Almost an Angel (17 page)

"Carolly—"

"And when that is all done, I shall leave. But not for Boorstin. I am going to be an angel."

He reached out for her, gripping her hands to try and make her understand. "Think, Caroline. For a moment, see what is real." He did not understand why it was so important to him that she accept the persona of Caroline Handren. Only that if she were rational, fully rational, even for a few moments, then he had a prayer that she understood what he did was best for her. "I do not want to hurt you, Caroline."

He searched her eyes, seeing them widen with panic as she struggled with her identity. He held tightly to her fingers, praying she would emerge on the other side of her fantasies, her mind whole.

He waited, holding his breath.

Then, suddenly, the confusion seemed to disappear. It was as if she had purposely pushed any disturbing thoughts aside. She smiled at him, her face serene.

"I understand. Better than you do." Then she stretched up on her toes to give him a quick kiss before dancing away.

Chapter Twelve

Carolly wandered out toward the dawn. The morning dew soaked her slippers, chilling her toes, but nothing could diminish the simple joy of watching the sun rise. She liked the dawn. It symbolized new beginnings to her, something she desperately needed right now.

Everything was going great. The preparations for the festivities were running as smoothly as could be hoped, given that James had not hosted a gathering of any sort in the last five years. Mrs. Potherby was a wonder, teaching Carolly everything she needed to know about fashionable entertainment and also a good many things she wasn't sure she was supposed to know. Things like what to do when the blacksmith elopes with the minister's daughter in the middle of a quadrille. Apparently that had happened, according to local folklore.

The party had been set for June 18. Carolly had added up the days for Napoleon's hundred-day campaign in France. The count began on the day he landed in France, with Waterloo occurring on the hundredth day. Unfortunately, the date of Napoleon's arrival in France was not very clear. From what she could ascertain from the newspaper, she'd guessed the Little Emperor began his drive through France around March 1. That put Waterloo on June 9. Carolly had added another week, allowing for the guests' travel time and general excitement, and set the party for June 16. But then Mrs. Potherby had said the evening should be held on a full moon, so she delayed the ball two more days.

Mrs. Potherby assured her that everything would be in order by then.

As for James, he was most cooperative, giving her a free hand in the celebration, just so long as he did not have to actually assist in the details. He wanted his time free to spend with his niece.

After Carolly's talk with him in his library, James had finally joined Margaret in her bedroom and the two spoke at length. Carolly was not privy to the conversation, but they had emerged three hours later all smiles, suddenly the best of friends. Now they went on picnics and insect hunts every afternoon, rain or shine, reserving the wet days to hunt in the cellar or gardener's shed.

The two had truly bonded, and Carolly was positive she was well on her way to her wings. Yes, everything was going great. And if it were not for one minor detail, she would be the happiest pre-angel alive.

She'd fallen in love with James.

She hadn't a clue how it happened. Lord knew, he wasn't the most loveable man alive. But he was honorable, gentle, kind, and incredibly sexy. Carolly kicked a stray stone and groaned. Perhaps he was the most loveable man alive—for her. And she had fallen for him hard.

She didn't know when it had happened, either. The feelings had crept up on her quietly. All she knew was one day she had seen him laughing with Margaret, and her heart swelled. But then the pair of them walked away, leaving her alone, reminding her all too clearly that she was not part of their family. She was an outsider, and she would never be part of their circle.

The pain was so intense it caused a physical ache. That was when she'd realized she loved them. Yet soon she would have to give them up.

She heard hoofbeats in the distance and turned from the rosy morning light to see a dark silhouette of a horse and his rider stark on the horizon. They galloped past without pause, man and beast moving as one.

James and Shadow. Was there ever a more beautiful sight?

"He will never marry you."

Carolly started at the rough voice, spinning around to see Garrett, his face ruddy in the morning light.

"Good morning, Garrett. I had no idea you ever got up this early."

He gave her a cheeky grin, and she smiled in return.

"You haven't been to bed, have you?”

"To bed, yes. To sleep . . ." He shrugged and rubbed his face. "I was just returning when I saw you standing here, and I could not resist the lure of your loveliness."

"Oh, my!" she responded in a sing-song voice, pretending to be all aflutter at his compliment. His only response was to offer her his arm. Carolly took it without hesitation. He was a poor second to James, but at least he rarely failed to make her smile.

