Almost an Angel (18 page)

"Any suggestion but that."

"But, Uncle—"

"Do not ask that, Margaret." His voice was firm, yet absolutely useless in the face of the child's clear determination. James sighed and dropped back in his chair. When had the girl become so strong? "Please try to understand, Margaret. Caro is sick. She needs a doctor's help."

"Then, bring a doctor here."

He grimaced. "She and Dr. Stoneham do not get on."

"Then send for a better one than that mean old man. Send for one from London."

He shook his head. "Caro will refuse to see any of them."

"You cannot send her back to that awful place!"

He sighed. "Boorstin? I do not intend to. I looked into the conditions, and they are awful. But look." He opened his desk drawer and pulled out the letter that had been in his thoughts ever since its arrival yesterday. "This is from Caro's uncle. He is coming for the festival."

Margaret jumped to her feet. "But he will send her back to Boorstin!"

James took the girl's hands, tugging her closer to him as he tried to reason with her. "I will discuss the matter with him, but you know I am not her guardian. Her uncle must decide what is to be done."

"But Carolly—"

"Is very confused right now," he interrupted. Then he pulled his niece the remaining distance until he held her in his arms, finally lifting her up onto his lap. "Can you not see how selfish it is to keep her with us? To encourage her in her illness? And refuse to give her family the right to decide what to do with her?"

Margaret did not respond except with a sullen pout, but she did lean into his body, curling against him as never before. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer still, cherishing this new and special closeness with his brother's only child.

Then he spoke the words he knew might shatter her. "You know I am right, Margaret. As much as we might want her here, we cannot keep her."

As he feared, she struggled out of his arms, challenging him with every fiber of her being. "Truly, Uncle? Do you truly want her to remain here? Or are you just pretending?"

He frowned, uncomfortable with his niece's penetrating regard. "Margaret, I care very deeply for Caro. I wish her to be well."

"That is not the same thing as wanting her here."

James did not answer. His niece was a very perceptive child, and she had asked the questions he had been fighting ever since Caro threw him out of her bedroom. Did he want her here? Did he want her in his life at all?

He thought about her almost all the time. He remembered tiny things about her, such as the way she tugged at her hair when she thought hard, and the way she ate her food with such amazing verve and energy. Perhaps that was what most drew him to her: her vitality and confidence—as if she knew who and what she was, despite the fact that she sometimes forgot, and that her claims sounded so fanciful. No matter the folly, she still
believed
in herself.

Until lately.

Until he had forced her to remember Caroline Handren and Boorstin. Now she faded before his eyes, and he was not sure whether to be thankful for her return to reality or guilty that she was losing the best part of herself because of his stubbornness.

Did he want her in his life?

Yes. But as the old Carolly, not the new Caroline. And that thought made him the saddest of all.

He sighed. "I wish her health and happiness, Margaret. And I know she cannot find it here." He looked deep into his niece's dark eyes and hoped she would understand. "I have brought her nothing but pain. It does her no good to remain here."

"But—"

James stopped the objection with a raised hand. "Her uncle arrives in four days. Neither you nor I can change that now."

Stubborn to the core, Margaret continued to argue. "But if we convince him to let her stay, will you allow it?"

James hesitated, torn between his desire and what he knew was best for Caro. "I cannot see that it would be good for her," he said slowly.

"But will you let her stay?"

"Her reputation—"

Margaret shook her head and interrupted. "Was already beyond repair. What further harm can we do? Please, Uncle. For me, will you please let her stay?"

“I . . .”

“Please?”

He sighed, unable to say yes or no. He settled on the one word that had most frustrated him as a child. "Perhaps."

Margaret jumped forward and wrapped her arms around him. "Oh, thank you, thank you, uncle."

James received her hug, drawing her small body close. Two hugs in one day, he marveled. His life was indeed changing. Still, honesty compelled him to warn Margaret of the truth. "Caro's uncle will not let her stay."

She pulled away, her eyes bright with excitement. "Of course he will. We will convince him."

She made to spin off, but he grabbed her arm, holding her near. "In all your exuberance, try to remember Caro. We must try to get what is best for her. Remember that."

Margaret wrinkled her nose, making a childish face that said he was being a complete idiot. "Well, of course I shall remember her. And what is best for Carolly is to stay here with us."

James regarded his niece, holding her gaze to impress her with the gravity of the situation. "Have you asked her what she wants?”

