Julie Garwood (7 page)

Glancing over at Milford, Henderson remembered that the two friends used to be quite alike. At one time, Bradford was just as much the rascal as his dark-haired friend, and just as much the mischief maker with the ladies of the
ton
. Yet over the five years he had served his new master, Henderson had all but given up hope that the duke would ever return to the carefree, easygoing disposition of long ago. Too much had happened. Too many betrayals.

“Brad giving you fits, Henderson? You’re frowning all over the steps,” the earl asked with his usual wide grin, looking every bit the scoundrel Henderson knew him to be.

“Something has happened to cause his Grace distress,”
Henderson replied. “I, of course, am not privy to my lord’s thoughts, but I do believe that you will notice a subtle change in his disposition.”

Henderson wouldn’t make further comment, but his remarks caused Milford to frown in speculation.

As soon as Milford got a good look at his friend, he decided that Henderson was the master of understatement.
Subtle
was the last descriptive word he would have considered, for the Duke of Bradford looked like he had just returned from a rather long carriage ride, being dragged below the vehicle instead of sitting inside.

Bradford was slouched behind his massive desk, frowning with intent as he scribbled a name on one of several envelopes littering the desk top.

The mahogany table was a cluttered mess, but then so was Bradford, Milford decided. His friend was in desperate need of a shave and a fresh cravat.

“Milford. I’ll be finished in just a minute,” Bradford told his friend. “Pour yourself a drink.”

Milford declined the drink and settled himself in a comfortable chair in front of the desk. “Brad, are you writing to everyone in England?” he asked as he ungraciously propped the heels of his polished boots on the desk top.

“Damn near,” Bradford muttered without looking up.

“Looks like you haven’t slept in days,” Milford commented. He kept the grin on his face but his eyes showed his concern. Bradford didn’t look at all well and the longer he watched him, the more concerned he became.

“I haven’t slept,” Bradford finally replied. He dropped the pen and leaned back against the soft cushion of his wingback chair. His boots joined his friend’s on the top of the desk and he let out a long sigh.

And then, without further hesitation, he told his
friend about his encounter with the woman named Caroline, leaving out only the portion with Brummell as he, too, had promised not to say a word about his friend’s humiliating incident with the bandits. He found himself embellishing her physical characteristics, taking quite a length of time to adequately describe the color of her eyes, but finally caught himself and rushed out the ending of the tale with the furious statement that all his inquiries had led down dark alleys.

“You’re looking in all the wrong places,” Milford advised with a smug voice when he had stopped laughing over Bradford’s retelling of the event. “She actually believes that the Colonies are more sophisticated than our London?”

Bradford ignored the question and homed in on the former statement. “What do you mean when you suggest that I’m looking in the wrong places? She’s returning to her father. I’m following that lead.” Bradford’s voice sounded harsh.

“Most of the
ton
have not yet returned for the coming season,” Milford patiently pointed out. “And that is the simple reason you haven’t heard any gossip. Get hold of yourself, man, she’ll be at Ashford’s bash. You can count on it.
Everyone
attends.”

“The season holds no promise for her.” Bradford lowered his voice as he repeated Caroline’s statement concerning the activities of the
ton
and found himself shaking his head. “Those were her exact words.”

“Most odd.” Milford was trying hard not to laugh. He hadn’t seen his friend so rattled in such a long time, and the relief that the cause was not from a serious matter made him light-headed. It also made him wish to bait his friend, just like he used to in the old days when the two roamed London together.

“Not so odd,” Bradford contradicted with a shrug. “I don’t attend any of the functions.”

“You mistake my meaning. I meant that you are behaving most odd,” Milford replied with a chuckle. “I
don’t believe I’ve ever seen you in such a state. This is an occasion to savor! And the cause is a lady who hails from the Colonies no less.” Milford would have continued, but laughter got the better of him, and much to his friend’s frowns of displeasure, he couldn’t contain several loud snorts.

“You’re really enjoying yourself, aren’t you?” Bradford snapped when Milford had quieted enough to hear him.

“That’s a fact,” Milford readily admitted. “I seem to remember a rather fervent vow made by you a couple of years back,” he continued. “Something to the effect that all women served one purpose only and to give your heart would be the height of stupidity.”

