My Darling Caroline (29 page)
“She was intelligent, but when it came to science, she was the kind of person who wanted answers given to her instead of working them out for herself. She had no original ideas, despised being told that she, God forbid, was wrong about anything, and had no patience when it came to learning something new. You and I both know that when it comes to botany, patience is not a virtue, it is a necessity. Absolutely essential to success.”
Rain began to sprinkle atop the glass, creating a hollow, splattering noise, quenching the peacefulness inside.
Gently Caroline shook her head. “I don’t understand how someone who wants something so badly wouldn’t work for it. Even if I had no talent whatsoever, I’d find myself in my green house every day because I love it.”
Markham nodded and strode toward her, sitting once more on the bench. “Exactly, and that’s why I worked at it myself. You were born with a gift, Lady Caroline, and the love of the challenge and the science. I wasn’t born with the gift, but I, too, loved the challenge and the science. The only difference between you and me is that I must work harder at what comes naturally to you. This puts me at a slight disadvantage, but because I adore the work, I work harder for similar results. With all things in life, we each must accept and then deal with our own limitations.”
He scoffed. “But my sister had neither the gift nor the desire to work. She fell into a fierce competition with me, only to lose because she never loved botany. She was not a scientist, was never born to be a scientist, but absurdly enough, she wanted to be a scientist because that was what I wanted for myself.”
Caroline knew that the conflicts between siblings could be great. Indeed, she’d felt them herself over the years, especially with Mary Anne because of her gregarious nature, her exceptional beauty. But over time Caroline had grown away from the jealousies by finding the strengths in herself. Sadly, it appeared Lady Maude was never able to find herself because she was, ironically enough, so self-absorbed. Her jealousies became her enemy, the center of her hatred, only because she was too selfish to take an honest look at the qualities she alone possessed.
“But more than all of her problems combined,” Markham stressed almost passionately, snapping her out of her contemplative thoughts by taking her hand once more, “my sister Maude despised the knowledge that she had no intrinsic
gift.
She had a green thumb, could make plants grow and gardens bloom when she took the time, but that was the extent of her ability, and it never came easily to her. Maude wanted everything in life to be easy.”
“But inbred talents cannot be measured, Sir Albert,” she reasoned quietly. “Many noted botanists sometimes have trouble growing flowers—”
“Exactly my point, dear lady,” he cut in. “I am one of those noted botanists, and my reputation, as humbling as the thought is, exists worldwide. But Maude hated the fact that botany didn’t come naturally to her, and she simply would not discipline herself enough to put forth the effort to learn and study as I did. She seethed with the knowledge that her achievements were strictly up to her and no one else, and she made me the cause of what eventually became her failures. She blamed me.”
“As well as her children,” Caroline said dejectedly.
“As well as her children,” he softly concurred. “It’s always easier to take out one’s anger by abusing those who are small, dependent, and under one’s complete control.”
Caroline had no idea what to say to that sad truth.
Markham sighed and released her hand. “In any case, I left her and Miramont—which was rightfully mine—nearly thirty-five years ago because I could no longer stand her resentfulness. Maude was a manipulator, and if she was gifted with anything it was the ability to make a person feel guilt. My parents felt guilty, and that’s why they had this greenhouse constructed for her. I was the one to use it, though, and she made me feel guilty because I did so. I was the botanist, but my father gave Maude the green house.”
He snorted sarcastically, reminding her so quickly of her husband that she had trouble containing her sudden urge to laugh.
“Eventually,” he continued, “realizing that my interests were not with marriage and family, but with teaching, I decided I didn’t want the estate, this greenhouse, or anything else that had to do with a sister who had come to despise me. So, without regrets, I gave everything to her and her husband, the former Earl of Weymerth. He hadn’t much in the way of property when they married thirty-six years ago, and truthfully, I think he suspected he’d one day inherit Miramont, since my life had moved in an entirely different direction by then. I also believe,” he added simply, “it’s the reason he wanted Maude for a wife. That, and the fact that she was physically beautiful and socially polished.”
