My Darling Caroline

by Adele Ashworth

  She stared out to her huge bed of roses, her sweet-smelling daffodils, her tulips that she prized because they were so difficult to grow and even more difficult to breed. God in heaven, what should she do now? It all seemed so dismal, so hopeless…

  Then suddenly, as with any sharp intellect, a small, very tiny image began to emerge from the deepest recesses of her mind. Slowly it began to take shape, to build, and without warning it grew so that even the color before her faded from the dazzle of brilliance filling her senses.

  If she married him…

  Caroline grinned and jumped back from the window to look down at her hands, now shaking with a sudden burst of energy. What if she married him? She didn’t want a husband, but so what! If she married the earl, she would be fulfilling her father’s wish and then she could, after that time, put all of her talents and intelligence to good use by creating a way of leaving the man to study her science. He wouldn’t want her anyway, for she had all but concluded he was being coerced into taking her as a wife as well, and she certainly didn’t have anything wifely to offer him. She was an unbecoming, set-in-her-ways spinster.

  But if he was smart, and she hoped to God he was, perhaps she could strike a deal with him, and they could both go their separate ways as did many married couples. If the marriage were annulled in say…four months, she would be able to leave her husband to a life of his own, catch a ship to New York, and be free from society’s demanding, irritating mores to do as she wanted—needed—to do.

  This was the way out. And it was falling into her lap.

  Caroline fairly twirled around in glee over her genius. Then, suddenly, she heard shouting again from the study, then scuffling, then her father’s chair being pushed across the wooden floor, then shouting again.

  She rolled her eyes. Idiot men.

  “Caroline!” her father roared seconds later.

  She tried to hide her triumphant smile as she replied smoothly, “In here, Father.”

  He walked briskly into the morning room, seemingly surprised that she was only across the hall; then his eyes grew angry as he looked her up and down.

  “Are you never clean, girl?”

  Sighing, she noticed the upturned collar and wrinkles on his usually pristine shirt, his mussed hair, the twitch in his cheek as it made the curls in his gray-brown side whiskers flair. Obviously he and the earl had exchanged more than words.

  Men. Pompous fools.

  Lifting her rosebud to his view, she returned lightly, “I’ve been breeding African lilies and pruning roses—”

  “Yes, yes, yes,” he cut in impatiently. “The Earl of Weymerth…”

  Suddenly he seemed lost. Drawing a deep breath, either from nervousness or as some sort of stall tactic, he finally finished by adding nothing more than, “The earl wants a word with you.”

  Caroline placed her hands on her hips and glared at him. “You want me to marry him, don’t you?”

  He was plainly taken aback by her keen perception, but he said nothing, giving her a look of what she considered to be complete guilt coupled with controlled fury.

  “Why, Father?” she quietly asked.

  Sytheford tried but truthfully failed in composing himself, standing erect as a statue and folding his hands behind his back. “You need someone to care for your needs, since I won’t be around forever, and you need a husband to give you children—”

  “I don’t particularly want children. You know that,” she interjected fiercely.

  He ignored her outburst. “Lord Weymerth is a strong, decent man who would give his life for king and country—”

  “I’m sure the earl is a fine and noble subject—”

  “And he will no doubt provide for you. But most importantly”—he took another deep breath and exhaled loudly—“I won’t allow you to go against my wishes, Caroline.”

  After several strained seconds, she whispered, “I won’t go against your wishes.”

  “You will marry him or—”

  “I will marry him.”

  He gaped at her with apparent disbelief, then his eyes narrowed to tiny slits. “If you think to undermine—”

  “I agree to the marriage, Father.”

  For the first time in his life, Charles Grayson looked as if he would faint. His skin became pasty white, and his expansive forehead beaded immediately with perspiration.

  “I want you to know, Caroline,” he croaked out, tapping his cuff against his cheek, “that I’ve done this for your future. I want nothing more than your happiness.”

