The second installment of the dowry hinged on a grand tour. Dignitaries awaited his presence for the Congress. It had all seemed so important before the murders.
He couldn’t leave, even if it meant forfeiting a good portion of the dowry. He was the duke; these were his lands, his people. Which was why he and his steward stood looking down at extensive plans to reinvigorate the estate.
They’d spent weeks working out details dependent on Caroline’s dowry, but everything had changed. He’d be lucky if he could keep a third of the anticipated funds.
“Her grace promised the tenants new roofs.”
“A shame to waste the money on that if you’re going to rebuild, your grace,” Tom argued. “It can wait.”
“Those cottages need something now. I’m not certain how long they will have to wait for rebuilding.” Summerton tapped the desk. “We need to cut back, Tom, drastically. We’ve already implemented the new farming techniques.”
“Fat lot of good it will do us. This spring will ruin normal crops.”
“It was warm in April.”
“Hasn’t been since.”
He was beginning to understand the biblical Job. His luck seemed to worsen at every turn.
Summerton looked out the window, at the beginnings of a beautiful day, the first in weeks. “We’re already committed to the changes to the crops. Weather doesn’t stop that.”
“Righto,” Tom agreed. “Righto, and what else?”
If only he knew Caroline’s mind, if she meant to stay. That possibility was one bright spark amidst all the gloom.
As if conjured by his thoughts, she knocked on the door and then stepped into the room. “Oh, I am sorry. I didn’t know you were busy.”
He gestured for her to come inside. “We were just finishing.”
“I have a tray here. Hitches said you hadn’t eaten. I thought you’d at least need coffee.”
Her love of coffee. He nodded to her, telling Tom, “We’ll discuss this more later. In the meantime, see to those roofs, will you?”
“Yes, sir, your grace.”
A maid carried in a tray of coffee. Caroline brought him a cup, but abandoned him to look at the papers splayed across the table. She studied the columns of figures and tilted her head to better understand the drawings. He’d rather she didn’t. It proved how desperately he counted on her money, and if she didn’t stay, it was all a fool’s dream.
Either way, it did not present him in the best of light. It proved her point; he married her for her money. He’d failed to make notations of how desperately he wanted her for himself.
He brought her a cup of the dark brew, but to his surprise, she was so absorbed in his scribbles, she barely registered her morning favorite.
“These are your plans for the estate? For St Martins?” She took the cup, sipped, and sighed.
If she’d been any other woman, he would have assumed her interest was superficial, but she was not any other woman.
“They were. I’m revising them.”
She blushed.
“Nothing you need worry about.” He flushed, remembering Mr. Little’s remonstrations. “Not that you wouldn’t understand,” he tried to backtrack. “But it is a mere draft. Very probably irrelevant.”
“These are quite detailed,” she said. “Well calculated.”
“Again, irrelevant.”
“Yes.” She pivoted toward him, then away, head bent. She knew what he wouldn’t say outright. She determined the relevancy of his work. “Well…” Finally, she met his eyes.
“I’m not faulting you.”
“Of course not. But you should. You really should, but I’d prefer we not go there. Not just yet. As I said, I came because Hitches said you hadn’t dined yet this morning. If you’re at all hungry, the smoked haddock looks decidedly…”
“Like something I would enjoy?” He held out his hand, wanting to have that discussion now, right now, but willing to wait for her.
Hesitation was a good thing. It suggested indecision, the chance she might stay with him. A step closer than the night he found her running away.
“Yes.” She ignored his hand, wrapping her arm around his. Did she lean against him, just for a moment, or had that been an accidental brush of her body against his arm?
They walked to the dining room in silence, he distracted by his discussion with Tom. Her…well, he didn’t quite know why she was quiet. He’d come to know her well enough to suspect her reserve as unusual last night, and now, this morning.
“A penny for your thoughts?” she asked, as if she had read his mind.
