Chapter 24
Later that night, Richard had snuck out of her chambers.
The following morning, he informed her father that they would be marrying.
Again. Her father was delighted. Again. In a week, or sooner if possible.
But before they could talk more, a maid arrived with a letter. Bridget was finally coming to visit.
When the carriage arrived three days later, rolling up the gravel path beneath a mild spring sun, Caroline was waiting at the steps before the horses had even halted. The sight that met her eyes drew an audible gasp.
Bridget descended with the help of a footman, her rounded figure a testament to the life growing within her. She was glowing—cheeks flushed, eyes bright—and her laughter floated through the air as she spotted her sister.
“Caroline!” she cried, her voice still carrying the musical lilt that had charmed half of London in seasons past.
Caroline rushed forward and embraced her tightly. “Oh, Bridget—you’re beautiful.”
Her sister laughed breathlessly. “Beautiful? I feel more like a pudding left too long by the fire. Everything aches and I cannot see my own feet.”
“Nonsense,” Caroline said firmly, pulling back to study her. “You look radiant. Truly.”
Behind them, Richard stood near the doorway, his expression unreadable but his eyes following every movement of his bride.
He had heard much of Bridget but never met her.
Now, as the sisters clung to one another, he saw something shift in Caroline’s face—a tenderness, almost maternal, that deepened the softness of her features.
He hesitated for a moment, but then he stepped forward when Caroline beckoned him with a gentle and encouraging wave of her hand. “Richard, come over here,” she said with a sense of pride in her voice, “I would like you to meet someone very special. This is Bridget.”
The duke, with a graceful and respectful nod, bowed slightly in acknowledgment of the introduction. “My Lady,” he addressed her with a warm smile, showing his respect and acknowledging her presence.
Bridget, despite the challenge presented by her noticeable round belly, managed to perform a curtsy.
It was a bit awkward, given her current condition, but she did her best, showing her politeness and acknowledging the duke with sincerity.
“Your Grace,” she replied with a playful sparkle in her eye.
“I must say, I am quite astonished. It seems my dear sister has worked wonders and managed to tame the Devil of the Ton. I would call it a miracle, surely.”
Richard, with a subtle hint of amusement, felt his lips twitch faintly as he responded.
“Tame is far too generous a word, my lady,” he said, his voice light and teasing.
“Your sister has merely discovered the art of making me obey her whims. It’s not taming; it’s more like learning the right way to gently point me in the direction she desires.
” His eyes twinkled with humor as he spoke.
Caroline shot him a look.
Once they were seated in the drawing room, tea was brought in silver pots that gleamed in the late morning light. Caroline hovered anxiously, adjusting pillows behind Bridget, rearranging the tea tray three times, and scolding the maid for bringing the wrong biscuits.
Bridget, bemused, watched her sister’s fussing with an indulgent smile. “Caroline, dearest, if you flutter about any more, I shall think myself an invalid.”
Caroline blushed. “Forgive me. I only want you comfortable.”
When Bridget spoke of the baby—how it kicked during the night —Caroline’s own heart trembled. She was happy for her sister, truly. Yet somewhere deep within, fear coiled like a whisper she could not silence.
Later, after Bridget had gone to rest, Caroline stood by the window in her bedchamber, the pale afternoon light spilling across her face. Her reflection in the glass looked both regal and uncertain, the diamonds at her throat unable to disguise the turmoil in her eyes.
She did not hear Richard enter until his reflection appeared beside hers.
“She looks well,” he said quietly. “Content.”
“Yes,” Caroline murmured softly, her voice barely above a whisper, as if she was speaking to herself. “It seems so easy for her—this… happiness,” she mused aloud, watching Bridget from a distance without a care in the world.
Richard stood beside her, contemplating her words. “Perhaps she does not count the cost,” he said after a moment of silence. His voice was low and steady, carrying with it a certain depth and understanding.
Caroline turned slowly to face him, curiosity and a hint of confusion in her eyes. “The cost?” she repeated, seeking clarification, trying to grasp what he was implying.
He met her gaze directly, without hesitation or reservation. “You think of risk before reward. It’s in your nature,” he explained simply, as if this was something he understood deeply about her.
Caroline attempted to smile, but found it difficult as her throat felt tight and constricted with unspoken emotions. “You make it sound like a flaw,” she responded, a bit of vulnerability creeping into her voice.
“It is what makes you cautious,” he said softly. “And what keeps you alive.”
There was a pause, then, in a voice almost too gentle to be his, he added, “And if you ever wish for what she has, Caroline… I will face that cost with you.”
The words struck through her composure like sunlight through frost. She could not answer; her heart would not allow it. Instead, she turned back toward the window, her hand brushing against his as she whispered, almost to herself, “We shall see.”