Chapter Fifteen
Like many other young ladies of the ton , Caroline had her friendships and societies.
There was Sybil, of course, and charitable endeavors like making up baskets to take to the less fortunate. And then there were the women of the Ladies’ Society of Murder, with whom Caroline met twice a month whenever she was in London.
Like her, these were women who wrote ‘dreadful’ tales and gruesome epics, though Caroline was the only gentlewoman amongst them. The rest were the wives and daughters of tradesmen, or from the working classes themselves. They met at one another’s houses in a fixed rotation, and today it was Caroline’s turn to host.
It had shocked Wilkins a bit to open the door and find women of decidedly lower class clamoring to be let into the parlor, but as lady of the house Caroline had the freedom to invite her most unusual friends to tea.
Today there were five of them, including Caroline.
Mrs. Ratchett and Miss Persons were the wife of a grocer and the daughter of a tailor, respectively. Ann Woodwell was a seamstress who found time to write tales of debauched highwaymen, and Sally Chase was a widow whose stories of sensational romance kept her children from living on the street.
Caroline didn’t tell them about the earl. She wanted only to have a pleasant, normal discussion.
“Can you really cut a person’s head off with only one stroke of a sword?” Ann asked, sipping her tea. “My heroine nabs her father’s old sword from over the mantel and lops the villain’s head clean off, but I’m not certain it’s manageable.”
“I held a sword once,” Mrs. Ratchett volunteered. “It was a claymore from my mother’s Scottish relations. It was quite heavy! I suppose it depends what kind of sword it is.”
“Wouldn’t it be far easier if she shot him with a pistol or something?” Sally asked.
“Yes, but think of the symbolism! Sir Gregor is so proud of his grandfather’s sword and then Patience uses the very representation of his so-called family honor to take his head! It’s quite powerful. Also, I’ve already shot loads of men through the heart. Cutting someone’s head off is new.”
“I do worry that the audience will find it a bit unbelievable,” Miss Persons mused. “Couldn’t it be a family dagger or something?”
Caroline smiled as she listened to her fellow society members discuss the best forms of symbolic murder. It was lovely to know a group of like-minded women.
“Miss Devereux, you’ve been awfully quiet.” Miss Persons smiled in encouragement. “Have you decided how you’re going to rewrite Masquerade at Seville ?”
Caroline had told her friends about the publisher’s rejection and Mr. Dunwell’s less than appealing ideas for revision. They were all very sympathetic.
“No. Not yet.” Caroline was surprised to realize she had barely given the manuscript a thought these past few days. Had Rockford truly turned her head about that far?
After all, she was nervous whenever she thought of him, and not just because of the delightful, warm sensation that thrilled through her veins.
Thought of the earl made Caroline remember that he might be reading her stories this very minute, and that made her sick with both horror and anticipation.
She hadn’t wanted to mention all this to the women, but who would better understand her concerns?
“Though I have other business to discuss,” Caroline said.
“Pray tell,” Ann said. “Do you need help planning any particular deaths?”
She said that as James entered with a fresh pot of tea. His eyes widened at Ann’s words, but he said nothing. He’d long since become used to Caroline’s peculiarities.
“It’s my older work. A gentleman of my acquaintance has decided to read my stories.” Caroline appeared composed, but her heart thumped faster at the thought. Rockford had been correct: she really did put all of herself onto the page when she wrote. “He says he wishes to get to know me better through them.”
“Oh, that sounds romantic!” Miss Persons looked gleeful.
“It’s not,” Caroline said desperately. The other women appeared surprised by her obvious discomfort. “But I suppose I’m concerned about his impressions. Will he think me a terrible writer? An unserious person?”
“You shouldn’t care what anyone thinks,” Ann said with confidence. “Especially gentlemen. No offense to your lot, but society folk have such poor taste! Not you, Miss Devereux, but most of the others. And if a man knows a woman wrote something, it usually makes him that much keener to dismiss it.” The woman harrumphed, her crossness at the idea evident. “If this gentleman doesn’t like your work, you can politely and genteelly tell him to get stuffed.”
