Chapter Thirty-Four
Caroline took Lottie a cup of her favorite peppermint tea when Muira told her the young woman was feeling poorly after her journey.
As expected, she found her niece sitting with Sophie, and also as expected, Lottie was filling her in on the latest gossip from London about friends, acquaintances, and enemies.
“I came to borrow a dress to wear to dinner,” Caroline said as Lottie launched herself into her aunt’s arms.
“Of course, you poor thing. My mother said you’d left without anything at all. I was so worried!”
“You ran away? Yet everyone believes you retired to the country with a serious illness.” Sophie said, blinking. “I believed every word!”
“Mama put that story about, at least to anyone who cared to ask, since we truly had no idea what had become of her!” Lottie replied.
“I suspected she’d been kidnapped by pirates, and sold into a pasha’s harem,” Lottie told her friend.
“I swore off wearing cashmere shawls forever for Caroline’s sake, and then Papa received Lord Glenlorne’s letter. ”
“Glenlorne’s letter?” Caroline murmured. “Glenlorne wrote to Somerson?” She felt heat rising under her collar. She assumed Sophie had written. How desperately he must want her gone. Her heart dropped into the pit of her stomach.
“When Papa showed Glenlorne’s letter to Mama, she screamed so loudly the neighbors sent three strong footmen to see if anything was amiss. She screamed so long that she fainted, and the doctor had to be summoned to attend her.”
“I didn’t mean to cause such a fuss,” Caroline said, though she wasn’t surprised the household had been turned upside down, both by her departure and by the news that she was safe in Scotland. “I simply didn’t wish to—”
“Oh, I understand completely!”
“You do?” Caroline asked.
“Of course! How sweet you are, Caroline. You didn’t want your wedding to take attention away from mine.
You needn’t have worried—I would have welcomed a double ceremony.
Now I am hoping we can both marry here, with Sophie, a triple ceremony.
I’m sure Papa would not object. He and Mama are most anxious to see you married at last.”
“Oh, Lottie, how marvelous!” Sophie cooed. “We shall put our heads together and make plans at once! You and William, Glenlorne and I, and Caroline and—”
“It doesn’t matter who you’ve chosen. You can announce it at dinner. I’m sure Papa will insist you do, in fact,” Lottie interrupted.
Did Somerson still believe she would choose? Did he not understand why she had fled into the night, or perhaps it was simply that he didn’t care. He couldn’t force her to wed, of course, but as her guardian, he could make her miserable until she did as she was told.
“But—” Caroline began, but Sophie crossed to throw open the door of the wardrobe, and began pulling dresses out. “I think we should all dress alike tonight—perhaps all in the same color. Or should we all wear white, but with the different sashes?”
Caroline allowed them to choose a dress for her—white with a red sash—not caring what she wore.
She had escaped from London simply to be forced to make the same choice here, and this time, there was nowhere to run.
And it was Alec who had ensured her fate.
Her chest ached at the idea that he had betrayed her.
She let Lottie’s second maid help her into the gown and looked at herself in the mirror.
She was as pale as the muslin. She took a deep breath, and the maid fastened the necklace Sophie had insisted she wear—a violet pendant, made of amethysts and sapphires.
Violets grew in the shadow of the old tower.
She decided she hated violets. Lottie wore a heart made of rubies on her breast, and Sophie wore a diamond tiara.
The reflection in the mirror told Caroline she was the same woman who’d fled London, and yet she was not.
The old Caroline was a lady born and bred to wed a lord, to bear heirs and run a household, and that was to be the extent and purpose of her life.
But things had changed. There was a new light in her eyes, a determined—Somerson would say stubborn, and Charlotte would say willful—set to her chin.
She managed a smile when Lottie’s happy face appeared in the glass next to her own.
She would not let Somerson decide her fate.
She would not be forced into making a decision she would regret all her life, even as she dreamed of Alec MacNabb’s arms around her, his mouth on hers, his joined with hers.
She watched a blush bloom over her cheeks, growing brighter still when Sophie looked over her opposite shoulder, the picture of bridal joy.
She was alone in the world, but she’d made it to Glenlorne, found honorable employment. She could do so again. She felt a new sense of purpose and she raised her chin.
“Please excuse me, I must check on the girls before we go downstairs,” she said.