My Darling Caroline

by Adele Ashworth

  “Caroline…” He took a step toward her and stopped, unsure.

  She shook her head, straightening. “You’ve had your say, and now it’s my turn, Lord Weymerth. Don’t even think about coming near me until I’m finished and give you permission to do so.”

  The combination of irritation and gentleness in her voice melted him inside. He’d missed her sharp tongue almost as much as he’d missed her sweetness.

  “Forgive me, madam,” he said lightly, amused, “but waiting to make love to you again is straining my nerves.”

  She scoffed but she was quite shaken; he could see it in her expression, in the way she nervously toyed with the buttons on her pelisse.

  “How awfully presumptuous of you to think I’d let you.”

  “You will,” he insisted soothingly.

  She gaped at him.

  “Please continue,” he urged. “I’m aching to hear the rest.”

  “You’re as arrogant as usual.”

  “You missed it, though.”

  “I absolutely did not,” she asserted.

  He grinned. “You missed my arrogance almost as much as I missed your impudence, little one.”

  “That’s absurd.”

  “I love you, Caroline,” he softly, quickly replied, catching her off guard with such tenderness. “Move on before I decide I’m finished with this conversation, rip off your clothes, and show you how much.”

  Her eyes flashed, in annoyance or hunger he couldn’t be certain, but she didn’t falter. If anything she appeared more determined, more challenging in her stance.

  “On the day we married, somewhere deep inside of me I knew I would never leave you,” she maintained. “But I disguised and suppressed my feelings from the beginning because I’d wanted something else for so long, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake the desire I felt to be with you.”

  She shook her head and lowered her voice to an impassioned plea. “How could I not love a man who charmed me when he’d never been charming to another, who treated me with so much respect when no woman he’d ever known had respected him? How could I not love a man who saved my life so valiantly, who fit me, mind and spirit, as if we were born to be together, who had spent his life in loneliness just as I had, rejected as I had felt, craving to be loved and appreciated as I had always craved those things?”

  He didn’t utter a sound in response, and with that she averted her gaze and slowly began to remove her pelisse.

  “Regarding your accusations the day you tossed me out, Brent, let me clarify it all by saying this.”

  After casually dropping it on the sill, she boldly looked back into his eyes.

  “Since the moment we met, I’ve admired you, I’ve desired you, and above it all, I’ve honored you and will continue to do so for the remainder of my life. I have loved you for two hundred and four days, my beautiful, brave husband, and I swear to you now I will love you forever.” Through a thick, sexy whisper, she added, “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

  His throat closed tightly, inhibiting his ability to answer, which didn’t really matter because he couldn’t begin to find words to describe how he felt at that moment. Then he looked down the front of her gown and, through a staggered breath, his expression turned immediately to one of wonder.

  “You’re carrying my child, Caroline…” he said reverently, desperately attempting to control his suddenly failing aplomb.

  With a defiant lift of her chin, she reached down and touched her slightly protruding abdomen. “I am carrying your son, my lord, and I know he’s a boy because he’s huge and he’s giving me indigestion even now.”

  Brent felt the incredible urge to laugh and cry at the same time, but never got the chance to do either because in that instant, as if on cue, the sun broke through the clouds to shine through the window with brilliance, illuminating his wife like a vision.

  She was exquisite to look at, surrounded by roses, standing gracefully and reminding him of a rare china doll with her luxuriant, dark hair falling over her shoulder, smooth ivory skin reflecting the rays of sunlight in striking contrast to the deep-purple silk of her gown. And her eyes, so extraordinarily gorgeous, like polished obsidian, starkly expressing the pureness of all that was good. She was stunning and elegant and regal, and more than all of it, she glowed with an inner radiance that took his breath away.

  That’s when he knew.

  He knew why he’d lived through a miserable childhood, why he’d lived through the war, why he’d escaped the trench after living with disease and death for three horrifying days, why he’d been given a sweet, innocent daughter during a time of great tension and loneliness. And he knew finally, with absolute conviction, why such an incredible woman had become his wife.