Margaret's gaze shifted to her feet. "Not exactly."

"Well, you must ask—
exactly
—before we go speaking with her uncle."

Margaret's shoulders slumped, though the fire of determination still kindled in her eyes. "I will ask. I promise." Then she brightened. "But first I must plot my scheme to convince her uncle. He is probably stiff and stuffy like you. So all we need do is show him how to laugh, and he will come around."

James pulled back, startled by her perception. "I beg your pardon?”

"That is what Carolly did for you. She told me so. She said all we needed to do was make you laugh often enough, and then you would come around. You would be nicer. And you have! You are!"

James frowned. Was that true? Was that how Margaret saw him—stiff, stuffy, joyless?

"Margaret, I laugh quite often."

She grinned at him. "Of course you do. Since Carolly came here." Then she dashed away.

Chapter Thirteen

When Baron George Handren arrived, Caroline was busy overseeing the airing of the guest rooms. Her uncle was only the first of many guests from London come for what had now become an extended house party. The ball was set for a week hence, and she wanted to be sure everything was perfect. There would be no gossip about James's home or staff as long as she was in charge. She and Mrs. Potherby were of the same mind on this, and the two had spent many long hours reviewing even the tiniest details of the long event.

Mrs. Potherby also seemed to understand that Caroline required the mental distraction of detailed and thorough planning. The dear woman had stepped back, giving Caroline the freedom to interfere in things that would not usually be her concern.

But when Caroline heard the rattle of a carriage and saw a familiar and rather ostentatious vehicle tooling toward the front door, she knew her days of hiding were over.

Her uncle had arrived. She could no longer pretend.

Mrs. Potherby shot her a reassuring smile, then bustled away to see to the final details of Baron Handren's room. Caroline smoothed her skin, tidied her hair, and then steeled herself to go downstairs to greet James's first guest.

Everything is fine, she told herself. The festival is all prepared, the menus are in order, the entertainment is in line. Even Margaret had been unusually delightful lately, taking every opportunity to make Caroline laugh. And if news of Waterloo had not yet arrived, it did not matter much, anyway. In fact, she began to wonder what she'd wanted to hear in the first place. Some battle she'd thought she recalled. She supposed it would happen if it happened.

It was time to greet her uncle.

Caroline walked slowly, if not totally serenely, down the stairs. She met James and Garrett on the front steps of the manor and watched with what she hoped was quiet dignity as the gilded carriage finally pulled to a stop.

She glanced to her left as Margaret joined them. The child, like the rest of them, seemed uncharacteristically silent. Even Miss Hornswallow, standing a discreet distance away, appeared more grim than usual. The affair was exceedingly somber, and Caroline could not help but wink at Margaret, thinking that at least the child should smile.

It did not help. The girl seemed almost militaristic in her bearing, her face set in the harsh lines of a soldier bent on a mission.

Then Caroline's attention was caught by the postboy who snapped open the carriage door. A familiar red velvet interior appeared, but the sight was quickly overshadowed as a large-bellied man in high fashion stepped into the afternoon sunlight.

He was quite a sight, and Caroline could not help but blink. From the tip of his beaver hat to the shine on his tasseled Hessians, he appeared a man of exquisite taste spoiled only by a ponderous waist. His cravat was intricately tied and his pantaloons a handsome dark satin, but his coat buttons drew the eye as they pulled and strained against his paunch. Still, as he stepped out of his carriage he smiled, practically bubbling over with effusive good cheer.

"My lord!" he called to James. "It is so good to have finally arrived. And my dear Caroline," he called, turning to her. "You look ravishing as always." Then he frowned, his expression confused. "You cut your hair."

She did not respond, but watched with a kind of horror as he mounted the steps and opened his arms to her. She did not move.

"What? No greeting for your doting uncle?" he boomed.

Caroline winced at the tone. He had always been loud, but never before had she realized how very vulgar. The man stepped closer to her, enveloping her in his familiar bear hug. Finally she was able to struggle free, but even then he stayed close by, holding her by the hand as one would a small child.

"Have you nothing to say, my dear?" he asked again.

She let her gaze slide away, feeling the last of her hopes die. She
had
been mad. Her memories of Carolly and her previous incarnations were fantasies. This was too real, the familiarity too strong for it not to be true.

