Elizabeth Mansfield (26 page)

The more he thought about it, the angrier he became. This was all Caro’s fault. If she hadn’t been so adamantly stubborn about the inheritance, Martha would probably not have had her example in mind and might not have been so resistant to being helped. It was infuriating to think of all the ways that stubborn, irritating, curly-headed chit had made his life a hell almost from his first day on English soil.

He stalked about the room, his temper rising with each step. Suddenly he threw open the door and shouted for Melton. The butler appeared in the doorway in short order, breathless with surprise at the shouted summons. “Send my so-called housekeeper to me,” Kit ordered, snapping out his words. ‘Tell her I want to see her at once!”

He was seated at his desk when Caro arrived. Her surprise at being sent for was obvious, though she tried not to show it. “Did you send for me, my lord?” she asked from the doorway.

He did not rise. “Come in and shut the door,” he said through clenched teeth, his voice ominously low.

She felt the tension and came in with real trepidation. She stood before him at the desk, waiting for him to ask her to be seated, but though there was a chair at her right, he did not invite her to sit. Instead he thrust a paper at her. “Do you know what this is?” he demanded.

She glanced at it quickly. It was some sort of legal document, the terminology of which was too difficult to grasp in one glance. She gave it back to him and shook her head. “I have no idea,” she said.

“It’s a notice of foreclosure,” he said icily, “on your aunt’s house.”

“What?” She peered at him in confusion. “Which aunt? Martha? Her London house? I don’t understand.”
 

“She didn’t confide in you, then?”
 

“Confide what?”

“That she is penniless. That she’s lost even her house.”

Caro could only gape at him. When the full meaning of his words burst on her, her knees gave way. “It’s can’t be,” she gasped, sinking down upon the chair. “She’s going home tomorrow, is she not?”

“She intends to go, but not to her home. She has no home to go to.”

“Then ... where?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea.”

“Didn’t you ask her?”

“How could I? She didn’t confide in
me,
either. If Mr. Halford hadn’t called this afternoon and informed me of her situation, she would have left tomorrow without anyone being aware that she had a problem.”

“Are you saying she doesn’t intend to discuss this with you at all?”

“She evidently doesn’t want me to know anything about it!” He stood up and leaned over the desk toward her. “And you know who’s to blame for that, don’t you?”

She stood and backed away, blinking in alarm. “I? Are you implying that all this is my fault?”

“Who else can be blamed? Who’s spent the past four months trying to make the world think I’m some sort of monster?”

Caro put up a hand to ward off his attack. “What nonsense is this? I’ve never spoken against you except to your face.”

“But your behavior has given her a fine example.
You
could not accept Lord Crittenden’s despicable charity, so how can she?”

“Kit! You
can’t
believe that I—”

“That you find my charity despicable? What else can I believe? You’ve gone to some desperate lengths to make the case, haven’t you? First taking the post with the Ducketts, then this one as housekeeper, and finally your blasted—” He cut himself short and turned his back on her.

“My blasted what?”

He shook his head. “Nothing,” he said, his anger suddenly exhausted. “I’ve made my point. I needn’t go further.”

She rose slowly from her chair. “Have I your permission, my lord, to speak to Martha on this matter?”

He wheeled about. “Why is it ‘my lord’ again? You called me Kit a moment ago.”

“Have I your permission?” she insisted, ignoring his irrelevant remark.

“Do you think you can persuade her to seek my help?”
 

“I don’t know. But I can try.”

“Very well.” He sighed, turning away again. “See what you can do.”

She left without another word and ran up to Martha’s room. Her aunt was already preparing for the ball. She was seated at the dressing table removing a row of curlpapers from the hair that fringed her face. Her purple gown lay spread out on the bed, and her turban and plumes sat imposingly beside it on a pillow. On a table near the window was an open portmanteau, partially packed. “Already preparing to depart, I see,” Caro remarked without preamble.

Martha looked up at her in surprise. “Why are you not dressing? This ball is in your honor, you know. You must look your very best.”

