His Haunted Duchess

Chapter 23

“Oughtn’t we to say something—to do something?”

“I don’t know. I—I didn’t think this would happen. I’m quite unprepared.”

“Perhaps the monkey would cheer her up?”

“Or prove a distraction at least. But she seemed—she seemed fine when I checked on her earlier.”

Caroline could hear them speaking in whispers outside her door. Or rather, the door that had been hers. The room was so small now—so vacant and deserted. Oscar would be wondering where she was. He, perhaps, would be the only one.

“Has there been no message? Has no one asked after her?”

“No. None. Perhaps they don’t even know she’s gone. Ought we to tell them?”

“She’s a duchess, Winifred. I’m sure they know where she went. Besides, it wouldn’t be our place to interfere.”

Caroline hung her head miserably. If only she could drown out her ears, drown out—everything. Dark, thorny tendrils of despair caressed the edges of her damp handkerchief. She would have been better off, so many years ago, if she hadn’t fought, hadn’t clawed her way back to life.

Why hadn’t she abandoned the frantic instinct to escape and sunk into oblivion with the rest of her kin? She would have felt less, perhaps, suffered less, if she had joined them.

Frederic— She stopped herself. From this day forward, from this very minute, she must train her thoughts to turn away from him, to leave him behind, lest the knife of his memory twist too hard within her breast. They—the cursed lady and Duke Frederic Grandon—were irrevocably separated.

After what had happened, she would hardly be welcome back at Highcastle. The curse had proved what she had always feared—too strong. She put her face in her hands. If only she had kept her distance—kept appropriate space between herself and the duke—then none of this would have happened.

“She needs time, that’s all,” said Aunt Olivia. “Time to recuperate.”

“Yes, that would be best—and she’ll be safe here.”

Their steps faded down the hallway, leaving her alone in the silence. Oh, that her mind would cease its turning and her heart its cries and leave her in peace, as well!

She had nearly killed him. The memory of his still, broken form splayed out on the table like a leak from a wine bottle.

Her heart cried out like a wounded wolf, tracing the places the curse had painted in her mind.

The limpid lifelessness of his hands. The shriek and moan of Esther and the cook.

Carlyle and Esther supporting his limp form.

She had new nightmares now in cycle with the horrors she had known since childhood.

Caroline stood, walked to her window, and drew her curtain, shutting out the early morning light.

Day and night had no meaning to her now.

How long had she been here? She could not tell.

How long would she be? Until the end—until the curse finally caught her and relieved her of the burden called life.

One small comfort she clung to like a cat to a morsel in the street: at least, now, he was safe.

Far from her, distanced as he was, the blight of her malady could not touch him.

Now, he would heal. Tears leaked out of her eyes and down to the coverlet where she was seated. One of them, at least, could heal.

“Oh, good! You’re awake! I’ll never go away again!”

Frederic blinked in confusion. Philip? He turned his head. His brother sat next to him in a large, carved chair. Next to him rested a large pile of untouched tea things, including a prodigious pile of hand pies. The aroma tickled his nose, and he coughed.

His muscles—especially in his chest—ached with acrid tension and his throat burned with the vestige of bile. Frederic groaned.

“Move slowly.” Philip stood, hovering over him like a midwife. “Or better yet, don’t move at all. They told me to keep watch, so they could get some rest. The physician said you would require a few days to fully heal.”

Frederic fell back onto the pillow. He was in his room, in his own large four-poster bed, bright with fresh linen. The sun, yet wan with morning brightness, spilled onto the red, Turkish rug where Caroline’s scruffy cat lay, curled in the light. Its chest rose and fell like a bellows.

Caroline. It all came rushing back to him. The tea—

He had to find her. Was she— His heart lurched. If the tea had so affected him, then—

“Philip, where’s Caroline?”

He tried to throw off the blankets and succeeded only in further tangling himself in the bed clothing. Blasted sheets, interfering at a time like this. The cat raised its head, blinking blearily. Philip threw himself forward over Frederic’s legs.

“If you stay in bed, I’ll tell you. If not, I’ll fetch Carlyle, and he and I will sit on you and make you get better.”

