Kaleidoscope: A Regency Novella (7 page)

 
  

Carolyn artfully spread the letters from the solicitor across the desktop. She wanted to make sure Gerald could see at least part of what was written on the papers, but she didn’t want to make it too easy for him to read. The idea of his getting a cramp in his neck as he tried to take surreptitious peeks pleased her.

Lord Lucien’s response to her needs had exceeded her expectations. Within twenty-four hours, he’d written that she had nothing to fear and had included comments from a solicitor that made reference to specific statutes. These latter pages were what she had strewn on her desk.

Gerald had quickly answered her note, so he was no doubt expecting some sort of capitulation. Most likely the reinstatement of the stipend she’d originally granted him. Carolyn smiled at the idea. That would never happen.

“Lord Kelton to see you,” Perkins announced.

“Please show him in here,” Caro said. She comfortably seated herself behind the desk and look up expectantly when Gerald entered. “Have a seat, Gerald.” She waved a hand in the direction of the two chairs facing the desk. “This should take only a minute, but I thought it best if we met face-to-face to go over the problem you brought to my attention when we last spoke.”

Gerald smirked as he crossed the room and sat down. Carolyn had thought his threat was intended to frighten her, but it was possible that the man truly believed he had the upper hand. His expression seemed to indicate this was the case.

“I’ve spoken with my solicitor,” she said without preamble, “and have been assured that there is no reason that my marriage to your uncle could be invalidated.” She tapped her finger on the papers on the desk to draw attention to them.

“That’s absurd! We both know Uncle Charles was impotent.” He reached to turn one of the papers on the desk in his direction. Caro placed a hand on the page and pulled it toward her instead.

“I’ve also been informed that if your repeating this gossip is seen to have a negative effect on the contracts Rydell Shipping has with the government, I could sue you for malicious slander. With the failures of so many banks in the recent panic, the courts are anxious to limit the areas of commerce with difficulties, and they wouldn’t want to call into question the ownership of one of the larger shipping companies. I see no possibility your lawsuit would prevail. So your wisest move would be to keep quiet and act like I’m a well-loved aunt.”

With satisfaction, Carolyn watched the blood surge into Gerald’s face. She shouldn’t take such delight in angering him, but it seemed only fair after he’d spent the last year making life difficult for her.

“You will certainly never be my well-loved aunt. I will scream that from the rooftops, and there’s not a thing you can do about it. And as to this other—I think you’ll discover your information is in error.”

Carolyn had conducted enough negotiations to recognize bluster when she saw it. Her lips tipped up into a smile of satisfaction. “You never even checked the legal basis for what you threatened, did you? If you had, you would know that there is no way to void my marriage and no way you will ever get your hands on Rydell Shipping. The most you can do is try to blacken my name in society, and by now, you should have guessed that I’m indifferent about what others think.”

“That much is obvious.” Gerald’s face had gone from red to the most amazing shade of purple. “I heard you were flaunting yourself at Hazelton’s ball.”

“I’m sorry you weren’t there, Gerald. We could have danced.” She gave him an insincere smile. Gerald looked like he might have an apoplectic attack. Carolyn couldn’t find it in her to feel badly if that were to happen. She was sure she was a much nicer person before she came to England.

“I doubt there was any room left after all the men who think you’ll be their mistress had signed your dance card. Tell me, do all these men know that spot has already been taken by Lucien Harington?”

She must have shown some reaction, since the satisfied smile again appeared on Gerald’s face. “What? Did you think I wouldn’t know when that rake visits you? You were closeted alone with him yesterday for over half an hour.

Laughter bubbled out. “Gerald, you really need to decide if I’m your uncle’s virgin widow or if I’m a morally loose woman with a string of lovers. I obviously can’t be both—and if you were to suggest as much to others, you will only confirm that you are a fool.”

He looked shocked that she had seen his arguments as illogical. “You’re the one who is a fool,” he said, standing abruptly. “You shouldn’t have control of my uncle’s legacy, and I’ll eventually prove it.”

Gerald stormed out, imperiously calling for his cane in the foyer. Caro relaxed and took a deep breath. She was confident that the man would continue to be an irritant, but she’d decided his threats were toothless. The worst he could do was to blacken her name in society, and, as she’d told him, she really didn’t care what a group of useless, effete people thought of her.

But she did want friends. She was tired of a solitary life. She wished some of the businessmen she’d met had interesting wives, but the few she’d come into contact with were absorbed in their homes and children and had nothing in common with her. Any such relationship would be forced, at best.

Of all the people she knew, she could imagine a friendship with only one person—Lucien Harlington. Of course, offering the man her virginity was a rather awkward way to begin a friendship. But he’d not leaped at the chance to bed her, so perhaps friendship was possible.

She firmly believed that she wouldn’t know until she tried, however, and her curiosity spurred her to try. She pulled a sheet of her stationary toward her and began composing a friendly invitation to dinner.

 
  

Intrigued—that was the word. Luke was definitely intrigued. It had been a long time since he’d been so pleased to receive a dinner invitation. Accepting it had been worth all Tremaine’s teasing about finding a cache of money in unexpected places. Luke had given up trying to convince his friend that Carolyn Rydell was something very different than a purse he was considering marrying.

