Chapter 18
“Caroline, don’t you wish to attend?”
She blinked.
“I don’t think it would be an advisable course of action. There will be more balls and assemblies in the year following, surely.”
Philip’s face clouded. He had invited her to tea. They had assembled in the small sitting room, tucked in behind the main hall. The rich, burgundy walls bled onto a vibrant Turkish rug, creating the illusion of lustrous privacy.
“It’s the last ball of the Season, you know.” He helped himself to another crumpet. “Of course, there will be more, but it’s a big occasion. Everyone will be there.”
“Everyone but me, I suppose, with which I am quite comfortable.”
She took a sip out of her cup and felt pleased that she meant it. The last few months had passed quietly and genially. A night at home held no particular evil.
Even so, Caroline had settled deeper into her role as a duchess, but she had studiously avoided evening social engagements.
They had gone once to the opera, it was true.
Frederic, however, had sat in the box of a friend during the performance, leaving Caroline and his mother to enjoy the arias and librettos at their leisure.
Neither one of them had mentioned that night in the library again.
Other than that, the new Duchess of Blackmore had preferred to spend her time cozy at home rather than skipping through a cotillion. After spending so much time in engagements during the daylight hours, Caroline coveted the sweet, simple quiet of her evening repose.
The tenor of her nightmares had faded somewhat.
She at least could say on most mornings that she had rested better than she had expected which was a refreshing change.
Only on occasion did her nightmares splash into her rest. It was the shrieking now that drove her to wakefulness—the cries of her mother, brothers, and sisters.
Philip added a teaspoon of sugar to his cup.
“How can you be so disinclined? Here I am, desperately and anxiously waiting for the day when I can engage in the activity that you so spurn.”
Caroline couldn’t help but laugh at the drama etched into every line of Philip’s irritated face.
“I haven’t seen you so invested in something since Carlyle proposed the thought of a riding club.”
“One can’t help but feel invested. Frederic comes home with the most engaging stories. So and so said this, and such and such did that. I’d love to experience it for myself.”
As, Caroline admitted to herself with a sigh, would she. Since their marriage, she and Frederic hadn’t yet attended a public function together. It was better that way and more suited to the mutual plan of distance and amiability they had established. Caroline smiled at Philip.
“It will come much sooner than you think—or it did for me, at least.”
Philip sighed and took comfort in another crumpet.
“What was it like? Your first ball?”
Caroline’s smile faded. She put her cup and saucer on the table.
The memory crept over her like a shadow.
The small, poorly attended ball her aunt had finally had the courage to go to.
Poorly attended because word of Caroline’s past—her curse—had preceded her.
Though no one would admit it, many of the patrons had remained at home that night rather than endure Caroline and the drooping satin flower Winifred had pinned to her bodice.
“My first ball wasn’t a happy experience,” she said, “but that was due to unusual circumstances. No doubt your first encounter will be far more amiable and far more spirited.”
Philip looked at her quizzically but didn’t press further.
“No doubt it shall. I’ve been privately practicing my steps and manners. Fortune favors the prepared.”
Caroline raised her eyebrows. The image of Philip grimacing before a mirror sprang unbidden to her mind.
“Have you, now? In what particulars?”
Philip colored, ever so slightly, at the temples.
“None so important as to be mentioned here,” he said with his nose in the air. “But suffice it to say, I’ve practiced them and am lying in wait for the day when I shall go out to attend such engagements on my own.”
Caroline pretended to be shocked.
“Surely you won’t attend balls and parties without your mother and me. Shall we be left at home?”
Philip sipped primly from his cup.
“It would do you well enough to know what I have suffered, listening to you neglect the opportunities when they are fully within your reach.”
Caroline’s smile extended no further than her face. Dread ruled her heart, whether she acknowledged its sovereignty or not. She could not forget the suffering, the agony of public exposure, however much her current life wore it away.
Her higher mind scolded her. Had she not visited, smiled, and cooperated as well as any other lady in the ton the last few months? Had she not returned each night, worn and ragged, after a full day of making calls and acquaintances? And yet. And yet—
The fear still haunted her like a sore throat. The sting of past remembrances and rejections could be soothed, perhaps, by a few months of meager success, but they could hardly, in so short a time, be forgotten.
