay as well, won’t you, dear?”
“Of course,” the man answered. “For as long as you need us.”
Unsure and nervous, questions rumbling through her mind at breakneck speed, Caralyn’s entire body trembled with apprehension. Whose home was this? What kind of reception would she receive? She should have been here months ago; how could she explain she’d gone on an adventure without telling a soul? And how could she tell her companions her stomach was one giant knot, that if she let herself think, she might run screaming into the fog-shrouded street? She shivered, but it had nothing to do with the chill air.
Temperance and Stitch had plans. Within the next few weeks, they’d be moving to an estate the good doctor had purchased years ago but had never resided in. He planned to finish the book he’d been writing about searching for hidden treasure. “No, I’ll be all right, but thank you both. For everything.”
“It is I who should be thanking you,” Temperance said, her voice hoarse. Tears sparkled in her eyes, making them luminous behind the lenses of her glasses. “If it weren’t for you, I’d never have met Brady.”
Caralyn swallowed hard over the lump in her throat. “It was a grand adventure, wasn’t it? I shall miss you, but I’ll enjoy reliving our time together once your book is published, Stitch. And I have your address. We’ll write to each other, and of course, we’ll visit once we’re all settled.”
She kissed them both then tapped her hand against the side of the carriage, signaling the driver. The conveyance pulled away. Bereft, frightened so much her entire body shuddered, Caralyn faced the imposing front door of the manse. Ornately carved, with knockers made to resemble lion’s heads, the twin portals were at least twelve feet in height. She took a deep breath, raised her hand, and grasped the handle hanging from the lion’s mouth, but she couldn’t bring herself to knock.
Her heart beat a swift cadence in her chest. Though encased in soft kid gloves, her palms were damp. Indeed, despite the coolness of the fog shrouding her surroundings, perspiration trickled between her breasts. Torn between her desire to return to Tristan and her duty, she stood in perfect stillness for a moment longer before she let the handle drop.
The door swung open to reveal a man who stood so stiffly, Caralyn wondered if a pole extended up his back.
“I am Caralyn McCreigh.”
“Yes, milady. We’ve been expecting you.” He bowed then smiled as he gestured to a footman to take her trunks. “If you’ll follow me, please.” He bowed again then led her into the great hall and guided her into a small parlor. “If you’ll wait here a moment, Her Grace will be with you shortly.”
Caralyn tossed her reticule on the settee and looked around the room decorated cheerfully in reds, golds, and greens in the richest brocades and softest velvets. Flames crackled and popped in the fireplace, lending warmth to the room, a warmth she didn’t feel. She glanced at the portrait above the mantle and gasped.
Confusion created a deep furrow in her brow and made her eyes squint as she studied the portrait. With certainty, she knew she’d never posed for it so the question remained, how was it done and why was it here?
She felt a presence behind her but couldn’t take her eyes away from the portrait. Without knowing whom she addressed, she had to ask, “Why is there a portrait of me here in a home I’ve never been?”
“My dear child,” the voice shook the slightest bit but still rang with authority. “That is not you. I had this portrait commissioned as a wedding gift for my late husband, the Duke of Lion’s Mead. I was just a few years younger than you are now.” The voice came closer and a hand rested easily on Caralyn’s shoulder.
Neither alarmed nor frightened, but extremely curious, Caralyn turned around. Her eyes widened as she took in the vision before her. She could have been looking in a mirror for staring back at her were her own eyes, her own smile, though the hair piled on her head was snow white.
“The resemblance is uncanny, wouldn’t you agree, Cara?” The woman quirked an eyebrow and took a slow step away.
“Who are you?”
“Of course. You wouldn’t know, would you? I am Caralyn DeMarshe, dowager duchess of Lion’s Mead. You were named for me. You may call me Grandmama.”
“You are my grandmother?”
“Yes, I am.”
No sooner had the duchess said the words than the room started to swirl and tilt, colors passing before Caralyn’s eyes in a kaleidoscope as a wave of dizziness overwhelmed her. Actually, it all overwhelmed her—finding the treasure, saying goodbye to Tristan and Jemmy, leaving the ship. Tears blurred her vision even as the room seemed to grow darker.
“Oh my. I never thought . . . it’s almost too much, isn’t it?” the duchess asked, her voice kind as she led Caralyn toward a chaise lounge beside the fire. “But a DeMarshe woman never faints.” She crossed the room to a small round table, pulled the stopper from a crystal bottle, and poured a small splash of brandy into a matching cut crystal snifter. “Drink this,” she said and handed the glass to her.
