The Husband List (31 page)

Fondness hadn’t driven Caroline’s desire to have Peek along with them, necessity had. Peek knew people locally and could have been instrumental in finding out about Bremerton’s supposed French wife. Now Caroline was on her own, and time as well as the Englishman had become her enemy.

“All I ask is that you not hover now that we’re here, Mama,” Caroline said. If she had only Annie for help, she needed room to maneuver. “You’ve gotten what you wanted, now please give me the freedom to adjust to my new life.”

“Of course,” her mother said, and then pointed out the window. “Oh! Look at that lovely little folly of a ruined thatched cottage! Isn’t this the most romantic landscape?”

Caroline sighed. The cottage her mother was admiring was no landscape accent, but the real thing. And still occupied, too. Mama was so in love with the notion of England that she painted everything in rosy hues.

The carriage jolted to a stop and a young man who’d been standing at the front of the house came forward to help Caroline and her mother. At least the rain had stopped pelting down. Caroline shook out her blue travel cloak and skirts once she reached the gritty limestone gravel drive.

The boy led them up the house’s three broad steps, which were in need of a good sweeping, and held the door open for them. Neither Bremerton nor a servant waited in the cavernous entry hall, a space dominated by a large, curving stairway that must have been quite impressive in its day. Now it looked suspect, as did the hall. Its plaster walls were discolored, and while a few small oil paintings still hung, more notable were the dust outlines where larger pieces had once been.

“You’ll have such fun decorating this place,” Mama enthused.

If Caroline were the sort of person Mama was, and took actual joy out of gathering up as many of the world’s treasures as she could to use as props, that might have been true. Caroline preferred to see things in their natural surroundings, where context made them all the more understandable. And these surroundings certainly confirmed her beliefs about Bremerton.

He appeared on the upper hallway. Caroline suppressed a shiver that came from both the house’s chill and her own nerves. It was as though thinking his name had summoned the devil.

“Welcome,” he said as he started down the stairs. “I wish we would have had a better day. Chesley House shows poorly in the rain.” His deep voice echoed against the bare walls.

“It’s a lovely property, with great potential,” Mama said.

Caroline kept her silence as Bremerton made the ground floor. He wore country tweeds that, although the fit was perfect, didn’t suit him at all. He was playing yet another role, and this one less convincingly than his city persona.

“That’s kind of you to say, Mrs. Maxwell. There’s much that requires attention here,” he replied. As he did, he watched Caroline in a way that made her immediately decide that Annie would be sleeping in her room with her.

“Your maids and trunks should be along shortly,” he said. “In the meantime, my housekeeper should be here to show you to your rooms. We’ll be having dinner with two of my neighbors and with Lady Carew, my great-aunt on my mother’s side, who acts as hostess here at Chesley House, since I am yet unmarried.”

“I look forward to meeting your great-aunt,” Caroline said. “I’m sure we’ll have a lot to talk about, since she’s known you from childhood.”

“I’m sure you will,” Bremerton replied smoothly. And even if Mama had been paying closer attention, she probably wouldn’t have caught the flash of cold warning in the Englishman’s eyes. She was already convinced that he represented perfection.

The housekeeper, a harried-looking woman somewhere in her middle years, arrived.

“Mrs. Parker, if you would please show our guests to their rooms?” Bremerton said. To Caroline and her mother he added, “I’ll give you time to settle in. We’ll meet in the dining room at eight.”

“Right this way,” Mrs. Parker said, leading them to the stairway. “As you’ll see, we have neither gas nor electric on anything but the main floor. Lord Bremerton says the stone walls are much too thick to accommodate such conveniences. There are candles and oil lamps in your rooms to help you get about in the night.”

“It’s all so very romantic,” Mama said. She clearly had not thought through the stone situation far enough to understand this meant that in the winter, the upstairs rooms were heated only by fireplaces. Caroline would hold out hope for plumbing.

Mrs. Parker stopped at a door and swung it open. “Miss Maxwell, this will be your room.”

