Chapter 8
Caroline paused for a moment to check her gown before entering the drawing room. Whatever had come over Winifred, looking as if Death himself had come to call? She had called Caroline to attend a visitor and then fled as quickly as Aunt Olivia’s monkey.
Caroline knocked timidly then opened the door. A gentleman with dark hair and green eyes sat composedly on the couch, chatting with Aunt Olivia. Caroline caught her breath. It was the gentleman, the same gentleman from the garden last night!
He rose as she entered. Her eyes darted away from him as a slow blush crept upon her cheeks.
She chastised herself for her weakness. Why should she be afraid to meet his gaze?
He, of all people, knew there had been no impropriety.
Slowly, she raised her eyes to his. They were green as a forest in midsummer that had been trimmed with years of patience. She smiled shyly.
“I believe,” Aunt Olivia said, “you’ve already met the Duke of Blackmore, Frederic Grandon.”
Caroline curtsied, much firmer on her feet today than she had been last night. She smiled gratefully.
“Your Grace will pardon my impropriety,” she said, “but I didn’t get to thank you for your assistance yesterday. If certain events—”
She trailed off. What an awkward way to begin a conversation! The duke bowed, his eyes dancing as if to a jig.
“I must admit, the ball did not go entirely according to my plans, either.”
Caroline winced and turned her face away.
“Please allow me to offer you my apology, Your Grace. I—” She looked back at him, eyes pleading. “I did not mean to inconvenience you with my—difficulties.”
The duke looked at her gravely. Caroline shivered. What must he think of her, the scarred lady, inconveniencing his life and reputation? Aunt Olivia cleared her throat.
“The duke has come,” she said, “to ask for your hand in marriage.”
Caroline’s mouth opened then shut again, like a fish gasping for air. No, it couldn’t be true. She looked to the duke.
“It would be a great honor, Lady Caroline, if you would consent to be my wife.”
Caroline sank faintly down onto the adjacent couch.
It couldn’t be. The duke! Asking for her hand! Her soul blushed with pleasure then shrank with horror. If she married the duke, her curse would spread. It would progress beyond just scandal and bring real, dangerous harm to him and perhaps—to her future family.
Deep from the bowels of her memory, she heard a child’s shrill cry. She snapped her eyes shut. She couldn’t let that happen. No matter what Winifred or Aunt Olivia said, when it came down to it, she really was a cursed woman.
“Caroline?” Aunt Olivia asked. “Are you all right, dear?”
She gathered her thoughts with as much composure as she could manage.
“Thank you, your Grace, for your proposal,” she said at last. “I am deeply honored by your attention, but—” The duke frowned. “I hope to release you from any obligation you may have felt towards me.”
The duke’s eyes narrowed.
“Am I to understand, then, that you do not look favorably on my proposal of marriage?”
Caroline shook her head, keeping her eyes on the carpet. The curse was hers to carry and not something to be forced to another by idle gossip.
Aunt Olivia’s eyebrows popped like fish jumping out of a lake. She cast, it seemed, for words but found them fled to another corner of her thoughts. The duke said nothing, only stared at her. She watched as the midsummer faded out of his eyes, replaced by icy fall.
“You will not?” he repeated.
Caroline shook her head. Aunt Olivia paled then flushed red as a tomato. She stared at Caroline uncomprehendingly.
“If I may be so bold as to ask,” the duke queried with dread quietness in his voice, “why are you so adamant in your decision?”
Caroline stared miserably at the floor. She had heard the duke’s opinions on curses yesterday—heard them and repeated them over and over again to herself.
He wouldn’t understand, but it was better for him to feel a little offense now than to suffer greatly later.
There was no telling what her curse would do if she happened to fall in love.
He could end up drowned, poisoned, beheaded!
She knew, of course, that the fears about her curse weren’t reasonable. But some terrors defied reason, waved their hoary teeth in the face of reason, and struck, mercilessly, at the things she held most dear.
“Caroline, dear,” Aunt Olivia urged. “Please reconsider. Do you understand what the duke is asking?”
Caroline nodded and raised her head.
“I do understand. You are asking me to become your wife—” She looked into his eyes and stumbled a little. “But I cannot accept your proposal, Your Grace, however grateful I am to be honored with it.”
The duke stared into her eyes, searching for something she didn’t understand. His reflected only confusion—confusion and a hot resentment.
