Turning and walking to pick up his tools, he added over his shoulder, “I need to get dressed. There’s a sudden chill in the air.”
Without a second glance in her direction, he disappeared behind the stables.
Chapter 15
It took Caroline nearly thirty minutes to gather the strength to face Charlotte again, and nearly as much time to persuade the lady and her husband to stay at Miramont as her guests. They were reluctant, naturally, and Charlotte, though she had expected that her brother wouldn’t see her, couldn’t begin to hide the disappointment in her eyes. That made Caroline all the more adamant. These Americans were her relations now, and she had every right to know them.
The three of them met for dinner in the large dining room, dressed for the occasion and carrying on as if it were a state function. Brent was noticeably absent, taking dinner with Rosalyn in the nursery, but Caroline put her best face on in an attempt to feign disinterest. She refused to allow the man to ruin the evening simply because he wasn’t there.
The talk was trivial during the first course, but by the time they’d completed half the main course, she began to feel annoyed at the superficial chatter and took it upon herself to get to the heart of the matter.
Patting her lips with her napkin, she sat back and asked, “Would you mind telling me why Brent won’t speak of you, Charlotte?”
The woman glanced up quickly, eyes widening as she swallowed dryly. “It’s…complicated.”
“I’d really like to know,” Caroline returned matter-of-factly.
Charlotte gazed at her for a long moment, unsure and obviously considering her words, then threw a quick look to her husband, who had stopped eating and was watching her speculatively as well. Finally she sighed in concession, placed her fork on her plate, and folded her hands in her lap.
“Brent and I have always been different from each other, Caroline. He’s six years my senior, quiet and reserved where I am talkative, a brooder where I am a socializer. As there were only the two of us growing up, he became my silent protector around our mother, who had her nose into everyone’s business, especially mine. He resented the way she attacked me for little things—my hair, dress, speech. Brent loved me as I was and wanted me to be happy. Mother wanted me to be a perfect model of social grace, to become everything she never was.”
Charlotte rubbed her hands together nervously and looked blankly at her unfinished plate of pheasant and wild rice.
“Seven years ago, my brother and mother found a man for me to marry.” She laughed caustically. “I think it was probably the only thing the two of them had ever agreed on in their lives. The man was a viscount, likable, powerful and well respected. But he was also forty-two years old, homely, widowed with three young children, and plainly after a respectable woman who could become an instant mother.”
Caroline had to interrupt. “I cannot believe my husband would force you to marry someone so obviously inappropriate, could be so insensitive to your wishes.”
Charlotte shook her head. “You don’t understand. To Brent, the man wasn’t inappropriate. He represented stability, companionship, respectability. To him, the match was legitimate and proper, and provided me with the means to leave Miramont. He truly believed he was securing my future while helping me escape my mother the witch.”
Caroline’s eyes opened wide.
Charlotte smiled faintly. “Brent hasn’t told you much about her, has he?”
She frowned. “Nothing actually, although Nedda mentioned she was lovely.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes and shook her head with pure disgust. “She was exquisite to look at, but on the inside she was cruel, conceited, demanding, and treated Brent and me as if we had the plague. Her social life meant everything, so socially we were expected to be perfect, always on display, supporting her position as a beautiful woman with perfect children. Publicly, she petted and complimented us; privately, she threatened, belittled, and beat us with a riding whip whenever we managed to displease her, which was frequently. When my brother was finally able to physically defend us against her, the beatings stopped, and that’s when she became verbally abusive, calling us names, telling us what horrid, inept people we were, how we’d ruined her life.”
She looked up through vivid blue eyes, sparkling from candlelight and filled with sadness. “I think that’s why Brent is so quiet, why he mistrusts people as he does, especially women. Growing up was a miserable experience for both of us, but probably more so for him because he felt such responsibility for me. The weight on his shoulders, I realize now, had to have been extraordinary.”
Caroline swallowed with difficulty, thoroughly shaken. Of course Nedda wouldn’t have told her such intimate details about her husband’s childhood and family, for that would surely have been overstepping the boundaries of propriety. But an abusive mother? Sadly, it explained so much about Brent’s nature, why he spoke so bluntly, wanting to get everything out in the open as if waiting for a negative reply. It explained why he chose such a dangerous profession of isolation, why he spent his free time in the quiet companionship of his horses, his disbelief in romantic love, and his deeply felt, unconditional love for Rosalyn.
Gradually she was beginning to understand the man, and with that she felt profoundly moved as she thought of the sad, lonely boy who grew up with a sister he felt bound to protect and a mother who humiliated him.
Caroline took a sip of wine in an attempt to contain her emotions. “If he cared for you so much, why does he now treat you as if you don’t exist?” she softly asked seconds later.
“She married me,” Carl bluntly revealed, sitting back in his chair.
She looked from one to the other. “I don’t understand.”
