Page 26 of His Haunted Duchess
Comforted, she went to bed, drained but content, with Oscar purring on her pillow.
CHAPTER 9
“Stop, wait! Don’t go!”
She was running after a carriage just as it set across a bridge. Rain and leaves pelted her face. Her legs felt so tired, like bags of sand had been tied to them. Tears welled up in her eyes, blending with the debris. She couldn’t keep up, she couldn’t?—-
“It’s giving way!”
The bridge shuddered. The carriage before her wavered and slid sideways, tipping into the water with a shriek. The bright yellow lantern careened out of sight, plunging her into darkness. She stumbled as the wood crumbled beneath her feet. She fell, deep, deep into the raging, wet turmoil.
The water burned her, tore at her skin with its unutterable coldness. It swirled around her, blinding, whirling—a maelstrom of fear and confusion. Something tightened around her throat. Tighter—tighter! She couldn’t breathe!
Caroline sat straight up in bed, flinging aside the sheets. Oscar growled in protest. She brushed the hair out of her face, disoriented. Her room. She was in her room. She sobbed once, wrapping her arms around her legs. The tears streamed down her face, dripping into her nightgown.
Oscar padded next to her, rubbing her leg with his warm, fluffy body. She picked him up, and he licked at her face, trying to get at her tears. It wasn’t real. None of it was real—not the carriage, not the curse, not the water. She took a deep breath through her nose.
The duke’s face, the dance of his eyes when he had looked at her flitted through her mind. She smiled and relaxed a little as if sinking into a warm bath. Then, the rest of yesterday’s conversation and its future import marched firmly into her thoughts.
For one tumultuous, joyful moment, the novelty, victory, and awe of it still rang through her mind. She pulled a brush through her long, thick hair. What an honor it would be to enter the room as his wife!
Caroline frowned. The faces of the whispering garden watchers flashed through her mind. It had been so horrible, standing transfixed by their appalling stares and slanderous murmurs!
She looked at herself in the mirror, tracing the path of the scar on her cheek. Most of the duchesses that she had ever heard of didn’t hide away at home, even if they wanted to. What a demanding social schedule a duchess was expected to keep!Balls, parties, afternoon teas—she shuddered. At least she might get a headache, surely, and then have an excuse for staying home where she wanted to be in the first place.
She rubbed her hand over her cotton nightgown. The duchesses she had known were very grand figures, bright ladies dripping with diamonds and dining with kings.
She rubbed a finger over her scarred hand. At least Aunt Olivia had insisted on her education—there she would have nothing to hide.
What if her curse— She clamped down on the thought, locked it in a trunk, and slid it to the back of her mind where it could mumble to its heart’s content. It would escape, no doubt, to haunt her again, but not before she had eaten a bit of toast first.
Caroline wrapped herself in a shawl and headed down to breakfast. She dined by herself that morning. Aunt Olivia had taken Marengo on a long ride across the estate, and Winifred had busied herself with the odious task of cleaning the greenhouse in the wake of the mischievous monkey’s enthusiastic escape to those quarters. Caroline, then, found herself quite alone when the duchess came to call.
Martha, the kitchen maid, saw her in. She entered the room where Caroline was reading and bobbed a quick curtsey.
“The Duchess of Blackmore, my lady, here to see you.”
Caroline’s eyebrows rose in surprise. She nearly dropped the book she was reading. The duchess! She stood, pulling at the sleeve of her home dress. She had to change—but no, there wasn’t time. She sat back down. She wasn’t prepared. She?—
Martha reentered, gesturing the duchess in behind her. She bobbed a quick curtsey and fled.
Caroline smiled with all that was left of her courage. The duchess returned the curtsey, regal as a queen. She was dressed in a rich taffeta walking dress that reminded Caroline strongly of a late summer rose. A mauve silk bonnet perched on her head like a crown.
“Good morning, Your Grace,” Caroline said. “Welcome to Kingston.”
As she approached her daughter-in-law to be, the reason for her son’s choice suddenly became much more apparent. The tilt of her head spoke to elegance without affectation, and the quick, pleasant smile on her lips hinted at a disposition willing to be pleased and to appreciate.
Duchess Esther Blackmore had tried, of course, to dissuade Frederic from this rash course of action—encouraged him to pay the girl to go off somewhere or send her to Ireland with the other things peers loved to forget. But he had been adamant. This was the woman that he had chosen, and this was the woman that he was to marry.
And her eyes! Bright, bewitching pools of glittering starlight, full of life and animation. If she had not been absolutely sure of her son’s character, Lady Caroline’s beauty alone might have convinced her of the truth of some of the scandalous rumors. Except?—
She frowned ever so slightly. A lurid, dark scar stretched from one side of the lady’s face nearly down to her chin, and another ran across her hand. Lady Caroline’s smile became a little less certain. The child could tell she was staring, no doubt. So, she was perceptive, as well.
“Your Grace,” Lady Caroline said, her voice as pleasant as the tinkle of a bell in spring. “I am honored by your visit.”
Esther curtsied. Lady Caroline gestured her to a seat.
“Please excuse my lack of preparation.” She returned to the couch where she had been reading. “I was engrossed in a book and did not hear your arrival. My aunt, Lady Olivia, has gone out on her morning ride, and Winifred—” She paused.
