To Catch a Lady (24 page)

“If I have to spend another day in this house, I shall go mad,” Caro said. She was propped up in the east sitting room, pillows all around her, pressing down on her. She felt like a rat in a trap.

“Of course you will, sister,” Beatrice said. She was seated in the chaise across from Caro, watching their mother at the table, working on her latest obsession. Sarah had decided to write every member of Parliament single-handedly and complain about the treatment of women in the courts.

“You know what the physician told you,” Amelia said.

“Yes, I know,” Caro huffed. “But blast it all, he's not the one who has to sit here day after day, staring at these same four walls.”

“As if you did,” Bea said, turning the page on her periodical. “You never stay in one place longer than an hour.”

“Oh, hush, you terrible sister.”

Since she'd fainted on the day she'd returned to Summerton, Caro's life had not been her own. Of course, it wouldn't have been so bad if it had been the one episode. Twice more she'd gone down, only to wake up the last time with the dowager duchess's personal physician at her side. Mr. Hemingway was very insistent that Caro remain in bed for the remainder of her pregnancy.

Of course, her family had made it their life's mission to keep her off of her feet as much as possible. She did her best to outmaneuver them, but it had been no easy task—like early that morning when she'd managed to tiptoe all the way to the front landing before her cursed sister caught her. Beatrice had been sneaking back in after an all-night rally at the Ladies' Intervention Society.

Caro closed her eyes, remembering the shocked and then triumphant expression on her sister's face as she stood barefooted, shoes in her hands, trying to sneak into the house while Caro was intent on sneaking out.

“Ha! I've caught you, you wretched girl!” Beatrice shouted.

“Ha yourself, Bea. It looks as if I've caught you as well.”

“Haruumph! You were trying to get out,” Beatrice said, chin up in the air.

“Well, you were trying to get in. And when Amelia finds you out, she's going to raise the ceiling all the way to the third floor.”

It had been a mighty standoff, and if Amelia hadn't appeared at the very next moment, there was no telling where their argument might have led them. Now both of them were on house confinement.

“This is all your fault,” Beatrice hissed when Amelia left the room.

“Mine? If you were a proper young lady, this never would have happened.”

“Or they would have found you out on the lawn, dead from exhaustion.”

“That's ridiculous. I haven't had a spell in quite a while. My word, there's nothing wrong with a pregnant woman sitting in the garden.”

“But Mr. Hemingway said—”

“I don't care what that blasted fool said. I want sunshine, fresh air—anything but staring at these four walls day in and day out.”

“Really? You're not saying you prefer being in the wilderness, are you?”

Caro grimaced but said nothing. Once her mother's condition had started to improve, she'd wanted more than anything to return to Slyddon Castle. To see that ratty old building, the rambunctious hounds, the sheep, even Hamlet the goat, for Heaven's sake. She even missed the hunters traipsing through the castle at all hours.

Although she was still hurt by Ash's treatment of her, she missed him terribly and wanted badly to give him a piece of her mind. A very large piece.

She'd been locked away for months now, and her delivery date was drawing near. She knew she risked a great deal even walking to the garden. Traveling all the way back to Slyddon was out of the question.

Her only hope was that her boneheaded husband would come to his senses and return to London. He had to come, she thought. At least for the birth of his child.

That, and the possibility that she might not survive the delivery. “I must tell him how sorry I am,” she muttered to herself. “I simply cannot die without saying good-bye.”

It was raining the day that Ash arrived in London. But then, it rained most days in London. The cold cut through him like a knife. Or maybe it was the cold dread that was building up in his blood.

In the end it had taken him a full week to decide to come. He'd packed and unpacked so many times over the many months that had passed. At least he'd been able to come up with ideas for gifts. He'd missed the holidays, something he hadn't done since the war. It made little difference, though. Once Amelia was finished with him, all the gifts in the world would make no difference.

But it was a new year, and in the spirit of the season, he thought it best to try to calm the waters, anyway.

