Julie Garwood Read online

Caroline became more concerned over her father’s disposition as she strolled through each of the rooms on the main floor. Everything was so correct! Correct and terribly cold! The salon was to the left of the tiled entry hall and was quite elegant. Done in golds and ivories, with touches of pale yellow, it looked lovely but uninviting. Caroline tried to picture her cousins making themselves at home in the room and found it a futile task. The richly upholstered furniture didn’t look capable of holding large, awkward men attired in work clothes and boots they never remembered to scrape the dirt from. No, Caimen, Justin, Luke, and George would feel as awkward as she did.

  To the right of the entry hall was a large dining room. The massive mahogany table and twelve accompanying chairs were the focal point, but the fine crystal and gold-rimmed goblets, centered on the buffet against the far wall, also drew one’s attention. There wasn’t anything cozy about this room either; it radiated wealth and luxury.

  Caroline followed the long hallway and found another library located just behind the receiving room. She was vastly relieved when she opened the door and saw the clutter. This room was obviously where her father really lived. She hesitated at the doorway, worrying that she was invading a sacred sanctuary, and then walked inside. The beautiful desk caught her attention, as did the two worn leather chairs and the volumes of books lining the shelves of two walls. Windows facing a secluded side garden covered the third wall, and when Caroline had taken her fill of the pretty picture the windows allowed, she turned to the remaining wall. Surprise held her perfectly still as she studied the rather bizarre arrangement now facing her. From top to bottom the wall was covered with drawings, all done by herself! They ranged from crude designs of animals she had done when she was very little, to more advanced pictures of houses and trees. In the center of the artwork was one drawing that Caroline remembered doing. She laughed when she took a closer look and shook her head. The picture was her first attempt at a family portrait. Everyone was there, her Boston parents, Charity, her cousins, and even her father, though she had drawn him standing some distance from the rest of the group.

  The appearance of her subjects was quite laughable. Caroline had used huge circles as everyone’s stomachs and had focused on teeth as the main attention getter. Little faces, all smiling, with gigantic teeth protruding! She must have been around six years old when she drew her family, and remembered that she had been quite proud of it.

  The fact that her father had saved all of her drawings amazed and warmed Caroline. Charity’s mother must have sent them to him without saying a word to her.

  Caroline leaned against the edge of the desk and studied the arrangement of drawings for a long while. She noted that her early drawings included her father, but as she progressed in age and style, he was no longer in any of the pictures. Yet he had saved them all. That realization made him seem less the earl and more the father. This was how he had shared her childhood, she suddenly realized. The thought saddened her.

  Caroline, a fiercely loyal person, found herself filled with confusion. The display of pictures indicated that he did care for her. Why then had he sent her to the Colonies? Surely he realized that over a time, she would begin to call her aunt and uncle Mama and Papa. She had only been four when she became their “baby.” It was only natural that Charity’s brothers would become her brothers. Surely he knew that her early memories would fade with new surroundings and a new family.

  Guilt invaded her thoughts. He had made a sacrifice for her. Mama had told her that countless times! She had explained that the earl wanted his daughter to have a stable family life and felt that she would be more content, more loved, with his younger brother and his family.

  Why hadn’t he considered that perhaps his love would have been enough?

  Lord, she had given him nothing as a daughter. She remembered how she balked when forced to take a few minutes to write a kind word to him! She had been selfish and, as much as the admission pained her, disloyal! She had plotted and planned to remain in Boston, had called another Papa, and worst of all, had forgotten to love her real father.

  She wished she hadn’t seen the drawings. Her eyes turned teary and she hurried from the room. She wished that she was back in Boston and felt ashamed of herself for wishing it. It made her feel guilty and unworthy. It made her a coward. Could she give her father a portion of the love and loyalty she had so freely given to her Boston family?

  Caroline went up to her bedroom and stretched out on the canopy bed, determined to sort out her emotions. The logical part of her brain insisted that she had just been a baby when she was uprooted and given to another family, and therefore the issue of love and loyalty was not significant. Yet her heart continued to ache. How much easier it would have been to deal with a cold, unloving earl! She had played the role of the tragic heroine all the way from Boston to London and now admitted that it was just a role after all. Reality was quite different.

  How was she to proceed? She couldn’t find the answer and finally let exhaustion overtake her, falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  Caroline slept until the next morning, except for one interruption.

  Sometime during the night, she awoke to the sound of the door squeaking open. She was instantly alert but pretended sleep as she watched an older man hesitate at the doorway and then slowly walk over to the bed. She closed her eyes, but not before she saw the tears that were streaming down the man’s face. He looked like an older version of his brother, and she knew that the man standing next to her bed was her father.

  Caroline felt the quilt being pulled up and tucked securely around her shoulders and ached inside with emotion over the tender action. And then she felt his hand, trembling as it brushed against her temple, ever so lightly, and heard him whisper in a soft, loving voice, “Welcome home, Daughter.”

  He leaned down and kissed her on her forehead, a feathery touch that brought a smile to her heart, and then he slowly straightened and made his way back to the doorway. The aroma of tobacco and spices lingered after him, and Caroline’s eyes suddenly opened wide. She recognized the scent, remembered it. She tried to summon up pictures to go with the aroma, the feeling, but like the fireflies she had tried to capture as a child, they all proved too elusive. Memory seemed to be just within grasp, yet she wasn’t able to touch it.

