My Darling Caroline (8 page)

“What makes you think such a thing?” he finally asked.

Caroline wiped the back of her hand across her brow. “Well, she never utters a word, and three days ago, when I found her in the stables, she didn’t hear me come in. I think she was sleeping, but even someone in a very deep sleep would have heard me, or the horses, or the wind and rain when I opened the door. She heard nothing.”

He shook his head skeptically.

“If you think about it, it’s not implausible,” she persisted. “If she is a perfectly balanced little girl, she should be able to speak. I’ve concluded she’s perfectly balanced and yet she does not speak. In nearly all cases where people do not speak, they also cannot hear.”

After a moment of staring at the rug beneath his feet, he admitted quietly, “I don’t think it’s ever occurred to me.” He looked at her again. “Don’t you think Nedda would have noticed, though? She’s the one who’s practically raised her.”

Caroline shook her head. “I think Nedda probably did more taking care of her needs than raising her. I’m sure she fed her, changed her, cuddled with her, but she isn’t her mother—and you were gone much of the time, were you not?”

He nodded negligibly.

“I think, under those conditions, the only person who would have likely noticed she was deaf would have been her mother, someone keenly aware of a problem from the beginning. You and Nedda probably noticed she was different when she matured and didn’t learn to communicate with speech. By then she was communicating the only way she knew how, and the two of you accepted it as a problem with her mind.”

She lowered her body onto the settee. “I think she either was born deaf or lost her hearing with the fever she had when she arrived here. I know that fevers in children sometimes do that.”

He stood quickly and began to pace the room. “Children who cannot hear are usually placed in institutions, are they not?”

She refused to look away. “Sometimes. I would say nearly always, in the case of the underprivileged. Where the nobility are concerned, that decision would be strictly up to the parents.”

“I see.”

He stopped and faced her squarely, arms crossed over his chest, legs spread apart like a soldier ready for battle. He looked formidable and intimidating. She knew what was coming.

“Well, I absolutely refuse to have my daughter placed in an institution. It would tear us both apart. I’d rather she stay here for the remainder of her life and live as she is now, in my care.”

Caroline melted. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

His brows shot up. “Indeed.”

She rubbed her hands together in her lap, choosing her words cautiously. “Brent, Rosalyn is not stupid or insane, she is deaf. I would like your permission to teach her to communicate.”

He was taken aback by that. She could see it in his eyes. Then his lids narrowed as he began sauntering toward her.

“If she can’t talk or hear, Caroline,” he asked suspiciously, “how do you expect to accomplish this?”

Her expression became grim. “She can learn associations between objects, to move her lips to form words, to use gestures for meaning, to write. The possibilities are endless, I should think.”

He said nothing for a moment. Then Caroline raised herself until she stood only inches away, taking his warm, large hand in hers and squeezing it gently.

“I think Rosalyn is as quick-minded as any child her age,” she said passionately. “And if you allow her behavior to continue as it is now, if you only feed her and clothe her and let her run wild, you’ll be cheating her. She’s a beautiful girl and she deserves a better life than that.”

He stared at her for a long moment, taking in every feature of her face. Then slowly he raised her hand to his lips, kissing the inside of her wrist, lingeringly, making her knees weaken and her breath quicken. She tried to pull away, but he held tightly, the corners of his mouth turning up to form a lazy grin.

“You’d do this for us, little one?” he asked softly.

The intimacy entranced her. “I’ll do it for Rosalyn.”

He continued to watch her, clasping her hand, eyes darkening with intensity. Then without warning, he leaned in to brush his lips against her temple, and the suddenness coupled with the gentleness of the action made her powerless to his touch.

“If your ideas work,” he intimated with a feathery kiss to her cheek, “I’ll have to thank you”—kiss—“personally”—kiss—“and completely.” He ran his tongue from her jaw to her ear, gently sucking the lobe.

Caroline shuddered and instinctively leaned toward him, oblivious to all but his mouth on her skin.

Then he brought his lips to hers, kissing her fully, with no hint of passion, just pure tenderness and warmth. After several seconds he raised his head to peer into her eyes.

“One more thing, Caroline,” he whispered.

She blinked, dazed.

