Page 22 of His Haunted Duchess
“Though there was no impropriety on either of your parts, I am concerned that the damage to Caroline’s reputation might be beyond repair. She will not accept pity, even if it means her own ruin.”
“As the wife of a duke, your ladyship, her honor would be restored, and she would be settled well above any existing scandal.”
“Then you are certain?”
“Absolutely.”
“You still wish for her hand in marriage?”
Internally, Frederic hesitated. What on earth was he doing, bargaining for a wife no one else wanted? True, he was not daunted by the hurdles that might have deterred other men. Her scars were of no consequence to him. The idea of a curse served as kindling for his indignation. Tragedy required no unearthly reason and certainly struck too arbitrarily to admit a curse as the sole culprit.
No, his reservations regarding matrimony stemmed from another course entirely. He could never—would never—sire an heir. In this he was firm. But it wouldn’t do now to dwell on such preferences.
“Yes,” he said. “I do wish for her hand.”
And as a wonder to himself, he felt it. The viscountess leaned back in her chair, stroking her chin. Had he not been in so delicate a position, Frederic would have been inclined to compare her to a barrister in court.
“Winifred!” she called, finally. The lady’s maid poked her head around the doorway like a pigeon on its perch. “Please fetch Lady Caroline. The duke has something to say to her.”
CHAPTER 8
Caroline paused for a moment to check her gown before entering the drawing room. Whatever had come over Winifred, looking as if Death himself had come to call? She had called Caroline to attend a visitor and then fled as quickly as Aunt Olivia’s monkey.
Caroline knocked timidly then opened the door. A gentleman with dark hair and green eyes sat composedly on the couch, chatting with Aunt Olivia. Caroline caught her breath. It was the gentleman, the same gentleman from the garden last night!
He rose as she entered. Her eyes darted away from him as a slow blush crept upon her cheeks. She chastised herself for her weakness. Why should she be afraid to meet his gaze? He, of all people, knew there had been no impropriety. Slowly, she raised her eyes to his. They were green as a forest in midsummer that had been trimmed with years of patience. She smiled shyly.
“I believe,” Aunt Olivia said, “you’ve already met the Duke of Blackmore, Frederic Grandon.”
Caroline curtsied, much firmer on her feet today than she had been last night. She smiled gratefully.
“Your Grace will pardon my impropriety,” she said, “but I didn’t get to thank you for your assistance yesterday. If certain events?—”
She trailed off. What an awkward way to begin a conversation! The duke bowed, his eyes dancing as if to a jig.
“I must admit, the ball did not go entirely according to my plans, either.”
Caroline winced and turned her face away.
“Please allow me to offer you my apology, Your Grace. I—” She looked back at him, eyes pleading. “I did not mean to inconvenience you with my—difficulties.”
The duke looked at her gravely. Caroline shivered. What must he think of her, the scarred lady, inconveniencing his life and reputation? Aunt Olivia cleared her throat.
“The duke has come,” she said, “to ask for your hand in marriage.”
Caroline’s mouth opened then shut again, like a fish gasping for air. No, it couldn’t be true. She looked to the duke.
“It would be a great honor, Lady Caroline, if you would consent to be my wife.”
Caroline sank faintly down onto the adjacent couch.
It couldn’t be. The duke! Asking for her hand! Her soul blushed with pleasure then shrank with horror. If she married the duke, her curse would spread. It would progress beyond just scandal and bring real, dangerous harm to him and perhaps—to her future family.
Deep from the bowels of her memory, she heard a child’s shrill cry. She snapped her eyes shut. She couldn’t let that happen. No matter what Winifred or Aunt Olivia said, when it came down to it, she really was a cursed woman.
“Caroline?” Aunt Olivia asked. “Are you all right, dear?”
She gathered her thoughts with as much composure as she could manage.
