Authors: Denise Patrick
“Do you like to read stories?” Caroline asked.
“I love stories. What kind do you like?”
“The ones about princesses and castles. I’m going to marry a prince when I grow up.”
“And I’m sure you will make a wonderful princess,” Corinna replied, amused at the face Michael made at his sister’s comment.
“No prince will marry you,” he told his sister. “They only marry princesses.”
Caroline whirled to face her brother, hands on her hips, but the duchess intervened, aborting the brewing argument before it started. The children obediently resumed their seats, but not before they each helped themselves to biscuits off the tea tray.
Conversation resumed with the duchess explaining the children’s routine and studies. Corinna was surprised the duchess was so intimately involved and familiar with her children’s days, but she had already observed that the duchess was on excellent terms with her children.
The door to the drawing room opened again. Caroline jumped up from her seat.
“Papa!”
Corinna looked up just in time to see Caroline launch herself at the blond giant who entered the room. Trying hard not to stare, Corinna watched in fascination as he picked the little girl up and tossed her into the air as if she weighed no more than a feather. Caroline squealed in delight as he caught her, then wrapped her arms around his neck.
“We have a new governess. She’s come to take Kenny’s place until Kenny comes back. She likes stories and even likes to fish.” The last was said in breathless tones of disbelief.
The duke’s deep voice responded. “Does she now? I didn’t know such a paragon existed. Stories
and
fishing?” Corinna felt herself blush again.
Still holding Caroline, he seated himself next to his wife and reached out to ruffle Michael’s hair. Michael turned and grinned up at him and Corinna immediately saw the resemblance in the straight patrician nose and around the eyes. She could see that the twins, while receiving their mother’s hair and high cheekbones, had inherited their eyes and nose from their father.
“Jacobs says any day now,” Michael told his father. “And he says I can help—but only if you say so.”
“Can I help too?” Caroline interrupted.
Michael scowled. “No, you can’t. A birthin’ is no place for a girl.”
The duke chuckled and glanced at his wife, who also found Michael’s statement amusing.
“Michael,” the duke inquired mildly, “just what do you think a mare is?”
“It’s a horse,” the boy responded.
“What kind of horse?”
Michael suddenly understood. “A girl horse,” he replied glumly. “But girls are squeamish and Jacobs says a birthin’ is no place for someone who is squeamish.”
The duke nodded. “True. But we will discuss this later, hmmm?”
Michael did not respond, but threw his sister a smug look before reaching up to take another biscuit off the tea tray and settling down to munch on it.
The duchess introduced her to the duke who, as she started to rise, said, “Pray, stay seated. We are fairly informal around here, unless the situation demands different.” He studied her for a moment, before saying, “So, you like to fish?”
“I often went fishing with my brother, Your Grace.”
“He took you along?” he asked conversationally.
“Sometimes,” she answered impishly. “Most of the time I tagged along with he and M—uh, his friend, so they didn’t have any choice except to let me join in.” Turning to look at Michael, she added, “And I was not so squeamish that I wasn’t willing to bait my own hook.”
The duke laughed at her quip. The duchess smiled. Caroline, however, gave an exaggerated shiver and said, “Ewwww.”
After tea, the duchess showed her to a small, but beautifully appointed room near the stairs leading to the nursery, explaining that since Miss Kendall was due to return they saw no need to pack up her things to make room for Corinna. Penny, the nursery maid, and Miss Timson, the baby’s nurse, slept in the nursery so she needn’t worry that the children were alone.
The arrangement suited Corinna just fine, because it served as a reminder that she was only in the household temporarily. Any day, Miss Kendall might return to displace her. Once alone, she unpacked her few belongings, then wandered over to the open window.
Closing her eyes, she conjured up Marcus’s face. Dark brown eyes and dark brown hair in an angular face. That was all she could remember, but there was one thing she knew for sure. He looked nothing like his brother—the duke. When Miss Ridley had asked her if she would accept this temporary arrangement, she’d nearly hugged the woman. What better way to find out where Marcus was than in the home of his brother? And now?
