She reined her horse to a walk. They meandered through the dew drenched woods while she mused.
You may have eased your restlessness with exercise, but what if he had recognized you, even if you weren’t dressed that way and riding astride, chasing across the meadow like a hoyden? Luckily, you donned your hood. With your long hair blowing in the wind, you’d certainly be identified. You were almost caught, you know, behaving like an uncivilized chit instead of a docile widow. At your age, your father would have seriously scolded you if he had known you hadn’t yet grown into a proper lady.
Caroline silently promised to do better and behave herself.
Her encounter with Antonio Thorndyke had been totally unexpected. Who would have guessed he’d be out so early? And doubtless he’d be shocked if he found her out of mourning.
She should have been mortified, but she wasn’t. If her brother learned of her recklessness, Hal would fly up into the boughs, since he was anxious to renew his acquaintance with the Spaniard. She knew she should behave like a lady, but she desperately needed her solo rides.
Wending her way slowly through the woods, Caroline’s mind actively engaged memories of the new duke and their first meeting in 1837. The image of Antonio as a youth popped into her mind. How well she recalled his masculine good looks, remembered him being very tall and lean with broad shoulders and chest, muscular thighs and long legs. His skin color was a golden bronze with eyebrows and hair straight and black as midnight. Her heart pumped a little faster as she rode, still hoping he’d never recognized her budding attraction.
His blatant arrogance wasn’t easy to forget either. Though polite, he wasn’t interested in cultivating her. She certainly wasn’t enamored of him at that age; that would be foolish. But there was something about him, even then, that stirred her romantic fantasies.
And now, he was here again in England.
Demon snorted noisily and blew spray out of his nostrils. Caroline had walked the stallion for a quarter hour. Slender branches sprouted new leaves and partially obscured the width of the path through the woods. She pushed them aside as she further contemplated this morning’s near miss with the duke.
“I’m absolutely sure, Demon, that the Spaniard didn’t realize that you—and me, a mere female—led him a merry chase across the meadow. I’d like to tell Hal about our little adventure, but he’d be more than annoyed, wouldn’t he?” Caroline giggled, the sound rebounding to her own ears for the first time in a long time. “Your speed made hash of his mount. I’m sure he believed I was an out-of-the-area intruder, or possibly a local who blundered onto Westhaven property.”
Demon’s ears flicked rapidly backward and forward, tuned into his mistress’ voice, which was tinged with muted laughter. Caroline chuckled again and leaned forward to stroke him while the horse bobbed his head and rattled the bit between his teeth. “We were wise to run off, weren’t we?” She patted him again. “I knew he couldn’t catch you.”
Caroline’s smile remained on her lips as she and Demon continued through the area that lay between Westhaven and Crestwood. Nearing home, additional uneasy thoughts niggled at her until her smile was replaced with a slightly concerned frown.
What if Hal should marry? He became earl last summer with their father’s death. He would probably wed soon and set up his nursery. Every peer needed an heir to maintain the line. When that happened, she would leave. It was only proper that Hal’s wife should be mistress of Crestwood Manor, not his sister, even if she didn’t move to London until she must. She would hate living in Town. She’d be unable to take Demon for a solitary gallop—or any gallop for that matter. Ladies rode tame mares or geldings in London, not fiery stallions. And they sat in sidesaddles for the rest of their proper lives. Thinking about what must soon happen, she buried such upsetting events deep within the crevices of her brain until such time as she needed to face them.
Arriving back at Crestwood, Caroline hurried to rid herself of her riding clothes before Hal came down to breakfast. He had expected her to shake off the blue devils by now. Unfortunately, she didn’t know how to counteract the depression that left her floundering without guidance or direction. So far nothing of significance, no responsive chord brought her peace of mind or ignited a spark to give new impetus to her life.
Chapter 3
Hal was already seated at the breakfast table when Caroline entered.
“’Morning, Caro. You’re a slug-a-bed today.”
“Good morning, Hal. Oh, I’ve been up, Brother, but I waited to share breakfast with you.”
