No Regrets

by Michele Ann Young

  "It was my duty," he said.

  "Thank you." She smiled at him.

  His heart seemed to fill his throat at the sheer beauty of that curve to her lips. He'd bring her the Chevalier garlanded in flowers for the favor of such a smile.

  "What are your plans?" he asked.

  "My plans?"

  "Yes. When you are well?" Did she intend to stay here with Valeron?

  "I would like to go home to Norwich."

  He let go a breath. He liked this plan.

  She smiled sadly. "It has been a long time since I last saw my sisters. Their letters are full of worry. And you?"

  "I am needed in London." Dear God, could he be more blunt?

  Her translucent fingers entwined in strands of blanket fringe. Her arm had lost its pretty dimples. Had she been so ill?

  "Your business affairs call you home, I expect," she said, her voice barely audible.

  "My father fell into a decline at the news of Cedric's death. His man of business wrote to say there seems to be some misappropriation of funds. Things are in pretty serious case, I believe. I must leave as soon as you are well enough to travel."

  She glanced up, her expression instantly sympathetic. "Your poor father. He set such store by Cedric. And his mother. Poor Aunt Rivers. The loss must be devastating. You must go to them at once."

  His stomach dropped. She couldn't wait to be rid of him. "I cannot let you travel alone." His voice sounded harsher than he intended.

  "I insist. Your father needs you."

  And she didn't. Had he really expected she would ask him to stay? Not expected. Hoped. He thought he might shatter if he said a word, so he nodded.

  "You promised to heal the breech with your father. Families are all we really have."

  The concern in her voice sparked to life a smidgen of hope that she cared about him after all. But he could not lie. "I'm not sure it is possible after what has happened." He saw her chin lift and managed a shaky laugh. "I will do my best."

  "That is all anyone can ask."

  He wanted her to ask for so much more, but he didn't have the right. "I will post up to Norwich at the first possible moment. Your sisters will want a firsthand account of how you do." Hell, now he was using a hearty sickroom voice.

  "It is good of you to think of them," she murmured. Her chest rose and fell on a sigh.

  He forced himself not to look at the tempting curves beneath her flimsy gown, even as her body called to his basest nature, the desire to brand her as his own, to claim her as his wife in truth. The instinct was so basic, so visceral, he shook with the effort to hold it in check. Only his admiration for her courage and loyalty gave him the strength to resist.

  "If only I had listened to your advice after that dreadful race and gone home to Norwich," she said. "None of this would have occurred."

  "Not so. I left you to face the scandal alone. I was wrong. And besides, you always wanted to meet your French relatives." Not to mention Valeron's promises of an annulment. His stomach hit bottom. "It is over and done. We need to discuss the future."

  She stared down at her fingers and released them from the knotted threads as if she had only just noticed them. "Yes. We must."

  Why did she have to remain so quiet, so still? He wanted her to fight him as she had in Paris, to tell him what she wanted. He had sworn not to influence her decision in any way—not to beg, or make a case for remaining married, or use his charm.

  The choice had to be hers.

  God, he wanted her to choose him.

  "We can continue our arrangement, if you wish," he said casually, too casually. He winced. "Remain married, I mean. It would forestall any unpleasantness. I promise not to trouble you." At least not without permission, maybe a hint of permission.

  "I don't think that is such a good idea, do you?"

  The words knifed deep. He squeezed his eyes shut briefly. He hadn't expected to feel so much pain as his hopes drained away. Nothing mattered except her happiness. "Probably not. I can only say, I am sorry I forced you into marriage. You didn't even need my money. You were an heiress in your own right." He swallowed a bitter laugh.

  She stared out of the window. All he could see was her beautiful profile, the elegant line of her neck, the swell of her magnificent bosom. He longed to press his lips against the tiny pulse beneath her ear.

  "Did you know? When you asked me, I mean?" she asked.

  "No." The word exploded from him. He softened his tone. "I swear I knew nothing of your fortune until after we were married."

  She turned her face toward him. Her eyes were like gold medallions, flat and shiny and for once completely unreadable. Her lips curved in a wry little smile. "If I recall, you made no secret that you were not terribly keen on the idea of marriage."

  He couldn't open his mouth. He shifted his gaze to the vines on the distant chalky hills, to the fingers of afternoon shadow stretching out to clutch the meandering valleys. He felt trapped in the bottom of one of those dark crevasses, fighting to reach the light with nothing to guide him.

  Long ago, he'd changed his mind. If she hadn't seen it in Paris, then it probably wasn't enough to make a difference. "You are right. I was not, then."

  "You needed money," she said, her voice far away, as if she was remembering. A faint smile tugged at her lips. "I suspected you had gambling debts, but it turned out you wanted to buy a house."

  The house. The boys. She'd like them, if she ever got a chance to meet them. He'd scarcely given them a thought these past few weeks.

