No Regrets (39 page)

   Long ago, he'd changed his mind. If she hadn't seen it in Paris, then it probably wasn't enough to make a difference. "You are right. I was not, then."

   "You needed money," she said, her voice far away, as if she was remembering. A faint smile tugged at her lips. "I suspected you had gambling debts, but it turned out you wanted to buy a house."

   The house. The boys. She'd like them, if she ever got a chance to meet them. He'd scarcely given them a thought these past few weeks.

   "I can explain."

   "Please don't," she said. "It really doesn't matter. If I had refused you that night, would you actually have taken me downstairs and ruined me?"

   What did that have to do with anything? He had somehow lost himself in the deepest abyss. "No," he said cautiously.

   She nodded as if it meant a good deal.

   He awaited an explanation. The silence dragged on.

   Damn. He'd rehearsed this scene over and over on the drive here, played it out the way he wanted it. Not like this.

   He gripped his knees until his knuckles hurt. He welcomed the pain. "What I want to say is . . ." He cleared his dry throat. "I blackmailed you into this, and if you desire a divorce, I will arrange it."

   She didn't seem to be breathing. Perhaps she didn't understand.

   "Caro. I'm offering you the way out I promised you, if that is your choice."

   She lowered her gaze. "I think it would be best."

   The words hammered into his skull. Breath rushed from his lungs, and his heart stilled.

   When it really mattered, he counted for nothing in the eyes of those for whom he cared most. It was as if he had no substance, was merely air and water, not blood and bone and heartache.

   He forced a lazy smile, got up, and strolled to the window. The manicured lawn looked far too green and fresh when everything inside him had shriveled to dust. He spoke over his shoulder, not trusting himself to hold steady in the face of her decision. "If that is what you want, I will arrange it as soon as you get back to England."

   He hesitated. "You understand there will be a scandal? One from which your reputation may never recover, even though I will assume all of the blame?"

   "I imagined it might be so."

   So she'd made her decision before he arrived. His chest tightened. He wasn't sure a breath would fit in the resultant small space.

   He curved his mouth into a sardonic smile and turned to face her. "Well, that's settled."

   She nodded. "Yes. It is." Her voice was as clear and chill as a mountain waterfall. Her skin looked like marble, the outside all warm luminescence where the sun touched it but deeply cold within. He had no idea how to reach her.

   He must accept her wishes as he had promised. He had only himself to blame. Hot moisture pricked his eyes. What sort of idiot had he become? He clenched his jaw, breathed hard through his nose, and struggled for control. He forced hoarse words past the hard lump in his throat. "I will wait on you in Norwich at the first opportunity. I must leave at once if I am to catch the next packet to Dover."

She nodded.

   As sore as if his body had been beaten with the flat of a sword, he sauntered to her side, the arrogant careless noble who cared for naught but his own pleasure, a role he played to perfection. Inside, he was nothing, an empty shell.

   She smiled politely. "Thank you for taking time out of your journey to come and see me."

   He bowed. "Au revoir, Caro."

   "Good-bye, Lucas." Her gaze returned to the view.

   For one almost irresistible moment, he imagined throwing himself at her feet, begging her to let him prove himself worthy to be her husband, to be someone other than himself, the kind of man she wanted. A long time ago, he'd sought his father's approval by giving up his dreams and control over his destiny. It had earned him nothing but scorn. He wouldn't do it again. Caro had made her decision.

   No matter what his father said, Lucas always kept his word and always took his punishment like a man.

* * *

   When a small square of notepaper franked by Lord Grantham arrived addressed to Lady Foxhaven, an uncomfortable flutter stirred in Caro's stomach. She didn't think anyone besides Lucas and her sisters had been informed of her return.

   "Who is it from?" Alex asked, looking up from the book she was reading aloud while Caro plied her needle.

   Caro opened it. "It is an invitation from the Granthams to a musical evening two days from now." The Granthams had no idea of her impending divorce, or they never would have sent an invitation.

   "Oh goody. Can I go too?"

   "I'm not going."

   "Why ever not? You always used to go."

   "I have no wish to attend." She glanced at the clock. "It is time for my walk." She hadn't informed her sisters of her impending divorce either. Eventually, she would have to tell them, but not yet, not until it was a fait accompli, much like her disastrous marriage.

   "Can I come with you?"

   "Don't you have a map of India to finish?"

   She permitted Alex to do some of her studies in the drawing room, leaving the younger girls in the schoolroom under the strict eye of Miss Salter.

   Alex groaned and flicked a golden braid over her shoulder. She pulled out her schoolbook and went to work on the table by the window.

   Focusing on the buttons of her coat and the ribbons on her bonnet, Caro kept her mind empty of everything except the simple task of dressing.

   Regular exercise had toned her limbs after months of bed rest, and she had resented the rain of these past few days. The shoulder wound had healed well, but the fever that had beset her after Lucas's visit to the chateau had slowed her recovery. The doctor advised walking every day to regain her strength.

   From the front door, she strolled along the lane and took the footpath up onto the common.

   A week or two ago, the walk up the small rise from the style had left her panting, but now she climbed it with ease, reveling in the pull on her muscles and the cool breeze tugging at her hair and skirts. This daily respite from her chattering charges provided a chance to set her thoughts in order, an opportunity to plan for the future.

   She sighed. What a bumble broth she'd got herself into because of her desire to help an old friend. They could never be friends again. It was far too painful to contemplate.

   At the top, she stared over the valley and absorbed the surrounding peace. New leaves sprouted on hawthorns full of twittering sparrows, and the fields in the distance showed a hint of green fuzz. The air smelled of damp earth and new beginnings.