“Ah well, too bad. I’m in a rush today. Have to ride out to the north corner to check on Tolliver’s cottage. Seems the roof needs replacing, and he wants me to take a look at it. While I’m over that way, I thought I’d drop my card at Westhaven. It’s only polite that we pay our respects to the duke.”
Not answering her brother, Caroline halted beside the sideboard and bent low to sniff and savor the delicious aromas wafting from several covered dishes. “Umm, everything smells wonderful. Have you tried the sweet buns?” Taking her time, she filled a plate with a hearty breakfast from Cook’s generous display of warm porridge, scrambled eggs, sausages, ham, hot rolls and sweet buns. Caroline’s wild gallop across the meadow had given her an appetite, something she’d lost for several months. Turning back to the table, she eased into the chair opposite Hal, smoothing the skirt of her black, high necked gown underneath her as she did so. “Yes,” she replied finally. “I suppose we must.”
“Quite soon, I should think, Caro. Now that Antonio’s been made duke, we must welcome him. Of course, we’d welcome him in any event, but his assuming the title makes it propitious that we be on good terms with the Spanish Thorndykes—close neighbors—and all that.”
Hal took a moment to chomp on his breakfast. Wiping his lips with a serviette, he glanced across the table at his sister. “What say, Caro, we invite him and his sister for supper, hmm? I’ve been thinking about it. It’s a good start. I’ll extend the invitation today. Would Wednesday next suit you?”
Caroline’s hazel eyes blinked in apprehension when she heard her brother’s suggestion. “Oh Hal, it’s really not proper for us to entertain yet. What I mean is—it’s certainly not proper for me to do so. Richard’s dead only five months, and even if Father…”
“I insist, Caro, on having a small gathering here. I’m well acquainted with Antonio, as you know, and I’m anxious to renew our friendship again. Not many people got close to him while he was at Cambridge. If you recall, he was rather standoffish. But he and I rubbed on well together.” Hal paused to wash down the rest of his meal with a long swallow of coffee. “He may have changed, but I’ll find out soon enough.”
Inviting her reply, he asked, “Well? What say you, Caro? Do you believe there’s someone better than me to introduce the duke to the rest of his neighbors?”
“Yes, perhaps…” Caroline paused, uneasy, but swiftly changed her mind. “Oh, I suppose, yes, then, Hal,” she agreed with a tiny nod. “But I shouldn’t be in attendance.”
Caroline fingered a tiny blemish, a dark mole near the left corner of her upper lip, a habit she had when contemplating something distasteful. “I’ll oversee the preparations, Hal, make sure everything is to your satisfaction, but I won’t partake in the festivities. Please try to understand that I don’t wish to go against your wishes. It’s only…well…”
With a somewhat strained smile, Caroline continued. “To tell the truth, I’m not ready to deal with guests quite yet.”
“Caro, dear girl, you know I’m concerned. I’ve seen you looking pale and listless these past months. What can I do to help?”
“Hal, just don’t badger me, please. I’m trying to conquer the blue devils, truly I am.”
“All right. I won’t, but neither will I allow you to ruin your life simply because of Richard or Father’s untimely deaths. Father was unable to do what he wished for you in his condition other than arrange that you wed. I suppose you would rathe
r have waited to marry someone younger. However, Father did inform me beforehand what he proposed, and I agreed. The marriage was arranged quickly for your protection…”
“Yes, Hal. I know the reasons.”
“Since it’s up to me, now, I’ll make sure you’re happy again, Caro.”
“Thank you, Hal,” Caroline said, forcing a smile back at him. “Please, don’t worry so much, brother of mine. I’ll come around. Just give me some time, all right?”
Hal gazed briefly into the contents of his coffee cup.
Caroline watched his face as he remained silent. She could see he was marshalling his thoughts, probably searching for a softer way to pressure her. Hal would never act the ogre under any circumstances, but she realized he would no longer let her hide in her chamber like a hermit crab.