Charlotte gave her husband a small, loving smile. “I refused to marry the man chosen for me. Brent and I had several rows over it actually, but in the end I won, though not without devastating consequences. My brother had agreed to the marriage; betrothal papers were signed and a wedding date set. Two weeks before I was to walk down the aisle, I packed my bags and I left. Just like that.” She snapped her fingers. “I knew I needed to go as far away as possible, and in my own naive way the only place I could think of was America. So I sold some expensive jewelry in London and booked passage. Three days after we sailed, I met Carl, who happens to be one of the owners of the company that builds the wretched ships.” Her face puckered and she shivered. “To my complete mortification, he saw me heaving over the side, and because he felt sorry—”
“Desperate, sweetheart,” he muttered with a satisfied smile.
Charlotte blushed, fully grinning at him. “Because he felt sorry for me he took me…uh…under his wing, and three months after arriving in Rhode Island we were married.”
Caroline picked up her fork and thoughtlessly toyed with her food. “I suppose my husband felt awkward explaining your disappearance to the viscount.”
Charlotte scoffed. “I don’t think Brent would ever feel awkward about saying anything to anyone.”
She paused for a moment, then leaned toward her to continue, sorrow coloring her voice. “My brother will not acknowledge me to this day, has returned every letter I’ve ever sent him unopened—and I’ve written him once a month without fail for the last six years—simply because he’d found me a respectable, socially adequate English husband, and instead, I ran off and married an American. That’s it. To him I’m dead.”
Caroline was incredulous. “That’s ridiculous,” she mumbled, looking from the woman to her husband, who now stared at his wineglass, twisting it with his fingers.
Charlotte smiled and shook her head. “Not really. Brent is above everything else an Englishman, Caroline. He adores his country, his heritage, and would give his life for the Crown. The man he’d chosen for me was an English viscount who met my needs socially and financially; therefore, I should have been happy. In his very practical mind, my brother now views me as the daughter of an earl who threw everything away when she left and married,
not someone she deeply loved, but someone whose family had rebelled against his king.”
Of course her husband would see only the practical reasons for marriage and not the emotional ones, Caroline mused. To Brent, marrying for love would be silly, illogical, and completely beside the point.
“How long will you be in England?” she asked after a quiet moment of contemplation.
Carl sat back and pursed his lips. “A little more than two months. I need to attend to some business in the city.” He shook his head firmly. “But as much as my wife wants to see her brother, we won’t stay here unless his high and mighty lord of ignorance decides to acknowledge us and grace us with his presence—”
“Carl!”
Caroline burst out laughing.
“What?” the man blurted, intolerant. “Calling him that in front of his wife shows no more disrespect than he’s shown in turning from the only family he has.”
“He has his wife and daughter, darling, and he’s done without me in his life for six years.”
“You know about Rosalyn?” Caroline asked, surprised.
Charlotte smiled, her lovely blue eyes soft with understanding. “Nedda writes me several times a year to keep me informed. I know about his beautiful child and her problems, what Reggie did to Miramont while Brent was at war. I’m sure she even wrote me about you, but we’d probably sailed before the letter had a chance to reach me.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Please don’t tell Brent, Caroline. He would forbid Nedda to write, and I’d like to keep what little correspondence I have between us intact.”
Caroline glanced from the woman to her husband, then back again as she nodded, sobering a little, thinking. Quietly she announced, “I think we should have a dinner party.”
Charlotte’s expression was dubious, but Caroline would not be discouraged.
“We’ll invite my sisters and their husbands, and friends of yours if you’d like. It doesn’t need to be an enormous occasion, just a comfortable gathering.” She breathed deeply, adding confidently, “He can hardly ignore you at a party he’ll be forced to attend.”
“Can you talk him into it?” Charlotte whispered.
She shrugged. “I’ll certainly try.”
As exhausted as she was, Caroline wanted to talk to her husband, and as disturbed as it made her feel, she also felt the confusing need to simply see him, be with him.
She stood at their adjoining door and knocked twice, feeling suddenly foolish and certain he was asleep, since it was just after midnight. To her surprise, though, he spoke almost immediately.
“You don’t need to knock, Caroline.”
His quiet arrogance convinced her to straighten her shoulders and enter with her chin in the air. But the tension and anger drained from her at once when she saw him, all the feelings of compassion filling her as she tried to imagine the complications of his past.
The room was dark save for a blazing fire in the grate. He sat on the small settee in front of it, staring into the flames. His shirt was unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up, and he held a half-filled snifter of brandy in his hands. As he heard the rustle of her skirts upon entering, he raised the glass to his lips, took a full swallow, then glanced in her direction.
“I see you dressed for dinner.”
He sounded sullen, tired, and slowly she walked toward him, doing her best to answer him lightly. “Is yellow a color you prefer only on ladies with red hair? Pretty soon, Brent, you’ll tell me you prefer dark-haired women to wear nothing at all.”
He chuckled softly and looked into the amber liquid, twirling the glass in his hand. “I’ve considered that.” He moved to his right slightly. “Come and sit with me.”
That was all she needed to hear. Walking quietly to his side, she gazed down at him for a moment, then sat beside him on the soft cushion, slipping her shoes off, and pulling her legs up and under her gown.
