My Darling Caroline (2 page)

But this was a turn she didn’t understand. The Baron Sytheford was cunning, and he usually planned fully and thought with great care before acting. This sudden idea of marriage seemed rash, and to her knowledge, her father had never been rash in his life.

So what was she supposed to do now? Marry Weymerth? And why him of all the eligible gentlemen in society?

Caroline’s heart suddenly ached with longing of desires now seemingly more out of reach than ever. Damn, but men stunk to heaven when they used their larger muscles and tiny, narrow minds to control the smaller sex. She wanted nothing more than to overcome that convention. But perhaps the idea was indeed as futile and stupid as her sisters told her from time to time. Women were put on this earth to marry and allow their husbands the generous use of their bodies for the sole purposes of creating heirs and gratifying male sexual needs—unconditionally. At that moment, she despised them all.

She stared out to her huge bed of roses, her sweet-smelling daffodils, her tulips that she prized because they were so difficult to grow and even more difficult to breed. God in heaven, what should she do now? It all seemed so dismal, so hopeless…

Then suddenly, as with any sharp intellect, a small, very tiny image began to emerge from the deepest recesses of her mind. Slowly it began to take shape, to build, and without warning it grew so that even the color before her faded from the dazzle of brilliance filling her senses.

If she married him…

Caroline grinned and jumped back from the window to look down at her hands, now shaking with a sudden burst of energy. What if she married him? She didn’t want a husband, but so what! If she married the earl, she would be fulfilling her father’s wish and then she could, after that time, put all of her talents and intelligence to good use by creating a way of leaving the man to study her science. He wouldn’t want her anyway, for she had all but concluded he was being coerced into taking her as a wife as well, and she certainly didn’t have anything wifely to offer him. She was an unbecoming, set-in-her-ways spinster.

But if he was smart, and she hoped to God he was, perhaps she could strike a deal with him, and they could both go their separate ways as did many married couples. If the marriage were annulled in say…four months, she would be able to leave her husband to a life of his own, catch a ship to New York, and be free from society’s demanding, irritating mores to do as she wanted—needed—to do.

This was the way out. And it was falling into her lap.

Caroline fairly twirled around in glee over her genius. Then, suddenly, she heard shouting again from the study, then scuffling, then her father’s chair being pushed across the wooden floor, then shouting again.

She rolled her eyes. Idiot men.

“Caroline!” her father roared seconds later.

She tried to hide her triumphant smile as she replied smoothly, “In here, Father.”

He walked briskly into the morning room, seemingly surprised that she was only across the hall; then his eyes grew angry as he looked her up and down.

“Are you never clean, girl?”

Sighing, she noticed the upturned collar and wrinkles on his usually pristine shirt, his mussed hair, the twitch in his cheek as it made the curls in his gray-brown side whiskers flair. Obviously he and the earl had exchanged more than words.

Men. Pompous fools.

Lifting her rosebud to his view, she returned lightly, “I’ve been breeding African lilies and pruning roses—”

“Yes, yes, yes,” he cut in impatiently. “The Earl of Weymerth…”

Suddenly he seemed lost. Drawing a deep breath, either from nervousness or as some sort of stall tactic, he finally finished by adding nothing more than, “The earl wants a word with you.”

Caroline placed her hands on her hips and glared at him. “You want me to marry him, don’t you?”

He was plainly taken aback by her keen perception, but he said nothing, giving her a look of what she considered to be complete guilt coupled with controlled fury.

“Why, Father?” she quietly asked.

Sytheford tried but truthfully failed in composing himself, standing erect as a statue and folding his hands behind his back. “You need someone to care for your needs, since I won’t be around forever, and you need a husband to give you children—”

“I don’t particularly want children. You know that,” she interjected fiercely.

He ignored her outburst. “Lord Weymerth is a strong, decent man who would give his life for king and country—”

“I’m sure the earl is a fine and noble subject—”

“And he will no doubt provide for you. But most importantly”—he took another deep breath and exhaled loudly—“I won’t allow you to go against my wishes, Caroline.”

