1. Caroline

1

Caroline

W hen the clock struck midnight, Caroline knew it was time to go.

She looked around the bedroom she’d called home for the last five years. After her mother’s death, Caroline and her brother Oliver had arrived at Scarlett Castle as wards. The only family they’d had left was their cousin Emmeline, Duchess of Foxcotte.

Guilt swarmed her at the thought of Emmeline’s reaction to finding her gone, with nothing but a letter to explain. And then there was Emmeline’s children…

Caroline shook her head, leaving her letter on the mantelpiece. She wouldn’t think of how upset the children would be. Or how hurt Emmeline and Michael would feel.

Emmeline would understand. Surely.

Love made them all do questionable things.

Caroline picked up her little suitcase, looking out of her rainy bedroom window. Doing a moonlit flit across the freezing cold, muddy grounds of Scarlett Castle was certainly questionable . But her heart rose at the promise of who would be waiting for her on the other side.

Harry.

Second Lieutenant Harry Burton, awarded the Victoria Cross for gallantry by His Majesty George V .

Her shoulders gave a little shiver of excitement. She patted her breast pocket, ensuring that her letters from Harry were still safely stored there. They’d met during the Season last year, exchanging letter after letter, until that fateful one at Christmas. The one in which he’d asked her to be his wife.

Harry was illegitimate, that was true, but Caroline didn’t give a fig about his birth. Her late mother would have fainted in horror, but Harry was a war hero . What better man to pledge her love to?

Caroline’s final glance at her bedroom was tinged with sadness, but agitation quickly replaced it as she stepped out into the ominously dark corridor. She didn’t like to think of the consequences if she was discovered now, suitcase in hand.

She let her eyes adjust to the darkness before setting off, carefully navigating in the dim light. Room after room passed, until she reached the servants’ staircase without incident. Treading carefully, Caroline made her way down to the servants’ quarters, loitering when she reached the bottom step.

She could hear a fire crackling. Did that mean the servants were still up? They couldn’t be. She’d spoken to her maid, Edna, earlier in the week, surreptitiously fishing for information on when they went to bed.

Thankfully, the majority of the servants lived down in the village, but there were still a few who lived in Scarlett Castle itself.

It would only take one of them to catch her.

Wrestling her courage, Caroline chanced a look down the corridor.

A start of fear pulled her back when she saw one of the footmen in the servants’ hall. Had that been Vernon? Shoulders that wide were unmistakable. Caroline edged her nose back out, just enough to get a proper look .

She was right. Vernon sat in the servants’ hall, facing away from her. He was hunched over, deeply engrossed in whatever he was doing.

Caroline let out a long, silent breath. There went her escape route—because the servants’ entrance was located in a corridor off the hall. The only other exit down here was in the kitchen.

At the other end of the servants’ quarters. Down a long hallway that would leave her in full view of Vernon.

She swallowed. Harry was waiting for her; he’d already arranged their wedding.

Caroline couldn’t let him down.

The first step down the corridor was terrifying, but every subsequent step was easier. She silently passed Granville’s empty butler’s pantry, the wine cellar, Mrs Evans’ equally deserted sitting room, the meat safe, the scullery, and then, finally —

Vernon coughed.

Caroline froze, just as she was about to slide into the kitchen. Her eyes wide, she looked round, fully expecting Vernon to be standing there. Instead, he remained at the servants’ dining table, holding a book in front of his face.

Exhaling her relief, Caroline slipped into the kitchen, rain battering at the windows. There was no sign of the cook, Mrs Kirkpatrick, but the empty breakfast trays were already lined up on the worksurface. Another dose of guilt hit her; one of those was supposed to be for her.

Before the remorse overwhelmed her, she grasped the icy cold metal of the door handle and stepped out into the night.

The tradesman’s yard was painted black by the darkness. Before Caroline could get her bearings, she was immediately tackled by a gust of arctic wind. Unfreezing her limbs, she quickly crossed the yard, every step flicking freezing water up her tights .

Rain pelted her as she thought mournfully of the hours she’d spent choosing the clothes in which she’d see Harry. Clothing that best suited her rounded hips, not clothing to keep her warm.

I’ve seen seals off Skegness with less blubber than that.

Caroline’s steps faltered when the stinging insult shot through her mind, just as humiliating now as it had been last year. She remembered it like it was yesterday. It had been during the first ball of the Season. She had been wearing a new dress that had her feeling more confident than she had in years. It covered all of her insecurities, masking them so completely it was like they were invisible.

Or so she had thought.

And then came that harsh guffaw…followed by the phrase she hadn’t stopped thinking about since.

