Chapter 23

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

I t was late afternoon by the time the carriage turned through a pair of intricate gates, the metalwork as delicate as filigree, depicting coiling vines and heavy bunches of grapes where butterflies perched as if they were just about to take flight. Two angels topped the gate's pillars, wings tucked, and heads bowed.

If I see a real butterfly, Caroline mused, her head still pounding from the night before, then this will be my home.

The journey had been long and silent, the carriage rocked by the fierce wind that had whipped up as they traveled through the countryside. Not at all helpful for Caroline's port-induced malaise, though she blamed Ellen for that. Whenever her glass had emptied, Ellen had replaced it, until the rest of the night had become a blur.

But what ached more than Caroline's head was the fact that Max had retreated to the opposite side of the carriage, not offering to put his arm around her or hold her as he had previously done. And she did not have it in her to try and claw back the distance between them.

"Albert said we could stay for the night," Max said, the sound of his voice surprising Caroline. It was the first thing he had said for hours. "There will not be any staff, other than the housekeeper."

Caroline nodded. "I suppose that will help in the matter of discretion."

"Indeed."

She missed the softness in his voice. She missed the playful side of him that she had taken for granted at Harewood. She missed the man who had carried her across the reflecting pool to see what glinted in the water. She missed the illusion of a husband who might actually be a husband to her, dangling the false hopes of not living apart, after all.

Fighting against the silly urge to cry, she pulled down the window and stuck her head out. The icy wind lashed at her face, hiding the sting of held-back tears with the more easily explained appearance of watering eyes.

Through the blur, she saw the house appear and her mouth fell open in astonishment.

It was the most beautiful house she had ever seen. Even in the gloomy weather, the sun blotted out by the swell of storm clouds, the sandstone walls gleamed like gold and the bay windows glinted a winking welcome. And though it was not in bloom, she knew that the swathes of green that climbed the walls and hung from the porticoed porch were wisteria. In the summer, it would be breathtaking.

They passed immaculate hedges that shielded pretty gardens from the wind, and a fountain the shape of a cherub sprinkled crystalline water into the air. And off to the right of the house, an old cedar tree spread wide boughs, perfect for clambering and summer sitting. Near identical to the one at Westyork.

But there was another tree that caught her eye, a short distance from the cedar. A cherry blossom, somehow in bloom. And the pink-hued petals, tossed by the wind, fluttered down like a blushing snowfall.

"You like it?" Max said in a quiet voice.

She looked back at him, startled to find that his eyes were fixed on her. "I have only seen the outside, and one cannot judge on the outside alone."

In her lap, Powder Puff stretched out, fanged mouth gaping open in a satisfied yawn.

"What do you think of it?" Caroline asked, stroking the cat's fluffy white fur.

Powder Puff chirped and turned three circles on Caroline's lap, before curling up and falling asleep again.

"She is clearly enthused," Max said, offering a smile that did not reach his eyes.

A short while later, the carriage came to a standstill outside the white marble steps of the porch. Max opened the door and offered his hand to Caroline but, with her arms filled with Powder Puff, she neglected to take it and stepped down of her own accord.

"It is certainly in better condition than Harewood," she said, meaning it in jest. "Not so lopsided."

Max did not laugh. "It befits you, I think. The sort of house that was made for gatherings and parties and such."

"My brother has always said that you should see a residence when the weather is bad. He claims you cannot fully understand what it will be like if you only see it when the sun is shining," she replied haltingly, resenting every bit of distance that stretched between them. For she still did not know what she had done to cause it.

Was it the mention of Dickie? Was it the dance with Mr. Forster? Was it because I kept up the ruse with Phoebe, though she knows everything?

She knew she should follow Anna's advice and simply ask him, but he had rejected her inquiries that previous night, and she did not want to fight to get an answer that would satisfy her.

Max walked up onto the porch and knocked, his back to Caroline.