  “I believe in God, Caroline,” he said softly.

  She regarded him with uncertainty, then hugged herself tightly as she started to tremble.

  Smiling, filled with sudden calm, he whispered, “Nothing but God could create something as beautiful as you.”

  She closed her eyes slowly, serenely, bringing her palm to her mouth as tears began to form on her lashes and roll down her cheeks.

  “Caroline?”

  As quickly as he reached out with his hand, she opened sparkling eyes to his, took the rose from his fingertips, and walked into his arms.

  He pulled her against him forcefully, holding her firmly, feeling each contour of her body molding to his, the warmth of her skin, the steady beating of her heart.

  “I’m so sorry I hurt you,” he said shakily, burying his face in her hair.

  “You should be,” she scolded, sniffling.

  He held her for a while, content in the peacefulness, the feel of her against him. Finally, bravely, he professed, “You are the greatest thing to happen to my life, Caroline. Please come home to me.”

  Slowly she lifted her head, placed her hand on his cheek, and looked fiercely into his eyes. “I’m home already.”

  In a sweeping gesture of truce and forgiveness, she lifted her mouth to meet his, kissing him with deep passion and love, wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling herself into him completely.

  “I can feel the baby,” he murmured against her mouth.

  “You don’t feel the baby, you feel my belly.”

  “You’re so big already.”

  She ran her tongue along his lips, making him groan and come instantly alive with need.

  “God, you feel good. You smell like rain and flowers.” He gently cupped her breast, forcing a gasp from her when his thumb lightly caressed her nipple through the silk. “I missed you so much, Caroline.”

  She kissed his chin and jaw in quick feathery touches. “Where is everybody? Where’s Rosalyn?”

  He ran his fingers along her cleavage with one hand, and with the other he started to gently caress her bottom, pushing her hips against him deliberately. “I made everyone leave until Sunday. The servants are dismissed, and Nedda and Rosalyn are visiting the vicar and his wife for the weekend.”

  Without looking, she tossed the rose she still held onto the sill beside her pelisse, then quickly reached for the buttons on his shirt, working through them with swift expertise.

  “We’re alone,” she said in a deep, sultry voice.

  “For three days,” he whispered in her ear. “It’s a selfish attempt on my part to…seize the moment, indulging in my wife to make up for lost time.”

  She moved her hips, stroking him just enough for him to know she did it on purpose.

  “I’m still furious with you,” she murmured, kissing a line down his chest.

  “Oh, God, please don’t be furious,” he choked out quickly. “Every female I know is furious with me. Rosalyn throws tantrums, and Charlotte hasn’t spoken to me or written since you left.” He moved his hands to unbutton her gown. “The morning I thought you’d sailed out of my life I started drinking and didn’t stop until I’d finished two bottles. For three days I had a blistering headache, and Nedda couldn’t for t
he life of her stop banging things.” He groaned. “And I can’t even begin to tell you about your sisters.”

  She laughed mildly, a lovely, melodic sound that filled his heart with joy. Cupping her face with his palms, he tilted her head, looking down into beautiful eyes of forgiveness and softness.

  “I love you.”

  Gently she ran her knuckles along his cheek. “I know. I’ve always known. You are my dream, Brent, and my love. Never doubt that you alone are the center of my life.”

  He leaned over, brushing his lips back and forth against hers. “And you will always be the light and the hope of mine,” he whispered, “my darling, Caroline…”

  Epilogue

  Brent knocked twice, then walked into Baron Sytheford’s study, the same study where his life had begun nearly seventeen months before.

  “Come in, my boy, come in,” Sytheford directed good-naturedly, slowly lifting his sturdy frame from the chair behind his desk. “I was hoping you’d join me for a holiday toast. We haven’t talked privately in months, and I’m certain you’re getting tired of trying to be heard in a room full of ladies anyway.”

  Brent chuckled softly and closed the door behind him. “All the other husbands have conveniently disappeared, so I thought I’d do the same.”

