Chapter Twenty-Nine #2
“And your parents?” Ashbrook asked, offering her an iced bun.
“My father passed away several years ago. My mother . . .” is an unfeeling shrew, she wanted to say, but instead, bit into her bun. It was delicious, but no match for Mrs Addlecombe’s baking. “Suffice it
to say that she and I are not particularly close, I’m afraid.”
He watched her, waiting.
“I don’t think I’ve lived up to her expectations, despite my efforts,” she finished.
“Ah. It was the same with my father. He suffered from a lamentable coldness of heart, which reduced all his relationships
to mere business transactions. Hence why I preferred not to discuss Mr Acton at the ball. I hope I did not disappoint you
there.”
“I’m so sorry, my lord,” she said, and meant it. “I understand how such a feeling can eat away at a person like rust. Yet
I might also say, though I do not know you well, that you appear to have grown into a man whom any father would be proud of.”
In the distance, laughter drifted on the breeze. Caroline could just make out two small figures at the bottom of the lawn,
gesturing exuberantly at something large and mechanical, though she had no idea what the machine could possibly be.
Ashbrook cleared his throat. “You have a kind nature,” said he, rather hoarsely. “At the Percy ball, you were always looking
back to check on your friend who did not dance all night, and earlier you went out of your way to ensure that I do not suspect
Miss Chester of being after Teddy for his fortune. Do not think I do not notice these things.”
Surprised, Caroline blinked. Does he see me? she wondered, and the thought made her want to cry.
“The thing is,” he continued, “and I neither wish to presume nor pry, but I have seen you in company with Miss Darcy’s brother, who I lately heard married a girl in Hertfordshire.
” At Caroline’s look of surprise, he shrugged.
“Lady Lennox is a lovely woman but a terrible gossip. And your mother, though in far fewer words, intimated the same.”
“My mother?” Caroline gaped at him. “You have met my mother?”
“In Lyme Regis,” he said. “And I hope I do not offend when I say that I recognised some of my father’s traits in her.”
Caroline’s pleasure in the day vanished, replaced by dawning dread. “I had heard that you were asking questions about me at
the lake party.” She’d assumed that Mr Radcliffe was either teasing her or completely wrong; it had never occurred to her
that Ashbrook might actually have been doing so.
He bit a sugar biscuit in half and chewed thoughtfully. “I asked a few, yes. I wanted to know what sort of woman you were.
The answers I received pleased me, though I wanted to get to know you a little myself.”
“And what is your pronouncement, my lord?” said she, feeling worse by the second.
“Not cold, but rather distant, as if you are always thinking about something or someone else. More generous than I expected.
More beautiful, too. Your character is just what a young lady ought to be: well-mannered, amiable, graceful.”
Once, this list of traits would have satisfied Caroline. She could have thrown them in Mr Darcy’s face—from a viscount, no
less!—as proof that she was not the inferior creature he claimed. Now, she could find nothing in it to please her. There was
only one person in the world whose good opinion meant anything.
“Your mother led me to believe that you were a practical woman,” Lord Ashbrook went on. “So I hope that you receive these compliments in the spirit they are intended.”
“They sound like a thorough assessment,” Caroline managed.
“The thing is,” he said again, “that I wish to propose an arrangement which I believe would be beneficial for us both. I believe
you also understand what it is like to be in love with someone now married and out of reach.”
She flinched, dread spiking to panicked levels. What on earth did that mean? She was correct, he’d said at the Percy ball about his own parent, as mothers often are. Had he been thinking then of Mrs Bingley’s advice? Had he been calculating when and how best to propose? Had it all been arranged
to everyone’s satisfaction long before he had ever set eyes on Caroline?
He gave her a soft, comforting smile. “I do not fault you for your feelings. Mr Darcy is a fine, upstanding gentleman.”
“Excuse me?” She stared at him, not able to believe what she’d just heard. He thinks I am in love with Fitzwilliam? The idea made her want to throw her cup at the wall and then the contents of her stomach all over the viscount’s fine lawn.
“I myself have some experience with loving a person who did not love me back. Not in the way I had hoped, in any case.” He
ran a hand through his hair, his voice suddenly bitter. “The heart is an errant horse, Miss Bingley. It can rarely be steered
the way one wishes.”
“May I ask the lady’s name?” she said, not really knowing what else to say.
“Josephine,” Ashbrook said, after a pause.
“And why didn’t—”
“I never told her how I felt. Not in so many words, anyway.” He picked up his cup of tea but didn’t seem inclined to drink it.
“So she married my best friend instead. He at least was able to put voice to . . . Well. No matter.” He forced a smile.
