Summer Is for Lovers (23 page)

And here, in the brightly lit ballroom, with the vibrant music hammering her senses, Caroline was mourning the loss of her ignorance. Because if only she could skip back in time, she might still believe she could capture such a man’s heart.

Chapter 27

F
OR THE THIRD
day in a row, Caroline woke alone in her room.

Though she had slept a few hours, she felt anything but refreshed. The ball had stretched on until two o’clock in the morning. But it was last night’s argument with David, rather than the late hour, that had her feet dragging as she went about her morning ablutions. She had thought she could help David overcome his tragic past, but now she realized his reasons for refusing her were more complex than a simple case of mourning his first love.

David blamed himself for the girl’s death.

And Caroline reminded him of her.

She would have liked to talk things through with Penelope, to use her sister as a sounding board against the tumult of emotions that tossed inside her. But Pen’s bed was as neatly made as it had been yesterday, and it seemed clear that whatever else her sister might have done, it had not included sleep.

This time, she did not need to pick up Penelope’s journal to sort out where her sister was. Pen had danced twice with Mr. Hamilton last night, although she had also danced with a handful of other gentlemen. And while Caroline found she could not begrudge her sister a few stolen moments with the man, she
did
resent being left to explain her absence to their mother.

Because Penelope had not arrived by the time she made her way down for breakfast either.

“What do you
mean
she’s gone out for a walk?” her mother sputtered over the rim of her floral-patterned porcelain teacup, the one with the chip on one side. “It’s only ten o’clock in the morning!”

“She mentioned wanting to take in the sunrise.” Caroline looked down at her plate, her thoughts still swirling around David’s revelations of last night. She tried to distract herself with the more looming problem of breakfast, which this morning consisted of toast made from the remnants of last week’s loaf of bread and a single poached egg. The egg had been placed on top of the bread, preventing any attempt to dress the ensemble up with jam or butter. Caroline sighed as she recognized the telltale signs of Bess’s creativity to stretch the family’s food budget. Apparently the expense of her new gown was already showing up through the loss of breakfast staples.

“Which doesn’t explain why she’s missing now.” Mama’s mouth turned down. “The sun came up several hours ago.”

Caroline squirmed in her chair, unable to come up with anything more logical to explain Pen’s glaring absence from the breakfast table. And then she breathed a sigh of relief as the sound of the front door slamming reached her ears and Penelope came barreling into the dining room, a newspaper tucked under one arm.

“Morning, Mama.” She kissed their mother on one cheek, then placed the paper down on the table before taking her seat. She bowed her head a quick moment, muttered something like a prayer beneath her breath, then opened her eyes to blink at her meager plate. “Er . . . where is the rest of br-breakfast?”

“The more pertinent question is where were
you
?” Mama prompted, a hint of steel in her voice. “It is not like you to be gone so early.”

Pen passed the newspaper down the table before reaching for the teapot. “I went out to get a c-copy of the
Gazette
. I thought we all would enjoy reading the social section. It is sure to mention Caroline, after her success at the b-ball last night.”

Caroline looked at her sister with a rising sense of unease. Clearly, Pen had come prepared, with a ready excuse tucked up under her arm like that. There was much to admire in how neatly her sister, who was new at this process of subterfuge, deflected her mother’s questions. Then again, hadn’t Caroline provided her ample room to practice, asking Pen to cover for her afternoon walks?

Mama’s expression softened to a more tolerable state. “That was thoughtful of you, dear. But we can’t afford to spend our money on such luxuries as the
Gazette
anymore.” Their mother pushed the unread paper back across the table. “I am afraid things are going to be tight around here in the near future. Our bill to Madame Beauclerc is due next week, and we still have several dresses planned for both of you. Purchasing a copy of the paper merely to read the
on-dit
s is an indulgence we cannot afford.”

Pen swallowed the bite of dry toast she had taken and offered a tight smile at their mother’s rebuke. “I shall try to r-remember, Mama.” She picked up the paper. “But as long as we have it today, why don’t we take a look?”

