Chapter 13
“Really, your ladyship—I can’t imagine what possessed you to bring out the monkey.”
Winifred looked as the Duke of Wellington might recently have felt cresting the hill on his way to the battle in Wallonia. Her face burned with red at the edges, and her white cap was askew.
“He seemed as if he wanted airing,” Lady Olivia panted. “Cut him off, will you, or he’ll get into the stables, and there will be an almighty ruckus.”
The wedding was but a few days away. In the spirit of festivities and farewell, Aunt Olivia had invited both households to a picnic on Kingston Estate.
The monkey, an afterthought, had—due to its truancy—immediately catapulted to the center of attention.
Esther, in a rich brown bonnet, set off admirably by an ostrich feather, cocked her head.
“It does seem dreadfully improper having so many animals about.”
Winifred and Lady Olivia chased the recently escaped and gleefully exuberant creature across the lawn.
“Get him! Come here, young man, and earn that sandwich!”
Philip, who up until that moment had been wholly invested in a cucumber sandwich and a bit of cold chicken, sprang into action. Aunt Olivia directed him to the monkey’s blind spot where he trotted with apparent enjoyment. Esther shook her head and sighed.
“It does seem as though the monkey would be happier indoors.”
Aunt Olivia ignored her which, all things considered, was a fairly wise decision.
The monkey was more than enough of a distraction at the moment.
Aunt Olivia stood, feet akimbo, her skirt spread like the tent of a paisley circus and her arms outstretched.
The monkey turned on its heel and leapt across the grass.
“There it goes! After it! Once it gets to the trees, we’re done for!”
Philip and Winifred hurried after it. Carlyle slowly shook his head and stared down at the creature with studied disapproval.
The monkey, for a fatal moment, paused. The entire party sprinted across the lawn like a party of Franks near Rome. The monkey screeched and ran ahead of them, its tail curling like a shepherd’s crook flailing over a pursuing herd of sheep.
Caroline, wearing an airy white dress of cotton muslin and a beige spencer, sat on a grey linen blanket. She felt much like a pearl in an oyster before it had been polished. Frederic sat next to her, looking out over the lake.
She did feel some unease about how he might perceive her aunt’s—oddities.
Years of experience had taught her to take such eccentricities in her stride, such as the occasion when Ajax had chewed the hem of Lady Ethington’s best dress robe during a dinner party.
She hadn’t missed Lady Ethington nor minded the absence of her visits, but she had worried on behalf of her aunt.
Frederic looked as if he hadn’t a care in the world or at least none that dared to disturb his current serenity. He took a thoughtful bite of the sandwich he was holding, savoring the bite as he chewed it.
Caroline traced the lines in his face and caught herself holding her breath.
The strong lines of his jaw sloped back to a well-formed head and neck.
He reminded her of a dark Apollo, cut from the same block of marble that had lent the patron of arts his masterful form.
She would have liked to stroke his cheek, to caress the clump of dark curls behind his ear.
She blinked. She mustn’t—however handsome the duke may seem—be tempted by his appearance.
However statuesque, however attractive, for both of their safety, she must keep her distance.
Had it really only been a week since they had met?
She shook her head. It seemed like longer, but perhaps the time they had been spending together had lent itself to shorten the span.
Not that the duke had been anything but polite.
She dampened the silly hope then pouted in disappointment.
What else could he be expected to be? She ought to guide herself by that same behavior—the politeness of acquaintances—- and not what it felt like when she had stared into his eyes when he had saved her from falling.
She hustled the beginnings of insipid flirtation out and opened the door to hard reason. No matter how short or long the time, she must—she told herself firmly—remember the danger her curse could cause him and his family. She absolutely must keep her distance.
Distance, though, did not necessarily mean silence.
“I hope to come back and visit Kingston often,” she said. “There are many places here for me with not unpleasant memories.”
Frederic took off his hat and set it beside him, letting the rays of the sun touch his forehead.
“Tell me some of them. It’s more intriguing to hear bits of a story when you’re in the area where they took place.”
Caroline pointed to a tall alder tree near the house.
“Once, shortly after I came to live with my aunt, I tried climbing out of the window, just there—for better access on the lawn.”
Frederic raised his eyebrows.
“That’s quite a height for a child.”
Caroline stretched out her legs.
