Chapter 20 #2
“I believe in loyalty,” Philip said, as if he was a rajah holding foreign court over a circle of jam bottle djinn. “Without putting blueberry in a dudgeon, I also support variety. Occasionally, it must be admitted, I indulge in other jams from Fortnum and Masons.”
“Frederic—” Caroline colored up and cut herself short. Now, she had done it. She had brought him back to the one subject she wished to avoid. Philip’s cheeks nearly burst with vindication and hand pie.
“Frederic—whom you adore as I said, but continue.”
“I was only going to say,” Caroline said with some asperity, “that Frederic mentioned to me the other day how he had been meaning to make a trip to London soon for the express purpose of visiting that shop. Surely, I can say my husband’s name without discouraging your repast.”
Philip, who had by this point consumed a substantial amount of soporific summer food, leaned back on the blanket and sighed contentedly.
“I do hope Winifred gets here in time with that tea. Otherwise, I might just have to content myself with setting up your bristles and taking a lovely, warm nap.”
“You young blood of the fancy! What a rogue!” Caroline shook her head over him but smiled. “Don’t you have anything better to do than irk me at a picnic I hosted especially for you?”
Philip blew a piece of grass off his nose and flicked it towards Caroline’s dress.
“Not particularly. It does strike me as odd, though, how easy you are to tease and about your own husband, too. Don’t you like him?”
Caroline looked away, down toward the lake. The sun flickered on the water, casting the glint back to her like the flash of a blade. She shuddered.
“Caroline?” Philip pulled her back. The levity and lightheadedness were gone, fading like a sunset. “You do like him, don’t you? Frederic, I mean.”
His voice was plaintive, like a child asking for a bedtime story.
Caroline looked into his worried eyes. She wanted to comfort him, to ebb the rising tide of doubt she saw rising in his eyes, but she had sworn to keep her distance—to make a boundary of safety between Frederic and her curse, her haunting past. She took a deep, shaky breath.
“I—I do like him. Very much.”
Philip sat up on one elbow.
“Do you—do you love him? It’s a very personal question, and I ought not to ask it, but—” He shrugged helplessly. “I would still like to know.”
The dear boy! She put her hands on his. He kept a brave face so often—even a confident one. An echo in his voice reminded her of what life must have been like for him, alone and young at his father’s death. She had felt that herself when the curse had first started
“Is something wrong with Frederic? Or do you prefer someone else?”
“Absolutely not.” Caroline twisted to face him with a speed that surprised them both. “Your brother truly is—as I have said before to him and to others—one of the best men I’ve ever known.”
Confusion crept into his face, painting more clearly the vulnerability of his youth.
“But—you do you love him, don’t you? You didn’t really—I mean, you didn’t really answer.”
Caroline stared at her fingers. She hadn’t worn gloves in months.
The scar on her hands stood out like a slash of charcoal on a whitewashed wall.
It was too dangerous. Love for anyone was fraught with peril, but love for her—well-married, it was true, but cursed.
She couldn’t. It would put him in danger. But then—
Scenes of the last few months flicked across her mind in a procession of reproach. The high spirits of the wedding when so much of the world seemed bright and happy. The low despondency of her nightmares, and his sweet, consoling kiss—
Her heart beat faster, accelerating like a hound that had caught a scent.
“I am cursed, Philip.”
Philip’s mouth dropped open in astonishment. He stared at her as if she had developed a rare and debilitating illness and transformed into a corpse before him.
“Caroline, that’s ridiculous.”
“I beg your pardon?”
He folded his arms.
“It really is. How can you believe something so foolish?”
She raised her chin.
“It may sound foolish to you, but my family—” It hurt too much, too much to speak, but it had to be out, “—they died because of me.”
Philip started shaking his head even before she had finished speaking.
“They died in an accident, Caroline. Accidents just happen. No one expects them.”
Caroline ignored him. He didn’t know—he couldn’t. Even having suffered as he did at the loss of his father, he couldn’t understand what it was to be haunted—to be stalked in day shadows and pursued by night terrors.
“But Frederic—he loves you. I know he does.”
Caroline’s heart twisted inside her. Frederic had been considerate to her, and she was very grateful, but she couldn’t tell Philip the reality of an equitable but arranged marriage. The duke may never really love her.
“Your brother has been very thoughtful—preferential, even. He is very much a gentleman that way.” Philip frowned. She hurried on before he could object. “Regardless, the curse might bring other dangers.”
Philip’s eyes widened in horror.
“How can you say that?” he whispered. “Haven’t you been happy here? With us?”
He looked like a puppy that had been cut with a switch. Caroline’s heart bled for him like ink blotting a fresh page. He was so young, so untried. He couldn’t understand her position, but she could hardly assuage his fears with anything, especially not the truth.
“I have been more happy here than I ever expected to be. The fun, the friends—but—” She shrugged helplessly. “—I can’t love him.”
Philip looked as if he had read the announcement for her funeral. His lips paled, and he fell back on his elbow.
“Then—” He drew a breath as if it were his last. “—will you leave us?”
“No, of course not!” Caroline reached out to touch his hand. He pulled it back. “We married out of necessity, not inclination, but we’re still—friends.”
The word which had sounded so comforting and sufficient before now rang hollow as an abandoned barn. Philip blinked hard, staring at the blanket. His suffering cut Caroline to the quick.
“Don’t you see,” she said, desperately. “If I did love him, drew him near to me as my heart cries out for, then he would be in danger—terrible danger. I couldn’t bear—” The words caught in her throat. “I couldn’t bear to lose him.”
That was it. The naked truth. It had leeched out of her, drawn by Philip’s grief, before she could draw it back.
She had tried to be careful. She had tried to create the distance, the civility that would lead to reason and safety.
They spent so much time apart—so much time distanced and estranged—and then Frederic looked at her.
He looked with the softness of compassion and the promise of real concern.
She crumbled under it like a pillar to moss.
She had been weak. How well she could see it now! How terribly it haunted her and wounded poor Philip! She put her head in her hands. Philip sat up straight as a rod.
“Wait— if I understand correctly, you do love Frederic. You love him more than you’ve ever said—but you’re afraid.”
Caroline didn’t dare raise her eyes from the blanket. They would speak too loudly against her, and she needed no further antagonists than her own heart and inclinations. They were punishment enough. Philip rushed on.
“You love him, love us, love being here at Highcastle, but you’re afraid that something will happen—like the something that happened to your family?”
How had she grown so old this afternoon? How was it that the sun weighed on her shoulders and the breeze played havoc around her temples when they had so recently been her friends before? Her shoulders drooped.
“It will happen, Philip,” she whispered. “It always does—it always has.” The silence stretched between them. “The curse takes whatever I love—whatever I loved.”
The scream of one of her sisters, normally relegated to the darkness of her nightmares, pierced her mind. She flinched as if she had been struck and put a hand to her face.
Philip put out his hand to steady her, but she pulled away. Her eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them back. Philip shook his head like a dog with a bone.
“Caroline, you can’t be cursed. It’s a terrible rumor—like a fairy tale, but—but worse—more like a nightmare.” His eyes traced her face. “You really do believe it?”
Caroline stood, brushing off her skirt. She shielded her eyes against the sun—against everything, gathering her strength.
“I’ll take my tea in my room. I hope you enjoy it.”
She curtsied, turned away, and sought shelter indoors.