Salt Redux

by Lucinda Brant

  The name was left unsaid as Kitty gave a jump of fright because the macaw had gone into a frenzy of squawking and bright-colored flapping of wings in excited recognition of Lady Caroline, who came further into the room and within Peter’s line of sight.

  “Thank you for feeding Peter, Kitty. Ned would not hear of me leaving the nursery until I had played a third game of skittles. And Beth was determined to join in. How do you do, Sir Antony?”

  She said this as she swept up to them, all three persons gathered about Peter’s cage stepping aside to allow her access to her over-excited pet. She did not make eye contact with Sir Antony, nor did she pay much attention to the warm faces of Kitty and Arthur Ellis.

  Lady Caroline’s attention was all for the macaw.

  TWELVE

  FROM A HEAVY GOLD and enameled equipage, Lady Caroline opened an etui that contained tweezers, scissors and the brass key to unlock the door of the birdcage. She closed the etui and let the equipage dangle on its chain amongst the soft folds of her floral sack-back gown. She then swung wide the cage door, all the while speaking soothingly in French, which soon had the macaw behaving and watching her intently.

  Four liveried footmen followed Lady Caroline into the anteroom. One carried an intricately carved and gilded tall wooden stand that had rungs attached to it at intervals, and this was placed by the second window on a square of carpet laid upon the polished floorboards by a second footman. A third affixed a length of chain to the perch closest the ground. A porcelain bowl holding fresh water was placed on the square of carpet and then all four footmen silently departed, leaving Lady Caroline to coax Peter from his cage to step up onto the leading edge of her proffered hand.

  Secure, the macaw nestled in, head against Lady Caroline’s shoulder. At her soft-spoken encouragement, Peter became the most docile of creatures, perfectly content to be petted and talked to by his mistress, who, ignoring her audience of three, walked the length of the room to the undraped windows, where the sun filtered across the square of carpet. Here she remained by Peter’s perch.

  The Earl’s secretary came to a sense of his surroundings, and realizing the serious lapse in his duties, made a short bow to Sir Antony and Miss Aldershot. With a glance at the fair Kitty, he quietly excused himself, scooped up the appointment diary off the sideboard, and marched from the anteroom out into the hall, not into the book room as Sir Antony had presumed was his original destination. Kitty Aldershot, her cheeks flushed with the guilt of being caught out sharing confidences in close proximity with Sir Antony, bobbed a curtsy to Lady Caroline’s back, mumbled her excuses at needing to be elsewhere, and scurried away. Sir Antony was now alone with only the two wooden-faced footmen guarding the entrance to the Earl’s book room and Lady Caroline on the far side of the anteroom, continuing to croon to Peter the Macaw.

  Inexplicably, for the first time in his life he was overcome with apprehension and awkwardness in Caroline’s company. Not from her girlhood through to her growing into a beautiful young woman had he ever experienced the feeling of intense unease and clumsiness that he did at that moment. His large feet fixed to the polished floorboards and kept him lingering by the empty cage. Here was his opportunity to march up to Caroline, to take her in his arms and kiss her, and tell her that if she accepted his proposal of marriage, she would not only make him the happiest of men, but he would strive for the rest of his days to make her just as happy. Yet, he did not do so. He could not move and he did not speak. He was the best-dressed clod in all London!

  It did not take him many minutes to realize why he was being ridiculously gauche in Caroline’s company. Thinking about it, he was confident his was not an unusual case. Many men on the precipice of becoming engaged to be married must feel as he did. It’s just that he had never expected it to happen to him—to be paralyzed with the uncertainty that the woman he had chosen to spend the rest of his life with did, indeed, love him as immutably as he did her.