He looked down at her pale sprigged muslin dress, perfect attire for a debutant. He’d not given her much opportunity to prepare a trousseau. “The weather is almost as beautiful as you are.” He pulled out the chair to the right of where he usually sat at the head of the table. “I’d begun to doubt we would ever find a warm day this spring.”
“You are a fibber.” Caroline softened her scold with a smile. “That frown could not be for the sun.”
She smelled of lilac and sunshine. “You’ve already been outdoors?”
“Yes—” her eyes sparkled, “—visiting the kennels and the stables.” She craned to look at him, as he pushed in her chair. “How could you tell?”
Not by the lilac, they wouldn’t be in bloom, but there was a freshness to her, redolent of spring. Impossible to explain without sounding like an eager dog, sniffing away. “The color on your cheeks,” he prevaricated.
“And what was the frown on yours?”
“I was thinking of our journey,” he lied. That, at least, was settled. He knew what they were doing for the moment. He didn’t know if it would mean forfeiting the release of the funds he’d been promised, but extraordinary times demanded extraordinary decisions.
“Oh.” A footman placed another cup of coffee beside her plate and she lifted it with both hands, breathing in its scent as though she hadn’t just enacted this same scenario moments ago in the study. It was like watching a child with a toy of which she never tired.
When she looked over at him, he continued. “Mr. Little just left. He assures me you must go, leave this very day. In the name of safety.”
“Does he?” Apparently, her morning coffee held more appeal than Mr. Little’s edicts.
He rose again, as Eleanor entered the room. “Aunt, I thought you had breakfasted in your chamber.”
“I did. That’s not why I’m here. Have you seen Sir Michael?”
“After seeing Mr. Little out, he had more questions for George, who found Alice.”
“Very good.” She turned to leave, then hesitated and pivoted toward them. “This journey we are to take…”
“We were just discussing that,” Caroline told her.
“You aren’t actually planning to go, are you?”
Again, Caroline piped up. “Of course not, Lady Eleanor. Summerton couldn’t possibly leave until this mess is sorted out.”
No, he wasn’t going to leave. But she could. “I’ve instructed your maids to prepare for your departure this afternoon. You will sail first thing tomorrow morning.”
“But we couldn’t possibly…” Eleanor started to argue.
He interrupted her. “I, however, will not be joining you.”
Both women stared at him.
“It isn’t safe here,” he explained, “and Caroline has been promised a tour.”
Eleanor raised her brow. “A bridal tour.”
“Bridal tour, grand tour, it doesn’t matter. Her father wanted her to have the opportunity. It will be far safer for her over there. And for you as well, Aunt. I’m afraid your investigations will make you a target.”
“But what about you?” Caroline asked. “You are in as much, if not more, danger than we are.”
“I will be fine.”
“I won’t go.” Caroline straightened her already rigid back. He knew it meant she was digging in her heels, and it amazed him that he knew.
“You don’t have
a choice.”
“Actually, she does.” Eleanor looked over the spectacles perched low on her nose. “If I understand correctly, I am her chaperone. I do not feel up to the task.”
Eleanor sat down, fine and fit and more than capable of partnering Caroline on a trip abroad. He ignored her, deciding to take a different tack.
“Caroline,” he said, “if your uncle has become greedy and decided he wants your dowry, as well as ownership of the mills, you could be the target of murder, especially if he believes the marriage could be annulled.”
“I don’t believe it. How could he know that?”
Eleanor sighed. “I’m afraid Summerton is correct. Servants talk, word gets out. Those reporters have set tongues wagging. This will not do.”
“I have a solution,” he informed them both. Based on her smile, his aunt already suspected where he was going and approved of his decision. “I would like to see us well and properly married before you leave. No room for annulment.”
“Married?” Caroline blinked. Her eyes widened, as she looked from him to his aunt.
He pushed his case. “You are safer as my wife. It’s time you decided, my love. I hadn’t wanted to put you through this so soon. I had hoped to give you the length of the journey to decide, but the situation here has changed everything.”
