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CHAPTER1
The wind raged against the latticed windowpanes of Miss Caroline Grave’s darkened bedchamber. It rattled the windows, not unlike the masked assailant in the worn novella currently hidden beneath Miss Caroline’s down filled quilt. The man pounded on the door, determined to take hostage the heroine of the book. Caroline stared out at the rain. Such imaginings were the only type of adventure that she was ever likely to have herself. She sat up and craned her neck toward a flicker of light that had appeared on the opposite side of the glass. Down below, someone had arrived. Miss Caroline listened, but could not make out voices.
A visitor? In this storm? At this hour? She wondered, but the chill of the room kept her from investigating. It would not be proper for a lady to roam the manor at night, in her bedclothes no less. Rather, she pulled the soft blankets up to her chin and told herself that Archibald, her father’s butler, could redirect the travelers who had likely made a wrong turn in the downpour. More likely, the old grump had left the mundane duty to the under-butler. Such an event was commonplace and really not worth even thinking on, but it was late for a traveler. Her father, Baron Wickham, had many friends and acquaintances with whom Caroline was not familiar. She was a child of his second marriage, a love match, and most of Father’s friends and their grown children were older than herself and already married. Caroline was acquainted with most, but did not know them well.
Yet, her mind turned again to the pages squirrelled away beneath her quilt. Perhaps, because her mind was already on intrigue, she wondered about the late-night visitors. Her heart raced as she wondered if they might be bandits. Maybe the French had made shore and trudged all the way to Northwickshire with the sole purpose of taking Gravesend Manor. At that thought, she giggled. It was a ridiculous and fantastical notion. Such things never happened in the humdrum lives of countrified nobility. Not really. Oh, one might hear of a lady gone missing here or there, but it always turned out that she had made a break for Gretna Green, had taken a detour to Bath to take the waters, or some other foolish nonsense. Nothing exciting ever happened to Miss Caroline or even any of her acquaintances. Life was nothing like the grand adventures the heroines had in her novels.
Marilee, her lady’s maid, often scolded her for reading tales which gave her such flights of fancy. “If you crave an adventure, then ask your father to take you to London when next Lords is in session,” she would say with a petulant sigh. Marilee loved London and the bustle of the city, but she also loved her mistress. They were, first and foremost, dearest friends after such long years as companions. Such affection did not keep the maid from reminding the irregular lady that Marilee’s nimble-fingered talent was wasted so far from the appreciative glances of theTon.
Caroline would grumble that she would never return to the dreaded town where her mother had died of a sudden fever at the conclusion of Caroline’s first, and only, season six long years ago. They had made quite an affair of the trip, as they always had for excursions to town, but this time had been different. Caroline had at last come out and there were parties and splendor and even offers from two droll gentlemen. Had she chosen to accept, she might be married with children of her own by now, she thought, but that had not come to pass. None of her suitors were interesting in the least, and she could not imagine spending a lifetime by their side.
She was nearly an old maid now at four and twenty, but Miss Caroline had been born willful and could never have been persuaded to such a dismal suit. Besides, Mama had fortified her decision with a wink and a promise that the season next would be even better. This first had been a dip of the toes, a test of the waters, Mother had said. Caroline had been only eighteen, after all. It had meant to be the most magical time of her life, and yet it had become instead her darkest memory. Six years had passed since that first season. Caroline was a spinster now and still refused to be courted. She remained in the country with her father.
Marilee would cluck her tongue and tease that, if not for her lady’s sake, then the maid herself would relish a handsome face to look upon every now and then. Even better if the gentleman came with a fetching pair of valets so she could make her own choice, Marilee teased. “Put down your pages and peer at the world,” her friend had oft been heard to say. “The best years of your life are passing you by.”
Caroline would chuckle as she turned her resolute nose back to her books. There were no men worth a stolen glance at Gravesend Manor, nor was there like to be in the foreseeable future. None compared to the heroes of her novels; men who were resolute and honorable, although often misunderstood. She longed to bring such a man out of his doldrums, and for her effort, he would love her forever, but she knew such fancies belong only in fairy stories. Real life rarely turned out so neat. Real life villains often won the day and good people died. Happily-ever-after was a childish myth. She sighed. Why on earth was she so melancholic?
Perhaps it was the detestable rain. She snuggled down in the covers and turned the page of her book, leaning closer to the candle for light. She squinted. It was getting too dark to see the page, even with the help of the lone candle. The fire had burned to embers. There was no help for her there. She could get up and stir the embers and perhaps coax a bit more light from the fire, but the bed was so comfy with her bedwarmer at her feet. She was loath to budge. She closed the book and sighed.
Miss Caroline was disenchanted with what had become of her life. She was an only child and her mother had assured long before her death that she would be granted the freedom of independent wealth even after the barony would pass beyond her father’s line. The baron would have done anything asked by his beloved wife. He had, in those days, been devoted to nothing more so than the baroness, his second wife and first love, and their precious daughter. So it happened that Miss Caroline’s allowance was such that she had no pressing need of a husband, really no need at all, and therefore possessed a definitive lack of enthusiasm to continue the hunt for a suitable match. She simply enjoyed her Season until her mother died and her whole world collapsed.
