The Bluestocking's Dilemma Page 26

  The staff at Waverly Court understood this too. Once over the initial surprise of their mistress’s return, they went about their duties as normally and as inconspicuously as possible, never once letting on that, down to the lowliest scullery maid, they were watching over Caro with all the concern and sympathy of a worried parent.

  “Now, something’s happened to upset her ladyship,” William announced, gravely surveying the group assembled at the kitchen table. The moment he had opened the door, William had known that his mistress was more upset than he had ever seen her, more at a loss and alone than she had been even when her father had died, and his heart ached for her. She’s fallen in love, he thought to himself. There’s nothing else that would cause her to look as though the wind were knocked out of her, nothing else that she couldn’t handle. Why, if I ever find the fellow, I’ll, I’ll . . . Caro’s ordinarily phlegmatic henchman could barely contain his fury, but he knew it would only make matters worse if Caro sensed this, so he contented himself with calling together a general meeting of the household after their mistress, weary from the ride and loss of appetite, had crawled into bed.

  “If any one of you does anything to upset the mistress, or lets on by so much as the blink of an eyelid that we know something is upsetting her, I’ll have that person’s hide.” William frowned fiercely at them all. “And you know I’m a man of my word. Now, be off with you, and let’s do what we can to give her ladyship the peace and quiet she needs.”

  They all trooped silently out of the kitchen, each one resolved to fulfill the assigned tasks so well that whatever was ailing her ladyship would be helped somewhat by seeing how smoothly her household and her estates were running.

  However, it seemed to the staff that there was little likelihood even of this happening, so dazed and distant as Lady Caroline was, not eating, not reading, only paying the most perfunctory attention to her surroundings and making what was obviously an effort to respond to anyone who came in contact with her.

  “Poor lamb,” Mrs. Crawford sighed gustily as she shared a cup of tea with William. “I always did wish for her to fall in love, but not this way. It’s a wicked shame, that it is, and I’m sorry if I ever wanted her to go to London to be among those town beaux. It’s a nasty selfish lot they are, just like that cousin of hers, if I’ve heard aright. Why, there’s not a man alive as is good enough for her ladyship, and certainly there isn’t one worth this grief and that’s as sure as eggs is eggs.” She nodded vigorously, gulping down the last of the tea before going to discuss with Cook another delicacy to tempt her mistress, though she knew full well it would again be returned to the kitchen untouched.

  If Caro was overwhelmed by an unhappy lassitude, the marquess was quite the opposite. Having spent an equally sleepless night contemplating far pleasanter thoughts than Caro’s and spinning plans for the future, he leapt out of bed the next morning full of energy and eager to set these plans in motion.

  Downing his coffee and barely touching his eggs and rasher of bacon, he waited impatiently until a reasonable hour for making calls chimed on the clock in the hall. Then he was off to Grosvenor Square in a fever of anticipation. All he had been able to think of since putting Caro to bed was of how sweet and defenseless she had looked lying there among all the pillows and of how he longed to lie next to her and hold her close, giving her some of his warmth and strength until she recovered. Then his mind would recall the night of the Countess of Nayland’s rout and how he had caught his breath when he first saw her, how much he wanted her when he had looked down into her half-closed eyes and felt her body quiver in response to his kiss.

  Wrapped in these enticing daydreams, he hardly noticed the ride to Grosvenor Square, and it was a minute before he recognized Ceddie and Clarence sitting disconsolately on the steps, their faces the very picture of gloom. Something must be very much amiss for two ordinarily irrepressible lads to look so woebegone and be sitting in such a way in front of the countess’s elegant establishment.

  “Whatever is the matter? I can’t think when I last saw such Friday-faces.” Nicholas dismounted and handed the reins to a groom, who had run forward eagerly to take a place on the step next to the boys.

  “Cousin Caro is gone,” Ceddie intoned in lugubrious accents.

  “Gone?”

