Time After Time (227 page)

She stopped in front of Mac. “Keep well, Mac.”

The Scotsman, the one who’d been most vocal about having a woman on board, blushed, his bushy mustache a slash of white on his scarlet face. He looked down at his feet then back at her. “It’s been a pleasure,” he said and took to his heels, his body tense with embarrassment that anyone should see his softer side.

Tristan almost smiled. Almost.

She approached Jemmy and held out her arms. The boy rushed into them. “And you, you little monkey, be a good boy. Learn your lessons well.” A lump rose to Tristan’s throat, bigger than before. He couldn’t speak if he wanted to. “I expect to see you sailing this ship in a few years.”

“Aye, Miss Cara.” The boy grinned, his eyes full of adoration; then he scurried away to climb the rigging, not the reaction Tristan had expected at all. Perhaps he didn’t understand Caralyn wouldn’t be coming back.

Tristan waited, his muscles tense, his mouth set in a grim line as Caralyn picked up her valise and slowly walked toward him. This was it. She’d saved her last goodbye for him. He didn’t think he could bear the sorrow filling his heart.

“I must go. I . . .”

She couldn’t finish the sentence and he didn’t want her to. Her eyes, the color of the deep blue sea, sparkled with unshed tears as she kissed his lips one last time, oblivious to anyone who might be watching. For once, Temperance, right beside her, remained silent, the expression of censure she usually wore gone from her face.

He’d been so wrong. A woman’s touch,
this
woman’s touch, could and did compare to the spray of spindrift on his face, the thrill of battling the elements in the middle of the ocean.

My God, what will I do without her?

“Don’t go,” he blurted out, unable to help himself.

“I must.” Her voice lowered then cracked as she said, “But I will come back, if I am able. You have my promise.”

“I’ll wait for you.”

Tristan watched her leave the ship and climb into the hired carriage. How deeply he’d fallen, so deeply he was willing to give up everything for her, his Cara mia. Once again, the thought of renouncing his title and letting his younger brother take the reins and the responsibility flashed through his mind. His father would never allow it. As the first-born, the earldom belonged to him.

“Is she gone?” Graham sidled up beside him and gripped the rail.

Tristan said nothing for a long time as the carriage bearing his happiness rolled over the cobblestoned street. “Yes. Stitch and Temperance are accompanying her.”

“What now?”

Tristan turned to him. A persistent pain ripped through him from the region of his heart. He stiffened against the ache and wondered, briefly, if the sorrow would ever subside or if it would remain with him for the rest of his life. After all these years, he’d finally found the woman he knew was meant for him—and he had to give her up, had to let her go. “Take the ship. Burn it. Sell it. Sail it around the world. I don’t give a damn. She’s yours to do with as you will.”

He left the deck and sought sanctuary in the cabin where they’d spent so much time together, but the fragrance of her perfume hit him with all the weight of an anchor being dropped into the water.

He could go after her, could steal her away from the man she was promised to marry, and yet, he did nothing. He slumped into the chair and held his head in his hands. “Goodbye, Cara mia,” he whispered. But even as he said the words, hope still dwelled in his heart. She said she would come back and if—when—she did, he would be ready.

He grabbed paper, ink, and a pen and dashed off notes to his father.

• • •

As the wheels of the hired carriage rolled over the cobbled stone, Caralyn sat in the corner of the coach. She hadn’t looked back after she left the ship, afraid her resolve would soften and she’d tell Tristan of her plan to drop a bag of gold in front of the earl and demand to be released from her father’s promise. But she couldn’t tell him, not until she knew for certain the earl would accept her offer.

She didn’t speak to her companions, who sat across from her now, didn’t even look at them. She couldn’t. Unshed tears stung her eyes, tears she couldn’t release, fearful that if she started crying, she’d never be able to stop.

She twisted her gloved fingers around the silk ropes of her reticule and called herself every kind of fool.

She shouldn’t have fallen in love with the captain, but how could she help herself? The man was everything she’d always wanted—handsome, gentle, and compassionate, full of integrity and a spirit for adventure that matched her own.

Not only had she fallen in love with Tristan, but with his son as well. Jemmy reminded her of her brother, Charles, when he was younger—so much so it hurt. She closed her eyes, forcing the tears away, calling upon every fiber in her being to give her strength.