  Caroline slowly moved toward him. She’d never before seen her father so…disoriented, and the picture he presented unnerved her a little.

  “Why do you want this union, Father?” she slowly asked. “Have you something to gain from it?”

  He instantly became guarded. “It’s best for you.” Turning to the door, and with one last glance in her direction, he murmured, “The earl is waiting for you in my study. Don’t disappoint me, Caroline.”

  Before she could summon a reply, he strode into the hall and disappeared from view.

  Caroline could have dealt with his threats, his coldness or anger, but never in her life could she have dealt with disappointing him more than she already had. Fighting tears, she looked to the rose in her hand, the only piece of joy in her miserable life. This was God’s creation. This small, delicate marvel of life was hers to manipulate into a bounty of beauty. It calmed her to know that she had been given such a gift, and she refused to let anything or anybody take it from her. Ever.

  With biting determination, she turned, lifted her chin defiantly, and walked across the hall. It appeared her future husband wanted to meet her alone, and that was fine with her. She prided herself on being in de pen dent and self-assured, and she knew that if nothing else, she would be able to handle the man with her superior intelligence. That thought in mind, she put her hand on the knob and marched into her father’s study.

  She was surprised to find the earl staring out a window rather than watching for her, and although he had to have heard her enter, he didn’t turn but stayed instead with his back to her, legs spread apart, hands on hips as he regarded the grassy meadow outside with apparent interest.

  She waited for him to speak first, knowing that the man was probably trying to decide how he should gently ask her to marry him without prior introduction. Then he cut into her thoughts of growing annoyance with a frigid baritone voice.

  “I’ll assume you’re a virgin?”

  Caroline was so completely caught off guard by his bold, harsh words, that for the first time in her adult life she didn’t know how to respond. Cheeks flushing, she mumbled, “I beg your pardon?”

  “You heard me,” he replied evenly, still looking out the window.

  His audacity sparked her anger. Closing her arms over her chest and gathering her wits she returned boldly, “I heard you, Lord Weymerth. I was simply unsure whether you were asking a question or posing a statement.”

  Slowly, he turned to look at her. She kept her eyes locked on his features with complete determination, noticing first his hollow cheeks, his almost haunted expression. His eyes were hazel but more green than brown, his jaw hard and square, and his hair a very dark blond and longer than the current fashion as it curled behind his ears to fall to his collar. He wore dark riding breeches and a light cotton shirt, opened in front just enough to indecently expose a scattering of curls on his broad chest, and he looked somehow as if he’d been riding for days. His attire and appearance were most unbecoming and far too casual for a gentleman caller, especially one calling at such an unseemly hour. No manners, apparently.

  He was tall, probably six feet, and far too slender, although really not at all bad to look at, as Stephanie had so bluntly stated. With a little added weight and proper clothing, he would probably be quite handsome in a rather unconventional way. Now he simply appeared tired and just as wary as she.

  His gaze slowly, inappropriately, traveled down, then up the length of
her body, until his eyes met hers once again, his expression completely unreadable. “I wasn’t expecting someone quite so old.”

  Never in her life had Caroline been treated so by a man gently bred, and the strangeness of his manner almost startled her. Almost. With a deep exhalation, she held his gaze and retorted sarcastically, “I wasn’t expecting someone quite so skinny.”

  She noticed the immediate sign of anger as his jaw tightened considerably, although her eyes never wavered from his. Then his mouth abruptly changed to a knowing smirk. “Your father said you have a saucy tongue.”

  “And did my father also say I have a life of my own and no wish to be married?”

  His smile vanished. “That’s irrelevant—”

  “Irrelevant to whom?”

  He regarded her for a moment, then carried on as if her words were completely insignificant.

  “Banns will be posted tomorrow, and we’ll be married in three weeks’ time. I would, of course, prefer you to be a virgin. Since I have no choice in the matter, I will take you ruined, with the condition that any child you’re now carrying be disposed of properly at its birth.”