  "I can explain."

  "Please don't," she said. "It really doesn't matter. If I had refused you that night, would you actually have taken me downstairs and ruined me?"

  What did that have to do with anything? He had somehow lost himself in the deepest abyss. "No," he said cautiously.

  She nodded as if it meant a good deal.

  He awaited an explanation. The silence dragged on.

  Damn. He'd rehearsed this scene over and over on the drive here, played it out the way he wanted it. Not like this.

  He gripped his knees until his knuckles hurt. He welcomed the pain. "What I want to say is . . ." He cleared his dry throat. "I blackmailed you into this, and if you desire a divorce, I will arrange it."

  She didn't seem to be breathing. Perhaps she didn't understand.

  "Caro. I'm offering you the way out I promised you, if that is your choice."

  She lowered her gaze. "I think it would be best."

  The words hammered into his skull. Breath rushed from his lungs, and his heart stilled.

  When it really mattered, he counted for nothing in the eyes of those for whom he cared most. It was as if he had no substance, was merely air and water, not blood and bone and heartache.

  He forced a lazy smile, got up, and strolled to the window. The manicured lawn looked far too green and fresh when everything inside him had shriveled to dust. He spoke over his shoulder, not trusting himself to hold steady in the face of her decision. "If that is what you want, I will arrange it as soon as you get back to England."

  He hesitated. "You understand there will be a scandal? One from which your reputation may never recover, even though I will assume all of the blame?"

  "I imagined it might be so."

  So she'd made her decision before he arrived. His chest tightened. He wasn't sure a breath would fit in the resultant small space.

  He curved his mouth into a sardonic smile and turned to face her. "Well, that's settled."

  She nodded. "Yes. It is." Her voice was as clear and chill as a mountain waterfall. Her skin looked like marble, the outside all warm luminescence where the sun touched it but deeply cold within. He had no idea how to reach her.

  He must accept her wishes as he had promised. He had only himself to blame. Hot moisture pricked his eyes. What sort of idiot had he become? He clenched his jaw, breathed hard through his nose, and struggled for control. He forced hoarse words past the hard lump in his throat. "I will wait on you in N
orwich at the first opportunity. I must leave at once if I am to catch the next packet to Dover."

  She nodded.

  As sore as if his body had been beaten with the flat of a sword, he sauntered to her side, the arrogant careless noble who cared for naught but his own pleasure, a role he played to perfection. Inside, he was nothing, an empty shell.

  She smiled politely. "Thank you for taking time out of your journey to come and see me."

  He bowed. "Au revoir, Caro."

  "Good-bye, Lucas." Her gaze returned to the view.

  For one almost irresistible moment, he imagined throwing himself at her feet, begging her to let him prove himself worthy to be her husband, to be someone other than himself, the kind of man she wanted. A long time ago, he'd sought his father's approval by giving up his dreams and control over his destiny. It had earned him nothing but scorn. He wouldn't do it again. Caro had made her decision.

  No matter what his father said, Lucas always kept his word and always took his punishment like a man.

  * * *

  Norwich, March 1817

  When a small square of notepaper franked by Lord Grantham arrived addressed to Lady Foxhaven, an uncomfortable flutter stirred in Caro's stomach. She didn't think anyone besides Lucas and her sisters had been informed of her return.

  "Who is it from?" Alex asked, looking up from the book she was reading aloud while Caro plied her needle.

  Caro opened it. "It is an invitation from the Granthams to a musical evening two days from now." The Granthams had no idea of her impending divorce, or they never would have sent an invitation.

  "Oh goody. Can I go too?"

  "I'm not going."

  "Why ever not? You always used to go."

  "I have no wish to attend." She glanced at the clock. "It is time for my walk." She hadn't informed her sisters of her impending divorce either. Eventually, she would have to tell them, but not yet, not until it was a fait accompli, much like her disastrous marriage.

  "Can I come with you?"

  "Don't you have a map of India to finish?"

  She permitted Alex to do some of her studies in the drawing room, leaving the younger girls in the schoolroom under the strict eye of Miss Salter.

  Alex groaned and flicked a golden braid over her shoulder. She pulled out her schoolbook and went to work on the table by the window.

  Focusing on the buttons of her coat and the ribbons on her bonnet, Caro kept her mind empty of everything except the simple task of dressing.

  Regular exercise had toned her limbs after months of bed rest, and she had resented the rain of these past few days. The shoulder wound had healed well, but the fever that had beset her after Lucas's visit to the chateau had slowed her recovery. The doctor advised walking every day to regain her strength.

  From the front door, she strolled along the lane and took the footpath up onto the common.

  A week or two ago, the walk up the small rise from the style had left her panting, but now she climbed it with ease, reveling in the pull on her muscles and the cool breeze tugging at her hair and skirts. This daily respite from her chattering charges provided a chance to set her thoughts in order, an opportunity to plan for the future.