She was used to whispered insults from her mother, followed by snide put downs in private. But to have it thrown out in public like that for everyone to hear?

If Oliver was still alive, he’d have thumped the man, damn the consequences.

Caroline slipped as she made her way onto the long, muddy path through the woods, just managing to keep her balance. And thank god for that . Steep verges fell away on either side of her, but it wouldn’t be for long; she’d timed it yesterday afternoon. It was a ten-minute walk along the verge before she’d come out on the road on which Harry would be waiting for her.

She trod carefully, her mind lingering on her brother. Oliver would have been twenty-three this year.

The last time she’d seen him had been five years ago, skeletally thin from uncontrolled diabetes .

The private detectives Michael and Emmeline hired were quite convinced Oliver was dead. There hadn’t been hide nor hair of him from John O’Groats to Land’s End…until they discovered a blackened body in a burnt-out gamekeeper’s shelter an hour from Scarlett Castle.

And so instead of Oliver thrashing the man who insulted her, it was Harry who came to her defence that night, giving the man a stern talking to.

Caroline thought she might have fallen in love with him there and then.

Thoughts of Harry carried her along the track. The wind raged around her, blowing a furious gale and seizing control of her thick blonde curls, until they flew around her head in a never-ending whirl. Her feet sank into the freezing mud—and her heart along with them. She had spent all evening perfecting her appearance.

A waste.

As though to kick her when she was down, a familiar sensation crept beneath her navel. A dull, gnawing ache. Not now. She was supposed to be getting married tomorrow, and Mother had warned her to hide womanly issues at all cost. Choosing to deal with the issue when it bared its bloody teeth, she carried on.

Three-quarters of the way along the path, however, she sucked in a panicked breath. Was that someone calling her name? Or had it just been the wind?

Whirling around, Caroline searched the darkness from which she’d emerged. She froze in the storm, rain pelting down on her and her hair in complete disarray. Through the barren trees, Scarlett Castle loomed. Most of its windows were dark, but a few were lit. She knew for certain one of those was from her bedroom, and others were the servants’ staircase.

As she was watching, however, several lights were switched on almost instantaneously—the East Wing was flooded with illumination .

Shit. She ran, her supple leather pumps sliding around in the mud. The East Wing housed only the sumptuous marble ballroom and other rooms for entertaining. No one lived in it, meaning the servants only went in there to ready it for upcoming events.

And if people were in the East Wing, it meant they were searching for her .

The sight of dim car headlights through the trees quickened her steps—even as the wind blinded her. Harry .

She was a precious few yards away from breaking through the trees when the clasps on her suitcase let go. The case flapped open, freeing its contents. Lighter items like her underwear were immediately seized by the tempest. It scattered them through the trees, turning a deaf ear to her horrified shriek.

Too late, Caroline realised that her underwear hanging from the trees wasn’t her greatest concern.

Her wedding dress .

It wasn't an extortionately expensive beaded behemoth, but rather a simple knee-length dress of Italian crepe that, most importantly, had been innocuous enough to store in her wardrobe without suspicion.

She sighted it—hanging in the trees some fifteen yards up like a ghoul about to swoop down on an unsuspecting victim.

Strong hands landed on her shoulders, making her jump so badly she almost lost her footing. “Caroline.” Harry’s voice was carried off by the wind, but his broad form was solid behind her. “God strewth, I heard you scream. I was worried you’d been injured.”

“Harry.” Relief and sorrow choked her. “My wedding dress.”

He bent to scoop up the only items that the wind hadn’t snatched away: her silver hair brush and the shoes she’d chosen for the wedding. “I’m sorry, pet, but we need to leave if we don’t want to be caught. There’s movement in the castle.”

Looking wistfully up at her wedding dress, she did the only thing Mother had taught her to do: obey.

They broke through the trees. A luxurious red sedan awaited them—a much nicer car than she’d expected. It looked similar to Michael and Emmeline’s. Was it a Rolls Royce then?

Harry opened the back door for her. “You’ll be more comfortable in the back. We’ve got a long drive ahead of us.”

Caroline obeyed, sliding onto the rich leather bench and letting out a long sigh. She let her legs stretch out in front of her, watching as Harry walked around to the driver’s seat. It was a comfort to finally be out of the wind.

She blinked, realising she wasn’t alone in here; a woman occupied the front passenger seat.

Before either of them could speak, Harry climbed in, slamming the door behind him. “Right,” he huffed, glancing back at her. “Everything okay?”

She nodded, her heart beating faster at his smile. “It is now.”

