Chapter 17
“Mother! No!”
Caroline sat bolt upright in bed, putting her hands to her clammy face. She had been having the nightmare again—the dark, swirling, inescapable dream that haunted her sleep. She struggled to control her breathing. It was so real—so vivid! The thrash of the dark waves pulsed over her skin.
She passed a weary hand over her eyes. She needed a relief—a distraction. A new book from the library would do. She stepped into her bedroom slippers, passing her bedside table, piled high with similar titles, and passed into the hall.
The nightmares had been going on for weeks now. Since the wedding, almost every night her dreams were stalked by storms, wind, loss, and strangers. She yawned, shuffling her way forward in the darkness.
The life of a duchess was demanding, it was true—far more demanding than she had anticipated. Most of the day she spent either in social calls or answering a copious amount of correspondence. More than once, she had drowsed at her desk over a flood of notes, requests, and clerical responses.
Lady Felicity Flounters seemed intent on writing to her at least once a week if not more frequently. Dutifully, Caroline responded, though her notes grew shorter and shorter in length as the recipient’s demand for them increased.
Frederic, too, spent most of his daytime hours away from Highcastle, traveling to visit various friends and acquaintances or meeting with his business connections. Caroline heard, in offhand comments made at tea tables, of the places he frequented. They sounded respectable enough to her relief.
She creaked open a hall door. No one stirred. Nor should they—any person of sound mind would be asleep this late in the night.
It was better, she told herself, the less time she and the duke interacted. He seemed, to her observation at least, completely unaffected by her curse and went about his daily business as usual. Their sporadic interactions were civil—amiable, even—and also appropriately brief.
Fortunately, visiting her aunt and Winifred fit perfectly with her recurring trips to London. They, observing her sanguine and cheerful look, prodded her with no obtrusive questions as the months went by. She drank her tea and thanked them silently.
Even with visits home, she still searched for hours of brief repose—of quiet moments when the wind and waves didn’t stalk her troubled sleep. They were becoming fewer and fewer.
She reached the library and pushed the door open, rubbing her eyes with her hands.
Light flooded into the hall. Frederic looked up from the chair where he had been sitting.
“Caroline, I had assumed you were in bed.” His eyes narrowed as they traced the dark circles under her eyes and her disheveled hair. “Is anything the matter?”
She avoided his eyes.
“No, no—all is well. I was just coming for something to read, that’s all.”
She wrapped her arms into the robe and moved toward the shelves, examining the titles. She was willing, at this point, to read anything except Virgil, for whose strict verse she hadn’t been able to develop a taste even after nightmares.
Frederic’s eyes followed her.
“Are you certain you’re well?”
Her conscience and fatigue held her in mutual silence. Frederic pulled a dusty bottle from the sideboard.
“I was just about to have a glass of wine. Could I get you one?” He uncorked the bottle. Caroline watched as he filled it. “If you would allow me, of course, to keep you company?”
Caroline moved hesitantly to a chair. He had exerted himself today, working long hours on estate business. She didn’t want to weary him with her own troubles—especially not the evidence of her curse.
“It is very late in the day to be searching for something to read,” he remarked, sipping at his glass. “Why exactly did you say you were awake?”
Caroline stared at her glass.
“Nightmares,” she said barely above a whisper. “I’ve been having them—frequently.”
Frederic sat down his wine glass.
“No doubt you have heard—rumors about my past,” she began, “about how I received these injurious scars.”
She raised her hand until it was parallel to her face. Frederic frowned.
“I have indeed heard some stories, but I have put little stock in them. I would much rather hear it from your own lips.”
Caroline sighed and took another fortifying sip of wine.
“Many years ago, my family—known by Dresher—was bound on a return trip in our carriage. We had been to visit my Aunt Olivia, whom you know. The weather was spotty, but small squalls were common for that time of year, and we decided to return home regardless.”
She took a deep breath.
“Suddenly, the weather on the road changed. The wind drove the rain against the windowpanes like wolves after a sheep. As the carriage passed over the river, it swelled and tore out the bridge from under the very wheels. The carriage—”
She covered her mouth with her hand, breathing through her nose. Frederic rubbed a hand across his chin.
“Go on,” he said slowly. “And then?”
“The carriage sank into the waves, dragging all souls with it—all but mine. The glass from the carriage window tore my face and arm, but somehow, I made it to the surface.”
She shivered. Tears welled up in the corners of her eyes.
“The water swirled all around me. I had no hope for life nor help when—”
She stopped and took a shaky breath.
“Sometimes in my dreams, I see a dark stranger—a figure at the edge of the water—whether to pull me forward or push me back, I cannot tell. The next I remember, I awoke at my aunt’s home, badly injured with cuts all along my arm and side.
These two scars—” She traced them with her fingers. “These two are all that remain.”
She shivered. It was so painful in the telling—so painful and such a welcome and blessed relief. She wrapped the robe closer around her.
Frederic was silent, staring at her. His eyes flickered with a strange light.
“The fear that torments me the most isn’t the stranger,” she continued. “It’s the water—dark, swishing, overwhelming—-”
The same, cloying fear clutched at her now, laboring her breath, restricting her chest. She couldn’t escape, she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t—
And then Frederic’s arms were around her, wrapping her close like a blanket. He placed his hand gently over her mouth.