“There’s plenty of time. I asked you if you’re preparing to leave us.”

“You know I am. I told you I shall be gone by tomorrow noon.”

“To where?”

Martha stiffened. Then she turned slowly from the mirror. “Home, of course. Why do you ask?”
 

“You have no home. So where are you planning to go?”

Martha’s wrinkled lips trembled. “How did you find out?” she asked in a small voice.

“Never mind how. I want an answer.”

Martha peered at her for a moment, wringing her hands. “I w-wanted everything to be p-perfect tonight,” she said as she lowered her head until her chin rested on her heaving bosom. But she could not hide the pair of tears that ran down her cheeks.

“Dash it all, Martha, don’t cry,” Caro said in quick self-reproach, crossing the room and kneeling down beside her. “I didn’t mean to be cruel, even though I
would
like to wring your neck.” She drew a handkerchief from her sleeve and mopped the elderly woman’s cheek. “Tonight will be just fine. It’s tomorrow that worries me. Where did you intend to go?”

“To D-Dorset,” Martha blubbered. “I h-have an old s-school friend th-there. She wrote that I m-might be able to rent a little c-cottage near her.”

“And how would you pay for it?”

Martha lifted her head proudly and sniffed back her sobs. “I have a few jewels I can sell.”

“Oh, Martha!” She put her arms about her aunt’s shoulders and cradled her affectionately. “How can you be so foolish? Dorset? A cottage? A few jewels? It’s preposterous!”

“I know,” Martha wailed.

“Why didn’t you go to Kit? You know he’d be happy to help you.”

Martha pulled herself from Caro’s embrace and drew herself up. “How can you ask? You, of all people. You know I could not take charity, any more than you could!”

“But, my dear, it is not at all the same. You are his family. His blood! It’s his
duty
to take care of you.”

“You’re speaking nonsense. I’m not his mother. He has no obligations toward an elderly aunt he hardly knew until he’d inherited his title. And even if he thinks it is his duty, I cannot bear the thought of being beholden—”

Caro winced at those words ... her words. “There it is, you see,” she said. “Just as you said to me. The besetting sin that flaws us both—pride.”
 

“Yes.” Martha sighed.

“But you showed me, only a week ago, how my pride had blinded me to the discomfort I was causing everyone here by playing at being the housekeeper. Well, my love, your pride is doing something worse. You’re giving Kit more than mere discomfort. You’re hurting him deeply.”

“What makes you say—”

“Can’t you see what it would do to Kit every day of his life if he knew you were eking out a meager existence in Dorset while he had the means to make your last years comfortable and happy? Do you care so little for his feelings?”

Martha blinked at this new thought. “Do you really think he’d care so much?”

“How can you ask? Surely you’ve learned by this time what sort of man he is.”

“Caro! Is this you speaking?” She rose slowly from her bench, her eyes wide in amazement. “If you, of all people, can say that about him, I suppose I should reconsider. ...”

“Of course you should. If you act on your pride, you will make everyone here utterly miserable, while a little humility on your part will make all of us happy.”

Martha began to tremble. The terrifying prospect of an impoverished old age had been a fearful weight on her chest for many weeks, but Caro was suggesting a way out. Weak with relief, she swayed on her feet. Caro took an alarmed step toward her. “Martha, you’re not going to swoon, are you?” she asked.

Martha lifted her chin. “Of course not. I never swoon.” After taking a deep breath, she beamed at the younger woman in overwhelming gratitude. “Oh, Caro,” she cried, throwing her arms about the girl’s neck, “I think you’re right. A little humility. You can have no idea what you’ve done for me ... how your words have relieved my mind! Honestly, my love, they are ringing in my ears like church bells!”

But Caro’s words were ringing in her own ears in quite another way. How could I not have seen it? she asked herself in agonizing self-reproach. It was really so simple. A little humility. If she’d had any, she, too, could have spared many people a great deal of pain, her own pain most of all.