Arriving at the front gate, he was once again taken back by the sight of the grand hall of Summerton. Unlike a lot of the titled estates, it hadn't been built to exhibit wealth or to be pretentious. It was a grand old lady, and one who demanded respect. And respect her he did.

He remembered arriving as a child at the estate for the first time, after his parents had died. His cousin, Stephen, had met him in the door of the schoolroom and informed him that he was the future duke and that Ash would have to polish his boots.

Of course, Ash wanted no part of it. He drew back his fist and punched the other boy right in the nose, declaring he wasn't ever going to polish anyone's boots. Stephen had not put up with his insolence, and proceeded to try to teach him how to talk to his betters. A rousing eight-year-old brawl ensued, and it took two grooms to break it up.

Ash's aunt was not one to take such behavior lightly; she sentenced both of them to scrub the ballroom floor on hands and knees. During their punishment, of course, the two boys became friends, and for many years, whenever they would raise a glass together, they would recall that day.

Ash sighed. It seemed he had been much better at mending relationships in those days. Giving his horse over to a stable boy, he walked toward the main house, climbed the marble steps, and opened the front door.

“Your Grace.” Mr. Huggins, his aunt's doorman, bowed low.

“Hello, Arthur, I hope you're faring well.”

“I am very good, sir. And you?”

“Tired after my trip, but I know my aunt won't give me any peace until she's had her fuss over me.”

“Oh, well…” The doorman's face clouded. “She's a bit preoccupied right now, Your Grace.”

“Another lady's assembly, no doubt.”

“Uh…no, sir. She's attending the blessed event, sir.”

“Blessed what?” Ash stopped, an uncomfortable feeling wrapping around his spine. “Speak plainly.”

“Uh, well, sir—your wife. She's delivering your heir, I believe.”

“What? She's yet another month.” Ash pushed his hat and coat into the doorman's hands.

“I do believe that's what your aunt said, but your wife says the baby has other intentions. That he was a pigheaded, ill-tempered sot, just like his father. Um, Your Grace.”

Ash didn't wait to hear any more, but ran down the hall toward the stairs, then took them two and three at a time until he reached the top.

“Aaaahhhhhh!”

“Caroline!” Ash shouted, finally arriving at the door to his bedroom. Twisting the glass knob, he gave the heavy oak door a shove and burst into the room.

Caroline was lying in the bed, knees up and head bent forward, screaming and cursing with a tongue that would wither any soldier on the battlefield.

“Ash!” his aunt called from the other side of the bed. “What in the devil are you doing here?”

“I came to see my wife,” he said, suddenly weak in his knees.

“Well, this isn't the time. Get out.”

The next thing he knew, Amelia was grabbing his shoulder and pushing him toward the door. If he hadn't been so affected by the sight of Caroline laboring in childbirth, he would have been immovable. But now, he was as a puppet, and in the next minute he found himself on the other side of a closed door.

“Your Grace…” A woman's voice drew him from his thoughts.

“Yes?” He turned to see Beatrice standing in the hall, her hand drawn back, and before he knew what was happening, she gave him a good sound slap. The sound of it rang through the empty hall, and the force of it knocked him completely off balance. Unable to stop himself from falling, he went flat out on his back, his head knocking hard upon the marble floor.

One minute he was staring at the ceiling, and the next, darkness washed over him. The last thing he heard was Caroline's voice screaming so loud that it penetrated the fog that had settled over his brain.

“Ash, you arrogant bastard! I hate you!”

Nine hours after going into labor, Caro was at last holding her precious baby boy. She cradled him, and he stared up at her, his eyes wide and searching her face. He seemed suspicious of her at first, looking as if he weren't at all sure of her.

She laughed. “So much like your father, little man.”

For a moment he looked as though he was about to wail, but instead closed his mouth in a grim line.

“He's so serious, isn't he? He's barely shed a tear,” Amelia said beside her.

“I suspect he has a strong will, like his father.”