“What dear Ann means to say,” Sally murmured, “is you shouldn’t place too much store in what others think. Besides, I believe he’ll love your books! You write with so much passion, I’ve often wished I could be more like you.”
Mrs. Ratchett and Miss Persons went “Hear, hear” while Ann grumbled that Caroline shouldn’t waste her spirit on “some toff’s opinion.”
“But my work really is a peek at the most intimate part of my brain,” Caroline said. “And in my experience, men never remain interested in me once they’ve seen the full spectrum of my thoughts.”
The other women regarded her with seeming amazement.
“Miss Devereux, are you perhaps interested in what this man thinks of you?” Miss Persons asked.
“Do you think this man might make you an offer of marriage?” Mrs. Ratchett asked.
“If his advances are unwanted, you might threaten him with a sword and then tell me if that works,” Ann mused.
“No one said anything about marriage,” Caroline said, growing flustered.
“Then why does it matter so very much if he likes your work or not?” Sally asked, looking puzzled.
Caroline felt rather stunned by the simple question.
The women all had a point, well, except for Ann with the sword. If Caroline was aiming for a marriage—and if she still held the upper hand with that blackmail letter—then Rockford getting a glimpse of the inner workings of her mind was precisely what she should want. She just hated to imagine him reading her pamphlets with growing horror.
“I suppose I value his good opinion,” she murmured.
“If he has no high opinion of your work, then it means he’s not the right sort of man for you to associate with,” Mrs. Ratchett said. “In that case, what harm’s been done?”
Caroline agreed just to keep them from talking further about this, then turned her attention to helping Ann decide what sort of sword would be best for a symbolic decapitation.
A knock came at the door, and Wilkins pushed in carrying an arrangement of flowers.
“Oh! Are those for me?” Caroline got to her feet, heart already pounding at the thought they might be from Rockford. “Lord, and what an…arresting choice!”
Most gentlemen, when courting a lady, would send roses or peonies.
Something from the hothouse, something expensive and impeccably well cultivated. But these flowers were not that at all. In fact, apart from a few clouds of baby’s breath, they weren’t even flowers.
“Has your gentleman admirer sent you a bouquet of asparagus?” Ann spoke slowly, her astonishment plain.
Indeed, in the center of a blue and white china vase, leaves and smaller flowers arranged delicately around them, a bright green shock of asparagus spears stood tall and proud.
Caroline was trying to work out what Rockford was attempting to say. Was this a rejection? Some strange, erotic hint she was still too innocent to comprehend? Did he want her to try some asparagus and had decided to send it in the most outlandish way possible?
“They came with a card, Miss.” Wilkins gave her the envelope.
Caroline opened it quickly and read.
Dear Miss Devereux,
I have sent these on from Urlich Castle. I trust I have got them right.
Yours,
Lord Rockford
Like a flash, Caroline understood completely. She giggled, putting her face in her hands. He could not have done anything to better please her than this.
“You mustn’t keep us in suspense,” Sally said.
“That fellow I told you about has sent them. He is reading my Bloody Skull of Urlich Castle . In it, the hero decides to give the heroine a bouquet of her favorite flowers. But he mistakes asphodel for asparagus because of the different languages.” It was one of the few comic scenes in the story.
“My word. Then he’s clearly paying attention to what you’ve written.” Miss Persons smiled. “I think he likes it.”
For Caroline, nothing could be more sensational than to think that a man could actually like the contents of her mind. That he could enjoy her sense of humor, revel in the originality of her ideas. When she thought of Rockford, she felt warm from the soles of her feet to the top of her head. She felt wild when she thought of being in his arms and, also, strangely safe.
She hadn’t expected she could ever like someone like this.
After another hour it was time for the women to leave, and Caroline thanked them all for coming and scarcely heard them agree to the next meeting’s time and place.
When they’d left, Caroline went to her room and sat at her desk, staring at a crumpled collection of paper balls. All of these pages held the abandoned beginnings to a new opening chapter of Masquerade . None of them were compelling enough to entice Caroline to write further.
It was simply good to think of Rockford enjoying her work. It was nice not to have to keep trying to alter herself to fit someone’s preferred version. It was wonderful to be liked for what she already was.
Someone knocked at her door.
