Chapter Four

June 6th

"H e's staring at you again."

Notching her arrow into the bow that had been provided for the day's archery competition, Caroline turned her head, but only slightly—just enough that she could glance from the corner of her eye to where the duke stood. Indeed, he was staring at her. He smiled at her, clearly having caught her looking. Immediately, Caroline turned her face forward once more. "Oh, do not tell me he's looking, Ruby! You tell me, then I feel compelled to look as well, then it becomes an endless cycle of humiliation. He must think me positively mad at this point!"

"If he does, he's quite brave to still be standing close by while you have a weapon," Ruby pointed out.

The tinkling laughter, clear and bell-like, rang out across the field. Miss Isabella Parker was struggling with her bow while no less than four gentlemen battled for the privilege of helping her.

"I loathe her," Ruby said quietly. "I shouldn't, I know, but I can't help it. Why she is just so... so..."

"Perfect?" Caroline supplied as her cousin struggled for the words.

"Yes. Exactly. Precisely. Who can possibly be that perfect? There must be something wrong with her."

Caroline eyed the young woman in question with no small degree of envy. "If there is, it certainly isn't physical. She's so lovely it almost hurts to look at her. And by all accounts, she is nice. Nice to everyone. And it's no secret that the Duke of Avingden has been courting her for some time. They are well matched." Much to my eternal disappointment, she thought.

"He was courting her, but she appears to be quite taken with his cousin, Lord Theo. They were laughing and talking all through dinner last night, and I saw them walking in the garden earlier... standing very, very close to one another."

Caroline shook her head. "I cannot imagine any woman choosing Lord Theo over the duke."

"Because he is a duke," Ruby surmised.

"No. Because he is the duke . There is a distinct difference," Caroline pointed out. It had nothing whatsoever to do with his title. It was simply about him. He was, in a word, perfect. Or as close to perfect as any man might be. "But I can't focus my attentions on him... not when he's as far out of my grasp as the moon. Let's talk about something else. Anything else."

"Have you considered which gown you might wear to the ball tomorrow night in honor of Lady Jane's nuptials to my worthless dolt of a brother?"

He wasn't worthless. He simply had very little to recommend him aside from his title. His neck was thicker than his head, and since every person who had any dealings with him at all referred to him as thickheaded, that was actually quite impressive. "My pink gown, I think. It's fetching, but not too fetching. Still perfectly suitable for my role as poor relation-come-companion."

Ruby shook her head sadly. "I do not understand why Mother thinks you must dim your light in order for me to shine. Why can't we both shine?"

"Because that, my dear cousin, is not the way the world works. I know my place in it, but I do adore you for your ability to forget that I am... not your social equal," Caroline finished rather lamely. Bastard was an ugly word, one she detested and one that had all too often been applied to her by others with unkind hearts.

"You are. And anyone who says differently is beneath us both."

*

Antony watched until he saw Miss Davies make for the house. Then, as discreetly as possible, he followed. There was no nefarious intent on his part, but he was aware that if anyone observed them, what his intentions were would simply not matter. Despite the risks, he had to find a way to speak to her alone.

He could hear voices drifting along the corridor toward the morning room. Staying back as far as he dared, he waited until he heard the soft sound of goodbyes. Miss Stanhope was going to lie down, and Miss Davies intended to return to the garden. Hurrying forward, he ducked into an alcove and waited as Miss Stanhope passed him on her way to the main staircase. Upon entering the morning room, he found Miss Davies seated at a small writing desk, her head bent low as she focused on the correspondence in front of her.

He cleared his throat lightly, and her head came up as she swiveled in her chair to look at him. Immediately, her expression went from startled to shocked to utterly horrified.

"Good afternoon, Miss Davies. Might I have a word?"

She appeared positively panic-stricken. Her eyes went wide even as her face paled perceptibly. Her lips parted on a soft exclamation of either surprise or dismay. He was too distracted by the sight of those parted lips to be able to decipher the reason for them.

And then, the spell was simply broken. A loud crash sounded from somewhere in the house, and he turned back to the door, torn between the need to stay just where he was and to go investigate. Another opportunity to speak with her privately might not come his way. That was the linchpin in his decision. Whirling on his heel, he turned back, only to discover that the morning room was now empty. The half-written letter lay abandoned on the desk, while the only other entrance to the room, via the terrace, revealed the sight of Miss Davies darting across the lawn to where the other guests were gathered.

"She ran," he muttered. "She bloody ran from me. Am I an ogre? Does she despise me so much? If so, why draw what she drew?"

Befuddled by the vagaries of the feminine sex and by one member of that group specifically, he was still shaking his head as he exited the morning room. There he found himself face to face with Theo. Isabella was not with him.

"Where is Miss Parker?"

"Oh, now you're interested in her," Theo replied dramatically.

"No, I am not. But your agreement to dance attendance upon her begs the question of how you aim to do so without being at her side!"

Theo laughed. "My, dear cousin, you have no notion how the feminine mind works. If Miss Isabella Parker is to value my courtship of her—and I am courting her outright, to be clear—she must not feel it is an absolute certainty. It is to my benefit for her to wonder just how much of my affection she holds."

Antony was utterly exhausted by all of it. "Why would Miss Davies run away?"

