Chapter 16

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

" I 've never been to London," Lila said excitedly, as she darted back and forth between the wardrobe, the chest of drawers, and wooden chests, packing whatever Caroline thought she might need for autumn and winter in the city.

Caroline looked up from the stack of books she was attempting to thin out. "It is not everything people say it is. I have never much liked it."

She was already dreading it, in truth. Her mother had not visited London often, preferring to be at Westyork through all seasons, and Daniel was always so busy when he went to the Capital that he had rarely asked Caroline to accompany him.

On the few occasions that she had gone to London, she had traveled with Phoebe and Olivia, and the noise and the crowds had been a mighty shock. The theater and the opera house had been wonderful, and she had adored the botanical gardens, with Matilda explaining every plant; she had marveled at the architecture, quite content to just stand on any given street and stare at the majesty of London's buildings, but other than that, she had wished she was back at Westyork. In the countryside, where she felt she belonged.

"Oh…" Lila dropped her chin to her chest, folding a lavender-colored Spencer jacket with less enthusiasm than before.

"But I am sure you will," Caroline hurried to say. "There is so much to do—that, I fear, is why I do not like it much. I can never decide where to go, and then I become overwhelmed and go nowhere, retreating to my chambers with a book or my drawing papers."

Lila brightened at that. "Well, Your Grace, I can well understand that. I just hope that I'll get to see some of it."

"I will make sure of it," Caroline promised. "Indeed, I?—"

A knock at the door halted the conversation, Caroline's face immediately simmering with heat as a low voice said, "I do hope everyone is decent?"

"Lila and I are choosing things for London!" she replied in a rush.

The door opened and Max stepped in, standing tall and genteel. He gave a nod of acknowledgment to Lila. "Miss Boskins, I did not realize my wife had company. Please, ensure she does not take enough to break the wheels off the carriage." His gaze turned to the stack of books beside Caroline. "I would suggest no more than half. You will tell yourself that you will read them, but you will not."

"I am taking just two trunks," Caroline protested, offended by the notion that he thought her demanding. "And you do not know how much I will read."

"How many books have you read during our honeymoon?" he pointed out.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "That is different. In place of reading books, I dedicated my time to reading the manual of the mysterious gentleman known as Maximilian Dennis."

"Has it been published so soon?" he quipped back. "Goodness, it must not be very good."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

His eyes glittered with amusement, but it did not reach his lips. "It means that there is still much to learn. I feel I hardly know you at all." He pointed his chin at the stack of books once more. "Those are novels, Caroline. Are you aware? I expected you to try and smuggle great tomes of astronomy and architecture into your trunks. Hence, my warning about the weight."

She looked at him for a moment, trying and failing to get a measure of the man she had found herself married to. It had been the same way ever since the apple tree incident.

Some days, she thought she might like the life they could share, finding comfort in their companionship. Some days, she could not help feeling like she was trying to trick herself into being content with such a life, devoid of passion, absent from the romantic love she had dreamed of. On other days, when he was busy and she was alone, she could not stand it at all.

But then there were a handful of days when he was a different creature entirely—flirtatious, almost, with his full attention fixed on her, making sweet gestures, listening to her intently, asking her questions about her interests that no one had ever asked her. On those days, his handsome looks made her stomach flutter despite herself, and she found herself leaning in closer, hoping that a clear spark would jump between them, letting her know that he could be more than a mostly affable companion.

One week ago… Her mind drifted back against her will.

They were sitting on the low wall of the reflecting pool when she had spied something in the center. A glitter of some kind.

"What is that?" she had asked. "Has someone tossed in a coin for luck?"

Max had grinned wolfishly and the next thing she knew, he had kicked off his boots and swept her up into his arms. "We ought to take a closer look," he had said, as she had yelped and laughed, clinging to his neck.

The strength and power of him as he had dipped her all the way down, almost to the water's surface, without so much as straining, had had a strange effect on Caroline. She had become flushed and breathless, one hand cradling the back of his neck, her fingertips touching the soft, wavy golden mane of his hair. Her other hand had gripped his upper arm, astonished by the muscle she felt, flexing and bulging as he continued to hold her over the water.

