Almost an Angel

by Katherine Greyle

  "Then you have been fortunate. Her fits are frightful to behold. I assure you—"

  "And I assure you, there have been no fits while she has been here."

  The old man sighed, his regard sad, as one who has seen too much. "Perhaps I could attend the festival. Then I will visit Caroline at Boorstin and give her all the details. She did so enjoy it when I used to tell her the news of London."

  James carefully set aside his cue stick, turning his tone hard and implacable. "Baron, truly I must insist. Caro has worked too hard to not attend."

  The man did not at first respond, so enthralled was he with his cigar. James waited patiently, his stance casual but his gaze fixed. Then the baron pulled back and looked directly at James. "I am only thinking of your guests."

  "Do not concern yourself with them." James's voice was curt.

  Both Garrett and the baron raised speculative eyebrows, but it was the latter who smiled. "You seem quite interested in my niece's welfare."

  James shifted his attention back to the billiard table, his self-protective instincts surging to the fore. "She is a sweet woman. I would not see her hurt."

  Handren stepped closer, under the guise of inspecting the table. "She has been here many weeks now. Unchaperoned."

  James made his shot, the ball rolling far wide of his mark. But when he raised his eyes, he pinned the fat man with his stare. "Your insinuations do you no credit and her harm. I will not tolerate them."

  "Insinuations!" The baron reared back, his laughter full and hearty. "My lord, I was merely concerned with sweet Caroline's reputation."

  James stood, his hands tightening on the edge of the billiard table. "After putting her in Boorstin? It seems to me that you should be more concerned with Caro's welfare. When she arrived here, she had been beaten within an inch of her life."

  Her uncle sighed, obviously disheartened, and began circling the table for his shot. "Ah, yes. I had a most lengthy discussion with the director regarding that very fact. It was a regrettable incident, he informed me. Two patients were fighting, and sweet Caroline, having more courage than sense, tried to intervene."

  "She was incarcerated with male patients?"

  "Sweet heavens, no!"

  The baron came around to his side of the table, but James did not move. Instead, he folded his arms across his chest and watched the man fuss with his cue stick.

  "A woman could not have inflicted those blows," he said softly.

  The other man swung around, his fleshy face quivering with exaggerated horror. "My lord, you astound me."

  "I merely state fact. How much do you know about Boorstin Asylum?”

  The baron simply shrugged. "Only that it enjoys an excellent reputation, and Caroline was quite happy there."

  "So happy, she was nearly beaten to death."

  "I told you—"

  "An unfortunate incident. Yes, I remember."

  The two men regarded each other. Convivial the man might be, but he was clearly exaggerating his concern over his "sweet Caroline." Still, the man was her uncle. James knew

  he had no right to interfere, especially if an asylum was in fact the best place for her.

  "Exactly what is your interest in Caroline, my lord?" asked the baron, his small eyes narrowing to tiny slits.

  James paused, knowing his bluff had been called. Now was the time to either declare himself or back down. Glancing across the room, he saw Garrett straighten, his expression tight.

  "My lord?" the baron prompted. "I am her guardian—"

  "She is of the age of majority."

  "She is insane. It is to me you must apply if you have interest regarding my niece."

  James did not move, but his thoughts whirled. He did not know how to help Caroline, but he could not simply let her leave. And certainly could not let her go back to Boorstin. Not when he was still so unimpressed with the care she had received there.

  His only choice was to stall for time.

  "I do not wish her to leave before the festival." He smiled and turned to her uncle. "Surely it is not worth disappointing me over what is, after all, a trivial matter. My guests are my own, and I shall be responsible for Caroline's behavior. Do you not agree?”

  The man nodded, his expression guarded. "If you insist."

  "I do."

  They stared at one another a moment longer, and though James had won this point, he knew his success had been costly. For all that Handren acted the clown, there was a core of shrewdness beneath the congenial exterior, and he didn't want Caroline to stay here. James had just made an enemy.

  Yet Caro's happiness was worth any cost, so he simply nodded and watched as Handren quickly beat him at billiards.

  "Another game, Traynern?" asked the Baron, his eyes twin points of challenge in his fat, grinning face.

  James set aside his stick, his manner casual. "Not at this time, thank you. But later." He turned back to the man, his look pointed. "Most assuredly, we will play again."

  That night, James could not sleep. He was on edge as he had not been since leaving the army. This was how he felt before facing death, not a household full of guests. Nevertheless, he was so on edge that not even the Greek poets could help.

  Slamming his book shut, James tossed it aside and went to his bedroom window. It was a beautiful night and the shutters were thrown wide to the breeze. Leaning out onto the sill, he allowed his senses to roam freely, absorbing the smell of a rich summer and the gentle whisper of the night creatures. His eyes adjusted quickly to the dim light. The moon was nearly full, its delicate glow illuminating leaf and stone alike, but his gaze was caught by the sensuous curve of a woman.

  Caro?

  She was alone, her back against a tree, her eyes focused on the manor. Not his room, or even Garrett's, but her bedroom and the nursery.

  He should leave her to her thoughts, he told himself. She was a woman tormented by confusion. Peaceful contemplation could only help ease the chaos in her mind. Clearly, if she had wanted to speak with someone, she would have sought him out. She must want to be alone.

