“True, though I hope I can make it up to her now. I have discovered the truth you accused me of ignoring, by the way. Caroline left for Crawley this morning after an assassin hired by Darnley’s widow narrowly missed shooting her in the garden.”
Drew choked on his brandy. “My God, man, how did you bring her to this pass?”
“It’s a long story, and one I might even tell you some day. But I guarantee that it will never happen again. The lady in question has also discovered reality. To her chagrin,” he finished grimly.
“I certainly hope so.”
“Caroline is safe, and I will join her in a day or two. We are nearly finished with Robert’s affairs.” His voice wavered at mention of his brother.
“My condolences, Hartford. I should have offered them earlier.”
“Thank you. But you might as well call me Thomas. With both kinship and friendship with Caroline, I expect we will be seeing a great deal of each other in the future.”
“Thank you, Thomas. And for your trust as well. I am Drew, by the way.”
Thomas smiled and settled in for a friendly discussion with the last man on earth he had ever expected to count among his honored guests.
Chapter 18
Thomas arrived at Crawley in a raging downpour.
The discussion with Wroxleigh had cleared most of the remaining obstacles from his mind, leaving nothing but a desire to face Caroline and beg her forgiveness. Earning her friendship became his new goal. Not even Robert’s business was more important.
His last interview with his father had reinforced this desire. He sensed a barely controlled fury in his sire as he seated himself by the library fire.
“Thank you for offering Caroline the use of Worth,” he began.
“She needed more protection than Larkin could provide, particularly since her dresser will not leave London.”
This was something else he had not known. “Is that not a bit sudden?”
“No, Caroline knew of the situation when she hired the woman, but chose to do so anyway.”
So Caroline had hired her own dresser. And chosen with great skill. Why was he not surprised? At least Dawson was not scuttling away from trouble. Had Caroline asked her to change her mind? He suspected Cramer entertained more than a little partiality in that quarter. But he dared not pursue the thought yet. His father was still seething. “I am disappointed that you did not tell me Caroline was returning to Crawley.”
“She specifically requested that I refrain,” he stated in icy tones. “Claimed that you would understand, and that she was leaving you a full explanation.”
“Both statements are true. There will be no further trouble. I have already seen to that.”
“Ah.” Marchgate visibly relaxed, his countenance warming to a near smile. Guilty at the realization that his idiotic behavior had been so clear to those around him, Thomas felt a fool. Was all Mayfair discussing his misdeeds?
“I cannot leave her in doubt as to the outcome,” he declared firmly. “Can you finish Robert’s business without me? I plan to leave at dawn.”
“Certainly,” agreed the earl readily. “There is not much left to do. And you should be with your wife.”
Welcome back, son.
They spent an hour discussing those items requiring his decision before he excused himself to prepare for his journey.
A sound from Caroline’s room drew him through the door. Dawson was busily packing the last of her wardrobe into trunks.
“My lord?” She turned a questioning eye at his sudden appearance.
“Did Lady Hartford make adequate arrangements with you before she left?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“I know she would be delighted to retain your services if you have any second thoughts about your original agreement,” he offered.
She hesitated, but interest flickered in her dark eyes.
“If you decide to stay with my wife, you would live half the year at Crawley, which is an hour east of Banbury. I will be purchasing a house in London. Once we are out of mourning, we will spend both spring and fall in town. Would you like the job?”
Dawson smiled. “Yes, my lord. Your wife is a wonderful lady and a pleasure to work for. Thank you.”
“Thank
you
,” he replied, hoping Caroline might think better of him for this gesture. “We will leave at first light.” His eyes lit on a muddy cloak hanging on the wardrobe door. “What–” he began, a finger tracing the pair of holes. His knees shook.
“She was wearing it this morning.”
“Oh, Lord.” He struggled between rage and fear.
“She was untouched,” added Dawson softly.
He spent his evening at a quiet dinner with George and Jeremy, thanking them for their care of Caroline, making clear without actually saying so that his obsession was terminated and would never rear its ugly head again. He left with messages for her ringing in his ears.