“And then you began tutoring at Oxford,” Caroline mumbled.
“I didn’t tutor at first,” he corrected easily. “I studied on the Continent for a while, first in Paris, then Germany and Italy, eventually working my way to Northern Africa, where I stayed for three years before coming back to England. But I studied, Lady Caroline, and I worked hard. In 1799, I was knighted by King George for my accomplishments, having impressed those in the worldwide botanical community as well as His Majesty with my detailed analysis of breeding techniques—roses primarily—and my extensive fifteen-year study of—”
“Sterile vines…” she finished in a whisper, looking to the floor as she slowly stood. “I’ve also read most of your published works, sir, and have followed your studies very closely. I adore breeding roses because the flowers are so delicate and the colors so variable and lovely, but like you, I find great challenge in vines.”
“They can be uniquely difficult,” he acknowledged.
“Indeed they can,” she agreed, walking to the table to gaze down at the healthy, plush hydrangea. “I seem to be drawn to all things difficult, which makes me again wonder exactly why you’re here, Sir Albert.” Quickly she hugged her belly over her pelisse and turned to face him. “I still don’t understand what this has to do with my husband.”
He regarded her closely for a long moment, then rubbed his jaw with his palm. “I think I’ll just let him explain everything in detail. He’s here, by the way, at the house.”
Caroline felt her pulse escalate, her face flush. “Brent is here? At Miramont?”
He grinned devilishly. “I told him I’d send you along at my leisure, and I’m certain he’s wearing a path in the rug just worrying about it. But again, don’t be too hard on him. He’s been through some rough times, and coming to me yesterday, inviting me back to my greenhouse, took courage. He and his sister are my only living relations, and I hear from Charlotte only once or twice a year.”
She stared at him, her mind racing. Brent wanted her to come home, and going to Sir Albert, asking him to meet her, was his way of breaking the ice. And it was working, she had to admit, irritated at the weakness in herself. Her heart was melting.
“So why hasn’t he spoken to you all these years?” Sarcastically she added, “I mean, my husband adores tossing people from his life; it nourishes his ego. But why you? Why for so long?”
Markham breathed deeply and became serious again. “Well, he resented me because he felt I was the cause of his mother’s abhorrence of him. He didn’t really toss me from his life, though, or pretend I didn’t exist. He just didn’t have any reason to contact me through the years—”
“But you’re his uncle,” she cut in, exasperated.
He nodded. “Yes, but I made him uncomfortable. I reminded him of why his mother detested men, including him. You see, Maude wanted to be a botanist. I wouldn’t take her on as a student or colleague because of her lack of talent, self-discipline, and desire for hard work. As a result, she became insanely jealous of my success. Brent understood this, especially as he matured and realized Maude was nothing but a selfish, conniving woman who used and manipulated people any way she could. But she was also his mother, and he’s always felt, perhaps irrationally, that if I hadn’t denied her what she believed was her right as my sister, she would have raised him with a warmer heart.”
He dropped his voice to a mere whisper above the sound of pelting rain against glass. “Brent has always felt that Maude’s love for botany was the reason she had no love for him, which would be natural for him to believe as a child because she all but told him as much. But what he’s discovered by being married to you, Lady Caroline, is that his mother never loved botany. She never cared about working for anything, whether it was growing or breeding plants, maintaining a greenhouse, or raising children with love and respect, because she never loved anyone or anything but herself.”
Caroline considered his words carefully, thoughtfully, then felt her blood turn to ice. Brent had kept his mother’s obsession and his parentage a secret from her, had never told her Albert Markham was his uncle, because he feared the science meant more to her than he did. Just as he’d always felt it did to his mother. Suddenly the answers she’d been looking for during the last few months were before her.