  Yet he could not resist. It took less than five minutes for him to dress and join her by the tree.

  "Good evening, Caro," he said, feeling awkward for intruding upon her solitude.

  She did not move, but continued to gaze at the manor wall. "Good evening, my lord. You are out late."

  He stepped closer, wanting to touch her but feeling her reserve push him away. "I came to speak with you."

  She nodded, a near silent sigh escaping her lips. "Yes, my lord. How may I be of service?”

  He hesitated. "You used to call me James."

  Her gaze slid lower, dropping to his feet in a deferential gesture. "I know, and I must apologize for the impertinence."

  It was too much. He needed to see her eyes. He touched her, lifting her chin with the slightest pressure of his forefinger. "Caro? What is the matter?"

  "Nothing, my lord." She made to move away, but he would not release her, holding her face steady as he gently rubbed her cheek with his thumb.

  "Is it the festival? Everything will be fine. You are a master organizer."

  She shook her head, effectively pulling away from his touch. "Mrs. Potherby is the organizer. I merely gave her the room to run."

  "Then, is it your uncle? He is . . ." He struggled with his words, wondering how best to describe the man who controlled her life.

  "He is a boor, I know. But there are moments when he can be kind."

  James stepped closer, joining her against the tree so their shoulders touched and he no longer need see the way her eyes slid from his. She had always been so direct, her boldness one of her most charming attributes. But now she seemed to skitter away from him, if not in body, then in conversation. Always before she had announced her thoughts with every power at her command. Now he felt as though he had to draw them out of her, practically forcing her to speak with him.

  And conversation had never been one of his strong suits. He looked at the sta
rry sky and searched for something to say.

  "Your uncle wished to take you to Boorstin tomorrow." He felt her stiffen beside him and was quick to reassure her. "I convinced him to let you remain at least through the festival."

  "Thank you."

  He waited for her to relax, but she did not. Her stance beside him was as rigid as the tree they leaned against. He turned to face her, trying in vain to see her eyes.

  “Tell me about Boorstin. How were you hurt?"

  She began to move away from him, but he caught her hand, keeping her nearby, if not close to him. He thought at first she would fight, but instead she held on to him, her palm cold and slick with sweat despite her calm words.

  "It is not so evil a place. The patients are a sad and frightened lot. I give what guidance I can."

  "How were you hurt?"

  Her hand clenched, and he returned the pressure, trying to tell her without words that he would do everything in his power to help. "There is a man there," she said, shuddering. "A doctor or so he claims. He delights in giving pain."

  "He beat you?”

  She nodded. "When I would not do other . . . things." Shyly, she turned to him, her eyes imploring him. "With your help, we could make him leave. What he does is unthinkable, and yet as patients, we are powerless to stop him. If you—"

  "Done."

  She stared at him. "My lord?"

  "Give me his name, and he will be gone. Think no more of him."

  He saw the relief wash through her and was startled to realize she had been concerned about asking for so small a favor. "Thank you, my lord," she breathed.

  "James. My name is James."

  She smiled tremulously, and he ached to see such uncertainty in her. But she gave him the so-called doctor's name, and he silently resolved to see the man out of England, his medical credentials stripped away.

  With that done, he expected at least some of her reserve to melt. But she remained aloof and the silence stretched between them once again.

  "Caro," he said softly.

  She flinched slightly and he turned, wondering what made her so skittish.

  She swallowed. "My lord?"

  "You need not go back to Boorstin at all, if you choose not to. There are . . . other options. I have money. You could go to the colonies . . ." His gut clenched at the thought of her moving so far away. "Perhaps you could find a cottage nearby. Not in the village, of course, but there is land available."

  His mind was already mapping out the surrounding area, choosing a location near enough to him, but safe from the prejudice and hatred brewing in the village. But she was shaking her head, her voice firm.

  "No. I will go to Boorstin."

  "But—"

  "At least there I can be of service to those in pain."

  "Caro," he said gently, "that is for the doctors to do."

  Her hand tightened against his. "You do not understand what it is like in there. I am important there. I am a minister's daughter, and I provide spiritual guidance in a way the doctors do not."

  "Spiritual guidance? Caro, you are there to get well."

  "No. Yes." She shook her head. "Perhaps. I only know I belong there. I am one of them, and I help them."

  "You could visit them," he offered. "Daily, if necessary. You need not reside there."

  "It is the only place I belong."

  James fell silent, seeing the determination in her face. Still, he had to ask, he had to have her say the words. "You are decided?”

  "Yes."

  He sighed, feeling frustration drag at him. She had apparently found a purpose to her life, a meaning that still sometimes eluded him. He should be happy for her, and yet he could not feel anything but a great sense of loss. He reached out to touch her, to feel her skin against his palm, but she twitched away, her expression pained.

  "Caro? What is it?"

  "Nothing, my lord."

  Suddenly, he was angry. He did not know where the emotion came from, he only knew it surged through him, filling him with a near violent energy he did not know how to disperse. It boiled within him, and he slammed his fist so hard against the trunk that the tree shuddered above them, spilling leaves and twigs.

