by Kim Bowman
“True?”
John nodded. “Carolina has the ability to be the most annoying creature I've ever encountered with her constant talking and pressing need to be in the middle of everything; but unlike any other lady who does that, Carolina's being genuine.”
“And little Rebecca Klammer wasn't?” Edward teased.
John scowled. “We were six. That doesn't count.”
“She seemed to be quite taken with you — even if you were only six.”
“And catching bugs,” John added. “That's the difference. Rebecca acted like a monkey inhaling nitrous oxide because she was six and starved for attention. Carolina does it because that's who she is. She might overdo some things—” Like bringing him water while he was outside working. “—just to put herself in a position to be noticed. But her words and emotions, they're real.”
Edward didn't look convinced.
“It's difficult to explain in words, Edward. But I know when she does those things, it's not meant to annoy someone into paying attention to her. It's because she's being genuine. She's genuinely happy or distraught. She's not just looking for someone to pay her mind, she wants to help. There's a difference.”
“If you say so,” Edward said with a frown. “I don't see it, but if you do, then who am I to pass judgement?”
John clenched his hands into fists. There was a difference; he just couldn't find the right words to explain it. No matter. Edward's words had nothing to do with Carolina, he was merely poking fun at John for his long ago vow never to marry a young lady who enjoyed being heard in addition to being seen.
“She has this intense loyalty like I've never seen before,” he tried again.
“Regina's loyal,” Edward defended.
“Of course she is,” John allowed, “to you. And you're loyal to her. But Carolina's loyalty is different.”
“You mean, because it's to you?”
“Of course; but it's not just that.” He sighed. He wasn't doing any better explaining her loyalty to all of those she loved than he'd explained why Carolina's dramatic personality didn't bother him. “Yes, she's loyal to me. But she's loyal to everyone she cares about.”
A shadow crossed Edward's face. “I don't know what your plan is here, but I pray that you do because if what you say about her is true and she's genuine and loyal and all that, then you need her far more than you know.”
“I have everything well-in-hand, thank you,” John said stiffly, annoyed at the way his brother still seemed to think him incapable of making good decisions. “Why is it that you're here anyway?”
“Because you weren't in Boston,” Edward said, his voice devoid of its usual softness.
“You know what I mean.”
Edward closed his eyes for an extended blink. When he opened them again, the mirth and laughter that usually filled Edward's blue eyes were gone, replaced with uncertainty. A fist formed in John's gut in anticipation of what his brother would say.
“The archbishop came to see me the month before last,” Edward said.
“Is he requesting I return and begin my tenure?”
“Not exactly.”
John's gut clenched tighter. Had he been away so long that the archbishop gave his position to someone else? “Then what did he say?”
Edward took a deep breath. “He regrets to inform you that he will no longer be able to find placement for you. Ever.”
The blood thundered in John's ears. This could only be the result of one thing. “Who told him?”
“I don't know. A story surfaced in London at the start of the Season.”
“Was I mentioned?”
Edward shoved his hands into his pockets. “Not by name. But there were enough hints given to leave no doubt of your involvement.”
“All of my involvement?” John asked hopefully.
“I don't think so.”
“You don't think so? How do you not know?”
“You know that I don't read scandal sheets,” Edward said with a frown. “I didn't even know the story had gotten out until I started asking around after my visit with the archbishop.”
John shut his eyes and leaned his head against the doorframe. “I suppose it won't change his mind if I explain everything?”
“I don't think so.”
John rubbed the bridge of his nose. Once more, the thoughtless actions of his fourteen-year-old self were coming back to haunt him and ruin his life—and now Carolina's, too. “I suppose I'll just have to stay on this side of the ocean, then.”
“You don't have to,” Edward offered. “There are many younger sons who have no occupation.”
“Absolutely not. I will not live on your generosity, Edward,” John burst out. “I am perfectly capable of providing for myself. Or have I not proved that to you already?”
“You have. Your open refusal of the money I put into an account for you was quite enough to convince me that you are able to take care of yourself. But John, this isn't just about you anymore. Soon, you'll be married, and I don't think I need to tell you what follows a happy marriage in a matter of months.”
John scowled. “I'm well aware of what my responsibilities will be, but I have no desire to allow my older brother to provide for my family when I'm perfectly capable of doing so.”
“All right,” Edward said slowly. “Do you have an idea of how you'll do that?”
“Join the military.”
Edward's lips thinned into a line. “I hope that's not your idea of a jest, because it wasn't the slightest bit humorous.”
John shrugged. “I wasn't trying to be. At least as a widow of a member of the military, she'd have a pension.”
“She's about to be a widow of a thickheaded, unemployed younger son of a baron if you're not careful.”
“Actually, if that happens too soon, she won't be anybody's widow,” John pointed out.
“John, you are intending to do something about that, aren't you?”
John drummed his fingers on the wood at his side. “You know me, Edward. I'm always planning something.”