His words were not so welcome, though. "There can be no future for the two of you. You know that, do you not?"

Carolly let her gaze wander away, not liking that he had spoken her thoughts aloud.

"Caroline?”

"I know," she said quietly.

"He is an earl," Garrett continued. "Even if James had a heart to give you, his duty to the title would not allow him to stoop so low."

Carolly stopped dead in her tracks, annoyed at his harsh words. "You have too low an opinion of your cousin."

"I have known him much longer than you," he returned.

"But obviously not as well." She started to pull away, but he stopped her, keeping hold of her wrist when she would have withdrawn.

"Please, I have no wish to quarrel with you," he said.

"Then you should not say such hateful things." Carolly noted it was Caroline's prissiest tone that she used. She shook her head, wondering how long it would be before she could no longer distinguish between the part of her called Caroline and the part named Carolly. The two seemed to merge more every day, and her memories of her past lives sometimes slipped away almost completely.

"Caroline?”

Carolly jumped, feeling her face heat with embarrassment. "My apologies, Garrett. My thoughts were a hundred miles away." Or a hundred years.

He patted her hand. "That is not very flattering to my ego, Caroline, especially as I have come to offer you an alternative to your present situation."

Carolly frowned, turning away from the now brilliant sunshine. "My present situation?”

"I understand you do not wish to return to the asylum."

"I . . ." In truth, she had not worried too deeply about that possibility, assuming instead that when her work was done with James, she would suffer some sort of fatal accident as she always had before. But now his words brought the possibility firmly to mind. What if she failed? Or what if Heaven thought she'd failed? Would she stay here, trapped in this land and life?

Caroline's memories of Boorstin Asylum were very clear, and they did not paint an appealing picture. Abuses were rampant and conditions cruel. Patients were sometimes chained in their rooms, their clothing and bedding fouled. Beatings were common, as were daily visits by gawkers or, worse yet, those who assisted in the administration of the more violent "treatments."

Carolly took a deep breath, mentally pushing away her dark thoughts. "Let us talk of something more pleasant. Shall you stay for the festival?”

Garrett hesitated mid-step, then turned toward her. "Festival? I thought it was a ball."

She grinned, feeling her good spirits return. "Yes, it was. But now it is a festival, too. A day off for the villagers to party and enjoy a good time on the earl."

Garrett's eyes narrowed to a thoughtful squint. "You are trying to turn their sentiments."

She shrugged. "They are hard-working people who deserve a break. If they have cause to thank James for that, all the better."

"I see." Garrett fell silent, clearly deep in thought as they continued to stroll through the near garden. But it was not too long before he gently disengaged Carolly's hand from his arm, pulling her around to face him directly. "Caroline, I know you do not wish to discuss the asylum, but we must."

She winced. She couldn't help it. "Garrett—"

"There are other options than Boorstin, you know." He raised his hand to trail his knuckles along her cheek. "I have thought of a way for you to find wealth, independence, and even happiness."

His touch was gentle, but the stroke was more practiced than heartfelt. She felt some surprise at what seemed obvious. "Garrett, are you proposing marriage!"

He hesitated. "Surely you know I cannot wed you, Caroline. You have been hospitalized for many years. You cannot hope for a respectable marriage. I am sorry, but it is true." He looked so genuinely sad that, for a moment, she believed him. For a moment.

"Then just what do you propose?"

"That you can live better than even I or James. You can have gentlemen, jewels, and a place in society."

She knew what he was suggesting, and her entire being rebelled at the thought. "As a demi-rep?"

"As a mistress. Your madness would be an asset then, a source of fascination to many men."

"I see," she said dryly.

He shook his head and his gaze traveled almost tangibly down her body. "No, I imagine you do not. But I could teach you." His voice was husky. "There are many pleasures of the flesh you can learn. Indeed, you
must
learn. I can teach you, and then I will introduce you to my friends. You are a beautiful woman, Caroline. Many men would pay a high price for you."

“I—”

"No," he whispered, drawing her closer. "Do not answer. Ponder your choices, my dear. Remember, your other option is Boorstin." Then, before she could stop him, he was kissing her with a passion cleverly orchestrated to inflame the senses of an innocent girl.