“Who said anything about giving anything?” Bradford roared the question. “I’m merely intrigued, that’s all,” he insisted in a calmer voice. “Don’t irritate me, Milford. You’ll come out the loser for it.”

“Calm down,” Milford replied. “I do wish to help.” He forced himself into a serious expression and said, “You should be checking with the dressmakers. If she’s from the Colonies, then she’s hopelessly out of fashion. Her relatives won’t wish to be embarrassed by her attire and will therefore see to the fitting of new gowns.”

“Your logic astounds me,” Bradford replied. A glimmer of hope appeared in his eyes and he actually grinned. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Because you don’t have three younger sisters, as I do,” Milford answered.

“I’d forgotten your sisters,” Bradford returned. “I never see them around.”

“They hide from you,” Milford told him with a chuckle. “You scare the hell out of them.” He shrugged then and said, “But I swear to you that fashions are all most women, including my sisters, talk about.” His voice turned serious when he asked, “Is this just an infatuation or is it something more? In the last five
years you’ve only escorted courtesans around town. You aren’t used to gently bred ladies, Brad. This is rather a dramatic turnaround.”

Bradford didn’t immediately answer. He didn’t seem to have any firm answers in his mind, only feelings. “I believe that it’s just temporary insanity,” he finally remarked. “But as soon as I see her again, I’m certain I’ll get her out of my blood,” Bradford ended with a shrug.

Milford nodded. He didn’t believe his friend for a minute. But Bradford was so serious over his opinions that Milford didn’t dare contradict. He left his friend to his note writing. His step was light as he made his way down the stairs, his mood so vastly improved that he smacked Henderson on his shoulder in a show of affection before he took his leave.

The Earl of Milfordhurst was suddenly quite anxious to meet the enchantress from the Colonies, the unique woman who was accomplishing what no other had been able to do in the last five years. Though she was unaware of it, the lady called Caroline was bringing the Duke of Bradford back to the living.

Milford liked her already.

Morning arrived and with the sun came new thoughts, new plans. Caroline Richmond, always an early riser no matter what time she had taken to her bed, welcomed the sun with a huge stretch of contentment.

She dressed quickly in a simple violet walking dress and tied her unruly hair at the back of her neck with a white lace ribbon.

Charity was still sleeping, and Benjamin, from the muffled noise coming from above, sounded like he was just getting up. Caroline went on downstairs, her intent to wait for her father in the dining room. She found him already seated at the head of the long polished table. He held a teacup in one hand and a paper in the other.
He didn’t notice her standing in the doorway, and Caroline did nothing to draw his attention. She took the time instead to study him as thoroughly as he seemed to be studying his paper.

His face was ruddy and full, but he had high cheekbones like hers. He was an older, rounder version of the man who had raised her. Yes, he looked quite a bit like his younger brother, Henry, and she suddenly realized that she should count herself fortunate. In her mind she had two fathers. Her uncle Henry had seen her raised and she loved him. It didn’t seem disloyal to share her love with the man who had given her life. Her real father. He was that, she admitted again, and it was her duty to love him, too.

The earl finally sensed that someone was observing him and glanced up. He was just about to take a sip from his teacup but froze in the middle of that action. His hazel eyes showed his surprise. They fairly sparkled and Caroline smiled, hoping her own expression showed the affection she was feeling, and none of the awkwardness she was fighting.

“Good morning, Father. Did you sleep well?”

Her voice shook. She was terribly nervous, now that she faced her father.

The teacup dropped, making a fine clatter against the table top. Tea spilled everywhere but he didn’t seem to notice the sound or the mess. He attempted to stand, thought better of it, and plopped back down again. His eyes filled with tears and he mopped at them with the end of a white linen napkin.

He was as nervous and unsure of himself as she was. That realization helped Caroline. Her father acted a bit dazed, and Caroline decided that he just didn’t know how to proceed. She watched the paper he had been holding slowly float to the floor and decided that it was up to her to carry on.

She kept the smile on her face, even though she was beginning to worry over his reaction to her, and walked
into the room. She didn’t stop until she stood next to him, and quickly, before she could think better of it, kissed him on his bright red cheek.