Caralyn wasn’t even aware the carriage had stopped, so lost was she in her own misery.

“Cara.” Temperance reached out to touch her hand and Caralyn jumped, startled by the light touch. “We’re here.”

The door opened and the driver placed a wooden box beneath the portal. He held out his hand. Caralyn grabbed it as if her sanity depended on it and stepped down to the street in front of an imposing brick building. A wrought iron fence surrounded a small flower garden where roses bloomed in a profusion of red, pink, and yellow, but she didn’t see any of the colors, only the massive iron gate that led to a flagstone walkway and the two crouching lions that flanked it.

Caralyn let out her breath in a huff as the driver deposited her trunks beside the door. He nodded to her, touched the brim of his hat then climbed into his seat. The carriage creaked as he took up the reins and settled himself.

“Will you be all right?” Stitch leaned out the carriage window, drawing her attention away from the stone lions.

Temperance’s head poked out beside his. As a last moment decision, her companion was refusing the salary Caralyn’s brother had promised her. Between her share of Izzy’s Fortune and Stitch’s, neither one would ever have to worry about money again. “I can stay, if you’d like, Cara. Brady will stay as well, won’t you, dear?”

“Of course,” the man answered. “For as long as you need us.”

Unsure and nervous, questions rumbling through her mind at breakneck speed, Caralyn’s entire body trembled with apprehension. Whose home was this? What kind of reception would she receive? She should have been here months ago; how could she explain she’d gone on an adventure without telling a soul? And how could she tell her companions her stomach was one giant knot, that if she let herself think, she might run screaming into the fog-shrouded street? She shivered, but it had nothing to do with the chill air.

Temperance and Stitch had plans. Within the next few weeks, they’d be moving to an estate the good doctor had purchased years ago but had never resided in. He planned to finish the book he’d been writing about searching for hidden treasure. “No, I’ll be all right, but thank you both. For everything.”

“It is I who should be thanking you,” Temperance said, her voice hoarse. Tears sparkled in her eyes, making them luminous behind the lenses of her glasses. “If it weren’t for you, I’d never have met Brady.”

Caralyn swallowed hard over the lump in her throat. “It was a grand adventure, wasn’t it? I shall miss you, but I’ll enjoy reliving our time together once your book is published, Stitch. And I have your address. We’ll write to each other, and of course, we’ll visit once we’re all settled.”

She kissed them both then tapped her hand against the side of the carriage, signaling the driver. The conveyance pulled away. Bereft, frightened so much her entire body shuddered, Caralyn faced the imposing front door of the manse. Ornately carved, with knockers made to resemble lion’s heads, the twin portals were at least twelve feet in height. She took a deep breath, raised her hand, and grasped the handle hanging from the lion’s mouth, but she couldn’t bring herself to knock.

Her heart beat a swift cadence in her chest. Though encased in soft kid gloves, her palms were damp. Indeed, despite the coolness of the fog shrouding her surroundings, perspiration trickled between her breasts. Torn between her desire to return to Tristan and her duty, she stood in perfect stillness for a moment longer before she let the handle drop.

The door swung open to reveal a man who stood so stiffly, Caralyn wondered if a pole extended up his back.

“I am Caralyn McCreigh.”

“Yes, milady. We’ve been expecting you.” He bowed then smiled as he gestured to a footman to take her trunks. “If you’ll follow me, please.” He bowed again then led her into the great hall and guided her into a small parlor. “If you’ll wait here a moment, Her Grace will be with you shortly.”

Caralyn tossed her reticule on the settee and looked around the room decorated cheerfully in reds, golds, and greens in the richest brocades and softest velvets. Flames crackled and popped in the fireplace, lending warmth to the room, a warmth she didn’t feel. She glanced at the portrait above the mantle and gasped.

Confusion created a deep furrow in her brow and made her eyes squint as she studied the portrait. With certainty, she knew she’d never posed for it so the question remained, how was it done and why was it here?

She felt a presence behind her but couldn’t take her eyes away from the portrait. Without knowing whom she addressed, she had to ask, “Why is there a portrait of me here in a home I’ve never been?”

