Chapter Three
That had not gone well.
“Do you really wish to endure that sort of display for the rest of your life, George?” Tom’s customary grin sat firmly in place. “Women are deucedly dramatic.”
“Do not use cant, Thomas,” Mrs. Downy scolded.
Her gaze darted from George to the now-empty doorway a few times before settling on him once more.
“Please do not hold this outburst against her. She has not quite been herself this past month, not since…” The sentence dangled unfinished, but George knew perfectly the words she’d left unspoken.
Not since she learned of our betrothal. He had worried that the manner in which the match had come to be would give Caroline the wrong impression.
But when Edward, the oldest of the Downy children, had told him his father had come to London with the express purpose of finding someone willing to offer a bit of much-needed income to the family in exchange for Caroline’s hand, George had panicked.
His plan had always been to court her once she had her Season, to make his case in the traditional way, to convince her of his love and devotion. But she never had a Season, and her family had left her no opportunity to be wooed.
“Is she terribly unhappy about this arrangement?”
“Not at all,” Mrs. Downy assured him. “She has seemed perfectly resigned to it until today.”
Perfectly resigned. That was nearly as bad.
He hadn’t expected her to be overflowing with excitement, but he’d hoped that knowing she was marrying someone whose company she enjoyed and who was not several decades her senior would have rendered the prospect a bit more appealing than “perfectly resigned” would indicate.
And, it seemed, she wasn’t even feeling that any longer. What a mess he had on his hands.
“Pardon me,” he offered to the others before swiftly following Caroline’s path. If he caught up with her before she reached her bedchamber, perhaps he’d have an opportunity to better ascertain the state of her feelings.
In a much appreciated bit of luck, he reached Caroline before she had turned down the corridor that led to the family bedchambers.
“Caroline.”
She stopped at the sound of her name and glanced over her shoulder at him.
That particular posture had never failed to clutch at him in a way he couldn’t quite explain.
Something in the look, in the stance, seemed to warn him that she could leave him behind at any moment.
He had inevitably found himself both intrigued by the unspoken challenge of needing to work for her affections and nearly frantic at the thought of losing her.
For years he’d felt the pull of those competing emotions.
He reached her side in the very next moment. “I am sorry about your headache.”
“It will pass with time and rest.”
He’d developed a talent over the past few years of keeping his arms firmly at his side in the face of the almost overwhelming wish to reach out for her. “Is there anything I might do for you? I cannot like the idea of you being unwell.”
The tiniest of smiles flitted across her face. “You always were more felicitous than either Tom or Edward. But, then, older brothers do have a tendency to be inexcusably inconsiderate of their sister’s well-being.”
“If I had been fortunate to have a sister, I would like to think I would not have been so blind.”
Her smile grew by the smallest of degrees. “I do not doubt you would have been an excellent brother. You were always very considerate of me during our childhood.”
Good heavens, did she think of him as her brother? A lady might learn to feel more than indifference for a match not of her choosing, but who could possibly find any excitement in the prospect of marrying her brother?
“At the risk of sounding rude, I would very much like to lie down.” Caroline’s patience was clearly being tried by the delay he was causing.
“Allow me to walk you to your door.” He motioned for her to precede him, which she did. “Has your maid been sent for? I would be happy to see that she is summoned.”
“I will ring for her once I reach my room. I would rather lie down that much sooner than wait for her to arrive.”
Was she more unwell than she’d admitted? “Ought I to send for the apothecary?”
“As I said, you are far more attentive than my brothers ever were. But, no, I am not truly ill, simply worn thin. The past weeks have been quite trying.”
The horrifying truth of that was beginning to sink in. “Has this been so terrible for you?”
“I find I do not at all like being listed amongst my family’s sellable assets.”
Sellable assets? This grew worse and worse. “You have known me more than half of my life, Caroline. Do you truly believe that this, to me, is nothing more than a financial arrangement?”
“I am grateful that Father chose you. I truly am. I saw the list of gentlemen Father had intended to approach, and—” A sudden surge of emotion cut off her words. Caroline, who very seldom grew overset, didn’t seem able to finish the thought.
She had seen the list? What had Mr. Downy been thinking to expose his daughter to the harsh reality of arranging a match? George allowed himself a momentary lapse in his ironclad control and reached out for her hand, holding it in what he hoped was a reassuring clasp.
She slipped her hand from his, not an encouraging sign. “Despite my lack of social graces today, I promise I will do all I can to make certain you don’t regret your—” She pulled in a shaky breath and stepped further away. “—your purchase.”
“Caro—” But she had already rushed off, hurrying inside her bedchamber in the next moment.
Her door closed with a sharp snap. She thought of him as a brother. A brother who had acquired her with the same level of tender emotion as one calls upon when purchasing a horse or a bit of land. Far from pleased at their match, she was disheartened and resigned.
How much worse could the situation become? He hardly dared consider the possibilities.
***
George was elbows-deep in ribbon when Tom wandered into his bedchamber.
“The birds aren’t going to shoot themselves,” Tom scolded. “I thought we had come to the country for a bit of sport.”
George didn’t look up from the bow he was attempting to tie. “There are times, Tom, when I wonder if perhaps you have recently been dealt a blow to the head.”
“What are you going on about this time?”
“Why would you think I had come to your family home, where the lady to whom I have recently become affianced lives, in order to shoot birds?” George gave his friend a laughingly annoyed look. “This journey was always about Caroline.”
Tom’s eyes pulled wide even as his brows arched in surprise. “Boiled beans, man! You’re not undertaking a courtship, are you?” Tom had always been something of a simpleton in matters not related to sport.
“I am not certain which aspect of ‘betrothed’ you haven’t quite come to terms with.” George set himself back to the task of adorning the present he had for Caroline. “We’re to be married, and I would much prefer that she be pleased with the prospect.”
“Boiled—”
“If you say ‘boiled beans’ one more time, I’ll boil your beans.”
Tom chuckled. “What does that mean?”
“I have no idea.” George examined his rather pathetic bow. He could only hope Caroline would look past it.
“The arrangements are already made, though.” Tom sat on the chest at the foot of George’s bed. “Seems to me that ought to relieve a fellow from the necessity of making up sweet to a lady. A match of convenience ought to be. . . convenient.”
“You needn’t say it as though I’ve volunteered to spend an afternoon in close company with a rabid dog.” George leaned back casually in his chair, grateful for a momentary reprieve from his heavy thoughts and his worries.
Tom’s nose scrunched as though he smelled something particularly putrid. “You won’t be making cow eyes at her or anything equally disturbing, will you?”
“What would you define as ‘equally disturbing?’”
“As it turns out, this conversation.” Tom fingered the discarded lengths of ribbon with a look of disdain. “Is gift-giving part of your courtship strategy?” Tom indicated the folded bit of fabric and its poorly tied bow on the end table.
“This is merely something I thought she would like.” He pushed it a little away from him.
The light blue shawl had seemed like the perfect engagement gift, but now he wished he’d chosen something a bit more impressive.
Such a feeble offering was unlikely to increase her enthusiasm.
“Do you think the gardener would let me pick some flowers?”
“I can’t imagine why not.”
That was good enough for him. “I’ll see you at dinner tonight,” he said on his way out the door.
He ought to have realized Caroline wouldn’t have assumed he’d made his offer from a place of warmest, sincerest regards. Mr. Downy, after all, had made the direness of her situation and the coldness of the arrangement apparent to her. How could she not assume he shared her father’s view of things?
The far more pressing question, however, was how did he go about proving that assumption wrong?