Frederic raised his eyebrows. Philip stared defiantly back. Frederic settled back with a sigh. On any other day, he would have tossed both of them aside. Today, strained as he was physically, it was difficult logic to argue with. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Tell me, then. I’ll stay, at least until I hear you out. Where is Caroline? What—what happened?”

“You drank hemlock—the flower of it. It’s small and white and looks like a little bush. The gardeners say it’s terribly common—like wild carrots or parsnips. It’s not a difficult plant to grow but very bad for horses—and people as I suppose you’d know.”

Frederic nodded. He remembered the flower that Caroline had dropped into the pot. Philip shifted uneasily in his seat.

“Some suggested—some thought that the Lady Caroline—”

“The duchess,” Frederic said firmly. “What did they think?”

“Well, they thought that she—she might have—”

Ah. He understood now. Of course, their minds would jump to conclusions. No one else had been there to see the facts.

“They thought that she might have been the one to poison me?”

“I told them it was ridiculous,” Philip said, throwing up his hands. “It couldn’t have been her.”

Frederic nodded in agreement.

“What makes you so sure? She might have, after all.”

Philip frowned, and for a moment Frederic saw the severity of his own face reflected back at him.

“Caroline wouldn’t. She just—she wouldn’t. It’s not her way. Besides, she practically dangles after you and thinks you’re very handsome to look at. I’m handsome, too, but not quite so much as you yet, and it’s only because she thinks she’s cursed that—”

He clapped his fingers over his mouth.

“Oh dear. Was I supposed to tell you that?”

Frederic, if the shock hadn’t shaken his already sore chest, would have been tempted to laugh. He wheezed a few times, coughing into the blankets.

“I have become aware of Caroline’s belief in curses,” he said, a little wryly, when he had recovered, “but not, it would seem, before you did.”

Philip blushed, a little self-consciously.

“I—I—pushed her to it. But that’s—” He waved his hand dismissively. “That’s a story for another tart—I mean, time. It all happened just before I left.”

Frederic pulled himself a little further up onto the pillows until his head was level with Philip’s. The swirling got a little better, like a stewpot once the ladle had stopped stirring. The headache subsided somewhat. His brain still felt murky as pea soup, but that would soon clear.

“Since we have established that Caroline isn’t the culprit—the tea, then? From whence did it come?”

“It was poisoned by that hemlock flower, but you will be all right because you only drank a little of it. Mother found the paper the package had been wrapped in near the tea table. She confirmed it was not written in Lady Olivia’s handwriting.

Someone else must have sent it. The note, though, said it would help Caroline with her nightmares. I didn’t know about that.”

Frederic frowned. Unless he was much mistaken, Caroline had not shared the frequency of her nightmares with anyone but her immediate family and himself. Who possibly could have known the knowledge specific to her and sent the deadly package? The question reminded him of his original anxiety.

“And Caroline?” he asked. He dreaded the answer. “She is—?”

Philip fidgeted with the pillowcase.

“Caroline is—well, she is—”

Frederic’s heart shivered. Lord have mercy. Please let her be alive.

“Spit it out, then!” he said. His fear made his voice harsh as lye. “She’s—?”

“I was not chewing anything,” Philip glared at him. “Caroline is gone. She—she left.”

“Gone? What do you mean gone?”

He took another breath to speak and coughed violently. His headache renewed its attack with full force. Ugh! What a violent herb! His chest felt as if he had been scraped out with a spoon. He shaded his eyes with his hand, trying to rest his eyes.

“She—while everyone was attending to you—she left,” Philip continued. “If I had been here, I would have stopped her. Carlyle tried. She told him this was the only way you would be safe.”

Frederic sighed with relief and irritation. The silliness of that beautiful woman! At least, however, she was alive. That was a step better than he had feared.

He moved his legs experimentally, testing their strength. They creaked like branches at a mill but responded. He leaned forward, throwing one leg off the bed.

“I must go to her.”

“Frederic, you absolutely cannot. How would you even stay on your horse in your present state? You—you’re not well yet. The physician said you need to rest.”

