Chapter 11 #2
“Your Grace, while Her Grace might feel as if her heart is in a good place, she is not aware yet of how obstinate this boy can be.”
Damien’s dark brows perked, and if Caroline did not know better, she would have thought he was amused by the ordeal.
“Ah. And you? You know of Her Grace’s heart? You believe it to be so shallow that she will need help?” he asked. His deep voice implied that he was calm, but Caroline felt wariness seep into her stomach, tightening it into knots.
“Your Grace,” Caroline said quietly, “I am sure she did not mean—”
“Let her answer,” Damien said calmly, cutting her off as his gaze remained fixed on the nurse.
Caroline flicked her gaze to the nurse, feeling pity for the woman as her face shifted from pale to red.
“Of course I would not make such assumptions about Her Grace,” the nurse hoarsely replied. “However, you did hire me to care for the boy.”
“And now Her Grace is here to take care of the boy,” he quickly answered.
“And if she believes your services are no longer required, then your services are no longer required. I believe you have met my housekeeper, Mrs. McClain. Go see her. She will give you your last pay and a letter of recommendation.”
That was it. With no arguing or fuss, Damien dismissed the nurse. Caroline was not sure if the woman understood that there was no reason to fight his command—or if she was too afraid to do so. Either way, she drew in a stuttered breath, bowed to him, and hurried from the room without another word.
Caroline stared after her for a long moment, spellbound over what had just happened. She had always assumed that Damien got his way over large displays of his rage or threats, but he had been so calm with the nurse’s dismissal.
Damien waited for several seconds after the nurse left. Then he turned back to Caroline. He gave her a silent nod, his amber eyes not quite meeting hers, and then turned to George. The boy began to tremble in his chair as he stared up at the giant man with wide-eyed, apparent fear.
“George, do not be afraid,” Caroline soothed, walking over to him. She stood behind his chair and slipped her hands over his thin shoulders, and was relieved when his trembling stopped almost immediately.
“Have a pleasant evening,” Damien’s deep voice rumbled as he tore his gaze away from the child.
“Wait,” Caroline found herself saying.
Her single word seemed to shock all three of them, for as she wondered why she said it, both Damien and George turned to her with a curious look.
Her heart quivered again as his deep, soulful amber eyes found hers.
“We were just about to have our afternoon tea,” Caroline pushed herself to say, “Would you want to join us? George has constructed these most wonderful dolls and I—”
“I am afraid I have to decline.”
He said the words calmly. Yet somehow they felt like an axe slicing through the thin rope of hope that had just formed. Caroline snapped her mouth shut, annoyance running through her veins as she clenched her jaw.
Without another word, Damien walked out of George’s room, leaving them be.
“He scares me,” George whispered several moments later.
“I know,” Caroline sighed, giving his shoulders a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “I am not quite so sure what to feel about him myself.”
“Sleep well, my little love,” Caroline whispered, tucking George’s covers tight around him.
She leaned down and, as she had done for the last three days since dismissing the nurse, put the boy to bed with a kiss on his forehead. George smiled affectionately at her as she did so and squeezed her hand.
“Good night, Cece,” he whispered back without any trace of his stutter.
Caroline beamed down at him, so very proud of how much stronger his voice had gotten just in the three days since the nurse had left.
At the same time, affection stirred in her as he called her by her new name.
She was glad he had picked one out. Having him call her Caroline seemed far too formal, and she certainly was not going to force the child to call her ‘Her Grace.’
“Close those eyes now,” she gently instructed, then picked up his bedtime book.
Since she had taken over his bedtime routine, Caroline read two chapters aloud so George would drift off to sleep. Once she was sure that he was asleep, she put her marker back in the book, blew out the candle, and stood.
This time, she turned to the cracked-open door with a quickness.
Hoping to catch it. The shadow. She had seen it the first night.
A dark, large thing seemed to float with a casualness past George’s door.
The same thing occurred the second night.
Tonight, though, instead of standing still, Caroline hurried to the door, determined to see who or what it was.
It should have scared her; she knew that would be the rational response.
Yet for some reason, the thing soothed her, and she wanted to see for herself who the dark blur belonged to.
She tsked her tongue in annoyance as, for the third time in a row, she found nothing but an empty hallway. Accepting her failure, Caroline quietly shut George’s door all the way and made her way to her rooms just down the hall.
“Good evening, Your Grace,” Delia, Caroline’s maid, greeted as she entered, waving an arm toward her sleeping chamber. “I have your bed turned down for you, and a nice fire going. Shall I help you get ready for bed, or would you like me to bring water up for a bath?”
Caroline smiled at the pretty, young woman. Delia had a calm, kind way about her that she truly appreciated.
“Thank you, Delia, but no. I should like to write some letters before I go to sleep this evening. I shall tend to changing into my nightgown myself when I am ready.”
As usual, no matter what Caroline’s response was, the maid curtsied respectfully. She did not push when Caroline felt the urge to take care of such things herself, nor try to remind her that her new station would usually prohibit such a thing. Instead, she simply accepted Caroline’s need for space.
“Very well, Your Grace,” Delia replied. “Have a most pleasant rest. I shall attend to you in the morning.”
Caroline gave her a nod of thanks and went to her writing desk as Delia let herself out. It had been far too long since she had sent a letter to her dearest cousin, and tonight, for no particular reason, she felt compelled to remedy that.
My dearest Elara,
I owe you numerous apologies, foremost among them being for the inexcusable length of time it has taken me to write to you. I am sorry that you did not receive the news from me first.
I am married to the Duke of Ravenshaw.
I know you will have questions, and I promise to answer them all when I see you. For now, know only that I am well and that the house is grand, far grander than anything I have been accustomed to of late.
There is also a little boy here, a ward of His Grace, called George.
He is perhaps five or six years of age, wonderfully bright and talented, with the most extraordinary gift for making paper dolls.
He has become my greatest joy here, and I think you would adore him.
We spend our days reading together, drawing, and venturing out into the gardens when the weather permits.
I confess that caring for him has kept me quite occupied, and I am glad of it.
Write to me soon, dearest. Tell me when you will be coming back to England from your travels.
With all my love,
Caroline