My Darling Caroline

by Adele Ashworth

  “And she went for five years,” he softly said without turning.

  “To my knowledge, she never missed a lecture, although by then I was married and living elsewhere.”

  Carefully she proceeded. “From a very young age, Caroline was consumed with her work and then her studies. But over the years, she grew frustrated and discouraged because, I think—and this is my opinion entirely—as she matured she realized she was never going to be treated as a respected, gifted scientist, but as a woman. And as you are aware, in our world those are two distinctly different things.”

  Her voice shook with compassion as she continued without pause. “Not once, in all the years she stood outside the door of Markham’s classroom, was she allowed to enter or speak to him. She took no tests, received no degrees of study or recognition of any kind. She was ridiculed by the men in his classes, laughed at, called an innumerable list of names no lady should hear. Some even told her bluntly she was surely headed straight to hell because it was blasphemous to want to be a man. That hurt her very deeply because Caroline has—has always had—an intrinsic belief in and love for God.”

  The earl turned, stiffly, watching her closely.

  She clutched her hands in her lap, sitting primly, staring him dead in the eye. “But my brilliant sister persevered because breeding flowers was her passion. She took notes, read Markham’s published works, and did what she could to emulate his experiments at home. And at last, about a year and a half ago, using only her mind and some of Markham’s expertise that she’d noted over the years, Caroline discovered how to create the lavender roses with dark purple tips that had escaped every other noted botanist in the world. In essence, she and Sir Albert had created an extremely unusual and delicate breed before anyone else. With pride and elation, giving some but not all of the details, she wrote Markham and told him, requesting only to be allowed to meet him, work with him, privately if he preferred it, and to get due recognition for the creation.”

  “I saw it…” he whispered, frowning.

  She blinked. “You saw it? The rose?”

  He nodded negligibly. “She carried it with her the afternoon we met.” His lips turned up in smile. “I even criticized her for growing a flower so improperly that it came out two different colors of purple.”

  Jane stared at him, repressing a laugh as she imagined how Caroline must have reacted to such utterly arrogant words spoken in ignorance.

  “Well, then,” she maintained, “you had much in common with Sir Albert at the time, because instead of getting recognition and praise for doing something incredible in the botanical community, she received a letter from him, crushing her spirit by implying that a man had done her computations, and in the most condescending fashion suggesting she stay at home, raise babies, and grow flowers to impress her husband.”

  Jane clucked her tongue in disgust. “His response may seem ordinary, even expected, to you, but imagine for a moment how you would feel if you had a brilliant, gifted mind, had studied and worked for years for one purpose that you felt was your reason for living, and then suddenly and quite casually you’re struck down by the very same person you admired and praised more than anyone else in the world, simply and only because you were born the wrong sex.”

  He slowly dropped his gaze to the floor.

  Bravely she stood. “You above all people should realize how resilient Caroline is. She knew her experiments would be worth something to someone, but she’d also learned a very difficult lesson. When Markham wanted nothing to do with her, she wrote to Columbia University, only this time she presented herself as a man. Needless to say, she was accepted with open arms, applauded for her work, and practically begged to set sail immediately.” She paused, then carefully articulated, “But she still had a huge complication standing in front of the only thing she’d wanted for nearly fifteen years.”

  “Your father,” he quietly acknowledged.

  “My father.”

  Folding her arms over her chest, she began to move toward him, dropping her voice to a fierce plea. “If there is one thing you need to realize, Lord Weymerth, it’s that she never intended to hurt you. My father loves Caroline, but he’s also an English baron who had a spinster daughter to protect and an impeccable reputation to uphold. There could have been significant disgrace to his good name if society learned that this same spinster daughter had sailed to America, all alone, with the intention of studying a man’s science at a foreign university. Caroline knew this. And what would happen to his reputation if the American university turned her away after discovering her sex and she had to return home? Speculation about her conduct, even her virtue, could run wild among the ton. At least an annulment would be looked upon mildly in comparison, probably forgotten eventually in society at large. Neither you nor my father would be blamed for her brazen behavior. He found her a respectable husband in you; you had private reasons for annulling the marriage. The only reputation likely to be scarred would be hers, and that really didn’t concern her.”

  “But she never considered how I would feel,” he said almost angrily, “how I would react to her desire to leave.”

  Jane snickered softly. “You came along and provided her with the tremendous and timely opportunity of freeing my father’s grasp without scandal. She never considered that any of her thoughts and plans would concern, much less hurt you. You were just another gentleman, and not one gentleman in twenty-five years had ever paid her the least bit of attention. She was certain you’d allow her to do as she pleased, and would probably be overjoyed when she finally discussed an annulment—”

  “If that’s what she wanted from the beginning, then I don’t understand why she never asked for one,” he rebutted quickly, indignantly. “I would have at least listened to her needs.”

  Jane shook her head. “Truthfully, Lord Weymerth, from what I know of you, you would no more annul your marriage than divorce your wife. You’re far too loyal to her and the vows you spoke to ever consider it, and I think, after you were married, Caroline suspected this as well.”

