Dark Angel (38 page)

The footman left her in an antechamber hung with blue daask. Too nervous to sit, Caroline paced the length of the room. Her hands were clammy beneath her gloves. Granby might refuse to see her. He had always treated her kindly, but she had not known him well. And while Granby had a strong sense of family, Jared had embroiled the family in a scandal and embezzled money from Granby's son. Jared's father had refused to have anything to do with him. Why should she expect better from his uncle?

At last the footman returned, his manner thawed considerably. Lord Granby would see her. Relief coursed through her, followed by a fresh attack of nerves. The footman led her back to the hall, through another doorway, and into a corridor in a region of the house where she had never been. Here he opened one of the highly polished doors and announced her name.

Caroline stepped into a room paneled in rich, dark wood, as elegant as the rest of the house but quieter somehow, less obtrusive. Gold-embossed books lined the walls. The smell of fresh ink and pipe tobacco hung in the air. A writing desk stood near the fireplace and behind it sat Jared's uncle, Arthur Rawley, Fourth Earl Granby.

"Caroline." There was a discreetly muffled thud as Granby pushed his chair back against the thick pile of the Aubusson carpet. He got to his feet and came toward her, both hands extended. "My dear, I'm so very glad to see you." Startled and relieved, Caroline gave him her hands. Though he was a man of moderate height, Granby carried himself with a quiet assurance that made him seem taller. As always, it was his eyes she noticed first. Dark and penetrating, they missed little and held an unshakable air of command.

"I hope you'll forgive me for receiving you so informally," he said, taking her hands in a strong, reassuring clasp. "I must confess to a craven wish to avoid the drawing room stairs. I'm not as young as I used to be."

Caroline smiled, realizing his words had been a calculated attempt to put her at ease. Granby was a skillful politician. He had been a power in the House of Lords for years, and though he had only once held a Cabinet post, his influence within his party was extensive.

Granby guided her toward a wing chair upholstered in a brown velvet which echoed the subdued colors in the carpet, then took a chair nearby. "Talbot wrote to me about Jared," he said when they were both seated. "I'm sorrier than I can say."

"War does these things to people," Caroline said, grateful for his obvious concern.

"So it does." Granby hesitated. "I wrote to my brother, of course. It's going to be a great blow for him. Have you written as well?"

Caroline felt something harden within her. "I sent a letter off yesterday."

Granby studied her for a moment. He had the Rawley face, long, thin, and finely boned, stamped with the power of the family. "You may find this difficult to believe, Caroline, but I think Hugo has spent most of the last five years regretting his words to Jared."

"He might have written to Jared."

Granby gave a wry smile. "So he might. But I fear we Rawley men have the devil of a time admitting we've been mistaken." He leaned back in his chair. "It was a terrible business and even more terrible that you had the misfortune to be caught up in it. Talbot says you had a hard time getting out of Spain."

It was the opening Caroline had been waiting for. She fixed Granby with a level gaze. "Adam Durward saved my life. And my child's."

"Ah." Granby's eyes told her he had been expecting something like this all along. "Then on that score I have nothing but gratitude and admiration for him."

For some reason these mild words made Caroline's spirits plummet. "But it doesn't alter your suspicions."

"I have no suspicions, Caroline. Like my colleagues, I am merely investigating the facts."

"Lord Granby—" Caroline broke off as the footman reentered the room bearing a tray with a silver coffee service. She had forgot that refreshments were an essential part of social calls in London. Her stomach knotted with tension and frustration, she sat in silence while the footman arranged the things on a nearby table.

"Thank you, Timothy, that will be all." Granby nodded dismissal at the footman. "Please go on, my dear," he said, pouing coffee into two gold-rimmed cups. "You were talking about Durward."

Caroline accepted a cup and drew a steadying breath. She couldn't mention her suspicions of Talbot. Granby was a fair man, but she could hardly expect him to believe unsubstantiated accusations against his son. "I know what Talbot wrote to you about Adam," she said. "Talbot must be mistaken or this man Limon is deceiving him. Surely my word counts for something. I was with Adam in Salamanca. I know he did nothing treasonous." She sipped the coffee, though her nerves were tightly strung enough as it was. "Is that so hard to believe?"