“Miss Devereux? There is a man to see you.” The butler sounded a bit strained, which was odd. Caroline noticed he had said “man” and not “gentleman.”
“Oh. Very well. Is everything all right?” She got a sudden chill in the pit of her stomach. “Um. What does he look like?”
“Tall, Miss. Rather rough-looking, I might say.”
Instantly she thought of that terrifying creditor she’d seen lurking about Dunwell he wore a dark blue livery with rather white stockings and a decent cloak. Caroline didn’t know what to say as she gazed up at him.
“Are you Miss Devereux?” the man growled.
“I am.” Her throat was dry.
“And is your pen name Mr. C.D. Winthrop?” The man was terse, looking at her like a business proposition. She puffed herself up a bit. Whatever was coming, she would not cower in the face of it.
“I am. What may I do for you?” she asked with icy assurance.
The tall man stepped aside and spoke to someone behind him.
“This is the place, Miss Berridge.”
Caroline didn’t know what to say as a young girl stepped forward.
She was a remarkably tall creature dressed nicely in a day frock of green muslin. She was clearly not out in society, though, as her black hair hung loose about her shoulders and her hems had not been taken down.
Looking at the girl, Caroline felt a bizarre moment of recognition, though she was absolutely confident she’d never seen the young lady before in her life.
“Miss Berridge?” she asked.
“Oh, it’s so good to meet you at last, Miss Devereux!” The girl was looking at Caroline with something akin to tender worship. That was when Caroline noted the girl was clutching a well-thumbed pamphlet to her chest. “I hope you don’t mind, but I wanted you to sign my copy of The Screaming Vampire of Whitewood Abbey . It’s positively my favorite book of yours! Oh!” The girl gave a conspiratorial nod. “I mean, of Mr. C.D. Winthrop’s.”
At first Caroline wondered if this was the most devious creditor trick imaginable, hiring a young girl to pretend to be an ardent admirer in order to get through the door. But another glance at the much-read copy of Screaming Vampire indicated the child’s enthusiasm was real. Caroline was both confused and felt breathless with relief. Perhaps no one was after her money at all!
Regardless, they really could not afford the girl to be on her front doorstep a moment longer. Already people were beginning to stare as they passed.
“Won’t you come in? Both of you?” Caroline hastily stood aside and allowed the girl and the tall, looming man into the house.
“Thank you, Robert.” The girl beamed up at the fellow. “Is it all right if Robert waits in your kitchen, Miss Devereux? He’ll be no trouble, of course, he’s positively the best of our footmen.” The best and most terrifying-looking footman alive, it seemed.
“Now, Miss Berridge. Her Grace wouldn’t like you orderin’ ladies about in their own home.” Robert, who had seemed a hulking brute mere moments before, looked on the girl with a fond expression. The man now seemed positively lovely. Caroline’s opinion of someone had never changed so fast.
“Please do wait downstairs, Mr.…Robert,” Caroline said. “Miss, er, Berridge will ring when she’s ready to leave.”
“I’m sure I shall never be ready. To think I’ve finally found the elusive Mr. Winthrop!” Miss Berridge proffered her manuscript to Caroline as though it were a holy object. “Please, would you sign it? You can use your other name, of course.”
Caroline dismissed Robert, took Miss Berridge to the parlor, and rang for tea and biscuits. Wilkins was positively befuddled as to what was going on, but he obeyed her. Miss Berridge removed her bonnet and glanced around the room with a bright and curious eye.
“I didn’t think the genius who wrote such chilling tales would live in a place so cozy.” She clucked her tongue. “But I suppose it is what’s inside a writer that counts.”
“Miss Berridge, if you don’t mind me asking…” Caroline finally knew no better way to put it than, “Who are you and how did you find me?”
“Oh, forgive me. The duchess always says I do meet someone as though we’re already old acquaintances.” The girl beamed at Caroline. “My name’s Felicity Berridge. I’m in town for the Season and I’m the Duke of Ashworth’s ward. As for how I found you, well, it wasn’t that difficult. I kept writing and writing to your publisher, Mr. Dunwell, begging to know the identity of Mr. Winthrop. He refused to write back, rude thing, so I had Robert go down and try to scare the information out of him.”