Gladly would she have retired from public life entirely, but her loyalty, first to her aunt and Winifred and second to Frederic—who, she felt, at least approved of the efforts she made to move into her new role—prevented her from giving up wholly.
“You’re welcome, of course, to remain at home with me and with Carlyle—”
Caroline smiled at his hopeful tone.
“It’s the first ball I will have attended since—” Since the scandal, her mind reminded her. She cleared her throat, “—since my marriage.”
Philip stared at her in disbelief.
“Is it really? You and Frederic haven’t danced together for months then!”
He sounded as if the hens had got into the stables again and made havoc with Prince’s precious piles of hay. Caroline shrugged, keeping her eyes on the carpet.
“The Duke of Blackmore is very busy—”
“—as is the duchess.”
Esther entered. Philip sprang to his feet and bowed. Caroline, a little more slowly, likewise rose and curtsied.
“Everywhere I go I hear some tale of you, dear,” Esther said. “May I join you for tea?”
“Of course.” Philip rang for Carlyle, who provided them with a spare plate, cup, and saucer. Caroline settled back into her seat and refilled her own cup. Esther sipped gratefully.
“I was saying, Your Grace, that everywhere I go I hear some tale of you and your visits.”
Caroline’s heart jumped to her throat. The stories of her past ensnared the imagination and attention of more acquaintances than she liked. Esther added a small pat of butter to a golden crumpet.
“Oh yes—it’s ‘the duchess said such and such’ or ‘the duchess thinks so and so’ no matter where I’ve been.” A smile crept over her face. “You seem to be making quite an impact, dear.”
Caroline blushed with pleasure. It meant, perhaps, more to her than it should that the dowager duchess approved of her. It was even more gratifying to hear that others did as well.
“I am gratified by the good report, madam,” she said. “I have—I really have made an effort to be as bold a duchess ought.”
“You weren’t always?” Philip asked, surprised.
Caroline laughed.
“Not externally at least. I’ve a dreadful fear of people and places when it comes upon me—but a duchess doesn’t have time to answer all of her correspondence, much less to be afraid.”
Philip looked thoughtful.
“There are some, of course—” Esther said with some asperity and a spirited whack of the butter knife, “who insist on purveying hackneyed rumors, but they are few and far between.”
Caroline rubbed her fingers over the glove covering her scarred hand.
“But come!” Esther said, picking up another crumpet. “Pray tell me what happier topic you were discussing before I entered. Something, if I might also be so bold, about the ball?”
“Indeed! Caroline doesn’t—” Philip caught himself. Esther’s eyes narrowed. Caroline shifted in her seat.
“I’m not inclined to attend. It’s—I—”
Caroline blushed. Esther’s eyes flicked knowingly. Caroline wondered if Esther’s mind was equally thrown back to that fateful night in the garden when she and her son had crossed paths, and how the future might have been different. Esther took an inscrutable and deliberate sip of tea.
“All the better!” Philip spread a layer of jam across his crumpet and sunk his teeth into it. “The last time you danced with Frederic was at your wedding.”
“Surely it hasn’t been that long?”
The duke’s voice carried from the doorway. Caroline jumped. Esther raised her teacup in salute.
“Frederic! We weren’t expecting you until this evening. And how did you find the marquess?”
Frederic entered, his hands behind his back.
“As well as always, I suppose.”
Esther heaved a slight sigh of frustration at his uninformative response.
“And Lady Felicity? Was she in good health?”
Frederic smiled wryly.
“Very. She spent much of the engagement speaking of a recent visit to Bath and extended an invitation for you to join her there at your leisure.”
He looked past Esther to Philip’s stuffed cheeks and confused glower and then to Caroline. He bowed slightly. She nodded in acknowledgement then busied herself with arranging the teapot. Philip, in the meantime, had finally swallowed his crumpets.
“Won’t you join us, too, Frederic?” he asked. “We were just talking of the final ball of the Season, and we know you could convince Caroline to go.”
Frederic’s eyes flicked to Caroline’s, carrying in the glance a thoughtful question. She met it as steadily as she could. The fear of his disappointment hung over her like a curtain. She pushed it firmly back. Frederic shrugged.