  She sighed. What a bumble broth she'd got herself into because of her desire to help an old friend. They could never be friends again. It was far too painful to contemplate.

  At the top, she stared over the valley and absorbed the surrounding peace. New leaves sprouted on hawthorns full of twittering sparrows, and the fields in the distance showed a hint of green fuzz. The air smelled of damp earth and new beginnings.

  She took a deep determined breath. As soon as she returned home, she would send a polite refusal to the Granthams' invitation. Caro was not so gauche as to inflict herself on people before her next disgrace became public knowledge. In a similar vein, she and Miss Salter had already discussed plans to find someone else to chaperone Alex's first season in London.

  No regrets? She couldn't regret a loveless marriage, but she did miss Lucas's friendship, and it was that particular loss that caused the hollow ache in her chest. Nothing else. And she would bear it.

  The thought firmly in place, she marched down the hill to the copse at the bottom. The pale yellow face of a primrose peeped from beneath a fallen log. She removed her glove and picked it. More were nestled in the grassy hollows. Ignoring the mud caking her shoes and soiling the hem of her gown, she wandered from clump to clump until she had a small bouquet. A sunny promise of summer to take indoors.

  She plucked a few velvet green leaves to frame her posy and strolled out from the woods.

  "Good day, Caro."

  The deep, rich voice caused her heart to forget to beat.

  Lucas and Maestro. Magnificent together, they towered over her. He stared at her, his gaze dark and piercing. Her mind went blank. Her heart jolted to life, the blood roaring through her body so fast that she felt dizzy. "Lucas. What are you doing here?"

  His eyebrows drew together. "Riding." He nodded at her flowers. "Primroses already?" He swung down, his greatcoat swirling around his athletic form. "Remember how we used to pick them on my father's land as children?"

  She remembered everything they had done together. She buried her nose in the fragrant petals, hiding her shortness of breath and flushed cheeks. "Mmmm." It sounded suitably noncommittal.

  "You look well," he said. "You are fully recovered?"

  His stiff tone and unsmiling expression curled around her heart like cold fingers. She inclined her head in assent. "The doctor, my aunt, and Lizzie took good care of me. I had no choice but to get well."

  "I'm glad." He drew Maestro's reins through his gloved fist. "Speaking of Lizzie, would you tell her that Henri is working for Audley and doing very well by all accounts?"

  Lizzie had told her all about Henri. "She will be happy to hear it."

  "Yes." He lapsed into silence, and they walked side by side up the hill.

  Any moment, he would mention the trip to Scotland. Strain tightened every nerve in her body; her legs felt wooden. She nibbled her bottom lip, trying to think of some commonplace remark. "How is your father?"

  "Not well." A shadow passed over his face, and his jaw softened. "I returned home to discover he had suffered an apoplexy. The business with Cedric hit him hard. Not just his death—Cedric embezzled most of his money." Lucas stopped and turned to face her, his eyes haunted. "He is walking a little now, and his speech has improved, but his spirit is low."

  The thought of the awesome Lord Stockbridge as an invalid filled her with pity. "I'm sorry. I had no idea he had been quite so ill."

  Maestro reared and snorted his impatience. Lucas forced him back. "Steady, boy. It is the reason I haven't been back before now. We've been keeping the worst of it quiet. Thanks to you, we cleared the air between us."

  A purposefulness she'd never sensed before emanated from him. His cheeks had hollowed, hardening his lean features and giving him a careworn expression. Deep lines etched his sensuous mouth. He'd let his hair grow again, and dark silky strands curled over his collar.

  She pushed her spectacles up her nose and walked faster. "I'm glad he came around."

  "It wasn't all his fault." Lucas put his hand on her arm.

  A frisson of awareness trickled across her flesh; heat radiated up her arm. She pulled free.

  His eyes flashed the pain of a creature in torment and then dulled to disinterest.

  Maestro's nose intruded over his shoulder. He rubbed it gently. A cynical smile curved his lips. "Father's old friends walked away when they heard he was ruined."

  "How awful. I'm so sorry."

  He gave her a sharp sideways glance. "Me too. He's tired of my company already. Would you call on him?"

  If meeting Lucas unexpectedly tied her tongue, it would be doubly bad under formal circumstances, with his father looking on. She glanced around frantically. A nearby rabbit hole looked inviting. "I don't know when I would have time."

  A muscle
flickered in his jaw, and diffidence edged his tone. "Forgive me. I do not mean to impose."

  Guilt knotted her stomach. Papa would not have approved of such callousness, nor did she. "Perhaps when he feels better . . ."

  "Come tomorrow."

  The primroses were beginning to wilt. She eased her grip on the delicate stalks. "I believe I have another engagement."