Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

" A bsolutely not!" Caroline wheezed, dizzy with shock.

Max put a brazen arm around her, holding her to his side. "I am a fair alternative, and I will not be responsible for your ruination. For years, I have cleaned up the messes that my brother has made—why should today be any different?"

She tried to push away from him, but her hands came up against the solid muscle of his chest and the ridged lines of his ribs. An upper half she well remembered from that night at the Grayling Estate. Sculpted by the heavens themselves, and not merely for show. There was such power in his physique, and that power kept her tight to his side in a strange embrace.

"Do you hear yourself?" she whispered. "I do not want to be anyone's ‘mess' and I assuredly do not want to be your wife, of all people."

He glanced down at her. "Lady Caroline, I am afraid you do not have much choice. Dickie is not coming, and you cannot leave this church unwed." He paused, searching her furious face. "In truth, I do not think you quite understand the predicament you are in."

"I assure you, I do," she retorted, but he shook his head.

"There will be no more parties, no more balls, no more invitations to so much as an afternoon tea," he told her. "Your friends, as much as they might adore you, will distance themselves. They have to protect their families and their good names; they will not risk similar scorn by being seen with you. So, unless your heart's desire is to be a recluse, what I am offering you is the best chance you have of recovering from your… mishap."

Her jaw dropped, all words snatched away by the horrifying picture he painted. She did not like to think of herself as na?ve, but she had assumed that the scandal would fizzle out, and when it did, everything would return to normal. Indeed, she had imagined herself as a younger version of Beatrice Wilds, the Countess of Grayling: accepted as she was, utterly free, fiercely independent, making her own decisions about every moment of her life.

But her husband died. She became both infamous and celebrated after that . And other than mysteriously convincing the Royal Court to allow her to become the Countess of Grayling in her own right, inheriting what should have been an earldom, she had no true scandals written about her.

"My friends would never abandon me," Caroline muttered, finding her voice again. "You are trying to scare me into marrying you, and it will not work. Goodness, I did not even want to marry your brother, and I actually like him as a person—what makes you think I would simply accept you as a replacement?"

Max blinked in surprise. "I do not know what I have done to deserve your dis like, but your opinion of me matters not at this moment." His expression turned solemn again. "I am not trying to scare you into anything; I am being honest, whether you like the truth or not."

You do not know what you have done to deserve my dislike?

She almost told him, the vitriol dancing on the tip of her tongue—that he had marred the night of her debut, that he had insulted her character at the Grayling Ball, that he had never been anything but cold and dismissive toward her, but no words could emerge. She was too aware of Max's arm around her, of the heat and strength of him, and of his unfairly handsome face, peering down at her in earnest.

Those sea blue eyes were intense as they met hers, almost challenging her to keep trying to convince herself that this was not her only choice. She tried to imagine all of the ladies who would swoon at the thought of getting to marry such a man, how lucky they would feel, but by her own design, she felt extraordinarily unlucky.

Perfect as you are on the eyes, you were not supposed to do this. You are ruining my plan.

Of course, she could not say that out loud.

"You do not want to do this," she said in a softer, more sultry voice, choosing persuasion. "Your Grace, I would infuriate you, as I have often done in our brief exchanges. Come now, look at me. Look at me properly, and you will see that this is foolhardy."

She had not expected Max to actually look at her properly, his fierce gaze skimming her from top to bottom and back again. Beneath that somewhat revealing observation of her, she felt as if she wanted to lean further into him, to hide the fact that she was so exposed by his visual assessment.

Fortunately, the vicar spared her blushes.

The old man cleared his throat, clasping his veiny hands together. "Not to hurry you, but is there to be a wedding or not?"

Ignoring him as panic returned to a rolling simmer in her chest, Caroline turned her imploring gaze toward her brother. But there was no respite or relief to be found in Daniel's demeanor either. His expression was desperately troubled, his lips pursed as his attention flitted from his sister to Max and back again, clearly balancing the consequences of staying or leaving.

"You cannot be considering this," she gasped, struggling to breathe. Her lungs burned and she tried to rub away the tight feeling with the heel of her palm, to no avail. Nothing short of waking up from this nightmare could alleviate the terror that gripped her.

Olivia stepped forward, scooping her arm around Caroline and leading her away from the man who was offering to marry her. A bizarre feeling of absence existed for half a second before Caroline shook it off. In this instance, Max was no protector, despite the fact he resembled a stoic hero. He was not the keeper of her dreams; he was the one about to stomp on them with his righteous behavior.

Phoebe joined them, flanking Caroline on her other side, the two women diverting the honorary member of the Spinsters' Club onto the empty front pew.

"What is going on?" a nervous voice asked from the pew behind.

Caroline knew who it belonged to, but could not bring herself to face her mother. No one had informed Amelia Barnet, the Dowager Countess of Westyork, about the events of the ball, nor the scandal that had spread through society like a plague. The newspapers and scandal sheets had mysteriously vanished each morning, though Caroline's mother rarely read them anyway.

