Chapter Twenty-Six
Windward Cottage was certainly grander than the word ‘cottage’ indicated.
It was a large, rather ancient stone house situated by the restless Cornwall coast, and one of Caroline’s favorite places on earth. Every morning, she woke to the call of gulls and the crash of the sea, the clean salt smell of the air.
Caroline had come to Cornwall because her mother’s sister, Susan Reynolds, and her husband had purchased Windward Cottage from Lord Devereux years ago when he’d been badly in need of cash. As such, the house was a safe place for Caroline and quite removed from the threat of London gossip.
It had been a relief to return to the seaside, to be quiet and cozy with Aunt Susan and Uncle Ross. They had welcomed Caroline under their roof without a thought to the chaos she’d left behind in London.
Wandering the cliffs gave her the most vivid inspiration for tales of bracing adventure upon the ocean, or covert meetings between lovers in the hidden coves. Though when she thought of lovers uniting, she tried to think of most anything else.
For the first month she’d been here, Caroline had spent most of her time either combing the beaches and cliffs or else locked in her room, scribbling away frantically and trying not to weep too loud.
Her memories of Gabriel were still fresh, and she preferred to keep company with them than with anyone else.
At least she also had Cornwall and her writing for comfort.
The coast had been wild and free, and it had finally handed Caroline the missing piece of her Masquerade at Seville puzzle. The Devil became more than a figure of domination; he tempted the heroine by offering her the freedom to be her truest self.
She’d fallen hopelessly in love with him. And the Devil, horrifyingly enough, had fallen in love with her, too. Of course, such impossible romances could never last.
But Caroline had stared out at the white-capped sea and thought of Gabriel’s stormy eyes, the defiant angle of his jaw. She recalled being held in his arms, feeling at once entrapped and somehow as if she’d been released from a cage.
Caroline had written and rewritten the book while her dear aunt had sent trays of food up to her room, never minding that her niece could not be more sociable just now.
Feeling security for the first time in ages, Caroline had thrown herself into her work with a single-mindedness she’d never experienced before. Then, a fortnight ago, Caroline had finished the manuscript and, almost out of sheer cussedness, had sent it on to her publisher the next day.
Even if they think it worthless, I shall have the pleasure of writing it the way it should have been written , she thought as she took the long, winding path back to Windward Cottage.
The love story was true now in a way it had never been before, aching in a way she could never have written before she knew love’s joys…and its pains, too.
Caroline was surprised to see a carriage outside the cottage door. She hurried up the steps and was admitted.
“Caro, look who’s come for a visit!” Aunt Susan called from the nearby parlor.
Caroline entered where Aunt Susan was serving tea to company. Her aunt, a charming woman in her early fifties with sable hair and kindly-looking laugh lines, seemed quite delighted by the visitors.
Caroline was happily surprised to find Sybil and Edmund. She was even pleased to see her father as well. Since the debacle of the past London Season, he’d grown quieter in temperament, and was not so ridiculous as he had been before.
“I hope you don’t mind us barging in,” Edmund said.
Caroline threw her arms around him. Even though she’d been grateful for privacy, his face and Sybil’s were some of those she’d missed most.
“I was just wishing I could see you both again.” She looked at Sybil, who seemed as delighted as Caroline. “Syb, I’m amazed your mamma allowed you to come all the way to Cornwall, though!”
“Mamma is back at the inn; she finds travel disagrees with her.” Sybil got up and kissed Caroline’s cheek.
Caroline marveled at the girl; Sybil appeared radiant in a way she’d never been before. It was as if she were glowing from the inside out. “Bold of her to let you run about with the Devereux men.”
“Well, I’m allowed some freedoms with my fiancé, after all.” Sybil gazed lovingly at Edmund, who looked ready to burst from his good fortune.
Caroline clapped her hands over her mouth and let out a short scream. She hadn’t expected she could feel a rush of joy like this again but was so utterly thrilled to be wrong. “Eddie! Oh, this is the most wonderful news!”
“Now we’ll be every bit as good as sisters,” Sybil laughed. Caroline could have wept with sheer delight at the thought. The two women embraced tightly. “And I’ll be out from under Mamma’s nose. I can think of nothing better.”
“Well.” Edmund slid an arm around Sybil’s waist. “I hope the thought of marrying me rates highly.”
“Oh, it does.”
Caroline had never thought to see both her best friend and her brother look so in love. The two people she most adored finding happiness could not have been a better tonic after these few sad weeks. Her spirits lifted, and she doubted they could ever fully come back down again. “It’s wonderful to know the future Lady Devereux is so excellent.” Caroline winked at Sybil. “And that I’ll be leaving the household in such good hands.”
“You know, since you came here to Cornwall, I’ve sort of muddled through with the help of Mrs. Simms.” Edmund looked pleased. “I have to say, I’m not bad at household economies!”
“Better than me, I’d imagine,” Caroline said with a giggle.
Edmund was too polite to say it, but the truth was written on his face.
“But it’ll be nice when I take over,” Sybil said. “And nicer still when you come home to London and we can all live together.”
Caroline froze; it wasn’t that she didn’t want it.
A life with Sybil and Eddie and Simon and, yes, her father too sounded pleasant. As Sybil’s dowry would be immense, the family’s financial problems would cease, and as lady of the house Sybil would take all Caroline’s responsibilities away. She could focus on her writing and never have to worry about marrying for advantage again.
And since Gabriel’s sacrifice, Caroline was no longer notorious. Peculiar, yes, but she’d been considered so her entire life. London would not shut its doors to her.
So why was she reluctant to even think of returning to the capital?
“I suppose if Aunt Susan is tired of having me, I might return,” Caroline said evasively.
