Page 49 of His Haunted Duchess
She sailed blissfully into the crowd where several of her former acquaintances, some of whom Caroline remembered from the ball, greeted her with welcoming faces. A blonde lady, glowering, approached her. Caroline’s smile faltered a little but held.
“Thank you for coming, Lady?—?”
“Lady Felicity Flaunters,” she said. Her honey-blonde curls bounced as she curtsied. She smiled in the same oily way that Caroline had seen in frogs. “I dearly hope that we may be friends, now that you have married such a dear friend of mine.”
Caroline curtsied.
“I am grateful to meet any friend of my husband’s. How was it that you met? I am still learning so much of his connections and habits.”
“Our fathers did business together years ago. When his own father passed away suddenly, Frederic—I mean, Lord Blackmore—stepped in to manage the affairs of the estate.” Lady Felicity smiled until her eyes disappeared in folds. “We were thrown very much together as sometimes happens.”
“As it does.” Caroline caught Frederic’s eye across the room. He smiled at her then turned back to his conversation. “Thank you for your good wishes, Lady Felicity, but?—”
“Oh, but my dear, I haven’t given any yet.”
Caroline stared at her. An uneasiness crept over her, the shadow of a cloud on an otherwise sunny day.
“Please accept my best wishes for your health and happiness,” she curtsied, “for as long as they may last.”
Caroline looked after Felicity as she disappeared among the other wedding guests. Whatever could she have meant? Lady Felicity’s last words sat heavy on her heart, like a bird near the gallows. For as long as they may last. Esther stepped forward and kissed her cheek.
“Don’t let her affect you, dear,” she whispered in Caroline’s ear. “It’s not her day yet, but hopefully—” She looked meaningfully after the path Felicity had taken. “—it will be soon.”
Caroline’s smile eased a little more naturally. She squeezed her mother-in-law’s hand gratefully and moved to rejoin the party.
It was, it must be owned, an insufferably long time before Caroline could be alone with her thoughts, much less with her own person. Carlyle served so many trays of petit fours that Caroline’s own ankles ached in sympathy. Well-wishers and friends lingered well past noon.
As she waved off the last of the wedding party—Aunt Olivia and Winifred, who had at the last moment, decided to keep a woefulAunt Olivia company in her absence—she thought back to the night of the disastrous, scandalous ball and shuddered.
It was done, then, the repair necessitated by the damage of that night. She turned to face the house. It glowered over the drive like a dog over a bone. She swallowed. This was her home now.
CHAPTER 16
“Your Grace.” Frederic stood and bowed as she reentered the drawing room.
Caroline blushed but curtsied. Esther and Philip had retired to rest as, no doubt, had Carlyle. Ruins of the morning’s happy revels littered the piano and sideboard—empty glasses spotted with the froth of absent champagne, stacks of plates littered with crumbs like cairns in the woods.
Caroline settled herself in a chair adjacent to Frederic’s with a sigh of relief. He rubbed a stray piece of ribbon between his fingers, staring out the window with a pleased, but absent expression.
It was the first time, she realized, they had been alone since that night in the garden. In the quiet, her aunt’s words about coming together and intimate time echoed around her mind. Was this that moment—this drawing room full of sunlight and shy glances? She shifted uncomfortably.
Was she ready? She wasn’t sure she would ever be. What was she to do? The duke expected—that much her aunt had made clear—that she would provide him an heir, and it was her duty to do so.
But—her curse! Could she ever have a child of her own with the weight of twisted fate bearing down on those she loved? She shuddered. No, no—she could not. She looked anxiously at Frederic’s face and with a start, noticed him staring at her.
“The lady thinks deeply,” he observed. “Would it please her to share her thoughts?”
Caroline stared at her hands for a moment, tracing the path of her scar. It was best to be forthright and to have the question out at once.
“Do you wish for an heir, Your Grace?”
Frederic started. The absent contentment drained from his face like sand from a glass.
“What? What’s that you said?”
He leaned forward in his chair. Caroline’s stomach twisted with nerves, but she raised her chin.
“I asked, Your Grace, if you wished for an heir.”
