Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

I t had been days since Caroline’s moment in the graveyard with Robert, and she was still thinking about his blasted words. I simply cannot trust you. Such words had never delivered such a devastating disappointment before. How could she not be trusted? Anyone in London who knew her could tell that she was a woman of her word, who could be trusted to keep a secret, or to give sound advice.

But Caroline knew the sort of trust Robert spoke of. When it came to another person’s heart, when it came to care of any sort for another human being, it was beyond Caroline’s expertise. For she had not grown up in a house filled with love and did not have that keen intuition. Neither of her parents had been very kind or affectionate people, so she had very few examples of this giving nature her aunt went on about. Caroline’s mother and father were elegant, wealthy, and selfish, and had been determined to remain so, which was how Caroline had been raised. Yet that had not stopped Fred from becoming a gentle, loving rector for two whole villages. He had through some manner developed enough heart and know-how to care for them all. So what was wrong with her?

According to Aunt Fanny’s letter, it had something to do with a connection to her past, which was not a road Caroline frequently traveled, as it had very few joys to think of. She had been happy once, when she had looked up to her elder brother, and had Robert’s loyal companionship. But each of her life’s joys had been ripped away, and over the years of her life, as time tends to do, little by little, everything had changed.

Her parents were long dead, as was her husband, and Fred was… still Fred. No amount of time or distance would ever change him, and part of her was grateful for that. He wanted to become family again, but how could she manage such a feat? Their lives were so entirely different, and her childhood hurt still lingered from the damage of their broken family. Her pride would not quite let her be humble before him yet.

As for Robert, she did not know what she could do about him. He might say he did not hate her, but he could not forgive her, she knew that, likely because she did not deserve his forgiveness. And it could not be resolved with one whispered apology on the edge of a graveyard.

She did not even know if that would cover everything. Were there other people she needed to address, other wrongs to right? She wished she knew the whole of it from the beginning. She wanted to treat Aunt Fanny’s request as a list, something she could check off and then dismiss forever when she returned to London, for such considerations were heavy indeed. She found it much easier to think of her dinner party instead.

But when Aunt Fanny’s letter would not leave her alone, Caroline found herself back in her carriage, returning to Edgewood Estate. Everything about that place had felt so familiar, despite the years that had passed. Perhaps the staff there would allow her a tour before the meticulous duke returned, and she could see all the remnants of her life as a child, the foundations that made her who she was now. Would that be enough to still the disturbance her aunt’s letter had unearthed?

The carriage jostled from side to side as she traveled through the village and down the leafy lane until it arrived before the iron gates. Caroline swallowed. Edgewood Estate remained as grand and beautiful as it ever was, but nearing the dead of winter, it appeared hollow, without any feeling or sign of life.

Still, she would not be deterred. She stepped out into the cold and made her way to the front steps to knock on the door. An unfamiliar face answered, and the older gentleman bowed in greeting.

“Good day, madam,” he said, “I’m sorry to tell you, His Grace is not at home.”

Caroline nodded. “Yes, I understand. But I wondered if I might be able to take a tour of the grounds and the estate. My name is Caroline Marley, and Mr. Scrooge, the former resident, was my father.”

His face brightened. “Oh yes, of course! I can see the resemblance now. There are some paintings of you and your brother in the attic. He’s the rector now, isn’t he? But you’ve grown up into quite a lovely lady yourself.” He opened the door wider. “Please do come in.”

Caroline stepped inside, taking her first glance at the entryway and front foyer after so many years. Any generic paintings of landscapes or historic figures connected to the estate had been taken down in favor of a portrait of the duke himself, which did not surprise her in the least. He was still a duke, after all, and bore all the self-importance that the title suggested.

She was led to the downstairs drawing room, and there discovered he had changed even more. Entirely new furnishings, beyond just the drapes, and it was not in Caroline’s taste at all. But she would never say so to the Duke of Rothes.

Another portrait of the man graced the wall, larger than the one in the front foyer. He appeared every bit regal and pompous, and perhaps even more so, seated on an elegant armed chair instead of the bathchair she remembered of him. She found herself grateful he was not at home, for it gave her more opportunity to explore the house freely without worrying about being under his watchful eye and critical tongue.

The housekeeper was a short, pleasant woman who did not pester Caroline or pepper her with questions, and instead silently guided her around the great house, even if such a guide was not necessary. Caroline paused in rooms where she wanted to linger, welcoming the memories that she had long forgotten. And others that perhaps she had forced herself to forget.

They viewed the library, the parlor, and even her father’s study. That room held fewer memories, for she rarely was allowed to bother him there. And when she reached her old bedchambers, Caroline found herself sitting gently on the bed. Something about being in this room awakened a reverence for the young girl she had been, and for all the dreams that girl once had. When she had been ignorant to the demands of society, she had fancied marrying her young childhood friend Robert Cratchit, but eventually, that desire faded away into memory.

Tears surprisingly sprang to her eyes. “Oh, humbug,” she mumbled, clearing her throat and blinking the tears back.

When they came to her parents’ room, she didn’t need to go inside to remember what it was like growing up under their stiff and apathetic thumbs. Caroline stared down the door, her chest filled with a tightness, a sadness, and more than ever, she felt an aversion to their memory. She thought that in gaining all they had professed—the wealth, the status, the connection—she would someday be better than them, or somehow become happier than they were, but no such thing had occurred. She was alone, and she was just as miserable as they had been, as empty and hollow as the remnants of this house.

