Her eyes flickered, and for a moment he thought she would lean in for a kiss. Then she stiffened and turned away so all he could see was her rigid spine. "You cannot throw away what you never had, James. I . . . I care for you. And Margaret. But you know I never intended to stay here forever." Her voice was high and brittle, and he knew she had forced herself to say those painful words.
He reached for her, needing to touch her, but she pushed out of her chair, twisting to face him with a determined expression. "I intend to right what is wrong here, James. I intend to help you and Margaret reconcile, and to find you a woman to love, and then I will leave." She smiled. "I will earn my wings, James. And then I will be happy, too."
He stared at her and slowly lowered his hand to his side. She was sincere. He saw that now, clearly. After all they had discussed, despite the fact that they now knew her true name and circumstances, she still persisted in her delusions. It was what he’d realized this morning: he could not help her. A cold fist settled in his stomach.
It brought him a different knowledge, too. He could not have helped Danny, either. He saw that now, as he witnessed how deep Caro had descended into her own madness. The last of his guilt over Danny slipped away. He now understood that mental illnesses were beyond his abilities to heal. Daniel and Caroline both needed a doctor. Danny had never had the chance. But James had the opportunity to help Caroline, to find her the treatment she required.
He had to return her to Boorstin Asylum.
His gaze strayed to the letter lying like an accusation on his desk. He had intended to merely inquire if they had lost a patient. He still wished to inspect the quality of the care they offered. But now he knew those had been mere tactics, ways of convincing himself he searched for her true identity when in fact he had been delaying the inevitable, trying to keep her with him for a few days more.
Except he could not. He now saw how selfish that thought had been. She needed help. Help that neither he nor Margaret could offer.
"You intend to send me back to Boorstin, don't you?” Her voice was soft, like a whisper on a breeze, but he felt her words like physical blows. "James?"
He could not lie to her. "Yes. I must send you back."
She nodded, as if she had expected no less.
He looked up at her, panic squeezing his chest. "I . . . I do not mean for you to go today. In fact, I thought we could have a party first. Perhaps a . . . a ball?"
She smiled at him, her expression a trifle strained, but a touch of her humor returned. "A ball, James? To celebrate your release from a lunatic?"
He shook his head. "Celebrating a new friendship. One that will continue despite a minor separation." He took a step forward. "We will visit you, you know. Margaret and I. We can come every week." For perhaps the hundredth time this morning—in his thoughts if not in reality—he reached out to touch her, but as before, she shied away, her expression panicked.
"Oh, my," she said, looking anywhere but at him. "There is so much to do if you are to have a ball! I must plan—"
"A simple dinner party," he warned. "Perhaps some dancing. Nothing more." He glanced at her with concern. "I do not wish you to strain yourself."
"Strain myself? It's a party, James, not a military campaign." Then she frowned. "Military campaign. Military campaign . . . Waterloo! Napoleon! Of course. How could I have forgotten?" She suddenly grinned. "Now, if only I could remember the ingredients of Beef Wellington . . ." Her voice trailed away as she moved toward the door.
But James was there before her, trying to reassure himself that all was well between them. "Caro!"
She did not answer, and he had to grab her. "Carolly!"
She looked up.
He swallowed. Why did she have to look so beautiful? It was not her clothing or her hair or even her eyes this time, but the simple beauty of understanding. Of peace. There was no anger in her face at her ultimate removal to Boorstin, just a calm acceptance of her fate. He envied that serenity. Especially since he felt torn by conflicting desires and a guilty conscience.
"I do not wish you to leave," he said softly. "You know that, do you not? But it is for your own good. You need help that I cannot give you. It has taken me a long time to accept that. But as much as I want to, I do not know how to help."
She smiled sweetly at him. Then she raised her hand and trailed a finger over his lips. "You are helping, James. You are going to reconcile with Margaret. You are throwing a ball so I can find you a wife. And your steward is importing rabbits to help your disgruntled ex-miners."
"Carolly—"
"And when that is all done, I shall leave. But not for Boorstin. I am going to be an angel."
He reached out for her, gripping her hands to try and make her understand. "Think, Caroline. For a moment, see what is real." He did not understand why it was so important to him that she accept the persona of Caroline Handren. Only that if she were rational, fully rational, even for a few moments, then he had a prayer that she understood what he did was best for her. "I do not want to hurt you, Caroline."
He searched her eyes, seeing them widen with panic as she struggled with her identity. He held tightly to her fingers, praying she would emerge on the other side of her fantasies, her mind whole.
He waited, holding his breath.
Then, suddenly, the confusion seemed to disappear. It was as if she had purposely pushed any disturbing thoughts aside. She smiled at him, her face serene.
"I understand. Better than you do." Then she stretched up on her toes to give him a quick kiss before dancing away.
Chapter Twelve
Carolly wandered out toward the dawn. The morning dew soaked her slippers, chilling her toes, but nothing could diminish the simple joy of watching the sun rise. She liked the dawn. It symbolized new beginnings to her, something she desperately needed right now.
