Chapter 20
“Apackage for you, madam.”
Caroline looked up from her book. It wasn’t uncommon for her to get mail, but packages were somewhat less frequent. She took the little parcel from Carlyle’s hand and opened the attached letter.
My dear, she read, when I came across this herb, I couldn’t help but think of your situation and how wonderfully it would influence your nightmares. In fact, it might relieve you of them entirely.
Caroline frowned. The handwriting was not familiar to her. Who in the world, aside from her aunt, Winifred, and Frederic, knew about her nightmares?
I’ve asked a new maid to write this note for me. My eyes aren’t what they used to be, and it helps me so much to have the assistance. Well, I’m off to the stables. Enjoy the tea!
How thoughtful! Caroline opened her aunt’s package. A small, aromatic herb met her eye—it reminded her of chamomile. She looked at the clock. She had just enough time to make the tea before the afternoon’s picnic. Winifred and Philip were to join her, and it would be a lovely treat for all of them.
She unwrinkled her dress, a light cotton muslin that brushed away the throbbing summer heat. The foxgloves outside the windows bobbed gently in the afternoon breeze. Caroline carried the tea to the kitchen but met Carlyle in the front hall.
“Would you mind delivering this to Cook?” she asked. “I would dearly love to serve this tea at the picnic.”
“Did someone say cook?”
Philip popped his head into the front entryway. Caroline laughed.
“We’ll have treats enough soon. You’re still coming to my picnic, aren’t you?”
Philip rubbed his stomach.
“If Cook isn’t bang up to the mark getting the refreshments out to the lawn, I might make havoc at the picnic, just to get a whack at the tarts.”
Caroline slipped her arm into his and led him out the front door.
“I’ll have to distract you, then, by walking you about the grounds and talking of nothing but tarts stuffed with still-steaming chitterlings.”
“At this point, I’d eat them, pork insides and all.”
“Come this way, and we’ll choose a spot on the lawn. Which place do you think would be most agreeable?”
Philip’s stomach grumbled, and he glared at her.
“How can you possibly think of anything but food at a time like this? I haven’t eaten in at least—” He counted quietly to himself. “Three hours.”
“That’s a truly prodigious amount,” Caroline said, feigning concern. “Do you think you’ll survive the evening? Mayhap some grass would help to stave off the hunger pangs?”
Philip eyed the lawn appraisingly.
“Do you think it would help?”
Caroline shaded her eyes.
“It’s certainly something I’d like to see, but I wouldn’t advise it unless it’s something you would like to do.”
Philip disentangled himself and bent down.
“Your Grace!” Winifred came around the corner of the house, carrying a hamper. She cocked her head curiously at Philip bent double with a green blade pinched between his fingers. Caroline waved her over.
“Do come, Winifred. We were just—”
Philip’s eyes caught the hamper. They lit up like flint catching tinder. He hurried over to Winifred.
“We were just picking the perfect picnic location. Please, ma’am—pray let me relieve you of that burden.”
“Oh! My—” Winifred released the hamper, a little flustered. “How kind of you, my lord.”
She curtsied to Caroline, who returned the formality then embraced her. Philip lugged the heavy hamper under the shade of a conveniently close oak tree that cast its shade like a cloak.
“Come on, then, ladies!” he called over his shoulders. “This spot looks perfect—and so near at hand for our purpose!”
Winifred looked questioningly at Caroline.
“Our purpose?”
Caroline chuckled as Philip tossed down an airy blanket and unpacked the basket as if he was saving for the winter. Caroline took Winifred’s arm.
“Tarts, I believe. Though,” she continued, significantly, “I’ve also prepared a special tea for us to take.”
Winifred had, fortunately, overpacked the heavy hamper. Caroline and Winifred chuckled over Philip as he munched tarts and large hanks of roast chicken with a blissful abandon, face speckled with spots cast by the summer sunshine.
“Truly, ma’am, this hamper came at a fortuitous moment.”
“Indeed,” Caroline agreed. “You were just about to become a vegetarian.”
Philip shot her a pointed glance, marred somewhat by the tart from which he took a monstrous bite.
“Careful,” Caroline chided. “If you partake too readily of the tarts, you won’t have any space left for the surprise tea I’ve planned for all of us.”
Philip stuffed another tart onto his bulging napkin.
“I will always have room,” he vowed, solemnly, “especially for pastry as fine and flaky as this decadent confection. Surely, I’ll be able to pour some tea over the top.”
Winifred beamed at the compliment to her preparations.
