Page 38 of His Haunted Duchess
Caroline sucked in a quick breath and put her feet solidly back down on the floor. Frederic set her down and stepped away then bowed like three-day old bread.
“That’s enough dancing. Lady Caroline is fatigued after her exertions today. No doubt her performance will improve with rest.”
Caroline looked at the floor and sighed. She felt drained and more than just a little chagrined. If only she hadn’t stumbled! He was displeased by her error, no doubt, and put off by her awkwardness.
And yet—it was too much to presume—too much to hope, the warmth she had read in the duke’s eyes. He had been caught off guard, no doubt, just as she had been, and thinking of something else.
Frederic bowed.
“I have other business about the house and must leave you now.” He turned to Philip. “Perhaps, sir, you would be inclined to take my place as Lady Caroline’s partner if I may entrust you with that business?”
Esther frowned but busied herself with the music. Philip looked like a bird caught in the nest.
“I—uh, certainly—” he stammered, struggling to disentangle himself from his chair. He looked at Caroline and blushed but smiled shyly. “I would be honored.”
Frederic bowed, turned on his heel, and left. The door clamped shut behind him. Philip looked after him with surprise.
“Oh! He forgot his watch.” He put it in his pocket. “I’ll just look after it until he asks for it again.”
Esther trilled the keys, and he hurried into position. Caroline curtsied, trying to keep her mind on the steps. It was prone to wander, though, and kept going back to her dance with the duke.
They moved through several sets of the quadrille. Philip was a gentle if somewhat scatterbrained partner, but he made his way through the forms in a way that demonstrated equal practice at home.
“I haven’t been out to a ball yet,” Philip explained, “but Mother and Frederic think that this year I might begin.”
“Might,” Esther’s voice echoed from the piano. “Let’s get through these next few weeks at least, Philip, before you begin begging for balls again.”
Caroline blushed again, this time with a pricking self-consciousness. In moments with the duke, she almost forgot the burden and the duty of the coming marriage. It had all happened so quickly, and she hadn’t had time—No. Here she must be honest.
She hadn’tmadetime to consider how irksome her marriage must appear to Esther and even to Philip. It pained her to think of the discomfort and unease that must inevitably filter down to them as a result of the scandal, regardless of the marriage to come. A few tears pricked the edges of her eyes. It was good of them to help her so—to support what, in their minds, must be a necessary evil.
And then, there was her curse to consider. Was she making the right decision bringing not only her background and scars to Highcastle but also the curse that had shaped them? She crossed hands with Philip and turned together before landing at a new place in the line. He seemed so eager to be friends—so willing to listen and understand. Dangerously so.
Philip bowed after the last chassé. Esther clapped politely from the piano bench.
“Well done to both of you. Shall we try it once again before dinner?”
Frederic marched through two hallways and a drawing room before he collected himself sufficiently to realize where he was. Where the deuce had he been going? He turned on his heel and headed toward the library.
He was going to be married next week. There wasn’t much to be done in that quarter. The license had been purchased, the church reserved, and the bans accordingly published. The business was nearly done with, then. His reason rested on that assurance. His feelings, however, took no such comfort.
Lady Caroline had not been what he anticipated. Her beauty was distracting, it was true, but so would it be for any other man. Something else—something deeper discombobulated and disarmed him in a series of alarming and embarrassing combinations.
He couldn’t allow himself to be infatuated—appreciative, perhaps, even grateful since the bride of his forced-choosing bore so many marks of good breeding and beauty.
His heart beat like a drum on May Day. It must have been the exertion, strolling through the halls as he had been. He flattered himself on making a regular habit of exercise, but today, he must have overdone his efforts. He’d sit a moment and allow his pulse to settle before continuing on with his business.
Carlyle had already lit the evening candles. The light flickered over the worn, friendly spines and tickled at the gold lettering. Frederic threw himself into a tufted leather chair.
The entrancing smell of her hair, mixed with fresh sunshine, floated through his memory. He stamped it out like coal in a grate which did nothing to help his fluttering heart rate.
It was a convenience—an obligation born out of scandalous necessity, nothing more.
He covered his eyes with his hand. Her face, gentle and wondering in the moment he’d caught her—held her—swam to the surface. He frowned. The memory flickered for a moment then changed. He remembered it differently—dark, broken, and drowned in a storm. He shook his head, clearing both images from his mind.
It didn’t matter. This marriage wouldn’t affect his daily habits or actions—he was absolutely determined. He could—and would—continue on with his life as usual.
“Your Grace?”