“I finally understand,” she whispered, shaken with chilling realization. “He didn’t tell me you were his uncle…”
“Because, Lady Caroline, I believe he was dreadfully afraid he’d lose you to the science if he did. Discovering your intentions to study in America only inflamed that fear, as well as the resentment he’s harbored toward botany itself for years. Asking you to leave the way he did was his way of shielding a very real and deep-seated pain of rejection.”
“If he had only allowed me to explain the situation, it would never have come to this,” she maintained through a surge of aggravation. “And if you must know, Sir Albert, he didn’t politely ask me to leave, he practically threw me out of the house on my tender behind.”
He chuckled softly and slowly stood. “Well, as I said before, I think I’ll let your husband explain his actions in detail, and I’m sure you’re as anxious to hear them as he is to see you. In the meantime, if we’re going to be working together, I would very much appreciate it if you would call me Uncle Albert.”
She blinked quickly, her stomach churning, quite certain she hadn’t heard him correctly. “Pardon me?”
He looked at her strangely. “Would you prefer to work separately, Lady Caroline, or are you just uncomfortable addressing each other informally?”
She swallowed, astonished. “You want to work with me?”
“Naturally,” he replied, surprised. “You’re industrious, organized, talented. I’d be stupid to forgo such an opportunity, and just between us, Lady Caroline, I wouldn’t feel at all honorable taking full credit for creating the lavender rose.”
He looked back at the ground, thinking, slowly walking toward her.
“My original idea was perhaps to have you start with the
Rosalyns.
” Glancing up sharply, he added, “Naming them after my grandniece was a marvelous suggestion, by the way. A lovely name for a rose. I also have a series of experiments I’d like you to start with poisonous berries—English ivy, holly, and bittersweet primarily, as well as a crossing between two North African creepers. I’ve been meaning to work on these for months, but my time tends to get the best of me. If you’re concerned about appearances or the birth of your child, don’t be. You have the room in this greenhouse and you can work here at your discretion. I can visit once a month or so to compare notes and check your progress against mine, and after your baby is born, we can work out a schedule suited to you and your needs. I have a private greenhouse of my own not more than a three-hour ride from here, so perhaps we can split the time.”
He stopped directly in front of her and grasped his elbows with his palms. “Unfortunately I won’t be able to pay you for your labor or offer you a degree of study, and for that I’m truly sorry. But it’s a prime opportunity for you to learn and associate with some of the finest botanists in England. I also promise that, to the best of my ability, you’ll receive justified recognition for your work.”
He smiled down at her stunned face. “Please say yes, Lady Caroline. You’d make an excellent colleague, and I desperately need the help from someone more interested in botany than in getting knighted for himself.”
Never in her life had she felt more honored. Or thrilled. And if she weren’t so filled with disbelief at this odd turn of events, she’d certainly break down into a gushing river of joyful tears. The greatest dream she had ever envisioned was becoming a reality, given her by this one intelligent, celebrated botanist standing directly in front of her, treating her not as a woman, but as an equal. The most magnificent moment of her life as a scientist was happening now, and she would relish this memory forever.
Smiling with elation and choking down the quake of emotion in her voice, she held out her hand. “I’d be delighted to work for you, sir. And please, call me Caroline.”
“Uncle Albert, remember?” he corrected, smiling in return and taking her hand. He held it firmly for a moment, then patted her knuckles. “Now, I think it’s time for you to go and have a little chat with your husband. He was certainly a fool to toss out such a charming lady on her tender behind, and I hope you give him a devil of a time for it.” He leaned toward her and grinned impishly. “But please don’t kill him.”
She laughed. “I’ll try to restrain myself.”
He turned and glanced around the room. “And while you’re restraining yourself from murder, I think I’ll look around here, take some notes of my own, then leave a list on your desk of things I’d like you to start working on. I’ll return within a fortnight, and we can discuss them at length. Fair enough?”
She wanted to cry. “Thank you, Uncle Albert.”
He smiled again, nodding toward the door. “The rain’s letting up.”
