Chapter 20

CHAPTER TWENTY

I t is a character, nothing more. Like the plays we used to perform when I was younger, I shall convince everyone watching that my words, my actions are true. And in doing so, Caroline would protect herself, never forgetting again that it was not real.

She had made the decision after Viscount Mowbury's gathering, to throw herself into the role that Max had written for her. To a degree, she had already begun playing the part at that ball, though the lines had blurred somewhat. She would not make that mistake again.

Instead, she would enjoy herself, she would be the talk of the town for the best possible reasons, she would be fashionable and exciting, she would continue to impress gentlemen of business with her intellect and continue to make friends with wives and wallflowers alike; and she would pretend to be in love to stave off any residual desire for the real thing. She would not be a pale echo of the Countess of Grayling; she would be her own kind of modern woman, loud and bright and unapologetic.

"We are in the news this morning, darling," she said slyly, as the breakfast room door opened and Max lumbered inside, rubbing tired eyes.

He frowned, pausing mid-rub. "Pardon?"

"It seems we are to be a favorite subject for the scandal sheets." She waved the pamphlet at him. "A most flattering review of our return to society, if I may say so myself."

He padded over to the serving table and poured himself a cup of weak coffee, sipping as he made his way back. She noticed he chose the chair farthest from her, but reminded herself not to feel any sort of disappointment. It was not personal; it was a matter of two thespians preparing in their own way, alone, before their next performance.

"That is good," was all he said, yawning between longer sips of his coffee.

Undeterred, Caroline opened out the scandal sheets and began to read. "A phoenix in scarlet, no one could have ignored the recent appearance of Caroline, the Duchess of Harewood. All aglow after the month of her honeymoon, no one could deny that love becomes her well. If anything, she was more beautiful than at her debut, where she was hailed as the diamond of the Season. So, who would not be envious, witnessing how her husband, the Duke of Harewood, doted upon her? It seems we have an apology to offer the fine pair, for there can be no doubt that they are besotted, and though it is perhaps premature, this writer would dare to declare them the couple of the London Season. But who could be surprised, considering their relation to our much-cherished Matchmaker?"

She waited for her husband's enthusiasm, or some sign that he had at least heard her, but he was staring off into the middle-distance, his eyes glazed over.

Apparently sharing in Caroline's growing frustration, Powder Puff strutted into the breakfast room at that moment and leaped up on to Max's lap, startling him out of his stupor.

"Well, good morning to you too," he murmured, bending his head to place a kiss between the cat's tufty ears.

He scooped the feline up and held her to his chest, making soothing sounds as he smothered her with more kisses and she lapped it up, purring loudly. Caroline watched, open-mouthed, wondering what on earth was wrong with her: How could she be jealous of a cat?

"What is on the agenda today?" Caroline asked more curtly. Her husband had not offered her a "good morning," but offered it freely to Powder Puff.

Max concentrated on the cat as he replied, "I thought we might wander in Hyde Park until luncheon, and then there is a meeting I must attend at two o'clock with Albert. You can take tea with his wife while we talk. After that, I thought we could return here to be at our leisure for a time before venturing to Lord Wetherby's dinner party at seven o'clock."

"What manner of meeting?" she asked, mentally selecting her attire for the rest of the day's events. She had just the gown for the dinner party and had a notion for a new hair style for the walk in Hyde Park, if Lila would oblige her.

Max went to pour himself another cup of coffee, taking Powder Puff with him, the cat slung over his shoulder like an odd scarf. "He has a property that is of interest."

"For me?" Caroline gaped at him, uncertain of whether to be dismayed or outraged.

He nodded. "I have yet to hear the full details, but it is supposed to be a very pleasant country house, close to Westyork." He seemed to notice her expression at last. "Of course, I have no intention of making purchase of it without your consent, but as Albert is still hopeless when it comes to women who are not his wife, and you are "more beautiful than at your debut, where you were hailed as the diamond of the Season." He will not be able to speak a word, which rather defeats the purpose of a meeting."