“Scare?” Caroline’s mind was whirling.
“You’ve seen how tall and rather imposing Robert looks. Nothing to it at all, of course, he’s gentle as a kitten. But the duke says I’m unfortunately not the sort of physical person to inspire immediate dread in anyone. Fear’s usually the best way to get what you want, in my opinion.”
Caroline did not know whether to be proud or horrified to have such a devoted fan.
“So Robert is your footman?” She realized the full truth and her stomach dropped. “He’s not in any way a creditor or collector?”
“Lord, no! I just told him to be rather menacing, not to make up stories.” Felicity winced in apology. “If he said something to that effect, I shall scold him viciously later, never fear.”
“Mr. Dunwell only assumed… That is, he never would have guessed at the truth of your identity.” Now Caroline felt rather dizzy and was grateful when the tea came. She hastily poured a cup and took a draught. It was not proper hostess behavior, but she needed it dreadfully.
Felicity, unperturbed, made up her own cup and nabbed a shortbread biscuit.
Caroline had never been under attack by creditors. There had been no ticking clock with the hours counting down. She’d committed urgent blackmail for no real reason.
That was her first horrible realization as regarded Gabriel.
The second came an instant later. As Caroline conjured up an image of the earl, his black hair, his wide green eyes, his strong jawline, his impressive height, she looked at her guest and realized that was why young Felicity had looked so familiar.
The girl was the living picture of the Earl of Rockford in feminine form.
Now Caroline was so confused, she was liable to shut down. While Caroline moved from one shock to the next, Felicity continued talking.
“Perhaps I shouldn’t have kept Robert going back and back to that publisher until they finally gave in, but I simply had to find you! I have long adored the stories of C.D. Winthrop, and now that I find out the greatest writer of English fiction is a woman, why! This is the most wonderful moment of my entire life!”
“I’m not…that is…thank you, but…what did you say your name was again?” Caroline could not get over her dizziness at everything she had just learned.
“Felicity Berridge. I wish I could have brought my friend, Lady Isabelle Montagu. She’s almost as besotted with your work as I, but she’s up in Northumberland for the Season. Dreary, really, I’d rather be in London than anyplace else. I do love the town. I can’t wait for my debut. It’s ludicrous to wait two or three more years, I think fifteen is perfectly adult, don’t you agree?”
Caroline remained silent, but Felicity paid no mind. She could supply both ends of a conversation handily it seemed. Caroline tried to listen, but her thoughts were still too muddled to take in much information.
“As I was saying,” Felicity continued, “Robert tried his best over several weeks, but got nowhere. It wasn’t until I had him escort me to Mr. Dunwell’s offices yesterday afternoon that we finally got anywhere. He’s a rather rude man, Mr. Dunwell. He said it was impossible for him to give me your real name, but then he said I was so infuriatingly persistent that he’d risk your anger.”
Risk your anger. That made Caroline think yet again of the enormous gamble she’d taken with Lord Rockford in her quest to become his hasty bride.
A gamble that she now knew had been unnecessary. But that was no longer even the most pressing thing on her mind. She was still trying to work out how Rockford had a bloody copy of himself wandering about London, a copy named Felicity Berridge.
Caroline didn’t know any Berridges in the ton , and anyway, this girl had said something about a duke. “Forgive me for prying, Miss Berridge, but you said you were related to the Duke of Ashworth?”
“Oh no. I’m his ward. He’s had charge of me since I was a baby.” Felicity expressed no awkwardness about this information, which did not help Caroline in the slightest. While she tried to figure out what to ask next, Felicity continued describing her admiration for Caroline’s work. “That bit in Screaming Vampire of Whitewood Abbey where Iphigenia awakens in the crypt after having been prematurely buried? I’m difficult to scare, but that had me shrieking. I had to read it to little Arthur and Violet, the duke’s children. They’re still quite young, so it made them cry a bit. I got in trouble after that. That’s the price of good taste in literature.” Felicity only stopped talking long enough to stuff a biscuit into her mouth. “I sometimes wonder how you manage to think of such things! I’m mad for anything Gothic, you know. So many books for young ladies involve nothing but lessons in how to be a good daughter or how to marry a noble vicar and become a devoted mother or some such nonsense. But your stories are about real life! Kidnappings, grave robbers, haunted castles, you make it all so vivid and true!”
