Almost an Angel (22 page)

He stepped toward her. "But—"

She skittered backward. "I will be with Mrs. Potherby, James. Good day." And with that, Carolly spun around and fled.

***

James watched her leave, feeling as if his body had been battered from all sides. He could stop her, but he checked the impulse. Too many thoughts collided in his mind, too many feelings ripped at him. He had once prided himself on his strength, on his solidity even in the midst of turmoil.

Now he realized what he had called strength was merely isolation and stubbornness. Since Bradley's death, and maybe long before that, he had remained aloof, watching the world as he filled his hours with silence.

Then Carolly had appeared in his life with the force of a tornado. She'd ripped open his world, making him feel and experience and see for the first time. He'd never before experienced panic as he had today—a physical torment that racked him as he raced to the village, fearing that she or Margaret was hurt.

It was frightening. And yet, he had never felt so alive.

James shook his head. He needed time to reflect on these emotions. And more than that, he needed to think about her words. Was he truly too proud to marry her? He'd just offered, hadn't he? Was she truly running away as he claimed? Or was she rushing toward something so divine he could not comprehend it?

Most importantly, whichever the case, would he be able to let her go?

Chapter Sixteen

Carolly remained out of sight the rest of that day and most of the next. She refused to come to meals, choosing instead to spend her time with Mags. Both she and the child knew she would be leaving soon, and so each made a special effort to make the days memorable.

Unfortunately, a house full of titled guests was the most exciting thing ever to happen for Mags, so she and Carolly spent hours spying on the intruders, and even more time ruminating on James's potential wives. Fortunately for Carolly's battered ego, Margaret was able to find some fault with each of the beautiful women trying to catch themselves an earl.

But even with the constant distractions of last-minute details, menu plans, and Mags's excited chatter, Carolly found more than enough time to think. In fact, it seemed to her that all she could do was think, ponder, and wonder.

Did she focus too much on the future? On becoming an angel? Perhaps there was more for her to learn in this life. Was it possible the reason she'd failed in her previous lives was exactly what James said—she refused to live in the present and so, ultimately, was doomed to be ineffective? Was she so afraid of being hurt that she ran to the hereafter rather than face the present?

An uncomfortable thought. Unfortunately, it was true. She did run toward divinity rather than live in the present. She did hide herself from those she most wanted to help. James was right.

But what could she do about it? Even if she set aside her goal of becoming an angel, what would she do? James would not accept the "madness" of her past lives, and she would not pretend it an elaborate fantasy. That left them right back where they started: Apart.

Yet in love.

Yes, she finally realized, he loved her. There was too much pain in his eyes when he looked at her. He had to be feeling the same torment she did every night, every day, being so close together but not able to touch, to share, or even to say the words:
I love you.

He would not allow himself to do more than long for her from a distance. He loved her, and yet he would not admit it, would not accept her as she was. And she would not give up everything she knew for anything less.

It was an impasse. Until she saw her ballgown.

The dress arrived the day of the actual ball. Carolly spent the morning supervising the preparations, the afternoon circulating at the festival, buying dinner there, and had only just returned to the house an hour before the music began. She felt hot, dirty, and exhausted.

Then she saw the gown, neatly draped over her bed.

Margaret's eyes shone as she smoothed out non-existent creases. "Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?" the child breathed.

Carolly shook her head, her throat too tight to allow words.

The dress was stunning. Carolly stepped closer to the bed, unwilling to touch it for fear she would mar its beauty. Made of satin gauze, the gown had elegant puffed sleeves and a skirt trimmed with a deep flounce of lace. Tiny flowers mixed with seed pearls were sprinkled throughout the design.

Yes, it was lovely. But most of all, it was white—the color of purity and innocence. And of angels.

"Tut, tut," said Mrs. Potherby as she bustled into the room. "No need to dilly-dally about, staring. Into your bath. Quick now!"

Carolly barely had time to blink before she was stripped, bathed, and dried. Next came corset, underclothes, stockings, and slippers. Then she was shoved into a chair, her hair ruthlessly tugged and twisted by Commandant Potherby. It had grown out, and the woman ruthlessly styled it. And through the whole process, Carolly's mind was filled with the sight of her gown.

It was white—as were the gloves, the fan, and the flowers that Mrs. Potherby shoved in place in Carolly's locks.