After several strained seconds, she whispered, “I won’t go against your wishes.”

“You will marry him or—”

“I will marry him.”

He gaped at her with apparent disbelief, then his eyes narrowed to tiny slits. “If you think to undermine—”

“I agree to the marriage, Father.”

For the first time in his life, Charles Grayson looked as if he would faint. His skin became pasty white, and his expansive forehead beaded immediately with perspiration.

“I want you to know, Caroline,” he croaked out, tapping his cuff against his cheek, “that I’ve done this for your future. I want nothing more than your happiness.”

Caroline slowly moved toward him. She’d never before seen her father so…disoriented, and the picture he presented unnerved her a little.

“Why do you want this union, Father?” she slowly asked. “Have you something to gain from it?”

He instantly became guarded. “It’s best for you.” Turning to the door, and with one last glance in her direction, he murmured, “The earl is waiting for you in my study. Don’t disappoint me, Caroline.”

Before she could summon a reply, he strode into the hall and disappeared from view.

Caroline could have dealt with his threats, his coldness or anger, but never in her life could she have dealt with disappointing him more than she already had. Fighting tears, she looked to the rose in her hand, the only piece of joy in her miserable life. This was God’s creation. This small, delicate marvel of life was hers to manipulate into a bounty of beauty. It calmed her to know that she had been given such a gift, and she refused to let anything or anybody take it from her. Ever.

With biting determination, she turned, lifted her chin defiantly, and walked across the hall. It appeared her future husband wanted to meet her alone, and that was fine with her. She prided herself on being in de pen dent and self-assured, and she knew that if nothing else, she would be able to handle the man with her superior intelligence. That thought in mind, she put her hand on the knob and marched into her father’s study.

She was surprised to find the earl staring out a window rather than watching for her, and although he had to have heard her enter, he didn’t turn but stayed instead with his back to her, legs spread apart, hands on hips as he regarded the grassy meadow outside with apparent interest.

She waited for him to speak first, knowing that the man was probably trying to decide how he should gently ask her to marry him without prior introduction. Then he cut into her thoughts of growing annoyance with a frigid baritone voice.

“I’ll assume you’re a virgin?”

Caroline was so completely caught off guard by his bold, harsh words, that for the first time in her adult life she didn’t know how to respond. Cheeks flushing, she mumbled, “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me,” he replied evenly, still looking out the window.

His audacity sparked her anger. Closing her arms over her chest and gathering her wits she returned boldly, “I heard you, Lord Weymerth. I was simply unsure whether you were asking a question or posing a statement.”

Slowly, he turned to look at her. She kept her eyes locked on his features with complete determination, noticing first his hollow cheeks, his almost haunted expression. His eyes were hazel but more green than brown, his jaw hard and square, and his hair a very dark blond and longer than the current fashion as it curled behind his ears to fall to his collar. He wore dark riding breeches and a light cotton shirt, opened in front just enough to indecently expose a scattering of curls on his broad chest, and he looked somehow as if he’d been riding for days. His attire and appearance were most unbecoming and far too casual for a gentleman caller, especially one calling at such an unseemly hour. No manners, apparently.

He was tall, probably six feet, and far too slender, although really not at all bad to look at, as Stephanie had so bluntly stated. With a little added weight and proper clothing, he would probably be quite handsome in a rather unconventional way. Now he simply appeared tired and just as wary as she.

His gaze slowly, inappropriately, traveled down, then up the length of her body, until his eyes met hers once again, his expression completely unreadable. “I wasn’t expecting someone quite so old.”

Never in her life had Caroline been treated so by a man gently bred, and the strangeness of his manner almost startled her. Almost. With a deep exhalation, she held his gaze and retorted sarcastically, “I wasn’t expecting someone quite so skinny.”

She noticed the immediate sign of anger as his jaw tightened considerably, although her eyes never wavered from his. Then his mouth abruptly changed to a knowing smirk. “Your father said you have a saucy tongue.”

“And did my father also say I have a life of my own and no wish to be married?”