Holding onto Powder Puff, she could not help but admire the height and breadth of him as he stood there, remembering how he had looked at the Grayling Ball, hair mussed with sleep, blinking in alarm at his state of undress. Regret formed as she wondered how many times she would have to see that broad back leaving her, for the rest of their marriage.

The door opened to reveal a relatively young woman, no older than five-and-thirty, standing there with a smile on her face.

"You must be the Duke and Duchess of Harewood," she said in a lilting accent. "It's a pleasure to welcome you to Cedar House. I hope it'll be to your liking, though I can only apologize for the lack of staff. I got a girl in from the village who's a mighty cook, but if you need aught else, you just let me know. I'm Mrs. Bowman."

Max dipped his head. "I doubt we shall need much."

"Would you like me to show you around?" Mrs. Bowman gasped at the sight of the cat. "Goodness, what a precious creature!"

Caroline warmed to the woman immediately, as she followed Max's lead and proceeded on into the house.

The tour was brief, for the house was not excessively large—two floors of bright, airy rooms with exceptional views of the surrounding forest and countryside and gardens. There was a drawing room, a smaller parlor, a library, and two studies on the lower floor, with six rooms on the upper, and a glorious belvedere to the rear that would make a perfect music room or leisure room.

"I doubt I have seen gardens so lovely," Caroline cooed as they paused in the belvedere for a while, and she let Powder Puff loose to explore.

She went up to one of the window seats and perched on it, admiring the coiling, curling patterns of the hedges below, like a miniature version of Versailles. In the distance, she glimpsed the glitter of a river through a thin line of trees, and meadows beyond.

"But how is it that there is a cherry blossom in bloom?" she added, noting the tree down below. The petals were still fluttering down, swirling with the stormy gusts.

Mrs. Bowman came closer. "Oh, that!" She clasped a hand to her chest. "The story goes that a former master of this house had it planted for his wife a year after they were first married. A ‘weeping cherry' they call it, and, my goodness, that beautiful thing blooms in the autumn as if it were spring! Cheers the heart when it's dismal outside. Not every year, I'll grant you, but more often than not."

"It chose a bad day to blossom," Caroline mumbled to herself, watching the petals drift and whirl, eddying with the current of the wind.

"Well, I'll just leave you up here while I prepare some tea," Mrs. Bowman said with a curtsey. "The pair of you must need refreshment after your journey, and I won't be responsible for you being parched and ravenous. Do you care for cakes?"

Caroline nodded. "There are few things I care about more."

"That's what I like to hear, Your Grace!" Mrs. Bowman cheered, laughing.

With that, the pleasant young housekeeper stepped out of the belvedere and closed the door behind her, leaving Caroline and Max alone. To more stilted silence, Caroline imagined, turning her attention back to the gardens, searching the flowerbeds and bushes and hedges for any sign of a butterfly. It would be a brave one, to be flying out in such inclement weather, and in the wrong season, but she looked regardless.

"This would be a fine room for reading and drawing," Max said, coming to sit beside her. "You would be at liberty to decorate everything to your taste, of course, but the light is wonderful in here."

Rain began to spatter against the windows in a steady tink, tink, tink , while the trees on the near horizon seemed to dance as they were thrashed this way and that by the fearsome wind.

"Mr. Forster told me that you used to dream about traveling across the world," she said, not knowing why.

Max stood sharply. "It was not his place to tell you that."

"He said that nothing should have stopped you from continuing on with your plans, but you changed overnight," she continued. "Rather, your plans did. He told me that there was a member of the family who had offered to look after Anna and Dickie, but you did not accept."

"It was no one's responsibility but mine," Max replied, his back turned to her once more.

Caroline smiled sadly. "Mr. Forster said you used to be more like Dickie."

"All young men are like Dickie, until they grow up," Max said, his shoulder slumping. "That is the part that Dickie has never quite understood."

She resisted the urge to get up and go to him, to put her arms around his middle and hold him from behind. He looked like he needed someone to hold him, but she could not bring herself to do it, not without knowing what they were—what she meant to him, if anything at all.