“He is almost unbeatable at faro and piquet, certainly,” she said, recalling the duke’s reputation. “I do not know how skilled he is at whist.”
“You know the duke?” The dowager appeared surprised. Unfortunately, her voice was bold and her question rang out in the room, clearly audible to everyone.
“We were acquainted in London,” she answered, keeping her voice firm.
“Ah.” She fixed Caro with her gimlet gaze. “I detect a story here. Did you enslave the poor man?”
Somerset was looking at Caro with what she perceived to be a knowing smirk.
Drawing herself up in her chair, she replied, “Not at all. He was engaged to Lady Sarah Randolph.”
Conversation resumed with sudden intensity. Jack chivvied Ruisdell loudly to give him some better cards as his friend dealt a hand.
Caro realized she had been goaded into introducing the forbidden subject. Feeling herself blush, she brought up her chin, as she had seen Kate do numerous times when challenged.
Now, seeing Somerset’s sardonic gaze on her, she looked pleadingly at her friend. Kate intervened. “Serena, play your hand and stop harassing Caro. The tea cart is coming.”
Caro restrained herself from an audible sigh of relief. At the end of the hand, she rose from the table and, following Kate, helped her to dispense cups of tea to her guests.
When she brought Beverley his cup, he said to her, “I would appreciate it if you refrained from discussing my private affairs with others, Miss Braithwaite.”
His eyes were stormy as they bored into hers.
“Unfortunately, your engagement is a matter of public record, your grace,” Caro said. “It ceased to be private the day it appeared in the Morning Post.”
The duke’s eyes narrowed. “Can it be, Miss Braithwaite, that its appearance was unwelcome to you? That you rued my disappearance from your court?”
His words impaled her, and she blushed painfully. Before she could think of an answer, Jack walked over and laid a friendly hand on her shoulder. “It is early yet, Caro. We are to have some billiards. Would you care to join us? Show this beggar how it is done?”
“Perhaps another time, Jack. I dislike rooms full of cigar smoke.” And abominable dukes!
Turning away, she went back to the tea cart. Have I given myself away? As soon as she finished handing tea around, she excused herself, claiming a headache, and left the room, holding her head high and her back stiff. Whatever made me take the duke up like that? Have I lost complete control of my tongue?
Her maid, Pansy, awaited her, all agog at having sat down to dinner with the personal servants of two dukes and three marquises. As she divested Caro of her garments and prepared her for bed, she entertained her with the exalted servants’ gossip.
“His grace, the Duke of Beverley’s man, is that worried about his master, I could tell.”
“I doubt he would be so impertinent as to discuss his master’s affairs.”
“He didn’t. The other servants were a-plaguing him about the duke’s broken engagement. His gentleman were grim-faced as a turnip.”
Thank heavens I never confided my hopes to Pansy!
* * *
The morning dawned sunnily, which was a relief to Caro. They were to have an outing to Stonehenge, where they would enjoy a picnic luncheon. Had it rained, they would have been confined indoors and she would have been hard pressed to avoid the duke.
They took two carriages for a drive which Jack assured them would be no more than two hours. Caro hung back in order to see which carriage Beverley would ride in. However, he came up behind her, helped her up the steps into the first carriage and then followed her inside, seating himself across from her. The duke and duchess of Ruisdell accompanied them. Kate remained at home to prepare for the party they were hosting that evening, while Cleaverings, the dowager, Somerset, Jack, and Violet occupied the other carriage. So much for avoiding Beverley.
As they pulled away from Northbrooke Park, he remarked, “Well, it looks as though we have all taken our proper places, have we not?”
Elise laughed. “Kate certainly intends to promote a match between Cleaverings and her mother-in-law.”
“And at our request, she is trying to pair Violet off with Somerset, but I do not believe it is going to take,” her husband said. “He seems far more fascinated by Miss Braithwaite.”
