Chapter 14

Chapter 14

While her husband directed his focus on work and was away from home, Caroline found herself in the middle of the bustling kitchen. Her brow was furrowed in concentration as she tried to absorb the flurry of activity around her. Mrs. Hawkins was moving so quickly that she hardly caught sight of her—one minute she was barking orders at the scullery maids, the next she was directing the flow of dishes. Caroline felt rather out of place.

"Now, My Lady," Mrs. Hawkins said with her usual gruffness as she turned to Caroline, "The key to running a smooth household is organization and discipline. You must keep a tight rein on the staff, ensure that everyone knows their place—and their duties. It will not do to have maids gossiping in corners or footmen shirking their responsibilities."

Caroline nodded slowly. Was all of this her responsibility? Was she meant to bark orders and keep an eye on staff? She'd always known, of course, that running a household was a significant undertaking, but seeing it firsthand and having to do it no less, was something else entirely.

She could only nod mutely at Mrs. Hawkins' orders, her eyes following the older woman as she took charge of the controlled chaos of the kitchen. A frown settled between her brows as her thoughts drifted to her own mother.

She always made it look so effortless. One of Caroline's very first memories of her, was how she glided through the manor with a serene smile and an air of unruffled composure. Running a household, to her, was as natural as breathing and Caroline was certain that Beatrice too would find it natural. She swallowed dryly, a sudden pang of homesickness washing over her.

As difficult as life had been over the course of the weeks before her marriage, Caroline suddenly missed the familiarity and comfort of it. She missed the quiet grace with which her mother took charge of the household—so different from Mrs. Hawkins' briskness. She missed her father's familiar voice, her sister's laughter—the warmth of Wentworth Manor.

"Mrs. Hawkins," she said at last, her voice soft, though she tried to keep an air of authority in it as she'd so often heard from her own parents. "I wonder if I might take a brief respite. I… I would like to visit my family."

Mrs Hawkins looked up at this, her brows lifted and Caroline stared back at her firmly.

"Of course, My Lady," Mrs. Hawkins said quickly, her face creasing into a smile. "I shall have a carriage arranged for you. And I will see to the household in your absence."

Relief rushed through Caroline and she flashed Mrs. Hawkins a bright grin. "Thank you, Mrs. Hawkins," she exclaimed and rubbed her hands together. "I think I shall quickly rush to my bedchamber and dress more appropriately—if you will arrange that carriage swiftly."

Mrs. Hawkins merely nodded, and Caroline rushed to her bedchamber where she exchanged the rather plain dress for one more appropriate for tea. Within the hour, she was seated in a carriage, watching the familiar countryside roll by as the carriage moved towards her family home.

As the carriage came to a halt in front of Wentworth Manor, Caroline felt a sudden rush of nervous anticipation. For some reason, the manor that she had grown up in suddenly felt different and she wondered whether she should have let her family know that she was coming to visit.

Nonsense, she decided as she alighted from the carriage and made her way up the stone steps. They‘re still my family.

Before she could reach the knocker, the door swung open—the butler lifting his brows in surprise when he noticed her.

"Lady Caroline," he exclaimed, and a grin appeared on his face. "We were not expecting you, but I am certain you will be welcome. Please, do come in."

"Thank you, Louis," Caroline muttered as she stepped into the foyer. Though everything looked exactly like she left it, the familiar comfort of her home seemed to be gone.

"Caroline? Is that you?"

She turned at the sound of her mother's voice and a smile appeared on her face when she saw Lady Wentworth descending the grand staircase easily. "I did not expect to see you today."

"Mother," Caroline said warmly, though she suppressed the urge to rush forward and embrace her. "I do apologize for coming unannounced. I just… I suppose I wanted to see you."

A fine frown took residence upon her mother's face. "Darling, your wedding was a day ago," she said coolly and Caroline felt her cheeks flush.

"I know, I just… I was hoping we could talk about… the intricacies of running a household. I am afraid I feel quite in over my head," Caroline admitted and her mother sighed, her gaze softening.

"I ought to have spoken to you about this before the wedding," she admitted softly. "I do apologize, darling. Let's go to the parlor. I will have Anne bring us some tea."

Caroline nodded eagerly before following her mother to the drawing room. Only once they were seated, each armed with a delicate cup of tea, did she ask the question she had wanted to since the carriage had come to a standstill in front of the manor.

"Will… will Beatrice join us?"

At once, her mother's face fell and she shook her head with a sigh.

"Beatrice… is not quite ready," she admitted but quickly forced herself to smile. "Besides, this is not a conversation to be had with unmarried women. The running of a household will not interest her at this time."

It was true, Caroline knew. It was not so much that Beatrice would not be interested in the conversation, but she was rather certain that her sister would only be pained by the conversation seeing as it ought to have been her running Sebastian Fairchild's household.

"How is father?" Caroline asked, avoiding her mother's eyes and attempting desperately to postpone the insecurities that brewed within her. Her mother flashed her a smile–one that seemed to suggest she understood her daughter's worries.

"He is healthy," she answered, though the smile vanished and she looked at Caroline curiously. "It was odd for us both to not have you in the house anymore, but we accept that you have your own family now."

Caroline flashed her mother an uncomfortable smile. "We've been having lovely weather lately."

"Indeed, lovely as ever," her mother said with a knowing smile. "Though I believe the cold is on its way. Now, Caroline. What is it you really want to ask?"

"How do you do it?" Caroline finally asked with a sigh, foregoing all hope of small talk. "How do you manage to make everything seem so utterly effortless?"