“If Caroline does not wish to go, I don’t see why she should. I had hardly considered attending myself.”
Caroline looked at her hands. He was supporting her at least. It was proper and good that he should—especially if he didn’t want to attend himself. She didn’t know why she felt so disappointed—she hadn’t planned on attending. If anything, she should be pleased at the harmony of their preferences.
“Frederic,” Esther said, setting down her cup, “do pause and think! It’s the last ball of the Season, and it’s incredibly important for you and your lady to put in an appearance.”
The duke frowned. “Surely it isn’t so important that the duchess couldn’t attend and represent me?”
Esther’s eyes widened in horror.
“Not so import— Frederic! your acquaintances!”
The duke shrugged, turning his back to them.
“Any true acquaintance of mine won’t receive any umbrage from not seeing me at a ball, especially when they already see me regularly.”
Esther looked as if she had sat on a patch of brambles instead of a pleasant couch cushion.
“Does no one appreciate the magnificent privilege of attending social events?” Philip asked dolefully. “It seems an awful waste.”
“It most certainly is!” Esther chomped her crumpet and chewed like she was swallowing a frog. Carlyle entered, noted her raised eyebrows, and tactfully withdrew. “It will be another scandal, if—”
She caught herself. Caroline blinked away the moisture from her eyes. Shame spread over her, heating the back of her neck. Philip was looking at her, biting his lip. Frederic stared out of the window.
“Excuse me, Your Grace.” Esther said, turning to Caroline. “Wear whatever you wish, arrive at whatever time, but please—do, please attend even for a short time. It’s an opportunity to show the world that—”
Frederic stepped back to the table and put his hand on Caroline’s chair.
“To show the world what?” His tone was dangerously low. A chill ran up Caroline’s spine. She had never heard such ire in his voice before.
“If anything further needs to be shown as proof of the duchess’ character,” he continued, slowly and deliberately, as if holding back a tide, “I would be happy to meet the person who dared to show such an inference.”
Esther lowered her eyes. Philip had blanched the color of starched linen. Caroline chanced a glance up into Frederic’s face. His lineaments shone with determination. He looked down at her, half-challenging.
She wanted to leave, to withdraw, and to let the ache of Esther’s provoked comments soothe.
And provoked Esther surely was, much to Caroline’s regret.
Had Frederic not— She bit her lip. Had she not made so great a fuss about attending the ball that was so obviously important to the dowager duchess, perhaps she in turn would not have lost her temper.
Regret temporarily overcame fear. Caroline cleared her throat.
“Perhaps what Esther means to say is that she would be loath for us to lose an opportunity that would benefit us—and the honor of Highcastle—both so greatly.”
The tension in the room, while it did not dissipate entirely, cleared like a morning fog at sunrise. Philip, at least, started to breathe again.
“What a lovely way to restate what I said so poorly,” Esther said. The lines around her eyes straightened out. “It would indeed be beneficial, all things considered.”
She turned to Caroline.
“And perhaps—as you did for your wedding—you can choose another gown that will complement you with equal grace.”
She was trying to heal the breach widened by her former comments. Caroline was happy to permit her the bandage of her gracious words. A deep sense of satisfaction and relief washed over her like a warm bath, but Caroline merely smiled amiably.
“Perchance I was too hasty in my earlier reticence. I formed too quickly my concern about attending the ball.”
Philip, finding no comfort in the empty plate, took a crumpet from Caroline’s.
“Please,” he said. “Please tell me that you’ll enjoy yourself while you’re there. If you go to a ball and don’t dance a single dance—”
Esther snuck a hopeful glance in Frederic’s direction.
“Well,” Frederic said slowly, “I suppose if I might also be permitted to select my own wardrobe for the occasion—”
Philip laughed like a horse. Caroline put her cup down on the table.
“While I was certainly disinclined at first, I shall feel much more at ease with members of my own party in attendance.”
“I shall accompany you, then—” He bowed to his mother. “Both of you.”
It was terribly kind of him. No doubt he would rather have spent his time at home in the library. She put her hand on Frederic’s. He squeezed it then withdrew.