Her touch pulled him from his trance and he suddenly exploded into motion. He knocked over the chair he was sitting in when he stood and grabbed Caroline by her shoulders, pulling her into his embrace.

“You’re not disappointed?” Caroline whispered into his chest. “I look like what you imagined me to be?”

“I could never be disappointed. How can you think that? I was momentarily stunned,” he explained with another hug. “You’re the replica of your dear mother, God rest her soul. I couldn’t be more proud.”

“Do I truly resemble her, Father?” Caroline asked when he let up on the pressure of his embrace.

“You do. Let me have another look at you.” The command sounded like an affectionate growl. Caroline obliged, standing back a space and twirling around for his inspection. “You’re a beauty to be sure,” her father praised. “Sit,” he cautioned with a quick frown. “You mustn’t overtax yourself and get sick on me. I won’t have you overtired.”

Guilt rather than his order pushed her into the chair he held ready for her. “Father, there is something I must tell you. This is difficult to say but we must deal honestly with each other. I decided that is the only way, once I saw the drawings I had done as a little girl, and so—” Her shoulders slumped at his expectant look and she sighed instead of finishing her sentence.

“Are you trying to tell me that you’re as healthy as a horse?” her father asked with a twinkle in his eyes.

Caroline’s head jerked up and she knew she looked quite astonished. “Yes,” she admitted. “I’ve never been sick a day in my life. I’m so sorry, Father.”

Her father laughed with genuine amusement. “Sorry that you haven’t been ill or sorry that you and your aunt Mary tried to trick me?”

“I’m so ashamed.” The admission was honest but it
didn’t make her feel any better. “It was just that I was so …”

“Content?” her father asked with a nod. He righted his own chair and sat down again.

“Yes, content. I lived with your brother and his family for such a long time. I must tell you that I’ve thought of Aunt Mary as my mother and have called her Mama. My cousins became my brothers, and Charity was always just like a sister to me. I never forgot you though, Father,” Caroline rushed on. “I misplaced the pictures of you in my mind but I always knew you were my true father. I just didn’t think you’d ever send for me. I thought you were very content with the arrangement.”

“Caroline, I understand,” her father announced. He patted her hand and then said, “I waited too long to demand your return. But I had my reasons. I’ll not go into them just yet. You’re home now and that’s all that matters.”

“Do you think that we’ll get on well with each other?”

Caroline’s question drew a surprised expression from her father. “I believe that we will,” he said. “You must tell me all the news from my brother and his family. I understand that Charity is here too. Tell me, is she truly the ball of fluff Mary’s letters led me to believe?” His voice was filled with affection and Caroline smiled over it. That, and his apt description of her cousin.

“If you are inquiring if she is still fat, the answer is no. Talking has replaced eating,” she added with a grin. “She’s very slender and quite fetching in appearance. I believe she’ll cause a stir, Father, for she is blonde and petite and we were told those were the requirements for acceptance by the
ton.”

“I fear I’ve not kept up with the latest fashions and expectations,” her father admitted. His smile evaporated, replaced by a frown of concern. “You have stated that we must deal honestly with each other,
Daughter. And I agree. I, too, have been weaving tales in my letters to you.”

Caroline’s eyes widened. “You have?”

“Yes, but I’ll tell you the truth now. I haven’t attended any of the balls since you left with my brother and his family and went to Boston. I fear I’m considered a recluse.”

“Truly?” When her father nodded, Caroline said, “But, Father, your letters, with all the descriptions of the goings and comings, and the gossip! How were you ever able to sound so accurate?”

“My friend Ludman,” her father replied with a sheepish grin. “He never misses a single event and has kept me somewhat up to date. Enough to fabricate my tales to you.”

“Why?” Caroline asked after she had mulled over his comments. “Don’t you like the parties?”

“There are many reasons and I’ll not burden you with them now,” her father hedged. “Your mother’s brother, the Marquis of Aimsmond, and I have not spoken to one another in fourteen years. Because he does attend some of the gatherings, I do not. That is a rather simple explanation but enough for now I think.”