Of course, she had been surprised to hear that her only daughter was going to marry the Earl of Greenfield in a rushed ceremony with a special license. But Daniel had smoothed it over, fabricating a charming story of how the two friends had suddenly realized that they loved one another and could not wait to be wed. A story that would soon unravel, all the careful untruths now useless.

I should have told you everything…

"Caro, what is wrong?" her mother pressed in a tight, high voice. "Where is Dickie? Phoebe, Olivia—will someone please tell me what is happening? My nerves cannot bear it."

Phoebe held Caroline's hand and squeezed it. "The groom is not coming," she said quietly. "He has… changed his mind, and now we must decide what to do."

"He is not coming?" Amelia gasped, clamping a hand over her mouth. "Oh no… oh no, this cannot be. My sweet girl, you will be ruined. A jilting is far worse than a broken engagement! Oh… oh dear, please tell me this is cruel jest. Please."

Caroline shook her head, refusing to look in Max's direction again, or into those dangerous blue eyes. "It is no jest, Mama."

"But I thought you loved each other? How could he change his mind if he loves you?" Amelia's voice hitched. "I should never have allowed this! I knew that boy was trouble the moment I first met him at your debut, but when your brother told me it was real love, I… thought he might have matured."

Olivia closed her eyes and drew in a steadying breath, no doubt bracing herself for the white lie she was about to tell the woman who was practically her mother-in-law. "I am afraid it does seem like he has repeated his bad habit of falling in love then falling out of it just as quickly."

Do not blame him! Caroline wanted to shout. Do not smear his name. He does not deserve it. He was doing the right thing, whether society agrees or not.

Instead, she stayed quiet, her head bowed, still refusing to look over at the gentlemen who were deep in discussion. If she caught their eye, she feared they would say the words she was dreading—that she was to marry Max Dennis without delay, and they would accept no argument.

"Oh, Caro," her mother whispered. "Did you know his affections were wavering?"

Caroline shook her head.

"But what is the solution?" Amelia asked, looking to Phoebe and Olivia for answers. "If Dickie is not here, then that is that. His actions will destroy my daughter. She will barely be welcome anywhere for at least a few years, and by then it might be too late for her to find a good husband, who truly does love her."

Phoebe hesitated, casting Caroline an apologetic look as she said, "Dickie's brother, Maximilian, is offering to marry her instead. I do not believe you have met properly, but he is the Duke of Harewood and, as you can see, not offensive to behold."

"He is a kind man," Olivia added, directing the words at Amelia, though they were clearly meant for Caroline's ears. "Anna never has anything but wonderful things to say about him, and on the occasions where I have been in his company, he has been amusing, generous, warm, and courteous. Evan adores him."

Phoebe nodded. "Daniel speaks favorably of him, too. Why, at this very moment, he is considering the match. He would not do that if he thought Maximilian unworthy of Caro's hand."

Caroline stared at her friends, breathless as betrayal stung her in the heart. She had thought they were leading her away from the altar to rescue her from the situation. All they were doing was executing a slyer maneuver, taking her to one side to coerce her, not save her.

"You must, Caro!" Amelia urged, leaning over the pew to cup her daughter's face. "My darling, I wish I was not saying this, but you have to accept. He must be honorable indeed if he would offer himself in his brother's place, considering his high station, and…" she glanced at the man in question "… he is very handsome. More handsome than his impish brother, I should say. That can certainly help in a marriage."

Do you think I do not know that he is handsome? I have eyes, for goodness' sake!

But he did not even like Caroline. She had tried to win his favor, to even the smallest degree, since the night of her debut, but she had kept tripping over herself… and often him. And his beauty did not mean he would make a good husband. If that were true, she might have shown an interest in the months they had known one another.

"You too?" she murmured, her heart sinking.

She could dismiss her friends' suggestions, but she could not, in good conscience, allow her mother to fret over her future. She would not deny her mother anything.

"But…" Caroline faltered. "But you said I would never have to marry anyone I did not love. You have always said that you want for me what you had with Papa. And that is what I have dreamed of since I was a girl."

The conversation—rather, the entire morning—seemed to be turning in circles, not going nearly as smoothly as she had hoped, crushing her spirit with every endless minute.

And it is all because of you. She shot a dark look at Max, but when she met those eyes, she dropped her gaze again. It was not safe to look at him.

Fortunately, he went back to talking to the other men, seemingly locked in a frustrating cycle of discussion too, gesturing urgently at the reverend while Evan and Daniel interjected. In support of Max or against him, Caroline was not certain.

Amelia drew out a handkerchief, dabbing the underside of her eyes. "What else is to be done, Caro? I know… I know that I promised, I know what I encouraged, but… I cannot see you become a pariah. I cannot see your heart break with every passing Season, as you are dismissed and ignored."