His smile vanished. “That’s irrelevant—”

“Irrelevant to whom?”

He regarded her for a moment, then carried on as if her words were completely insignificant.

“Banns will be posted tomorrow, and we’ll be married in three weeks’ time. I would, of course, prefer you to be a virgin. Since I have no choice in the matter, I will take you ruined, with the condition that any child you’re now carrying be disposed of properly at its birth.”

Caroline could not believe her ears and was suddenly filled with outrage. Clenching her fists tightly at her sides, she slowly began to move toward him. “Shall I hang the poor child by his toenails and leave him for the wolves to maul, perhaps?”

That truly seemed to startle him. “You know that’s not what I meant,” he responded quietly, defensively.

“Then maybe,” she continued with absolute intolerance, “if I’m not requesting too much, you’ll ask me to marry you in a gentlemanly fashion instead of coining phrases such as ‘I’ll assume you’re a virgin,’ and ‘I’ll take you ruined with conditions.’”

His cheek twitched, his lids narrowed, but he didn’t budge or move his gaze from her face.

“I haven’t the vaguest idea of how to fill a scatterbrained female with words of sweetness, so let me say only this, Miss Grayson.” His voice was low, hard. “I despise the notion of marriage to someone about whom I know nothing. I have very specific situations in my life that require my full concentration, and I don’t need that concentration interrupted by a weeping female clinging to my arm and begging for attention. I cannot afford trinkets, or fancy clothing, or endless parties. I cannot afford imported Spanish tapestries, or Bavarian chocolates—”

“I don’t need chocolates,” she cut in defensively.

He took a step toward her, and she instinctively took one back.

Suddenly his face lost all expression as he once again studied her appearance. “Actually, I’m rather surprised you’re not jumping at this opportunity, Miss Grayson. I’m sure you’ll not be getting any other offers.”

She was so shocked by his manner that she simply gaped at him, finding it unbelievable that a nobleman would speak to a lady the way he had. Usually men at least pretended to find her charming, although truthfully she saw almost no men at all except those married to her sisters.

But after a moment’s hesitation on her part, her eyes still locked with his, she decided he was simply another idiot man who undoubtedly thought himself smarter than she. She would eventually prove him incorrect in his assumptions, and that thought alone made her smile to herself.

Sighing heavily, anger subsiding, she dropped her gaze and abruptly turned her back to him, moving to sit in a large leather chair across from the desk. She leaned her head back against the soft cushion, placed her rose in her lap (hadn’t she been going to put it in water about three years ago?), and closed her eyes.

“What’s that?” he asked seconds later.

She peeked out cautiously through lowered lashes, noticing proudly that he had placed his curious gaze on her flower. She smiled in satisfaction and raised the rose to study it in front of her face.

“This, my lord, is a five-parted, usually fragrant flower, characteristically having alternate compound leaves and prickly stems. In Latin it’s called a
rosa
, in Greek it’s akin to
rhodon
, and in English—”

“A rose…by any other name?”

She found his mocking tone abrasive and demeaning. Since he would no doubt be utterly confused by the complexities of botany and plant breeding, she instead gave him what she hoped was a glare to remember and tried to change the subject.

“May I ask why you’re willing to marry me if you believe I’m ruined?”

He was quiet for a moment, then expelled a long breath and slowly walked toward her, all thoughts of the flower in her hand apparently forgotten.

“I learned only two days ago that your father purchased some of my property and I want it back, whatever the cost,” he replied arrogantly as he sat in the chair across from hers. “It now looks as if I’ll have to marry you to get it, ruined or chaste.”

Trying her best not to be shocked by the distaste in his words, Caroline finally wanted to give sauce to the goose. The man was unbelievable. “Do all the ladies find you as charming as I do, Weymerth?”

He had the good graces to at least look surprised.

“You find me charming, Miss Grayson? I wasn’t trying to be charming.”

She stifled a laugh. For a second she thought he might be teasing her. Then, before she could remark on his ridiculous words, he cocked his head and looked at her with the first hint of actual interest.