Everything was going great. The preparations for the festivities were running as smoothly as could be hoped, given that James had not hosted a gathering of any sort in the last five years. Mrs. Potherby was a wonder, teaching Carolly everything she needed to know about fashionable entertainment and also a good many things she wasn't sure she was supposed to know. Things like what to do when the blacksmith elopes with the minister's daughter in the middle of a quadrille. Apparently that had happened, according to local folklore.
The party had been set for June 18. Carolly had added up the days for Napoleon's hundred-day campaign in France. The count began on the day he landed in France, with Waterloo occurring on the hundredth day. Unfortunately, the date of Napoleon's arrival in France was not very clear. From what she could ascertain from the newspaper, she'd guessed the Little Emperor began his drive through France around March 1. That put Waterloo on June 9. Carolly had added another week, allowing for the guests' travel time and general excitement, and set the party for June 16. But then Mrs. Potherby had said the evening should be held on a full moon, so she delayed the ball two more days.
Mrs. Potherby assured her that everything would be in order by then.
As for James, he was most cooperative, giving her a free hand in the celebration, just so long as he did not have to actually assist in the details. He wanted his time free to spend with his niece.
After Carolly's talk with him in his library, James had finally joined Margaret in her bedroom and the two spoke at length. Carolly was not privy to the conversation, but they had emerged three hours later all smiles, suddenly the best of friends. Now they went on picnics and insect hunts every afternoon, rain or shine, reserving the wet days to hunt in the cellar or gardener's shed.
The two had truly bonded, and Carolly was positive she was well on her way to her wings. Yes, everything was going great. And if it were not for one minor detail, she would be the happiest pre-angel alive.
She'd fallen in love with James.
She hadn't a clue how it happened. Lord knew, he wasn't the most loveable man alive. But he was honorable, gentle, kind, and incredibly sexy. Carolly kicked a stray stone and groaned. Perhaps
he was the most loveable man alive—for her. And she had fallen for him hard.
She didn't know when it had happened, either. The feelings had crept up on her quietly. All she knew was one day she had seen him laughing with Margaret, and her heart swelled. But then the pair of them walked away, leaving her alone, reminding her all too clearly that she was not part of their family. She was an outsider, and she would never be part of their circle.
The pain was so intense it caused a physical ache. That was when she'd realized she loved them. Yet soon she would have to give them up.
She heard hoofbeats in the distance and turned from the rosy morning light to see a dark silhouette of a horse and his rider stark on the horizon. They galloped past without pause, man and beast moving as one.
James and Shadow. Was there ever a more beautiful sight?
"He will never marry you."
Carolly started at the rough voice, spinning around to see Garrett, his face ruddy in the morning light.
"Good morning, Garrett. I had no idea you ever got up this early."
He gave her a cheeky grin, and she smiled in return.
"You haven't been to bed, have you?”
"To bed, yes. To sleep . . ." He shrugged and rubbed his face. "I was just returning when I saw you standing here, and I could not resist the lure of your loveliness."
"Oh, my!" she responded in a sing-song voice, pretending to be all aflutter at his compliment. His only response was to offer her his arm. Carolly took it without hesitation. He was a poor second to James, but at least he rarely failed to make her smile.
His words were not so welcome, though. "There can be no future for the two of you. You know that, do you not?"
Carolly let her gaze wander away, not liking that he had spoken her thoughts aloud.
"Caroline?”
"I know," she said quietly.
"He is an earl," Garrett continued. "Even if James had a heart to give you, his duty to the title would not allow him to stoop so low."
Carolly stopped dead in her tracks, annoyed at his harsh words. "You have too low an opinion of your cousin."
"I have known him much longer than you," he returned.
"But obviously not as well." She started to pull away, but he stopped her, keeping hold of her wrist when she would have withdrawn.
"Please, I have no wish to quarrel with you," he said.
"Then you should not say such hateful things." Carolly noted it was Caroline's prissiest tone that she used. She shook her head, wondering how long it would be before she could no longer distinguish between the part of her called Caroline and the part named Carolly. The two seemed to merge more every day, and her memories of her past lives sometimes slipped away almost completely.
"Caroline?”
Carolly jumped, feeling her face heat with embarrassment. "My apologies, Garrett. My thoughts were a hundred miles away." Or a hundred years.
He patted her hand. "That is not very flattering to my ego, Caroline, especially as I have come to offer you an alternative to your present situation."
Carolly frowned, turning away from the now brilliant sunshine. "My present situation?”
"I understand you do not wish to return to the asylum."
"I . . ." In truth, she had not worried too deeply about that possibility, assuming instead that when her work was done with James, she would suffer some sort of fatal accident as she always had before. But now his words brought the possibility firmly to mind. What if she failed? Or what if Heaven thought she'd failed? Would she stay here, trapped in this land and life?
Caroline's memories of Boorstin Asylum were very clear, and they did not paint an appealing picture. Abuses were rampant and conditions cruel. Patients were sometimes chained in their rooms, their clothing and bedding fouled. Beatings were common, as were daily visits by gawkers or, worse yet, those who assisted in the administration of the more violent "treatments."
Carolly took a deep breath, mentally pushing away her dark thoughts. "Let us talk of something more pleasant. Shall you stay for the festival?”