Caralyn swallowed the liquor, feeling the warmth settle in
her stomach. The room stopped spinning. She took a moment and studied the regal woman before her, but hardly had time to gather her shattered wits when she heard the familiar quick footsteps and the sweet, dulcet tones of her mother’s voice.
“She’s here?” A moment later, the door swung open and her mother swept into the room, a huge smile on her face though her lovely eyes shimmered with tears. “Cara!”
Caralyn jumped from the chaise lounge despite feeling lightheaded and ran into her mother’s open arms. “Oh, Mama!”
“So much as happened since you left me that horrible note and ran away!” Elizabeth said as she grabbed Caralyn’s icy hands and led her toward a settee. “Your father, bless his irritating heart, arranged all of this. I didn’t agree with what he had done, but I have forgiven him, just as I’ve forgiven you.” She glanced toward the duchess. The smile on her face lit up the entire room as she held out her hand. “Your grandmother and I have been reunited. We’ve been making up for lost time while we waited for you, and now you are here. Three generations of DeMarshe women in one room. I never thought I’d live to see this.”
“Where is Papa?”
“He went hunting, of all things! I have never known the man to hunt. He’s always been a sailor. But he’ll be back very soon. Now, tell us everything! Was it a grand adventure?”
Chapter 20
“Ouch!” Caralyn yelped and jumped as yet another pin jabbed her.
“Please, Miss, you must try to stay still,” the seamstress plying the pins admonished her.
Properly reprimanded, Caralyn concentrated on not moving a muscle, yet every time a door slammed or she heard a male voice, she wanted to bolt. Waiting to speak to her father had become an exercise in utter frustration, and her patience had worn thin.
Caralyn took a deep breath and kept her eyes closed as a team of seamstresses, hired by the duchess, pinned and pulled fabric, dressed and undressed her. She didn’t want to see any of the elaborate gowns, didn’t want to participate in the experience that only reminded her how much her heart hurt.
A sigh did escape her, though. Not a moment belonged to her. This dress fitting was just another example. From dawn until hours past midnight, the duchess delighted in introducing Caralyn to aunts and uncles and cousins she never knew existed. And all seemed to conspire to keep her from doing as her heart desired most—finding the Earl of Winterbourne, gaining her freedom, and returning to Tristan.
Three days had come and gone since she stood on the steps to her grandmother’s house—three days of regaling relatives with her search for Izzy’s Fortune and her high adventure. And with each passing moment, her heart broke a little more. She had tried bribing the household staff to give her an address for the earl’s estates, but none would give her the information she needed. The staff adored the duchess and wouldn’t risk raising her ire. Caralyn’s one attempt at leaving the house and hiring a carriage had failed miserably. She’d been caught by none other than the duchess herself and quickly whisked away to another tea.
Time had become her enemy. She needed to talk to her father, but the man remained suspiciously absent. She hadn’t seen him at all. Hunting, she’d been told, when she asked.
Another sigh whispered through her lips. She missed the easy, carefree days of their search for Izzy’s Fortune, missed the crew and Jemmy. She even missed Temperance, but most of all, she missed Tristan. The taste of his kiss, the feel of his body pressed against hers, the exquisite moments of passion shared. Her heart ached when she thought of his sherry-colored eyes gazing into hers, the crooked smile she loved so well on his face.
“C’est magnifique!” one of the seamstresses gasped.
Caralyn’s eyes flew open and her gaze landed on her reflection in the mirror. She couldn’t help herself. She glared at the woman in the beveled looking glass and struggled to catch her breath. The ivory satin and lace gown she would wear tomorrow when she vowed to honor and obey a man she had yet to meet made her look like an angel. An angel with a broken heart. An angel not quite so pure. Lord Ravensley, her intended, remained suspiciously absent—did he not wish to marry either?
Her chin trembled, her throat constricted and her body began to shake, as if stricken with fever. The tears she’d been holding at bay released in a torrent and rolled down her cheeks. She didn’t even try to stop them.
“What’s wrong, ma cherie?” the seamstress in charge asked in her lightly accented English. “You do not like the gown?”
Caralyn glanced at her mother and tried to speak over the lump in her throat. “I . . . I . . .”
“Leave us, please.” Elizabeth rose from the settee where she’d been offering suggestions on fit and style. The women left the room, chattering among themselves and closed the door behind them.
“Cara, dear, what is wrong?”
“I can’t do it, Mama,” Caralyn managed to say, although the constriction in her throat threatened to choke her. She blinked tears from her eyes as she gazed at her mother. “I’ve finally found the man I’ve been looking for all my life, the one I can love until I die. I love Tristan with all my heart.” Determination straightened her spine and she sniffed. Elizabeth handed her an embroidered handkerchief and she wiped the tears from her face. “I won’t marry someone else. I can’t. Papa promised me I wouldn’t have to if I found Izzy’s Fortune.”
