His Compromised Countess

by Hale Deborah

  His deeply ingrained habit in such situations was to dismiss her praise with a dry quip, but Bennett fought the urge and conquered it. Gazing down at the sleeping child, he soaked in the deep contentment he now found in Caroline’s nearness. ‘I think your father would be proud of his young namesake.’

  Though he wished his mentor had lived to see his grandson, Bennett was relieved Sir Wyndham had not witnessed the break-up of their marriage or the shocking blow Caroline had dealt the Abolition Movement.

  No sooner had he spoken than he felt a change come over Caroline.

  Her warm, brooding stillness grew tense and brittle. ‘Of course Father would have been proud. Wyn is a boy, after all, capable of inheriting your title and fortune, carrying on your work. It wouldn’t matter if he were dim-witted or bad-tempered or dishonourable, as long as he’s male. A girl could never be good enough to please my father or any man of his class.’

  The bitterness of her words stunned Bennett. Prudence warned him to hold his tongue. He did not want to be drawn into a quarrel just when relations between them were going so well. Yet he could not ignore the pain he sensed, raw and vulnerable beneath the tough crust of resentment. He knew that kind of corrupted wound all too well, though lately it felt as if his might be starting to heal.

  ‘You always seemed so devoted to your father.’ He tried not to sound judgemental or accusing, only curious and sympathetic.

  Caroline gave a rasping chuckle. ‘So I was, for all it mattered. I would have done anything to win his approval…his love. But nothing I did was ever good enough for him. I got more attention by misbehaving. Since that was a great deal more amusing, I tried it for a while.’

  That must have been part of the reason Sir Wyndham had approved their engagement so heartily. He might have thought his daughter needed a steady husband to control her. Bennett regretted having let the old man down on that score. Might it also be why Caroline had taken lovers—trying to provoke him into paying more attention to her, as she had with her father?

  A melancholy sigh escaped Caroline’s lips. ‘That was one of the reasons I accepted your proposal. I knew my father was dying and I thought it might be my last chance to make him care for me.’

  ‘I wish I’d known,’ Bennett whispered, more to himself than to her.

  It was a motive he could not despise. If he’d realised she was trying to please the man they both idolised, he might have worked harder to make a success of their marriage. Perhaps he would have withheld judgement after Wyn’s birth, so Caroline would not have felt such a desperate craving for approval.

  He risked a glance at her, wanting to say he was sorry, but the words stuck in his throat like sharp little fish bones. She had betrayed him, after all, humiliated him and brought his career to the brink of ruin.

  In answer to his earlier comment, she gave a weary shrug. ‘It makes no difference now. As you’ve said so often, there is nothing we can do to change the past.’

  Bennett knew that was true. But since returning to this island, he’d learned it was possible to change one’s perception of the past. That could make a great difference in the present and for the future. ‘Your father cared about you more than you might have realised. He was very anxious to see you settled and provided for after he was gone.’

  Her lips arched slightly in a wistful smile. ‘He may have felt sorry for me. Perhaps he could have loved me if I’d been the son he longed for.’

  Now Bennett understood what she’d meant the day they talked about having a daughter. ‘If your father wanted a son, it may have been so his estate would not fall into other hands and you would be taken care of. He once told me he regretted being unable to provide you with a brother.’

  ‘Are you certain that’s true?’ Her gaze bored into his with desperate intensity.

  Bennett feared she might see deeper into him than he cared to let her. ‘Quite certain. Perhaps your father had as much trouble showing his affection for you as I do with Wyn. Only he had no one to teach him as you’ve taught me.’

  He sensed she wanted to believe his explanation, but was half-afraid to.

  She turned towards the door. ‘Speaking of Wyn, we should leave him to sleep and get some ourselves. We’ll need our energy to take him on more outings.’

  As they lingered in the hallway in front of their bedroom doors a few minutes later, Bennett wished they did not have to part for the night. There was a familiar element of desire in that wish as well as one or two others with which he was less well acquainted.