  “We don’t know why. Mama says it was something at Waverly, but surely she wouldn’t leave without telling us good-bye.” Though more in command of himself, Clarence was as visibly unhappy as his younger brother.

  “Oh.” The marquess felt as though the wind had gone out of his sails. She didn’t wish to see him after all. He knew Caro well enough to be certain that her estates were carefully looked after by capable enough people that no emergency would be so dire as to require her immediate presence. So what could have sent her posthaste away from London? The only answer could be that his attentions were unwelcome. The day that had seemed so bright and full of promise was now dark and gloomy. All his energy drained out of him and he felt like a traveler in an impenetrable wood who suddenly realizes that he has no idea of the way out.

  “You could help, sir, couldn’t you?” Ceddie’s anxious voice brought him back to reality.

  “What? I’m sorry, I was not attending.”

  “I said you could bring her back,” Ceddie maintained, confident that his hero could accomplish any task, no matter how difficult.

  “I’m not at all sure, my boy. If she wished to leave London, doubtless she had her reasons, and once she’s made up her mind, there’s no stopping her. She’s a lady of great decision.”

  “But she’ll listen to you. She likes you best of anyone. You could tell her how much we miss her and she would come back.”

  Nicholas was so bemused by this reply that he was silent for some time. He wanted to ask Ceddie where he had come by this opinion. The lad was intelligent and perceptive. Often children were more clear-eyed in opining the true state of affairs than their elders. Perhaps there was hope after all. Perhaps she did care for him just a little bit?

  “I don’t know, lad. I am not altogether certain that I have any weight where her opinion is concerned.”

  “Oh, but you do, sir,” Clarence broke in. “She is always telling us what you said about this or that. And when she reads the paper, she is forever saying ‘I must ask his lordship what he thinks of this.’ ”

  “Besides, whenever she’s with you, she is much more smiley than she is with Mama, Miss Gray, or Tony,” Ceddie piped up.

  This was news indeed! The marquess digested the information slowly, wondering what to do next while Caesar stamped impatiently and the boys regarded him anxiously. He might have deliberated thus forever had not Helena appeared at the door to warn the boys that their mother was asking for them. They leapt up quickly and headed indoors, but not before Ceddie turned to appeal one more time, “You will help, won’t you, sir?”

  “I’ll do my best,” Nicholas promised, smiling faintly.

  Helena raised a quizzical eyebrow. “They think for some absurd reason that I can convince Lady Caroline to return to London,” he explained.

  “Well, you can,” was the blunt reply.

  Nicholas stared.

  “I hope you will forgive me if I am being indelicate, my lord,” Helena began. Ordinarily, Caro’s companion was not one to put herself forward. She never hesitated to state her opinions forthrightly when questioned, but she shied away from volunteering them. This time, however, it was different. When two people were so obviously miserable and so obviously trying not to impose on the other, it was time that someone else take them in hand. She had thought no one could have looked as wretched as Caro had when she had left early that morning, but that was before she had seen the marquess. He, too, wore the same pale, set expression, that same lost and bewildered look in his eyes. Helena would have felt sorry for anyone who appeared thus, but somehow it was doubly poignant in two people who customarily seemed so self-possessed, so energetic, and so purposeful.

  “I quite ag
ree with Ceddie and Clarence. In fact, I would venture to say that you are the only person who could bring her back.’’

  Nicholas continued to gape at her stupidly. “She cares a great deal for you, my lord.” The marquess shook his head dismissively. “Yes, she does,” Helena averred. “It’s just that she is a very proud and independent person and the idea of having one person mean that much to her, particularly a person of whose regard she is entirely unsure, who hitherto has always admired her cousin, is unsettling in the extreme. What else could she do but seek out peace and quiet to overcome this weakness of hers?’’ Helena paused to consider the effect of her words. Seeing the marquess brighten, she was encouraged enough to continue, “Of course, I have not spoken to Caro of this, but it appears to me that you are not indifferent. If I am correct and that is the case, I should urge you to go to Waverly Court at once before she has talked herself out of the entire thing.”