  Caroline could not believe her ears and was suddenly filled with outrage. Clenching her fists tightly at her sides, she slowly began to move toward him. “Shall I hang the poor child by his toenails and leave him for the wolves to maul, perhaps?”

  That truly seemed to startle him. “You know that’s not what I meant,” he responded quietly, defensively.

  “Then maybe,” she continued with absolute intolerance, “if I’m not requesting too much, you’ll ask me to marry you in a gentlemanly fashion instead of coining phrases such as ‘I’ll assume you’re a virgin,’ and ‘I’ll take you ruined with conditions.’”

  His cheek twitched, his lids narrowed, but he didn’t budge or move his gaze from her face.

  “I haven’t the vaguest idea of how to fill a scatterbrained female with words of sweetness, so let me say only this, Miss Grayson.” His voice was low, hard. “I despise the notion of marriage to someone about whom I know nothing. I have very specific situations in my life that require my full concentration, and I don’t need that concentration interrupted by a weeping female clinging to my arm and begging for attention. I cannot afford trinkets, or fancy clothing, or endless parties. I cannot afford imported Spanish tapestries, or Bavarian chocolates—”

  “I don’t need chocolates,” she cut in defensively.

  He took a step toward her, and she instinctively took one back.

  Suddenly his face lost all expression as he once again studied her appearance. “Actually, I’m rather surprised you’re not jumping at this opportunity, Miss Grayson. I’m sure you’ll not be getting any other offers.”

  She was so shocked by his manner that she simply gaped at him, finding it unbelievable that a nobleman would speak to a lady the way he had. Usually men at least pretended to find her charming, although truthfully she saw almost no men at all except those married to her sisters.

  But after a moment’s hesitation on her part, her eyes still locked with his, she decided he was simply another idiot man who undoubtedly thought himself smarter than she. She would eventually prove him incorrect in his assumptions, and that thought alone made her smile to herself.

  Sighing heavily, anger subsiding, she dropped her gaze and abruptly turned her back to him, moving to sit in a large leather chair across from the desk. She leaned her head back against the soft cushion, placed her rose in her lap (hadn’t she been going to put it in water about three years ago?), and closed her eyes.

  “What’s that?” he asked seconds later.

  She peeked out cautiously through lowered lashes, noticing proudly that he had placed his curious gaze on her flower. She smiled in satisfaction and raised the rose to study it in front of her face.

  “This, my lord, is a five-parted, usually fragrant flower, characteristically having alternate compound leaves and prickly stems. In Latin it’s called a rosa, in Greek it’s akin to rhodon, and in English—”

  “A rose…by any other name?”

  She found his mocking tone abrasive and demeaning. Since he would no doubt be utterly confused by the complexities of botany and plant breeding, she instead gave him what she hoped was a glare to remember and tried to change the subject.

  “May I ask why you’re willing to marry me if you believe I’m ruined?”

  He was quiet for a moment, then expelled a long breath and slowly walked toward her, all thoughts of the flower in her hand apparently forgotten.

  “I learned only two days ago that your father purchased some of my property and I want it back, whatever the cost,” he replied arrogantly as he sat in the chair across from hers. “It now looks as if I’ll have to marry you to get it, ruined or chaste.”

  Trying her best not to be shocked by the distaste in his words, Caroline finally wanted to give sauce to the goose. The man was unbelievable. “Do all the ladies find you as charming as I do, Weymerth?”

  He had the good graces to at least look surprised.

  “You find me charming, Miss Grayson? I wasn’t trying to be charming.”

  She stifled a laugh. For a second she thought he might be teasing her. Then, before she could remark on his ridiculous words, he cocked his head and looked at her with the first hint of actual interest.

  “I’d never met your father before today, but I have heard of him and his most talked-about daughters. Frankly, I expected you to be blond.”