“Ah, but who would not be?” Beverley asked, investing his words with irony.
“It is not at all the thing to discuss someone in their presence, as though they were not there,” Caro said. “And the marquis is not interested in me, except in a general way. Doubtless he will make an on dit of the dowager’s bullying me at the card table.”
“And of your scorn for my would-be gallantry,” Beverley added.
“Yes. Well, you brought that on yourself, your grace.”
“Undoubtedly.” He turned to look out the window. “I predict that Jack will have an excellent wheat harvest this year, unless we have too much rain.”
She endeavored to compose herself, but could not resist saying, “You are mistaken if you think that Kate was trying to pair us off. Jack did not even tell her your name. And I suspect I was only invited to make up the numbers.”
“More than likely, that was my role,” Beverley said. “Well, we must make the best of it, Miss Braithwaite, whatever our feelings may be.”
“I am relieved to hear you say so, your grace. I intend to.” She turned her attention to Elise. “I have told Miss Archer that when I next go up to Town, I would like to enroll as one of the volunteers at your soup kitchen.”
For the next while, discussion of the soup kitchen prevailed. Caro had forgotten that Beverley was a patron. It quite surprised her that he had any charitable inclinations.
Gradually, the duchess brought the topic around to her joy at the marriage of Jack and Kate, which was still recent enough to exclaim over.
“It is a perfect match,” Caro said. “I have known Jack all my life, and am so grateful that he found a woman who could stand up for herself.”
“I have no doubt that you were never lacking that ability,” Beverley said.
“Then you are wrong. Jack always used to ride roughshod over me. And I have been terrified of the dowager since my infancy.”
“With good reason!” Elise said. “Kate told me that when Jack was delayed and she had to come to Northbrooke Park alone to introduce herself to the dowager, that the woman instructed the butler in her presence to put all the small valuables in the safe so Kate would not carry them off!”
Ruisdell put back his head and laughed.
Beverley said, “I cannot believe that you would allow anyone to ride roughshod over you, Miss Braithwaite.”
“Well,” she said, “Perhaps it is that you just bring out the worst side of my character.” This time it was she who looked pointedly out the side window.
CHAPTER SIX
IN WHICH THE HOUSE PARTY PICNICS
AT STONEHENGE
Ned cursed himself. He knew he was devastated. So why did he feel this powerful attraction to Miss Caro Hoity-Toity Braithwaite? As she stared out the window, her profile was breathtaking. It reminded him of a perfect cameo—broad forehead, large, melting golden eyes, enchantingly short, straight nose, and that mouth! Oh, he could sing rhapsodies about that mouth—a perfect bow, but not too small. Just the right size for kissing. Her cheekbones were high, her jawline firm and square, but tempered by the roundness of her cheek.
And then there were her hands—long-fingered and slim. Graceful, whether she was eating or playing cards or croquet. Everything about her had an original grace that appeared to be completely unconscious. She was not a studied beauty as he had thought when he courted her in London. No. Her grace was an extension of her being, as though she moved to some internal melody. And, in spite of himself, he preferred the more temperamental nature she had shown here, rather than the general politeness she had demonstrated in the ballroom. It surprised him. It
also separated her from the other women who fawned over him. She actually treated him as though he were beneath contempt. He still imagined that she had suffered a blow when he had defected from her court. And she should have. His attentions had been particular. He had been ready to offer for her.
But then Sarah had come on the scene. She had awakened all his chivalry with her plight. The man Sarah knew was the man he had always wanted to be.
Why did she reject me? Why will she not even see me?
During remainder of the ride to Stonehenge, the conversation remained general. They discussed the success of the duchess’s Aunt Clarice’s ongoing composition, “My Day in the Sun,” an Italian-language opera about cats, an aria of which all but Ned had heard. They moved on to the Duchess of Devonshire’s gambling debts, and her husband’s hope that Caro’s Aunt Sukey might prevail upon his wife to take up an interest in something less expensive.
