There has been a change in plansand I am so blasted lost as to if I am doing the right thing for her. I am takingyour broken and battered sister-in-lawthe baroness to my family estate for her to recuperatealthough I’m not certain she ever will. The barongood riddance to the duplicitous beast! O faithless coward! O dishonest wretch!has sadly expiredtoo quickly and easilyfrom injuries he sustained during an attack by highwaymen when they were returning with their joyous news.I hope and pray she remembers her gaiety and never recalls the horrific assault I witnessed that haunts my every waking breath.Please let the duchess know her sister is safebut brokenand will be well cared for by my family through Spring. She could not faceanyoneher sisters while her emotions were so raw. I will see you upon my return. Ihope you can forgive me for arriving too late to protect her. I know I never will.
Best,
Astley
—A drafted letter to Nashford Xavier Harding, Duke of Ross from Simon Benjamin Clark, Earl of Astley which he rewrote before sending. The final version held little detail of the depth of Caillen’s injuries and her mental state after the death of her husband. Gretna Green, Scotland February 1812
Caillen jerked away just as his hand touched hers. Her alarm was a visceral experience she couldn’t control. He felt her panic. She saw it in his face. Yet despite recognizing Simon was no threat, her reaction had been instinctual. Alarm and suspicion she would’ve never felt before the attack, tightened her muscles and her movements. It was as if she were watching someone else react to his touch.
It certainly shouldn’t be her arms flailing wildly or swinging in a windmill fashion as she struck the bowl of water she’d prepared for him. She wouldn’t do that. She knew Simon wouldn’t harm her. Yet water sprayed across the front of her gown, and the bowl crashed to the floor, sending its contents and broken porcelain everywhere.
If she could have screamed, she would have, but it was as if she were mutely reliving the attack. Following the attack, her voice had left her. She wasn’t even certain how many days passed before she moved a muscle of her own accord. Or uttered a word. Time had simply vanished—until it didn’t. It was only then that the silent horror she’d endured became vocalized. Not in words, just screaming. She suspected her hours of screaming in his family dining room had damaged Simon while it had helped her to heal.
He raised his hands in surrender, letting her see that he meant her no harm.Oh, God.He meant her no harm.She knew that. Even as she stood there dripping and looking into his eyes that were black as night, she knew that expression. She wouldn’tbe arrogant enough to say she’d shattered his soul, but she had gutted him.
“I’m sorry, Caillen. I didn’t know you still couldn’t tolerate touch. You took care of me for so long, I just assumed?—”
“You assumed wrong,” She spat, her voice shaking with anger at herself, not him. Never him. Yet still the vitriol was spouting from her lips as her hands shook. “No man has the right to touch a woman without her consent.”
“You’re right. I am truly sorry, and I can only beg your forgiveness.”
She bit her lip and ignored him. Too afraid of the vile accusations she would hurl at him next. She focused on picking up the broken porcelain. That was something she could control.
“Please don’t. Let my staff pick it up.”
“It isn’t necessary.” She hissed in pain as she pulled her hand back from a shard of porcelain. A thin line of blood already appeared on her palm. “Blast!”
He reached for the servant pull, but she stopped him before he could call for help.
“Don’t you dare.” She growled. She sounded like an untamed beast. What was wrong with her? “The last thing I need is for your staff to speculate how this occurred.”
He reached for the soapy linen she’d prepared for his bath that had landed on the edge of his bed. “Here, use this.”
Caillen took the towel without touching him and wrapped it around her palm.
“What could my staff possibly construe from a broken bowl of water?”
“You would know better than I. I’ve heard all manner of your debauchery in the past month and a half.”
He scoffed. “I have a broken leg.”
“They’ve been wagering on when your mistress will come over and ‘heal’ you.” The venom in her voice was for his mistress,not his staff or him and she wasn’t sure why. What did she care about his relations with his mistress, and why would it bother her that a woman took pleasure in the hand life dealt her?
“They what?”
“You heard me. They try to be discreet, but I’ve heard them in the morning as they take their meals.” She began ticking off the wagers on her fingers. “Your footman, Charlie has bet his morning coffee for a month, another has bet duty on the next six journeys you take in miserable weather that require outriders. A maid has bet a kiss, and two other maids have bet taking on additional household duties that Marabella DiSimone, opera singer and mistressextraordinaire, could cure you with one ‘tup.’”
Had she truly said that? What was wrong with her? Everyone knew Astley paid his staff well. She supposed part of that was for their discretion.
“I understand,” he replied in a soft, contrite tone.
“Do you, though?”
“Yes.”
She shouldn’t ask, but she didn’t seem to have one ounce of control over what came out of her mouth. “And is it true?”
“That she could cure me with one tup?”
