Page 83 of His Haunted Duchess
EPILOGUE
“Another cup of tea?”
Winifred proffered the steaming kettle. Frederic winced.
“Thank you, ma’am. I’ve had enough tea for the present.”
Possibly enough tea for the foreseeable future,he added privately. Little had he imagined how much influence an herb could have over his life and over Caroline’s.
The blankets made a world of difference. After a few minutes of shivering, he could already breathe with much less labor and restraint. Caroline, too, had ceased her shivering, her little wet head peeking out of the top of a mound of blankets.
Frederic had carried Caroline indoors to the sitting room before collapsing, gratefully, onto a couch. Philip and Winifred hovered over them like twin turtle doves.
“Another coverlet, Your Grace, for your feet? Or perhaps some slippers?”
“Perhaps you’d care for some music? Or would it be better to be silent? I should have taken Carlyle up on his offer and learned to sing.”
Under the blankets, Caroline slipped her hand into his. The color snuck back into her cheeks a little bit at a time, gentle as a midsummer sunrise. Her dark, wet hair framed her face like a Madonna.
Frederic’s head drooped blearily. The ride to the estate had been more taxing than he cared to show, but wrapped in the warmth of heaven with Caroline’s hand in his, he could not admit any regret at his rash course of action.
“If only your aunt had been here,” Winifred fretted. “She would have had that lady by the hair in an instant. I had half a mind to do so myself.”
She scrubbed a side table with vigor that threatened to remove the varnish.
“And to think I let you leave with her! A real murderess!”
“She hardly looked the part of a poisoner on the exterior, Winifred.”
Caroline shuddered in spite of herself and grasped Frederic’s hand a little more tightly. He scooted her a little closer to him, impeded slightly by the mountain of warm bed clothing Winifred and Philip had heaped upon them.
“Well, at least the constables have her in hand now, the hard thing!” She turned to Philip. “Would you verify, Sir, that they have what they require for the investigation? I confess that I cannot but look at their clubs without feeling a little faint.”
Philip squared his shoulders and headed toward the front. No doubt the constabulary were in proper order, but the determination in Philip’s stride ensured that whatever the state of law they kept, they would at least have appropriate supervision. Frederic smiled. Philip was becoming quite a man.
Winifred bustled around the couch like a bee minding a hive.
“All I know is, it’s a mercy that providence was watching over you today, dear.”
She put a handkerchief to her nose and blew loudly. Caroline winced. Perhaps Winifred could, since he anticipated they would not soon run out of blankets, appreciate a diversion of her attention. Frederic cleared his throat.
“I have not yet eaten today,” he said, “and if it would not too greatly inconvenience the household?—”
But Winifred was already in motion. Her eyebrows spoke of every necessary precaution and several hours of baking, if baking was to be done at all. She settled another blanket around them and headed toward the door, bustling with the importance of his request.
“Tarts, of course, and maybe a few hand pies. They’re humble, to be sure, but very nourishing. And if Cook feels a crock of good chicken stock would be in order as well, I shall not be the one to discourage her.”
Caroline leaned her head against the back of the couch and closed her eyes. Her dark black hair spread out like a fan.
“What a morning it has been,” she murmured. “It feels very much like a lifetime.”
It did indeed. How strange to think that this morning he had awoken, bleary-eyed and poisoned, in his own four-poster bed! It would take some time to sort out the niceties of the experience—time he looked forward to sharing with Caroline. By no means would he be drawn away from her side.
Winifred paused at the door, checking to make sure everything was in order, and that no additional Felicitys were hiding themselves behind the jamb.
“We really ought to get you to bed, dear,” Winifred burbled as she left. “After all that excitement, you will need some good rest.”
The gentle happiness faded from Caroline’s face. Her eyes opened slowly and rested on his face. Wan sorrow crept into them. Frederic was reminded of a waif he had seen once, staring with hollow eyes from the stoop of a corner shop. He had the distinct impression that she was taking a last glance—a last fill of him before—before what?