  She hesitated, then moved even closer to him. “But the main reason she didn’t bring the subject to your attention was because she found herself thoroughly confused by your attraction to each other. From the beginning of your marriage, she was drawn to you, growing to care very deeply for you as the days went by, and you, in return, seemed to want her as a woman, something I’m sure she found positively baffling. No man had ever desired her, so why would you? She was a spinster, she was unusual, she was old and unattractive—”

  “I thought she was beautiful,” he whispered.

  His soft admission made her smile. “She is beautiful, but she’s as unique as her lavender rose. You love her inside, for who she is, and that is the only reason I’m here right now instead of helping her pack her bags for her trip to New York.”

  She stood directly in front of him, two feet away, her side to the fire burning in the grate at her feet.

  “I told you I came for two reasons, Lord Weymerth. One was to explain about my sister, the other is to tell you this.” She calmly waited until he looked up to give her his full attention.

  “Caroline is enormously determined, and for nearly all of her life she has dreamed of nothing but becoming a renowned botanist. She never would have gone to your bed if that wasn’t precisely what she wanted, because when she became your wife physically, she was fully cognizant of the fact that she was ending that dream.”

  He stared at her strangely, probably shocked by words from her that gently bred ladies did not utter to men they hardly knew, regardless of their relation. She, however, was sick to death of such conventions. Adult, married people had sex, and they all knew it. One should be able to discuss it without disclosing intimate details.

  “Since you are not the type of man to force your wife,” she boldly continued without the slightest trace of embarrassment, “my personal belief is that she became your wife the night of your dinner party nearly three months ago. Caroline
hasn’t told me this, but I witnessed for myself the adoration on your face and the look in your eyes, since, I might add, you couldn’t take them off her for nearly four hours. Of course this is only conjecture, but it also coincides with another matter, which I will explain momentarily.” She stopped, thinking, then added, “I realize this is none of my business, but I do have a point.”

  “I can’t imagine that you wouldn’t,” he fairly drawled, suddenly amused.

  She eyed him candidly. “My sister needs you and wants to be with you, but she is too proud ever to return here on her own after the insensitive way you tossed her out.”

  His eyes flashed in irritation, but she continued tenaciously. “I’m absolutely positive she will leave for America on Friday. Her intentions are clear, and she’s made her decision. What you don’t know is this, however. When she leaves for Columbia University she will leave with nothing. She has almost nothing in the way of notes for breeding her fragile roses, no complete records of her computations, and above it all, no proof whatsoever that she was the scientist to create them because”—she took a deep breath—“she sent everything she had to Oxford University last November.”

  Jane watched him closely. For a second he appeared confused; then, slowly, as the meaning of his wife’s actions gradually sank in, the blood drained from his face, and he lowered his eyes to stare blankly at the floor.

  “Whatever happened between you the night of your dinner party changed her forever,” she cautiously, quietly confided. “The following day, she bundled years of paperwork together, keeping only the briefest notes so she would be able to breed the roses at Miramont for her personal gratification, then sent everything to Albert Markham. Even after his rude treatment of her and her acceptance to a foreign university, she sent them to the man she’s admired more than anyone in her life, because he is her mentor, he is English, and she wanted him and England to receive the praise for creating them.”

  Her eyes never left his face as his expression quickly moved from shock to pride to sadness. That satisfied her as she had never felt before.

  “Not only did she do this for you, Lord Weymerth,” she added huskily, profoundly, “but I know you’re aware of the fact that roses are named.”

  He looked back into her eyes.

  “Caroline emphasized in the letter she sent with her notes to Sir Albert that by generously giving him the rose, the only thing she wanted in return was to have it named Rosalyn.”

  He stared at her starkly, unblinking, and at first, unfazed. Then, as her fierce, whispered words hit the target, intense pain sliced through his eyes, and he lowered them to the fire once more, slowly turning his body to fully face the hearth. He tightened his jaw forcibly, quite obviously shaken and deeply moved, blinking hard and quickly several times to contain the powerful emotions seizing him.

  Jane refused to retreat or look away as she listened to his harsh, fast breathing over the pounding of her heart. Never in her life had she wanted to stress a point as she did now.

  “I know about your mother, Weymerth,” she gravely, cautiously revealed. “I know everything.”

  It took him a minute to fully grasp all she was implying, and then she knew he understood because his entire body stilled before her.

  “Does Caroline?” he returned in a deep, throaty rasp.

  She hugged herself tightly for confidence. “No, and I will never tell her. Not only would Caroline be as shocked as I was to learn the truth, but as things stand now, that truth would destroy her.” Almost inaudibly, she bravely admonished, “Taking secrets to the marriage bed can have devastating consequences, Lord Weymerth. You know this now. But I think, so far, your lie has been the most grievous one of all.”

  She waited for a response, but he said nothing, did nothing. He just stared into the glowing flames, as if mesmerized by the flickering patterns of congealing blue and yellow light and the comforts of their enveloping warmth. He’d heard her, understood the implications in her words, but except for a hard swallow and shallow breathing, he appeared otherwise unchanged by what she’d said.