  ‘Goodnight.’ Caroline pushed her door open then glanced back over her shoulder at him. ‘Thank you for what you said about my father. I’ll never know for certain if that is how he felt about me. But it might do me good to persuade myself it was.’

  As he watched her cross the threshold of her bedchamber, it was everything Bennett could do to keep from following her. Not only because his whole body ached with desire to touch and taste her once more.

  Then her door swung shut between them reminding him that, as a husband, he had repeated far too many of her father’s mistakes—denying her affection, making her feel she could never live up to his expectations. She’d admitted marrying him to please her father, but might there have been more to it than that? In her innocence, had Caroline mistaken his fierce infatuation for love, believing he could give her the affection and approval Sir Wyndham had withheld?

  If so, was it any wonder she’d described marriage to him as a torture worse than being deprived of her glittering social life or even the loss of their son?

  His hand slipped into his pocket to fondle the wedding ring Caroline had flung at him that day. His deeply ingrained sense of self-preservation warned him against the destructive folly of falling in love with his wife five years too late.

  For a moment, when she glanced back at Bennett, Caroline had thought he might follow her into her bedchamber. And how she’d wished he would!

  During the following days, a potent echo of that desire smouldered in Caroline’s flesh whenever she thought back on it.

  What kind of daft fool was she? her reason immediately demanded. The needs of his body might drive Bennett into her bed for one last passionate coupling. But afterwards it would only make things worse between them. It was far too great a risk to the fragile charade of a happy family they were acting out for their son’s sake, not to mention the risk it posed to her heart.

  Yet, as they headed off on their next major excursion, it was far too easy to forget they were not the happy family they appeared to be.

  ‘Where are you taking us this time, Papa?’ asked Wyn as they strolled toward the Blockhouse, then turned inland along a narrow lane.

  ‘It is a part of the island I’d like you both to see.’ Bennett strode along with a rather jaunty gait, carrying their lunch basket. ‘It was my favourite spot to visit when my mother brought me here as a boy. I’ve always wanted to go there in the springtime.’

  ‘Your favourite spot?’ Wyn skipped off ahead of his parents. ‘Even better than the castles?’

  Caroline stared about in wonder at a landscape far different from any she’d yet seen on Tresco. Unlike the forbidding rock-strewn heath on the northern part of the island, the view from the lane was all gently rolling downland, rich with verdant greenery. There were plenty of other sumptuous colours as well. Some trees sported purple blossoms that put amethysts to shame, while others were abloom with cascades of pale-pink catkins.

  Even the stone walls bordering the lane were softened with a covering of moss and ivy. Wildflowers seemed to sprout wherever she looked. Purple heads of dainty violets peeping bashfully up from among their leaves. Bright, yellow-gold corn marigolds, like miniature suns. Century flowers in such a glorious shade of pink, Caroline could imagine the sensation she would have made if she’d worn a silk ball gown of that hue to an assembly in London.

  But those days were over for her now, and she had brought it on herself with her heedless behaviour. Half the ton had probably suspecte
d her of being a secret adulteress, whispering behind her back while toasting her to her face. Astley’s vile ambush had only given them an excuse to turn on her.

  Since coming to the island, she’d been surprised to discover how little she missed the glittering social life that had once meant so much to her. Now she found far more true enjoyment in simple family outings like this one.

  ‘It’s like a giant garden!’ cried Wyn. ‘I hope we can come here every year, the way you used to, Papa. We’ve had such a fine time I hardly miss Greggy any more.’

  Every other occasion when her son mentioned his nurse, it had brought Caroline a stab of jealousy and resentment that he should care more for a hired servant than for her. But lately she’d come to view the situation in a different light.

  It was only natural Wyn should love the person who’d cared for him so devotedly and spent almost every waking moment in his company. She felt sorry for having dragged him away from Mrs McGregor with so little regard for his feelings. And she was grateful to know he would have someone familiar and beloved to take care of him when he returned to London with his father.

  ‘Do not worry too much about the future,’ Bennett replied, clearly reluctant to make a promise he could not keep. ‘Concentrate on enjoying the present.’