For several minutes they watched the fire in silence, Caroline feeling warm, relaxed, even peaceful in his presence.
“You’ve had a long and interesting birthday, haven’t you, little one?”
“Mmm…More than you can imagine.”
He took her hand in his and lightly caressed her fingers, back and forth, with the pad of his thumb. “Would you like a brandy?”
Smiling, she gently captured his hand and raised it to her lips, kissing his palm delicately just once. That action seemed to surprise him, which made her smile widen.
“I had two glasses of wine with dinner,” she replied softly. “And it’s late.”
He looked back to his glass and took another sip. “Wine will make your head ache, but brandy will help you sleep.”
She cocked a brow. “That sounds like a statement made by a man who would know.”
He smiled and leaned his head back against the settee, still holding her hand but staring once again into the flames. “I have brandy every night, sitting here in front of the fire, Caroline,” he said quietly. “It helps me relax so I sleep better. It’s one of the many things about me you still don’t know.”
She turned her gaze back to the hearth as well, watching the flickering blue and orange light, listening to each crackle and hiss as the heat of it filled the room. He was right about that, at least. There were many things about the man she’d married that she didn’t know and probably never would until she became completely intimate with him. And being with him intimately, she had to admit, was becoming more and more difficult to avoid as time passed.
The thought made her shiver. He evidently felt it, for at that moment he pulled his hand from hers, reached over, and drew her up against his chest.
“Have a sip, Caroline. It will warm you on the inside.”
She hesitated, then took the glass from his hand and swallowed a mouthful of the burning liquid, rich and full-bodied. Licking her lips, she handed the snifter back to him, watching as he drained the contents and placed the glass on the side table. That done, he pulled her closer against him, both arms circling her waist, and she willingly rested her head on his chest.
“This should become a habit,” he suggested thoughtfully, staring once again into the flames. “We should take brandy together every night like this, just the two of us.” He lowered his voice. “I’m tired of being alone, Caroline.”
It was an admission he didn’t make lightly, and with it she felt her heart warm as she sighed contentedly and snuggled into him.
For a long while she lay against him in quiet companionship, listening to his heart beating, his slow, even breathing. Finally, from the closeness, she drew the courage to discuss the topic they’d been avoiding.
“Your sister is lovely, Brent.”
He stiffened just slightly but offered nothing in response, so she bravely continued, turning her head to glance up to his face. “I have a favor to ask.”
He looked into her eyes.
She took a deep breath to encourage confidence she didn’t feel at all. “I’d like to have a dinner party for Charlotte and Carl. Please don’t say no—”
He cut her off with a finger to her lips.
For several seconds she watched the deep hazel-green of his eyes as they gleamed in the firelight and grazed over every inch of her face.
“Rosalyn and I had a nice dinner together, Caroline,” he said at last, the deep, rich quality of his voice filling the room.
She continued to hold his gaze, curious and unsure because the words he spoke implied a casual change in topic, and yet his tone was somber, denoting something more.
He inhaled deeply and lightly ran his finger along her lips and jaw until he cupped her face in his hand. Then amazement and wonder crept into his voice as he whispered, “And when we finished eating she came to me, Caroline. She stood directly in front of me, pointed to herself, and spelled Papa with her fingers. She called me her papa, then grabbed me around the neck and hugged me, voluntarily.”
Caroline beamed. “I thought it should be the first word she learned to spell.”
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“I know.” He tenderly stroked her neck. “She knows who I am in her life because of you. She responds and talks to me because of you. One day she might even marry and give me grandchildren because of you. All the things I never thought could happen are suddenly possible.”
Gently he leaned over and kissed her, his lips soft and warm and tasting faintly of brandy as they brushed against hers, not passionately, but with aching sweetness, with deep, heartfelt gratitude.
Gradually, reluctantly, he pulled back, lifting his head, his eyes conveying what words could not. “You have given me the greatest gift, Caroline,” he whispered huskily, fervidly, “and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to deny you anything.”
She drew a shaky breath, her gaze never shifting from the intensity of his as she lifted a hand to run her fingers through his hair. In all of her life, she knew she would never forget this moment.
“I’m certain Rosalyn knew, even before I gave her the words, that you loved her. And I’m just as sure that someday she’ll tell you how much your caring has meant to her, how deeply she loves you.” She ran her palm down his cheek and neck, resting it over his heart. “You, my darling husband, are the most fortunate one of all.”
He swallowed hard with emotion. “Yes, I am, Caroline,” he admitted in a thick, caressing voice, “because I married you.”
She stilled. Even her breathing seemed to stop in that instant as she stared into eyes of calm, vibrant green expressing the feelings his mind wouldn’t admit and his heart couldn’t convey. She blinked several times to fight tears of joy from having him as her very own, tears of anguish from the confusion he presented in her life by his very being, but mostly tears of sorrow because she realized in that instant that her destiny was changing. At that precise moment, she understood what losing him would mean to her, and never again would she be able to go on as she had before, content with only the solitude of her plants. She was beginning to love him.
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