  For a moment, Helena thought her words had not sunk in. Then Nicholas grabbed her hand and pressed it to his lips. “Thank you,” he murmured fervently. “You are a kind and courageous person. Caro is indeed fortunate in counting you her friend. Tell Ceddie and Clarence I shall not rest until I have her word she will return.” And with a crooked smile and a wave, he leapt on Caesar and clattered out of the square.

  And a rare to-do it will be when you bring her back as your affianced bride, Helena thought to herself. She could hardly bite back the smile as she pictured the countess’s reaction to the news.

  Nicholas rode like a madman, not even stopping at Daventry House to inform them of his whereabouts. All he could think of at the moment was Caro and how he longed for her. Ceddie and Helena had given him new hope and he was determined not to return to London until he had convinced Caro that he wanted and needed her, of the rightness of it all. Nicholas had never been so sure of anything in his life and he wanted her to share that feeling.

  However, by the time he had reached Waverly Court, some of the doubts had come creeping back. She had been angry at him at the ball. Had he been like every other coxcomb in thinking that she wanted him, simply because he wanted her so very badly? It had seemed that she had been-glad to see him after her accident, and surely she would not have nestled close to him if she had despised him? Still, she had been semiconscious at the time.

  When William opened the door at last, Nicholas had worked himself up again into a torment of worry. William’s first reaction when he saw Lady Caroline’s visitor was one of anger. He’s the one, miserable scoundrel. I’ll show him a thing or two. And he was on the verge of denying his mistress was in when, taking a closer look, he saw the strain and uncertainty reflected in the marquess’s face. In fact, his expression so closely resembled the one his mistress had been wearing, that her would-be protector thought better of himself and decided to usher the visitor in without giving Caro the benefit of a warning. Far better that these two deal with each other immediately than giving them time to master their emotions and let their pride reassert itself.

  So, with a “Do come in, sir,” William led the marquess directly to the library, where Caro was half-heartedly trying to go over the accounts.

  It was practically the same scene as when the marquess had first accosted her over selling her land. She was even wearing the same simple morning dress. But how pale and tired she looked. There were dark circles under her eyes and the comers of her mouth drooped. In his anxiety for her, Nicholas forgot all his apprehensions and hurried across the room to clasp her hands in his. “Caro, my girl, whatever is wrong?”

  Taken completely by surprise, Caro rose and stood transfixed, gazing mutely up at him. Oh, she was glad to see him! She couldn’t help it. Seeing the broad shoulders, the dark blue eyes so full of concern, she just wanted to throw herself on his chest and sob out her confusion and unhappiness. Then, with a tremendous effort, she regained control of herself. After all, she had no idea why he was here. She mustn’t betray how glad she was to see him. If he were just stopping en route somewhere, such a response was bound to render him acutely uncomfortable.

  “I’m ... I’m quite well, my lord,” she replied gravely, withdrawing her hands. “I thank you for your interest. It is merely that I had business at Waverly.”

  “Nonsense.” He tilted her chin up so she was forced to look at him. “Don’t gammon me, my girl. I wasn’t born yesterday and I know your affairs are perfectly in order. Now, out with it. What’s troubling you?”

  The gray eyes suddenly swam with tears and she shook her head, unable to speak.

  “Caro, my love, I thought we were friends, you and I. I thought you trusted me enough to know you could confide even your darkest secrets. Surely, nothing could be worse than attending a radical meeting dressed in breeches?” He smiled tenderly down at her.

  Caro was so overwhelmed by it all she couldn’t have replied even if she would have. “My love” he had called her. She had never thought to hear anyone, especially Nicholas, speak to her so. Until now, she had never wanted anyone to, and now she wanted it so desperately that she felt like a weak woman, the type of woman she despised for being so dependent on a man for happiness. She was no better than all the rest.

