My Darling Caroline (23 page)

“Caroline isn’t planning to leave you, and she wouldn’t dream of doing so even if you told her about Mother’s past.” She leaned toward him to add decisively, “You are the most important thing in her life, Brent, not her flowers or her green house—”

“I’m sure she never told you this.”

“I
know
this,” she stated without pause. “She’s not twenty-one years old and running to America to escape a shrew of a mother, she is your wife. She may have married you for convenience, but when she took the vows she became yours unequivocally.”

She relaxed and smiled. “Go and tell your wife you love her. And after she tells you she loves you in return, you can feel comfortable divulging all your little secrets without fearing botany is more important to her than you are.”

He sat silently for a moment, brows furrowed in thought, then slowly shook his head. “It’s just not that simple.”

“Maybe it’s not simple that first time—”

“Two days ago I told her I didn’t.”

She looked at him blankly. “Didn’t what?”

“Didn’t love her,” he answered in whisper.

After a moment of utter bafflement at the stupidity of the entire male sex, she shook her head in disgust. “Was it an accident on your part?”

He turned to stare at her. “What kind of question is that?”

Shrugging, she lightly expounded. “Did the words spill out of your mouth in a moment of insanity? Were you drinking heavily, or taking revenge in a fit of jealous anger?”

His eyes darkened in annoyance. “She asked me directly if I loved her, and I said no.”

“Why?”

That seemed to stump him. “What do you mean, ‘why?’”

“Why did you say no when it would have been just as simple to say yes?”

He exhaled loudly and sat back hard against the stone wall. Uncomfortably he mumbled, “I refuse to say it first.”

She simply gawked at him, absolutely knowing that if she lived a hundred years she would never learn to understand men. “Well,” she declared sarcastically, “that certainly makes perfect sense—”

“It’s a game, Charlotte,” he cut in forcefully. “It’s a game Caroline and I are playing with each other because I told her right after we married that I didn’t believe in love and she would never hear me say the words. She said she’d never speak the words to me either, and I’m positive she said that because she thought my belief was foolish.”

“It is foolish.”

“Love is foolish, Charlotte. It’s difficult to define, irrational, complicated…”

“Love most certainly is all of those things,” she tenderly affirmed, taking his hand in hers, “but that doesn’t mean it does not exist. If nothing else, love is
real
, Brent, and through all of the rough edges, loving my husband has been the greatest experience of my life, only made more glorious because I know he loves me in return. It can be the same for you and Caroline if you will just give it a chance.”

He reached to his side with his free hand and abruptly pulled a leaf from a plant, spinning it in his fingers, staring at it in contemplation.

Charlotte watched him, fairly certain he was just having trouble coming to terms with complications that might arise from such a frank and open admission. With all his intelligence, rationality, and devotion to family, Brent had never been so close to losing this part of himself to anyone. He loved Caroline and had probably loved her for months, but for the majority of men, accepting and then confessing love was something akin to being stripped naked and forced at knifepoint to read Dryden or Pope to thirty old, fat ladies who sipped tea and nibbled on sweetmeats as they stared at you with feigned interest at the biannual meeting of the Ladies Society for Readers of Great English Poets. For many men, accepting and then confessing love was exposure at its most embarrassing and very worst.

He continued to stare at the leaf, saying nothing, and Charlotte decided to take action, as it was obvious the time had come for honesty on her part as well. Since the afternoon had grown increasingly warm in the brightness of sunshine, and because she needed time to adjust her thoughts and compile her next carefully spoken words, with grim determination she released his hand, reached up to unbutton her pelisse, and slowly removed it, laying it gently behind her on the stone bench.

She wiped the back of her hand across her brow, glancing back to view him closely. “I had a child, Brent,” she quietly disclosed.

At that moment she was certain no statement had ever shocked him more. He turned his head as the words seeped in, looking at her through wide, stunned eyes.

She smiled and held his gaze. “About three years ago I realized I was carrying. I suffered through months of sickness, weight loss and then gain, despondency, elation, crying for no reason, everything a woman goes through when she’s with child—”

“Charlotte—”

She grasped his arm to silence him. “Let me finish.”