“Which brings me to my point. I wondered if perhaps you would consider marrying me.”
Wordlessly, Caroline stared at him, then around at the estate. He cannot possibly be serious. “I . . . You could marry anyone, my lord. I am sure that hordes of women—”
“I do not wish for hordes, Miss Bingley. I do not even wish for one woman who could love me, for I could never love her back.
No, my list of requirements is more specific than usual, and requires a very particular kind of woman to fulfill them. I am
looking for someone who I am certain is in love with someone else she cannot have. The two of us may form a lasting friendship,
which is more than many can hope for. And then there’s all this.” He gestured at the admittedly beautiful grounds. “You would
have my fortune and my name. If you find my character at all deficient, I am sure that those will more than make up the spare.”
I would be Lady Ashbrook, she thought. Wife of a viscount. Oh, Mother, you have played the game too well this time. “Why marry at all, then?”
“An heir or two to secure the inheritance, with as little fuss about that side of things as possible. It is, as you know,
the done thing. And I desire lifelong companionship with a woman I can trust and respect.”
Caroline could not deny how flattering Ashbrook’s attentions were, especially in the wake of her repeated rejections from Georgiana.
His interest was not romantic, nor did it cure her of any of her pains, but it was pleasant enough to be reminded that someone might want her—not simply for an affair, but for a marriage.
A life; the exact offer that Georgiana had rejected.
Ashbrook’s was a pragmatic one. They might never be happy together, but they could be content.
Caroline would have married up in the world, so her family would be delighted.
There really was no downside, apart from the fact that the idea made her want to throw herself into the nearest body of water.
“May I have some time to consider your offer?” she choked out, hardly knowing what to say.
“Of course, Miss Bingley. You do not know me at all, and I would be more than happy to meet with you as often as you like,
so that you can ascertain the details of my character.”
Get a hold of yourself, woman, Caroline thought, biting back tears. “Your character is not in question, my lord,” she said. “Only my own heart.”
“Ah, Miss Bingley.” His smile was regretful. “How our hearts do pain us. I wonder sometimes whether, if I had the option,
I would choose not to have one at all.”
“Really?”
He gave the matter some thought. “No,” said he, staring down at the small figures of his nephew and Miss Emily, who were pacing
about the large machine as if working out all the secrets of the universe. “I think I would rather have the pain of knowing
I had loved once, than the emptiness of never having loved at all.”
Caroline hated that she knew exactly what he meant. “Speaking of the heart, may we now circle back to Mr Acton? For he loves
a lady but cannot afford to marry. Money is all that keeps them apart, which seems a far easier gap to bridge than the ones
you and I face.”
“Indeed? I had no idea he harboured such passion.” The viscount studied her. “You know, some people might not wish anyone to have love if they cannot have it themselves. Envy is a tempting vice.”
“Some may,” she agreed. “But I am not so churlish. And I do not think you are, either. Will you help him, my lord? Commission
another few paintings so that at least someone of our acquaintance might know what it is to be happy?”
He chuckled, and the sound was no longer bitter. “That I can do, Miss Bingley. That I can do.”
“I have a question,” Miss Emily said in the carriage, when Caroline relayed the details of the proposal. “Actually, I have
several. Beginning with, why on earth did not you turn Lord Ashbrook down immediately if you are in love with Miss Darcy?”
In love with Georgiana. Saying it herself had been one thing; hearing it said aloud by another person was something else entirely. Caroline closed
her eyes and counted to five, then ten, then fifteen.
“I do not understand it,” Miss Emily pressed, sounding as distressed as if someone had informed her that all grass was in
fact purple, not green. “When last we spoke, I was under the impression that you and Miss Darcy—”
“Miss Darcy has made it plain that our relationship will never be—” Caroline snapped, and Miss Emily’s eyes widened. “I apologise,”
she added, more calmly. “It is a rather sensitive subject at the moment. Suffice it to say that I appear to be in one place,
and she another.”
“Have you asked her how she feels? Laurel is forever saying one should ask people how they feel rather than assume.”
“Unfortunately, Georgiana refused to confirm or deny whether she loved me.”
“How odd.” Emily gave this some thought, staring out of the carriage window as they rolled down the road at a comfortable pace. “How does she expect you to know what she is feeling if she refuses to tell you?”
Caroline sighed. “Miss Chester, if the world thought and spoke as we do, it would be a far less complicated place indeed.”
“Indeed.” Miss Emily nodded. “What a comfort it is to have your friendship, Miss Bingley. I hope that mine can be a comfort
to you, too.”
“It already is,” she said, surprised to find that this was true.