   She took a deep determined breath. As soon as she returned home, she would send a polite refusal to the Granthams' invitation. Caro was not so gauche as to inflict herself on people before her next disgrace became public knowledge. In a similar vein, she and Miss Salter had already discussed plans to find someone else to chaperone Alex's first season in London.

   No regrets? She couldn't regret a loveless marriage, but she did miss Lucas's friendship, and it was that particular loss that caused the hollow ache in her chest. Nothing else. And she would bear it.

   The thought firmly in place, she marched down the hill to the copse at the bottom. The pale yellow face of a primrose peeped from beneath a fallen log. She removed her glove and picked it. More were nestled in the grassy hollows. Ignoring the mud caking her shoes and soiling the hem of her gown, she wandered from clump to clump until she had a small bouquet. A sunny promise of summer to take indoors.

   She plucked a few velvet green leaves to frame her posy and strolled out from the woods.

   "Good day, Caro."

   The deep, rich voice caused her heart to forget to beat.

   Lucas and Maestro. Magnificent together, they towered over her. He stared at her, his gaze dark and piercing. Her mind went blank. Her heart jolted to life, the blood roaring through her body so fast that she felt dizzy. "Lucas. What are you doing here?"

   His eyebrows drew together. "Riding." He nodded at her flowers. "Primroses already?" He swung down, his greatcoat swirling around his athletic form. "Remember how we used to pick them on my father's land as children?"

   She remembered everything they had done together. She buried her nose in the fragrant petals, hiding her shortness of breath and flushed cheeks. "Mmmm." It sounded suitably noncommittal.

   "You look well," he said. "You are fully recovered?"

   His stiff tone and unsmiling expression curled around her heart like cold fingers. She inclined her head in assent. "The doctor, my aunt, and Lizzie took good care of me. I had no choice but to get well."

   "I'm glad." He drew Maestro's reins through his gloved fist. "Speaking of Lizzie, would you tell her that Henri is working for Audley and doing very well by all accounts?"

   Lizzie had told her all about Henri. "She will be happy to hear it."

   "Yes." He lapsed into silence, and they walked side by side up the hill.

   Any moment, he would mention the trip to Scotland. Strain tightened every nerve in her body; her legs felt wooden. She nibbled her bottom lip, trying to think of some commonplace remark. "How is your father?"

   "Not well." A shadow passed over his face, and his jaw softened. "I returned home to discover he had suffered an apoplexy. The business with Cedric hit him hard. Not just his death—Cedric embezzled most of his money." Lucas stopped and turned to face her, his eyes haunted. "He is walking a little now, and his speech has improved, but his spirit is low."

   The thought of the awesome Lord Stockbridge as an invalid filled her with pity. "I'm sorry. I had no idea he had been quite so ill."

   Maestro reared and snorted his impatience. Lucas forced him back. "Steady, boy. It is the reason I haven't been back before now. We've been keeping the worst of it quiet. Thanks to you, we cleared the air between us."

   A purposefulness she'd never sensed before emanated from him. His cheeks had hollowed, hardening his lean features and giving him a careworn expression. Deep lines etched his sensuous mouth. He'd let his hair grow again, and dark silky strands curled over his collar.

   She pushed her spectacles up her nose and walked faster. "I'm glad he came around."

   "It wasn't all his fault." Lucas put his hand on her arm.

   A frisson of awareness trickled across her flesh; heat radiated up her arm. She pulled free.

   His eyes flashed the pain of a creature in torment and then dulled to disinterest.

   Maestro's nose intruded over his shoulder. He rubbed it gently. A cynical smile curved his lips. "Father's old friends walked away when they heard he was ruined."

   "How awful. I'm so sorry."

   He gave her a sharp sideways glance. "Me too. He's tired of my company already. Would you call on him?"

   If meeting Lucas unexpectedly tied her tongue, it would be doubly bad under formal circumstances, with his father looking on. She glanced around frantically. A nearby rabbit hole looked inviting. "I don't know when I would have time."

   A muscle flickered in his jaw, and diffidence edged his tone. "Forgive me. I do not mean to impose."

   Guilt knotted her stomach. Papa would not have approved of such callousness, nor did she. "Perhaps when he feels better . . ."

   "Come tomorrow."

   The primroses were beginning to wilt. She eased her grip on the delicate stalks. "I believe I have another engagement."

   As if seeking divine intervention, he cast his gaze heavenward. "I won't be there, Caro. I have business in Norwich that requires my attention. I don't like leaving him alone."

   Put like that, what could she say? "Tomorrow, then."

   His jaw relaxed, and a shadow of his old lopsided smile warmed his expression. "Join him for tea, why don't you? I'll have the carriage sent at half past two."

   She caught a glint of triumph in his eyes and knew she'd been manipulated.

   Why didn't she mind?

"How long will you be staying here in the country?" Caro asked across the tea table set out in the oak-paneled drawing room.

   On the other side of the hearth, Lord Stockbridge's blue-veined hand clawed around the head of his silver-headed cane. "Indefinitely."

   The fire threw red lights into his shock of recently whitened hair as he shook his head. "Lucas thinks it is better for me here. Away from the talk." His face looked far older than his fifty years. "The ton so loves to gossip." He sighed. "But of course, you know that."

   Sorrow for a man whose influence and power had been unquestioned only a few short months ago washed through her. "Still," she said in heartening tones, "I gather Lucas plans to stay with you?"

   "Aye, as much as he is able. He's a good boy. Damn it." He coughed. "Excuse me, please. I lost so many years thinking the worst of him because of that scoundrel Cedric, and he's everything a man could want in a son. He's salvaged a great deal, you know, but he never stops working."