  She stared into his eyes, thinking, quite certain she’d never heard of him. He couldn’t be that well known among the ton either. Her sisters would have mentioned him if he were, since he was of marriageable age and undeniably attractive. Obviously the man had little money or was indeed foul-tempered, else more ladies than she could name would be eagerly begging for his attentions. No wonder he’d agreed to marry her. He needed her dowry, which happened to include his former possessions. Quite convenient, actually.

  Understanding the situation at last, she smiled and asked rather lightly, “Does it matter that my hair is not the color of sunshine and my eyes not the color of amethysts, my lord?”

  He almost laughed. She could see it in the dark greenness of his eyes. Then he seemed to catch himself.

  “Do you make a habit of sticking your pert little nose into the conversations of others, Caroline?”

  She dropped her gaze to her rose, suddenly unnerved by the smooth, deep, almost intimate way her given name quite naturally rolled off his tongue.

  Forcing herself to be bold, she retorted, “I truly don’t think I was sticking my pert little nose into a conversation undoubtedly heard at the Fairfield estate six miles away.”

  “Touché, little one,” he all but drawled.

  She looked at him again. He was watching her closely, sort of…amused, she guessed, which in turn made her feel even more uncomfortable, for the man wasn’t three feet from her. Close enough to touch. She stopped herself. He needed a shave—or perhaps just a blade to his neck.

  “To answer your question,” he confessed blandly, straightening, once again reserved, “what matters to me is that I get my property, which was wrongfully sold to your father, back into my possession. If I have to marry to do that, then so be it. Your father strikes a very steep bargain, Miss Grayson, but if you must know, I care more than you can imagine about my home and belongings, and absolutely nothing about the color of your hair.”

  He was just so utterly blunt. Caroline had never met a man like him, for most gentlemen of quality liked to caress a lady with flowery words aimed at seducing. This man was simply unusual, or he found her so unbearably unattractive that he refused to speak with even a semblance of charm. She needed to remember that she really didn’t care. She had a life of her own, with or without a husband.

  Caroline gazed at the man indifferently. “Then since we are both being forced into this, I have only one request from you, my lord.”

  His lips twitched. “And what might that be?�
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  The way he spoke to her, watched her, made her nervousness grow to the point where she found herself lowering her lashes to look to her lap. “I work with plants and would like to continue—”

  “Many ladies garden,” he cut in impatiently, standing abruptly, his manner and voice, without provocation, becoming cold and severe. “And from the look of that wilted thing in your hand, I certainly appreciate your need of practice if you intend to make gardening a pastime. You’ll never impress anyone with a rose so badly grown it comes out two shades of purple.”

  “It’s lavender fading to purple,” she seethed. “I did this on purpose—”

  “In any case,” he continued, ignoring her indignation as he reached for his overcoat, “I really don’t care what you do with your spare time, although I am expecting you to comply with your wifely duties. Both my house and body demand a woman’s touch immediately, and after you’ve seen to those needs, you may do as you like. I’m sure at your age, virgin or not, you understand my meaning.”

  She looked at him in astonishment, eyes wide with disbelief, cheeks flaming from his sheer boldness. The man was despicably rude and indecent, and if it weren’t for the fact that he was her passage to Columbia University, she would slap the earl’s face, turn her back on him, and walk out of his life with good riddance. She couldn’t, however, and that knowledge made her nearly shake with fury as she watched him turn and walk swiftly to the door. Once again, as with all things in a lady’s life, the men won.

  Finding nothing better to say, and with every intent to shock him, she blurted, “I’ll have you know that I am not a virgin.”

  He turned to look at her again, and once more his eyes slowly traveled down, then up her body and back to her face. After a moment he whispered thickly, “After meeting you, Caroline, I really don’t care.”

  That statement made, he turned and walked out of the room, leaving her to stare at his departing back in pure shock while she slowly, without awareness, crushed her beautiful rose to a pulp in the palm of her hand.