She blinked again, straightened her serviette in her lap. “Actually, I thought it would be better to let people know we aren’t truly married. That we won’t be.”
“Oh, my dear, you haven’t done something foolish?” Eleanor challenged.
“No,” Caroline said. “No, but I think …”
“Then don’t,” Summerton ordered. “You are safer as my wife.”
“And you are safer as an unattached man.”
He sat back, as if served a blow. “You mean to protect me?” He couldn’t grasp the concept.
“Yes.”
He placed his hands behind his head and leaned back, looking up at the pretty little ceiling of the family breakfast room.
“Oh, my love, you deflate me. You totally deflate me.”
“How so?” she asked in all innocence.
He didn’t bother to answer, leaving it to his aunt to step in with a response.
“You’ve flayed his masculinity, Caroline. A man likes to think he is the protector of the family. You, as a woman, are to offer the gentler side of things, such as compassion, good taste, caring. We, of course, know better, but allow them their illusions.”
He sensed her hesitation, before she said, “All the more reason he should not be wed to me. I am not a sweet, gentle woman.”
“No, you have the backbone of a duchess,” he snapped, wanting to reassert himself in the conversation. “You are smart and beautiful and so, so far more capable than any other ingénue I’ve ever met.” He tried to calm himself, but desperation won out. “Marry me, Caroline, as you promised you would before the priest. Be my bride, my true wife, my helpmate. I need you.”
She didn’t blink this time. If she had, the tears filling her eyes would have spilled over, but her chin did tremble. He didn’t mean to make her cry.
She pushed away from the table.
“I’m afraid I cannot,” she informed them. Before she could leave, he was up and out of his chair, urging her to face him squarely in this.
“Why not? We suit, Caroline. We work well together, and I…well, I thought you were coming to care for me, just as I have come to care for you.”
“It’s too much,” she choked out. “It’s all too much for me. I don’t know how…”
“Don’t know how to what? What don’t you know?” he asked, but she pulled away and ran from the room crying. She’d come to him angry but whole, despite the bullying of her uncle, the horror of her animals killed. She’d seen murder victims and faced the threat that she might become one. But this, his request that they stay together, had broken her.
He rather felt like crying himself. “She still needs to get away from here,” he told his aunt. His eyes still on the doorway, willing Caroline to return. “I need you to accompany her.” He tore his gaze away. “There isn’t anyone else I can trust with that.”
“Yes.” Eleanor put her serviette on the table, as if it were a piece of porcelain rather than a square of cloth. “I do wish you would come with us.”
“I will,” he promised, “I will join you as soon as we get things sorted here.”
“You will be careful.”
“I will.” He looked back at the door. “Tell her, if she refuses to be my bride, she is not welcome to stay here.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“No.” Of course he didn’t mean that. He would do anything to have her here, by his side. Anything, that was, but risk her life. “Tell her all the same.”
She couldn’t leave without use of his coach. He would see she was safe.
***
Caroline stood in the middle of the room, in the way of Bitsy, who directed an army of maids. Pure bedlam—gowns spilled out of trunks, bonnets and hats scattered about, delicate lingerie arranged in neat little stacks, and everywhere there was tissue paper for packing.
Caroline watched, unable to direct or guide the proceedings, though she should do something. Leaving might offer the greatest help, but some memory or idea was tickling on the outskirts of her mind.
It refused to surface, skirting awareness as purposefully as a sheer nightrail skirted propriety.
“Could you direct me to the nursery?” she asked. “I understand we have guests there.”
A little ginger-headed maid pointed. “The stairway ’tween your chamber and Lady Eleanor’s. They go up to the nursery, just at the top. One flight is all.”