“But Cara—”
Caralyn didn’t wait to hear what her mother was about to say. She stepped down from the foot high platform in front of the mirror and rushed to one of the trunks beside the wall. She slipped the lock and flipped the lid to expose an array of gold and jewels. “Well, I found it, Mama. I found the treasure and where is Papa?”
Elizabeth’s eyes opened wide as she strode across the room to look inside the chest. “Oh, Cara,” she sighed then took her daughter’s ice-cold hands into her warm ones. “You must follow your heart, my love, as I once did, but remember, the choices you make will be the ones you must live with for all your days. Is your captain worth ruining your father’s reputation as well as your own? Is he worth the scandal?”
“Was Papa?”
A beautiful smile crossed her mother’s lips and her eyes glowed. A blush stole across her face. “Yes, he was, Cara, and still is. I loved him then. I love him still, and I have not once regretted my decision. Do you feel the same about your captain?”
“Yes, Mama. I don’t want to live without him.”
“Ah, she is like all the DeMarshe women, is she not?”
Caralyn gasped and whirled around. The duchess, whom she’d come to know and adore, stood in the doorway.
“Headstrong,” she said as she closed the door and strode across the room to join them at the chest, her cane tapping the carpeted floor with each step. To Caralyn, the rhythmic beat sounded like the constant ticking of the clock, telling her time had run out.
The duchess glanced into the trunk. One eyebrow rose as a smile crossed her lips. “Willful. Rash and reckless, with a weakness for men of the sea.” She grasped Caralyn’s chin between finger and thumb. “But knowing her own heart.”
“What am I to do?” The tears fell. She couldn’t help it.
“Life is long. You cannot go through it with sadness as your constant companion.” The duchess sighed then glanced at her daughter. Elizabeth raised a perfectly shaped brow as she held her mother’s gaze then slowly nodded. “As your mother did so long ago, as I once did, you must follow your heart. Go to him. Find this captain of yours and tell him you love him.”
“I can’t.” Caralyn scooped up a handful of gold coins and let them drop back into the chest one by one. “I can’t go to Tristan if I am not free. I must speak with the Earl of Winterbourne and try to convince him to set me free of Papa’s word. I can pay him the dowry Papa promised, but I have no idea where to find him.”
“So that’s why you’ve been trying to bribe my staff and sneak out of the house.” The duchess chuckled. “Why did you not just ask me?” She laid cool fingers on Caralyn’s arm.
“By the time you change your clothes, I can have a carriage ready to take you where you need to go.”
• • •
She’s not coming back.
The words echoed through Tristan’s mind as the ticking of the clock reminded him of exactly how long Caralyn had been gone. Three days, four hours, twenty-four minutes. Twenty-five minutes. Twenty-six.
He paced the length of his cabin, back and forth, unable to sit still for more than a moment, unable to concentrate on the captain’s log he needed to complete before he transferred ownership of the Adventurer to Graham.
Twenty-seven minutes.
He’d yet to receive a response from his father, either. The messages he’d sent after they sailed into port had gone unanswered. He could and should ride out for the Winterbourne estates and confront his father, but where was he? The London townhouse? The estates in Swansea? One of the other estates? The hunting lodge? And what if Caralyn came back after he was gone? Would she think he’d given up waiting for her?
Twenty-eight minutes.
Most of the crew had gone to town to spend their portion of the treasure. Only Stitch, Temperance, Hash, and Jemmy remained onboard. The creaking of the ship and the ticking of the clock were simply repeated reminders of the time he wasted, the time Caralyn was not in his arms.
Tristan sighed, sat at his desk again, and tried to record the details of his journey to find Izzy’s Fortune but every word, every fact reminded him of Caralyn. Indeed, her perfume permeated the cabin. He inhaled, letting the scent he associated with her fill his mind.
“When is Miss Cara coming back? I miss her.”
Tristan looked up from the captain’s log on his desk to see his son in the doorway of the cabin. His eyes were wide, red-rimmed, and glowed in the pearly light coming in through the window. He looked as if he’d been crying. “Come here.” He opened his arms wide. The boy flew across the room and settled onto his lap.
“I miss her, too, son,” he said, “but I don’t think she’ll be able to come back. She . . .” He stopped himself from saying too much. Only eight, Jemmy wouldn’t understand the obligations of adults, couldn’t understand the circumstances he and Caralyn had found themselves in—to find the perfect mate, the perfect person only to be promised to others, but the boy deserved to know.
Time After Time Page 182