  So finally, decisively, she stepped away and walked back to the chair to retrieve her gloves. She’d done everything in her power, and the man couldn’t be forced to surrender to a wife he felt had betrayed him, regardless of how logically misguided that feeling was. It was no longer in her control. His future with Caroline was now in his hands.

  “You have three days,” she gently warned. “If you want her back, I think you know what you’re going to have to do.” She waited. Then without witnessing so much as a word in reply or a turn of his head, she dropped her chin in a gesture of defeat and moved silently to the door.

  “Thank you for your time. I’ll show myself out.”

  With that final, gracious statement, he relented. Through the stilted silence she distinctly heard the faintest curse.

  Sharply she turned at his muffled words, and just as quickly his demeanor changed completely. He stood upright, posture stiff and formal, hands clasped behind him, never looking away from the fire.

  Quietly he said, “I’d appreciate your help, Jane.”

  Never had five words spoken so smoothly hit her so thoroughly with a rush of relief.

  “What can I do?”

  “I’ll need tomorrow,” he softly, thoughtfully replied, “but can you get her to the greenhouse alone on Thursday?”

  She grasped her gloves tightly and bit her lip to keep from smiling. She understood his intentions. “What time?”

  “Three?”

  “Most certainly.” She paused, unsure. “Shall I tell her anything?”

  “Tell her nothing,” he grumbled quickly. Then he softened and looked to the floor. “Tell her whatever you must to get her there, but nothing else.”

  She could no longer help herself as her face broke out into a broad grin of raw pleasure. “I’ll have Caroline at the green house at three on Thursday.”

  He exhaled loudly, then reached up with both hands to roughly rake his fingers through his hair. “Since I’ve been married to your sister, I’ve learned two things.” He turned to face her. “The first is never to underestimate the cleverness of any of Baron Sytheford’s daughters.”

  “And the second?” she prodded, eyes twinkling.

  He snorted and shook his head, one corner of his mouth turned up in light amusement. “That females, not the meek, shall inherit the earth. I’ve never been more certain of anything.”

  She laughed and nodded. “Good day to you, Lord Weymerth.”

  “Good day, madam.”

  Chapter 23

  Cursing was not in her nature, and neither were such descriptive words part of her standard vocabulary. But of late, Caroline found herself contemplating a variety of fitting, colorful expressions she could use to describe her arrogant ass of a husband.

  The afternoon had been cool and overcast, though not unpleasant for February. But during the last hour the sky had darkened to a dull, smoky gray, and the air had become almost unnaturally still.

  The calm before the storm.

  Caroline refused to go into the house, but traversing the grounds around the south wall was necessary to reach the greenhouse. With dignity, and wishing to God she could just become invisible for an hour, she gave her hand to one of her footmen, who didn’t appear to even recognize her, stepped from the coach, and began her mile-long trek through the woods.

  Caroline suspected that her husband had learned she was still in England from one of her sisters, but it didn’t really matter, and she would probably never know for sure. What mattered was that, according to Jane, Brent was in London for the day, and in his absence he’d requested she return to retrieve old paperwork the idiot man had found in the greenhouse and wouldn’t even bother sending her. Evidently time had not softened his heart.

  Choking down the first sting of tears she’d felt in weeks, she dropped her chin and strode purposefully to the forest.

  No longer could she allow herself to feel sorrow o
r anger. She needed to keep her spirits high, stay strong, as she was pregnant with his child and leaving tomorrow to another part of the world.

  Thank God pregnancy made her irritable instead of sorrowful.

  Already she loved her baby, and that surprised her a little. She’d never really wanted children, but now, with this one growing inside of her, a creation from her own heart, just the thought of Brent’s ridiculous demands made her fume. Only God himself would be able to tear this child from her arms after his birth. Her estranged husband would have to slit her throat if he wanted his son without her involvement in his life, and sadly, knowing how the man felt about her now, she was almost afraid he’d consider it.

  It annoyed her, too, that at the rate she was growing, she’d look like a whale in six months’ time. Naturally being a small woman didn’t help to hide her belly, but she was already showing, and she couldn’t, even if she’d conceived on her wedding night, be more than thirteen weeks along, which meant she was probably carrying a litter.

  That would serve the arrogant idiot right. Let him have a male puppy for an heir. Then maybe the great Earl of Weymerth would grace her with sole guardianship after the thing had the audacity to piddle on his shoes.

  Nearly giggling from the thought, she spied the greenhouse through the trees. Sighing, she walked to the door, opening it silently. Although it wasn’t quite three, it was fairly dark inside because of the gray afternoon, and she gave her eyes several seconds to adjust, inhaling deeply the fragrance of live green plants and flowers. Nothing remained of the French killer except the vivid memory of that horrifying day, and that would eventually fade to a distant recollection. Even now, alone in the dimness, she felt no lingering fear. Her greenhouse was her haven.

  The first thing she noticed was how nothing had changed. Someone had been watering her plants while she’d been away, and that someone had to be her husband, because he now stood in the far corner, his back to her, his body outlined in shadows.