Page 18 of His Haunted Duchess
Winifred’s brows furrowed like grey caterpillars.
“What, then?”
Oscar, having savaged the ribbon, batted at the hem of her dress. She lifted a corner of it, dangling it in front of his claws. He growled playfully.
“I—” Caroline traced the scar on the back of her hand. “I can’t stand the thought?—”
Tears choked her silent. Winifred held her hands.
“What is it, dear?”
“It’s the curse,” Caroline whispered like the words were poison. “I should have known that it would bring you and Aunt Olivia grief—and it has. And if I married—” She closed her eyes. “It would bring harm to my husband, too, and to—my family.”
She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself like a blanket. Winifred, soft as a pan of new milk, touched her face.
“From the day you arrived here, that very first moment, I have been by your side,” she said. “I have watched you grow, watched you learn.”
Caroline looked at her through misty eyes. She tried to blink the tears back, but they tried with equal exertion to escape and spill down in droplets onto her dress.
“I have seen no curse. I have seen a girl who has been a credit to her friends and family and who spreads love to all around her.”
Caroline wiped the tears from her eyes. Winifred’s words, while they didn’t quite settle into her heart, did perch comfortably there for a spell, offering a moment’s consolation.
“Thank you,” she said softly. Winifred wiped her own eyes.
“Well,” she said, rising, “enough of this sadness and misery.”
Oscar rolled on his side, batting now at Winifred’s amply available skirt. She pushed him gently to the side with her foot and dropped a fresh fragment of ribbon into his waiting paws.
“Today,” Winifred said with more determination than the statement warranted, “is an excellent day for a ride. Why don’t you visit your aunt? I believe she’s in the stables.”
Caroline sniffed and brushed away the last trail of tears as she hurried downstairs. When in doubt—or in happiness, apathy, or any other such emotion—Aunt Olivia could be found in the stables with Marengo, Vizir, and Atlas. Marengo had come first when Caroline had pleaded, just once, to be allowed to ride a horse for her twelfth birthday.
Aunt Olivia, much to her own surprise as anyone else’s, took to the saddle as fish do to water and couldn’t be parted from the sport from that day forward.
Outside the stable door, Caroline paused. Was Aunt Olivia terribly angry with her? Or terribly sorrowful? Caroline’s heart quavered, unsure which reaction was worse. She pushed open the stable door and peeked her head around the jamb.
Aunt Olivia was brushing Vizir, the stable’s only Arabian, with a curry comb in long, slow strokes.
Her curls were pulled back under a tall, dark hat. Vizir nibbled at her emerald green riding habit. Aunt Olivia patted him absently.
“My dear!” she said, catching sight of Caroline. “You’re awake!” She put down the comb and took both of Caroline’s hands. “And how are you this morning?”
A smile crept onto Caroline’s face.
“Much better now.”
Aunt Olivia nodded brusquely. She turned back to Vizir.
“Help me brush?” she asked. “There’s another comb in the bin.”
Caroline stepped carefully around Vizir. He wouldn’t ever kick on purpose but might if inordinately startled. She picked up the comb and ran it over Vizir’s creamy white haunches. He chewed his hay as peacefully as any pleased cow in the field.
Aunt Olivia brushed silently, and Caroline followed suit, her heart sinking. After the warmth of her aunt’s greeting, she hoped that her distress had been less than it appeared. Her aunt’s silence spoke otherwise.
“Are you—” she started but stopped herself. It wasn’t her place to pry.
“What, dear?” Aunt Olivia asked. Caroline took a deep breath, steadying herself.