“Ah.” Caroline looked at the door, then back at the heaps of clothes slung over chairs and trunk lids. “I wonder—” and suddenly that slippery thought set foot into awareness. “There is so much here, more than I can wear.” She fretted, tapping her foot. “I believe the newswomen lost their clothes. They were stolen,” she lied.
“More’s the pity,” another maid said.
“Yes, but it’s also a shame, when I have so much.” She felt invigorated. “Bitsy, let’s find them a couple of my dresses, shall we?” She grabbed a satchel she’d tucked deep in a wardrobe. “We can put them in this.”
“Where did you find that?” Bitsy looked at it askance. “Looks like a gypsy bag.”
Caroline cocked her head and studied the old canvas holdall. “I couldn’t tell you where, but it will work.”
“No, yer Grace,” the ginger-headed one argued. “Your fine dresses would get all mussed if they were stuffed into that.”
“Roll them,” Caroline said. “They will be fine, much better than the trousers those ladies have been wearing.”
“Are you certain?” Bitsy bit her lip.
“I’m perfectly certain.”
“If you say so.” A few moments later, she handed over four rolled gowns. “If your grace could get back right quick? We have to change you into your traveling gown.”
Caroline waved her hand. “I’ll just wear this and—” she looked about, “—ah, yes, that bonnet.” She pointed to a straw bonnet with a deep brim.
“That’s all wrong, your Grace! A poke bonnet isn’t for such travel, it’s too deep, you’ll be catching on the window and wall and that dress you’re in will show every wrinkle if you don’t change.”
“I’ll take the bonnet off when I’m riding in the carriage and this dress will not show the dust. It’s such a lovely day, I want to wear something to match. I should be fine, with a shawl. Hand me that one, over there.” She pointed to a pretty paisley wrap.
Bitsy scrunched her nose.
“I’ve barely worn this an hour and his grace is anxious for me to be on my way. There’s no time to change if I want to say my good-byes.”
“If you say so, miss.”
“I say so.” Caroline opened the satchel and stuffed in the rolled dresses.
She held
still as Bitsy put the shawl over her shoulders. “And the hat.” Bitsy handed it to her. “If Lady Eleanor is looking for me, tell her I will meet her outside.”
***
Well before departure, while trunks and satchels were being loaded into carriages, Caroline slipped into the duke’s well-sprung traveling coach. She ignored everything and everyone around her and sat on the far side of the seat, staring out at the drive they would soon take.
She didn’t acknowledge Lady Eleanor, or the duke, when he helped his aunt into the carriage. She ignored his comment, “You haven’t far to go tonight. Two hours at the most. You will have enough daylight to enjoy a walk along the sea.”
She didn’t turn to see aunt and nephew exchange looks, but kept her head bowed, sniffling quietly, her legs bouncing, as though already restless from a long journey.
“Travel safe. You’ve armed guards with you the whole way.”
“We will,” Eleanor relented, when Caroline held her silence. “I will take care of her.”
“Caroline?” he asked, waiting. “Fine!” He slapped the carriage as he backed out, then stopped and leaned in once more. “While you travel, I would ask you to reconsider your feelings.”
She nodded.
“Thank you. I will join you as soon as possible.”
She nodded again. He stepped down from the carriage and closed the door.
Caroline sniffed, from deep inside the poke bonnet, leaned the side of her head against the squab, as though to sleep.
“Do stop bouncing, Caroline. It is most distracting,” Lady Eleanor snapped.
Caroline stilled.
It would be a long journey.
***
Summerton watched as the post chaise, Caroline’s from before they said their vows, disappeared into the distance. The Summerton carriage, older but still quite comfortable, followed. It carried the ladies’ maids and luggage, with another luggage wagon following.
It certainly hadn’t taken long for Caroline to remove any sign of herself from St. Martins. The plan had always been to leave on their bridal journey. No doubt Alice left the majority of Caroline’s things in their trunks. Packing could take days but moving a trunk to a carriage would take no time at all..
Summerton (Lady Eleanor Mysteries Book 1) Page 18