“You know Mr. Reynolds and I wish you would stay as long as you like.” Aunt Susan frowned. “But surely you wish to return home, don’t you, Caro? You have your friends and societies in town.”
“Perhaps soon. I’m still enjoying Cornwall, after all. There’s a great deal of peace that can’t be found in London.”
Because the Earl of Rockford would still be there.
Even if he was at his estate in Derbyshire by now, he’d have to return to town for the Season. Perhaps next year he’d find himself a proper bride. The thought almost caused Caroline’s high spirits from the engagement to droop.
After all, Gabriel’s exile from good society could not last forever, not after the gossip died down.
Caroline wasn’t sure she was strong enough to watch him find a proper girl and continue the Rockford line, and all while she remained the helpful spinster at the top of the stairs at Devereux House. Even if her life with Eddie and Sybil would be the jolliest thing in the world, she would never be able to get Gabriel out of her head.
“Well. Whenever you’re ready,” Sybil said. “Though I do hope you’ll be my maid of honor.” The words thrilled Caroline right out of her doldrums.
“Your mamma truly wouldn’t mind?” Caroline was amazed.
“She won’t.” Sybil said it firmly. Well, Lady Sybil Forsythe was growing more rebellious while Caroline grew more cautious. The world was truly upside down. While Edmund whispered something to Sybil, Caroline’s father sought her attention with a few polite harrumphs.
“Yes, Papa?” she asked after he’d cleared his throat the second time.
“Caro, I suppose I wanted to say that…well…” The baron appeared somewhat at a loss. He looked to his son, who glared at him a bit. “I wanted to say that I’m sorry for the gambling. And the debts. And the drinking. And selling off our furniture, I know how that humiliated you children to no end.” Despite his tendencies toward frippery, Caroline knew her father was a proud man. This had been no easy admission, and her heart softened.
“Thank you for saying that, Papa.”
The baron mopped his brow with a handkerchief; such a confession had evidently drained him.
“You should also know that Eddie is taking a firmer hand with my spending now that he’s marrying, so you shouldn’t worry about such problems in future.” The baron’s eyes brightened. “Now that we’re relations to the Marquess of Rexbridge, after all, we have to maintain appearances. To think the marquess and I shall share grandchildren! Isn’t it too splendid?” Ah, well. No person could ever completely change, it seemed.
“Eddie and Sybil seem very much in love,” Caroline drawled.
“Yes, yes. I’m delighted about that, of course.” The baron sounded as though the mutual affection were a nice perk. “Erm. But anyway, Caro, can you forgive your old father, do you think?” Surprisingly, the answer came easily to her.
“Of course I forgive you.” Forgetting would be a sight harder to do, but hopefully they could accomplish that in time. Caroline had spent enough of her life at odds with the people she loved.
Throughout the tea, Caroline was so delighted by Eddie and Sybil’s happiness and by her father’s being reined in that she could almost forget Gabriel.
But even when she was engaged in conversation, even when she was writing, even when she was dreaming, the Earl of Rockford hovered nearby. Perhaps, even though she loved Eddie and Sybil’s newfound joy, some part of her ached because she’d almost had the same and now never would.
What delightful company you make. Honestly, be generous , she reproached herself.
Soon after, it was time for the visitors to leave. As Caroline bade her family and Sybil farewell, Sybil tugged her aside.
“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you,” she whispered.
“A secret? Not too exciting, I hope.” Secrets were far better in fiction than in life.
“No, not that. Eddie and I were discussing your book. Masquerade at Seville. It never found a publisher, did it?”
“Not just yet,” Caroline said evasively. She didn’t want anyone to know she’d resubmitted to Dunwell & Poole. “But why do you ask, Syb?”
“Eddie wants to try starting up a business. My dowry’s large enough for him to make a go at something and still be comfortable. Well, I thought we might try publishing. That means we could publish your book! What do you think?”
Caroline was almost dizzy with the thought. She’d gone from the half-defined dream that someone might someday publish that novel to the instantaneous certainty. It would be a shock to anyone, even those well used to shocks.
“I…I don’t know!”
Sybil raised an eyebrow. “Eddie and I believe in you, Caro, and you’d make far more off sales than you would with your old publisher. There aren’t too many printers in London who’ve women making decisions about the business.”
“We could publish others, couldn’t we?” Caroline was already thinking about the Ladies’ Society of Murder.
“Of course! Just think about it, will you?” Sybil tied on her bonnet. “It would be a wonderful wedding present for me.”
“A wedding present someone else would pay me for? That’s quite modern.”
But Caroline did seriously consider it as her family’s coach trundled back down the road. She thought of it all through supper, and in bed at night.
Indeed, it was a mercy to have a thought that could share space with her memories of Gabriel.
Caroline shut her eyes and imagined the earl with his arms about her, his body warming hers. Her skin tingled with ecstasy.
That’s our book, after all. She could hear the pleased rumble of his voice in her ear. You should take the utmost care with it.
Indeed. And Caroline continued to think for the next week, and then the day came that she received a letter from London.
It was from Dunwell & Poole.
Caroline felt strangely calm as she opened the envelope and read.
Dear Miss Devereux,
I am pleased to say that we received your revisions to The Masquerade at Seville .
After some consideration, we’ve agreed that we should like to publish the manuscript in three volumes. That will, of course, depend upon a few further alterations as one should not make the Devil too sympathetic for the reading public. The heroine is still a bit too strong-minded, but we should be able to amend that.
If you agree, however, and are prepared to front some of the costs for publication, we would be delighted to offer you the standard rate of 3 percent royalties after all costs are recouped. Kindly write back to this address and alert me as to your wishes.
All best, etc.
Caroline sat there with the letter in her hands. For the first time in her life, she saw her next move with perfect clarity.