Caroline stepped inside. Mama and the housekeeper followed. The room was large and had clearly once been very elegant. Now it possessed that same aura of slow decay as the rest of the house. The rosewood dresser was new, but had nothing in common with a four poster bed that was at least a hundred years older, or with the small sofa in front of the fireplace that looked as though it had been upholstered with a local cow. The green draperies hung listlessly, and the rug was worn down to its backing in spots. And this was likely the best of the guest rooms, which Caroline would have been accorded as Lord Bremerton’s future fiancée. At least, though, it had a chaise on which Annie could sleep, and it was clean.

“Thank you,” she said to the housekeeper. “It will do quite nicely.” She turned to Mama, who had picked up a chipped china shepherdess figurine and turned it upside down to look for its maker. “No need to linger, Mama. I’ll see you at dinner.”

As soon as the two other women had departed, Caroline closed the door and began pacing the room. There was work to be done to get her into Jack’s arms, and she was ready to begin.

*   *   *

JACK USUALLY loved Mondays. They were the start of a new work week, and rich with potential. This Monday, however, had been rich with something else entirely. He’d taken enough of a hit from Bernard Maxwell that he figured he might as well just keep going and deal with the mess of politely explaining to Harriet that there would be no marriage proposal. It was his fault for not having done it sooner, but he hadn’t wrapped his mind around the girl’s unbelievable tenacity. She’d crossed the ocean with not even a shred of the encouragement that had sent Agnes Maxwell into a frenzy of packing.

Jack had learned from Mr. Maxwell that the Vandermeulens had also taken suites at the Savoy. If nothing else, that made Jack’s wrap-up of the worst Monday on record efficient. He’d had a note delivered to Harriet’s rooms, asking her to join him on the terrace at six. She approached now, dressed in a lavender gown with more fluff and lace than Jack had ever seen. Her hat was no shirker when it came to ornamentation, either. He spotted three small, stuffed birds among the silk leaves and would bet that a couple more were hiding in there somewhere.

“Hello, Jack,” she said. “How wonderful that you’re in London. I had no idea you’d be here.” Harriet was an unskilled fibber. Her voice wavered and her eyes darted.

“I thought we could take a walk in the embankment gardens now that the rain has stopped,” Jack said. “But it’s still wet. How about if we have a seat at one of these tables?”

“Do you like to walk?” Harriet asked.

“It gets me from place to place,” he said with a smile.

“If you like it, then we shall walk,” she replied. “It’s most healthful.” She gripped her skirts and raised them until he could see the pointy toes of her white kid boots. “Shall we?”

They walked down the outer stairway, toward the garden. Harriet stopped at the puddle stretching across the expanse of the ground at the stairs’ base, stubbornly set her jaw, and marched over it.

Jack would have offered once again to turn back, but he got the sense that once Harriet was set on a course of action, she was going to see it through to the end.

“As you know, your father approached me some weeks ago and suggested that marriage to you was an option I should consider,” Jack said as they passed beneath an oak tree.

Harriet stopped. “Yes, I am aware of that.”

“I was honored,” Jack said, stopping too. “You’re a beautiful young woman from a fine family.”

Harriet looked up at him. He’d expected to see some sort of feminine softness in her eyes. Instead he saw the fierce spark that came with the thought of impending victory. He was damn sure he looked the same way every time he bought another brewery.

“Thank you,” she replied in a sweet voice.

“And as much as I was honored, I determined not to follow through on your father’s suggestion.”

“Well, that’s not true. We’ve danced together and had meals together,” she said.

A breeze pushed through the oak tree, sending the droplets of rain that had clung to its leaves down in a miniature shower. Harriet glared up at the tree.

“Shall we move on to stand by the river?” Jack asked.

“No,” she replied angrily. “We’ll stay here. Are you denying that we danced together?”

“No, but you danced with a great many men, and spoke with them at your picnic, too. I was just part of your legion of admirers.”

“Yes, well, you’re the admirer I’ve chosen,” she said.

“The choice has to be mutual, Harriet,” he said in a firm but kind voice. “And I’ve fallen in love with someone else.”

“Love? What does love have to do with marriage for people such as us?”

He smiled. “You sound exactly like I did, and not all that long ago. I looked at marriage as I did any other business transaction.”

“Well, naturally,” she said.