Then came the time to put on the gown. But she could only stare at it, feeling somehow that it wasn't hers to wear. She hadn't earned the right to look so much like an angel. Not with what she'd—

"Tut, tut. In you go." Mrs. Potherby would not allow any lingering, and Carolly was forced to don the gown or risk ripping it as the stern woman pulled it up over her shoulders.

"Oh, Carolly," whispered Mags from her position at the foot of the bed. "You look heavenly."

“I—”

"You shall do me proud tonight," Mrs. Potherby said, her stern expression relaxing into a warm smile.

They all turned at a soft knock on the door. Given all the noise and commotion surrounding them, the sound could have been anything from a dropped corset to a pot boiling over in the kitchen.

But it wasn't. James stood on the other side of the door, and they all knew it.

Suddenly, Mrs. Potherby was hustling Margaret out the door while James waited. Then, finally, he stepped inside, drawing the door shut behind him.

"Oh, James." Carolly couldn't help but gasp. She didn't think a man could look as handsome as he did. He wore a dark gray coat emphasized by a white silk cravat and a single pearl neckpin. It was barely more formal than the clothing Garrett had worn countless nights to dinner, and yet the elegance seemed to fit James better. Perhaps the clothing accented his aristocratic bearing and very masculine presence. Or perhaps she simply loved him and would think him stunning in sackcloth. All she really understood was that he stole her breath away.

It was some moments before she realized he gazed at her with as much hungry adoration as she had for him.

"Had I but known this would be the result, I would have thrown a ball much earlier."

She flushed, not at his compliment, but at the clear admiration in his eyes.

"I don't feel like I deserve to wear this," she said.

He frowned, clearly surprised. "But why ever not?"

"James, this is for an angel."

"As you are."

"Except that you don't believe it."

He shrugged, dismissing his earlier doubts as if brushing away a pesky fly. "You are already an angel to me."

She bit her lip, suddenly feeling awkward. "James, everyone believes me to be your mistress. How can I wear white?”

He smiled at her, lifting his hand to trail it along her cheek. "Because it is beautiful on you. Because I wish it. But mostly because I want to show the
ton
exactly what a treasure I have found."

"James—"

He silenced her, pressing his finger to her lips. "I have a gift for you."

She looked up, surprised. "But surely this gown is more than enough."

He shook his head, his eyes dancing with a joy she had not thought to see in him. "No. It is not enough, not nearly enough."

He placed a heavy jeweler's bag into her hand, his touch gentle as a caress. But Carolly didn't move to open it. It all felt so wrong. "James, I cannot. You have given me too much already."

"And, as you mentioned, you have reconciled me with my niece and given the villagers something to celebrate instead of grumble over. Surely that is worth a small token."

"But—"

"Here." Taking the bag from her he opened the top, letting a double strand of pearls spill into her hand.

"Oh, James." She could only stare at the perfectly matched pearls, wondering at such extravagance. In all of her lives, she had never been given a gift of such wealth or beauty. "Are you trying to bribe me?" she asked, her voice quavering at her feeble attempt at humor.

"I am trying to say thank-you," he whispered. Then he turned her around so she faced the minor as he slipped the pearls around her neck. "Perfect," he breathed, his breath coiling about her neck, as sensual as the caress of the cool stones. "I had thought to buy you diamonds, but somehow the pearls are more like you. They are warmer, and they seem to glow as you do."

She raised her gaze to his reflection, seeing him behind her, his darkness a perfect balance to her brightness. "I have misjudged you, James. I thought you were a cold man, trapped inside yourself and unable to love. But the truth is, you love better than I. You see things more clearly. You have allowed a madwoman into your life, given her shelter, clothing, food." She touched her necklace. "Even pearls. But most of all, you have given me the time to collect my thoughts."

She turned to him, meeting the dark gray of his eyes. "You were right. I have been running away. I hurt my family so badly the first time, I think I am afraid to try again, to live again."

He did not move, but she felt him change. It was a subtle shift of attitude. His eyes widened ever so slightly, and his breath seemed to catch, suspended in the air between them. Finally he spoke, but his voice was barely more than a whisper. "What does this mean?"

She looked away, unable to bear the intensity of his gaze. It would only take the slightest of movements for her to be in his arms, but she held back.

She took a deep breath. "It means I will try to be both human and . . . whatever. I still want to earn my wings"—she glanced back at him, her body aching to touch his—"but I have decided that living and loving here, as Caroline Handren, is just as important."