Garrett hesitated mid-step, then turned toward her. "Festival? I thought it was a ball."
She grinned, feeling her good spirits return. "Yes, it was. But now it is a festival, too. A day off for the villagers to party and enjoy a good time on the earl."
Garrett's eyes narrowed to a thoughtful squint. "You are trying to turn their sentiments."
She shrugged. "They are hard-working people who deserve a break. If they have cause to thank James for that, all the better."
"I see." Garrett fell silent, clearly deep in thought as they continued to stroll through the near garden. But it was not too long before he gently disengaged Carolly's hand from his arm, pulling her around to face him directly. "Caroline, I know you do not wish to discuss the asylum, but we must."
She winced. She couldn't help it. "Garrett—"
"There are other options than Boorstin, you know." He raised his hand to trail his knuckles along her cheek. "I have thought of a way for you to find wealth, independence, and even happiness."
His touch was gentle, but the stroke was more practiced than heartfelt. She felt some surprise at what seemed obvious. "Garrett, are you proposing marriage!"
He hesitated. "Surely you know I cannot wed you, Caroline. You have been hospitalized for many years. You cannot hope for a respectable marriage. I am sorry, but it is true." He looked so genuinely sad that, for a moment, she believed him. For a moment.
"Then just what do you propose?"
"That you can live better than even I or James. You can have gentlemen, jewels, and a place in society."
She knew what he was suggesting, and her entire being rebelled at the thought. "As a demi-rep?"
"As a mistress. Your madness would be an asset then, a source of fascination to many men."
"I see," she said dryly.
He shook his head and his gaze traveled almost tangibly down her body. "No, I imagine you do not. But I could teach you." His voice was husky. "There are many pleasures of the flesh you can learn. Indeed, you must learn. I can teach you, and then I will introduce you to my friends. You are a beautiful woman, Caroline. Many men would pay a high price for you."
“I—”
"No," he whispered, drawing her closer. "Do not answer. Ponder your choices, my dear. Remember, your other option is Boorstin." Then, before she could stop him, he was kissing her with a passion cleverly orchestrated to inflame the senses of an innocent girl.
Too bad she was no innocent. Caroline was angry, not inflamed. But before she could react he slipped away, back into the house, leaving her to stare after him, silently fuming.
He was a pig. A skillful pig, but porcine nonetheless. Carolly sighed. His offer might actually hold some merit—at least, to the kind of naive, frightened girl he thought she was. If the choice truly was between Boorstin and becoming a high priced call-girl, Carolly might very well pick London. There she had the chance of living in luxury, and eventually earning enough money to win her freedom. Boorstin only offered degradation and brutality. Fortunately for her, she had other options.
Unless, of course, her thoughts of becoming an angel were fantasies. Carolly felt a chill invade her heart. Was it possible? It seemed so far-fetched. She frowned. Earning angel wings was the stuff of fiction and mov—m—moving pictures?
Her knees went weak, and Carolly stumbled to a bench, her mind in turmoil. Her name was Carol... Carol... Carolly. She was born in... in ... She could not remember.
She struggled and fought and wrestled with her mind, searching for the memories, but she could not find them.
Her litany was gone.
But she had remembered once. She remembered remembering. She had known once with unswerving faith that she was earning her wings to become an angel. That she had been self-centered and cruel, and now she was learning to be kind and selfless. That if she succeeded she would become an angel.
She remembered that.
She looked up a
nd saw James on Shadow, poised on a rise, overlooking the garden. She started to stand, to walk toward him, but it was too late. He turned away. In her mind's eye, he was replaced by Garrett, offering her his own version of Eden, and then again by the elusive and fading dream of becoming an angel. Somewhere in the back of her mind, looming over the whole confusing mass, was the horrifying thought of Boorstin and the terrifying memory of flames.
She shook her head, trying to sort through it all, but Carolly saw only a swirl of faces she could neither identity nor understand.
She felt a sob catch in her throat, and she pressed her hand to her mouth. What was happening to her? Who was she? Lying down, she curled her knees to her chest and closed her eyes, one thought emerging above the rest. It was a simple truth, and one that rocked her to the core.
She knew, without a doubt, that she had finally gone mad.
***
"Uncle?”
James shifted his gaze from his foreman's report, grateful for the reprieve. The news from the mines was grim, citing worker unrest and general unease that was only an echo of the hatred brewing at the village. Unfortunately, there was little he could do about it except ride out the storm.
At least his home was more peaceful than ever, thanks to his new rapport with his niece.
"Good morning, Margaret," he said with a smile. "You look very pretty today."
Margaret wrinkled her nose at him. "You always say that."
"It is always true." In fact, it was more true every day. Margaret was standing taller, walking with the pride and confidence that should have been her birthright from the very beginning. He was pleased to see her spirit finally matching the bright clothing she now wore.
But despite all that, Margaret was still young, and he was never more aware of it than when she flopped down into a chair beside his desk, her ribbons flying every which way, her skirt billowing out around her.
"I want to talk with you, Uncle."
He tried not to laugh at her serious demeanor. "I can see that. What did you wish to say?"
"It is about Carolly. I am concerned about her."
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