Page 2 of His Haunted Duchess
Winifred handed her another, plainer gown—a rich Indian muslin with gold fringe at the neck and hem. Oscar batted at it.
“None of that, ferocious one,” Winifred shooed him. “We need her to wear that dress yet.”
Oscar scooted to the door, his nose in the air, whiskers twitching. Winifred helped Caroline into the muslin.
“Must I go?” Caroline asked. “Since I was a child, balls—” She stopped. “Balls have held no charm for me.”
Winifred looked at her.
“We’ll dress for the ball later. But for now, to attend your aunt?—”
“Winifred! Caroline!”
Aunt Olivia’s voice echoed up the stairs like a trumpet. Winifred rolled her eyes.
“It isn’t couth to holler up the stairs like a common shepherdess, your ladyship,” she yelled back, helping Caroline slide her arms into the delicate sleeves.
“I’m not hollering, I’m raising my voice to match my exalted station,” her aunt called back. “And anyway, the breakfast is getting cold.”
Winifred finished fastening the buttons on the back of Caroline’s dress.
“Your aunt,” she said, straightening out the train, “as I have no doubt you heard, is ready for you to attend her.”
Caroline settled herself into place, left her hair pins and her dark dreams behind, and headed downstairs.
The morning light streamed through the high windows above the great hall staircase, speckling the steps with golden beams. Caroline passed through them, enjoying the temporary surge of warmth. Oscar trailed sedately behind her until, caught at last by the entrancing gleams, he settled down on a carpeted stair to sleep.
Caroline’s steps echoed around the hall as she crossed to the breakfast room. She glanced at the letters on the entry table. Almost all of them were addressed toThe Right Honorable Viscountess of Vaugh.For as long as she could remember, she’d lived with her Aunt Olivia, Winifred, and Oscar.
She had been strangely fortunate. Fortunate to have loving relatives so close who were willing to take her in. Strange in the misfortune that made that shelter a necessity.
Aunt Olivia sat at the head of the table, looking over a letter written in flourishing green ink, dark as a forest in late summer.
“Here’s good news for you, dear,” she said, cheerfully. “Lady Ethington is going to the ball tonight as well.”
Caroline’s heart dampened like a cat in fresh snow. She took her seat, keeping her eyes on the table.
“Are you certain you want to go, Aunt?”
She could feel Aunt Olivia’s eyes resting on her and tried to stem the blush rising on the back of her neck.
“I am certain,” her aunt said, putting the letter down, “though it sounds as though you might not yet be.”
Caroline picked up her napkin and spread it carefully across her lap.
“I’m not, as you are no doubt aware, inclined to balls,” she said. She closed her eyes and breathed in the heavenly aroma of plum cake and steaming tea.
“Bohea, please, Sarah—” Her aunt directed the servant. “I’m not inclined to Hyson.” She turned back to Caroline. “My dear, this first ball of the Season will be—” she checked herself “—could bea valuable opportunity for you.”
Caroline breathed in the delicious vapor rising from her teacup, trying to steady her nerves. She felt butterflies starting to flit about the tips of her fingers and the base of her stomach.
“An opportunity for me? How so?”
Aunt Olivia shot her a pointed glance.
“How specifically?” she amended. “It seems as though you may have a specific benefit in mind.”
Her aunt added two rolls and a poached egg to her plate.