  The baron walked to an oak cabinet, removed two glasses from the top shelf, and reached for a bottle. “Port?”

  “Thank you.”

  Brent walked purposefully to one of the chairs and sat heavily, sinking into the soft leather without concern that he might wrinkle his formal attire. The day had been long, the Christmas dinner would be served shortly, and now seemed the perfect opportunity to have a much thought-out and private discussion with his father-in-law.

  “Caroline tells me you’re planning a trip to America,” Sytheford said jovially, staring at the glasses as he poured.

  “We’re sailing in April,” he replied, “to be gone most of the summer. I want to spend some time with my sister and her husband, meet my new nephew, perhaps see some of the countryside. I might take Caroline to Columbia University if she wants to go.”

  “Splendid opportunity,” Sytheford offered, turning with both drinks in his hands and slowly walking in Brent’s direction. “And how are the girls? I haven’t seen them much today with all the ladies around.”

  Brent grinned with fatherly pride. “Rosalyn is learning with remarkable speed. I finally found and hired a governess from Wales who had a deaf child in her charge several years ago. Caroline took to Miss Darcy immediately, teaching her our finger alphabet and the gestures we use to communicate, and the woman is confident Rosalyn will actually start to read soon.”

  “Read? I would never imagine such a thing as a deaf child reading.” Sytheford sat again in his chair, facing him from across the desk. “And how about my grand-babies?”

  Brent took a full swallow of the warming, high-quality wine. “The Lady Margaret looks like Caroline, and the Lady Lily looks like me,” he boasted, smiling smugly. “And I’m sure they’ll be crawling by six months of age.”

  “Caroline did the same. Perhaps they’ll be as gifted.”

  “I know they’ll be as beautiful.”

  Sytheford softened his voice. “I’m truly glad you came to care for my daughter, Weymerth. You’re a fortunate man.”

  “Indeed,” he agreed mildly, grateful for an opening to finally discuss an issue that had been plaguing him for months.

  Setting his glass on the desk, he leaned back casually, eyeing the older man with speculation. “You planned the whole thing, didn’t you, Charles?”

  The baron lifted his brows almost imperceptibly. “No, I merely carried it through.”

  That confused him, but he refused to believe that he and Caroline had been thrust together strictly by chance. Caroline didn’t believe in such chance happenings either, and as they’d discussed it over the last few weeks, they’d concluded that her father had to have been involved from the beginning. Most convincing was the simple fact that the odds of Caroline marrying Albert Markham’s nephew by coincidence were far too incredible.

  Sytheford, noticing his hesitation, suddenly grunted and smiled. “Your wife is not my only intelligent daughter, Weymerth.” Quietly he revealed, “It was Stephanie’s idea.”

  Brent just stared at him.

  Baron Sytheford chuckled, straightening. “My daughters are my darlings, Weymerth, and they all have their different characteristics. Jane is headstrong and in dependent. Mary Anne is a socializing, heart-stopping enchantress. Caroline is the saucy-mouthed beauty with unsurpassed intelligence. Charlotte tends to be shy and sweet when she’s not bringing home a hopeless, three-legged puppy. And Stephanie…” He grinned broadly and shook his head. “Stephanie is the schemer who hasn’t yet learned to keep her mouth shut.”

  Brent rubbed his temple with his fingers. “Are you telling me a seventeen-year-old girl held my future in her hands, Charles?”

  “She was sixteen at the time,” he returned proudly.

  “Jesus…”

  His father-in-law watched him through narrowed eyes for a moment, then lowered his voice to a whisper.

  “I’m going to tell you something, Weymerth, that I’ve never said to another human being. I also trust that it will never leave this room.”

  “I’m listening,” Brent answered quietly.

  “I love my daughters immeasurably, all of them, for who they are, but Caroline is and always has been my favorite. Her sisters, every one, took after their mother, a beautiful lady I adored for nearly twenty years. But Caroline was born in my image, different from the others and just like me in personality, appearance, opinions, and way of thinking.”