Granby's expression was impassive. "I certainly believe you saw Durward do nothing treasonous."

Caroline set her cup down so abruptly the coffee splashed into the saucer, scalding her fingers. "Adam Durward could never betray his country."

"Never?" Granby gave a faint smile. "Never is a great word, Caroline. Who knows what may drive any of us to betrayal?"

Caroline thought of other betrayals and clasped her hands, which had begun to tremble. "It's true that Adam made a friend of Colonel Lescaut. Adam's the sort who thinks it's safest to make a friend of your enemy. If he were a spy, don't you think he'd have made some attempt to conceal that friendship from me?"

"Perhaps. Though a clever man might make no attempt to conceal it. No." Granby put up a hand to stop Caroline as she began to protest. She was suddenly reminded that this was a man who easily held the floor in the House of Lords. "I'm not a fool, Caroline," he said. "I know Durward was your childhood friend. I know you would go to great lengths to protect him. I also know that he is a brave man who has served his country well in the past. And though Talbot is my son and I love him dearly, I know he can be reckless and impulsive and jump to conclusions. I won't do anything foolish. I suggest you advise Durward not to either."

Some of the tension left Caroline's body. If it was not everything she would have liked Granby to say, it was more than she had had any right to expect. "Thank you," she said with heartfelt sincerity.

"It's a sad day when one has to thank a man for being fair." Granby settled back in his chair and sipped his coffee. "I understand your feelings about my brother, Caroline, but you mustn't forget that we're your family. Your daughter's family. I believe you have no other relations in London?"

Caroline picked up her cup again, made uncomfortable by Granby's referring to Emily as part of the Rawley family. "Not immediate family," she said.

"I thought not. This is a monstrous house, you know. Far too big for me and Edward and his family. I would be very happy if you and—Emily, isn't it?—made Granby House your home for as long as you find convenient."

Caroline was surprised and touched. "Thank you," she said. "But we're comfortable where we are at present." She hesitated, then lifted her chin and added, "We're staying with Mr. Durward's aunt."

"I see." Granby smiled. "Very well, I won't press you. But you must know that you are always free to come to us. I trust you will allow me to arrange for you to speak with the family solicitor. You will want to learn the state of Jared's affairs."

This at least was something Caroline could accept. She thanked him again. Granby waved her words aside, asked some more questions about Emily, and reiterated his offer of help should she need it. "You must call again," he said when she rose to go. "Dolly will want to see you. I'd send for her now, but she's gone out for an early ride."

Caroline smiled. Eleven o'clock was indeed early for Granby's daughter-in-law Dolly, who frequently did not rise before noon. In the old days, Dolly had been one of Caroline's best friends. But though Dolly had written to Caroline after the scandal, the strained relationship between their husbands had made Caroline hesitate to call on her for assistance. "Give Dolly my love," she told Granby. "And Edward as well," she added after a moment.

"I will," Granby promised. Then he said, "If Edward still feels any animosity over the past it was never directed at you, Caroline."

Caroline wasn't entirely sure this was true, but she left Granby House in a far more cheerful frame of mind than she had entered it. Granby insisted on sending her home in one of the family carriages and she had to admit the well-sprung vehicle was a welcome luxury. She was halfway to Red Lion Square before she reminded herself that however sympathetic Granby had been, Talbot was still a threat and Adam was still accused of treason. Even if the charges were never proved, unless they could be disproved his career and reputation would be ruined.

When she reached Red Lion Square, John informed her that she had a visitor. A gentleman. He was in the parlor with Mrs. Wellstone. Puzzled, Caroline hurried down the hall. She had the unpleasant thought that perhaps Talbot had already arrived in England. But that was nonsense. Granby would have said something. Besides, Talbot could do nothing to her here, in Red Lion Square.

As she stepped into the parlor, Caroline was greeted by an exclamation of delight. The fair-haired man talking to Margaret got to his feet and came quickly toward her, a ready smile on his face. "Three days and you only seem to have got lovelier," said George Sheriton.