  The fragrance was enough for now, for with it came the feeling of contentment and love, as hazy as a fine morning mist as it surrounded her, hugged her, and filled her with peace.

  She waited until her father’s hand was on the doorknob and he was about to pull it closed behind him. She couldn’t keep the words from tumbling out and said, “good night, Papa.”

  She felt as if she was repeating a nightly ritual of years gone by, and though she didn’t remember all of it, she instinctively knew that there was more to be said. She struggled to put the feelings into words even as she heard herself say, “I love you, Papa.”

  The ritual was complete. Caroline closed her eyes and let the memories, like the fireflies of yesterday, skitter away.

  She had come home after all.

  Chapter Three

  THE DUKE OF BRADFORD COULDN’T GET THE BEAUTIFUL blue-eyed woman out of his mind. Her innocence tempted him, her smile dazzled him, but most of all, her ready wit absolutely pleased him. The duke was given to a cynical nature and it was a fact that he wasn’t easily pleased by any female. Yet every time he thought of how she had brazenly challenged him with the bold threat to shoot his horse, he found himself grinning. The lady had courage and Bradford admired her for it.

  By the end of the day of the accident, Bradford had Brummell comfortably settled in his rooms and left him to the pampering attention of his faithful servants. He then traveled to his own London home and undertook the task of finding out just who Caroline belonged to. The only clue he had to her identity was that she was returning to London to visit her father. From the way she spoke about the gatherings of the ton, he assumed that her father was indeed a member of the socially elite
. Perhaps he was titled as well. The little cousin had mentioned returning to a townhouse in London to await Caroline’s father. Bradford concluded that the man owned a country home and was still in retirement there until the season started.

  He felt confident that he would have his answers by nightfall. But by the end of the fourth day, his confidence had deserted him. Not a hint of a single clue had presented itself and the frustration was beyond his experience.

  His mood turned sour, and the smiles the servants had been so amazed to see when the duke had first returned to his home completely vanished. The help now whispered that they had surely been mistaken. Their employer was back to his usual nature, gruff and unapproachable. Cook told everyone within earshot that she was glad for it, as she disliked anyone or anything that wasn’t predictable, but Bradford’s man, Henderson, knew that something quite significant had occurred to his employer and found himself concerned.

  Henderson was both eager and relieved when the duke’s best friend, William Franklin Summers, the Earl of Milfordhurst, arrived for an unexpected visit. Henderson was pleased to escort the earl up the curved stairway to the library. Perhaps, Henderson considered, walking beside him, the earl could nudge his employer back into his pleasant mood.

  Henderson had served Bradford’s father for ten good years, and when the tragedy had taken both the father and the firstborn son, he had turned his loyalty and attention to the new Duke of Bradford. Only Henderson and Bradford’s best friend, Milford, remembered the duke before the title was thrust upon his young shoulders.

  Glancing over at Milford, Henderson remembered that the two friends used to be quite alike. At one time, Bradford was just as much the rascal as his dark-haired friend, and just as much the mischief maker with the ladies of the ton. Yet over the five years he had served his new master, Henderson had all but given up hope that the duke would ever return to the carefree, easygoing disposition of long ago. Too much had happened. Too many betrayals.

  “Brad giving you fits, Henderson? You’re frowning all over the steps,” the earl asked with his usual wide grin, looking every bit the scoundrel Henderson knew him to be.

  “Something has happened to cause his Grace distress,” Henderson replied. “I, of course, am not privy to my lord’s thoughts, but I do believe that you will notice a subtle change in his disposition.”

  Henderson wouldn’t make further comment, but his remarks caused Milford to frown in speculation.

  As soon as Milford got a good look at his friend, he decided that Henderson was the master of understatement. Subtle was the last descriptive word he would have considered, for the Duke of Bradford looked like he had just returned from a rather long carriage ride, being dragged below the vehicle instead of sitting inside.

  Bradford was slouched behind his massive desk, frowning with intent as he scribbled a name on one of several envelopes littering the desk top.

  The mahogany table was a cluttered mess, but then so was Bradford, Milford decided. His friend was in desperate need of a shave and a fresh cravat.

  “Milford. I’ll be finished in just a minute,” Bradford told his friend. “Pour yourself a drink.”

  Milford declined the drink and settled himself in a comfortable chair in front of the desk. “Brad, are you writing to everyone in England?” he asked as he ungraciously propped the heels of his polished boots on the desk top.

  “Damn near,” Bradford muttered without looking up.

  “Looks like you haven’t slept in days,” Milford commented. He kept the grin on his face but his eyes showed his concern. Bradford didn’t look at all well and the longer he watched him, the more concerned he became.

  “I haven’t slept,” Bradford finally replied. He dropped the pen and leaned back against the soft cushion of his wingback chair. His boots joined his friend’s on the top of the desk and he let out a long sigh.