  He sat back abruptly and waved his palm. “Oh, I know parents aren’t supposed to choose a favorite child, and believe me, it has nothing to do with her intelligence. I would never begin to assume she inherited her brilliant mind from me. But every time I look at her, speak to her, I’m overcome with pride and warmth because I see so much of myself in her.”

  Brent remained silent and reached for his glass, having no intention of interrupting such an interesting and forthcoming disclosure.

  Sytheford sighed. “About two years ago, Stephanie came to me with the news that Caroline was planning to study in New York. Naturally I was infuriated because she’d arranged this without my knowledge or opinion, but I was also horribly upset. Not only would I not see my daughter again for perhaps years, and although she was twenty-five years old and self-sufficient, I was still her father, and my brain was instantly filled with all the horrifying things that could happen to a lady, sheltered for all of her life, when exposed to the realities of living on her own in a strange land where she knew nobody. I absolutely could not let her go, but neither did I know what to do to keep her here.”

  Suddenly he laughed. “Stephanie has this uncanny ability to know exactly what to say at precisely the right moment, and I’ll never forget how she did it that day. She gave me about thirty seconds to absorb the news that my beloved daughter was leaving for America, then slyly, and in a quiet, sneaky voice, said, ‘I think I have an idea, Papa.’ Just like that. She’d already arranged everything, and I realized immediately that she wouldn’t have brought Caroline’s plans to my attention at all if she hadn’t.”

  He took a swallow of his port. “Stephanie began to consider ways to keep Caroline here, and truthfully, at her tender age, I don’t believe she could think of anything besides marriage. Because my youngest daughter is quite a social butterfly, she began asking questions about eligible men as she attended various functions. She’d just made her debut, so appearing intrigued about marriageable bachelors was taken for nothing more than innocence. Eventually she learned, from someone or other, that Miss Pauline…” He looked curiously at Brent. “What was her name?”

  He swallowed hard to hide his choke of surprise. “Sinclair.”

  “Right. Anyway, she learned that Miss Sinclair had recently snubbed”—he tossed him a quick
glance—“snubbed is the word she used, Weymerth.”

  “I’ve no doubt,” he drawled.

  Sytheford inhaled deeply. “Well, from this person or that, and very carefully, Stephanie learned that you, the quiet, reserved, former suitor of Miss Sinclair, also happened to be the son of a socially refined woman whose brother was a famous botanist. For a month or so after that, she attended the right parties to learn what she could of you, finding, to her joyful surprise, that not only were you unattached, financially stable, and respectably titled, you were also the nephew of Albert Markham.”

  “I don’t believe this happened,” he slowly mumbled with a shake of his head.

  Sytheford finished his port, then sat back and grinned in satisfaction. “That’s when Stephanie came to me with her idea. At first I had reservations about attempting something that might only, at best, marry my daughter to a man who would never recognize her gifts and beauty, but my choices were, shall we say, quite limited. After days of careful consideration, my concern for Caroline overshadowed my conscience, which told me I should not attempt to manipulate your life, and I decided it couldn’t hurt to at least look into the possibility of having you for a son-in-law.”

  With a quickness that defied his age and bearing, Baron Sytheford stood and began to pace the room.

  “My biggest concern from the start was your involvement in the war. I didn’t know what that entailed, or if you’d even come home alive, although finally I had to assume the chances were better that you would return unharmed. At that point I decided to have you investigated—”

  “You did what?” he interjected loudly, incredulously.

  The man didn’t look at him, just crossed his arms over his chest while he walked, head down, at least having the decency to appear embarrassed.

  “I apologize, Weymerth, but it was the only way to learn about your character, your…personality and beliefs.” Quickly he turned and stared at him directly. “Would you have had me learn of these things from a group of unmarried ladies who spend their afternoons gossiping about every unattached bachelor in England? If I didn’t do something, Stephanie would have, and her resources were most certainly limited to what was spread around at parties. I think you would agree that I could not afford to give my daughter to an unscrupulous rake.”