He grinned and cupped her face with his palms. “Rosalyn is not a flower. No experimenting on her without my approval, understood?”

She nodded and closed her eyes, waiting for his mouth to touch hers once again. But the action was fruitless, for at that moment he released her burning cheeks and swiftly walked to the study door.

“I’ll see you at dinner, Caroline, and wear something else,” he ordered casually, frankly. “Pink is for blondes.”

She reached for something—anything—to throw at his face, but her insufferable husband had already quit the room.

Chapter 8

F
or two weeks she worked diligently, only to find defeat at even the smallest attempt at getting her newly acquired daughter to just sit still in her presence.

Rosalyn spent most of her time with Nedda or running wild, even sleeping in the servants’ quarters, where she felt more comfortable. Caroline wanted to change that habit, though, for the girl was the daughter of an earl, regardless of her legitimacy, and she deserved her own room in the main house.

But that, along with everything else, would come with time. She acknowledged the difficulty of her task, feeling certain she would eventually see results, and finally, on the seventeenth day of her struggle, she made contact.

She and Nedda were sitting at the newly purchased dining-room table, sipping tea and discussing trivial household matters, when in came the girl, pouncing onto their housekeeper’s lap, eager for her usual afternoon snack, the fare of the day being raspberry cream tarts and lemon cakes. Still unsure of her stepmother, the child clung to Nedda and nervously watched her through piercing, hazel-green eyes.

Caroline had been avoiding the sweets, but this was a prime opportunity to attempt communication, and what better way to communicate with the child than on her level. That thought in mind, she reached for a tart, leaned her elbows on the table, and began to eat. Rosalyn did the same, and that made her grin in satisfaction.

“She looks a great deal like my husband, doesn’t she?”

Nedda smiled and wiped a stray hair from Rosalyn’s face. “She really looks more like his lordship’s late mother. The Lady Maude was beautiful, the rage of society in her day.”

Caroline, so engrossed in her own thoughts and work since her arrival, hadn’t given much consideration to Brent’s family. That was probably selfish, too, for she’d never asked him a thing about his childhood, his relationships with his friends, and now she was curious.

“Tell me about Lord Weymerth, Nedda. What was he like growing up?”

Nedda sighed. “Well, his childhood was the same as most men of his class, I suppose, except he was always so serious, so focused. He didn’t get on well with his mother; they were just too different, and he resented her involvement with the family.”

Caroline was confused. “What family?” She took a bite of her tart and studied her housekeeper, who now frowned in deep thought.

“Lady Maude was a bit…demanding,” Nedda continued carefully. “She had the ability to push people in whatever direction she chose for them, regardless of what they wanted.”

She picked up a napkin to wipe Rosalyn’s mouth, but the girl knocked her hand away and reached for a second tart.

“In any event, she was the reason his lordship began working for the government, why he was in France so much of the time.”

“But what about friends and”—she swallowed dryly—“the women in his life?”

Nedda regarded her, thinking. “Truthfully, Master Brent didn’t have many friends. He was always so…shy, so quiet as a child, preferring the company of Davis and his Arabians. Then when he left to study at university he became compulsively driven, absorbed in his work like a poor man hunting for gold, with no time to spare for anyone but himself.”

Caroline was shocked. “I didn’t know he was a scholar.”

Nedda looked at her strangely. “He has advanced degrees in both foreign government and French studies. He didn’t tell you?”

“I—I never asked.” She shook her head thoughtfully. “French studies? Is that the language or the people?”

Nedda smiled and placed her chin on Rosalyn’s head. “Both, I think. He studied the culture and the language. He speaks fluent French, my lady, and he does it so well you’d never know he was English.”

She gaped at her housekeeper. “I had no idea he was formally educated.”

“He’s more than educated,” Nedda divulged with wide eyes. “I think he’s just this side of brilliant, although I am quite prejudiced where Lord Weymerth is concerned.”

She watched the woman stuff her mouth with half a tart—her fifth in that sitting, Caroline mused. After swallowing hard and licking her lips, Nedda continued her tale.

“Your husband was a bit different as a child. Some even thought him unusual, but those who thought that didn’t really know him. He was clever but quiet, and he took to horses sure enough, although people didn’t seem to understand or like him much. Girls and then women especially.”