She hesitated. "And your father and I began as an arranged match. True, our fondness was almost immediate. From the moment we set eyes on each other, we knew it was something like destiny, but… love might bloom for you both too, once you are removed from the pressure of this church and you have forgotten all about Dickie. Remember, it bloomed for me after the wedding. It was a few weeks before I knew."

"But you were a rarity. You have often said how exceptionally lucky you and Papa were," Caroline urged.

Footsteps halted the conversation before she could add, And I have no such fondness for Max . This is not destiny; it is a mistake.

She peered up through blurry eyes to find the resigned face of that very man looking down at her. Daniel stood beside him. Neither had to speak for Caroline to know that they had formed a united front, ready to do whatever had to be done in order to get her married.

All because I had a sip of brandy in the company of a friend.

It seemed so silly, so unjust, that her entire life should be swept off course because of such a trivial thing. Had she been with any other friend—Anna, Phoebe, Olivia, Leah, Matilda, Ellen, Joanna—no one would have batted an eye. Why did it matter so gravely that her friend happened to be male? It was no different, in her mind, to being in Daniel or Evan's company.

"We have talked," Daniel said gently, but nothing could soften the razor-sharp blow. "We feel— I feel—it would be for the best if you accept His Grace's kind offer."

Caroline looked to Evan—her cousin, her adopted brother—in a final, desperate attempt to find an ally. "Do you agree with this? Can you not see how… how… ridiculous this is? Would you truly take all choice away from me?" Her breath grew ragged, her voice fading. "Might I not at least attempt to weather the storm of whatever gossip and scorn comes my way? If it is too much, then I could consider a marriage of… necessity. Could that not be possible? Evan?"

"I have half a mind to ride from this church, find Dickie and box him senseless before dragging him here," Evan growled, shaking his head. "But as I have no way of knowing if I would find him, I am afraid that I have to agree with your brother. I am sorry, Caro. So very, very sorry."

Caroline stood sharply, backing away from the friends and family who had somehow transformed into a mob, set against her. She shuffled all the way to the cold stone wall, pressing her spine into it as if it might allow her to pass through if she just willed it hard enough.

Anna cherishes him. She is always telling me how amusing he is. She knows him better than anyone.

She closed her eyes and tried to picture a life with Max, tried to envision just one moment when he had smiled at her, but she could not do it. She kept returning, instead, to the spilled drinks, the aloof responses, the absolute indifference he had for her, which did not sit well with her.

But her friends and family stood between her and the doors. If she tried to run, someone would catch her and, with all the apologies in the world, they would still march her to the altar. And she, too, was beginning to understand that she had no other choice. Not if Max was right, not if leaving this church unwed would mean her friends distanced themselves.

I cannot be a hermit. I would not survive it.

If marrying Max was the price for life to continue on in a mostly normal fashion, then it was not the steepest cost she could think of.

But, perhaps, she had one last shot.

"And what of you, Reverend?" she wheezed, glaring at the white-haired man with the crooked nose who leaned against the lectern as if he were passing time before dinner. "The special license was for me and Richard Dennis, not Maximilian. Surely, it cannot go ahead if the correct groom is not here."

The vicar smiled stiffly, casting a sly look at Max as if to say, "Are you sure you want to marry this one?"

"His Grace and I have come to an arrangement," the old man said. "It will be noted that a simple mistake was made when the license was attained, naming the wrong brother, and will be altered afterwards. There is no reason not to proceed."

Caroline sagged, all of the fight abandoning her as the small congregation waited in earnest. She stared down at the floor, eyes following the cracks of the flagstones and the worn patches where countless feet must have walked before her. Perhaps, she thought she might find an answer in the worn memory of other people.

How many other brides have stood in this church, marrying someone they did not love? How many have married cruel men, unfaithful men, old men, unsuitable men?

She lifted her gaze to observe Max, who had his head bowed, his demeanor surprisingly patient.

He was not what she wanted, regardless of the fact that he resembled the sort of ancient Greek hero that had been immortalized in perfectly sculpted marble. She did not love him, did not know him, did not care for what she did know about him, but at least she knew he was not cruel. Rude, perhaps, and certainly unimpressed by her, but not cruel, not old, and not the most unsuitable match she could make.

Beatrice has freedom because she is a Countess. I might have freedom if I were a Duchess.

Not of the same kind, of course, but maybe Max could be convinced to keep the union as a marriage of convenience. A masquerade of a marriage. A marriage in name only.

But if I fall in love with someone, what will I do?

Divorce was so rare that it was almost mythical. Annulment was less rare, but if too much time passed, it would be hard to convince the ecclesiastical authorities that there were valid grounds for it.

She glanced at her mother, who hid her anxious sobs in her handkerchief, and all alternatives evaporated into the dust motes that danced in the shafts of gray light, slicing in through the windows.

"Very well," Caroline whispered, hating the words. "I will… accept your offer, Your Grace."

But you will regret that you ever forced Dickie to propose in the first place, she threatened in solemn silence, moving to take her place by the altar. And you will regret not leaving me to the wolves of the ton, where I might at least have had my freedom.