"I . . ." She swallowed her tears. "I know you."

"Well, of course you do. I am your Uncle George." Then he patted her cheek with condescending affection. "Do not worry, my dear. I will take care of it all. I know this has been frightfully upsetting for you."

"No—"

"Hush, now," he interrupted. "Let me make my bows to the earl." He turned to James, executing his bow with all the creaks and groans of pulled fabric. "Baron George Handren, at your service, my lord."

James returned the greeting with his usual elegance. "A pleasure, sir. Allow me to introduce my cousin, Mr. Garrett Northram." Garrett made his bow, his expression bored. "And my niece and ward, Miss Margaret Northram."

Margaret stepped forward and executed her curtsy with stiff anger.

"Why, she is absolutely charming," exclaimed the baron, his face wreathed in smiles.

Margaret straightened and put her hands on her hips, her expression sour. "You are smiling," she accused.

Baron Handren pulled back. "Why, my dear, you do not like smiles?” He glanced over to James. "Children are such a delight." Then he laughed heartily, as if he had made the best of jokes.

"And you are laughing!" Margaret stomped her foot.

That only caused him to laugh harder until James intervened. "You must forgive my niece. She is under the impression that all uncles are as sour and forbidding as her own."

"Such nonsense!" Baron Handren chortled. "Simply delightful!" Then he continued chuckling all the way into the hall.

Caroline watched them go inside. Everyone left except Margaret, who stood loyally by her side, and Miss Hornswallow who remained near her charge. One by one every one disappeared into the manor. First James, then her uncle, then Garrett, and lastly a whole slew of footmen, postboys, and servants carrying more luggage than Caroline could ever remember seeing. And through it all, she herself stood on the sidelines, watching them scurry up and down the steps like frenzied ants.

"You don't want to go with him, do you?" Margaret asked, standing close by her side.

Caroline blinked and looked down. The child stared up at her, her liquid brown eyes earnest.

"You don't want to go with him," she repeated, but this time it was not a question.

Caroline looked away, her gaze straying to the northeast and Boorstin Asylum. "He is my uncle."

"Just tell Uncle James you don't want to go. Tell him that you want to stay here." Margaret was pleading with her, begging her to fight, but Caroline did not have any hope left in her. Not after having realized that this man was her uncle. She had obviously made everything up.

"I am very ill, Margaret. I think it is important I go."

"No!" The little girl stomped her foot for emphasis. "You are not sick. You are not confused. And you are not Caroline Handren."

Caroline sighed and settled down on the steps, half hiding herself behind a column. She drew Margaret along with her until they both sat comfortably in the shade. Miss Hornswallow hovered nearby. "Has there been any news?"

Margaret frowned. "You mean about . . . Waterloo?"

Caroline nodded.

Margaret sighed, "No. I am sorry. No news."

"I did not think so."

"It means nothing. It will happen. You said so."

Caroline let her gaze rise to the clear blue summer sky, letting her mind drift with the clouds on the horizon. "I said a great many things, Margaret. And most of it makes no sense."

"It does too! You are an angel. You are earning your wings, but you fell in love with Uncle."

Caroline cast her a sharp look. "Who told you that?"

Margaret kicked at a stone. "I reasoned it out."

"Well, I most certainly did not fall in love with your uncle!" returned Caroline sternly. "It would be most impertinent of me. He is an earl."

"Carolly! What has happened to you?" the child wailed. "You sound like Miss Hornswallow!"

In the distance, the governess stiffened, and Caroline spared her a smile. "There is nothing wrong with sounding like Miss Hornswallow. She is an excellent woman who is gravely underappreciated. I have always thought so."

"Carolly!" The word came out like a wail of despair, and yet there was nothing that could be done to ease the child's suffering. Caroline was what she was. Or had become.

Caroline frowned. What was she thinking? Nothing made any sense anymore.

In the end, she gathered up the child in her arms, needing Margaret's comfort as much as the girl seemed to need hers. They sat together on the steps, Margaret sobbing as though her heart had broken. Caroline held her, letting the child wail out in pain, but she herself did not cry. She simply let her gaze follow the lazy pattern of the clouds as they shifted and blew in their various directions.

Nothing made sense to her, but she found the heavens vaguely comforting.

