“For pity’s sake,” Blake scolded. “Make a decision about her. Either go and fetch her away or forget about her and we’ll keep on. What’s it to be?”
Caleb allowed a lovely vision to unfold, of his racing to the house, then running through the halls until he located her. They would jump on his horse and gallop into the sunset—as if they were characters in a romantic novel. But this wasn’t a fictional story. This wasn’t a fantasy. This was real life.
He was Caleb Ralston, a man who owned a gambling business in town, and he needed to get to it.
“Let’s keep on,” he said.
He yanked on the reins, kicked his horse into a canter, and loped away without glancing back again.
Caroline sat in her bedchamber, staring out the window and trying to muster the energy to get on with her morning.
It was Saturday, which would have been her wedding day, but now, it was no different from any other day. She was greatly relieved by that fact, but suffering incredible guilt too. She always hated to upset others, and her uncle was furious.
The only way she could soothe his temper was to proceed with the ceremony, but she kept refusing, so he’d resorted to shouts and threats. His behavior was so disheartening that she’d begun hiding in her room to avoid him.
The guests had departed, so the manor seemed inordinately somber, as if someone had died. It felt as if she had died. Caleb Ralston had burst into her life and forced her to look at her circumstances. The end result was that she couldn’t continue down the path she’d been traveling. She’d finally taken charge and had focused on what she really wanted for herself, that being Caleb Ralston.
Wasn’t that the most foolish dream ever?
How could he ride off without her? She’d perceived their powerful bond. How could he not have perceived it with the same intensity?
Since he’d fled, she hadn’t stopped pondering him for a single second, and she wondered if he ever thought of her. In her more gullible moments, she’d persuade herself he hadn’t meant to go, so he’d return for her. Then she’d come to her senses.
He was a rich, handsome bachelor. He had a thriving business in the city where he was surrounded by glamorous, sophisticated women. Why would she—provincial, boring Caroline Grey—have tantalized him?
He’d made no promises, had declared no heightened affection. They’d shared numerous torrid kisses, but that was it.
A knock sounded on the door, and she called, “Yes, who is it?”
A housemaid peeked in. “Are you all right, Miss Caroline? Mrs. Scruggs sent me to check on you. You didn’t come down to breakfast, and she was worried.”
“I wasn’t hungry.”
“It’s almost eleven,” the maid said. “Would you like me to bring you a tray?”
“No. I’ll be down soon. If I decide to eat, I’ll head directly to the kitchen.”
“It’s clear you’re not your usual self today, so I can’t bear to distress you further, but there’s something you should know. Mrs. Scruggs ordered me to leave you be, but I couldn’t. This is too important.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Miss Janet didn’t sleep in her bed last night. When I went in to light the fire this morning, she wasn’t there. The covers hadn’t even been mussed.”
“She wasn’t. . . there?”
“No, and it appeared she’d packed some of her clothes. I’m afraid to speculate over what it indicates.”
“Oh, no,” Caroline murmured, and she recollected Janet’s odd remark where she’d had to be sure the Saturday wedding was cancelled, that her presence wouldn’t be required.
“She left a note for you on her pillow,” the maid said. “We’ve been debating whether to show it to you. As I mentioned, we’re loathe to bother you when your mood is so low.”
She held it out, and Caroline walked over to retrieve it. She flicked the seal, blanching with alarm when she saw what Janet had penned.
I’ve moved to London to make my way there. I will provide you with my address once I know what it is. I hope you’ll join me in town after I’m settled. You’ll always be welcome. . .
Caroline gaped at the words, reading and re-reading them as if they were written in a foreign language she didn’t comprehend. What was Janet thinking?
Janet had argued with her father about the prospect of living in the city, but Caroline had assumed Janet was simply needling Uncle Samson. It had never occurred to her that Janet would actually pick up and go.
She sighed with regret, and the maid asked, “Is it bad news?”
“Yes, it’s bad. You were correct about Janet. She’s run away to London.”
“By herself?” The maid was aghast. “I don’t imagine her father will be too happy about it.”
Caroline chuckled miserably. “That’s a gross understatement.”
“Will you come down and inform him, Miss Caroline?”
“I suppose I’d better.”
Footsteps echoed in the hall, and Caroline’s pulse raced. Whenever someone approached, her immediate thought was that it would be Caleb. But it was a footman.
“Miss Caroline, your uncle requested I fetch you down to the library. He has to speak with you right away.”
“I was just about to attend him,” she said. “Tell him I’ll be there shortly.”
She eased away and shut the door, trying to ignore their concerned expressions. She was pale and sickly, and the staff had to be gossiping about her. She’d like to proclaim that she wasn’t ill. She’d merely had her heart broken, and there was no cure for her terrible affliction.
She’d fallen madly in love with Caleb Ralston, and she couldn’t cope with the sentiment rocking her. She had to privately mourn the loss of him, and eventually, her despondency would wane. At least she expected it would wane. A person couldn’t be this dejected forever. Could she be?
She checked her reduced condition in the mirror, and she pinched her cheeks and straightened a comb to hold her chignon more firmly in place. Then she headed