He was listening…

Torn between satisfaction and the heavy feeling of knowing that their day of separation was not going to be forgotten, she took a sip from her cup of lukewarm tea to balance her thoughts. A moment's pause to remember she had a part to play.

"If it sounds favorable, we should visit," she said.

"You would want me to accompany you?" He sounded surprised.

She shrugged. "Living apart does not mean we should not be somewhat involved in one another's lives. I expect you will want to know that it is a nice house where I can be comfortable, and as the one who might be purchasing it, you should know if it is worth your hard-earned money. Nor would it hurt for you to know how to reach it, should you ever have a need to visit."

"A very… sensible suggestion," he said stiffly. "Actually, that reminds me—before we venture out to Hyde Park, do you think you might join me in my study for an hour or so? I would like your opinion about something."

She perked up. "You would?"

"I took great interest in what you were saying to Lord Pocklington and his acquaintances last night. You made some valuable recommendations, and it would be remiss of me not to implement some of them, when others would pay a handsome sum for such advice and I have it for no cost whatsoever," he replied with a twinkle in his eye.

It had taken her a fair while to understand the nature of sarcasm, for it was not a mode of humor that she was at all accustomed to. But as Max favored it above all others, she had studied the subtle changes and movements in his face so she would always know when he was trying to be amusing.

"If you are going to tease me, I shall feed you terrible advice instead," she chided lightly, getting up from the table.

He chuckled. "I was teasing about the latter part, but not the former." His face turned serious for a moment. "You have a talent for business, Caro. Yet, I suspect it has gone unnoticed by those who do not know you well. They see beauty and grace and the charm of a debutante, but neglect to discover what is beneath the surface."

She had never felt so seen before, and she did not know what to do with the bubbling sensation it conjured in her chest. For years she had behaved as if the only thing she cared about was her debut and entering into society, but the moment she had met the Spinsters' Club for the first time, she had come to realize that she did not have to hide her other interests.

For a while, with them, she had been able to be more like the true version of herself. But then they had married and become mothers and stepped into a new era of their lives, and her opportunities to talk of architecture and business and commerce had fallen by the wayside. Not because the Spinsters' Club would not have listened, but because she had not thought it appropriate or timely to speak of herself.

"Very well," she said shyly, her heart racing. "I will aid you for an hour or so, and then, after we have exercised our minds, we shall exercise our limbs. All of that dancing last night has made me quite sore."

"Sore? Did I tread on your feet?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes. "It was not the quality of the dancing, husband of mine, but the quantity. And if we are to do it all again for at least a few weeks, I must take pains to keep my muscles supple." She headed for the door. "You ought to do the same, for if we are to make a great show of being in love, I cannot have any other partner but you."

And you, Max, are making it very difficult to want another…

A crisp wind swept through the greenery of Hyde Park, teasing the bronzed and yellowed leaves off the trees. They floated down to the grass, gathering into crunchy piles, the sun a hazy gold in a clear blue sky. A perfect autumn day that had brought plenty of the London elite out for a promenade.

"Goodness, the city is beautiful in the autumn," Caroline sighed, leaning into her husband as they walked the pathways of the grand park. She had one arm through his, her other hand holding his upper arm, behaving like the possessive wives she had witnessed in society.

"It has charm," Max agreed, smiling down at her. "I like to think of it as the weather's way of apologizing before it bombards us with snow and sleet and endless icy rain."

She put on a bold laugh, noting that a large group of ladies and gentlemen were wandering nearby. "You do strike me as someone who cannot abide the absolute wonder of snow."

Max's smile faded into an expression of confusion, his eyebrow raised. "Why are you laughing like that?"

"Because people are watching," she replied.

He visibly relaxed. "Ah, I see. How very sly of you—I thought I had either become the most hilarious man in existence, or you had taken temporary leave of your senses."

"Is that not what love does?" she crooned, enjoying herself.