After her mother’s stately funeral, Caroline had retired to her father’s seat in Northwickshire and decided to forego the whole matter. Her father had not pressed the issue. He perhaps forgot for a while that he even had a daughter. She might have withdrawn to the countryside, but he had withdrawn into himself. He rarely even traveled the short distance to the little hamlet of Northwick. The loss of his true love had shattered the man, so much so. that he could hardly bring himself to look upon his daughter, whose features were eerily similar to that which he had lost. Caroline had outright refused to move forward without her mother to share in those most bonding of moments between a woman and her child.
Furthermore, she would not subject herself to the cold resignation that she had learned had been the stuff of her father’s first marriage. He had found his first match attractive, he had told her, but he had never loved the woman. Theirs had been a union of bitter necessity. Although Caroline had never truly learned all the details, as Father only said he was a foolish and careless youth. Marilee had gleaned from the servant’s whispers that the pair had been caught in a compromising embrace, and although both parties protested, they had been obligated to wed. The marriage had lasted only two years, although not through any fault of either. The tragic union had ended in an even more tragic manner. Lady Anne, and her babe, had both died in the childbirth. Such an event had made Caroline’s beloved mother, as well as her own uneventful entrance into this world, all the more precious to the baron.
Miss Caroline shook her head. No, she had no interest in marriage for the sake of marriage. She would much rather live through the fantastical events of her imaginings than face the harsh reality that life would never be what it had ought to have been. Miss Caroline tried to put these thoughts from her mind, thoughts and memories that only seemed to surface in the darkest hours of night.
The light outside her window flickered and then faded away. Who had been wandering in the night was gone now. With a she rolled over and pulled the coverlet over her head. No more than a minute later, her breathing slowed, and she fell fast asleep.
CHAPTER2
The following morning, Miss Caroline noted that the weather gave no sign of ceasing its deluge. Caroline allowed Marilee to button her into a cheerful yellow housedress while the pair mused that the color looked to be the only spot of sunshine in their entire day.
“I shall have to bask in your rays whenever our paths do cross,” the maid giggled, pretending to shield her eyes with the back of her hand.
“Ah, but do be careful,” Miss Caroline replied with a devilish grin, “for I’ve been known to leave a burn.”
Marilee’s mouth puckered to the side as if she were deep in thought. Then, she waved her hand with a quick motion that drew Caroline’s eyes to the iron in her hand. “Is this to be a contest?” the maid drawled with an air of superiority.
“I certainly hope not!” Miss Caroline let out a squeal and leaned away from the hot iron. Her feigned fear soon gave way to a hearty laugh as she declared, “You are the clear victor! You are the sun, Marilee! The Sun!”
“Don’t fret, my lady,” Marilee basked in her triumph. She gave her mistress two pats upon her head to declare their peace. Caroline righted in her seat and prepared to have her locks clamped so that the pomade might hold the neat ringlets that were meant to frame her face for the duration of the day. Miss Caroline’s fine blonde hair was naturally straight, and it was only through Marilee’s practiced care that the stubborn locks would bend at all. “I would never mar such a pretty canvas. Besides,” she shivered, “then I might be sent off to dress someone truly odious.”
“Am I only mostly odious?” Caroline pondered.
“Only half,” Marilee replied. Her wink bespoke the lie and the true depth of their affection.
“Ah, well,” Caroline grinned. “Half is not so bad considering you have naught but my features to look upon each morning.”
Marilee sighed with exaggerated longing, set the iron back in the bowl of coals, and leaned forward so her chin rested upon Caroline’s shoulder. She gave her best version of pleading eyes. “If not a valet, I would settle for a fine footman.” Their eyes met in the mirror. “Or perhaps even a young stable master. Oh, how I should ride!” She winked at Caroline.
“You are incorrigible!” Caroline blushed and swatted at her friend.
A knock at the door had the women turning. Marilee answered and the housekeeper, Mrs. Prats, stepped in. Mrs. Prats was a rotund woman with a round face and a round belly. She always had a smile for Caroline, and indeed, after mother had died, Mrs. Prats stepped seamlessly into the role, sheltering Caroline and the other girls of the household who were heartbroken with grief. She had been the housekeeper for as long as Caroline could remember, although Caroline did not ever remember a Mr. Prats.
“You’re wanted in the drawing room, my lady,” the housekeeper said with a nod much more formal than her usual winks and smiles. Her fading Scottish accent and maternal demeanor had always given Caroline the impression of a clucking hen collecting her chicks. Caroline counted herself lucky to be considered one of those chicks. Mrs. Prats and Marilee offered their love and friendship when Father had only become withdrawn with grief. The last six years would have been very different without Marilee and Mrs. Prats.
“Does Papa want me?” Miss Caroline said with narrowed eyes. “I saw him yesterday.” She waved her hand as if the obligation had been met. Her father would ask for her in another day or two. They would sit for a silent tea service, and then Caroline would ask about the tenants, to which he would offer only monosyllabic replies. She would comment on the weather and some movement or tone or look would remind him of her mother. His face would draw closed with a stab of pain, and he would abruptly excuse himself until when next he could stomach her presence. Such was their usual discourse.