  And then, without further hesitation, he told his friend about his encounter with the woman named Caroline, leaving out only the portion with Brummell as he, too, had promised not to say a word about his friend’s humiliating incident with the bandits. He found himself embellishing her physical characteristics, taking quite a length of time to adequately describe the color of her eyes, but finally caught himself and rushed out the ending of the tale with the furious statement that all his inquiries had led down dark alleys.

  “You’re looking in all the wrong places,” Milford advised with a smug voice when he had stopped laughing over Bradford’s retelling of the event. “She actually believes that the Colonies are more sophisticated than our London?”

  Bradford ignored the question and homed in on the former statement. “What do you mean when you suggest that I’m looking in the wrong places? She’s returning to her father. I’m following that lead.” Bradford’s voice sounded harsh.

  “Most of the ton have not yet returned for the coming season,” Milford patiently pointed out. “And that is the simple reason you haven’t heard any gossip. Get hold of yourself, man, she’ll be at Ashford’s bash. You can count on it. Everyone attends.”

  “The season holds no promise for her.” Bradford lowered his voice as he repeated Caroline’s statement concerning the activities of the ton and found himself shaking his head. “Those were her exact words.”

  “Most odd.” Milford was trying hard not to laugh. He hadn’t seen his friend so rattled in such a long time, and the relief that the cause was not from a serious matter made him light-headed. It also made him wish to bait his friend, just like he used to in the old days when the two roamed London together.

  “Not so odd,” Bradford contradicted with a shrug. “I don’t attend any of the functions.”

  “You mistake my meaning. I meant that you are behaving most odd,” Milford replied with a chuckle. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you in such a state. This is an occasion to savor! And the cause is a lady who hails from the Colonies no less.” Milford would have continued, but laughter got the better of him, and much to his friend’s frowns of displeasure, he couldn’t contain several loud snorts.

  “You’re really enjoying yourself, aren’t you?” Bradford snapped when Milford had quieted enough to hear him.

  “That’s a fact,” Milford readily admitted. “I seem to remember a rather fervent vow made by you a couple of years back,” he continued. “Something to the effect that all women served one purpose only and to give your heart would be the height of stupidity.”

  “Who said anything about giving anything?” Bradford roared the question. “I’m merely intrigued, that’s all,” he insisted in a calmer voice. “Don’t irritate me, Milford. You’ll come out the loser for it.”

  “Calm down,” Milford replied. “I do wish to help.” He forced himself into a serious expression and said, “You should be checking with the dressmakers. If she’s from the Colonies, then she’s hopelessly out of fashion. Her relatives won’t wish to be embarrassed by her attire and will therefore see to the fitting of new gowns.”

  “Your logic astounds me,” Bradford replied. A glimmer of hope appeared in his eyes and he actually grinned. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “Because you don’t have three younger sisters, as I do,” Milford answered.

  “I’d forgotten your sisters,” Bradford returned. “I never see them around.”

  “They hide from you,” Milford told him with a chuckle. “You scare the hell out of them.” He shrugged then and said, “But I swear to you that fashions are all most women, including my sisters, talk about.” His voice turned serious when he asked, “Is this just an infatuation or is it something more? In the last five years you’ve only escorted courtesans around town. You aren’t used to gently bred ladies, Brad. This is rather a dramatic turnaround.”

  Bradford didn’t immediately answer. He didn’t seem to have any firm answers in his mind, only feelings. “I believe that it’s just temporary insanity,” he finally remarked. “But as soon as I see her again, I’m certain I’ll get her out of my blood,�
� Bradford ended with a shrug.

  Milford nodded. He didn’t believe his friend for a minute. But Bradford was so serious over his opinions that Milford didn’t dare contradict. He left his friend to his note writing. His step was light as he made his way down the stairs, his mood so vastly improved that he smacked Henderson on his shoulder in a show of affection before he took his leave.

  The Earl of Milfordhurst was suddenly quite anxious to meet the enchantress from the Colonies, the unique woman who was accomplishing what no other had been able to do in the last five years. Though she was unaware of it, the lady called Caroline was bringing the Duke of Bradford back to the living.

  Milford liked her already.

  Morning arrived and with the sun came new thoughts, new plans. Caroline Richmond, always an early riser no matter what time she had taken to her bed, welcomed the sun with a huge stretch of contentment.

  She dressed quickly in a simple violet walking dress and tied her unruly hair at the back of her neck with a white lace ribbon.

  Charity was still sleeping, and Benjamin, from the muffled noise coming from above, sounded like he was just getting up. Caroline went on downstairs, her intent to wait for her father in the dining room. She found him already seated at the head of the long polished table. He held a teacup in one hand and a paper in the other. He didn’t notice her standing in the doorway, and Caroline did nothing to draw his attention. She took the time instead to study him as thoroughly as he seemed to be studying his paper.

  His face was ruddy and full, but he had high cheekbones like hers. He was an older, rounder version of the man who had raised her. Yes, he looked quite a bit like his younger brother, Henry, and she suddenly realized that she should count herself fortunate. In her mind she had two fathers. Her uncle Henry had seen her raised and she loved him. It didn’t seem disloyal to share her love with the man who had given her life. Her real father. He was that, she admitted again, and it was her duty to love him, too.