  When she was fifteen years old, Caroline had told him with all the naïve confidence of youth that she loved him and intended to marry him when she left the nursery. He had been shocked, disbelieving even, but it had not taken many hours before it dawned on him that he reciprocated her feelings. From that day forward he wanted no other but her as his wife. He had waited for her to grow out of her girlhood, content to share their similar interests in a love of animals, dancing and music, and a loathing of the hunting and shooting seasons. This latter he had confided in no one but her, and she promised never to tell the Earl, for it was most unmanly to have an aversion for blood sports. Sir Antony sympathized with the fox, admiring its cunning and determination in the face of implacable odds, nor could he see the fairness in beating pheasants out of a bush into the open air, only to shoot them dead.

  Before today, more precisely before last night when he had asked her to marry him, he had continued to look upon Caroline as his best friend’s little sister, to be admired from afar, off-limits until she came of age and the Earl gave their marriage his blessing. And now here she was, at two-and-twenty, a young widow and almost his betrothed. So why couldn’t he move his feet, go to her, and tell her how he felt?

  What a complete and utter dolt!

  Finally, Peter the Macaw was placed on his elaborately carved and gilded perch before the window, Caroline saying a few words to him as she secured the long length of chain to the gold band about his left foot, the chain permitting free movement up and down the rungs of the perch. Caroline then stroked the side of Peter’s face lovingly and he responded by giving her finger a nudge. Sir Antony found himself smiling at this play between them, and wishing it were his cheek being stroked.

  “Once a week I take Peter to the royal tennis court so he has somewhere to fly about freely,” Caroline said conversationally as she turned away from the macaw to face Sir Antony, but kept distance between them by remaining at the window, where the sun warmed the hem of her silk petticoats. “I wish I could return him to his natural home, but that is not possible. So Salt’s tennis court it is, where he flies about and roosts on one of the high window sills and will not be caught until he is hungry.” She smiled at a memory as she unconsciously brushed a long wisp of bright strawberry blonde hair from her flushed cheek. “Peter senses Salt’s disapproval and acts accordingly. Salt cannot walk into a room without Peter screeching loud and long at him. But the petitioners like him. He gives them something to focus on while they idle away the hours awaiting Salt’s pleasure. Jane approves, so what can Salt do?”

  Take action in any number of ways if the bird truly annoyed him, Sir Antony thought grimly, but did not say so. Her casual conversation unstuck his black leather shoes from the floor and he slowly came across the room.

  “From where was he rescued? Some flea-ridden animal bazaar I presume?”

  “Murdoch’s Animal Menagerie. Horrid place.” She gave an involuntary shudder at a memory that still had the power to make her tear up. “Most animals were starved, and those exotics still alive amounted to a margay with mange and a marmoset monkey that died soon after I took him into care, poor little creature. All the songbirds were infested, had lost feathers and were near death. Poor Peter was kept in a cage much too small for him that was constantly under a tarpaulin, so he rarely saw light. I had Salt have the place closed down and Murdoch prosecuted.”

  “Of course you did.”

  She cocked her head. “How did you know I had rescued Peter?”

  “You said yourself you would rather he be in his natural home than caged. And for as long as I have known you, you’ve nursed injured animals on the estate, set birds free from cages, Salt’s prize kestrel one year, and told Salt in no uncertain terms your thoughts on the shooting of pheasants.” He smiled at a memory. “I think you used the words unmitigated slaughter, if I am not mistaken.” He glanced at Peter perched on the edge of the porcelain bowl, dipping to drink the cool water, then looked down into Caroline’s green eyes. “That is one supremely fortunate bird, and I am honored you named
him for me.”

  For a fraction of a second she thought of denying the truth, but what was the point? She had named the macaw after him, not because of the bird’s magnificently vibrant plumage or the way its raucous behavior set her brother’s teeth on edge, it was the look in the macaw’s eye. It was hard to explain, and she did not dare voice it aloud, but the bird looked at her with unconditional love in the same way Sir Antony was looking down at her now. She didn’t deserve to be so loved, not by the macaw, because she could not set it free from captivity, and not by Sir Antony, because her behavior while he was in Russia had made her thoroughly unworthy of him. She needed him to see that—for him to know she was not the same person he had fallen in love with all those years ago.