In the house less than two hours and she already felt comfortable. Perhaps she should tell them about Marcus. What would they do? A letter would be sent off to Marcus, which would take weeks, perhaps months, to get to India and more weeks or months to receive a return reply. All that time she would be living on sufferance Marcus would reply that she was who she said she was. No, that would not do.
She could not be idle. For now, she’d be the children’s governess until she could write to Marcus herself. And she’d only reveal her dilemma if Miss Kendall returned before Marcus replied to her.
A week later she nearly allowed her pride to get in the way of necessity. Over tea Caroline blithely announced to her mother they needed to go shopping because Corrie, as the twins had dubbed her, only had two dresses.
“Caroline Michelle Waring,” the duchess spoke sharply. “That is impertinent! You will apologize to Miss Camden this instant!”
“But, Mama,” Caroline exclaimed, clearly puzzled, “it’s true.”
The duchess’s voice gentled as she looked at her daughter’s contrite expression. “It may be, but a person’s wardrobe is very personal and should not be discussed in public.”
“But we are not in public,” she persisted. “We’re at home. And there’s no one here but us.”
“That is also true,” the duchess conceded, “however, Miss Camden is not a relation, and discussing her personal clothing in front of gentlemen is not appropriate.”
Caroline glanced in the direction of her father and brother. “Oh.”
Corinna glanced from mother to daughter. To be sure, she was mortified when Caroline mentioned the lamentable state of her wardrobe, but now she felt sorry for her.
“Caroline?” There was a wealth of warning in that one word.
Caroline slid off the sofa and approached Corinna. Raising solemn violet eyes to Corinna’s face, she said slowly, “I’m sorry.”
Corinna reached out and gave her a hug. “I know you meant well.”
“But we still need to go shopping,” Caroline whispered in her ear as she returned Corinna’s hug, nearly causing Corinna to laugh out loud.
In less than a week, both children had wormed their way into her heart. They were high spirited, yet well-behaved, competitive, but not spiteful, independent, inquisitive, warm and open. In short, they were children with no fear of the world around them, who loved their parents and knew they were loved in return.
She had been like that once. She never doubted her parents’ love and never wanted for their attention, but her older siblings often managed to rob her of her joy. Her childhood innocence died with her parents.
The duke left a short time later, taking Michael with him to check on the new foal which had arrived only two days prior. The duchess wasted no time in picking up where Caroline had been cut off.
“Despite my daughter’s lack of manners,” she began, “I hope you will not consider it an imposition if we order you a few dresses. We did the same for Miss Kendall when she arrived, so you need not feel it is out of the ordinary.”
“But I’m only here temporarily,” Corinna protested faintly. “I could be gone next week and you would not get any return on your investment.”
“Oh, pooh,” the duchess said in her forthright way. “I’m sure we can stand the cost of a few simple dresses without bankrupting ourselves.”
“But,” Corinna began, only to be cut off by Caroline.
“Oh, please, Corrie. It will be ever so much fun. I’ll help, too.”
Corinna didn’t know what to say. On the one hand, some new clothes would be welcome, and she couldn’t help but think of the trunks full of clothes she’d left behind at Houghton Hall. She didn’t want to feel like a poor relation, but for the time being that’s exactly what she was. Their generosity was yet another reason she could not tell them about Marcus until she was able to write to him.
“Perhaps we should let Miss Camden think on it for a day or two,” the duchess said to her daughter.
But Caroline turned to look up at her again, and Corinna could not resist the entreaty in her eyes.
“Perhaps just a few dresses would not be too much,” she capitulated. “If you will help me decide on the colors.”
The duchess smiled, but Caroline threw her arms around Corinna’s neck, squealing with joy at the prospect.