Finally, he said, “I think it’s time you gave up deep mourning, Caro. We both know your marriage to Richard was not a love match. Good God, sister dear! The man was ancient enough to be our father—with a son of his own older than either you or me!”
“Hal, Richard was…a dear…like a second father to me. When he died so unexpectedly…”
Hal shook his head vehemently. His cheeks grew ruddy, and he braced his forearms on the table beside his empty plate. When he spoke, his older-brother-tone firmed. “I won’t hear of it, Caro. I may go so far as to demand. None of our friends will dispute your presence at a small gathering of neighbors. And as earl, I need a hostess. Therefore, I expect you to act the pretty for me at the supper party. You may wear your mourning garments if you absolutely must,” he grumped, “but I want you at table with us.”
His expression, Caroline noticed, was unlike his usual open, smiling countenance, so she nodded and acquiesced.
“Thank you, Caro. Then I’ll hear no more about it,” he said.
She sighed, having given in. “Let me know which guests we should invite.”
Hal’s cheeks cooled. “Let’s see. Why not invite the Templetons? Simon was a class ahead of Antonio and me at Cambridge, but I believe they knew each other.” Hal’s mind worked rapidly as he tossed out names for possible guests. “What about Randall and Minerva, Caro? Any reason not to invite them? They’re your in-laws.”
“Of course not. I’d be pleased to see them again. But do you think they’ll come? I haven’t seen Randall since Richard’s will was read,” Caroline observed.
Caroline’s minor confrontation with Hal had dimmed her appetite. Now she pushed the food around her plate without eating. Her stomach felt unruly.
“I wonder how they’re getting on.”
“Very well, it would seem, Caro. Ran into Randall a month back.”
She glanced at her brother, puzzled.
“Didn’t I tell you?” he asked.
Caroline shook her head and pushed away her half-touched plate of food. The heavy silver utensils clinked against the Wedgwood china as she laid down the knife and fork. Drawing a saucer holding a full cup of tea toward her, Caroline sipped from it slowly, awaiting her brother’s reply. Perhaps, the tea would settle the nervous quivers inside.
“Sorry. I guess I forgot, Caro. But it’s no matter. Randall took his father’s death in stride, much better than you have,” Hal remarked. “It’s why I want you out in company again. Time to put aside the blasted megrims that have dogged you since Richard’s mishap.”
Caroline wanted to agree with her brother. She hadn’t liked the way she felt for months. Maybe it was time. Maybe her brother was correct. Would a diverting evening with friends help chase away what plagued her? Was it a good time to find out?
For some nebulous reason, acting hostess at a supper party for Antonio had Caroline’s insides tied in knots. Hal mentioned that he was difficult to know. Caroline had grasped his aloofness eight years ago, watching him cloak himself with a protective shield, distancing himself so no one got too close. When she’d thought about it later, she decided it was because he felt more Spanish than English. It was part of his mystique. He was as different as any English male she’d met in her youth. Her brother had been complacent and easy-going. But she read somewhere that Spaniards had fiery temperaments. Antonio had never displayed temper in her sight, but she couldn’t guess what he might do if something really annoyed him. He would probably be even more unfriendly, arrogant, and intimidating now that he had a title.
With thoughts of the duke invading her mind, Caroline took another swallow of her tea and asked, “Do you know if his sister came to England with him, Hal?”
“Antonio’s sister? Oh yes, she’s here. She’s to make her come out this Season. An untamed twit as I recall, almost the hoyden that you were, Caro.” Hal chuckled. “Remember?”
Caroline knew her good-natured brother was trying to tease a smile out of her after their small tiff.
“I wonder if the girl has modified her behavior since. Better have done so, or there’ll be plenty of on dits circulating in London for the old tabbies to chew on. I expect we’ll know more when we meet her on Wednesday.”
Finished eating and about to take his leave, Hal rose from the breakfast table and laid his napkin next to his empty plate. “I’ll be back in time for tea, Caro. We can discuss more invitees then. Let’s plan on Wednesday evening, five days hence, shall we? I’ll extend the invitation to Antonio later today.”