  Her husband’s advice struck a chord with Caroline. Worrying too much about the future could spoil one’s enjoyment of the present. So could brooding about the past. She had done too much of both in her time. While her husband and son were with her, she must concentrate on here and now, savouring every precious moment.

  Just then, Wyn stopped and sniffed the air. ‘What is that smell?’

  ‘Mmm.’ Caroline inhaled appreciatively. ‘A very sweet, wholesome scent, indeed. It seems familiar, but I cannot place it.’

  ‘Camomile,’ said Bennett. ‘It grows wild around Great Pool and Abbey Pond.’

  ‘Of course.’ Caroline savoured the aroma. ‘Our first night here, at the inn, Mrs Pender gave me some camomile tea to help me sleep. Did you say Abbey? Don’t tell me this tiny island has one of those, too, as well as a pair of castles?’

  Bennett nodded. ‘It did once, centuries ago. There is not much left of the old abbey now except part of a wall and a fine spot for a picnic.’

  Catching up to Wyn, they paused in the shade of a small tree. The lane they’d been following ran along a crest of higher ground. Now Caroline gazed out over a shallow valley dominated by a small, narrow lake that appeared to span nearly the width of the island. In places plots of farmland came right up to the water’s edge. On the opposite bank was a bit of woodland and a green meadow sprigged with white flowers. In the pond’s shallows, tall rushes waved lazily in the breeze.

  ‘It is hard to believe such a place could exist on this island,’ Caroline murmured in a tone of wonder, ‘after seeing that rocky, barren terrain around the castles.’

  ‘This high ground shelters it from the harsh sea wind.’ Bennett pointed from the spot where they stood around to a hill on the opposite side of the pond. ‘I expect that is why the monks chose this place to build their abbey. It has so many natural advantages, as well as being so far removed from the bustle and temptations of the mainland.’

  ‘Papa.’ Wyn tugged at his father’s coat sleeve. ‘What is that bird called—the brown one with the speckled breast?’

  Bennett took their son’s hand and walked forwards slowly so as not to frighten away the bird that perched on top of a nearby stone wall. ‘I believe that is a song thrush.’

  As if to confirm its identity, the bird opened its beak and launched into lengthy complex song, with each different phrase repeated several times. Wyn seemed much impressed.

  Caroline and Bennett spent a magical day with their son, poking about the abbey ruins and eating their lunch in the shelter of the vine-covered abbey wall. Later Wyn and Bennett sailed boats made of leaves and twigs on the pond while Caroline strolled around the enclosure where many Tresco families still laid their loved ones to rest. The still air was fragrant with lilies of the valley and wild roses that grew over the old tombstones.

  Hearing Bennett’s laughter in the distance, Caroline pondered how much her husband was like this isolated island of fascinating contrasts. Tresco’s barren, heavily fortified coast protected a garden of unexpected beauty and peace at its heart. Only after several unhappy years had she finally glimpsed the heart Bennett strove so hard to protect. After all he had endured, was it any wonder he’d been reluctant to risk his heart on a woman who must have reminded him too much of his adulterous mother?

  But she had changed since then, Caroline’s blossoming confidence insisted. And so had Bennett.

  Three short weeks ago, she would never have believed they could confide so much in each other, learn so much from one another, or cooperate so well to care for their son. Yet they had. Not easily or without misgivings, but sincerely trying to understand and respect one another. With one more precious week ahead of them, Caroline hoped Bennett might finally learn to trust her enough that he could believe she had been faithful to him.

  Then perhaps they would have the chance to become the happy family they’d pretended to be.

  Chapter Twelve

  Bennett could scarcely recall when he had spent three such happy weeks. After much reflection, he was obliged to search his memory all the way back to his boyhood, when he’d come to Tresco with his mother. Since then he had experienced pleasure, passion and success in rewarding endeavours. None of those equalled the quiet elation that he found spending time with his family.