Pretending to be in love with her husband was not as hard as she had anticipated, allowing her imagination to indulge in a few of the things she had always wanted to experience: Holding his arm like that, gazing longingly at him, sliding her hand into his, picking invisible bits of lint off his lapels and letting her palm rest there for a moment on his broad, muscular chest.

"Pardon?" Max choked, looking alarmed again.

"Play along," she grumbled, batting him playfully on the arm. "You must stop, darling! My ribs are already aching. I simply cannot laugh anymore!"

He mustered a half smile. "So, your ribs are sore and your feet are sore. I thought you young ladies of society had more stamina. Have you lost the fortitude of your debut Season so soon?"

"It is more taxing to be a wife than a debutante," she replied, moving to stand in front of him.

The group of fine ladies and well-dressed gentlemen were glancing over, the former snapping out their fans to whisper behind them. It was the sign Caroline had been waiting for. A cue she would not miss.

"You ought to enlist the services of a new valet," she said, lifting her hands to Max's cravat.

She teased it free of his waistcoat and unfastened it, easing the silky fabric off his neck. Smiling up at him as if she really did love him with all of her heart, she adjusted the triangular corners of his high collar, her fingertips ‘accidentally' caressing the warm skin at his throat.

"What are you doing?" Max whispered, wide-eyed.

"Fixing the mistake your valet made," she whispered back, rising up on tiptoe to slide the cravat back around his neck.

Holding his gaze, she began to fasten the accessory back into place, grateful that she had learned how to tie a cravat. But the longer she stretched the moment out and the longer she stared deeply into his sea blue eyes, the more the park around her disappeared. She was closer to him than she should have been, yet not close enough, almost forgetting that they were in public.

" I tied my cravat," he told her, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

"Then, it is lucky that you have me." Her breath hitched as his hand stayed where it was, cradling her cheek.

Her fingertips trembled slightly as she finished fastening the cravat and stroked the silk downward to tuck it back into the vee of his waistcoat. Why did he have to look at her like that? How was it possible that he could do more for their performance of love with one glance than she could do with the entire debacle of tying his cravat? And why did her traitorous body feel the need to respond with butterflies in her stomach and a racing heart, her lungs breathless? It hardly seemed fair, increasing her determination to beat him at the game.

"It is lucky that I have you," he murmured, his thumb brushing the apple of her cheek. He leaned in close, dipping his head to whisper in her ear, "Without you, I would not have a plan prepared for my business endeavors that might make us rival your brother's wealth. If we are successful, you could have two residences if you wanted. After all, it is only right that you should have a fair portion of the income."

She could barely concentrate on what he was saying with the tickle of his breath against her neck, and the press of her palms against his chest, feeling the thud of his beating heart. She did not know if it was thumping faster than normal, or if it was her heart that was beating too quickly.

Even being in the same house as you is sometimes too far away…

She gasped at the thought, horrified that her mind would betray her like that. It was simply not true. She was perfectly content to be in another room of Harewood Court all day and not see her husband at all. Indeed, she only disturbed him when he was working to make sure he was not working too hard. It had absolutely nothing to do with missing him.

She would continue to convince herself of all that until there could be no doubt in her wayward mind.

"They have walked past us," Max murmured, pulling back. "And my cravat, I suspect, looks worse than it did before."

She blinked up at him, her throat tight. "What?"

"The spectators—they have walked past us," he replied, his eyes creasing into a confused frown. "That is what you wanted, is it not? It is over. The metaphorical curtain has come down on our performance."

An awkward laugh left his lips, prompting her to fix a smile on her face, forcing a chuckle out of her mouth. She could not let him see that she had been so involved in the performance that she had forgotten it was an act. She could not let him think, for even a moment, that she wanted more from him than he was willing to give. Nor could she let herself think that it could ever be real.

"I would take my bow," she said with false cheer, "but that would rather ruin the illusion."

Max nodded, offering his arm. "And we would hate to do that, would we not?"

"Yes," she replied decisively, taking the proffered arm, "we would."

She could not and would not forget again that it was all pretend, for the safety of her own heart. And the sooner they could visit the house that might be hers, the better.