  She took a step closer to him and demanded with a frown, “Why? Why did you ask me to marry you?”

  “For the same reason you will say yes,” he answered calmly, all mental clumsiness and uncertainty evaporating with her frowning question. “Because we love each other. We have been friends for a dozen years or more and have loved each other for at least half of those years, and—marriage is what we both want, is it not? You told me so yourself when you were fifteen.”

  “Yes. Yes, I remember. But… Even if I did still want to marry you… My life… Life for me is very different now from what it once was.”

  She swallowed and looked up into his blue eyes, eyes that were full of trust and love, and which reflected the confidence he had in his own feelings in wanting to marry her. And she knew that because they were friends and because she did love him, she could not leave him in ignorance of her past and marry him in good conscience, whatever Jane’s sage advice.

  “Everything changed when you went away,” she added quietly. “Even before I married Aldershot.”

  “That was my fault.”

  “No. No, that is not true!”

  “Thank you for saying so, but you know the fault is mine,” he said gently. “My actions at your coming-out recital were reprehensible. I have no excuse and I should have known better. I was drunk beyond saving and it made me say things, deeply regrettable things…” He lowered his chin into the lacey folds of his cravat. “I ruined your come-out and I fear I ruined your life thereafter…”

  “Please, I don’t want to relive that night,” Caroline pleaded. “It’s not that I haven’t, a hundred times over! It’s just that I realized a long time ago that wishing the outcome had been different won’t make it so. We both behaved appallingly. But I was little more than a child…” She managed to hold his gaze. “So if you want to take the blame for the ruin of what should have been a perfectly heavenly evening for both of us, then I shall let you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But I will not allow you to shoulder the blame for what occurred once you left for the Continent. What I did—No one is to blame for the consequences but myself. Salt would agree with me. My marriage to Aldershot is a shining example of my folly.” She glanced down at her tightly clasped hands and then back up at him. “I am a sad disappointment to my brother. Imagine! He kept me away from London Society until my eighteenth birthday, fearing I would run off with the first fortune hunter who made up to me, and what did I do? I end up married to one!”

  “If I had been here to protect you, that would not have happened.”

  “No. You are wrong,” she responded simply. “Four years ago I did not appreciate what I had. I was a silly little girl, a-a spoiled child, who believed the world—you—were at my feet and I acted accordingly. Do I regret what I did? Yes. Do I wish I had never been married? Yes. But what is done, cannot now be undone.” She sighed. “Love won’t be enough for you, for us, not when you know-know—everything.”

  “I don’t need to know—everything, Caro,” he replied calmly.

  He was quite content to leave the young man dead and buried and ask no questions, if that was what she wanted. But he could not fathom why she assumed her disappointing first marriage would bother him or why it was an impediment to their marital happiness; now that did bother him. Still, he managed to smile and add gently,

  “I am content to start our lives today and move forward and not look back.”

  Caroline knew Jane would say this was precisely the response she needed from him, and she should accept his offer and go with him into the future, closing the door on her past. And yet, Caroline’s conscience again held her in check and the door on her past remained wide-open, inviting confession, urging her to reveal all or she would not be able to live with herself, least of all as wife of Sir Antony Templestowe.

  “You say that now,” she countered, hovering between indecision and confession. “But if you ever found out… If someone told you other than me…”

  “Then you tell me whatever it is you want to tell me, in your own good time—or not.”

  “Why do you always have to be so-so conciliatory?” she demanded, bunching her silk petticoats in balled fists of mild frustration. “Why are you always so—so affable?”

  “Not always.”

  Wrapped up in the misery of indecision, she failed to hear the edge to his voice.

  “Well, I very much doubt you would be at all affable if you discovered people whispering about your wife behind your back!”

  “No. I would not be affable, far from it.”

  “There you are then,” she stated, as if they were in accord. Opening her fists, she shook her petticoats with a satisfied sigh.