  The smallest things, such as going for a walk or sharing a meal, took on a whole new depth of enjoyment when he indulged in forgotten delights of childhood playing with Wyn or when he coaxed a smile from Caroline. He’d gained a fresh appreciation for the island he had long sought to banish from his thoughts. It had become his private treasure chest from which he drew unexpected delights to share with his wife and son.

  Only two things cast a pall over his newfound felicity. One was the speed with which their time together was passing. When he’d first proposed extending his stay on the island, a month had stretched before him. Now it was fast running out and every day he spent with Caroline made him less willing to leave. The other shadow was his growing awareness that the troubles in their marriage were far more his fault than hers.

  He’d rushed her into marriage for all the wrong reasons. Once his infatuation had begun to wane, he’d neglected her shamefully, then misjudged her as a means of justifying his behaviour. Worst of all, he’d made her feel as if she had failed him when the truth was quite the opposite. No wonder Caroline had hurled her wedding ring at him. Perhaps she wished it had been a more deadly projectile.

  ‘Papa?’ Wyn’s insistent tone wrenched him from the murky depths of his brooding. ‘Do you think we can go out in the boat today?’

  Bennett looked up from the breakfast he’d scarcely noticed he was eating. Several days ago, he had promised the child they would row out to visit some of the offshore islands around Tresco. He had arranged to hire a rowboat and enlisted Albert as an oarsman. Then they’d waited for the weather to cooperate.

  ‘Perhaps so.’ Bennett glanced out the kitchen window. ‘It isn’t raining and it doesn’t look too windy. If the sea is calm as well, I think this is our day.’

  As Wyn cheered, Caroline watched the child with a doting smile that betrayed a hint of wistfulness. Was she thinking how soon she would have to bid him farewell and wondering when she would see him again? Somehow it no longer seemed so farfetched to call it unfair that he should get to keep their son.

  Abruptly he pushed away from the table. ‘I will go check on the state of the water and get the boat ready if you will arrange for a lunch to take with us.’

  He tried to sound more cheerful than he felt, reminding himself not to let regrets from the past and worries of the future spoil his enjoyment of this day.

  Yet Caroline seemed to sense something was not quite right, for her sm
ile faltered a little. ‘We can manage that, can’t we, Wyn? Fortunately Mrs Jenkins bakes plenty of Cornish pasties to have on hand.’

  Determined to keep his thoughts firmly in the present, Bennett headed off to the Old Grimsby wharf where he was pleased to find the water calm. Not only that, but the local man from whom he’d hired the boat had it cleaned up and ready to go.

  He was on his way back to the house to summon his wife and son when a woman coming up the road from Dolphin Town called out to him. ‘Begging your pardon, my lord, but there’s a letter come for you from the mainland.’

  A letter? Bennett thanked the woman, who introduced herself as the innkeeper’s wife, and took the thick folded packet she handed to him. It must be from his friend George Marlow, to whom he’d written of Wyn’s illness and his intention to remain on Tresco while his son recovered.

  Sure enough, the handwriting and the wax seal belonged to Marlow, a Member of Parliament and staunch Abolitionist. Bennett’s sense of duty urged him to read whatever his friend had to say before embarking on a pleasure excursion with his family.

  Entering quietly through the front door, he stole up to his bedchamber. He wanted to avoid his son, who would not be happy to postpone their outing, even for a few minutes. Fortunately as he mounted the stairs Bennett could hear the child in the kitchen chatting excitedly with his mother and Mrs Jenkins.

  Once he gained the privacy of his room, Bennett broke the seal and hastily unfolded Marlow’s letter. As he did so, two smaller pieces of paper fell out and wafted to the floor. For the moment, he ignored them to concentrate on reading the letter. As he scanned the page, a stew of outrage and guilt began to seethe in his stomach.

  ‘You must come home at once,’ Marlow wrote. ‘Certain agitations in the north have led the Government to ram a Bill through the Commons that will make it illegal to hold a gathering of more than fifty people. I am certain you can foresee the effect this law could have on the Abolition Movement if it is enacted.’