Too bad she was no innocent. Caroline was angry, not inflamed. But before she could react he slipped away, back into the house, leaving her to stare after him, silently fuming.

He was a pig. A skillful pig, but porcine nonetheless. Carolly sighed. His offer might actually hold some merit—at least, to the kind of naive, frightened girl he thought she was. If the choice truly was between Boorstin and becoming a high priced call-girl, Carolly might very well pick London. There she had the chance of living in luxury, and eventually earning enough money to win her freedom. Boorstin only offered degradation and brutality. Fortunately for her, she had other options.

Unless, of course, her thoughts of becoming an angel were fantasies. Carolly felt a chill invade her heart. Was it possible? It seemed so far-fetched. She frowned. Earning angel wings was the stuff of fiction and mov—m—moving pictures?

Her knees went weak, and Carolly stumbled to a bench, her mind in turmoil. Her name was Carol... Carol... Carolly. She was born in... in ... She could not remember.

She struggled and fought and wrestled with her mind, searching for the memories, but she could not find them.

Her litany was gone.

But she had remembered once. She remembered remembering. She had known once with unswerving faith that she was earning her wings to become an angel. That she had been self-centered and cruel, and now she was learning to be kind and selfless. That if she succeeded she would become an angel.

She remembered that.

She looked up and saw James on Shadow, poised on a rise, overlooking the garden. She started to stand, to walk toward him, but it was too late. He turned away. In her mind's eye, he was replaced by Garrett, offering her his own version of Eden, and then again by the elusive and fading dream of becoming an angel. Somewhere in the back of her mind, looming over the whole confusing mass, was the horrifying thought of Boorstin and the terrifying memory of flames.

She shook her head, trying to sort through it all, but Carolly saw only a swirl of faces she could neither identity nor understand.

She felt a sob catch in her throat, and she pressed her hand to her mouth. What was happening to her? Who was she? Lying down, she curled her knees to her chest and closed her eyes, one thought emerging above the rest. It was a simple truth, and one that rocked her to the core.

She knew, without a doubt, that she had finally gone mad.

***

"Uncle?”

James shifted his gaze from his foreman's report, grateful for the reprieve. The news from the mines was grim, citing worker unrest and general unease that was only an echo of the hatred brewing at the village. Unfortunately, there was little he could do about it except ride out the storm.

At least his home was more peaceful than ever, thanks to his new rapport with his niece.

"Good morning, Margaret," he said with a smile. "You look very pretty today."

Margaret wrinkled her nose at him. "You always say that."

"It is always true." In fact, it was more true every day. Margaret was standing taller, walking with the pride and confidence that should have been her birthright from the very beginning. He was pleased to see her spirit finally matching the bright clothing she now wore.

But despite all that, Margaret was still young, and he was never more aware of it than when she flopped down into a chair beside his desk, her ribbons flying every which way, her skirt billowing out around her.

"I want to talk with you, Uncle."

He tried not to laugh at her serious demeanor. "I can see that. What did you wish to say?"

"It is about Carolly. I am concerned about her."

James sobered. He, too, was concerned about Caro. They barely spoke anymore. He tried, making every excuse to see her, but she brushed him off, burying herself in preparations for her festival and would not discuss anything more than banalities. The only thing he could think to do for her was to continue to give her free rein with her ball, hoping that, at least, expressed his concern for her.

"Uncle, she weeps almost all the time."

He turned to his niece. "You have seen this?"

She shook her head. "She does it in her room, but I can hear her through the door."

"You should not listen at doors, Margaret." His reprimand came out of habit, and the child shrugged it off as usual.

"Have you seen her eyes?" Margaret persisted. "They are always puffy now."

Yes, James thought sadly. He had seen them, but how could he help when she always ran away? He leaned forward. "How do you think we can help her?" he asked, amazed at his own question. Two months ago, he would never have considered asking a child for advice. But since Caro's advent into his life, he had learned many things—one of which was that Margaret possessed an uncanny understanding of the inner thoughts of his staff. She managed them in a way he never believed possible. It was only logical that James turn to her for advice on Caro. "I am willing to consider any suggestion."

Margaret frowned, chewing on her lower lip, then turned her large brown eyes to him in entreaty. "Do not send her away."