***

Inside, James was enjoying a convivial guest and a hearty glass of brandy. He, Baron Handren, and Garrett had adjourned to the billiards room. It was not a room James used often, but it was the Baron's idea, and James thought it an appropriate enough place to become acquainted with Caro's only surviving relative.

"I cannot thank you enough for helping out my litte niece," boomed the man heartily as he lit up a cigar. "Don't mind telling you the gel gave me quite a scare."

"I was only too happy to be of assistance."

"My only living relative," he confided in what was, for him, an undertone. "Sweet as can be, but not a thought in her brainbox. I will take her off your hands first thing in the morning. Best keep her in her room until then. Don't want her upsetting the staff."

James had been lining up his shot, but he lifted his head at the baron's remark. "Surely you intend to stay for the festival."

The baron took a long puff on his cigar, then turned. He wore a shocked expression. "My lord, you cannot mean to have her here during all that brouhaha. With all the people and the noise, no telling what might set her off."

James stood, a cold feeling building in the pit of his stomach. "She has been quite sane throughout her stay."

"Apart from thinking she is an angel," commented Garrett.

James shook his head. "But she has done most of the work for this celebration. You cannot take her away beforehand. It would be too cruel."

Handren waved his cigar in an expansive gesture. "Believe me, my lord, you do not want her destroying your entertainment. Your guests are members of the peerage. They will feel awkward in the presence of a madwoman."

"She is not mad," returned James, his annoyance building by the moment. The fact that he had called her mad earlier seemed irrelevant. These people didn't understand. "She is only . . . confused."

"Then you have been fortunate. Her fits are frightful to behold. I assure you—"

"And I assure you, there have been no fits while she has been here."

The old man sighed, his regard sad, as one who has seen too much. "Perhaps I could attend the festival. Then I will visit Caroline at Boorstin and give her all the details. She did so enjoy it when I used to tell her the news of London."

James carefully set aside his cue stick, turning his tone hard and implacable. "Baron, truly I must insist. Caro has worked too hard to not attend."

The man did not at first respond, so enthralled was he with his cigar. James waited patiently, his stance casual but his gaze fixed. Then the baron pulled back and looked directly at James. "I am only thinking of your guests."

"Do not concern yourself with them." James's voice was curt.

Both Garrett and the baron raised speculative eyebrows, but it was the latter who smiled. "You seem quite interested in my niece's welfare."

James shifted his attention back to the billiard table, his self-protective instincts surging to the fore. "She is a sweet woman. I would not see her hurt."

Handren stepped closer, under the guise of inspecting the table. "She has been here many weeks now. Unchaperoned."

James made his shot, the ball rolling far wide of his mark. But when he raised his eyes, he pinned the fat man with his stare. "Your insinuations do you no credit and her harm. I will not tolerate them."

"Insinuations!" The baron reared back, his laughter full and hearty. "My lord, I was merely concerned with sweet Caroline's reputation."

James stood, his hands tightening on the edge of the billiard table. "After putting her in Boorstin? It seems to me that you should be more concerned with Caro's welfare. When she arrived here, she had been beaten within an inch of her life."

Her uncle sighed, obviously disheartened, and began circling the table for his shot. "Ah, yes. I had a most lengthy discussion with the director regarding that very fact. It was a regrettable incident, he informed me. Two patients were fighting, and sweet Caroline, having more courage than sense, tried to intervene."

"She was incarcerated with male patients?"

"Sweet heavens, no!"

The baron came around to his side of the table, but James did not move. Instead, he folded his arms across his chest and watched the man fuss with his cue stick.

"A woman could not have inflicted those blows," he said softly.

The other man swung around, his fleshy face quivering with exaggerated horror. "My lord, you astound me."

"I merely state fact. How much do you know about Boorstin Asylum?”

The baron simply shrugged. "Only that it enjoys an excellent reputation, and Caroline was quite happy there."

"So happy, she was nearly beaten to death."

"I told you—"

"An unfortunate incident. Yes, I remember."

The two men regarded each other. Convivial the man might be, but he was clearly exaggerating his concern over his "sweet Caroline." Still, the man was her uncle. James knew

he had no right to interfere, especially if an asylum was in fact the best place for her.

"Exactly what is your interest in Caroline, my lord?" asked the baron, his small eyes narrowing  to tiny slits.

James paused, knowing his bluff had been called. Now was the time to either declare himself or back down. Glancing across the room, he saw Garrett straighten, his expression tight.