Chapter 10
brIGHT AND EARLY the next morning, Silas strode toward the Brooks’ home, not bothering with either horse or carriage. The walk from his own family’s home was not far, and he needed the additional time to consider his words when he saw Caro again.
He had done as he’d promised—he’d carefully considered what she had asked of him, and the consideration process had taken him the entire night.
Not because he was warring with himself, but because part of the consideration had been to replay every moment of falling in love with Caroline Brooks.
And in doing so, he had fallen in love with her all over again, and there was no way to sleep when he had been so pleasantly occupied with doing so.
It had taken all of his strength not to leave for her home at the first break of dawn, and even the early hour now might be inconvenient for the household.
But he could not hold himself back from this conversation any longer.
She had been perfectly right in her guidance the night before, in her hurt, and her wishes and her criticism of his behavior.
He owed her the courtesy of giving her all of the information and allowing her to make her own decisions rather than acting as though everything rested on his shoulders or weighed on his heart.
He had assumed a great deal about her, and that was not fair.
It was not the sort of man he wanted to be.
It was not the sort of husband he wanted to be.
And therein lay the issue that had kept him up for the whole of the night.
He was determined to be her husband, but in order to become that, she had to choose him. And if he wanted her to choose him, he needed to become someone she wanted to choose.
He might have been her best friend, but that was a far cry from being a romantic prospect.
And yet . . .
She loved him. She had fallen in love with him, just as he had with her. So there was more than a chance.
He had not fully anticipated the joy and the heat that had filled him at hearing that she loved him.
He had hoped she would love him, or grow to love him, but the reality of it?
He had been metaphorically and almost literally brought to his knees.
The prospect of actually having what he had always wished for was terrifying and thrilling in equal measure, and it was requiring a shocking amount of vulnerability to endure.
He had once been afraid of that vulnerability. It had cost him three years with the woman he adored, who had loved him in return, when he could have been sharing a life—and that love—with her.
No more.
Not one moment more.
Even if he might have been more afraid now than he ever was when his feelings became known to him.
Walking up to the Brooks’ home, he swallowed down the rising lump of panic and forced his feet to carry him up the few stairs to the great oak door.
He thudded his fist on the door firmly, loudly, but without the haste he felt driving his pulse.
He did not need anyone rising into a panic over him, even if he was growing more and more anxious.
The Brooks family needed to see him calm and certain.
Certainty in vulnerability? It seemed a contradiction of terms, but he was certain and confident that his vulnerability with Caro was the only way he could possibly win her.
The vulnerability left him open to her rejection, but it was the certainty of his feelings being strong enough to expose himself in such a way that drove him.
He prayed that it would be enough.
The door opened, and a stony-faced but stately butler greeted him. It was not the man he had grown up knowing from previous visits throughout the years, but even if it had been, the occasion was important enough for formality.
“Good morning,” Silas greeted. “Silas Darby to see Miss Brooks, if she has arisen.”
The butler quirked a brow. “Alone?”
“I . . .” He hesitated, his throat clenching. “If her mother will permit. We need not speak behind closed doors, and I will certainly permit a chaperone if it is preferable.”
He would declare himself in front of her entire family while standing on top of the dining table, if that was what was required.
The butler seemed to approve of his answer, nodding once and stepping back to allow Silas entry. Then he led him to the small yellow drawing room at the front of the house. It would allow in the morning light without overheating the space with direct sunlight.
If it were not a morning room, it ought to be.
This was what living at Sinclair House with his uncle had done to him.
He now considered all aspects of estate houses and farms, their layouts and their details, their productivity and their positions, and how to improve all of it enough to enhance the estate as a whole.
No one had asked him to look at this room and give his opinion, but he could not stop his thoughts from venturing there anymore.
Perhaps that was what his uncle had wanted from him. No fixation on finery, but an observation of usefulness and functionality.
