She treats the lot of us as though we were nothing more than our ancestry. Caroline had been quite astute in that observation. Mother reduced everyone to their respective bloodlines, for better or for worse. The irony, of course, was that her own ancestry did not stand up to scrutiny.
“I am certain the Downys have far more pressing matters to see to than the appearance of their home.”
Mother waved that off. “First impressions are crucial, George. Remember that.”
How could he help but remember something she never let him forget? “I do hope you will be civil to the Downys, Mother. They have received me warmly these many years and deserve warmth in return.”
“I am always civil.” Mother’s declaration didn’t entirely hit its mark, delivered as it was down the length of her haughtily upturned nose.
The carriage came to a stop at the front portico. The carriage door was opened. The Downys’ footman handed Mother down. George waited a moment longer, needing to brace himself for the coming few days.
Mother would, no doubt, be nearly impossible.
The Downys would be in a frenzy of planning.
Caroline would be… He didn’t know what to expect from her. She’d gone from hesitantly friendly to a hermit in the short time he’d been here. She’d cried more and talked less than she ever had before. It worried him. Deeply.
But he’d made an ironclad bargain with her, one he was honor-bound to see through to the very end, whatever that end might be. He squared his shoulders and stepped down from the carriage. Their trunks were already being unloaded. The stable hands were seeing to the horses. When he stepped into the entryway, the housekeeper was already being berated by Mother. All-in-all, a typical arrival at Downy House.
“George!”
His heart leapt to his throat at the sound of Caroline’s voice calling his name with such excitement.
“You’ve come at last!” She ran down the stairs, enthusiasm emanating from every inch of her.
“Have you missed me?” he asked.
She answered by simply throwing her arms around him, much the way she had in the corridor the day her mother had enlisted them all to help plan the ball. Except this time, there was no pity or sadness in the embrace. She seemed overwhelmingly happy to see him.
Holding fast to her in return, he said, “This is the best welcome I have ever received.”
“You were gone so long, George.”
“Only a week.” He rested his cheek on the top of her head.
“It was a very long week. Mother kept predicting you wouldn’t return. Tom insisted you’d joined the navy to get away from me.”
He rubbed his hand in large circles on her back. He breathed in her sweet, flowery scent. “I hope you didn’t believe either of them.”
“Edward told me not to.”
He had always thought her oldest brother was smarter than the rest of them combined.
“I must say, for a young lady of such exalted standing, this is a rather unseemly display.” Mother had been so quiet George had all but forgotten her.
Caroline rose to her own defense. “Your son left without bidding his fiancée a proper farewell. Is that not rather low-class as well?”
Mother offered a confused humph before gliding up the stairs, dignity rolling off her in waves.
“Mrs. Barrington?” Caroline called after her. “Would it be terribly unseemly of me to kiss your son here in the entryway?”
Mother picked up her pace.
“What has come over you, Caroline?” George wasn’t complaining; he was simply confused.
“I’ve missed you.”
He settled her in the crook of his arm, walking with her slowly toward the back terrace. “I have missed you as well, my dear.”
“Without you here, I had no one to talk with. No one to walk with me in the gardens. No one to sit with in the library or laugh with about the oddities of life.” She leaned her head on his shoulder as they walked. Though she had done that on occasion before, there was something different in it now. “There was no you, and I didn’t like that at all.”
Please let this be more than her pining for my friendship.
“I’ve had no one to hold my hand, or to put an arm around me when I was afraid.”
He stopped up short. “You’ve been afraid? Of what?”
“You.” She was so much more at ease with him than in the weeks before; even that answer didn’t overly concern him. “I worried you were marrying me for the wrong reasons. And then I worried that I was marrying you for the wrong reasons. And I worried that all of those wrong reasons meant that our marriage was ill-fated, and then if our marriage fell apart, that I would lose you.”
“Is that why you were so opposed to this match?” He turned to face her. “Because you thought it would… ruin our friendship?”
“I couldn’t bear the thought of losing it— of losing you.”
He slipped an arm around her waist. “And what do you think of the match now?”
“It will change things between us, but it doesn’t have to be a bad change. You will still be a wonderful, lovely, integral part of my life.”
George pressed a kiss to her forehead. “And you will always be the best part of mine.”
“I want to try, George. I want to try thinking of you as something more than a friend.” He could hear hints of nervousness in her voice. “I don’t know if I can, but I would like to make the attempt.”
He kept his arms around her. “You will allow me to take this next week before the ball and court you as I’d hoped to? Really, truly court you?”
“Yes, please.”
At the earnestness of her response, he couldn’t help a grin. He’d been given something more than a mere chance at winning her regard; he’d been granted eager permission to do so.
He didn’t mean to waste the opportunity.
Some of Caroline’s earliest memories were of reminding herself not to daydream about courtship and love. Now as a young woman, she’d spent so long convincing herself that she didn’t care about such things that unconvincing herself was proving something of a struggle.