Chapter Seventeen

Caroline had not given a thought to Sherry since she parted from him in Portsmouth. Now she remembered that he had promised to call. She had thought it a meaningless, polite gesture, yet here he was, in the parlor of the Wellstone house in Red Lion Square, two days after her arrival in London. She had forgot how handsome he was and how very tall and broad. He was grinning at her now like his schoolboy brother.

"I'm jolly glad I caught you," he said, taking the hand she extended in greeting. "I only got up to London last night and I didn't dare disturb you then. Are you all right? Are you settled?"

He was still holding her hand. "I'm very well," she said, pulling it away, "and I'm quite comfortable here."

"And your little girl? How is she liking England?"

Caroline was tempted to laugh at his eagerness, but she was also pleased by his interest. "Emily takes everything in stride. She'll do very well here. Won't you sit down?"

Sherry shifted the hat that he held under his arm. "No, no, I've just explained to Mrs. Wellstone." He smiled at Margaret who was standing to one side. "I promised my mother I'd call on my uncle today. Beastly bore, but duty above all. I only came by to ask if you would drive with me this afternoon. It's been years since you've been in London, and I've been away devilish long myself. Four o'clock? Do say you'll come. The air will do you good."

Caroline could not resist his smile, nor his earnest pleading. She glanced at Margaret and the older woman nodded. "I'd be happy to come." Caroline felt suddenly lighthearted. It had been years since anyone had taken her driving.

"Do you mind?" she said to Margaret when Sherry had left the room. "I've left you with Emily all the morning—"

"Nonsense. The child is a joy to have about. Come downstairs. She's helping Mrs. Ainsley with the baking and she'll want to show you what she's made."

Caroline followed Margaret down the narrow stairs that led to the kitchen. An enormous scrubbed table stood in the middle of the room. Emily was perched on a stool at one end, her sleeves rolled up and her face and arms covered with sticky bread dough. She looked up at Caroline with a radiant smile and lifted up a shapeless blob. "See, Mama, I made a loaf."

"And a fine loaf it will be, but be careful how you treat it, it's just risen nicely." Mrs. Ainsley, the Wellstone cook, was squatting by the oven door, her face red with heat and wisps of gray hair escaping from the cloth covering her head. "We've had a fine morning, ma'am," she said to Caroline as she placed Emily's loaf in the oven beside her own. She closed the oven door and got heavily to her feet. "The child knows a lot about baking bread."

"Mama and I used to make bread in Acquera." Emily ran over to Caroline. "I like it, Mama. I like to make bread."

Caroline hugged her daughter. Emily was at home wherever she was.

They ate in the kitchen with Margaret and Mrs. Ainsley, savoring the yeasty smells from the oven and the shafts of light coming in through the high, ground-level widows that looked out on the tiny garden at the back of the house. When the meal was done, Caroline went up to her room, leaving Emily to wait for the bread to come out magically warm and brown from the oven.

Sherry's invitation had reminded Caroline that the plain green muslin she had worn to visit Lord Granby that morning would hardly do for a drive in an open carriage in Hyde Park. She had to review her wardrobe. At least she had had the foresight to bring up her trunk when she collected Jared's papers from Jane. She knelt before it, lifted the heavy lid, and was assailed by the smell of camphor and a host of memories. Before Jared's disgrace she had lived the life of a woman of fashion. She shuddered now at what she had spent on the pile of insubstantial fabrics and the frivolous hats that filled the trunk before her.

Caroline lifted the gowns carefully and spread them out on the bed. How she had loved clothes. They must be woefully out of fashion. Fashion had been important to her once. She had a sudden memory of Adela, her dark hair pulled neatly back from the perfect oval of her face, her dress faded and patched, with nothing but a shawl to keep out the cold, and felt a moment of shame for the heedless, selfish, shallow young woman she had been.

Caroline picked up a gossamer light gown of turquoise-colored silk. She had worn it at a ball given by Lady Pettit whose good opinion had once been important to her. Caroline closed her eyes, remembering the color and scent and movement of the ballroom. Whom had she danced with that night? Not Jared. They had ignored each other on such occasions. There must have been a great many young men. She was much admired in those days and she never lacked for partners. Sherry could have been one of them. Yes, she was sure she had danced with Sherry.