As unsure as she was of the prospect of facing her husband, she moved quickly to the entrance, took one look back for confidence, then raised the hood of her pelisse and strode out of the green house.
P
erhaps because it was still sprinkling, perhaps only by chance, she kept her head down. Suddenly, not twenty feet from the door of the greenhouse, lying across the dirt path, she found the first rose.
It startled her, really, to see the striking peach flower on the brown forest floor, but she reached for it, intrigued, shaking it lightly to release the droplets of water from the bright, healthy petals. Before she considered her reasons for finding it there, she came upon another, exactly like the first, and then another, and another.
Her heart began to pound. The closer she moved to the house, the more anxious she became, and the more beautiful, long-stemmed peach roses she grasped tightly in her hand.
They were from him, she knew, and by the time she reached the back door of the house, she could hardly breathe from the desire to see him, from uncertainty at doing so after weeks of separation, and from hope. She wanted to be furious with him, but this action of his was, in itself, intended to soften the blow. It was working, too, for her heart was filled with nothing but tenderness, as her hands were filled with twenty-three roses, all perfect, all free of thorns, all peach.
Caroline drew a long breath, then stepped inside the kitchen. It was cold, clean, and completely empty save for the tiny trail on the dark, polished floor.
Peach rose petals.
Slowly she began to follow it, immediately warmed by the comforts of her home and the sweet scent of flowers. Led by her legs and heart instead of her mind, she finally found herself standing in front of her bedroom door, where the trail of rose petals seemed to end.
She grasped the handle and pushed it open.
Her room looked exactly the same. The bed was perfectly made, the furniture dusted and polished. The only discernable difference were the three plush, white rugs covering the floor where there had been none before. Something Brent had thought of while she’d been away.
The trail of petals lay in a straight line to the connecting door. Caroline stared at it for a long moment, stalling. Then, with resolution and a quick glance down her body to be certain her baby was hidden in the folds of her large pelisse, she held her chin high once more and swiftly walked to the door. With roses clutched in the left, she reached out with her trembling right hand, grasped the knob firmly, and opened the door.
She saw her husband first, sitting on the windowsill to her left, but her view of him was quickly distorted by the glorious vision surrounding him.
He’d filled the room with roses—pink, yellow, white, plum, burgundy, and more peach than she could count. There numbered twenty-five vases, all overflowing, sitting along the mantel, the two sills, the mahogany chest of drawers, on tables beside the settee, on both sides and at the foot of the bed. It even amused her to note how he’d drawn back the quilt and had covered the sheet with rose petals as well.
Rather presumptuous but, to his credit, horribly romantic.
From the corner of her eye, she saw him rise, and with that she drew the courage to look at his face, masking her expression, attempting to keep her hands from shaking as she clutched the roses she held with both of them.
He stared at her, and although she couldn’t tell at all what he was thinking, he exuded a nervousness she’d never seen in him before. Their eyes melded for several seconds, then she moved her gaze up and down the length of him, taking in his appearance, his strong, powerful physique, noticing how he looked so marvelously handsome in midnight-blue trousers and a white silk shirt pulled tautly across his chest.
And in his hand he held the twenty-fourth peach rose. A perfect two dozen.
She stood facing him, gracefully composed, eyes defiant and piercing his once again with blazing fire.
“I could kill you—”
“I love you, Caroline.”
Her face went slack as she stilled completely. She never expected that, at least not right away, and although she’d known how he felt about her for so very long, nothing compared to finally hearing the words.
“I didn’t know how much I loved you until you left,” he continued huskily, “and I can’t honestly tell you when I began to love you, although I think I realized I was going to the first night we had dinner alone together in the kitchen. You told me how my uncle had rejected your work, how you needed a greenhouse, and instead of giving it to you and telling you everything, I practically ripped off your clothes with the most urgent need I’ve ever felt as a grown man. I was jealous and selfish, and losing myself to you so quickly it scared me.”