  "My lord?" Caro's voice was a mere whisper, but he could tell she was frightened, and that only infuriated him more. This was a woman who had faced down a mob, who had teased and tormented him in his own household, and yet she stood before him, "my lording" him to death, flinching at his merest touch.

  "What has happened to you, Caro?" he cried, his voice fraught with emotion. "I have lost you, and I do not know how or why."

  She touched him. Her fingers were shaky as they feathered across his cheek, but it was the first time she had reached out to him in days, and he felt it to his core. He stopped moving. He stopped breathing. He stopped doing anything for fear she would withdraw. But she did not, and he closed his eyes to better feel her trembling caress.

  "Caro." The word was half groan, half entreaty.

  "I have lost myself, James. The woman you knew, the woman who entered your house those weeks ago is gone. I think back on what she did, and it is like seeing another person." She twisted away and pointed at the wall. "Do you know I have come here every night for the last four days to stare at the side of your house? Do you know why?"

  He shook his head, his throat too tight to allow words.

  "Because I remember walking along the ledge there. I remember it, but I do not know why I did it. What purpose did it serve? I stare and I stare, and I cannot imagine myself doing such a thing."

  "But surely you remember—"

  "I cannot conceive it."

  "But—"

  "No!" She rounded on him, anger flashing through her eyes as James had not seen in days. "Even you know I am different. You might as well call me Caroline, because I am that timid, frightened, beaten woman now. Carolly is lost to me. I cannot find her within me anywhere."

  "But she is a part of you. You are the same person. You must remember her."

  Her hands tightened into fists, and he watched in alarm as tears slipped down her cheeks. "I remember nothing of her. I have tried and tried, but she is gone. You know she is gone. Even Margaret knows it."

  James stared at her, seeing not her tearstained cheeks or the trembling desperation of her lips, but the anger beating just below. Carolly was within her. She was simply submerged, lost beneath the return of Caroline. The return of the sane woman, Caroline. Or—had he been mistaken all along?

  He gripped her arms. "Margaret is wrong. I was wrong. And yes, even you, Caroline, are wrong. Because Carolly is within you. She is part of you. And we will bring her back."

  Caroline gazed at him, and he felt her trembling ease. Her mind latched onto his determination. "How? How will we find her again?”

  He gentled his hold on her, releasing one of her arms to stroke back the hair that had fallen into her eyes. "Perhaps we should begin with the ledge."

  She raised her gaze to his, her brow creasing as she tried to understand. "I told you, I have thought and thought on it and have found nothing."

  "Then," he said, feeling a smile curve his lips, "it is time we did more than think."

  Chapter Fourteen

  "You cannot be serious." Caroline looked out her bedroom window at the seemingly mountainous drop to the ground. The very thought of stepping out on the ledge terrified her. But James was relentless as he pulled her out to join him on the ledge.

  "Come on. I am right here. It is perfectly safe." He shrugged. "It is much wider than it seems."

  She shook her head, clutching the sill. "But I shall fall."

  "I will not let you go. Do not be afraid." She felt him gently detach her left hand from the sill, wrapping her fingers around his sturdy ones. "We must walk this ledge, experience everything. Then perhaps you will remember Carolly."

  She nodded, understanding his logic. "I—I am not afraid," she stammered.

  "Good."

  "I am terrified."

&nbs
p; He smiled encouragingly at her. "Not as good."

  "But—"

  "Come. Or I shall be forced to carry you, and you know my leg will not withstand your weight."

  His meaning took a moment to penetrate her fears, but when it did, she frowned up at him. "Just what do you imply, my lord?"

  He grinned at her. "Only that you are as solid as you are beautiful."

  "Harrumph."

  "Quit stalling. Climb."

  She took a deep breath then blew it out, wishing she could as easily blow out her fears. She could not, of course, and so she intended to tell his imperious lordship. But when she looked into his eyes, she saw him preparing to lift her up into his arms. And while the thought of that made her knees go weak, she knew it would be disastrous for his leg. Without another word, she scrambled out onto the ledge.

  She immediately flattened herself against the wall, feeling the rough-cut stone against her palms. But as she settled there, she felt James, warm and comforting beside her. The tension around her throat eased, and she began to breathe easier.

  "Smell the air. Isn't it wonderful?" James's voice was soft against her ear, and she smiled at him as she closed her eyes.

  She could taste the summer on the breeze up here. The steamy heat was gone, leaving a soft whisper of wind that brought the tangy mixture of grass and pollen to her lips. She wondered if there were an apple orchard nearby, and her thoughts spilled to that burst of delight she experienced whenever she bit into the first apple of summer.

  Her thoughts did not seem odd to her. She knew these were Caroline's memories, and she cherished them. Simple joys were a special part of who she was now, and she would hate to lose them as much as she regretting losing Carolly.

  It was all so confusing.

  "Do you remember the last time you were up here?" She felt James's hand draw her closer to him. She felt his clothing, brushing lightly against her bare arm.

  "I remember being here, of course. But—"

  "But not why?"

  She nodded. It was like looking through a window at another person. She could see what was happening, but she could not comprehend it.