George brought her flowers every morning at breakfast. He never failed to kiss her hand anytime they parted company. He smiled warmly at her from across the table every evening at dinner. He sat beside her each night whilst Mother read long, misery-inducing passages of poetry, and he never looked the least unhappy about it.
Each show of affection from him prompted in her an instinctual response of dismissal, a reaction learned out of self-preservation. With each loving gesture George made, Caroline forced herself to remember that she needn’t hide behind armor any longer. Slowly, inch by inch, that armor was slipping away.
The night before the ball, George sat beside her, as usual, in the drawing room after dinner. He’d taken to sitting close, very close. So close, in fact, that the chill of approaching autumn in the air didn’t reach her at all despite the lack of a fire.
Mrs. Barrington clearly didn’t approve. As she had the last few nights, she eyed them with pursed lips and narrowed eyes.
“I suspect your mother thinks I’m a heathen,” Caroline whispered.
“And a bad influence.”
The introduction of a courtship between them hadn’t diminished their ability to laugh together. She was infinitely grateful for that.
Mrs. Barrington turned to Mother. “Do you not intend to say anything to them? I, for one, find this display appalling. There is something unacceptably intimate about a couple sitting so very close, smiling so warmly, laughing so unabashedly.”
“I, for one,” Father answered, “find ‘this display’ unspeakably reassuring. They are happy, and that puts this father’s heart at ease.”
“Are you?” George whispered to her. “Happy, I mean.”
“I am. That’s not to say I’m not still a little nervous, a little uncertain. But I’m not afraid, and yes, I am quite happy.”
George pressed a kiss to her forehead.
“George Edmund Barrington!” Mrs. Barrington’s usually controlled tones turned ear-shatteringly shrill. “You take your lips off of that girl this instant. How unseemly you have become.”
He looked anything but chastened. His hand took gentle hold of Caroline’s, and he remained as close to her as ever. When her eyes met his, she saw such fond contentment. Her heart both settled into a place of warm relief and sped its beating.
Though she had no experience with love— she’d never been permitted the luxury— Caroline knew instinctively that these moments of quiet contentment mingled with eager anticipation were the result of finally allowing herself to feel that long-dreamed-of emotion.
Chapter Nine
Upon arriving in Gloucestershire with Mother one week earlier, George had fully prepared himself for heart-wrenching disappointment. But the past few days had left him at a loss for words… in the best way. Caroline sat beside him, held his hand, laughed with him. She looked at him with real affection. She was happy.
His head wasn’t so firmly in the clouds that he thought Caroline had fallen in love with him in only a matter of days. But at last he had hope that someday she would.
He stood at the base of the stairs, watching as his beloved slowly descended, dressed for a ball at which they might very well be publicly announcing their betrothal. Even if she wasn’t ready to take that step yet, he wasn’t worried. He was being permitted the chance to court her. That was all he’d ever wanted: the opportunity to attempt to win her heart.
“You look very handsome this evening.” She stood only two steps from the bottom, smiling at him. How easily he could grow accustomed to moments like these.
“And you, my beloved Caroline, are a vision.” He offered her the bouquet of white roses the gardener had helped him assemble. “I know you can’t hold them while you’re dancing, but I wanted you to have them all the same. I know how much you love white roses.”
She accepted the offering with such obvious enjoyment. She held the bouquet to her nose, closing her eyes as she savored the fragrance. “I will never see another white rose without thinking of you.”
“Then I am glad I didn’t give you a bouquet of stinkweed.”
Caroline called over a passing maid. “Would you have these placed in a vase?” she asked. “And place the vase near the receiving line?”
The maid curtsied. “Yes, miss.”
Caroline’s hands were empty once more, the perfect opportunity to take her hand in his. “Are you excited about the ball?” he asked as they walked toward the entry, where her parents would be waiting for her.
“I am,” she said. “Are you?”
“I once pummeled a good friend for the sole purpose of securing your hand for a single dance. Of course I am excited about this ball.”
She threaded her arm through his. “You are assuming, then, that I will dance with you.”
“I certainly hope so.”
Her parents and brothers had already assembled in the receiving area, anticipating the arrival of their guests. George deposited her in their midst and offered them all the expected bow. “I will see you all in the ballroom.”
“George?” Caroline stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Will you not join us in the line?”
His eyes darted to her parents before returning to her. “Doing so would negate the need for a betrothal announcement. It would be an announcement in and of itself.” He watched her more closely, unsure if her request meant what he hoped it did. His pulse pounded high in his neck. “Have you decided to make this a true betrothal?”
He held his breath, and he firmly suspected her family did as well.
“I—” Her gaze fell on her brothers. George didn’t think he had ever seen her blush so deeply. “This is—” The blush only deepened.
“Pardon us,” George said to her family and, after taking quick hold of her hand once more, he hurried her in to the drawing room, where they could be alone. “Tell me what is worrying you, dearest.”
“Nothing now,” she said. “My brothers would tease me mercilessly if I said any of this in front of them.”
“Any of what?”
“I love you, George Barrington.”
Those five words froze him on the spot.