With a shake of her head Caroline went on, suddenly pausing at her brother’s bedroom door. A different emotion seized her chest, for the memories this recalled were not as dire. How she had loved Fred in those days! Caroline had adored her older brother, looked up to him in every aspect. Back when she had followed him around all over town with Robert in tow. But then he was always gone at school, and she had missed him greatly. This house felt so lonely without Fred. She thought when he graduated, everything would be right again. But by the time Caroline was ready to have her come out in London, Fred had washed his hands of the family entirely and wanted nothing to do with them. It broke Caroline’s heart, but if he would write her off, she would do the same for him.

Caroline’s head was full of too many thoughts and feelings, and it seemed like nothing was making sense. Perhaps coming back to Edgewood Estate was a bad idea.

“I should like to end the tour here,” Caroline said, her voice a strained whisper to the housekeeper. The older woman gladly acquiesced and led her downstairs, Caroline’s heart thundering in her chest, as if she could not get out of this house fast enough.

As though it were haunted.

“Madam, if you please!” a voice called after her.

Caroline turned to see the butler with a large object held awkwardly in his arms. “Would you like to take this with you? It’s the painting I mentioned before.”

The painting of her and her brother. Done when they were children, before he had gone off to school for the first time. Made when she still adored him.

Caroline clenched her jaw, standing there frozen in front of Edgewood Estate.

“There’s also a trunk full of things that were left behind,” he went on, “trinkets that must have belonged to your parents. His Grace had us place them all in the attic, but you’re welcome to take them now if you’d like.”

Pursing her lips and swallowing the emotion, Caroline nodded. “Very well. The footman will see to it.”

They went about loading the trunk on the back of the carriage, but the painting, she supposed for its delicate nature, had been placed inside on the seat next to her. It was wrapped in a dark velvet cloth, and as the carriage lurched forward, the velvet slipped from the corner, revealing the familiar background of the painting.

Urging Caroline to see the rest of it.

Taking a deep breath, she leaned forward and gently pulled the fabric down to reveal the whole painting.

And she should have known better.

Young Fred, probably no more than thirteen years of age, sat in an elegant chair. Caroline would have been seven or eight, still a child, full of ignorance and innocence, stood beside him with a hand on his shoulder. When both of them had still been unbothered by the whims of their parents and the realities of the world around them.

And it was this view of her childhood, the brother she had adored, and the girl she had forgotten, that broke Caroline’s heart. Unable to stave off the tears any longer, she buried her face in her hands and wept.

March 1803

Caroline Scrooge bit her lip as she settled into her seat on the private coach, and her stomach tickled with excitement. Now that the snow had stopped and the roads were clear, they would make their way to London for the season, just as her father had promised. She had traveled to London with her family before, but this time, it was for a more formal visit, in preparation for her coming out the following year. Her family had all the wealth and prestige their name could afford, and now she would receive training from the finest of Masters to ensure her talents and manners were above all reproach. It would be no burden to be so doted upon for weeks on end.

Her parents stepped up into the coach, both appearing rather grim for such an auspicious day. Would she be the only one to wear a smile?

Her father, Ebenezer Scrooge, rapped his fisted hand on the roof of the coach much sooner than Caroline had expected, and it lurched forward as their two-day journey began.

“What about Fred?” Caroline asked.

“He is not coming with us,” Father mumbled.

Caroline froze, her eyes whipping to her mother, who held a handkerchief to her nose as she stared out the coach window.

“Whyever not?” Caroline’s voice held a frightful urgency. She thought he would be accompanying them. She was excited to have him back now that Fred had finally graduated and returned home from school. He had greeted her affably upon his arrival, commenting on how very grown-up she was now, but he had been stiff and silent in the days that followed, and somehow even more distant. She had hoped they could become reacquainted again in London. “I was looking forward to his company.”

“Well, you shan’t have it, so it would be best to reset your expectations accordingly,” Father barked.

“My dear, please,” Mother said in a weak voice, but he waved her off.

“No, she will know the whole of it.” Then he turned his boney, wrinkled face toward his daughter. “Fred has decided he will no longer be a part of our family, so he will go off on his own.”

Caroline’s heart dropped. “What? Why?”

“Because he’s nothing more than a ridiculous fool. From this day forward, I will not hear a word about him.” Father looked back and forth between his wife and daughter. “There will be no correspondence sent to him, and anything received with his name will be tossed in the fire. The name of Fred will no longer be tolerated in my presence. I no longer have a son. Am I understood?”

Her mother nodded tearfully, but Caroline remained ever so still, mouth gaping open in shock.

Why had Fred written them off? Of course, they had grown detached over the years, with him always away at school, and her constantly under the tutelage of her parents, but she had thought that was just the way things were. Had he learned some new way of life in his studies that made him want to distance himself further, to the extent of removing himself from them all together? Did he think himself better than them? She needed her brother desperately, now more than ever—but did he no longer want her as a sister?

As the village of Hamstead faded from view, Caroline wiped a stray tear from her eye. Her father did not have any patience for tears, but he could not understand that her hopefulness for the future suddenly seemed a little less bright on what would have been an otherwise glorious day.