"I do believe it is a coin for luck," he had said in that low, sultry voice that sent tingles down her spine. "Shall we leave the one who threw it their luck, or shall we take it for ourselves?"

"I say… we leave it and add one of our own," she had replied, reveling in the closeness of him. He had smelled of woodsmoke, soap, and something richer and spicier, like sandalwood or bergamot. An intoxicating aroma that had lingered in her senses for days afterward.

"I rather like that notion," he had told her, carrying her safely back to the low wall, and setting her down. Then, he had taken a shilling from his pocket and holding her hand, had placed the coin in her palm. "Throw it and make a wish, Caro. Make it a good one."

It was the first time he had called her ‘Caro.' He had not done it since.

She had gaped at the coin. "I cannot toss a shilling into the water! Something smaller, surely."

"I want you to have a shilling's worth of luck," he had replied, his eyes gleaming in that way that made her feel unsteady, even though she was seated. His hand had not yet released hers, his touch warm and undeniably intimate, his thumb stroking the soft skin of her gloveless hand.

In her mind, she held the coin and considered what her wish might be, but not before adding the proviso… If it creates six ripples at least, my wish will come true.

That done, she had made her wish, listening to the plink as the coin hit the water and slowly drifted to the bottom.

"What did you wish for?" Max had asked, leaning in, his eyes flitting to her lips for a moment.

In that same moment, Caroline felt sure that he was about to kiss her. "I… cannot tell you that," she had murmured, willing him to graze his lips against hers. After all, there was no better way to tell if a couple were mere companions or could be so much more.

"Shall I tell you mine?" he had whispered, tucking a lock of her dark hair behind her ear, his fingertips making her shiver in the best kind of way as they had lightly brushed her cheek in the act.

"If you do, it will not come true," she had said, barely able to string the words together in a coherent sentence through the heat that burned in his eyes.

The flames in his gaze had sizzled to nothing, and he had withdrawn, flashing her a cooler sort of smile. "Then, it is best that I keep it to myself." He had stood and bowed his head. "I have something I must do in my study. I will see you at dinner."

With that, he had gone, leaving her wondering if she had just dreamed that stirring moment. Even now, remembering it, it did not seem real, but more like something that Anna would have read aloud from one of her favorite novels. Something Matilda and Phoebe would have rolled their eyes at, while Olivia and Leah would have exchanged a contented look, as adoring of romance as their Matchmaker friend.

"Caroline?" Max's voice pulled her out of the daydream of him.

She blinked up at her husband. "Did you say something?"

"Are you quite well?" His eyes were soft with concern. "You seemed to journey somewhere for a while there."

Lila nodded enthusiastically. "She does that often, Your Grace."

"Is it some affliction?" Max stepped further into the room, coming to sit at Caroline's side. Without warning, he lifted his hand and pressed it against his wife's brow. "You do not feel feverish, but there is a redness in your cheeks. Shall I send for the physician? You might have caught a sickness from our afternoon walks, seeing as it has been bitterly cold this past week. I certainly must order warmer cloaks for you."

Caroline could not answer for a moment, the touch of his hand against her forehead and the worry in his expression stealing away her ability to speak.

"Something with fur trim?" he prompted. "Fur lining will be a necessity. It is always miserably cold in London. Unless you would prefer for us not to go to the Capital just yet? It would be no trouble for us to linger a week or so longer, so you can be tended to with… soups and such."

Being tended to by him sounded rather pleasant. A lot more pleasant than having to endure winter in London, although she liked thinking about Christmastide at his townhouse, or Daniel's, or at the London home of one of her friends. It would be different from the usual celebrations at Westyork, but she had begun to embrace the changes.

"We should not delay," she said firmly, as cozy firelight and festive hymns swirled around in her mind, encouraging her. The prospect of the first snowfall of the year, too, watched from the comfort of a smaller residence where the cold would not be able to conquer the hallways and rooms with quite so much vigor.

If the first snow falls before December the Twelfth, then Max will kiss me before the new year begins.

"We should leave as planned," she added, putting on a shy smile, unused to Max being so close. "I am perfectly well. My mind wanders sometimes, that is all. It is not an affliction—at least, I do not think it is."

If the first snow falls after December the Twelfth, I will accept that we shall never be anything more than distant, she added, feeling fidgety at the prospect of starting over again.