He touched her chin, gently bringing her gaze back to him. "Carolly, about your other lives . . . There has been no news of your battle."

"Waterloo."

He nodded. "You said it would occur ten days ago, and yet there has been no word."

"I know." At first it had worried her, making her question her belief in her own identity again. But lately she had relaxed, letting Caroline and Carolly merge without friction or distress. Carolly accepted that Waterloo would happen when it was time. Caroline was content to wait and see. Both knew this was not insanity.

"Carolly." The word was rough as James drew her toward him, but she held him back.

"Very soon, James, there will be a ballroom full of women all trying to snare your attention. Look at them, dance with them, be with them before you choose me. I will not change, James. What you call fantasies are my reality, and I will not release them. If, at the end of the night, you still want me . . ." She stretched up on her toes, dropping the lightest of kisses on his lips. "I will be here."

Then she left him, feeling as though she had just laid her heart and soul out for judgment. The world thought her a madwoman, and tonight James would feel the full force of public opinion as it reviled her. Could he turn his back on society? Could he be with her despite her oddities? He hadn't been able to so far, and there was no reason to expect tonight would change his mind. The possibility that he would choose elsewhere remained very real.

If he did, if he found another woman, how would she survive the rest of her life, much less all of eternity?

***

Telling James to dance with a flock of eligible women and actually watching him do it were two entirely different matters. Carolly didn't regret asking him to look his fill tonight, but she did have trouble remaining in the ballroom while he smiled and chatted and generally courted a few dozen beautiful girls, most of whom were half Caroline's age and twice as pretty.

Still, Carolly had never attended a party she did not find some way to enjoy. And if her dance card wasn't exactly filled, she didn't spend her time as a wallflower, either. Enough gentlemen spoke with her to make the evening lively. And she learned quickly enough to ignore the condescending or openly jealous comments of some of the ladies.

Her only true friend seemed to be Miss Hornswallow, who remained by her side, guiding her through the shifting social waters. Or rather, she stayed nearby until Baron Lansford arrived. The dear man greeted Carolly then swept Miss Hornswallow away, monopolizing the governess for the rest of the evening.

Fortunately, Carolly and Caroline had completely merged now, their disparate memories accessible without conflict. Carolly was able to use Caroline's knowledge of manners to acceptable effect. Even without Miss Homswaltow's presence, Carolly recalled intricate dance steps, knew which fork to use when, and was even able to address this matron and that lord

without stumbling through faux pas after faux pas.

That is, when any of them deigned to speak with her at all.

Much to her surprise, the most exasperating aspect of the evening did not come from the guests at all, but from James. She could feel him watching her wherever she went, whatever she did. She was used to being conspicuous, she told herself. She'd practically made a career of it in her first life. But this time was different. This time
James
watched her. His attention felt like a tingle that simmered along her spine, focusing just between her shoulder blades. It electrified her senses, throwing tiny details into sharp relief, making her more conscious of him and of herself than ever before.

"You seem preoccupied tonight, Caroline."

Carolly turned, surprised Garrett had thought to join her where she stood, near enough to the dowagers for propriety, but far enough away to give the elderly ladies the illusion of privacy. She'd never thought Garrett would waste his time searching her out when he seemed so taken with the more fashionable, richer ladies of the ton. But here he was, bowing over her hand.

"Good evening, Garrett. You look very fine tonight." It was an automatic compliment. He always looked dashing. Unfortunately, his handsome appearance, smooth manners, and all she knew about him left her somewhat suspicious. She knew there was more to Garrett than met the eye, and even worse, his hidden depths were decidedly unpleasant.

"You are simply ravishing in that gown," he enthused as he stroked her palm in an intimate caress. He leaned forward, his voice low and intimate. "But you were made for more costly jewels, Caroline. Pearls do not do you justice."

"I like them quite well, thank you," she said coolly, withdrawing her hand from his.

"But in London you would have diamonds and rubies and—"

"I believe this is my dance."

Both turned at James's firm tones. Carolly felt her face heat.

She didn't have to look at her card to know James had not reserved this dance. She went to him anyway, knowing King George himself could not keep her from his arms—not when he looked at her with such intensity, his dark gaze mesmerizing and holding her as firmly as a net. She did not even say good-bye to Garrett as James led her onto the dance floor. Nor did she resist when he pulled her into his arms for a waltz.