“I’m grateful you appreciate them, sir. Our cook prides herself on her pastry, and I’ll be sure to carry your compliments forward.”
“Please do. And also tell her that Lord Philip Grandon is one of her most ardent admirers and will defend her and her tarts from all sallies if any such accusations could be made.”
“Careful, sir,” Caroline warned. “These tarts have made you quite forward. I’ve never heard such an attitude from you before.”
Philip took a moment’s break from ravaging the basket to wipe his mouth demurely with a napkin.
“Forward is as forward does. I’m sure Winifred agrees with me, and Cook certainly would.”
Winifred eyed Philip with equal portions of good nature and skepticism.
“As regards the tarts, my lord, I am ever your supporter,” Winifred said tactfully.
Philip sniffed. “I suppose I’ll just have to be confident in my own forwardness then and content myself with consuming the rest of these tarts.”
He was, at least, a fair way towards fulfilling that promise. Thinking of promises reminded Caroline of her own. She turned to Winifred.
“A mysterious package arrived by post today. A special herb, too, that will no doubt settle our minds as well as gratify our palettes.”
“It sounds most intriguing,” Winifred said. “I certainly hope it will please.”
Caroline blinked. Perhaps Aunt Olivia hadn’t told Winifred about the package. She was inclined to be demure about Caroline’s nightmares, in any case, and perhaps had sent the package when Winifred was otherwise engaged.
“The herb looked intriguing,” Caroline continued. “It smelled delicious and quite put me in a mind to sample it today.”
Philip swallowed and coughed.
“A good tart needs something bracing to wash it down, and Frederic is still parsimonious with his wine. I think a special herb tea would be particularly apropos.”
Caroline stifled a smile at Philip’s kingly tone.
Winifred curtsied. “I shall fetch it from the kitchen, then.”
She started her walk across the lawn, white skirts swishing about her like a froth on bay breakers. Philip nodded approval.
“A good woman, that. Very smart about her priorities.”
Caroline watched the sun flicker at the edge of the shadows as the wind tossed the branches back and forth. As frequently happened, her husband’s face floated through her mind.
“Frederic is anything but parsimonious,” she said, a little dreamily. The light breeze moved to tousle her curls and teased at the corner of her napkin. “He truly is everything generous. Only think of the meeting he had last week with—”
Philip groaned loudly.
“Ugh. No marital affection here— You’ll put me off my lunch. Don’t spoil these excellent tarts with sappy sentiments.”
Caroline raised her eyebrows.
“I have no marital affection to inflict upon you other than my appropriate admiration for my husband—and your brother, I might remind you.”
Philip rolled his eyes and settled the napkin more firmly on his lap.
“Oh, please. Let me speak the words before your affection forces an illness upon my tart-stuffed stomach.”
He sat up, slapping his hand against his forehead.
“I adore my husband—mind, body, and soul. I love him as deeply as the rivers that flow to the sea. I wish that he would sweep me up in his arms, and—”
Caroline flushed until she looked as red as a primrose.
“Philip! What a gross way to express such a sentiment.”
Philip looked at her significantly.
“Gross, perhaps, but not untrue. I’ve seen the way you look at him when you think he’s not looking. You practically dangle after him.”
Caroline shifted uncomfortably in the summer heat. If only she had her fan, she could cool herself down somewhat. The shade had suddenly gotten much warmer than she preferred.
“You exaggerate, surely,” she said. “Your brother is very handsome, that’s all, and easy to look at.”
Philip raised his eyebrows, brushing away crumbs from his lips.
“You don’t look at me that way, and his face is similar to mine, is it not?”
His face, young and boyish, he held in a shaft of light, striking a pose similar to ones she had seen in the portrait hall. Despite her discomfort, Caroline smiled at him fondly.
“You are handsome as well, of course—a very elegant, pastry-covered figure of a young man.”
Philip’s eyes narrowed, but he turned his attention to the basket, fussing with the latch on the side of the woven wicker.
“Even if I’ve looked elegant in the past, I can’t have looked as elegant as you did covered in jam.
” He availed himself to entremets and a slathered scone.
The berry preserve glittered like rubies in the sunlight.
“Do you remember that night? When you looked at Frederic, your eyes looked as soft as a doe’s and as wide as a rabbit’s. ”
Caroline cleared her throat.
“Thank you for the comparison to woodland animals, sir. That has very much proved my elegance, and I am much gratified.” Philip glared at her, but she ignored him.
It was time to lead him to something less fraught.
“Is blueberry still your favorite? It was so many months ago that I had nearly forgotten.”