The earl finally sensed that someone was observing him and glanced up. He was just about to take a sip from his teacup but froze in the middle of that action. His hazel eyes showed his surprise. They fairly sparkled and Caroline smiled, hoping her own expression showed the affection she was feeling, and none of the awkwardness she was fighting.
“Good morning, Father. Did you sleep well?”
Her voice shook. She was terribly nervous, now that she faced her father.
The teacup dropped, making a fine clatter against the table top. Tea spilled everywhere but he didn’t seem to notice the sound or the mess. He attempted to stand, thought better of it, and plopped back down again. His eyes filled with tears and he mopped at them with the end of a white linen napkin.
He was as nervous and unsure of himself as she was. That realization helped Caroline. Her father acted a bit dazed, and Caroline decided that he just didn’t know how to proceed. She watched the paper he had been holding slowly float to the floor and decided that it was up to her to carry on.
She kept the smile on her face, even though she was beginning to worry over his reaction to her, and walked into the room. She didn’t stop until she stood next to him, and quickly, before she could think better of it, kissed him on his bright red cheek.
Her touch pulled him from his trance and he suddenly exploded into motion. He knocked over the chair he was sitting in when he stood and grabbed Caroline by her shoulders, pulling her into his embrace.
“You’re not disappointed?” Caroline whispered into his chest. “I look like what you imagined me to be?”
“I could never be disappointed. How can you think that? I was momentarily stunned,” he explained with another hug. “You’re the replica of your dear mother, God rest her soul. I couldn’t be more proud.”
“Do I truly resemble her, Father?” Caroline asked when he let up on the pressure of his embrace.
“You do. Let me have another look at you.” The command sounded like an affectionate growl. Caroline obliged, standing back a space and twirling around for his inspection. “You’re a beauty to be sure,” her father praised. “Sit,” he cautioned with a quick frown. “You mustn’t overtax yourself and get sick on me. I won’t have you overtired.”
Guilt rather than his order pushed her into the chair he held ready for her. “Father, there is something I must tell you. This is difficult to say but we must deal honestly with each other. I decided that is the only way, once I saw the drawings I had done as a little girl, and so—” Her shoulders slumped at his expectant look and she sighed instead of finishing her sentence.
“Are you trying to tell me that you’re as healthy as a horse?” her father asked with a twinkle in his eyes.
Caroline’s head jerked up and she knew she looked quite astonished. “Yes,” she admitted. “I’ve never been sick a day in my life. I’m so sorry, Father.”
Her father laughed with genuine amusement. “Sorry that you haven’t been ill or sorry that you and your aunt Mary tried to trick me?”
“I’m so ashamed.” The admission was honest but it didn’t make her feel any better. “It was just that I was so …”
“Content?” her father asked with a nod. He righted his own chair and sat down again.
“Yes, content. I lived with your brother and his family for such a long time. I must tell you that I’ve thought of Aunt Mary as my mother and have called her Mama. My cousins became my brothers, and Charity was always just like a sister to me. I never forgot you though, Father,” Caroline rushed on. “I misplaced the pictures of you in my mind but I always knew you were my true father. I just didn’t think you’d ever send for me. I thought you were very content with the arrangement.”
“Caroline, I understand,” her father announced. He patted her hand and then said, “I waited too long to demand your return. But I had my reasons. I’ll not go into them just yet. You’re home now and that’s all that matters.”
“Do you think that we’ll get on well with each other?”
Caroline’s question drew a surprised expression from her father. “I believe that we will,” he said. “You must tell me all the news from my brother and his family. I understand that Charity is here too. Tell me, is she truly the ball of fluff Mary’s letters led me to believe?” His voice was filled with affection and Caroline smiled over it. That, and his apt description of her cousin.
“If you are inquiring if she is still fat, the answer is no. Talking has replaced eating,” she added with a grin. “She’s very slender and quite fetching in appearance. I believe she’ll cause a stir, Father, for she is blonde and petite and we were told those were the requirements for acceptance by the ton.”
“I fear I’ve not kept up with the latest fashions and expectations,” her father admitted. His smile evaporated, replaced by a frown of concern. “You have stated that we must deal honestly with each other, Daughter. And I agree. I, too, have been weaving tales in my letters to you.”
Caroline’s eyes widened. “You have?”
“Yes, but I’ll tell you the truth now. I haven’t attended any of the balls since you left with my brother and his family and went to Boston. I fear I’m considered a recluse.”
“Truly?” When her father nodded, Caroline said, “But, Father, your letters, with all the descriptions of the goings and comings, and the gossip! How were you ever able to sound so accurate?”
“My friend Ludman,” her father replied with a sheepish grin. “He never misses a single event and has kept me somewhat up to date. Enough to fabricate my tales to you.”
“Why?” Caroline asked after she had mulled over his comments. “Don’t you like the parties?”
“There are many reasons and I’ll not burden you with them now,” her father hedged. “Your mother’s brother, the Marquis of Aimsmond, and I have not spoken to one another in fourteen years. Because he does attend some of the gatherings, I do not. That is a rather simple explanation but enough for now I think.”
