She raced to the stairs and headed to her bedchamber, and all the while, she scolded herself. She had to buck up and be satisfied with her lot. Caleb Ralston was like a sparkly object that Fate was dangling in front of her to tempt her in ways she shouldn’t be tempted.
He was excitement and fun and thrilling kisses in the dark, but Gregory was real life. Gregory was home and family and the world she’d been given by her grandfather. She’d taught herself to be content with that. She always had been and always would be.
“I have a question for both of you, and I’d like your opinion about it.”
“Yes, Caroline, what is it?”
Samson Grey peered at his son, Gregory, and they exchanged a patronizing smile. Caroline was a peculiar female, and it was always humorous to discover how her convoluted brain was churning away.
They were in the dining parlor, just the three of them with no guests stumbling in yet to eat breakfast. Three footmen hovered, ready to be helpful, and he bit down a smug nod of satisfaction. His father, Walter, had been a grouchy, unlikeable miser who had had his fingers in several very large pots of money, but he’d deemed the funds too ungodly to spend.
He’d forced them to stagger about like paupers, dressed in black as if they were Puritans in perpetual mourning. They’d had to sit through nightly Bible readings and listen to Walter’s constant admonitions to walk the straight and narrow. Heaven forbid that any of them exhibit a whiff of independence as Caroline’s father—his brother, Winston—had done.
Winston’s antics had driven the tightfisted penny-pincher to paroxysms of outrage, and it was such a relief to have the irksome codger dead. As to Samson, he wasn’t pious, wasn’t devout, and in his view, money wasn’t godly or ungodly. It was just money, and he had no qualms about using it to make his life pleasurable.
“I learned the most intriguing information yesterday,” Caroline said, “and I’m bewildered by it. Apparently, my old shipmate, Libby Carstairs, is in London and performing on the stage there. She’s very famous.”
“Oh, yes,” Gregory said. “She’s taken the city by storm.”
“I’m told that her notoriety is due to her telling stories about our ordeal.”
“Who told you that?” Samson asked.
“Gregory’s London friend, Mr. Ralston. He claims the tale has always riveted the country and that people never get tired of talking about it.”
“What a ridiculous assertion,” Samson said. “I have no idea why Mr. Ralston would have developed such a bizarre notion, but trust me, no one is tittering about your scandal.”
“It wasn’t a scandal, Uncle,” she mulishly said. “I wish you’d quit calling it that. I was simply a little girl who survived in mysterious circumstances and against all odds. I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t be so flippant about it.”
Samson never argued with her. She was a woman and not worth the wasted breath. He turned to Gregory and asked, “Son, are people fixated on Caroline’s ancient ordeal?”
“Gad, no. I can’t imagine Ralston believing such nonsense or feeling the need to convince Caroline of it.”
“I want to go to London,” Caroline blatantly announced.
“Whatever for?” Gregory inquired.
“I’d like to visit Libby. I’d like to find out how she’s fared over the years.”
Gregory peeked over at Samson, then said, “I don’t see why we can’t arrange a trip for you.”
Samson hid a grin and dug into his food. Gregory would never take Caroline to town. He would never arrange a trip. He had a life there and a life at Grey’s Corner, and they would never intersect. Caroline didn’t understand that reality though, so it was easy to distract her and have her assume they’d agreed.
They would never draw attention to the fact that she was a Lost Girl from that stupid shipwreck. They’d worked hard to ensure there were no reminders of it.
His father, Walter, had tamped them down because he’d viewed her parents as sinners whom the Good Lord had killed as punishment. Samson and Gregory had a more selfish interpretation of it. They couldn’t have anyone looking too closely at Caroline and wondering what sort of estate or Last Will her father might have left behind.
“I’m very anxious about London,” she said, “so I’d like to go right away. Could we manage it the week after the ceremony?”
“That would be fine,” Gregory said. “Perhaps we could ride to London together once I head back.”
“I’d like that very much. Thank you.” Caroline nodded, evidently deeming the topic resolved. He and Gregory might have relaxed, but she added, “There’s another matter too.”
Gregory chuckled. “Will it give me indigestion?”
They got along like fond siblings, which a more romantic person might have declared to be an awful basis for a marriage. Not Samson though. He was a happy widower who, on his father’s advice, had shackled himself to a vicious termagant, and he thought fondness was a terrific foundation for a couple.
“It might upset your stomach,” she said and, without pausing, she asked, “Have you been gambling?”
For an instant, Gregory froze, then he shook off his stupor. “No. Where did you hear that?”
“From Mr. Ralston again.”
Samson jumped in. “If that’s even remotely true, then you’re spending too much time gossiping with him.”
Caroline was undeterred, and she glared at Gregory. “After everyone went to bed, were you wagering for high stakes in a rear parlor?”
“It was just for pennies, Caroline,” Gregory claimed. “You needn’t fret over it.”
“I am fretting. I won’t have a husband who’s a gambler.” She shifted her cool gaze to Samson and said, “You can’t be excited about this. Please tell me you’re on my side.”
“I’m absolutely on your side.” He glared at Gregory too. “You haven’t been gambling, have you, Gregory?”
“No more than anybody else.”
“There can’t be any gambling,” Samson said. “I’m sorry, but Caroline is correct to worry about this. It’s not like you to be so foolish, and I have to put my foot down.”
“Your wish is my command,”