Caroline paused, her bite of egg halfway to her mouth. Her memories of last night were not ones she cared to revisit in the company of her family. Had word of her disagreement with David found its way into the
Gazette
? Or worse, what if someone had overheard their conversation, and printed something about David’s past?

But there was nothing to be done, because Pen was already opening the paper. “Oh my g-g-goodness! It says here that Duffington proposed to Caroline last night!”

“What?” Their mother snatched the paper out of Pen’s hands in a display of sharpened claws that quite belied her common claims to having been born a lady.

Caroline slid down in her chair. How had a
Gazette
reporter found out about Duffington’s proposal? Her stomach had already been feeling a bit off, but what little she had consumed threatened to make a return appearance now. Clearly Mr. Duffington was a man who could not be trusted to keep any sort of counsel.

“Oh my word.” Mama’s blue eyes met hers. “Is it true?”

“Er . . . yes.” There was little Caroline could do but admit it. Because wishing he hadn’t wouldn’t make it go away.

“Oh, I
knew
the investment in Madame Beauclerc’s services was going to be our salvation.” Mama’s cheeks shone pink with excitement. “That dress was divine, if I do say so myself. Have you decided whether you shall accept him? Imagine, if you did, you would be potentially in line to be a countess, Caroline.”

Caroline opened her mouth to say she didn’t want to be anything of the sort, only to be interrupted by her sister. “She should w-wait to give him her answer.” Pen busied herself refolding the paper with great care.

“Why? Duffington would be excellent choice. Provided she gets on with him, of course.” Their mother’s blue-eyed gaze turned probing. “Do you like him at all, dear? I mean, enough to contemplate marriage? He isn’t the most handsome of your lot of suitors, but there is more to life than the way a man looks.”

“Mr. Duffington is nice,” she hedged.

“And his family is wealthy,” her mother prompted.

Caroline studied her hands, examining the ragged beds of her nails. “I suppose.”

“Mr. Branson d-danced with her last night too, after . . . well, after the first waltz.” Pen paused for breath, before plunging back into her stilted speech. “She never lacked for a partner, not once during the evening. And Mr. Hamilton mentioned to me he was looking to take a wife within the year.” Penelope fixed Caroline with a look. “She should not make any rash d-decisions where Mr. Duffington is concerned.”

“But I thought
you
liked Mr. Hamilton,” Caroline protested, her head swirling from the rapid volley of conversation that threatened to unseat her.

“I have more of a b-business interest with him,” Pen said matter-of-factly. “He told me just last night that he was thinking of asking you to accompany him to the race on Monday.”

Caroline narrowed her eyes at her sister. She could well imagine what kind of business her sister had with the young, red-haired, cheroot-smoking photographer, and she was not going to have any part of him.

“I wasn’t the one who danced with him last night,” Caroline told Pen.
Or snuck out to meet him this morning
, she mentally tacked on to the statement.

“He couldn’t get on your dance c-card.” Penelope offered her a sly smile. “Something about it being full.”

“But—”

Bess bustled into the dining room, chattering like a magpie whose nest had been turned over. “Oh, Mrs. Tolbertson, there are two gentlemen, and they are both insistent on seeing Miss Caroline right away. I tried to explain you were eating breakfast, but Mr. Dermott just walked himself back to the parlor and—”

Caroline pushed back from the table, her knotted stomach loosening. “Mr. Dermott is here?”

Bess nodded, wringing her hands. “And Mr. Branson too.”

Caroline picked up her skirts, determined to sort this out. At the least, the morning’s new event promised a ready excuse to avoid finishing her miserable bit of breakfast. Branson she might have expected, but Dermott’s presence was an admitted surprise, given they had shared no more than a single dance last night.

Well, and that single, unfortunate kiss two weeks ago.

Both gentlemen were waiting in the parlor, pacing on opposite walls. Their heavy masculine footsteps sent her mother’s glass figurines rattling on the mantel, and their presence bristled above the feminine frippery, as if seeking which delicate thing to tear down first. Caroline pasted a smile on her face as she walked in and put a steadying hand on the fragile sculptures. “Good morning. What brings you here so early, gentlemen?”