Well, he was doing it now. And he just might be able to be a useful country gentleman, should his uncle bestow the legacy upon him.
Would Caro agree to marry him without the sure promise of a home after his uncle passed? Was her love for and faith in him strong enough for such unknowns?
It did not take long at all for Caro to arrive in this yellow room, looking remarkably alert for the hour, and her appearance was fresh and bright.
Yet dark shadows lay beneath her eyes, and his heart clenched with pain that he had been the cause of her disrupted sleep. His actions. His choices. His declarations.
How many nights had been interrupted over the last three years because of him?
His eyes began to burn, and he walked toward her without thinking.
Caro’s eyes widened at his approach, but she did not move away.
Silas pulled her into his arms, one hand moving to the back of her head and pressing her face into his chest, his other arm wrapping around her back, just as he had done when they were much younger, much more innocent versions of themselves.
Every time she had cried, whether it had been a skinned knee or a wounded heart, he had cradled her against him just like this.
She might not have been crying now, but she had cried in his absence, and he could not atone enough for that.
“I am so sorry,” he murmured into her hair.
“For my cowardice. My selfishness. My pride. For every single one of your tears bearing my name. For every night you could not sleep over this pain. I will never forgive myself, Primrose. I loved you, and I still did this to you. I did not see it. I do not deserve you.”
His voice broke, and he buried his nose farther into the softness of her hair, the scent of her his only consolation.
“You see it now,” Caro whispered, one of her hands smoothing up the back of his neck and into his hair. “That is all I wanted. For you to see this. To see me. To see us.”
He nodded against her, shuddering roughly.
“Silas,” she murmured after a moment, trying to push against him.
He did not move. Could not. If she was going to break his heart, he needed this reprieve to last as long as possible.
Her fingers dug into his hair and pulled hard, something she had not done to him for many years.
It still hurt as badly as it had then.
Wincing, he moved away, peering at her through one eye. “What?”
Caro smirked and released her hold on his hair, patting it gently. “I also want you to see what we could be together. When we are best friends and lovers. When we love each other fully and unselfishly. Bravely. We have both been afraid for too long, and it has only hurt us. Can you see it?”
He couldn’t breathe, for the hope and the relief, the sheer awe, was consuming him.
She still wanted him. She still loved him.
She could still choose him.
Laughing once in disbelief, Silas cradled her face in his hands.
“Yes, my Primrose. I can see it. I can see myself loving you better and better every day of my life. More deeply. More completely. I love you. Will you forgive me for who I have been, how poorly I have shown my love for you, and allow me the privilege of loving you correctly from this day forward? Will you be my wife, Caro Brooks?”
Caro smiled up at him, almost dreamily so. “Will you let me be your partner, Silas Darby? Not the one you sacrifice yourself blindly for, but the one your heart is safe with? The one you can be vulnerable with? The one you cling to, no matter what?”
Silas loved how this woman before him challenged him, pushed his expectations further, turned his world on its head, yet somehow knew him better than he knew himself. And he did not mind answering her questions before she answered his.
“Yes, my love.” He nodded firmly, his thumbs stroking the planes of her cheeks softly. “Yes to all of that.”
Caro turned her face to graze her lips against the heel of his hand. “Then I say yes as well. I would love to be your wife.” She closed her eyes, sighing as she reached up to grasp his wrists and keep his hands exactly where they were. “I love you, Silas. And I’ve missed you so much.”
Silas leaned in and pressed his lips to her brow, leaving them there to rest. “I missed you, too,” he admitted in a surprisingly raw tone. “And I promise, we will never have to miss each other again.”
He felt her nod, then the unmistakable nudge of her nose against his chin, forcing him back just a touch. He peered down into her open, eager, softly adoring face, and he searched her majestic eyes for understanding.
All he saw was love, trust, and the only home he had ever truly known.
Caro went up on her toes, surprising him, but leaving just enough distance between their lips for him to close.