He inhaled sharply. “But I do know that I loved you so much the night you came to my bed and became my wife. I loved you then and I knew it then, without any doubts, but I was confused and afraid of the feeling, so I couldn’t admit it to myself or to you. I’ve loved you for months, Caroline,” he admitted brokenly, “and I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you until now.”
His voice trailed off, and the room became deathly silent as the rain lightened to a tiny sprinkle against the windows.
Caroline, heart racing and close to tears, refused to move, refused to alter her features the slightest bit for fear of breaking down. He was waiting for her to say she loved him, too, and she would. But he was the one who’d tossed her out on her tender behind, she had to remember, the one who’d kept incredible secrets from her, the one who’d driven a stake through their marriage. And he could just be the one to be unsure for a while.
He took a hesitant step toward her and stopped, looking increasingly unsettled as the silence surrounding them began to boom, thick and intense.
With all the strength she possessed, and utterly amazed that she could actually do it after what he’d just said to her, she turned away from him, closed the door softly behind her, and reached up to lower the hood of her pelisse.
On the nightstand to the right of the bed she noticed an empty vase. Quietly she walked to it, effectively ignoring his stare, and one by one, taking her time, she arranged each rose perfectly. That finished, she turned to him once more, still avoiding his gaze, and pulled her hair from its ribbon, shaking it loose and free of dampness with her hands.
Suddenly he exhaled loudly, irritably, and began tapping the rose against his thigh. “Have you nothing to say, madam?”
Caroline wanted to laugh as she looked into hazel eyes clouded by uncertainty. He was trying to be cross, intimidating, but he was failing horribly because his voice positively shook with confusion and worry.
She smoothed her hair so it draped over her left shoulder, casually dropping her arms to her sides. “Yes, I have something to say.”
He waited. “Well?”
Glaring at him, she blurted, “I’ll bury you alive if any of these roses came from my garden.”
He blinked, then paled. “That’s it?”
“For now,” she purred.
“What does that mean?” he fairly barked.
She remained calm and self-assured. “I’m not sure what you want to hear from me, Brent. Do you want to hear how upset and lonely I’ve been for the last ten weeks? Do you want to hear how crushed I felt to be callously evicted from my home by my husband? Do you want to hear how desperately I’ve craved your arms around me and your lips on mine since the night you so gallantly saved my life from that French monster?
“Do you want to hear how much I’ve missed you and my daughter, how painful it was to spend Christmas alone without my family, how shocked and angry I am to learn that Albert Markham is my uncle by marriage and that you, my darling, kept that tiny bit of information from me?” Her eyes narrowed, lips thinned. “I am all of those things and more, sir, and yet I believe you want to hear something else.”
Brent watched her in a daze, growing more tense and unnerved by the second. She wasn’t acting as he’d thought she would, and what did he expect? Did he have the arrogance to assume she’d come running into his arms, forgiving him and begging to come home? If that thought had crossed his mind, it was laced with stupidity. Caroline would never do that. Not, at least, until she’d cut him down to size with her mouth. And did she even love him at all? He’d been so positive of it, but Jane hadn’t said anything about her loving him, and there was always the possibility that even if she had, at one point during the last few weeks she’d lost the feeling altogether.
But the past didn’t matter. She was here, in their bedroom, and just watching her now only a few feet away, he realized this wasn’t the time for a battle of words, it was the time for him to back down and expose himself completely. He’d been unfair to her in so many ways since the day they’d married, and even if she returned to cut a venomous slash through his heart, he had to know the truth.
Perspiration broke out along his neck, and at that moment, as his heart began to beat hard and fast, he knew he’d never felt more frightened in his life.
“I need to hear that you love me, too, Caroline,” he confessed in a deep whisper.
For what seemed like hours, she just stared into his eyes, unmoving. Then, sighing faintly, she lowered her lashes and began to unbutton her pelisse.
“I suppose, because you’re a man, you’ve been closed to the love I’ve felt right from the beginning, pushing it away when it scared you and ignoring it when that suited your purpose. I forgive you for that because you can’t help what and who you are, and men generally tend to be less open to love than women, especially when it slaps them in the face and they don’t know at all what to do with it.”