Peters seemed surprised to see him.
“Did Lady Hartford not warn you of my imminent arrival?” he asked, allowing John to remove his sodden cloak. A curricle was not the most comfortable vehicle to drive through the rain.
“She did not expect you for some days,” he responded woodenly. “Nor is she here just now, having left this morning for a brief visit to her parents.”
Cold terror clutched at his heart. Why would she leave so soon after returning? Had something happened that threatened her life still? Perhaps she was avoiding him. Did she really believe him to be responsible for the attack? And the weather! Larkin was a competent coachman, but what would he have done when this storm broke? It had moved in from the west, so they would have struck it much sooner than he had.
“What time did she leave?”
“She had planned an early start, but the Griggs girl was mauled by a stray dog this morning. She is but four years old. Lady Hartford tended her wounds, so did not leave until nearly eleven. She claimed there was still time enough to arrive before dinner.” But Peters cast an uncomfortable eye at the continuing downpour.
Fear overwhelmed Thomas, beyond all logic. Something was wrong. He was sure of it. “Have Greatheart brought around in fifteen minutes.” He strode up to his room.
As expected, Caroline had left him a note, but it did not comfort him in the least. In fact, it left the distinct impression that she was considering leaving him.
Thomas–
My apologies for not being here when you arrived, but I did not expect you for some days yet.
I am visiting my parents. The recent unpleasantness has forced me to take a closer look at the future. Neither of us can tolerate the current situation any longer. I must decide in which direction to move and do not wish to be precipitate. Yet there is no one here I can consult. I need wise counsel, such as my father can provide.
Caroline
Pain lashed him, his dense mind finally absorbing the truth. He loved her. Had probably loved her for some time. His anger at her imagined infidelity was jealousy, not irritation that she ignored the code of honor he thought so important. And he was within a hair’s breadth of losing her.
How could he atone for the pain he had caused?
You care nought for me, as I well know...
Or was there pain?
Neither of us can tolerate...
Did she refer to the strain of living with his unremitting anger? Or was she acknowledging that marriage had been a mistake and she would be happier living alone?
Shuddering, he considered this possibility. Legally, he could force her to stay. But what about the morals of such an action? If she cared nothing for him, if his own deplorable behavior had instilled a disgust that could not be erased, could he in all conscience compel her to remain at Crawley?
Tears welled in his eyes. He could not. Her happiness was more important than his own. He had caused enough harm already and could not inflict more. Why had he never understood this aspect of love? By that one simple gauge, he could never have confused his infatuation for Alicia with love.
He could not wait until morning to follow her. Two forces compelled him into the storm. Something was clearly wrong; he could not shake the certainty that she was in danger. And he was impatient. Questions gnawed at his reason. Whatever the outcome, he had to know what the future held. It was time for honesty. He must admit his guilt and beg forgiveness. Hopefully, she would agree to give their marriage a second chance. Had she retained enough regard to forgive him? Was there any hope his love might someday be returned? But he banished this thought. It would be enough for now to have her at Crawley.
Hours later, his body begged him to reconsider this mad journey. Such a storm had not swept England in years. Even macadamized roads were becoming hopeless mires, and the lanes that offered the shortest route to Sheldridge Corners were virtually impassable. Only the fact that he rode kept him going. No vehicle could have managed.
She had been easy to track during the early stages, relieving one worry. Larkin was following the expected route. But it was becoming more difficult. Darkness was nearly total. Storm clouds and curtains of rain blocked all light. Nor was he familiar with the area. Stopping at yet another rustic inn, he prayed fervently that someone had seen the carriage. Greatheart was nearly foundered. He could not push the stallion much farther.
* * * *
Caroline gazed pensively into the fire, unwilling to remain awake to ponder her problems, yet fearing the dreams of sleep. This whole mad adventure was ill-conceived.