When at last they arrived at their destination, Ned’s long legs were cramped from holding them away from Caro’s knees, and he was very grateful to be out of confinement. As he handed her down from the carriage, he avoided those candid carmel-colored eyes. Her “thank you” was subdued.
While they strode toward the monument, in spite of himself he felt his excitement growing. There was something about pre-historic sites that put one’s life into perspective. Questions poured into his brain. How on earth had those ancient men erected the place named Stonehenge? How had they hauled the stones from such a distance? What did it mean?
As though reading his thoughts, Caro said, “I believe the current theory is that it is some form of calendar. Something about the way the stones are placed and the angle of the sun upon them told the ancients the time of the solstice.”
Ned felt contrary. “I believe it must have been some sort of pagan temple. Surely there would have been a less fantastic way of determining the solstice.”
Elise intervened. “It could have been both. I believe it is thought that pagan worship had some sort of connection to the solstice.”
“Well, it has always given me a case of the willies,” Jack said. “When I was a lad, I stood in the center, and I swear the stones made my ears ring.”
“Really?” Caro asked. “You never told me that.”
“Didn’t want to be thought fanciful.”
Jack’s mother spoke, her eyes looking remarkably fey. “This circle of stones has always been the subject of drama and fantasies. Archeologists think that it may date as far back as 3,000 B.C. The only thing they know for certain is that it was a burial mound at some point in its history. They have recovered the cremated remains of bones.”
Ruisdell circled his wife’s waist protectively. “That actually makes sense to me. At the same time, the Egyptian civilization was in full flower. Their greatest monuments were far more advanced, but they also were connected with pagan beliefs about that mysterious passage from this life to the next. I believe that to have always been of primary concern to mankind.”
Caro shivered and grabbed Elise’s hand. “Let’s go in and see if we feel anything strange, shall we?”
Violet said, “Elise is increasing, you know. It might not be wise.”
“Oh, Violet!” the duchess said. “It is only a bit of fun!”
“Then I must insist that I be one of the party, as well,” Violet said.
At that, Ruisdell thought it only proper for him to accompany his wife and the other ladies.
Ned said, “Let everyone go. If only to prove that it is all nonsense. Come along, Jack. I promise I will not let evil spirits whisk you away.”
So the party approached the stones. Ned’s spirits were high as he contemplated the lark. He was not at all prepared for what lay in store for him.
When they entered the circle, the monolithic stones towered over their heads, surrounding them with their mystery and sense of foreboding. It’s like a forest made of rock. Rum go and no mistake.
Ned felt the ends of his fingers and toes begin to tingle. Unbidden, his glance flew to Caro. He was just in time to see all the blood drain from her face. In another moment, her knees buckled. Covering the distance between them, he clasped one arm about her shoulders and the other under her knees. Her head lolled back on his arm as she lost consciousness.
Everyone cried out, but he heard only the voice inside him: “Get her out of here!” She felt impossibly light in his arms. Frail as a feather. A desire to protect her dominated his instincts, and, running, he carried her far from the standing stones.
Laying her on the rug that had been spread for their picnic, he heard her groan. Hastily, he removed a jar of lemonade from the picnic basket and poured it into a goblet. Holding her head with one arm, he waited until her eyes opened and said, “Drink this, Caro. You fainted.”
Struggling to a sitting position, she took the goblet in both hands and drank. “How very silly of me! I have never swooned in my life.”
The others were straggling toward them. “What happened?” Ned asked. “Do you know what caused you to faint?”
“I . . . I just felt . . . overcome. That is the only way I can explain it. I expect it was nothing more than daftness. Thank you for the heroic rescue, your grace.” She grimaced. “Really, whatever must you think? I am not the sort of female to indulge in vapors.”
“There is something queer as Dick’s hatband about that place,” Ned said. “And you are a female of delicate sensibilities.”