Hal rose, dipped his head, and gave Caroline a buss on the cheek. He left her sitting at the table as he strode out of the breakfast room dressed to ride. She lingered to finish her tea, hoping William wouldn’t tattle to her brother about her morning gallop.
* * * *
Caroline sat quietly for awhile, gazing out the breakfast room window, sipping tea. Twirling one loosened tendril around an index finger, her eyes glazed over with recent, very sad memories. Her eyes filled, and a rush of tears flowed over her cheeks as she swiped at the salty fluid. Her vision blurred, and she gulped a sob. Her father’s memory rose most vividly before her.
Sitting next to his sick bed, Caroline had watched the earl’s eyelids flutter open, certain that he recognized her if only briefly. He struggled to whisper out a few difficult words, fighting for air. “My…dear girl…so sorry…”
She bent toward him when he tried again. “W—a—i—t,” he gasped, gagging on saliva, his breathing more and more labored and erratic. Her father’s eyes were sunken deep in sockets above his cheeks. His balding head, ringed with a few wisps of silvery hair, rested deep in the plump, goose down pillows. When his lids closed again, Caroline was sure he had expired. She rose from where she sat in near panic, her heart pounding on the wall of her chest.
She waited, holding her breath, and listened, afraid to move or call for help.
Abruptly, the earl sucked in another desperate inhalation. “Wanted…you…find true love…”
“Oh, Papa.” She whispered, bending down again to put her lips next to his ear. Her eyes filled with tears. “It’s all right, Papa. I married the man you wanted. Richard is very kind, Papa…” She sobbed softly, unable to go on. Instead, she squeezed her father’s hand gently, hoping he heard her and understood since those were the last words she and her father exchanged before he lapsed into a silence from which he never emerged and quietly died.
Chapter 4
Approaching the mansion’s entrance with a bit of trepidation, Hal rode up the long, winding drive lined with ancient oak trees leading to Westhaven Hall. At Cambridge he and Antonio had held courtesy titles. Hal was now Earl of Crestwood. But Antonio had far more consequence. He was Duke of Weston.
Dismounting, Hal handed his reins to a young groom. The boy welcomed him in Spanish. “Buenos Dias, Senor.”
The earl nodded, smiled, strode up the entrance’s stone staircase, and was greeted by the aging butler awaiting him on the landing and holding the entrance doors open. “Good afternoon, Lord Crestwood,” Belmont said. “It’s a pleasure to see you again. Won’t you come in, my lord? I’ll see if the duke is available.”
Doffing his top hat and removing
his tan leather riding gloves, Hal passed them to a waiting footman along with his riding crop. He strolled behind Belmont toward a room whose double doors faced the end of a wide corridor. “Please.” The gray haired servant gestured as a footman opened the library doors wide. “Be good enough to wait in here, Lord Crestwood. I shall return shortly.”
Hal looked around the large, book-filled room, noting that nothing had changed. The library was as James, the former duke, had left it. Several large windows opposite the door were framed with heavy, ruby-red velvet drapes, open to admit the afternoon sun. A dark blue and red patterned Turkish carpet covered more than half of the polished oak floor. The walls that were not lined with shelves eight feet high gleamed with well-rubbed wood paneling. A marble fireplace was centered on the wall to Hal’s right. Its mantel held a pair of ornate silver candelabrum at each end. Above its center was an oil painting by Constable depicting a group of mounted, carmine-coated riders with foxhounds preparing to hunt. To the left of the fireplace, side by side, hung two, large, gilt-framed portraits—one of the seventh Duke, Robert, and his wife, Alice Thorndyke.
The library’s large, cherry wood desk situated in front of the windows was orderly and neat; writing utensils were lined up and ready for use. A leather bound diary rested in a prominent spot on the desk’s polished surface.
“Crestwood?” Hal spun on his heels as Antonio greeted him from the doorway. “It’s good to see you again.”
Smiling, Hal responded, “Your Grace, I bid you welcome back to Kent and to England. ‘Tis my pleasure. It’s been four years or more, has it not?”
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