Page 61 of His Haunted Duchess
He blushed like a schoolboy then raised his chin. And why shouldn’t he admire her? he asked himself. Why shouldn’t he trace the softness of her face, the curve of her dark hair with the appropriate pride of a husband?
His heart beat a little bit faster. Perhaps, he thought, surprised, he felt something—something more—something more than just appropriate pride. That was ridiculous. Their marriage had been a formality, a debt of honor.
She coughed, and his eyes flicked back to her face. The moon hadn’t yet risen, but the light from the carriage lantern fell like a blessing across her face.
She fidgeted and looked out the window. What could she be looking at? He squinted through the glass. Caroline sighed, and her hands brushed together, seeking the familiar comfort of caressing her scar.
He blinked. Of course! She was nervous—almost certainly. And why shouldn’t she be? What a fool he had been, thinking so much about—other things—and not paying attention to the moment at hand.
He caught her eye and raised his eyebrows questioningly. Her blush heightened her color admirably.
“It’s—I—” She sighed then leaned closer to him. The smell of lavender washed over him. He struggled to listen as she whispered. “Balls have never been friendly to me. Things are different now, but?—”
She rubbed her gloved hand. Ah. It was the old concerns again—not unfounded, certainly, but unwarranted, nonetheless. Surely, it had been too long for baseless rumors to persist. He took her hand in his own.
“You’re a duchess now,” he whispered back. “The wave of superstition and hearsay that swept over you before will long since have subsided.”
His mother, trying very hard not to eavesdrop, shut her mouth primly. Frederic ignored her.
“I will be there to support you,” he said. “There are no comments you can fear now.”
Caroline smiled shyly, but the worry didn’t quite untangle her crinkled brow. Esther sighed, lost in her contemplation of the road.
“Your father would be so proud,” she said wistfully. “His son and daughter-in-law attending the last ball of the Season.”
Frederic’s jaw stiffened. His father. He hardly knew what the word even meant. Carlyle had extended more of a hand in his upbringing than Frederic’s own father of flesh and blood. Frederic bit back the retort and settled back into his seat.
From the moment they entered the ball, the whispers prodded them like flies after a carcass. The marquesses and earls bowed to their faces, but their hurried whispers chased after Frederic and Caroline long after they had passed.
“Oh, yes—married for six months, you know. After the scandal?—”
“Beautiful young thing but cursed, surely?—”
Frederic resisted the urge to confront the whispers directly, but if he could have deprived the entire room of the power of speech for the duration of the event, he may have been sorely tempted.
They took refuge on a tufted couch near the ballroom. Frederic had fetched a fortifying ratafia which they sipped on slowly, savoring the sweet and simple fruity tang. Caroline noddedcivilly to Lady Whistleton and her daughter as they passed, who returned the favor before hurrying off to another group.
So many people and so little enjoyment. Frederic sighed.
“I must confess, Caroline—I also would much rather be at home. Were it not for my mother’s inclination, I would retire early and carry enough boredom back to Philip to stifle him through the summer.”
Caroline smiled and glanced at him shyly as a princess in a portrait sitting. A jolt of warmth shot through him. He shook his head a little and sipped a little more, gesturing to a passing servant for a fill from the decanter.
A sudden urge to take up her hand and kiss it filled his mind. He brushed it away. His feelings in the carriage had been heightened by?—
He was doing service to a fellow person—yes, that was it. That was why accompanying her felt so comfortable and—well, exciting even. There was nothing more gratifying than serving his fellow man. Caroline’s back had straightened a little more, heightening his comparison to the princess.
“It does console me somewhat, Your Grace, that home is comforting for more than just myself.” A group of high-plumed ladies walked slowly by them, piercing them with pointed glances. Caroline sighed. “Oscar and Philip, at least, are less intrusive in their questioning and more respectful in their silence.”
A look of determination settled on her face.
“But I am with you.” Her eyes traced the lines of his profile. Frederic’s breath caught in his throat. Was it warmer in the room than it had been a moment before?
Caroline continued, “I am your wife, at least, and that ought to give me some morsel of courage.”
She lifted her chin and turned back to the crowd, nodding to Lady Ethington as she passed by with the assurance of an admiral overseeing his fleet. He hadn’t realized—- Of course she put faith in him, but he hadn’t realized how much stock she put in his presence or opinion.
Frederic removed Caroline’s glove, raised the hand to his lips, and kissed it gently. Her eyes widened, and she trembled a little.
