Page 68 of His Haunted Duchess
The word which had sounded so comforting and sufficient before now rang hollow as an abandoned barn. Philip blinked hard, staring at the blanket. His suffering cut Caroline to the quick.
“Don’t you see,” she said, desperately. “If I did love him, drew him near to me as my heart cries out for, then he would be in danger—terrible danger. I couldn’t bear—” The words caught in her throat. “I couldn’t bear to lose him.”
That was it. The naked truth. It had leeched out of her, drawn by Philip’s grief, before she could draw it back. She had tried to be careful. She had tried to create the distance, the civility that would lead to reason and safety. They spent so much time apart—so much time distanced and estranged—and then Frederic looked at her. He looked with the softness of compassion and thepromise of real concern. She crumbled under it like a pillar to moss.
She had been weak. How well she could see it now! How terribly it haunted her and wounded poor Philip! She put her head in her hands. Philip sat up straight as a rod.
“Wait— if I understand correctly, you do love Frederic. You love him more than you’ve ever said—but you’re afraid.”
Caroline didn’t dare raise her eyes from the blanket. They would speak too loudly against her, and she needed no further antagonists than her own heart and inclinations. They were punishment enough. Philip rushed on.
“You love him, love us, love being here at Highcastle, but you’re afraid that something will happen—like the something that happened to your family?”
How had she grown so old this afternoon? How was it that the sun weighed on her shoulders and the breeze played havoc around her temples when they had so recently been her friends before? Her shoulders drooped.
“It will happen, Philip,” she whispered. “It always does—it always has.” The silence stretched between them. “The curse takes whatever I love—whatever I loved.”
The scream of one of her sisters, normally relegated to the darkness of her nightmares, pierced her mind. She flinched as if she had been struck and put a hand to her face.
Philip put out his hand to steady her, but she pulled away. Her eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them back. Philip shook his head like a dog with a bone.
“Caroline, you can’t be cursed. It’s a terrible rumor—like a fairy tale, but—but worse—more like a nightmare.” His eyes traced her face. “You really do believe it?”
Caroline stood, brushing off her skirt. She shielded her eyes against the sun—against everything, gathering her strength.
“I’ll take my tea in my room. I hope you enjoy it.”
She curtsied, turned away, and sought shelter indoors.
CHAPTER 21
“Welcome home, Your Grace.”
Carlyle met him in the round entry room. Frederic’s valise glinted off the tile as he passed it to him.
“Did Lord Grandon get away on time?” He slipped off his gloves. “I had a message from Earl Harding while on the way, saying they expected his arrival.”
Carlyle bowed.
“Lord Philip left yesterday, Your Grace. Jenkins accompanied him as you requested. They should arrive in Nottingham sometime today.”
Good. All was as it should be, then. It had been against his better judgement, at first, but Philip had begged so hard for a holiday that he had at last relented. He was to spend six weeks with Earl Harding and his sons with whom they had become particularlyintimate last summer. Frederic slipped off his gloves and turned to toss them onto a side table.
“And Caroline?”
Carlyle hesitated. Frederic’s concern, which had been only casual and habitual, focused on the old servant’s silence.
“Is she well?”
“Yes, of course, Your Grace. She has been—-a little out of sorts.”
Frederic folded his arms.
“Explain.”
Carlyle licked his lips.
“It’s nothing unusual, it appears—she has—she has been taken with headaches of late, that is all, and has spent appropriate time recuperating in her quarters.”