Max seemed relieved by her words, though whether that pertained to his plans going ahead or her not being unwell, she did not know.

"Very well," he said softly, leaning in as if he meant to kiss her brow. He drew back at the last second, wearing an expression of surprise that faded as quickly as it had appeared. "I shall leave you to your tireless task of choosing what to take."

He was up and out of the room in seconds as if he could not get away fast enough. And Caroline was left, once again, not knowing what manner of husband she had—one who wanted more, or one who could not wait to send her to her own residence, far from his side.

By late afternoon the following day, the carriage and its respectable quantity of earthly belongings trundled through the crowded streets of London.

Caroline pressed her forehead to the pane of the carriage window, admiring every bit of architecture her eyes could take in at once. From the cramped terraces to the squat coach houses to the lopsided public houses to the extraordinary sandstone of the museum to the astonishingly grand churches, she absorbed it all with wonder, marveling at how even the poorest of residences could have so much character.

Her mouth fell open and stayed there as the carriage went past the majesty of St. Paul's Cathedral. She always forgot how enormous the building was, and how utterly regal, with its imposing pillared dome, layered spires, towering white walls, and the golden statues that glinted in the low autumn sun.

"Three-hundred-and-sixty-five feet," she murmured in awe.

"Pardon?" Max said from the opposite squabs.

She tapped the glass. "St. Paul's. That is how tall it is. Incredible, is it not?" She sighed. "I cannot imagine being given a challenge such as that. It must have been terrifying, to design something so vast, not knowing if people would like it."

"I would say the architect did a fine job," Max said, coming to Caroline's side of the squabs.

Over the top of her head, leaning in until his back was practically flush with hers, he followed her line of sight to the magnificent cathedral. But Caroline could not concentrate on what she had been going to say about the style of the building or the casual genius of the man who had designed it, her heart quickening its beat at the closeness of Max.

"Sir Christopher Wren, if I am not mistaken," he prompted, his head now dipping over her shoulder, leaving them cheek to cheek.

I did not account for this. I made no bet with fate about this. What does this mean?

His cheek was warm and hard and angular, whereas hers was soft and hot and plump. And there was a slight roughness of stubble as if he had not shaved that morning.

If she turned her head to look at him, what would he do?

"Yes," she murmured, so conscious of him and every part of him that brushed against her that even breathing proved difficult. "He favored English Baroque, but St. Paul's is… a blend of so many architectural styles: Gothic, Classical, Greek, amongst… many others."

She noticed him turn his head toward her, as if about to answer her question of what he might do at such proximity. His gaze skimmed her profile, the corner of his lips turning up in a small, secret smile.

"You have gone red again," he said softly. "Are you sure you are not afflicted with something? At least in London, we will not want for a good physician."

She cleared her dry throat, unable to turn her head to look at him. If she did, she both feared that he would kiss her and feared that he would not. She was not certain which would be worse.

"I think it is just the motion of the carriage," she replied, as they turned away from St. Paul's and headed west toward Mayfair.

In truth, now that she thought about it, they should not have been near enough to St. Paul's to see it at all. Either the driver had taken a wrong turn by the museum, or Max had deliberately asked for a detour, past the one building that any budding architect worth their salt would gaze at in wonder.

If there is a dog in the next park we see, then he did it on purpose—for me.

It was not long before the carriage passed by a private park surrounded by black iron railings, in the fashionable area of Lincoln's Inn Fields. Not so many fields, in its present state, but a large portion of greenery, overlooked by the Royal College of Surgeons and the Lincoln's Inn Theatre, amongst countless others.

And there, running back and forth to a gentleman in a thick, dark greatcoat, apparently fetching a stick, was what appeared to be a very small horse… and, on closer inspection, revealed itself to be a brindle-colored Great Dane.

"Thank you," Caroline said, thinking out loud.

Max raised an eyebrow. "For what?"

"For… making sure I am well," she mumbled, too shy to ask him outright if he had taken her past St. Paul's on purpose.

He placed a tender hand between her shoulder blades, rubbing small circles. "What else is a diligent husband meant to do?" There was laughter in his voice, but when she cast him a sideways glance, his face was entirely serious.

Worried, even, as if he did not know the answer to his own question.