He sent her a boyish wink. “Caroline, this is Florence. She’ll be your lady’s maid from now on.”

The dark-haired maid turned in her seat, giving Caroline a polite nod. “My lady.”

My lady.

It was true—she was sister to the late Marquess of Cambury. Daughter of the even later Marquess of Cambury. But it wouldn’t be her title for much longer.

The edge of her lips tipped up in a smile—by this time tomorrow, she thought, she would be Mrs Harry Burton .

By the time the sun rose, Caroline’s cramping had reached its peak. She was thankful they were heading away from the sun’s piercing gaze, and the fresh air breezing in through the windows made the discomfort less unbearable than it might otherwise have been.

But only just .

She hadn’t expected they’d be driving all through the night. Sleep had taken her not long after she left Scarlett Castle. Judging by the terrain alone, they were up north. They had to be. Scarlett Castle was nestled in the Hampshire countryside, where the worst landmark she’d have to contend with was a hill—or a muddy verge.

But here? Here, there were mountains.

The sight of them filled her with nostalgia. She’d come to live with Emmeline in Hampshire when she was 15, but before that, she’d lived with her mother and father in the Pentland Hills near Edinburgh. She hadn’t realised just how much she’d missed the sight of brutal, unforgiving peaks soaring high into the air.

Even if she didn’t miss Mother—or her abuse.

Could they be near Scotland? They must be in the Pennines, surely—interrupted at their most northerly point by Scotland’s Southern Uplands. Home.

Harry’s voice broke through her thoughts. “We’re here.”

Caroline peered out of the window. There wasn’t much to see at all. She wouldn’t even call it a village, not really. At best, it was a settlement. There were a few houses clustered around a large central building—the one they appeared to be pulling up outside.

“Have you got the license from the registrar?” Florence asked, throwing a small smile into the back seat.

Harry tapped his breast pocket, stepping out of the car. “In here.”

Caroline waited for him to open her door, readily accepting the hand he held out to her. Her limbs were stiff from the journey, but she was glad to be given a chance to stretch them.

“The ceremony itself won’t be too long.” Florence appeared at her side, her lips thinning as she stared at Caroline’s outfit in the cold light of day. Was that judgement she saw there? “But we’ve still got a bit of a journey after the wedding itself.”

“We’re marrying here ?” Caroline asked Harry, her eyes widening. This place was where her happy ever after would begin?

He nodded, a divot of unease appearing between his brows. “The church’s minister owes me a favour.”

Her voice was quiet as she realised just how much she didn’t know about him. “Is this where you live?” In a settlement in the middle of nowhere?

Harry’s laugh was more like an amused huff. “No, pet. We’re just marrying here.”

Speechless, Caroline allowed Harry to lead her into the apparent church. The minister, a surprisingly young man whose ears stuck out at right angles, didn’t seem to be overly happy to see him.

When he spoke, it took her a moment to realise he didn’t just have a heavy accent. He was speaking a different language. It wasn’t Gaelic or Scots; she knew a little of the former and most of the latter .

Hang on, did he just say pentref? In Scots, that meant village. Could it be Welsh then? The languages must have some shared words. Caroline knew Harry was Welsh, despite living in London.

Harry replied, words spilling out of his mouth—but she could understand none of them. It must be Welsh.

“Caroline?” Florence caught her attention, hovering in front of a corridor steeped in morning light. “There’s a bathroom you can try and—” Her eyes flicked up and down judgementally. “—freshen up in.”

Not even Lady Caroline. Just Caroline.

She’d never been one to insist on titles before, but if Florence was going to look down her nose at her, then she was going to become one. Her maid at Scarlett Castle, Edna, was lovely, but Florence seemed to be a different beast.

Caroline glanced at Harry, but he wasn’t paying attention, still deep in conversation with the minister. Letting out a sigh, she followed Florence into the bathroom. It was clean, but simple, with checkerboard flooring and a deep green bathroom suite.

Florence pursed her lips, clasping the silver hairbrush that had been one of the sole survivors of the suitcase collapse. “I would try and find something more fitting for you to wear, but I think clothes this large would have to be custom-made.”

That solidified it; she hated her new lady’s maid.

She had a feeling Florence and Mother would have got on particularly well.

“Thank you for your commiserations,” Caroline bit out. She would have never spoke to Edna like this, but she also wasn’t going to be Florence’s punching bag. “You can go. Take the hairbrush.” If she brushed her hair now, her curls would transform into a ball of frizz. She knew that from a childhood of Mother trying to rip and tear it into behaving .

Bending her knees, Florence sent her a malignant curtsey before retreating.