And close it he did.
Softly, tenderly, he brushed his lips over hers, waves of tremors racing through his frame and then hers at the contact.
He tilted her chin up a touch, her mouth opening just enough for him to encourage another kiss, deeper this time and more claiming.
More possessive. More belonging. It was the purest torment and the most all-consuming bliss.
It was a cascade of rightness and want and promise and clarity, of hunger and adoration and hope.
It was a binding between them, and a bestowal of his heart into her loving, capable hands.
A pounding at the door of the house broke them apart.
Caro looked up at him in confusion. “Who in the world would be coming here this early besides you?”
“No idea.” Silas rubbed her arms gently, his gaze narrowing out of the room toward the foyer in wary anticipation.
“Surely your mother wouldn’t object . . .”
He shook his head quickly, now squeezing her arms in a comforting grip. “No, darling. In spite of everything, she adores you. It was never about you, but my own prospects. Her ambitions. Never you.”
Caro nodded and ran her hands gently over the lapels of his coat before turning to face the door. But she made no move forward, choosing instead to remain close to him, leaning back into his hold.
Silas wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her tight against him.
They heard the door open, a low hum of conversation, and then the steps of approaching figures.
The butler appeared first, his expression utterly bewildered, which, for a butler, was terrifying in its public dramatics.
Caro stiffened in Silas’s arms. “What is it, Styles?”
“It is . . .” He broke off, swallowing. “It is Mr. Darby, Miss Brooks. Calling for Miss Susannah.”
Silas felt everything within him go perfectly still for a moment.
He looked down at Caro, and she looked at him.
Then they burst into laughter that they could neither control nor understand.
Bas leaned his head into the room with concern, then frowned and straightened when he saw them. He walked into the room, shaking his head. “Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable.”
“What is, brother?” Silas asked with a cheeky grin.
Bas gestured between the three of them. “You could have told me you were coming. We could have been a united front.”
“You could have told me,” Silas pointed out. “My behavior should have been the least surprising of the two of us.”
“I haven’t exactly been thinking clearly,” Bas grumbled. He looked at Caro and shook himself, bowing slightly. “Forgive me, good morning, Caro.”
Caro dipped a knee in a quick curtsey. “Bas. You’re here for Susannah?”
The flush on Bas’s cheeks was shocking and amusing, but Silas chose not to say anything to provoke him.
“She’s awake,” Caro said simply. “Should be down soon. Are you proposing or courting?”
Bas’s eyes widened, and he looked at Silas in shock. “I . . . I don’t . . .”
Silas shrugged. “Caro and I are engaged, if that helps you at all.”
Now Bas frowned. “Of course, you are.”
Caro chuckled and patted Silas’s arm around her. “Don’t worry, Bas. Silas and I will stand by the window the whole time to give you privacy as well as chaperones. Do what you will with that.”
“And if you want a double wedding to keep Mother limited in her fussing and details, let us know,” Silas quipped.
The blow from Caro on Silas’s arm then was sharp and swift.
“Sorry, darling,” he murmured, not at all apologetic.
Bas only glared at him, but his expression changed the moment soft steps sounded in the hall. He whirled with wide eyes, his chest heaving with every breath.
“Oh, bother,” Silas muttered in Caro’s ear. “He does not seem at all composed.”
“Behave!” Caro hissed, tugging him toward the window as she promised. “You can embarrass Bas, but don’t do that to Susannah!”
Silas chuckled as he followed, his hand clasped tightly around hers. “I would never do that to my sister. Only my brother.”
Caro looked up at him in speculation. “She is not your sister yet.”
“Isn’t she, though?” Silas cradled her face in one hand, leaning down to nuzzle his nose against hers. “You are mine, Caro. The wedding only makes it legal.”
“And you are mine,” she whispered back. “My best friend, my lover, my everything . . . and soon, my husband.”
“That is the point, darling. In my heart, I already am.”