“My dear child,” the voice shook the slightest bit but still rang with authority. “That is not you. I had this portrait commissioned as a wedding gift for my late husband, the Duke of Lion’s Mead. I was just a few years younger than you are now.” The voice came closer and a hand rested easily on Caralyn’s shoulder.

Neither alarmed nor frightened, but extremely curious, Caralyn turned around. Her eyes widened as she took in the vision before her. She could have been looking in a mirror for staring back at her were her own eyes, her own smile, though the hair piled on her head was snow white.

“The resemblance is uncanny, wouldn’t you agree, Cara?” The woman quirked an eyebrow and took a slow step away.

“Who are you?”

“Of course. You wouldn’t know, would you? I am Caralyn DeMarshe, dowager duchess of Lion’s Mead. You were named for me. You may call me Grandmama.”

“You are my grandmother?”

“Yes, I am.”

No sooner had the duchess said the words than the room started to swirl and tilt, colors passing before Caralyn’s eyes in a kaleidoscope as a wave of dizziness overwhelmed her. Actually, it all overwhelmed her—finding the treasure, saying goodbye to Tristan and Jemmy, leaving the ship. Tears blurred her vision even as the room seemed to grow darker.

“Oh my. I never thought . . . it’s almost too much, isn’t it?” the duchess asked, her voice kind as she led Caralyn toward a chaise lounge beside the fire. “But a DeMarshe woman never faints.” She crossed the room to a small round table, pulled the stopper from a crystal bottle, and poured a small splash of brandy into a matching cut crystal snifter. “Drink this,” she said and handed the glass to her.

Caralyn swallowed the liquor, feeling the warmth settle in her stomach. The room stopped spinning. She took a moment and studied the regal woman before her, but hardly had time to gather her shattered wits when she heard the familiar quick footsteps and the sweet, dulcet tones of her mother’s voice.

“She’s here?” A moment later, the door swung open and her mother swept into the room, a huge smile on her face though her lovely eyes shimmered with tears. “Cara!”

Caralyn jumped from the chaise lounge despite feeling lightheaded and ran into her mother’s open arms. “Oh, Mama!”

“So much as happened since you left me that horrible note and ran away!” Elizabeth said as she grabbed Caralyn’s icy hands and led her toward a settee. “Your father, bless his irritating heart, arranged all of this. I didn’t agree with what he had done, but I have forgiven him, just as I’ve forgiven you.” She glanced toward the duchess. The smile on her face lit up the entire room as she held out her hand. “Your grandmother and I have been reunited. We’ve been making up for lost time while we waited for you, and now you are here. Three generations of DeMarshe women in one room. I never thought I’d live to see this.”

“Where is Papa?”

“He went hunting, of all things! I have never known the man to hunt. He’s always been a sailor. But he’ll be back very soon. Now, tell us everything! Was it a grand adventure?”

Chapter 20

“Ouch!” Caralyn yelped and jumped as yet another pin jabbed her.

“Please, Miss, you must try to stay still,” the seamstress plying the pins admonished her.

Properly reprimanded, Caralyn concentrated on not moving a muscle, yet every time a door slammed or she heard a male voice, she wanted to bolt. Waiting to speak to her father had become an exercise in utter frustration, and her patience had worn thin.

Caralyn took a deep breath and kept her eyes closed as a team of seamstresses, hired by the duchess, pinned and pulled fabric, dressed and undressed her. She didn’t want to see any of the elaborate gowns, didn’t want to participate in the experience that only reminded her how much her heart hurt.

A sigh did escape her, though. Not a moment belonged to her. This dress fitting was just another example. From dawn until hours past midnight, the duchess delighted in introducing Caralyn to aunts and uncles and cousins she never knew existed. And all seemed to conspire to keep her from doing as her heart desired most—finding the Earl of Winterbourne, gaining her freedom, and returning to Tristan.

Three days had come and gone since she stood on the steps to her grandmother’s house—three days of regaling relatives with her search for Izzy’s Fortune and her high adventure. And with each passing moment, her heart broke a little more. She had tried bribing the household staff to give her an address for the earl’s estates, but none would give her the information she needed. The staff adored the duchess and wouldn’t risk raising her ire. Caralyn’s one attempt at leaving the house and hiring a carriage had failed miserably. She’d been caught by none other than the duchess herself and quickly whisked away to another tea.