Caroline was far too curious to let the matter drop. “Fourteen years? Why, that’s the length of time I’ve been away.”
“Exactly,” her father agreed with a nod. “The marquis was furious over your departure and stated, in public, that he wouldn’t say another word to me until you were back in England.” Her father coughed and then added, “He didn’t understand my motives for sending you away and I didn’t explain them.”
“I see,” Caroline commented. She didn’t, of course, and the more she thought about what her father was telling her, the more confused she became. “Father, just one last question and then we’ll turn to other topics, please.”
“Yes?” Her father was smiling once again and it made her question all the more difficult to ask.
“Why did you send me away? Mama, I mean Aunt Mary, explained that you were grief-stricken when my real mother died and that you couldn’t deal with me. She said that you only considered my well-being and thought that I would be happier with them. Is that the truth of the matter? And if it is,” Caroline continued before her father could form an answer, “why did I stay away such a long time?” She didn’t voice the thought that hid at the bottom of her questions. The facts all indicated that her father didn’t want her. Was that the real truth? Was she used in some kind of feud between the families? Was she sent away to punish the marquis in some way? Hadn’t her father loved her … enough?
Caroline frowned as she considered all the possibilities and the ramifications. Her aunt’s simple explanation was just that. Simple. It no longer held water now that Caroline was an adult and not the trusting child of yesteryears. Yet the drawings contradicted all the easy explanations. Why had he saved them?
“You must be patient with me, Caroline,” her father stated. His voice was brisk, closing the discussion. “I did what I thought best at the time, and I promise you that one day I’ll explain everything to your satisfaction.” He cleared his throat and then changed the subject. “You must be hungry enough to eat a bear! Marie!”
He yelled over his shoulder as he tried to mop up the spilled tea with his napkin. “Bring in food and more tea.”
“I’m really not hungry,” Caroline said. “The excitement has taken away my appetite,” she admitted.
“That’s just as well,” her father returned. “Marie’s my new cook and the fare leaves much to be desired. She’s the third this year. My domestic difficulties are always an issue.”
Caroline smiled, thinking of all the countless questions she longed to ask. She wasn’t allowed, however, to do more than nod or shake her head, as her father controlled the conversation all through breakfast.
They finished their meal and Caroline barely touched the food. The fare was indeed below her standards. The rolls were hard enough to crack a tooth, the fish overdone. The jam, apparently quite old from the amount of dust surrounding the jar, was runny and sour. She decided, as she followed her father into the library, that she would see if Benjamin had a mind to lend a hand in the kitchen. He loved to cook and often helped with the meals back in Boston.
Her attention returned to her father. He stood before her artwork, grinning with pride, and showed Caroline how he had dated each drawing on the back. It was his way, he explained, of watching her progress.
“I have given up drawing pictures,” Caroline told him with a laugh. “As you can see, Father, I lacked the talent.”
“That isn’t significant. Henry wrote that you were a quick study with an ear for languages.”
“That’s true,” Caroline conceded, “but my accents are deplorable.” She smiled and added, “Though I have been told that my singing doesn’t offend and I am adequate playing the spinet. Of course, the praise has come only from family, and they are a bit prejudiced.”
Her father laughed. “I’ve no worry that you suffer from being a braggart, Caroline. But you mustn’t underplay your talents,” he added. He sat down in one of the chairs and motioned for Caroline to sit in the other. “Tell me, why has Henry allowed Charity to accompany you? I’m pleased, mind you, but surprised, too.”
Caroline immediately answered, telling her father about Charity’s infatuation with Paul Bleachley and his sudden disappearance. She ended her story and then asked, “Have you heard of this man, Father?”
“I haven’t,” her father replied. “But that isn’t too relevant when you consider that I’ve been out of touch for such a long time.”
“Father, your servant, Deighton, said that you were returning for the season. Did you plan to attend the parties this year?”
“No,” her father answered. “I always return to London this time of year. My country home is too drafty for winter living. And Deighton, stubborn as they come, insists on seeing that the townhouse is made ready. It’s his measure in case I change my mind,” he added. “Now, however, I’m glad for it. With my lovely daughter at my side I’ll once again take my place. I find I’m eager for it too.” Her father laughed with real amusement. “You’ll cause an uproar, Caroline.”
“Because of the marquis?” Caroline asked.
“No. Because you are quite the thing,” her father replied. “The marquis will, of course, be pleased to have his sister’s child back in London, but I’m thinking of the young bucks and their reaction to you. It will be something to see. Your mother would be proud.”
“How did you meet her, Father? I don’t remember her at all and I’m sorry for it. Aunt Mary told me she was a very gentle woman.”
The Earl of Braxton got a faraway look in his eyes and smiled with tenderness. “Yes, she was gentle and loving, Caroline.” He took hold of Caroline’s hand then and told her the story of how he had come to know and love that spirited, black-haired woman.
“She was so pleased with you, Caroline. I had demanded a boy and wouldn’t even consider names for girls. When you were born, your mother laughed until tears coursed down her cheeks. Yes, she was pleased.”
“And were you disappointed?” Caroline asked, smiling. She knew that he couldn’t have been because of the way he told the story, but she wanted to hear him admit it. She felt very much like a little girl hearing stories before bedtime, found herself eager to hear about her early life.