  But as she had not confided in him what it was that was bothering her, the matter, whatever it was, was far from resolved. He wondered if she would feel more at ease if he shared a confidence with her. It was one he had every intention of disclosing, but had hardly expected to do so in an anteroom on his way in to have, what would be, in all probability, a highly unpleasant interview with her brother. But before he could offer her any insight into these thoughts, she grabbed hold of his hand and led him across the room, down the aisle that divided the arrangement of chairs, away from the double doors and out of earshot of the two footmen, who remained wooden-faced and stared into the middle distance but who undoubtedly had their ears wide-open.

  Sir Antony wondered what she was about until her gaze darted in warning to the double doors. It brought him to a sense of his surroundings and the realization that the servants understood every word of their conversation, unlike in Russia, where their counterparts were considered part of the furniture, so after a time became invisible. As if to underscore that servants in England were sentient beings, Caroline lowered her voice, which also added emphasis to her argument.

  “And what if these whispers reached the ears of some important men in the government, men of influence that make the decisions on who will be elevated to Ambassador and who won’t? Having a wife who is whispered about—who has a-a past—could affect your chances of being an Ambassador one day, could it not?”

  “Caro, darling, most ministers within the Foreign Department begin to worry for their careers if they are not whispered about.”

  Caroline did not see the humor in this quip. His good-natured responses, far from making her at ease, only served to increase her anxiety and the belief she was unworthy to be his wife. She let go of his hand and clasped hers together, fingers tightly entwined.

  “But not whispers about their wives… No man wants his wife spoken about, for others to believe him a-a cuckold, even if it is in word only. Rumors don’t have to be true for some of the-the muck to stick, do they?”

  Sir Antony lost his smile. He could see she was on the verge of tears, and all that his easygoing reassurances had achieved was to increase her apprehension. There was some monumental struggle going on inside her beautiful head, and he felt an ass for making light of her anxiety. There was only one way to alleviate her doubts and help her over the abyss of indecision, so he said gently,

  “What is it you would have me do, Caro? Just ask it of me and I will do it, whatever it is. But there is one thing I will not do, and that is falter in my determination to mar
ry you.”

  “Don’t tell Salt you proposed. Don’t ask him. Not today. Please.”

  He was surprised by her quick bluntness, and by the request. Still, he remained calm and inclined his head.

  “Very well, I will delay the formality of seeking Salt’s permission to marry you, if that is your wish.”

  When she visibly sighed her relief, he was hurt. He wasn’t sure if she wanted to delay for her own reasons or if she lacked the confidence in his ability to convince Salt to give his permission. He pretended an interest in his quizzing glass, polishing the lens with the folds of intricate lace at his wrist, though his attention did not waver from her for a moment.

  “Do you have any notion when would be an appropriate time for me to broach the subject of our betrothal with your brother?” he asked calmly. “Or is something required of me before I may do so?”

  “Oh, I knew you would understand!” Caroline declared with a smile of relief, the dark cloud lifting from her brow.

  He returned her smile, no clearer idea what she was talking about, but thankful for small mercies because it was the first time she had smiled at him since they came face-to-face the previous evening at Diana’s soirée. He let the quizzing glass suspend on its riband against the embroidered front of his waistcoat and swept her a majestic bow, lace at his wrist trailing the floor.

  “Make your request of me, my lady,” he said with playful grandiloquence, “and I will do my utmost to please you. Walk backwards to Bristol; storm the doors of some mismanaged menagerie; take up Peter’s cause against Salt’s displeasure; you name it. All I ask is that you are there beside me.”

  What she proposed startled him, and while Caroline had always been forthright and frank in her opinions with him, he would never have imagined the Caroline he knew before his exile to Russia ever offering up such an outrageous suggestion. Ultimately, it was her emotional speech of halting, half-finished sentences leading up to her request, a speech full of raw honesty and filled with self-doubt, coupled with what she required of him before she would be willing to marry him, that had him reeling and reaching for the back of the nearest chair.