“Not in a life-changing way,” she added. “Not yet. But thinking of you as anything other than my friend is a new undertaking for me. I understand these things take time.”
“Are you saying that you believe you could love me in that way?”
She held fast to his hand. “I am saying that I believe I might already, I simply have no practice in recognizing it. I’m still sorting it all out.”
Not a terribly difficult obstacle to overcome. “Then allow me to show you every day what it is to be loved and cherished and treasured. Allow me the opportunity to make that experience so clear that you need never doubt it again.”
“I would like that very much.”
Was she saying what he thought she was saying? He studied her face, her smiling, contented, happy face. “Does this mean your father will be announcing our betrothal this evening?”
“Only if you will grant me the first dance, and the last, and all of the dances in between.”
He brushed a hand along her cheek. “As well as join your family in the reception line? There will be a great many whispers by the time your father finally explains things.”
Her smile grew tenfold. “How very unseemly of us.”
George slid his arms around her waist. “So long as we are treading that path, I believe I shall kiss you. And I do not at all mean a staid, brotherly sort of kiss.”
She set her hands on his shoulders. “I am ready to be thoroughly scandalized, George.”
He leaned in, savoring the long-awaited moment and the promise it held. His lips brushed hers once, twice. Breathing proved a chore, as did hearing anything above the pounding of his own pulse. But the feel of her tucked up to him, in his arms at last, wiped away any doubt, any worry.
He kissed her just as he’d promised he would, right there in the drawing room. And long afterward, he simply held her, blessing fate and the heavens for bringing her into his life.
His darling, wonderful friend.
His sweet, loving Caroline.
Chapter One
Stirlingshire, Scotland, 1850
Against all odds, Sophia Pemberton had fallen in love. With Scotland.
For six months she had resided on a large estate with Loch Lomond to the west and Ben Lomond to the east, and she already thought of the wild and untamed countryside as home. The estate was not hers. The land was not hers. Yet somehow she had come to think of the view as belonging to her.
The children she tended, however, were far more difficult to love.
“I will not be spoken to that way by a servant.” Seven-year-old Ella Haddington sniffed at the stable hand holding her pony’s lead. She, along with her brother, were undertaking their riding lessons.
“You were kickin’ the pony, miss,” the beleaguered young stable hand explained. “She don’t like when you do that.”
“It does not matter what I was doing,” Ella snapped. “You are not permitted to order me about.” The girl sounded like her mother.
Sophia had learned early in her time as the Haddingtons’ governess that correcting any of the family in their treatment of the servants only made the situation worse. Though the servants weren’t overly fond of her, she didn’t want to cause trouble for them. She’d learned to bite her tongue, no matter how much she wished to speak.
“I do not like this pony.” Nine-year-old Joseph never liked any pony the stable master chose for him. “Give me another, Buchanan.”
Dermot Buchanan, the Haddingtons’ stable master, simply kept chewing on the length of straw between his teeth. “I’m fully certain the animal don’t care for you either, laddie. He manages to endure it, though.”
Sophia bit back a smile as she bounced almost one-year-old Jane on her knee. Dermot never
allowed the Haddingtons to run roughshod over him. He never allowed anyone to run roughshod over him.
“Well, I don’t like the pony.” Joseph tipped his chin upward.
The stable master gave a firm nod and pulled the straw from his teeth. “Fair enough.” He tossed the straw aside then stepped up to the boy and pony. He reached up and pulled Joseph from the saddle and set him on his feet.
“What are you doing?” Joseph demanded.
“You can walk,” Dermot said. “A fella who doesn’t appreciate his pony doesn’t deserve to be carried about by the animal.”
“I will tell my parents that you didn’t allow me to finish my lessons.”
“I’ve no doubt you will.” Dermot jerked his head in the direction of the house. “Best get on with your tattling, boy.”
Joseph huffed away from his pony in high dudgeon, slowly making his way toward her, his scowl reaching monumental levels. He would be impossible for the rest of the day, more so than usual. Still, Sophia couldn’t begrudge Dermot his scolding. Joseph deserved the sharp words; he received them far too seldom.
The little tantrum didn’t distract Dermot at all. He gave a quick, sharp whistle. The pony turned its head in his direction. He clicked his tongue and motioned for the animal to follow, and it did. They always did. The animals heeded him. His stable hands heeded him. Sophia had even seen Mr. Haddington subdued by nothing more than a sharp look of censure from the self-possessed master of his stables.
Dermot never said much to anyone but kept very much to himself. Still, everyone within a several mile radius knew and respected him. Sophia also kept very much to herself, but all she had to show for it was eating every meal by herself and having no one to talk to.
Joseph reached her and set his fists on his hips. “I am hungry.”
“You may have milk and biscuits after your sister has finished her riding lesson.” Sophia continued bouncing Jane, hoping to stave off the usual noonday fussing.
Joseph’s fussing generally couldn’t be staved off. “I won’t wait for her.”
Sarah M. Eden British Isles Collection (A Timeless Romance Anthology Book 15) Page 5