Caroline did her best to improve her appearance. She picked through her hair, curl by curl. A few leaves were entangled within—and even a small twig. Splashing water on her face, she tried to bite back the lump in her throat.

She straightened the dress she wore, ignoring the wall of tears threatening to break through. Her appearance was as good as it was going to get, and there was no point in prolonging the apprehension. No one was going to walk through the door with a magic wand and a tailored wedding gown.

This was the sad reality of her wedding day.

Her wedding dress had flown away. Her lady’s maid was a cow. Her family was hours away. Her womb hated her. Her blood would be arriving at any moment, and her cloth pads were hundreds of miles away.

The only thing she had left was Harry. The consummate gentleman whose written words had promised her the life she’d always dreamt of.

Blinking back tears, Caroline stepped out of the bathroom and silently made her way down the path that would return her to the nave. She smiled uncertainly when she saw Harry, looking every bit as perfect as his letters had been as he chatted to the minister in Welsh. Florence stood at his side, her slim figure carrying off a dress that Caroline could never.

Harry was the first to spot her. “Lady Caroline. Come—let’s get everything sorted so we can be on our way.”

A sentence every bride loves to hear from her groom.

Florence touched his hip with a gentle hand. “I’ll go fetch the other witness.”

Harry nodded at her before approaching Caroline. “Apologies for the kerfuffle,” he murmured, a lock of golden-brown hair tipping onto his forehead. “But everything will be perfect once we’re married, I promise.”

Caroline’s smile curved across her jaw. “As long as I have the right husband, that’s all that matters.”

Harry brought her hands to his lips, settling a kiss on her knuckles, every inch the man she had fallen in love with. “And I have the right wife.”

Wife . She was going to be a wife. Her happy ever after was just beginning. Her excitement chased away the residual sadness at what the wedding was missing.

Her groom-to-be looked over her head as footsteps approached from behind. She turned around to see Florence helping an older woman take a seat on the pews. “Ready?”

Florence nodded.

Cradling her hand in his, Harry awarded her a smile. “What about you? Are you ready?”

“More ready than I’ve ever been.”

He led her to the altar, where the minister waited for them. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…”

The words seemed to be as old as time itself. She wondered how many times they’d been spoken over millennia. Millions, most likely. Her vows would be the same as any other wedding, but she found more meaning in them today.

Because she had Harry at her side.

She breathed out a sigh as she looked up at him, transfixed. She was going to be his wife, the mother of his children.

And she would not, under any circumstances, turn into her own mother. She would never humiliate her children for their appearance. Blame them for their father’s infidelity. Belittle them until they felt like an embarrassment for simply existing.

Instead, Caroline wanted to right the wrongs of her childhood. She wanted to love and care for her children as she would have wanted to be cared for. She wanted to be everything her mother couldn’t be.

Harry looked down at her, giving her a wink that had her weak at the knees

When the minister finally pronounced them as husband and wife, relief loosened the knot in her throat. “Harry,” she whispered, shivering with delight as he pulled her into the slow, controlled kiss for which she’d waited so long.

After this, nothing would be off-limits for them. Not kissing…or anything else that followed.

Her mother would have been horrified, but Caroline was desperate for all of it. To love and be loved. To touch and be touched. To kiss and be kissed.

Harry pulled back, his soft eyes holding hers hostage. “Congratulations, Mrs Burton.”

When Caroline awoke, it took her a moment to remember where she was.

Above her, the canopy of the four-poster bed loomed. Ivory damask fell in curtains around her, perfectly matching the bedcovers in which she huddled .

Winter meant that nightfall had arrived by the time they finally arrived at the castle. After they left the little settlement, they’d driven for hour upon endless hour. Around sunset, they’d crossed the border into Wales. Even then, they hadn’t stopped.

It had been a relief to reach their destination. At first, the darkness had made her doubt whether it was a castle, but then they’d passed beneath the castle gates. There was no denying it then. High stone walls enclosed the courtyard in which they’d parked, and Caroline had been able to make out crenellations against the blackness of night.

The interior had come as a shock.

The castle was a bastion of splendour; the walls were lined with heraldic shields and gilded paintings. As they’d walked beneath the heavy red drapes, their footsteps had been muffled by red-and-blue Persian carpets. Endless luxury surrounded their every step, antique globes and grandfather clocks and hand-woven tapestries, all beneath ceilings that towered above them.

Yes, it was certainly a castle—and she expected to learn its full scale in the morning.

It was somewhere she thought was far out of Harry’s budget.

The only property Harry had ever mentioned had been his home in London, but if Caroline had this as her second home, she wouldn’t ever want to leave.

