Page 3 of His Haunted Duchess
“You’re—ready for this ball,” she struggled. “Ready to start searching, perhaps, for a potential husband.”
Caroline’s blush rose even higher. They had been through this discussion before, of course. At three and twenty, what girl hadn’t? But other girls, full of bright, undaunted hopes, were not pursued by the relentless circuit of speculation and gossip her disfiguring scars stimulated. Her aunt sighed.
“I know it hasn’t been easy, dearest—” She laid her hand on the table, reaching invitingly for Caroline’s “—but you can’t always live with two old maids.”
Winifred bustled into the room. She settled into the seat opposite Caroline.
“What’s this I hear about old maids?” She flicked her napkin into place and loaded her plate with a helping of stewed beans in the same gesture. “Surely no ladies at this table.”
Aunt Olivia smiled ruefully at the lady’s maid. Long isolation and intimate connection with the family had made Winifred and her brisk opinions essential at private meals. Winifred hefted the teapot, pouring both for herself and for Caroline as she spoke.
“It’s time for you to make appropriate connections with other families—form friendships, so to speak, that could, with good timing, turn into something more.”
Caroline made a truly magnificent effort not to fiddle with her teaspoon.
“The last time—” she started, but her aunt waved her comment away.
“This won’t be anything like that, darling. Absolutely nothing like.”
Winnifred looked pointedly over the top of her teacup. Aunt Olivia glared at her.
“Do you have something to say, Winifred?”
Winifred put her cup back on its saucer and briskly loaded a piece of toast onto her plate.
“People are going to say what people are going to say?—”
Aunt Olivia frowned until the corners of her mouth threatened to touch her jaw.
“Not if I have anything to say about it.”
“And yet, the gossip will continue as gossip always does.” Winifred looked Caroline in the eyes. “Pay them no heed, dear, even as you would pay no heed if someone told you that cats belong in the stable.”
Aunt Olivia huffed.
At first, when Oscar had been but a kitten, Aunt Olivia had stated a specific preference for animals to remain outdoors. So many years later, Oscar was as much a fixture of the home as any other element, as was a surly African grey parrot, and a velvet-eared spaniel—not to mention Khan, the sunroom monkey.
“You’ve brightened our lives in many ways, dear, especially mine,” Aunt Olivia said, much more warmly. “And,” she shot a significant glance at Winifred, “I won’t stand for anyone—public or private—saying otherwise.”
Winifred cut through a poached egg.
“That’s fortunate since you and I will most likely be sitting—I in the kitchens with a nice Negus and you in the ballroom, chatting, no doubt to Lady Engalls about horses.”
Aunt Olivia stuffed a chunk of toast in her mouth so vigorously that Caroline feared it might come out the other side. She chewed like a tanner beating out a hide, glowering from beneath her furrowed brow. She swallowed.
“The point is,” she resumed, “this ball can be a fabulous step forward for you. You’ll always be our Caroline, but I’d love to see you continue to be a lady.”
Caroline picked at a slice of toast. The daughter of the former Earl of Pranton lived on borrowed time. Since her father’s earlydeath, she had survived on the ample charity of Aunt Olivia. Her aunt—while more than hale as the vigor with which she attended her breakfast testified—was not immortal. Her cousin wouldn’t likely turn her out of her aunt’s estate, but the possibility loomed always in the far distance.
She looked out the window. The willows near the pond swayed in the morning light, brushing patterns on the patch of lawn directly in front of them. What would it be like, Caroline wondered, to live in a place permanently? To call somewhere a forever home? With a start, she realized her aunt was still speaking.
“It’s of utmost importance, then,” she said, gesturing with her fork as if she were laying out a battle plan, “that you attend the ball tonight.”
A flicker of panic fluttered in Caroline’s chest. She had been to balls before—been and hid. From a very young age, even supposed good breeding didn’t prevent other patrons from commenting on her scars—or, in whispers, her curse. She looked at Winifred pleadingly.
Winifred dabbed her face with a napkin.
“Strictly speaking, your ladyship, Lady Caroline would not be required to attend this ball—or technically any other this Season.”