Caroline couldn’t help feeling a twinge of pleasure, despite her confusion. Still, this interview could not continue in its current wild form. Caroline had to say something.
“Miss Berridge, I have a strange question.” Caroline could think of no other way to put this. “Would you happen to have any relation to the Earl of Rockford?”
“Oh yes. I’m his illegitimate daughter.” The girl sprayed a few crumbs as she said it and hurried to dust them from her lap. “Sorry about that. Her Grace despairs over my table manners.”
Caroline couldn’t believe how casually the girl had confessed that she was illegitimate. More than that, Caroline’s stomach seemed to freeze. So, Rockford had fathered this girl. That explained perfectly why they were so alike. And to think he’d allowed someone else to have charge of the child. That wasn’t a good sort of man at all. Caroline felt almost sick at the thought, because how could such a scoundrel have so thoroughly captivated her? To think she might be giving her heart to such a reprobate…
Except now that Caroline considered it, she wasn’t certain the dates added up at all…
“Miss Berridge, how old are you?”
“Fifteen this past March. It’s the most tedious age. You feel quite ready for the world, but everyone insists on treating you like a little girl.”
Fifteen. Sixteen years since she was conceived…but unless Caroline was mistaken, Rockford had been abroad sixteen years ago, traveling the world on his endless tour of debauchery.
“Which Earl of Rockford was your father?” Caroline asked.
“It’s awful nice of you to take so much interest in me.” Felicity beamed, oblivious to the older woman’s reasons for being curious. “Not the one who’s the earl right now. His father, the last earl, the one who just died? He’s the one. The Duchess of Ashworth says I mustn’t tell people about it, but I don’t see why not. All of society will know the truth about me someday. My mother was a maid who worked up at Havenlock Hall. My father would have thrown me into the poorhouse if the duke hadn’t been visiting and offered to take care of me. I adore the duke, but I couldn’t give a toss about my father.” The young girl shrugged, seeing nothing odd about being so forthcoming. Caroline’s head spun. She was relieved to know Gabriel was not a scoundrel, dismayed on this girl’s behalf, impressed by Felicity’s nerve, but more than anything she was nearly dumbfounded by the close physical resemblance between the current Lord Rockford and his half sister.
“It’s just that you and the current earl look so exactly alike. You could be twins, really,” Caroline said.
“Oh? That’s nice to hear.” Felicity wrangled another biscuit. “I don’t think I’m even allowed to talk to him until I’m eighteen. Oh, but it sounds like you know him, though. So odd to think I’ve a half brother I’ve never seen. You won’t tell him I told you, will you? About myself, that is. I should hate to throw the Duke of Ashworth’s plans into a frenzy. Though I’m not much for plans myself.”
“No, nor am I.” In the last few minutes, Caroline’s thoughts had careened from one extreme to another before coming to two rather sharp conclusions.
First, she ought never to have attempted this blackmail.
Second, it was nigh impossible that the same dismissed gamekeeper who had supposedly fathered Gabriel would return almost twenty years later to have an assignation with a maid. Rockford and Felicity clearly shared the same father.
Perhaps they both resembled an old family member that the earl didn’t know or recall. Regardless, it now seemed almost certain that the old Earl of Rockford had been wrong. Gabriel Kane was in fact his legitimate son and heir to the earldom.
Which somehow made her now-superfluous blackmail threat feel that much worse.
They carried on conversation for another quarter of an hour, and Caroline signed the girl’s booklet to Felicity’s shrieking delight. Despite the series of revelatory shocks, Caroline had enjoyed having tea with the girl. Miss Berridge had… An active imagination was perhaps too mild a term. But she was opinionated and spirited, and Caroline enjoyed her company.
But whenever she looked at the young lady, she saw only Rockford. A man who’d been saddled with a hideous father, an estate and title he’d never asked for, and now a threat of blackmail that wasn’t even based in anything true.
Caroline was more certain than ever that she wanted to marry Lord Rockford…and she was also more certain than ever that doing so would be the wrong thing.