The journey had started late, for Jenny Griggs’s harrowing experience could not be ignored. The child suffered numerous cuts and gashes, including several on her face. Caroline had cleaned and bandaged them. A surgeon should have stitched the two deepest, but Mrs. Griggs was reluctant to call him. It seemed the local man was generally too intoxicated to trust, and demanded exorbitant fees besides. When Jenny finally fell into a deep swoon from pain and terror, Caroline took the opportunity to stitch them herself.
She fought down a shudder at the memory. It had taken every bit of her determination not to lose her breakfast. Another hour passed trying to calm Mrs. Griggs. She had sent Talbert after the dog as soon as the attack was reported. It was only when he informed them that the beast had been successfully dispatched that peace was finally restored.
Normally, the delay would not have mattered. But barely two hours into her journey, the heavens opened, creating another dilemma. She had not brought Sarah, expecting to make the trip in a single day and not wanting to admit she had been to Crawley. Thomas would not approve her staying at an inn unaccompanied. Nor could she prove that she was a viscountess. The coach did not yet sport a crest. Larkin wore no livery. Her cards still bore the imprint Mrs. Mannering. She had left town before the new ones had arrived from the printer.
Yet the roads worsened steadily. A growing feeling of
déjà vu
crept over her. Her last journey in the rain had ended in disaster, catapulting her into a sequence of events that culminated in attempted murder. What would happen now?
She was trying to decide whether they should stop at the next inn, regardless of its quality, when fate stepped in. An especially strong gust of wind slammed into the side of the coach. The road surface had turned to slick mud – not deep enough to mire the wheels, but offering no more security than ice. The coach slid sideways, fetching up against a large rock. She screamed as one wheel emitted an ominous crack, shattering as another gust ground the carriage into the boulder.
Thank God the accident was no worse. The coach was immobile until repairs could be effected, of course. But it had not tipped over. Nor was anyone injured, not even the horses. An inn – albeit a poor one – was barely a hundred yards along the road. The ostler and Larkin managed to wrestle the coach into the yard. Both a bedroom and a small parlor were available for hire. Unused to aristocrats, the innkeeper accepted her declared title and raised no brow at her lack of a maid.
Yet she could not shake off a feeling of impending doom.
A knock sounded on the parlor door, surprising her out of her reverie.
“Come in.”
A very wet Thomas stepped gingerly into the room.
“What on earth are you doing here?” she gasped, eyes wide with shock.
He gazed warily at her. Her reaction was not encouraging.
“I found your note when I arrived at Crawley this afternoon and feared for your safety in this storm.”
She stiffened. “With some justification, it turns out. Did Larkin report the accident?”
“Yes.” He nearly added scathing comments on her idiocy in starting a journey when the weather threatened, traveling without a maid, and refusing to stop when road conditions demanded such prudence, but restrained himself. The last thing he wanted was to hand her another excuse to turn away from him. “You are really uninjured?”
“Completely.” Why was he here? She stifled the hope that flared in her breast. Was his abrupt departure from London related to her attack? Had he broken with Alicia? Or was he merely furious at the way she had flouted his authority?
His expression was forbidding, at best, but she had resolved to treat him with respect and support in the hopes that they could become friends. Questioning his movements would feed his temper and serve no purpose. And he looked on the verge of explosion. His green eyes snapped fire. Water dripped from every garment. He must be soaked to the skin and freezing. “Your own journey must have been miserable,” she commented calmly. “Are you warm enough?”
Ignoring her question, he moved closer to add coal to the fire. “Do you really believe that I engineered the attack on you in London?”
He regretted the words as soon as they were uttered. Would she think the question a denouncement? Yet he was not entirely sorry to have asked. Her suspicions hurt. And it was as good a starting point as any for the discussion they could not avoid if they were to ever begin again.
Surprise widened her eyes. “Of course not. I thought I made that perfectly clear.”
“Perhaps I was not thinking sensibly. It seems to be a frequent failing of late. You know who was behind it then?”