“Breathe,” he whispered. “Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth.”
She struggled to obey, wrestling against the fear that held her bound.
“Repeat these numbers: seven five four.”
“S—seven,” she gasped. Her vision started to clear. “F-five. Four.”
“Good. Keep breathing. Now, these numbers: eight three nine.”
“Eight.” The darkness in her vision started to fade. “Three. Nine.”
Frederic stroked her hair. He was so warm—so deliciously warm. She cuddled gratefully into his smoking jacket.
He waited until her breathing was stable again.
“Do you remember anything else? About the night of the tragedy?”
She squinted, trying to swim through the fog and haze of her memory.
“Perhaps,” he said softly, “perhaps I can help.”
He sat her up a little, so she could see his face. His eyes were sharp but caring and full of concern.
“Many years ago, I set out on a stormy night in search of my father. He had been—” He heaved a heavy breath and looked away. “He had been gambling. Our family was deeply in debt due to his—habits.” Frederic winced at the memory. Caroline stroked his wrist.
“I am so deeply sorry,” she said. “I thought your father died of heart disease?”
“He did,” Frederic admitted. “But the drink and gambling brought it about much sooner than anyone had expected. In any case, that night I went looking for him, to try to bring him to his senses.”
He looked at Caroline as if steeling himself to climb a cliff.
“I rode into a fierce storm and came upon a bridge, washed out. A carriage was just sinking into the water.”
Caroline gasped. He held a finger to her lips.
“In an act of folly or heroism, you shall judge which, I jumped into the swollen river. I found no one—save one girl.”
He caressed the scar on Caroline’s face with the back of his hand.
“I had to find my father and couldn’t stay to see to her care, so I called to others who were taking shelter near the storm nearby and continued on my quest.”
His eyes found hers. Her heart beat faster and deeper in her chest, throbbing like a drum.
“Perhaps—and it seems too much a coincidence to be otherwise—your nightmares are memories, Caroline, and I—”
“You’re the dark figure.” She sat up. “You’re the man who rescued me.”
“It would seem that way.”
“Why—Why didn’t you say anything before? How long have you known?”
“I had a feeling when we had just met and several other times that I had seen you or made your acquaintance somewhere before, but I could not fathom where.”
Caroline slumped against him, numb with shock. She stared at him. What a bizarre twist of half-spiteful fate! She wrapped her arms around her torso, trying to squeeze out the encroaching cold.
“I wished— There were times when I wished—” The years pressed on her in a rush—dark, blank nights crying under cold and heartless stars. Long, empty mornings wishing for a sister, a brother, a mother’s voice to break the silence. She blinked back tears. “I wanted to have died with them.”
He looked at her, and for the first time since she had known him, he looked truly weary. The lines in his eyes dug like graves into his skin. She buried her face in her hands.
Why had she lived? Why hadn’t she joined her family in peaceful, watery slumber? She lived and married the stranger who haunted her dreams.
The familiar panic started again in her chest, chasing her breathing like waves to a beach. Frederic put his hand over her mouth again and whispered into her ear.
“It is all right. Do not forget to breathe. In through your nose, out through your mouth.”
With his free hand he rubbed her shoulder, pushing life back into her pallid skin.
“Breathe,” he whispered. “Breathe.”
Caroline breathed, releasing the fear, the anguish, the grief. She breathed again, snuggling deeper into his chest, wrapping the robe closer around her. His heart beat soothing next to her ear. She had never felt so warm—so warm, and so content.
He took his hand away from her mouth, and she tilted her eyes to meet his. They were so close—so warm and so near. His hand, lost in thought, perchance, was still stroking her back in a long, slow pulse.
He leaned but one step further and pressed his lips to hers. It was the sweetest kiss she had ever known—more poignant than anything she had ever tasted. She pressed her lips to his, wrapping her fingers around the back of his head, leaning into the enveloping sweetness of his embrace.
No! She pulled back, startling them both. Frederic looked like a bird startled out of the brush. Caroline pushed herself into a sitting position. No matter how painfully entwined their past, it should not affect the reality of their present.
“I—I should go back to bed,” she stammered. “Thank you for your…” Her lips formed the word affection, but she pressed them firmly together.
Frederic stood, setting her gently back on the floor. He bowed.
“Thank you for the reminder. It is very late,” he said without meeting her eyes. “Perhaps a little sleep would be good for us both.”
Caroline sighed in relief once her door shut behind her. Oscar had abandoned the bed and curled up in front of the fire. She sank into a chair next to him.
That was too close—too dangerous. She could not allow herself the luxury of closeness after this conversation, after they had—-the dreaminess of his kiss washed over her, warming her even more than the fire. She straightened, brushing the feeling away.
She had crumbled in a moment of weakness, but she must never have any lasting feelings for the duke for both of their safety. The screams from her nightmares echoed through her mind. She shut her eyes to lock them out.
Up until this point, she and the duke had proceeded on a plan of mutual equanimity, and it had served them both well. Her curse had only extended to her. She must be careful to keep it that way.
She would be more careful from now on, more guarded in her behavior toward him. She—they—couldn’t afford any more mistakes.