  Seeing her agony of hesitation, Nicholas reached out and led her gently to the couch where he sat her down and then, still retaining her hand, placed himself next to her. “Come. I don’t wish to upset you. I would do anything in the world to spare you pain, but, Caro, I love you so, I want you so, that I must know.’’

  A tear spilled over and rolled down one soft cheek.

  He wiped it away. “Please. I don’t mean to distress you. I just want to tell you I love you. If you don’t love me, just tell me and I shall go away and never bother you again.”

  At last, Caro found her voice. “I do, I do love you, only . . . only I don’t want to,” she wailed. He remained quiet, regarding her gravely. “It’s just that I don’t want to be like all the other women. I don’t need anyone, I do very well by myself, I . . .”

  A finger on her lips, he stopped the torrent of words. “My love, don’t you think I feel the same way? I was such a weak fool in my calf-love for Lavinia. I never wanted to feel that way again, but this is different. You make me strong. You see all that I am, all that I try to do, and your understanding makes me stronger. I only want to do the same for you. I want more than a wife, I want a friend, a companion, someone I can admire and respect as I admire and respect you. And,” he played his trump card, “if you marry me, you will command all that I have to give you encouragement—my vote, my wealth, all that I have. Besides ...”

  Caro looked up questioningly.

  “I want you in the most desperate way.” He kissed her gently. “With my heart.” His lips touched her forehead. “My mind.” They traveled to her cheek. “My soul.” They caressed her jaw. “And my body.” His lips covered hers tenderly, then insistently as he gathered her to him, reveling in the softness of her body in his arms, molded to his, and the quickening of her breath as her arms went up around his neck and she responded shyly at first and then with increasing passion. “Ah Caro, Caro,” he sighed, burying his head in the sweet scented warmth of her neck.

  Caro felt the characteristic languor creep deliciously over her as she gave herself up to his embrace. Then, once again, her mind reasserted itself and she struggled upright. “But Nicholas, are you quite sure?”

  “Sure?” He stared at her. “Of course, I am sure. So you think I do this sort of thing with everyone I meet?”

  The irrepressible dimple appeared at the comer of her mouth. “No, only with unapproachable bluestockings.”

  He gave a shout of laughter.

  “No, seriously. When I first met you, you were madly in love with Lavvy. I’m not Lavvy.”

  “Thank God,” he muttered fervently, his lips seeking hers once again.

  Once again hers parted breathlessly beneath his before she continued, “No, truly, Nicholas, Lavvy is so very beautiful and . . .”

  He put a finger
to her lips. “And you are a woman, sweetheart, and as such, evoke a passion in me and a longing to be with you that she never inspired. Besides”—he raised a quizzical eyebrow—”she never liked kissing. It mussed her hair. And you, my little one”—he looked down at the generous mouth and the gray eyes full of promises— “you enjoy it very much, I think.”

  “Yes, Nicholas,” she sighed.

  “Then we must be married right away in case you take it into your head to enjoy it with other fellows, such as Tony.”

  “Tony!” She was thunderstruck.

  “Yes, Tony. I saw you at the Countess of Nayland’s ball and you looked so lovely my heart ached. Then you would talk with Castlereagh and dance with Captain Allen and laugh with Tony until I was quite mad with jealousy.’’

  “You were?” She looked pleased with herself.

  “Yes, you minx, but you are mine. You always were mine from the moment I saw you wrapped up in that ridiculous shawl watching us all so scornfully as we made fools of ourselves. But you were so kind and sympathetic, I couldn’t help but love you. In truth, I think I have loved you since then. You were so interested and eager.”

  “And you were so kind,” she broke in, “sharing all your adventures and your stories with me.”

  “As I wish to share everything with you,” he concluded gravely, looking deep into her eyes. “Please say you will share it with me forever?”

  “Forever.”

  Copyright © 1992 by Cynthia Whealler

  Originally published by Signet (0451173570)

  Electronically published in 2007 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228