Caroline frowned and asked hesitantly, “What about Pauline Sinclair?”

Nedda puckered her face so tightly that Caroline almost broke out laughing.

“Miss Sinclair is brainless,” she said with complete distaste. “I only met her twice, and both times she concerned herself with nothing but her hair and fashions.” She shook her head and wiped crumbs off Rosalyn’s cheek. “I don’t know this for fact, but I think when she learned his lordship had an illegitimate child she conveniently changed her mind about marrying him. He hadn’t yet formally talked to her father, but he was about to, and everyone knew it.” She softened her voice. “I think it hurt him, too, but only because of his pride. To this day I’m not sure why he wanted to marry her.”

“Is she pretty?” she casually asked.

Nedda nodded. “Quite. Although Lord Weymerth would never marry a woman strictly for her appearance or social graces. Personally, I believe he was more concerned with getting an heir and a mother for Rosalyn, and she happened to be the first woman who really paid attention to him.” She exhaled a deep sigh. “I also think he was lonely.”

Caroline felt her first ever pang of deep-felt sympathy for her husband at that moment. She understood how it felt to be termed unusual and have few friends, what it was like to feel completely alone. In many ways her life paralleled her husband’s, and where she’d found comfort in her plants, he’d found it in his horses, his work.

But where women were concerned, she was quite sure he’d pushed prospective wives away as soon as he opened his mouth and discussed what was wrong with their appearance. Or perhaps he sat down with them and frankly explained how the bedding would take place on their wedding night. There was no way around his forthright nature, for it was simply the way he was.

Still, she couldn’t be the only woman alive who found him unbearably attractive. And having an illegitimate child was certainly undesirable in a prospective husband, but it could be overlooked if other conditions in the betrothal agreement were adequate and the bride’s family was compensated for the indiscretion. Many noblemen had bastard children, although truthfully, very few of them had them living under their roofs.

Nedda adjusted Rosalyn so that the child sat straighter on her lap and went on with her disclosure. “After the fiasco with Miss Sinclair, he turned his attention away from the ladies, away from finding a wife, and focused on his work and then the war. Until you came along, I was certain he’d never meet a woman who complemented his intense nature, who was perfect for him in so many ways.”

Caroline reached for her tea to hide her choked expression.

Nedda smiled again, hugged Rosalyn against her ample bosom, and leaned toward her. “Honestly, Lady Caroline, I’ve known Lord Weymerth almost all of his life and I’ve never seen him so confounded by a woman. You’ve certainly shaken him up, and for the better, I think. I know it’s none of my business, but I believe you’ve completely enchanted him.”

“We don’t even really know each other,” she whispered shakily, knowing it was a ridiculous thing to say to defend her position.

Nedda relaxed against the back of her chair, her expression growing serious. “The man you married is kind, understanding, and fiercely loyal. He’s confused by you, yes, and enthralled and uncertain, and even with his blunt nature, very shy. But he’s also a man—stubborn, demanding, and just as quick to show his temper as he is to hide his tender emotions.”

She tapped a thick finger on the table for emphasis. “He’s never cared deeply for any woman in his life, that I know. But I think if he knows you return the feeling, he will fall in love with you, deeply and passionately, and with a devotion even you probably won’t ever understand. It’s already happening. I can see it in his eyes when he looks at you, and quite honestly, I think that through all his efforts to deny it, he knows it, too. That’s why he’s scared.”

Caroline sat very still, her eyes wide open in absolute horror. If Nedda thought any affection between them was scary for Brent, she couldn’t possibly imagine how terrified it made her. Suddenly, urgently, she needed to get away.

Rosalyn stopped eating and looked at her strangely, sensing a change in mood. Caroline slowly stood and wiped her hands with a napkin, trying to control the trembling inside of her by forcing a smile.

“I just remembered something I have to do, Nedda.” She started for the door, and just as quickly Rosalyn was at her feet, pulling at her legs, squirming wildly.

Caroline abruptly stopped moving and stared down at her, stunned. Rosalyn clung to her tightly, a shrill, wailing noise emanating from her throat as she tugged at the hem of her gown in an attempt to keep her from leaving the room.