THIRTY-SIX

Caro gave herself a last glance in the pier mirror before going down to the ball. The young woman looking back at her did not look happy. She made herself smile. She was wearing the raisin-colored lustring gown with the bare shoulders that she’d last worn on the night of the opera, when Mr. Terence—or rather, Kit—had first kissed her. As she tightened the velvet bow just beneath her breast, she warned herself not to think about that night. It was tonight that should occupy her mind, the night her betrothal was to be announced—her betrothal to Mr. Henry Lutton. It was no time to remember the kisses of other men.

As she started down the stairs it suddenly occurred to her that Henry had never kissed her. He’d kissed her hand, of course, but those kisses did not mean anything. Tonight, perhaps, he would give her a true kiss. She wondered if it would stir her blood as Kit’s had. It was unlikely, but if it did, she might find herself a little less blue-deviled about her prospective nuptials.

At the bottom of the stairs, she discovered that the first guests were arriving. The aunts had arranged for the whole family, Arthur and Gil included, to form a receiving line to greet them as they arrived. The family was already aligned when Caro came to take her place. Kit made room for her between himself and Arthur. She noticed that his eyes took on a look of burning admiration as they raked over her. Was he, too, remembering the last night she’d worn this dress?

Letty was wearing her old black lace and the peacock-feathered headdress. Martha, full of smiles, was regal in dark purple. Kit was, of course, top-of-the-trees in his black evening coat and satin breeches. But her brothers’ appearance gave Caro the greatest delight. Arthur looked positively manly in his first evening coat. And Gil, despite the crutches, was adorable in his Sunday coat, with his neckcloth tied in the same fold as Kit’s, his face scrubbed clean and his hair pomaded into tidy perfection.

Fifty guests were expected, for as Kit could have foretold, Letty’s list of thirty-two was bound to grow. As the guests arrived Caro—the only one in the line who knew every guest personally—introduced them to His Lordship and his aunts, after which they were led by a footman to the ballroom, where the musicians were already playing. As they passed down the line Caro could see that they were impressed with the new viscount and his surroundings. Kit greeted them all with friendly warmth until Sir Edward Braithwaite and his lady made their entrance. Sir Edward, a florid-faced, loud-voiced baronet who thought himself the jolliest of mortals, poked Kit in the ribs after they’d been introduced and chortled loudly, “Told m’ lady you were no demon. She kept saying you’d turned our dear Miss Caroline into a servant and kept ‘er locked away belowstairs, but anyone can see she’s as much mistress of the Grange tonight as she ever was when the old viscount was alive.”

“Oh, yes”—Lady Braithwaite giggled—”I did think you a demon. But I see now, with Caroline looking so perfectly ravishing tonight, that I was just foolish. I don’t know how these silly rumors are circulated, but you may be sure, my lord, that I shall do everything in my power to restore your good name.”

Kit murmured a polite thank you and hastily turned to the next arrivals, but Caro (who would have liked to shrivel away in shame and embarrassment for what she’d done to him) could see he was chagrined.

By the time the last guest had been greeted, the dancing was in full swing. Six musicians, stationed on a little platform in the far corner of the ballroom, were playing a country dance when the host party entered the ballroom. They were immediately absorbed into the merrymaking. Mr. Lutton detached himself from the group with whom he’d been chatting and came to claim Caro’s hand for the next dance. Arthur, surprising everyone in his family, walked up to a pretty young lady at least two years older than he (the daughter of Squire Gundry, who lived two miles down the road), bowed, said a few words to her, and led her out to the floor, all with remarkable aplomb. Gilbert swung himself on his crutches along the edge of the dance floor to the musicians’ platform, where he sat down to watch them perform. The aunts began to mingle with the other befeathered dowagers. And Kit was quickly surrounded by several of the local landowners who were full of questions about his plans for the renovation and improvement of the estate. He tried to concentrate on the conversation, but his eyes often flicked to the dance floor, where Lutton and Caro, looking decidedly well matched, were executing the figures of the Roger de Coverly. The sight so disturbed him that, despite his promise to himself after his last drinking debacle never to take another drink, he whisked a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing footman and downed it at a gulp.