“May the Lord have mercy on us all.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Might I have a word with you, sir?” John asked as Mr. Ellis wheeled himself into his room.
Mr. Ellis looked startled at first but nodded his consent. “Is this about Lina?”
Now it was John's turn to nod. “It's about our getting married.”
“Don't you think that considering the situation this conversation is irrelevant?” Carolina's father asked with a sadness in his eyes John couldn't begin to understand.
“Perhaps a tad belated, but not entirely irrelevant,” John said easily.
Mr. Ellis sighed. “I think you'd better speak to her mother, then. She seems to be the one who's taken a keen interest in Carolina's marriage prospects.”
“I don't want to speak to her mother. I want to speak to you.”
“I can't fault you there,” he said with a smile. “She wasn't always so bad, you know.”
No, he didn't know. Nor did he care to. Whatever happiness Mr. Ellis thought was buried deep, deep inside Mrs. Ellis was of no account to John. “About Carolina; I'd like to marry her if you're agreeable.”
“You would, would you?”
John pressed his lips together and nodded.
“All right, then, for what it's worth, you have my permission.”
John sneered at his offhanded tone. “Do you not care more for your daughter than to marry her off to the first bounder who asks?”
Mr. Ellis roared with laughter. “Do you think I have a choice?”
“Yes. You are still the head of this family, are you not? Is your name not on the deed of this plantation? Is it not you who owns every piece of property on this land?”
Mr. Ellis waved his remaining hand through the air. “What I meant is that my daughter has a mind of her own and a will made of iron. I learned long ago that it wouldn't matter if I gave my permission or not, she'd do as she pleased. And I do believe s
he'd do whatever you ask her to do.”
“I'm pleased to hear that, but I haven't asked her yet.”
“She's in her room. I trust you know the way there,” he said with a slight twist to his lips.
John's cheeks flushed. “I apologize for not doing this the right way the first time.”
“No need to apologize, Mr. Banks. God willing, one day, you too shall have children and you'll understand my position better.”
“Your position?”
“A man will always love his children; no matter what they do. However, just because he loves them, it doesn't make accepting their choices any easier.”
“You don't approve of me.” It was more a statement than a question.
“No. It's not that I don't approve of you. I just don't approve of how you handled your courtship with my daughter.” He sighed. “But that's irrelevant now. You've both made your choices; whether I approve of how the two of you decided to do things or not, I can learn to accept it.” He grinned. “Though I do hope I'm around to see your children give you the same fits. I do believe that shall work miracles in wiping away the heartache I've suffered.”
John stared straight ahead as a vision of what life would be like for him in twenty years formed in his mind. He swallowed; then again. With a mother like Carolina, he might need all that money Edward had been depositing for him as a dowry if they have a girl.
Mr. Ellis' laughter brought John back to present. “Has something in that mind of yours frightened you, my boy?”
“I must start praying tonight that she bears only sons,” he said half-heartedly. Honestly, he didn't care if she had a dozen girls who were just like her. He'd love her—and them—all the same.
“You haven't changed your mind about marrying her, have you?”
“No. I'd still like to marry her, but my asking depends on you.”
“I've already given you my permission. What more are you waiting for?”
“Your promise.”
“My promise?'
John nodded. “I want you to promise me that the day I marry Carolina you'll free Bethel.”
Mr. Ellis' smile vanished and a blank expression took his face. “Pardon me?”
“Bethel's freedom in exchange for me marrying Carolina.”
Mr. Ellis' cold grey eyes penetrated his. “And why would I do this?”
“Because it's what I'm asking.”
“Son, you have to understand; a woman like Bethel costs a lot of money. I cannot just free her. It'll cost me half of a harvest's profits to replace her.”
John ignored the uneasy feeling in his stomach at the way Mr. Ellis talked of Bethel as if she were a piece of furniture and not a person. “Consider it a wedding present.”
Mr. Ellis sighed. “I know Carolina is fond of her, but I cannot free her.”
“And why not?”
“Mrs. Ellis would be most displeased. She's come to be quite dependent upon Bethel.”
“She can become dependent upon someone else,” John bit off.
Mr. Ellis shifted in his chair as best he could. “Isn't there something else I can do?”
“No. You either free Bethel and have the respectable youngest son of an English baron marry your daughter or don't free her and have an exiled vagrant make your daughter his mistress.”
“You wouldn't dare,” Mr. Ellis thundered.
It was the first time John had heard the man raise his voice. John fisted his hands and willed himself not to cough and give himself away. He had to do this. He had to be strong and put up an impenetrable front, or his only chance at getting Bethel's freedom would be lost.
He clamped his jaw closed to keep a hard, impassive expression on his face and strolled to the door. Stopping, he said, “Sir, you're the one who said Carolina would do whatever I asked of her. Do you truly mean to find out if that's true?”
Leaving Mr. Ellis and his floundering jaw in the room, John left, intent to see if her father's theory was still true after everything he had to tell her.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Carolina's cheeks had never hurt so much from laughing; or pretending to, at least.