All other thoughts vanished as Caroline knelt beside the child, grasping her arms and pulling her up to stand in front of her, eye to eye. Rosalyn continued to struggle for several seconds, then gradually stilled and blew scraggly hair from her face to see better.

They looked at each other, Rosalyn red-faced and panting, Caroline determined but uncertain of what to do next. She’d never been so close and didn’t want to lose a chance like this. Nedda understood, it seemed, for the woman, bless her heart, sat silently, watching from her chair.

Caroline steadied herself and slowly released the girl, allowing her to stand on her own, praying she wouldn’t run. Then with the care and instinct that should have belonged to the woman who bore the beautiful child in front of her, she reached up with her right hand, tapped her chest three times with her palm and opened her arms.

Rosalyn blinked, unsure. Then, as if the sun had suddenly burst through the window to shine brilliantly into the room, it all became perfectly clear. Her mouth turned up slowly into a lovely, sweeping grin, and in one quick movement she threw her tiny body against her mother’s bosom, wrapping her arms around her neck to hug her fiercely.

“Oh, good heavens, I’ve never seen her do such a thing,” Nedda whispered, astonished.

Caroline held tightly, afraid to let go, and almost certain she was going to cry. “She’s hugging me, Nedda.”

Nedda shook her head. “I never thought I’d see the day when that child would respond instead of react. It’s almost as if she can think like a normal little girl.”

Caroline grinned joyously. “She is a normal little girl.”

And so the teaching began. It was a good two days before Caroline saw her pupil again for a long enough period to attempt any communication, but by the end of the week the child had attached herself permanently to her side, following her everywhere.

Rosalyn had always been difficult to keep clean because she was wild and allowed to behave that way, so Caroline took it upon herself to instill a few basic manners and introduce the girl to several daily necessities she’d sorely lacked in the first four years of her life.

She bathed the child herself every morning, Rosalyn fighting her ferociously the first three days. She then realized if she put cups and bubbles in the bathtub, they would distract the child long enough to get her clean.

She brushed and braided the girl’s unruly hair, kept her clothes presentable, and ordered Gwendolyn to have them cleaned and mended as needed. Only three weeks after their first hug in the dining room, everyone at Miramont saw a completely different child, and all were astounded at the transformation.

And Caroline pursued her efforts to make contact with the girl, pointing at things as she created words with her hands and arms for meaning. She started with small items—a bowl, a hairbrush, a bird, even a flower—gesturing over and over again. The only two things that truly exhausted her were the tantrums Rosalyn threw, born from frustration, and constantly saying no to the child by shaking her head and holding up her index finger in protest. She was forever saying the word, and after a month of constant work, she knew that Rosalyn understood there were things she could not do, places she could not go, and behaviors that were simply not allowed. Rosalyn was starting to learn, and through it all, her daughter by marriage trusted her implicitly.

So did her husband.

From the beginning he’d been dubious. Even the day she’d told him his daughter had hugged her in response to a gesture, he wasn’t convinced. Then he tried it himself, and when Rosalyn walked into his arms, Caroline was sure she had never seen a man so positively speechless.

From that point on he was her champion, allowing her freedom to work with the girl as she chose, watching her closely from time to time, though always keeping his distance. He’d curbed his male appetites as well, and for that she was both relieved and troubled. He talked to her only of Rosalyn or estate matters, never of their relationship, and Caroline wasn’t sure what to think of that, could not understand her feelings on the matter. Every once in a while he would kiss her, but the action was brief and affectionate, not filled with desire, and certainly not filled with love. If he felt anything akin to love, he hid it flawlessly. What bothered her deeply was not knowing whether her husband just didn’t want her as a woman anymore, or had taken her advice and was now pursuing the company of a mistress.

She was incensed at herself for caring either way.

Caroline knew she was losing perspective. The dream of her lifetime was only months away, and her impatience was getting the best of her. She’d done her part by initiating contact with those in America, and her plans were essentially set; now all she had to do was wait for a reply to be sure of the dates, to know when she could finally push her husband, his home, and his family from her mind to truly begin the life she’d envisioned since she was twelve years old. She just needed to hold on for another few weeks, which would undoubtedly be the longest of her life.