“Someone has proven to me that I was wrong, and I’m betting that when you least expect it, some man is going to come along and do the same for you.”

Harriet made an annoyed little sound. “That’s nonsense. And you’ve put quite a knot in my plans. I have every intention of being married this winter.”

She walked to the water’s edge, and Jack followed. A small sailboat slowly worked its way toward them, its sails just catching the scant breeze. Harriet glared at the boat, too, though Jack got the feeling it was really intended for him.

“If marriage is your intention, I’m sure you’ll succeed,” he said.

She looked at him. “You’re here in London, and you came with the Maxwells, which means you’re in love with Caroline.”

He nodded. “I am.”

“But you can’t be in love with her. She’s supposed to marry Lord Bremerton. You’re supposed to love me. Think how much more convenient that would be.”

“I’m new to this love thing, but even I can guarantee it has nothing to do with convenience.”

“And yet you’re in love.” She shook her head. “You’re not who I thought you’d be.”

Jack smiled. “I’m not who I thought I’d be, either.”

But he liked this new man a whole lot more.

*   *   *

CAROLINE AND Mama weren’t overdressed for dinner so much as they were too newly dressed. As the small party sat gathered around the dining table, which had an unfortunate slope toward Caroline, she assessed the state of their wardrobes. Lady Carew wore a gray silk gown with an enormous bustle that had been the height of fashion twenty years ago, but no longer. The two women from the neighboring family—Miss Daisy Ridley and her widowed mother, Mrs. Olive Ridley—were dressed in more recent clothing, but Caroline still felt too glittery and new by comparison. Even Bremerton’s evening clothes were more subdued than his city wear.

Mama, of course, didn’t seem to notice. She and Bremerton talked on about ways in which the house could be improved and who their favored architects were. From time to time, Bremerton would glance Caroline’s way, but it seemed that since he believed victory—and her funds—were his, there was no need to feign interest in her in front of others. Caroline was fine with that.

“This is all highly irregular,” Lady Carew announced in a loud, quivering voice from her seat at Bremerton’s right. His great-aunt was quite elderly and, Caroline feared, no longer fully in possession of her faculties.

“What, Auntie?” Bremerton stopped to ask.

“I do not understand why we have these foreigners at my table. They are from America, you say?”

“Yes,” Bremerton replied.

“It’s a land of heathens and savages. They all live in mud huts.”

Caroline looked downward to hide a smile, but Mama was puffing up like an adder. Bremerton motioned to the waiter, who was the same boy who’d opened the front door for them earlier. “My aunt would like some more wine.”

“It sounds as though you and Lord Bremerton are to marry,” Miss Daisy Ridley said to Caroline. Daisy was close to Caroline’s age and possessed of a ruddy glow that Caroline saw most often on her centaur female friends—those who would sooner die than be parted from their horses.

“There are no plans at this point,” Caroline replied.

“You are not the first American girl to come to the county,” Daisy said. “I simply don’t understand it, though. Why would you possibly want to move so far away from both your mother and your home? And why would your mother want you to?”

Since Caroline was plagued by precisely the same questions, it was difficult to come up with an answer that wouldn’t make her mother look like an ogre or she like the family member that must be shed at all costs.

“It’s complicated,” Caroline said.

“Nothing in this world is so complicated that it can’t be broken down just like my horse’s tack,” Daisy replied. “And you seem to have your wits about you more than the other Americans I’ve met. Break it down for me.”

Caroline drew in a breath and was ready to give it a try, but Lady Carew interrupted.

“You!” she cried, pointing a finger at Caroline. “You in the yellow with all the jewels.”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Why are you here?” she asked, her rheumy eyes narrow.

“Your nephew invited me,” Caroline replied.

“Miss Maxwell has come to Chesley House to decide if the house and I suit her,” Bremerton said to his aunt.

“Whatever for?”

“The general intention is that we should wed.”

“Wed?” his great-aunt asked. “What did you do with the last one?”

“What last one, Auntie?”

“Why, your wife, of course. I saw her scurrying around here from room to room.” She pointed at the waiter. “Go find her now. We cannot be served until she is at the table, too. And who seated me in the wrong place? I am to be to your left, Marcus. Your wife is to be at your right.”