Page 33 of His Haunted Duchess
Elaborate trellises guarded the path, stretching up to the sky. The plants were dormant now; she longed to see what they would look like in full bloom, come the early spring.
She rubbed one of the leaves between her fingers. Come spring, she would have been married several months. She shook her head. Married! The oddity of it, the lurking surprise of becoming a duchess, still caught her off guard at moments though shescarcely talked or thought of anything else in her waking moments.
There was so much to do—so much to say, so much to become?—
She took a deep breath and passed under the shield of the wisteria’s brown foliage. The stark shadows speckling the gravel walk passed over her head and shoulders as she ambled down the path, listening to the crunch of her soft shoes on the loose rock.
The Duke of Blackmore had been pleasant enough. They might even become friends in time. Her fears of being grossly unhappy had simmered away. But her curse—her curse still felt alarmingly near. It would be silent, deceptively dormant, until?—
She shut her eyes, but images of torn carriages, terrible falls, and dark, swirling water swam before her. She would keep away from them—from him, no matter what kindness they showed. She could excuse herself in the evenings and go early to bed or plead a series of stress-induced headaches.
If something should happen?—
A stick cracked nearby. Her eyes shot open. A pale face loomed before her, mouth gaping wide like a specter howling in the woods. Caroline screamed and fell back, grasping at the trellis for support. The flowers shook in protest.
The specter stumbled forward. Caroline put a hand to her heart. It was beating like a hare in the hunt. Then, the shadow raised its head.
Caroline blinked. It was a boy, or a youth, rather. He was nearly as tall as she was and also quite nearly as startled. His eyes bulged.
“Oh!” he gasped. “You gave me a fright!”
Caroline stared at him. Her legs felt like they had turned to jelly. She, had givenhima fright? She burst out laughing. The boy reddened.
“You shouldn’t laugh,” he said. “I really did think you were a ghost—or a pirate or something.”
Caroline laughed harder. The boy scowled. For a moment, he looked just like the Duke of Blackmore. Caroline dabbed the tears from her eyes.
“Oh! Please excuse me!” she gasped. “But you see—that’s exactly what I thought about you!”
“What! That I was a pirate?”
He looked equal parts flattered and chagrined.
“Not necessarily. But I did suppose you to be something unearthly.”
“Me! But I’m not—well, I suppose you aren’t, either.”
The redness on his face spread until it threatened to scorch his ears. He fiddled with a book, a dark-green covered slender thing. Caroline’s eyes fell on it. The youth’s eyes followed.
“I’ve been readingThe Forest of Montalbano,”he confessed. “Normally I read travelogs. Frederic told me I ought to readThe Borgough,but?—”
He stepped back.
“Oh! We haven’t been introduced. Should—” He looked around the empty garden. No one, except for a few enterprising blooms of campanula, was available. “Well, I’m Philip, anyway, Philip Grandon.”
Caroline curtsied.
“Lady Caroline Dresher. I’m?—”
What was she, exactly? The future duchess?
“You’re Frederic’s new wife!” He put out his hand cordially. “Well, I mean, you will be. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
She shook his hand.
“Frederic—the duke, that is, I guess you’d know—told me about you.”
Caroline raised her eyebrows. Her heart fluttered a little. Frederic had talked about her?
