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She chewed on her lower lip. “I was afraid of that.”
“But I wouldn't worry,” James said with a reassuring wave of his hand. “He'll come around. Ravenscroft isn't used to having his life disrupted. He's a bit grumpy, but he's not entirely unreasonable.”
“Are you certain of that?”
James recognized her question as rhetorical and took the shovel from her hands. “Here now,” he said, “tell me what you need me to do.”
Caroline gave him instructions to dig under the purple flowering plant and knelt down to watch his work. “Mind that you don't break the roots,” she said. Then a moment later: “Why do you suppose he is always so angry with me?”
James didn't reply for a few moments, and the shovel stilled in his hands as he obviously pondered how to answer her question. “He's not angry with you,” he finally said.
She gave a little laugh. “We were obviously not watching the same person just now.”
“I mean it. He's not angry with you.” He stepped on the edge of the shovel and pushed it further down in the dirt. “He's afraid of you.”
Caroline started coughing so hard James had to whack her on the back. When she caught her breath she said, “I beg your pardon.”
There was another long moment of silence, and then James said, “He was engaged once.”
“I know.”
“Do you know what happened?”
She shook her head. “Just that she died.”
“Blake loved her more than life itself.”
Caroline swallowed, surprised by the squeezing pain in her heart elicited by James's statement.
“They'd known each other all their lives,” he continued. “They worked together for the War Office.”
“Oh, no,” she said, her hand moving to her mouth.
“Marabelle was killed by a traitor. She'd gone out on a mission in Blake's place. He had a putrid throat or something of the sort.” James paused to wipe a bit of sweat from his brow. “He forbade her to go, utterly forbade her, but she was never the sort to listen to ultimatums. She just laughed and told him she'd see him later in the evening.”
Caroline swallowed, but the motion did little to ease the lump in her throat. “At least her family could take solace in the fact that she died for her country,” she offered.
James shook his head. “They didn't know. They were told—everyone was told—that Marabelle had been killed in a hunting accident.”
“I—I don't know what to say.”
“There's really nothing to say. Or do. That's the problem.” James looked away for a moment, his eyes focusing on some spot on the horizon, then asked, “Do you remember when I said you reminded me of someone?”
“Yes,” Caroline said slowly, horror beginning to dawn in her eyes. “Oh, no…not her.”
James nodded. “I'm not certain why, but you do.”
She bit her lip and stared at her feet. Dear God, was that why Blake had kissed her? Because she somehow resembled his dead fiancée? She suddenly felt very small and very insignificant. And very undesirable.
“It's really nothing,” James said, clearly concerned by her unhappy expression.
“I would never take a risk like that,” Caroline said firmly. “Not if I had someone to love.” She swallowed. “Not if I had someone who loved me.”
James touched her hand. “It's been a lonely time for you these past few years, hasn't it?”
But Caroline wasn't ready for sympathetic comments. “What happened to Blake?” she asked sharply. “After she died.”
“He was devastated. Drunk for three months. He blamed himself.”