“Heaven help him,” the duchess said with a sigh. “With your intelligence and his father's stubbornness, he's in for a life of many challenges.”

Caro kissed her son's head, and for the moment, at least, he seemed comforted. “I'm disappointed that your father isn't here.”

It was the first time she'd voiced those words out loud. The time for anger and hurt had passed. The truth was, she'd missed Ash these long months. Not just his touch, but the chance to talk to him, to tell him of her thoughts and hopes and dreams.

“Um…” Beatrice returned the infant to the wet nurse for feeding. “There's something I have to tell you.”

Caro looked up at her sister. By the expression Bea wore, it couldn't be good news.

“What is it?”

“Ah, as a matter of fact, the duke is here.”

“What?” Caro started to rise, but Bea pushed her back onto the bed.

“Now, Caroline. Do be careful. You might start bleeding again.”

“You're going to start bleeding if you don't tell me what's going on.” Caro had never struck her sister, not once since she'd been born. But at that moment, she was seriously considering doing it. “Has Ash come home? He's here, isn't he? And you didn't tell me?”

“Yes, he is, and no, I didn't. You were occupied with the birth of your son, if you'll remember.” Bea crossed her arms.

“Where is he?” Caro looked about, frantic to find her robe. “Let me see him. Is he sick? Does he know about the baby?”

“Well, he knows that you were giving birth, yes.” Beatrice laughed. “With the way you were yelling, I suspect half the people in Mayfair know of the blessed event.”

“Beatrice. If you don't tell me this instant where my husband is, I shall box your ears.” Caro clenched her fists and held her breath.

“He's downstairs in the parlor. Um…asleep, I think.” Bea rubbed her hands together.

Caro instantly noticed that her sister's left hand was red and swollen.

“What happened to your hand?”

“Nothing. I had a little accident.”

Caro knew instantly she was lying. “Tell me the truth. And you'd better include what you did to my husband in the telling.”

Ash awoke with a terrible headache. It must have been an awful bout of drinking to make his head hurt so. And yet, he couldn't recall. Was it with Michael? Or was he back at the lodge with Duncan?

Trying to sit up, he held his head in both hands. “What in the devil did I do?” he said, thinking he was alone.

He was wrong.

“I'd tell you that you've been acting an insensitive fool, if you were to ask me.”

Ash opened his left eye and promptly shut it. Beside him sat the last person in the world he wanted to see.

“Hello, Amelia.” The words caused waves of pain to bounce inside of his head like a stone rolling down the side of a mountain.

“Hello, indeed, you insolent cur.”

Amelia sat with her arms crossed, wearing a scowl that would make even a stalwart general's heart wither.

“It's nice to see you, too.” Sitting up, Ash had to pause and let his stomach settle. Then, when he opened both eyes, the room started to spin. Doing his best to settle his dizziness, he placed his hands over his eyes for a moment.

When he could again look up, he realized two things. First, that his aunt hadn't left him, and second, that she seemed to be waiting for him to say something.

“Uh…I'm sorry?”

“Ach,” she huffed. “Don't think that you can run around me like that, just because I love you and you've the appearance of contrition about you. I demand an explanation for your behavior these last months.”

“I did what I thought was best for everyone. You, Caroline, the child, and myself included. I've told you in the past I wanted no part of a marriage.”

“That's rubbish and you know it. You didn't just go through with the legalities—you hurt that girl. And you well know it.”

Ash sighed. “I didn't want to, Amelia. In fact, if I had my way about it, we'd live out the rest of our lives together. But it just hasn't worked out that way.”

“Because you're a stubborn idiot?”

He shook his head. “I'm not denying that, although I should. No, because of her condition.”

“What did you do to her?”

“I made her pregnant. I was afraid that if we were to…um…have relations, that the baby would suffer. So I insisted that she move to another bedroom. When I came back from a trip to town for supplies, she was gone. I meant only to keep her and the baby from coming to harm.”

“Why didn't you follow her to London? And don't give me that story about not wanting to leave your precious lodge.”