The memory was still humiliating, and he’d sworn he’d never set foot there ever again.
“Reflect on it for me,” Jacob said, “and I’ll invite Sybil. I’ll suggest she nag at you. As I recall, she’s very effective at getting what she wants.” He stood and gave a mock salute. “I’ll be in town this whole week.”
“I’m here every evening.”
“I’ll catch Miss Carstairs’s performance at the theater. I might even ask to meet her afterward.”
“She’s a siren who lures sailors to their doom. Be careful around her. She might suck you into a vortex you didn’t intend.”
“I won’t let her doom me, but I would like to chat with her about Father.”
“If she provides any interesting details, I can’t wait to hear them.”
They stared for ages, then Jacob said, “I’ve decided we should be friends. I’m planning on it.”
“Maybe.” Caleb was more tentative. “We’ll see how it plays out.”
Jacob walked out the door, and Caleb relaxed in his seat, listening as his booted strides faded down the hall. The silence enveloped him, then a few minutes later, Sybil rushed in.
“You didn’t fight with him!”
“We were tediously polite.”
“We have to attend his house party. You realize that, don’t you?”
“We’ll talk about it.”
“Yes, we will,” she said like a threat.
She spun and dashed out. He loafed in his chair, drinking his whiskey, and mulling life in general.
He should be friendly with Jacob, shouldn’t he? The man had made the first move. Why not be cordial? When all the guilty people were dead, why bicker?
He felt his father’s ghost swirling, his father’s hand shifting them into the correct positions so they would cross paths. Jacob Ralston. Jacob’s sisters. Caroline Grey. Perhaps Libby Carstairs too. Where would it lead?
If Miles was truly guiding them, what was his purpose? Caleb supposed, if he didn’t at least try to answer that question, his father would haunt him forever.
Caroline was in her bedchamber and gazing out at the garden. It was very quiet, and the situation was eerily similar to the years when she’d lived with her grandfather.
She’d frequently been punished for small infractions—tearing her dress, scuffing her shoe—and she’d been locked in her room for days on end, with the rare servant visiting to check on her.
She’d learned to be content on her own, to relish the solitude.
She was locked in now too. Her uncle had come by occasionally to confer with her, and though she’d demanded he let her out, he’d refused. She probably could have physically wrestled with him to escape, but she wasn’t a brawler, so she hadn’t.
It was like being trapped in a peculiar dream, one where she’d been thrust back to her childhood: imprisoned in her room, without a friend in the manor to worry about her. The only difference was that her uncle didn’t shout and lash out as her grandfather used to do.
He simply droned on in his cold, incessant way about how much she owed him. She would cock her head and study him, anxious to figure out how it would conclude. She sensed that her fate was about to be sealed, and it would be in a manner she wouldn’t like.
She’d grown so introspective that she hadn’t told him about Janet. Had the servants informed him she’d fled? Had he noticed she’d vanished? Or was he so fixated on Caroline that he wasn’t concerned about his daughter?
What was his goal in treating her like this? How long would she be confined? He likely assumed his conduct would force her to relent and change her mind, but it wouldn’t, so how would they resolve it?
If he ever deigned to release her, their amicable relationship had been shattered. How would they reside in the same house? She’d be afraid every second that she’d be punished again for the slightest gaffe.
Footsteps sounded in the hall, but they were soft and furtive, as if someone was tiptoeing toward her. She braced, unnerved over what was about to transpire. The key was inserted and turned, then the door was opened. The housekeeper, Mrs. Scruggs, peeked in.
“Mrs. Scruggs?” Caroline said. “It’s lovely to finally see you. I was wondering if you’d been apprised of where I was.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner,” the older woman replied, “but your uncle has been watching us like a hawk.”
“You’re here now.”
Mrs. Scruggs flitted inside and closed the door. She was carrying a portmanteau. She put it on the floor, then hurried over to Caroline and clasped her hands. “We don’t have much time, so I have to be blunt. I’ve arranged for you to sneak away.”
“From. . . my room? Good. I’m weary of being a prisoner.”
“Not your room, Miss Caroline. You need to leave Grey’s Corner. A footman eavesdropped on your uncle and Mr. Gregory. They’re planning to have you committed to an insane asylum.”
Caroline gasped. “On what grounds?”
“They claim you’re suffering from hysteria. Their proof is that you won’t marry Gregory. To them, it’s bizarre behavior, so they feel you’ve had a complete mental breakdown. They’re positive they can convince a judge.”
Caroline shook her head. “I don’t understand any of this.”
“Neither do I, but you have to depart immediately. I bribed a footman to whisk you away.”
“But. . . but. . . where would I go?”
“I thought you could catch the mail coach to London. Perhaps you could stay with Miss Janet? I’m sure she would hide you from them.”
“I’m sure she would too, but I have no idea where she is.”
“You could find out, couldn’t you?” Mrs. Scruggs wrung her hands. “You could place an advertisement in the newspaper or. . . or. . .” She cut off and patted her flushed cheeks. “I simply know we can’t let them succeed. We’d never get you out of there.”
“I should speak to my uncle. I’ll stop his mischief.”
“No, no, you shouldn’t! You should be safely away first, then I’ll consult with the vicar and some of the neighbors. I’ll seek their advice. We have to enlist some help—from people who are more influential than we are. You and I don’t have