“I will have Madame Maud come round tomorrow afternoon. I’m sure she will be able to have something for us before we leave.”
“Leave?” This was the first Corinna heard about anyone going anywhere, although she welcomed the thought of leaving London behind. They were too close to her own family and possibly Vincent for her peace of mind.
The duchess started, then said, “I forgot to inform you it is nearly time for us to leave London. At the end of the Season, we travel down to Collingswood with my sister and her family and usually stay for a few weeks, then we return north to The Downs for the remainder of the summer. Sometimes, however, we go on into Cornwall to St. Ayers. Do you like the sea?”
Surprised by the question at the end of the duchess’s explanation, Corinna stuttered, “I-I’m sure I don’t know. I’ve never been there.”
“You’ll like it there,” Caroline informed her authoritatively. “Are we going to St. Ayers this year, Mama?”
“Perhaps. Your father and I have not discussed this summer’s plans yet.”
“Oh.”
So it was that nearly three weeks after first entering Waring House, Corinna found herself in a very comfortable traveling coach with the twins, their baby brother John and his nurse, headed for Collingswood, one of the estates of the Marquis of Thanet.
The day started out blustery and looked as if it might rain, but by the time they left not long after luncheon, the gray skies had turned blue and no rain had fallen. It was Miss Timson, John’s nurse, who informed her the trip would only take a couple of hours.
“We’ll be arriving just about tea time. Lady Thanet insists on country hours when she’s at Collingswood, so tea is usually served at five.”
“I see,” she acknowledged. “And do the children partake as well?”
“Sometimes,” the woman answered. Corinna watched her shift three-year-old John onto the seat beside her, and cover the sleeping child with a light shawl. She then turned intelligent black eyes back on Corinna, as Corinna asked her about the duchess’s sister.
“The Marquis and Marchioness of Thanet are the brother and sister of the duchess,” Miss Timson answered. At Corinna’s surprised look, she laughed lightly.”Her Grace and the Marquis share a father, and the Marchioness shares a mother with her.”
“It seems strange the Marquis would marry his own, what? Stepsister?” Corinna asked incredulously.
Miss Timson nodded. “True. But he was away at sea when his father married Her Grace’s mother.”
“Oh.” A thought suddenly occurred to Corinna. “Where does Lord Wynton fit in? I thought he was the duchess’s brother.”
“He is. He, Lady Thanet, and Her Grace all have the same mother.”
Corinna found the story fascinating and familiar. Putting herself in the duchess’s place, she couldn’t imagine Douglas marrying her sister, Diana, even though they, too, were not related by blood at all.
Chapter Two
“
I write to inform you of the deaths of my father and his wife this past week…
”
Baron Gregory Houghton, Bedfordshire, England, to Captain Lord Douglas Camden, Bombay, India, April 1867
“He’s dead.”
Marcus heard the pronouncement as if from a long distance away and wondered who they were talking about. The speaker sounded suspiciously like Francis, but he was certain it wasn’t. Francis would never dare to appear in his dreams, unless he could learn something to his advantage from them.
“If he’s not, he will wish he was when I’m through with him,” a second, louder, more forceful voice answered. This one he recognized as Colonel Bromley. What the devil was Bromley doing in his dream?
“He hasn’t moved in days,” the first speaker said.
“And how would you know?” the second voice asked. “I thought you said you hadn’t seen him in days?”
“I haven’t,” was the defensive reply, “but it stands to reason. Just look at the amount of beard he’s grown.”
“Well, let’s see if he’s departed for the hereafter, or just plain drunk. Odds are if his chin whiskers are still growin’ he’s not dead.”
Marcus only had time to think someone was about to experience something very unpleasant when he suddenly felt as if he’d fallen into the sea. Water sluiced over his head, soaking the pillow and mattress he lay upon. He sat up with a roar, waving his fists wildly. He wasn’t sure what his fist connected with, but the grunt of pain he heard assuaged his wet sensibilities somewhat.