Caroline’s heart pounded. She hadn’t wanted to offend him. But curses, especially ones as virulent as hers had proven to be, didn’t care about offense. She couldn’t bear to see someone else affected.
The silence in the room stretched to unbearable tension. Aunt Olivia’s mouth opened and then shut again. She looked back and forth between Caroline and the duke, rocking a little in her seat.
Tears welled up in Caroline’s eyes. She blinked them back. The duke sat on the couch opposite her, rubbing his lip. He looked like a painting, one of the ones she had seen hung at Chatsworth once.
“I will admit,” Aunt Olivia said, “that the duke’s proposal has been rather—sudden.”
The duke stared at Caroline, as if his gaze could read the secrets of her heart. She resisted the urge to squirm.
“Caroline, perhaps you would like some time to think his offer over?”
Caroline shook her head.
“No, thank you, Aunt—as I have said,” she looked pleadingly at the duke, “however much time I would have to consider, it would not alter the reasons for my refusal. I cannot accept your proposal.”
“Regardless of your personal concerns, which I still have not had the pleasure of hearing,” he said, coldly, “do you have any reason you’d like to voice as to why you will not accept my hand?”
Caroline stared at him.
“None—none in particular,” she stammered.
What a miserable thing, to be trapped between the duke and her curse!
If only she had more skill with words. Under any other circumstance, she would have welcomed a proposal from—she blushed—from so handsome and well-situated a man.
Indeed, the honor and generosity of his proposal only made it more painful in its refusal.
Aunt Olivia lowered her voice.
“Consider, Caroline—the scandal that weighed us down yesterday could and would be ameliorated by your engagement.” She shifted in her chair. “The duke is offering a wonderful opportunity.”
Caroline looked at her fingers. She traced the scar on the back of her palm and shuddered. If I married him, which of them would be receiving an opportunity and to what end? An opportunity for loss, for terror?
“If you are concerned by the fervor of my attachment,” the duke offered, “I hope that my appearance here today merits at least respect for the seriousness of my proposal.”
Caroline started.
“Of course!” she said fervently. “Of course, I believe Your Grace is in earnest. But I—”
His eyes lost some of their hardness but took on extra shades of confusion. He frowned, his eyes tracing her face. Caroline rushed on.
“I am not inclined to marry,” she said. Her response sounded hollow even to her own ears.
The duke stared at Caroline, a whimsical look on his face. If he did it a moment longer, she worried she’d shrivel up and wither into the seat cushions. What a relief it would be at least. Ajax whimpered somewhere behind the couch. Aunt Olivia shifted nervously, playing with the tassel on her boot.
The duke turned to Aunt Olivia.
“I would like a word with Lady Caroline alone, your ladyship.”
Aunt Olivia pursed her lips but arose and withdrew. The heat rose from Caroline’s neck like she was walking in midsummer.
“Perhaps,” the duke said slowly, “I owe you some explanation for my suit.”
He leaned forward.
“Lady Caroline, I’m not as noble as you believe me to be.”
Caroline’s heart pattered like reins on a startled horse.
“The marriage I’m offering would be purely a convenience. It is, given the scandal, all I can really provide. There will—” He cleared his throat. “There will be no love, as some may call it, between us. You will, however, still be my duchess, and we can endeavor to become friends at least.”
An odd hope peeked out around the edges of Caroline’s fear. If she truly didn’t love the duke, would he still be in danger from her curse? Perhaps not.
“Additionally, you may feel welcome to maintain the relationship with your aunt,” he continued. “Though occasionally eccentric, she has a good name and—from what I’ve judged in our limited contact—a good disposition. It might console her to see you happily settled.”
Happily settled. The words clanged around Caroline’s mind like bells in a belfry. Just for a moment—a short moment—she imagined herself seated in the duke’s home, presiding over tea while Winifred and Aunt Olivia looked contentedly on. She opened her mouth to speak. The duke held up his hand.
“And as for my last point—were it not for my interference, however well meant, neither of us would be caught in the current scandal that embroils us and our families.”
Caroline shivered in shame.
The duke continued. “I wish to take full responsibility for the thoughtless actions I took last night, and hopefully repair what I must.”
He settled back into his chair. Caroline knitted her eyebrows in consternation. It wasn’t your fault! she wanted to cry. It wasn’t anyone’s fault except for the horrible, gossiping girls who spoke when they ought to have stayed silent!