“I was just as pleased as your mother,” her father admitted. He squeezed her hand and then dug into his pocket for his handkerchief. He mopped at his eyes and then cleared his throat. In a voice that sounded almost gruff, he said, “Now then. We must see that you and Charity are fitted with new gowns as soon as possible. The Duke of Ashford’s annual ball will be in just two weeks and we’ll make our appearance then. The old rascal sends me an invitation every year. He’ll be shocked when I accept.” Her father started chuckling as he pictured the look on Ashford’s face when he made his entrance with his beautiful daughter beside him.
Caroline, watching her father’s excitement grow as he described the activities they would participate in, wouldn’t have been overly surprised if he had begun to rub his hands together. The way his eyes sparkled with mischief, he reminded her of her cousin Luke. He seemed as eager as a child about to embark upon a new adventure. She wished to caution him about expecting too much but decided not to dampen his enthusiasm. She vowed, as she listened to him, to do her best not to let him down. God willing, perhaps she could pull it off. Perhaps, before the two weeks were up, she could learn to be correct. It was certainly a challenge, and Caroline decided that she would give it her best.
She continued to sit by her father’s side most of the morning, listening to him as he talked about his past years. She noticed that he spoke more of England’s growing problems and concerns and rarely talked about himself. She realized what a terribly lonely man he had been and her heart ached. It was all by his own choice, she told herself, for he could have had her by his side the last fourteen years, but she found she couldn’t fault him for it.
There was another reason behind his motives for sending her away, she was sure of it. In time, when she had gained his full acceptance, she would learn the truth.
Caroline realized then that the foolish promise she had made to her relatives in Boston would have to be broken. It was a promise made by a child, and one made in anger and confusion. Now she accepted the truth. Her place was by her father’s side. She could never go back to Boston. Her future was here.
Chapter Four
CAROLINE’S SENSE OF HUMOR SAVED HER FROM ACTUAL despair. That, and Charity’s continual excitement over the coming activities. Her cousin loved the attention and became fast friends with Madam Newcott, a dressmaker with a clever eye for fabrics and figures. Charity embraced every minute of what Caroline silently called the ordeal.
The Earl of Braxton hadn’t stopped with an order for just one dress but insisted that both of his charges be furnished with complete wardrobes.
Madam Newcott suggested pinks and pale yellows for Charity and added lace here and there to compliment her petite stature. She wouldn’t allow ruffles, stating that they would overpower and detract from Charity’s pretty figure.
Caroline found herself draped in blues, lavenders, and ivories, including a pale ivory gown that was entirely too low cut and too snug to her liking, but did compliment her hair and coloring. She felt wanton in it and told Charity so.
“Mama would drape a shawl over your chest,” Charity stated with a grin. “And my papa wouldn’t let you out of the house. Uncle will have to use a cane to beat off the suitors when you wear it in public.”
“I swear that I have been pinched and pinned until I’m black and blue,” Caroline remarked.
Madam Newcott, kneeling in front of Caroline and intent on putting the finishing touches on what she called a magnificent creation, ignored the comment.
“When is your father returning?” Charity asked, turning the topic.
“Tomorrow,” Caroline answered. “The marquis lives quite a distance from London, and Father will spend the night there and return tomorrow.”
“The marquis is your mother’s older brother, or is he younger?” Charity asked.
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“He is older. I have another uncle, Franklin, and he is two years younger than my mother would have been if she was still alive. … Am I making sense?”
“Some,” Charity said with a smile. “Why didn’t your papa just send a note telling the marquis of your return to England. Then he would have come back to London. Seems like a lot of trouble to me.”
“Father wanted to tell him in person. Said he wanted to explain to him,” Caroline answered, frowning. “You know, I didn’t even realize I had two uncles until Father told me. Odd that he should show such deference now, isn’t it?”
Charity thought about that for a moment and then shrugged her shoulders, dismissing the subject. “If only I had a portion of your shape,” she lamented as she slipped out of the pink walking dress ever so carefully so that she wouldn’t disturb the needles holding the fabric together.
“It’s better to have too little than too much,” Caroline commented. “You are the perfect shape.”
“Madam Newcott?” Charity asked. “Caroline actually believes that she is too long-legged and too full-bosomed to be fashionable.”
“I’ve never said that,” Caroline protested. “But I’m practical. Long legs serve me well when I’m riding, but I can’t find any practical use for—” She didn’t finish the sentence but patted her chest instead.
Charity burst into laughter. “Caimen would box our ears if he could hear us now.”
“That’s true,” Caroline replied. She glanced in the mirror and said, “My hair is so unruly. Do you think I should cut it?”
“No!”
“All right,” Caroline placated. “I’ll walk around like a wild woman then.”
“I could trim it a little, as it will be long again by the time we return to Boston.”
Caroline knew she had to tell Charity of her decision, and her smile faded as she shook her head. “I’m not sure that I’ll be returning to Boston, Charity.”
Charity opened her mouth to protest but Caroline’s quick shake of her head stopped her. It wouldn’t do to talk in front of Madam Newcott, and fortunately Charity understood.
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