Trying to keep her nerves calm, she looked to her lap, moved both hands together, clutching them between the folds of her peach day gown, and continued.

“As far as the horrors of pregnancy are concerned, I was spared nothing except serious complications, and through all of the misery, Carl was wonderful. He massaged my aching back and feet, he held my head more than once as I unexpectedly started retching. He was chivalrous and adoring, and I in agony more often than not, but from beginning to end, I was also ecstatic because it had taken me years to conceive and I was finally going to be able to give my husband a child.”

The remembrance caused her to waver, but with control she kept her emotions in check.

“During the two months before the birth, I decorated the nursery, made lace window coverings, a lace quilt, sewed tiny baby gowns. Carl is an expert woodcarver, and he crafted a beautiful cradle.”

She raised her head to stare at the dark pink roses in front of her, holding tightly to her hands, now starting to shake involuntarily from a memory still so sharply vivid in her mind.

“On October second, eighteen thirteen, after two days of intense, exhausting labor, we had a daughter. A beautiful, healthy, six-pound baby with her father’s hair and chin and her uncle’s eyes.” She looked back to him. “Your eyes, Brent. She had a loud wail and a strong grip, and everyone, especially her father, adored her from the moment she entered this world. We named her Margaret after Carl’s mother and called her Meggie…”

Her voice trailed off as tears she could no longer contain began to trickle down her cheeks. But she held his gaze courageously, and he didn’t move, didn’t utter a sound.

“On December sixth, exactly nine weeks, two days, and eleven hours from the moment she was first swaddled and placed in my arms, I put her down for a nap in her beautiful cradle, and she never woke up. My baby was so healthy, Brent, so strong, and nobody will ever know the feelings that overtook and crushed me the moment I walked into her room and found my beautiful baby girl lying dead in her cradle. All I did was feed her and put her to sleep.”

She paused, watching the stricken look cross her brother’s face as her words penetrated his mind and heart, as he slowly began comprehending deeply the very same feelings of pain and loss she’d felt and was feeling once more, as she felt every single day without fail and would feel for the rest of her life. Brent understood them because he was a father.

Shaking her head for clarity and poise, she wiped her cheeks to proceed.

“Nobody took her death harder than Carl,” she continued in a whisper. “The following year was horrible for us emotionally because we didn’t and still don’t understand how a healthy baby with no injury or illness could just…suddenly die. And because it had been so difficult for me to conceive the first time, compounding our feelings of outrage and anguish was the unspoken knowledge that Meggie might be our only child.”

“I’m sorry, Charlotte,” he murmured.

She stood abruptly, suddenly chilled. Hugging herself for comfort and warmth, she walked across the dirt path to the roses, staring down at them, carefully considering her next words.

“I know what your feelings were for me, Brent, from the moment I left, and in many ways I believe they were justified.” She turned to face him fully. “But never in my life had I felt rejection, anger, and hurt as I did when you didn’t acknowledge me, when I wrote and you returned every letter unopened. I became pregnant, went through a miserable nine months of carrying, a painful birth, then experienced the death of my baby, and you didn’t know. I wrote you once a month and told you everything as I experienced it, and you never knew because you didn’t even bother to read my letters.”

Charlotte watched him closely as he slowly began to ascertain all she was saying.

“You had a niece, Brent, as beautiful as your own daughter, and had I not insisted on coming here and staying at Miramont even when I felt completely unwelcome, you never would have known.”

He slowly dropped his gaze from hers. He was certainly suffering inside, and she didn’t want that. Forcing him to experience a rush of guilt or pain wasn’t her reason in recounting such a horrible piece of her life.

Charlotte gracefully walked to stand in front of him, looking down at the top of his head as she spoke in a soft, clear voice. “I’m not trying to make you hurt, Brent. I simply wanted you to see your life in a different light.”

He glanced up, and quickly she sat beside him once more, bravely taking both of his hands in hers.