Branson lunged toward her and extracted a copy of the newspaper from an inner pocket of his jacket. He shook it in a hard fist. “The
Gazette
brings me here.”

Caroline sighed. “Is that why you have come? To speak ill of Duffington?”

“The man is brash in the extreme to offer you marriage after only two days’ acquaintance. Why, I have admired you for far longer.”

Caroline inclined her head. Branson was correct. He had known her for all of
four
days.

Branson clasped Caroline’s hand and fell onto one knee, bringing to mind a wounded soldier trying valiantly to prove his worth. He pressed a fervent kiss to the top of her hand. “Caroline. My heart is wounded by the turn of events. I had wanted to offer for you, but my friends argued it would be prudent to wait a week.”

“A week?” Caroline echoed, incredulous.

“But he who hesitates is . . . well . . . suffice it to say I cannot wait anymore. Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

Caroline felt as though the blood drained from her head. Indeed, she felt as if all the blood drained from her body. This could not be happening again. She extracted her hand from the sandy-haired young man’s strong grip. “It is very kind of you, Mr. Branson. Truly. But . . .” Her mind searched for some deterrent. “Don’t you have another year at university?”

He rose unsteadily. “We could have a long betrothal.”

Caroline sighed, trying to pick through an appropriate response. A long betrothal would not solve her family’s financial problems, and the thought of marrying this boy-man made her feel about as hopeful as a long march to the gallows. Honestly, between Branson and Duffington, she wasn’t sure of the worse choice.

Dermott stepped forward then. She had almost forgotten his presence, so quiet had he been through the awkward exchange. “Mr. Branson was a bit eager in his offer, I think. Might I inquire first whether you have accepted Mr. Duffington’s offer?”

Caroline shook her head, blinking under the somewhat mesmerizing spell of Mr. Dermott’s rumbling voice. He had a way of asking a question that suggested he already knew the answer, and used his voice only to hypnotize his prey. She recalled now that he had spoken in just such a way in the moments before he had kissed her on the Chain Pier.

She flushed at the unfortunate memory. “I have not formed a decision yet.”

Dermott smiled up at her, and she was reminded that she had, for a time, thought the man quite handsome. Their first physical interaction had ended disastrously, but their dance last night had gone better. A quivering hope sprang free. She could not deny that Mr. Dermott, at least, made her blood hum in some degree of awareness. It was not the body-spinning attraction that David Cameron brought out in her treacherous veins, but it was at least something beyond the mild case of peptic upset that Duffington and Branson inspired.

She reminded herself that this was the man who had all but ruined her life with his thoughtless words. The man who had stalked her, kissed her, and then jeered at her.

But he wasn’t jeering right now. In fact, though she had treated him with only the stiffest sort of courtesy last night, he had presented himself at her home this morning, respectful intentions in hand.

One of Dermott’s hands played about the lower edge of his waistcoat, and Caroline’s eye darted toward the motion. Poppies today, unless the bit of enlivened embroidery was playing tricks on her eyes. His voice pushed through the rolling fog of her thoughts. “I am glad to hear you are carefully considering your answer. I hope that means you will consider my own suit.”

“Your suit?” Caroline asked, still staring at the bloodred poppies, lined up like soldiers against the black woolen background.

“I have come to admire you, and although I would normally wish to us time to become more closely acquainted, the rash behavior of others forces me to quick action.” He shot Branson a heated look. “Given that my family has visited Brighton for many years, and given that I have, in fact, graduated from university some five years past, I hope you will consider me favorably.”

“Oh, I say, that’s a little unfair,” Branson protested.

Caroline met Dermott’s unswerving gaze then, abandoning the poppies for the distraction of his smile. The man was brilliant. In one smooth sentence, he had managed to make Branson seem panicked and immature, and cast a logical suspicion on the rationale behind Duffington’s two-day proposal.

“What are you saying, Mr. Dermott?”

He straightened his waistcoat, and offered her again that stunning, cunning smile. “I would take this opportunity to lodge my own proposal there beside the others. Miss Tolbertson . . .” He drew a breath, and then continued, “Caroline . . .” This time her name did not sound so grating to her ears. “I would be humbly honored if you would consider becoming my wife.”