Edward meant well by trying to entertain her with stories of John as a boy, but if he meant to distract her, it wasn't working.
And judging by the worry lines on his face that seemed to get deeper by the minute, he wasn't any more able to put John's earlier actions out of his mind than she was.
“I hate to be impolite, but I think it's best if we all go to bed,” Carolina said, offering the entire room her best smile.
“I quite agree,” Regina, Lady Watson agreed with a smile of understanding. “Come along, Alex.”
“But I want to hear more about when Papa had to save Uncle John from drowning in the creek because he'd tied himself to the boat,” Alex protested, looking up at his papa with the widest eyes Carolina had ever seen.
Edward sighed. “How about I tell you the story of how your mama broke that very boat when we get upstairs?”
Alex blinked up at his father, clearly weighing his options. He scrambled down off his father's lap and ran across the room to his mother. “You didn't really break the boat, did you?”
Her face grew pink. “I'm afraid I did. But if you want your papa to tell you of my shame, you'll have to come upstairs.”
“All right,” he said at last. “I've heard the story of Uncle John enough. I've never heard this one.” The adorable boy turned around and waved for his father to accompany them.
Carolina stood up, too, and led them up the stairs to Gabriel's old room. “You must forgive the lack of space. Father built the house right after he and Mother married and could only afford to build three bedrooms. This was Gabriel's before the war, and unfortunately there is only one bed.”
Regina's gentle hand landed on Carolina's shoulder. “There is no need for you to explain anything. We are accustomed to sharing the same bed, so anything you can offer will be quite sufficient, I assure you.”
Carolina accepted the older woman's reassurance and opened the door for them.
“See, just as I said, it's perfect,” Regina said, gliding into the room that had been cleared of almost everything save the bed and armoire. Regina immediately started to unpack their luggage, which Dalton had brought up earlier.
“Have a good night,” Carolina said, stepping out of the room.
“Carolina,” Edward said, joining her in the hall.
“Yes?”
He sighed and combed his fingers through his blond hair the same way she'd seen John do when he was frustrated or uncertain. “Don't give up on him. I have no idea what goes on in that brain of his, but I do know he didn't mean those words he said earlier.”
“I know,” she said simply. “I might not have known him as long as you have, but I think I know him just as well.”
At least, she hoped she did.
The John she knew wouldn't have made that declaration and disappeared for the rest of the day. There had to be more than what she knew. Of course, it'd be a little easier to convince herself of this had he thought to inform her of anything before he vanished.
Blinking back the tears pricking her eyes, brought on by yet another emotionally difficult day, she opened the door to her room and froze.
“John?”
His smile didn't quite meet his eyes. “Is now a good time to talk?” he asked, extending her a glass of water.
“I suppose so,” she said laughingly as she closed her door, but did not take his offered glass. “Although I do wonder why you've waited so long to speak to me when you've had all evening to do so, and yet, you seemed to have made yourself scarce instead.”
He swallowed and set the glass down on the little end table next to him. “I know. And I'm sorry.”
“Oh? Was your evening as charming as mine?”
He frowned. “Are you angry with me?”
“Can you blame me? I spent the evening with both of our families while you were relaxing in solitude.”
“No, I suppose not,” he said quietly. “But you must know my evening wasn't any more enjoyable than yours.”
She doubted that. “Unless you think to convince me that you had to sit idle and hear tales of your past as a means to attempt to ease the suffocating tension, then I think I might have you beat. It was so awful, even my father excused himself early.”
“I have no plan to convince you of such,” he said quietly, his face grim. “However, while you merely had to listen to tales of my past, I had to spend the evening standing in dark corners reliving them and thinking of what I'd say to you when this moment arrived.”
Carolina cocked her head to the side. There was a rare look in his eye. Not uncertainty necessarily, but he was clearly uneasy and upset. “What's happened?”
“Why don't you come sit down?”
Her stomach lurched at his quiet tone and solemn expression, and she forced herself to walk to the bed and sit on the edge. “All right.”
John clasped his hands together behind his back and took a deep breath. “I want you to know that whatever decision you make regarding me once I'm finished, I'll respect.”
Bile rose in her throat. “Just tell me,” she croaked.
“I won't be able to return to England,” he said matter-of-factly.
“H-how come?”
His throat worked and his eyes grew shuttered and dim. “Because of a mistake I made in the past, I will have no future there if I do.”
“I—I don't understand.”
“I know,” he said; his voice terribly uneven. He grabbed the chair that was under her writing desk and moved it so he could sit in front of her. “When I was sixteen, I was sent down from school for the last time, and with the help of Edward, I began training to become a vicar.”
“John, there's no shame that you didn't finish school,” she said, reaching up to smooth back the hair that had fallen in his eyes.
He pulled away. “That's not the problem. I'd planned to go back to England and take my place as a vicar. But now I can't.”