“My point in telling you this is not to open old wounds but to open your eyes,” she quietly maintained, peering intently into hazel orbs so plainly overflowing with sympathy and remorse. “Don’t waste time dwelling on past failures or things that could have been. The last thing I want is for you to feel guilty about never knowing my daughter, or about me and the six-and-a-half years you and I have lost that can never be returned to us. There’s so much more life ahead, it gives us no reason to look back. Meggie’s death took a part of me that will never be replaced, but it also taught me that life is precious and short, and the people we love can be taken from us instantly.”

Charlotte reached up to touch his face with her fingertips, smiling tenderly as her eyes grazed over every feature.

“Seize the moment, Brent. Live for your future. I’m here with my wonderful husband whom I want you to know, you have a beautiful, healthy daughter who is learning as she never has before, and you are married to an intelligent, charming woman who isn’t at all sure how much you care for her.”

She lowered her voice to a fervid plea. “Go find Caroline and tell her, Brent, before there are any regrets. Swallow your pride, look into her eyes, and tell her without any reservation how much you love her. I think she’ll take it from there.”

For a long time he just stared at her, and she didn’t move her gaze or body or even her palm from his cheek. Then he surprised her by grasping her hand, moving it to his lips and gently kissing the back of it.

“My sister is as intelligent, I think, as my wife.”

She laughed softly, the tension draining in a quick, relieving rush. “Well, since I’m suddenly so smart and filled with insight, I think I’ll take my own advice and go find Carl.” Her eyes twinkled. “If a chandelier falls on his head tomorrow, I wouldn’t want him to go to his grave not knowing I carry his son.”

His eyes brightened. “I shall be an uncle again?”

She squeezed his hand. “In August, Lord Weymerth.”

“How are you feeling?”

She smiled, her eyes once again watering from the sound of his concern. This was her brother as she remembered him.

“As you can see, I’m a bit more emotional,” she replied as she wiped her cheeks, “but I haven’t been ill even once. I’m filled with energy and crave chocolate and tarts as I never have before. I’m certain I’ll gain a hundred pounds, but I don’t care. It will all be worth it the day I place this baby into my husband’s arms.”

He gave her a smile full of warmth. Then, as unexpected as it was sincere, he reached for her, pulling her toward him, embracing her with powerful, comforting arms as he hugged her tightly to his chest. And from that tiny brotherly gesture, she allowed years of encased resentment and grief to bubble up and spill forward at last as she broke down completely and cried openly against his shirt.

“I’m so sorry…” she whispered through broken sobs.

“I’m sorry, too, Charlotte,” he conceded quietly, delicately, rubbing his chin along the top of her head, “and I promise to be a good uncle for this baby. The pain is unneeded because the past is over. You’ve opened my eyes.”

She relished in the closeness she’d missed for so many long years as she calmed in his arms, experiencing quietness, contentment, and sudden, rich happiness. This was the dream she’d envisioned the day she’d returned to Miramont, hoping Brent would forgive her and accept her as his sister once more. Now she could leave for America, and return to her home in Rhode Island, with a heart full of joy, a baby inside her, and her brother returned to her at last.

She sat up reluctantly, wiping her eyes and then his wet cotton shirt with her palms. “Now you’ll need to change.”

“Yes, but this will save me from disrobing completely and bathing in a tub.”

Charlotte laughed through her sniffles and patted his knee. “Go and talk to your wife first.”

He groaned, standing, and suddenly Rosalyn stood beside them, breathing fast and hard from running, face flushed, hair in disarray, her lavender dress covered with dirt.

As quickly as she appeared, she began urgently pulling on her father’s leg.

He immediately knelt beside her, face-to-face, grasping her by the shoulder with one hand in an attempt to hold her steady while he wiped stray curls from her pinkened cheeks with the other.

Rosalyn, calming, and realizing she had their undivided attention, clutched her hands in front of her, purposefully, then opened them in one sweeping motion.

“What do you suppose that means?”

“It means
flower,
” he whispered almost absentmindedly, his features contorting in quick speculation.

“Flower?”

Rosalyn panted, awaiting a response, eyes wide as saucers, then repeated the gesture, more forcefully.