“I’m fairly tall, you know, but it was very high, even then—I clung to the tree trunk and screamed for help. Winifred finally coaxed me to jump on a blanket held by the servants.”
She mimed surprise and falling onto the soft surface.
Frederic laughed.
“I wouldn’t have expected it of you. What a leap! I hope that cured your penchant for heights.”
Caroline shrugged.
“Cautioned, I would say, not cured. It was many years before my aunt could coax me away from the trees.”
She pointed to another spot, a wildflower meadow against the tree line.
“There is the place that did it—that lured me away from the promise of verdant greenery. My aunt taught me to ride. I was very hesitant at first and uneasy in the saddle as small children sometimes are.”
Frederic took a sip of his tea.
“How did it resolve?”
“She promised to take me to ride among the flowers. I braved the saddle for the sake of the spread of blossoms. We prepared our horses and rode out across the grounds—very far, I thought it, though it can’t be more than a mile away from the house.”
She pointed. Frederic followed her finger, shading his eyes.
“It’s far enough, to justify your childhood belief, that I struggle to distinguish blossoms from our current vantage. It was brave of you to go after all.”
Something like admiration tinted his voice. Caroline blushed with pleasure. He nodded toward the field.
“What sorts of flowers are there, and which did you love most?”
Caroline smiled.
“And here, perhaps, I fear you will think ill of me.”
He looked at her in surprise. His eyebrows knit in concern.
“How so? What ill could possibly come from flowers?”
“No ill, perhaps, but definitely silliness. As a child, my favorite plant was cow parsley. It looked so much like a fairy wand or a white woodland crown. I used to pick them and weave the stems together and set them on my horse’s head like a tiara.”
“As a lady should.” He nodded solemnly, but a smile played around his lips. “No doubt you appreciated it far more than your horse. And as a lady now grown? What is your preference?”
Caroline rubbed a blade of dull grass between her fingers.
“Corncockle, with its smooth bell and flash of magenta, pleases me more and more. And—”
She paused.
“Yes?”
He was staring at her now with his dark, vibrant eyes. She looked at her feet.
“I do love roses. They’re a trite bloom, some would say, but I see them as eternal, enduring—through frost and blight and cold.” The faces of her family members, blurred by time, passed through her mind like faded petals. she whispered, “So few things are.”
It felt intimate, telling him about her flowers almost as if she was telling him about her friends—her family. In a way, she supposed, they had been. Frederic took another bite of sandwich.
“Our preferences are near cousins, then,” he said, cheerfully, “for my favorite is also magenta: the foxglove.”
Was it really? Caroline looked out at the wildflowers with new appreciation.
“We’ll have to go in search of them sometime, perhaps—either here or at Highcastle.”
Lady Olivia slipped on a wet patch of grass and slid to the ground. The monkey sprang over her, evaded Philip’s arms, and raced back the way it had come. Winifred bent down to help Lady Olivia back to her feet. Esther shook her head.
“It’s getting away. There, over there!”
Philip corralled the monkey near the side of a shed, but he hesitated to approach it without reinforcements. Caroline respected his natural reticence, having accidentally cornered the monkey once in the greenhouse herself. Frederic pointed toward the lake.
“There’s something beautiful about the water—something about the way the sun catches it.”
Caroline shivered, but she nodded and said nothing. She hadn’t been near water—not for years. Even bathing had been difficult, at times, and she never submerged her head. The conversation lapsed. Frederic turned away, watching the progress of the monkey hunt.
Her heart reproached her for her coldness, but her reason stood firm. It was better to be acquaintances, to be affable but not—Caroline shut her eyes—not anything else.
Aunt Olivia, Winifred, and Philip hurried in front of them like carts gone to market. The monkey, in some twisted bit of logic, skirted the blankets, snatching at an unguarded bit of fruit.
Winifred dove and snatched it with both hands. Aunt Olivia and Philip cheered. Esther put a hand to her heart.
“That’s one creature I won’t be loath to part with.” And then, when the monkey’s indignant chatter drowned out further speech, “Merciful heavens!”
Winifred hauled the monkey off, both in high dudgeon. Aunt Olivia tried, with limited success, to brush herself off. Philip, hair a little wild from his rush about the grounds, flopped down next to them on the blanket.
“I dare say, Caroline! You never mentioned what spiffing animals you and your aunt keep here!”