Throwing back the heavy duvet, she got to her feet. Opposite the bed crackled a roaring fire, throwing a rush of heat into the room.

As she neared the window, she realised she could hear a great rush of noise. It was certainly blowing a gale, but was that the sea? They could be in Timbuktu for all she knew. She pulled open the soft fabric of the curtains, but was disappointed to see her own ghostly reflection staring back at her, floating on a broad black nothingness .

It was still night, then. Did that mean she’d been gone from Scarlett Castle for an entire day? Remorse hit her like a freight train. If she knew anything about the Frasers, it was that they would be worried sick. Her teeth sunk into her bottom lip, gnawing out her guilt.

She needed to call them, or send a letter, or something . First thing tomorrow, she would contact them to let them know she was safe, that she was a happily married—

Married.

How could she have forgotten? She’d woken up as Harry’s wife without even realising . Idiotic girl. She took another glance at the opulent room in which she slept. If she was a wife, then where was her husband? There were no signs of Harry—no divot on the pillow beside hers, no slippers on the rug, no dressing gown hanging on a chair.

A soft sigh left her when she realised he’d probably slept somewhere else to allow her to have an uninterrupted night’s rest. Neither of them had the energy for consummation after arriving.

The downside being that she’d slept for what felt like a millennium, and her bladder’s oncoming eruption was going to make Krakatoa look like a tea party.

As she rushed towards the door, she noticed a familiar-looking green box sitting on the vanity next to her hairbrush. Lister’s Towels , it read. Sanitary Napkins for Ladies.

A rush of relief swept through her. Oh, thank heavens. She’d asked one of the maids for a cloth pad upon arriving at the castle, but this was going above and beyond.

Caroline crept out of the bedroom with a sanitary napkin in hand, finding herself in the middle of a long corridor full of sweeping arches and gothic columns. The curved windows opposite her were as inky as the one in the bedroom, but she was relieved to see a sconce lit at the end of the corridor.

Throwing caution to the wind, she opened the next door along from her. To her disappointment, she found an empty bedroom, just as luxurious as hers but shaded in pale yellow. Every step shook her bladder almost painfully, but Caroline had no choice but to keep going. The door after that was another bedroom in tones of silver. She only looked in the next one—the one next to the sconce—long enough to determine it wasn’t a bathroom, ignoring the rising panic in her gut.

Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no.

She turned off the corridor, no longer caring about being quiet. Her brain was ruled by her bladder now. There had to be something in this enormous castle that was vaguely toilet-shaped. A vase, a plant pot, a jar, anything .

Caroline let out a choke of relief when she finally opened a door that had a bathroom behind it. She ran to the toilet so quickly she nearly slid right off it, hiking up her dress and letting loose.

After the torrent had passed, she exited the bathroom with significantly less urgency than she’d entered it. She turned to make her way back to her bedroom, but a low, masculine voice caught her attention.

She frowned. Had that been a groan?

As she strained to hear, another came. Definitely a groan. Her breath seized. That sounded like Harry. Was he in pain? She turned in the opposite direction of her bedroom, her steps once again agitated and alarmed.

Door after door rushed past her, until she honed in on her target. When a sliver of light shone beneath a door at the junction of two corridors, she knew she’d found it. Were his muscles cramping after driving from midnight to dusk ?

She didn’t pause, twisting the doorknob and throwing it open, ready to dash in to help.

The bedroom was every bit as grand as hers. A large, sweeping room with a four-poster bed draped in rich charcoal-and-silver brocade—the tassels of which were currently shaking in heavy, thrusting movements.

The tassels and Harry’s curls both.

Caroline thought she might have heard a sharp crack in her heart. The horror rendered her speechless for a moment, but the occupants of the bed carried on. They both faced away from the door, unaware that an interloper was observing them. The woman was on all fours, with Harry on his knees behind her, wearing nothing but his audacity and his hips constantly in movement. A chorus of moans and grunts filled the room, a cacophony of heartbreak. Wait, was that Florence?!

The scene blurred as tears swum in her eyes, and Caroline couldn’t watch any longer.

Quietly, she closed the door. Her mother’s voice wrapped around her throat like a vice. Stupid girl. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She could still hear Harry’s groans, mingling with those of Florence. Of course, a handsome, confident man like Harry wouldn’t have wanted her. And who could blame him?

I’ve seen seals off Skegness with less blubber than that.

She gasped out a watery sob, wrapping her arms around her rounded middle. She turned to go, to start the long walk back down towards her bedr—

Caroline shrieked as she collided with a large, muscular man in the dark.