Chapter 18 #2
All things Louise had a hand in were tastefully elegant.
One would never guess what a madcap child she’d been, taking her two followers on reckless adventures through the woods of Hampshire.
Her father had been the local magistrate, and Louise had not only known where all the poachers and thieves dwelled, she’d befriended them.
There was little of the wild girl in this young woman who held her teacup in fine-boned fingers and observed her friends with serene blue eyes. Her late husband, the Earl of Heyford, had been a subdued man, and Louise had calmed herself for him.
“My dear friends,” Caro tried. “If Mr. Stone has no more interest in cataloging the collection, then he does not. He sent a very polite letter to me, and one separately to Leo, explaining that his duties are taking him elsewhere. He suggested I have his friend Mr. McCormick look over the library for valuable books, and I will, if we can agree on a fee.”
She strove to hide how much Eamon’s missives hurt. Leo was most unhappy as well. Caro had forced aside her own distress to comfort him, explaining that Eamon’s time was not always his own.
Caro knew full well why he’d gone, and now Louise and Jo had learned the entire tale.
Jo reached slender silver tongs to the sugar bowl and dropped another ragged chunk of sugar into her tea. She’d done so at least five times already.
“Darling Caro, a man does not declare himself and then simply depart and never return. He must be laboring under the misapprehension that you did not like his attentions.” Jo slurped her overly sweet tea, made a face, and hastily set down the cup.
“I believe he immensely regrets saying anything at all,” Caro said gloomily.
She’d stared at Eamon as though he’d lost his mind when he’d used the word love. He must have concluded he’d offended her beyond forgiveness, and took himself away before Caro could think of a thing to say.
She’d rehearsed her apology to him all that sleepless night, planning to deliver it the next morning, but Friday came and went, and Eamon did not return. On Saturday, she and Leo had both received letters from him expressing his apologies and explaining he’d not be back.
Caro had wavered between rage at him for deserting them and abject pain tinged with emptiness.
She’d written to Louise, telling her of the entire incident, knowing Louise would be discreet.
Then came the summons to Berkeley Square.
Caro had arrived this afternoon to find Jo already present.
Louise had relayed Caro’s troubles to her, and the two of them had come up with a plan to bring Eamon back.
“Inviting him to dine, to discuss where he left off his cataloging is natural,” Louise said. “Your mother-in-law will be there, because she will want to know his findings as well.”
“He left his notebooks,” Caro said wistfully. They’d been lying on one of the tables in the gallery, written in Eamon’s neat hand, with lists of paintings, small sculptures, books, and objets d’art. Caro had traced the lines of his writing, closing her eyes and feeling his last, furious kiss.
“Then he’ll be wanting them,” Jo said, breaking into her thoughts. “It is a perfect excuse for you to ask him to explain his notations to you. Alone, after the meal. All very businesslike, is it not? Then you can tell him how much you’ve been pining for him.”
“I will say no such thing,” Caro snatched up her teacup. “Pining, indeed.” Which was exactly what she was doing, and she knew it.
“Best to clear it all up,” Louise said in her quiet voice. “Even if he regrets his declaration, things ought to be easy between you. You need Mr. Stone’s expertise, and he needs the post. If nothing else, you should remain friends, especially as Leo is so taken with him.”
Jo regarded Louise with disappointment. “Friends? No, no, Caro needs a passionate and deeply satisfying affair. She deserves such a thing, after being a martyr for so long.”
“I haven’t been a martyr,” Caro said in surprise.
Jo heaved an exasperated sigh. “Really, the pair of you. When we were girls, Caro proclaimed she’d marry a handsome devil who swept her off her feet and took her around the world, experiencing one excitement after another.
Leopold was a sweet man, and I truly liked him, but he was hardly that. He stayed home and read moldy books.”
“He made Caro happy,” Louise broke in with indignation. “Having a gentleman relentlessly drag you around the world isn’t what makes a contented marriage. Caro would soon have been exhausted and longing for home.”
Caro wasn’t certain she agreed. With the right person, such a life could be exhilarating.
Why was it Eamon’s arm she pictured herself on while they moved through the ballrooms of Paris and the spa towns of Bavaria?
Jo turned to Louise. “You planned to disguise yourself as a man and ride from one end of Europe to the other with the gentleman of your dreams. You rode as far as Berkshire, in a carriage, moved into a dark, rambling house, and never came out again.”
“Of course I came out again,” Louise said in annoyance. “Do not exaggerate. I hosted gatherings, both in Berkshire and London, before Geoff …”
Louise faltered, and Caro reached to clasp her hand.
Geoffrey Collett, Earl of Heyford, had been very much a country gentleman, more interested in running his farm than frivolities.
He’d been happy for Louise to indulge in soirees and supper balls while they were in London for the Season, but he’d kept to his clubs, hurrying them both back to Berkshire as soon as he was able.
Though Caro and Jo had found Geoff at bit staid—even more staid than Leopold—Louise had been deliriously in love with him.
Geoff had fallen ill and died far too young, barely into his fortieth year.
His physicians had blamed his fondness for wandering through marshy ground for hours on end, breathing fetid air, for his final illness.
Whatever had happened, Louise had taken a long time to recover from the blow. She’d been a widow for five years now and hadn’t yet put aside half mourning.
“Forgive me, darling,” Jo said quickly. “I know you loved dear Geoff and love him still.”
“I do.” Louise nodded at both Jo and Caro, as though signaling she was well, but Caro knew better.
“My point is the three of us talked a lot of nonsense when we were younger. Caro and I discovered that married life is less of a whirlwind than we imagined, but also worthwhile. You will see yourself one day,” Louise finished with a glance at Jo.
“Do not cast my spinsterhood up to me.” Jo seized her tea and took a gulp. “Oh, dear, when did I put so much sugar in this? I will be alone well into my dotage, and you know it.”
“You will not,” Louise said firmly. “Your family will one day admit a gentleman past the barriers, as they did for your sister, and he’ll be perfect for you. You’ll be besotted.”
Jo sent her a stare so skeptical it confirmed where her niece Merry had learned the expression.
“You are sweet, Louise, but they never will. Sutcliffe was allowed for my sister because he hasn’t the imagination to pose any danger to my parents.
I have given up forming any sort of interest in a man at all. ”
Caro recalled Jo’s flustered demeanor when she’d dashed into Mr. McCormick and her long gaze at him over the banister afterward and decided Jo’s last statement wasn’t true.
“In any case, you both are mad,” Caro said. “Even if I invite Mr. Stone so that I can apologize and make certain we part friends, he will never come. He is finished with the Aylesmore family.”
Jo and Louise exchanged a glance that said much, but to Caro’s relief, they finally changed the subject.
Hours later, Caro returned home, consulted with the dowager, and wrote Eamon a letter. She started and discarded the missive half a dozen times, lamenting at wasting so much costly paper. Finally, she managed a few simple lines inviting him to dine at eight o’clock in the evening on Monday next.
She made herself fold the sheet and address it to Mr. Eamon Stone, care of Cheswell’s.
He wouldn’t come, Caro told herself once she had sent Singleton off to deliver the letter. She’d hear nothing more of Eamon, and she would have to live with that.
The next morning, however, Singleton brought her a note that had been penned on the bottom of the one Caro had sent the previous afternoon. Her heart beat thickly as she unfolded the paper and read the simple message:
I will be honored to attend.
E. Stone