Exactly
what
she was remained to be seen. But he was going to pursue the possibility.

When he arrived for dinner, therefore, he didn’t know exactly what to expect from the evening. Mrs. Rydell had expressed the need for a kind friend, and if that was all she needed, he would fill that place in her life. He regretted disabusing her of the notion that she had need of a lover, but being a friend was better than being nothing.

When he was shown into the drawing room, she dazzled him, wearing a rose silk dress that hugged her curves lovingly and made him glad for the return of the natural waistline in woman’s gowns. She’d eschewed an elaborate hairstyle in favor of a soft arrangement that seemed held in place by a single comb. His fingers itched to pull that comb free and watch the shining darkness cascade down her back.

He tried not to be effected by her beauty. He was not completely successful.

“I’m so glad you accepted my invitation,” she said, coming toward him with both hands extended. Luke grasped them, surprised anew by how normal holding her hands felt. “I’m sure you had many other entertainments to choose from.”

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be.” His words rang with sincerity, since they were true. He felt layers of concern sloughed off him when he was in her presence, as if the care she’d given him while he was injured continued unabated.

Caro—no, he must think of her as Mrs. Rydell—gave a rueful smile. “I’ve been led to believe that you’re a man-about-town, so you can hardly find a simple dinner exciting.”

“With you it is. And I hope you do not believe everything you’ve heard about me, although some of the gossip is, unfortunately, well earned. I was unjustly accused of heinous behavior and when no one would accept my innocence, I decided to live down to others’ expectations.” That was a succinct and emotionless rendition of his situation, but he now realized he wanted Carolyn Rydell to believe his innocence without question.

“That sounds like a long tale best told over good food,” she said. “Shall we go in to dinner?”

She led him to a dining room where two places had been set at a smaller round table by a large window rather than at the long, stately table in the middle of the room. In the fading twilight, Luke could see that the window overlooked a surprisingly spacious garden, more natural in appearance than carefully pruned.

“The rhododendron are in full bloom,” Mrs. Rydell said, noting the direction of his gaze. “I was delighted to discover that shrubs normally grown in the Himalayans do well here in England. I’m sorry the light is fading and you can’t fully appreciate their display. I often breakfast here and enjoy the view.”

Luke had a vivid image of Carolyn Rydell sitting here in lonely splendor, flowers her only companions. The thought made him sad. “Do you miss India?” he asked.

“Oh, yes. But like the rhododendron, I’m confident I can flourish in this clime.”

He could hardly refute that statement, so the conversational topic changed to the difference between the two countries, and the meal passed in companionable discussion. Luke enjoyed watching the candlelight flash in her dark eyes. He was fascinated by the way her skin picked up the shimmering light and seemed to glow. He wanted to run his hands over her exposed shoulders and see if they were as soft and warm as they appeared. The desire to taste her lips beat through him.

But Luke acted on none of these impulses. Carolyn Rydell had asked for his friendship, and that was what he would give her. He tried to pretend he was having a convivial meal with Tremaine instead of a woman who heated his blood. He had not imagined this pretense would be so difficult, however.

When dessert arrived, he didn’t know whether to greet it with relief or disappointment.

“This is the only Indian component of the meal,” she said. “I hope you like it.”

Luke took a bite of what appeared to be a cool rice pudding. The sweet and nutty taste surprised him. “Very good. What’s it called?”

“Kheer. It’s one of the few Indian dishes my cook can manage without changing it into something more English, and, therefore, not quite right. When I find I can no longer stand a bland diet, my manager Sanjeet, my maid Amala, and I invade the kitchen and cook a traditional meal. Cook is horrified, but then the recipes aren’t butchered.”

“You can cook?”

His expression must have reflected his doubt. She laughed. “Of course I can. I was always surprised that my fully English counterparts in India seemed to be willing to starve rather than learn the rudiments of cooking. Even my own father told me that a lady needed only to go over the menus, not actually be able to prepare them, but this seemed such a boring experience.”

“Do you find that most of the English ladies you’ve met are boring?”

“Not boring so much as purposeless.”

Luke heard implied criticism in those words. He suspected she also viewed his entire life as purposeless—and in this, she was not off the mark. “Alas, the same can be applied to many people of both sexes in the ton. We’re the product of the prejudices of our class, which sees actual work as something beneath us. Foolish, I know, but that’s how we’ve been taught to look at the world.”

She gave him an apologetic smile. “My late husband’s nephew, Lord Kelton, has made this prejudice very clear. My being in trade is probably my second greatest sin in his eyes.”

“And what’s the greatest?”

“Not giving him money made from that trade.” She laughed, and Luke joined her. Viewed from her perspective, the whole lot of those who clung to shabby gentility rather than work did look like fools.

“I wasn’t always without purpose,” he said. “As a peer’s third son, I was supposed to make my own way in the world. The three most acceptable routes are politics, the military, or the church. I couldn’t see myself making speeches in Commons, and I was always more scholarly than martial. When the war against Napoleon ended while I was still at university, the church seemed the logical choice.”

“You? A country parson?” Disbelief was written on her face.