Frederic sat up slowly, waiting for the murkiness in his head to clear. He would be waiting, it seemed, for quite some time. He crinkled his nose. His skin smelled like sweat and turpentine.

“How long have I been asleep?”

“Two days.”

Two days! What a time she must have had. He stood slowly, using the post as a support. Philip stood next to him, torn between helping him forward and pushing him back into bed.

“They told me you needed to rest! If you get up, then—”

“I have to go to her.” Frederic looked straight into Philip’s eyes. “I can’t stand the thought of her crying alone.”

Philip opened his mouth and shut it again. He waved his hands helplessly.

“Do you ever get tired of being right?” he asked. Frederic grinned.

“No. It comes with the title.”

“Well,” Philip sighed, “I suppose helping you is better for your recovery than wrestling you back into the pillows. We must do something to buy you time.”

Philip’s gaze hopped around the room, settling on a long golden pillow with a light fringe.

“Get dressed,” he said. “I’ll prepare the bed.”

Frederic pulled on a shirt and a waistcoat, watching with amusement as Philip positioned the pillow with the top poking out.

“That doesn’t look like me at all,” Frederic said. “The proportions are all wrong.”

“You are an invalid.” Philip flipped the blanket, covering a pile of throw pillows. “You are supposed to have odd proportions.”

He went to the door and poked his head out.

Frederic slipped on a pair of gloves. He was already beginning to tire.

He slowed his movements, deliberate in his preparations in order to conserve his energy.

He was going to need every ounce of it. Philip tilted the door shut, holding it just open with his finger.

“It’s all clear,” he whispered. “Take the back exit that leads to the stables. I’ll go to Carlyle and tell him you need rest. Which,” he said, looking accusingly at Frederic, “is true. Then I’ll meet you and help with the horses.”

Frederic clapped him once on the shoulder and limped down the hall. His body felt broken, but his heart was light. He would find her, even if he had to walk the whole way.

In the darkest moments, Caroline wondered if she had ever really been married. The last few months—had they been real? Frederic had been, in parts, but the woman she had been—that she had become—she had left her behind in broken pieces at Highcastle.

Caroline stood, looking into the mirror beside her bed.

Her scars stood out against her pale, stained face like the trails of souls limping their way to the underworld, winding their way to pay homage to their queen.

She smiled, a little sadly. Persephone had been queen of the dead.

She had nothing more to lose. At least they had that in common.

The tears leaked out of her eyes again as they had frequently over the past span of time. She didn’t bother to check them. It was just more effort for her exhausted limbs to dab the salt from her cheeks.

What was she to do? She could live quietly, perhaps, a recluse here in— The faded wallpaper taunted her, speaking slow and cruel stories of long and futile years. She sniffed, choked, and cried.

How long had it been? She did not know. She did not need to know, she told herself, even has her heart pined for— Here, she would be firm. She would teach herself to forget him, to erase his name from her soul.

A set of solid taps echoed through the room. Caroline sighed but wiped her eyes. The taps sounded again.

“Yes?” she asked. Her voice sounded as if she had forgotten the feel of sunshine.

“Are you there, Your Grace?” Winifred’s voice floated through the door. “

Caroline’s back straightened. Broken, she might be, and downcast, certainly—but she was still—at least as far as she knew—a duchess.

She rose and unlocked the chamber. Winifred stood outside the door, looking as if a stray dog had swiped one of the pies from the kitchen.

Her eyes softened for a moment when she saw Caroline’s teary face but instantly sprang back to resting skeptical.

“Excuse me, Your Grace,” she said. “There’s a visitor here to see you.”

Frederic! Caroline’s heart leapt, but she restrained it.

Even if it was her husband, she couldn’t—she wouldn’t see him.

It was too dangerous for them both. Her heart moaned in complaint, but she ignored it.

It was a habit that had to be learned, an appropriate punishment for not having learned it before.

“Who is the visitor?” Caroline asked dully. “I’m not inclined to entertain company at the moment.”

“It’s a lady, Caroline. A lady who—well. You’ll have to see for yourself.”