“That is just what I thought you would say! I can tell you that I am not!”
“Spitfire!”
“You, you . . . you man!”
She looked so outraged and, at the same time, so beautiful with her flush of anger rouging her cheeks and her golden eyes shooting fire. All at once, he was entirely bowled over. But it couldn’t be love. Perhaps he was under the influence of some forthright Druid, but Ned said the first thing that came into his head, “I would very much like to offer you carte blanche.”
Caro’s mouth dropped open, her eyes widening even further. As everyone was coming upon them, she scrambled to her feet.
What the deuce was I thinking? Damn if she isn’t a prime bit of blood! Only Caro Braithwaite could manage to stalk off with grace.
“I shall be in the carriage,” she called over her shoulder.
Jack’s face, which had been drawn in concern, now opened up in laughter. “Whatever did you say to our Caro? She is not usually missish. It must have been a corker!”
Ned cleared his throat. “Lost my head,” he said.
Elise and Violet looked at him askance. The dowager pursed her lips. “What have you been up to, young man?”
“It is not something I can repeat before a lady,” he said.
“Whoa-ho!” Somerset shouted.
“She indeed has reason to put a distance between us,” Ned said, “But I must apologize. Duchess, perhaps if you accompany me, she will not scream like a fishwife when I approach.”
“Caro would never lower herself to behave in such a manner. I will surely take her luncheon,” Elise said. “But clearly, she wants to maintain her distance. I think you had better make your apology in private. Later.”
Ned suddenly had the sensation that his hands and feet were overlarge and he knew not what to do with them. He had last felt this way when he was a young adolescent. Clearing his throat again, he said, “Will you tell her that I will certainly do so?”
“I shall, if you wish.” The duchess set about piling a plate with a chicken leg, a small bunch of grapes, and a crusty roll.
Of course, there was not a prayer that Caro would keep the insult to herself. Soon everyone in the party would know that he had asked her to be his mistress.
What was it about the woman that made him unable to keep a civil tongue between his teeth? A desire to shock? A need to put her out of countenance for once?
CHAPTER SEVEN
IN WHICH OUR HEROINE CONFIDES
IN THE DUCHESS
Caro was so humiliated and angry that she d
id not know how she was to comport herself for the remainder of the weekend. How could she ever come face to face with that man again? How could she ever have thought she loved him?
And yet, she could not resist a glimpse of him from the carriage. He was walking away from the group, his hands clasped behind his back, his head lowered. What was he thinking?
His eyes had not been laughing when he made his horrid jest. As a matter of fact, they had been soft and caressing.
Fustian! The man obviously had great experience seducing females.
But what signals had she emitted that made him think her that sort of female? She was proper in every way. Naturally so, now that she had outgrown her tomboy starts with Jack.
Caro was very glad when she saw the duchess approaching, carrying a plate. Elise climbed into the carriage and said, “Will you take something to eat?”
“Thank you for this. Whatever did that rascal say after I left?” she asked, taking the plate of food. She was very hungry.
“That what he said to you was not fit for a lady’s ears. Now. I am all agog. What did the duke say to insult you so?”
“You will not believe it. I still cannot believe it!”
“Did he try to kiss you?”
“Nothing that chaste, I assure you. To use his words, he offered me carte blanche,” Caro said, and then took a large bite of chicken. She adored picnics. Too bad this one had been spoiled.
“No! I cannot believe it.” The duchess’s nostrils flared with anger. “To you? A respectable debutante? A lady?”
“Well, it seems you must believe it. I cannot endure seeing him again. When we have returned to Northbrooke Park, I will ask Jack for a carriage to take me home for the rest of the weekend. I cannot look the great and wonderful duke of Beverley in the face again.”
To Caro’s surprise, Elise said, “Oh, yes, you can. And you will. Apply your backbone to this problem. You have done nothing wrong. He has been a scoundrel. If anyone is to leave, it should be Ned.”
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