"You're a duke. She's, quite frankly, no one of any particular import. Why wouldn't she run from you?"

"I'm not evil. I'm not some licentious animal on the hunt for her," Antony protested. "I'm a perfectly honorable man with perfectly honorable intentions!"

"To propose?"

"To court her with a proposal potentially forthcoming," Antony responded. "But how can I court her if she flees the room upon my entrance?"

"Maybe you're attempting to court the wrong member of the family. If you express to the girl's aunt, Lady Stanhope, that you wish to spend time with her—no, she'd never permit it. Not when she's trying to marry off her own whey-faced daughter."

Antony drew back at that. "Cousin, you are very unkind. Miss Stanhope is not unattractive."

"Not unattractive does not mean she is beautiful," Theo answered pragmatically. "But she does have a marriage-minded mama. If you've no qualms about disappointing Miss Stanhope, then you must seek to be close to her to ensure that you have the option of being close to Miss Davies!"

Or he could enlist the aid of Miss Stanhope. Secretly, of course. "Good day, cousin."

Turning on his heel, Antony returned to the morning room and picked up the discarded letter that Miss Davies had been writing.

My dearest Effie,

I have been unbearably bold and have courted scandal quite recklessly. If only it weren't for that infernal drawing—

The missive stopped abruptly, likely because of his interruption. Shuffling the paper aside, he withdrew a clean sheet of foolscap and began scribbling his own letter. This time, he wrote to Miss Ruby Stanhope and begged her aid in secretly courting her cousin and companion.

*

Caroline ran blindly—until her lungs were on fire and her slippered feet ached from continuously slapping against the ground with each stride. When she stopped, she was deep in the garden maze and far away from any place she recognized. How far had she gone from the house and the other gathered guests? And how in heaven's name would she find her way back? She detested mazes. They left her feeling panicked and unreasonably fearful. If there was any testament to just how much the duke unnerved her, that she'd run headlong into the center of one was proof enough.

"Miss Davies? Miss Davies, are you well?"

It was all Caroline could do to bite back the groan that welled up within her. Sir Percival. Of all the people at this infernal house party to see her mad dash from the duke's side, it had to be Sir Percival. Unfortunately, there was no place to hide, and she could hear his footsteps on the gravel path as he came closer.

"I am well, Sir Percival. Just seeking some time alone for quiet reflection," she called out, praying he would take the hint. Of course, he hadn't taken any other hint that he'd been given, or even outright refusals, for that matter. The likelihood that he would suddenly develop a clue was slim to none.

No sooner had the thought occurred than he appeared, creeping around a corner of the maze. "Ah, there you are! I say, Miss Davies, you are quite the runner. You bolted like a shot!"

"And typically, Sir Percival, when a lady bolts from company, more company is the last thing she wants," Caroline pointed out.

"Ah, but I am not company. We are friends, are we not?" he said with a cheerfulness that certainly did not match the tone she was attempting to set.

"We are acquaintances at best, sir. And it is really quite improper for us to be here alone. I think perhaps I should return to the house." She was far less concerned about being ruined than being bored to death.

"It would be just as improper to leave you unescorted, Miss Davies! What sort of gentleman would I be to leave you alone in the elements?"

"It's a garden, sir. And despite its circuitous nature, I daresay I can navigate it well enough to return safely. You need not exert yourself so on my behalf."

He kept walking forward until he was just an arm's length from her. "My dear Miss Davies—Caroline, if I may?"

"No, you may not," she said.

"Caroline," he continued, as if she had not spoken at all. "It is most fortuitous that I have found you here. I have been hoping for a chance to speak with you privately from the very first moment I saw you here. Every time we have encountered one another throughout the season, I have been struck by your beauty. Regardless of the circumstances of your birth and your lack of fortune, I am quite enamored with you."

"I am flattered, Sir Percival, but I—"

"I have been wanting to present an offer to you... a proposition, if you will."

Caroline's eyebrows lifted in shock even as her jaw tightened with anger. There was a wealth of difference between a proposition and a proposal. "I can assure you, Sir Percival, that my answer will be unequivocally no. You need not embarrass either of us further by continuing."

He smiled at her in such a way that it could not have been more patronizing had he patted her on her head. Of course, he'd have needed to stand on a chair to reach the top of her head. "Miss Davies, you must understand that I will be very generous with you. You need not be a poor relation in your aunt's house. I would provide you with a home, servants of your own, a sizable allowance. It is a very generous offer."

"To be your mistress," she said. "Tell me, Sir Percival, what price should I ask for my self-respect? You lack the fortune, sir. Not for every sovereign in all of England."

"Now, Caroline, you understand how the world works. You are not the sort a man marries... but you are the sort of woman a man desires. And I do desire you. Greatly."

"Then I would advise you, sir, to grow accustomed to disappointment." With that, Caroline swept past him. Perhaps anger had heightened her instincts, or there was some sort of divine guidance leading her. Regardless, she found her way unerringly out of the maze and back into the garden. And once more, squarely face to face with the duke.

"Miss Davies, is aught amiss?" he asked.

Anger chased away her nerves and granted her the ability to speak, though she'd never admit to the humiliation she'd just endured at the hands of a wretch like Sir Percival. "No, Your Grace. Nothing. Merely a pesky insect that had to be squashed. Pardon me, sir."