At the thought of her fleeing, he was actually a tad morose, and he asked, “Would you call me Caleb?”
“No, but I’m flattered that you suggested it.”
Without thinking, he clasped hold of her hand. She froze, and he froze too, those pesky sparks flying again.
“Stay,” he murmured.
“To do what?”
“Sit down, and I’ll show you.”
“I’ll just bet you would.”
She yanked away and hurried off. As she reached the stairs, he said, “Caro?”
“What?”
“Let’s sneak out to the gazebo every evening that I’m in residence.”
She gasped with offense. “You and I? Sneak off together? You are mad. I’m convinced of it, and I am about to marry.”
Then she vanished.
He dawdled in the dark, listening as her strides faded. When it was completely silent again, he rose to his knees, his elbows balanced on the rail so he could stare out at the lake.
“What am I doing here?” he asked the quiet night, but the night had no answer.
His doldrums would improve the next day, once his brother, Blake, arrived. He felt better when Blake was around to guard his back. With Blake present, he wouldn’t be so adrift, and Blake would tell him that Gregory deserved his dire fate. Blake would tell him not to waffle, not to second-guess.
Blake was a great judge of human nature, so he would be right.
Caroline strolled down the empty hall. It was very late, the party over, everyone in bed. Mr. Ralston wasn’t the only one plagued by occasional insomnia. With so many guests in the house, the energy in the air was all wrong, and she couldn’t sleep.
She’d given up and had snuck down to wander and snoop. It was a habit she’d commenced when she’d first returned from the Caribbean. She’d been whisked away from Libby and Joanna without having the chance to say goodbye. It was a cruel act that still haunted her.
She’d been sent to live with her Grandfather Walter. He’d been vicious and unpleasant, and so were the servants. They’d gaped at her as if she were an alien creature, so she’d had no allies in the manor. Gregory and Janet had resided with their father, Samson, at his property several miles away. They’d rarely visited, so there had been no children with whom she could play.
The place had been lonely and frightening. She’d mostly hidden in the nursery, tended by various grouchy nannies, then a succession of lazy, incompetent governesses.
The nights had been the worst. The ancient mansion creaked and groaned, and she’d been terrified that ghosts were stalking her. She’d begun meandering through the downstairs parlors, and it was odd to admit, but she took great solace from sitting in the chilly rooms when there was no one to spy and tattle.
Her conduct felt illicit and dangerous, and the joy she received from her petty insubordination always had her wondering what sort of person she was deep down. If left to her own devices, what mischief might she pursue? It was a liberating question.
She tiptoed into a deserted salon and walked over to the window to gaze at the moon shining over the park. Her mind was awhirl with problems.
She had to speak with Gregory about his gambling. She had to press him for answers about their finances, as well as how he expected them to carry on once they were married. She thought he should sell his bachelor’s lodging in town and come home. As his wife, she had the right to make that demand, didn’t she?
She had to chat with Uncle Samson too. After she was wed, she’d be the official lady of the house. Would she have full authority? Would he agree to cede any?
And what about her cousin, Janet? Janet viewed herself as a liberal blue-stocking, so she was refusing to ever wed. Should Caroline interfere in that situation? Should she persuade her uncle to choose a husband for Janet anyway? Or should she ignore it?
What about Libby Carstairs? Evidently, Libby was performing on the stage in London. She was a celebrity who’d grown famous from sharing stories about their tribulations in the Caribbean, which was such a shocking revelation.
Though she’d always deemed it to be peculiar, Caroline’s family treated her experience as a shameful secret. They’d warned her to never discuss her past, to never tell people who she was. For the most part, she didn’t. The older neighbors knew her history, but it was never mentioned, so she felt as if the tragedy had been her fault.
She never went to London, but should she ask to go? Gregory had a residence there, and she was about to be his bride. Why shouldn’t a trip be permitted?
She wanted to be with Libby so badly that it was like an ache in her heart. If Libby was singing songs about their ordeal, she couldn’t have forgotten any of it. Surely she’d remember Caroline. They could become friends again, and Libby would commiserate over what Caroline’s life had been like after they’d been brought home.
She laid her palm on the cool glass of the window, and she sent a quiet wish out to the universe that she’d find a way to connect with Libby. If she insisted on going to London, her uncle and Gregory would be stunned, but she wasn’t a prisoner at Grey’s Corner.
Who was there to stop her from contacting Libby? Perhaps Janet would like to accompany her to town. Janet’s presence would calm any reservations her uncle or Gregory might voice.
Excitement flooded through her, and she murmured, “I’ll come to London. I swear I’ll figure out how!”
From behind her, a man said, “Who are you talking to?”
She jumped a foot and whipped around. Caleb Ralston was seated on the sofa and staring at the hearth where no fire burned.
“Why are you lurking in here all by yourself?” she asked. “It’s horrendously rude of you not to have spoken up immediately. You scared me to death!”
“I see that, and you haven’t