Her mother simply laughed at this, then shook her head. "It is not effortless, Caroline," she admitted. "In fact, it is quite hard work. But we are Wentworth women and we do all that we do with elegance and grace."

Caroline frowned slightly at this and she leaned forward, her entire demeanor pleading with her mother.

"I just… It is different there," she admitted. "The housekeeper, Mrs. Hawkins is nothing at all like Mrs. Smith. She's brisk and busy and I am not quite certain I will be able to be the lady of the house, tell her what to do."

At this, her mother shook her head with a sigh. "Nonsense, Caroline," she admonished. "You will simply have to. She is one of your workers."

"You're right," Caroline said, taking at least a bit of heart. "I am in charge and I will simply run the household in a way that makes me comfortable."

"Exactly," her mother agreed. "You run it in your own way."

Caroline nodded and rose to her feet. "I shall go home," she announced, "Thank you, mother."

They shared a quick hug before Caroline turned around and made her way back to the carriage. She spotted Beatrice almost the second that she stepped outside. Her sister was pacing along the gravel path, her face pensive and withdrawn.

"Beatrice," Caroline called out, her voice trembling. "Can… can we talk?"

Beatrice looked up and her eyes widened in surprise. For a moment, her face contorted in a mask of hurt, but her expression changed quickly—back into the stoic coldness.

"Caroline," she said, her voice trembling. "Shouldn't you be at home? Playing the role of perfect wife?"

Caroline flinched at the barb, but managed to force a smile onto her face. "I was here to talk to mother, but it's good to see you Beatrice," she offered. "I was hoping we could talk, that I could explain…"

"Explain?" A cold laugh escaped her sister's lips. "Do you want to explain how you stole my wedding and the man who was meant to be mine? How you ruined my chances of a good marriage? What could you possibly say to make any of that right?"

Tears formed in Caroline's eyes at the pure venom in her sister's voice, but she blinked them back, determined to stand her ground. "I never meant to hurt you, Beatrice. What happened with Sebastian… it was a terrible misunderstanding. And I wouldn't have married Sebastian, I'd have refused but if I did, your reputation would suffer too—you'd be ruined by association, I was trying to protect…"

"Oh, stop," Beatrice laughed, the sound harsh and bitter. "Stop pretending that you did not want this. Stop pretending that you are noble when we both know what a traitor you truly are."

A wave of guilt washed over Caroline and she shook her head. "I am sorry that you are hurting," she pleaded now. "But you must know that I never wanted this, never dreamed that things would turn out this way. Please, Beatrice, can we not find a way past this? Be sisters, the way we used to be?"

Beatrice laughed shrilly at this and looked down—though it was not quick enough for Caroline to miss the tears brimming in her eyes. "Do you expect me to be your sister while you share a bed with the man who was meant to be mine?"

"It is not like that," Caroline burst out before she could help herself. Beatrice's eyes flitted up at this and she lifted a brow.

"Not like what?" she asked eagerly and Caroline shook her head.

"It's just… not like that," she mumbled, but it was too late.

"You…" Beatrice let out, a shrill laugh following her words once more. "You are not his wife in the Biblical sense, are you? He didn't…"

More laughter interrupted her thought and she shook her head, her eyes gleaming with a dangerous light Caroline had never seen before.

"He didn't bed you," she let out at last. "He doesn't want you," she continued. "What, are you spoiled goods after the scandal?"

"Don't," Caroline pleaded softly. "Beatrice, please…"

But there was no stopping her sister—her hurt, it seemed, had found a foothold in rage. "Oh, do not tell me what to do," she burst out. "You married the man, and now you are no more than a burden to him? It is delicious, dear sister… too delicious for words."

The words hit Caroline like a physical blow, the air rushing from her lungs as if she had been punched in the stomach. Tears blurred her vision, hot and stinging, and she felt a sob building in her throat, threatening to choke her.

"I'm not a burden," she whispered. Beatrice, however, seemed to take heart at the sight of her sister's misery.

"Of course," she laughed now. "You thought you would be my better, you'd marry the man promised to me. But you didn't realize… Sebastian Fairchild married you only to salvage both your reputations, whereas with me he had somewhat of a choice. Make no mistake… he will tire of you soon enough. His second choice… and then he will seek his pleasures elsewhere, just like any other man of his station."

It was true, Caroline realized. She had not been Sebastian's first choice, and as kind and courteous as he'd been, there was no guarantee that he would not tire of her and resent the forced union that tied him to her.

Beatrice seemed to enjoy this horrific thought and it was the absolute stranger she saw in her sister's face that finally caused the tears to spill over and stream down her cheeks. She turned away from Beatrice at last.

"I have to go," she choked out, her voice thick with emotion. "I cannot do this, I cannot fight you anymore."

She did not wait for a response. Instead, she rushed towards the carriage quickly, paying no mind to the concerned look the driver shot her.

"Take me home," she got out, her voice barely audible over the painful pounding of her own heart. "Please, just… take me home."

As the carriage rattled down the drive, carrying her away from the painful confrontation with her sister, Caroline pressed her face against the cool glass of the window, her tears blurring the passing scenery into an indistinct haze.

She had thought that by coming home, by seeing her mother and Beatrice, she could find some measure of peace, some relief from the doubts and fears that plagued her. But instead, she felt more lost than ever, adrift in a sea of uncertainty and pain.

All she could do now was return to Casterbridge, to the man she called husband and the life she had chosen. And pray that somehow, someway, she could find the strength to weather the storms that lay ahead.