She shot him a quick glance, then slowly began to walk, staring at the floor. “Unlike you, I know exactly when I started loving you, Brent, and that was the day we married. You didn’t know me at all and yet you were curious about my family, concerned about my feelings when I walked into a vacant house with nothing but a few trunks. You had a beautiful room waiting for me, the wife thrust upon you by her scheming father, and when I didn’t want you physically, you didn’t strike me, or demean me with words, or force yourself on me to take what was yours by law.”
He’d expected a simple answer, but in her own sophisticated, intelligent way, she was exposing herself completely as well, telling him everything he should have already known. So like Caroline to notice the good in life, and to cherish the good in him.
She stopped in front of the window to his right, six feet away, facing him with strength and beauty.
“My love began to blossom only days later, when you gave me charge of your finances,” she continued evenly. “You had known me for less than a week, whereas my father had known me for twenty-five years—yet you trusted me when he didn’t. I think I realized then there was no turning back, because I had been blessed with an unusual, magnificent man.”
Her voice began to quaver, but she didn’t move, didn’t drop her gaze from his.
“I grew to love you more when I met your illegitimate daughter and realized you had taken this beautiful, deaf little girl into your home, disregarding the social complications and loving her when she would have been a disgrace to any other gentleman.
“I loved you even more deeply the day your sweet daughter began to communicate, because on that glorious afternoon I realized you were falling in love with me—the unattractive spinster you married with few qualities beyond the uncanny ability to grow plants and add numbers quickly.”
She inhaled deeply, hugging herself. “And just like you, Brent, I knew I loved you absolutely the night you made love to me for the first time. You were gentle and patient, giving and passionate. You made me feel like a beautiful goddess, and I swear to you, sir, nothing had ever made me feel like that before.”
“Caroline…” He took a step toward her and stopped, unsure.
She shook her head, straightening. “You’ve had your say, and now it’s my turn, Lord Weymerth. Don’t even think about coming near me until I’m finished and give you permission to do so.”
The combination of irritation and gentleness in her voice melted him inside. He’d missed her sharp tongue almost as much as he’d missed her sweetness.
“Forgive me, madam,” he said lightly, amused, “but waiting to make love to you again is straining my nerves.”
She scoffed but she was quite shaken; he could see it in her expression, in the way she nervously toyed with the buttons on her pelisse.
“How awfully presumptuous of you to think I’d let you.”
“You will,” he insisted soothingly.
She gaped at him.
“Please continue,” he urged. “I’m aching to hear the rest.”
“You’re as arrogant as usual.”
“You missed it, though.”
“I absolutely did not,” she asserted.
He grinned. “You missed my arrogance almost as much as I missed your impudence, little one.”
“That’s absurd.”
“I love you, Caroline,” he softly, quickly replied, catching her off guard with such tenderness. “Move on before I decide I’m finished with this conversation, rip off your clothes, and show you how much.”
Her eyes flashed, in annoyance or hunger he couldn’t be certain, but she didn’t falter. If anything she appeared more determined, more challenging in her stance.
“On the day we married, somewhere deep inside of me I knew I would never leave you,” she maintained. “But I disguised and suppressed my feelings from the beginning because I’d wanted something else for so long, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake the desire I felt to be with you.”
She shook her head and lowered her voice to an impassioned plea. “How could I not love a man who charmed me when he’d never been charming to another, who treated me with so much respect when no woman he’d ever known had respected him? How could I not love a man who saved my life so valiantly, who fit me, mind and spirit, as if we were born to be together, who had spent his life in loneliness just as I had, rejected as I had felt, craving to be loved and appreciated as I had always craved those things?”
He didn’t utter a sound in response, and with that she averted her gaze and slowly began to remove her pelisse.
“Regarding your accusations the day you tossed me out, Brent, let me clarify it all by saying this.”