The Diabolical Baron (20 page)

She forgot she had met him only the day before; he
seemed as familiar as the face in her own mirror.
“Only if you will call me Caroline,” she said shyly.

The moment stretched between them, too deep to
last very long. Richard stood and offered his hand to
help her up and took her music case from her. “Shall I
escort you to Wargrave? Mr. Chelmsford is probably looking for me. He wants to explain the accounts this
morning.”

“Will you be able to spend any time in the music
room?” she asked.

“I will find the time this afternoon,” he promised.

They walked to the house in companionable silence,
Caroline enjoying the way he matched his strides to
hers. With Jason’s long legs, she sometimes felt like a
small child being taken for a walk by a parent.
Richard’s gentle courtesy was pleasing. Not that she
couldn’t rise from a log or carry her music case
herself, but she rather enjoyed the attentions.

They separated in the main hall, Richard to find the lawyer and Caroline to go to the music room. It took
her uncharacteristically long to decide what she
wanted to do. Play the pianoforte? The harp? Perhaps
search out some new composers in the sheet music?

In the end she decided to work on the harp composition that had kept her up late the night before. Soon
she was lost in trying to perfect a new fingering pat
tern she could hear in her head but not quite create out
loud. She was startled when the butler, Somers, gave a
discreet cough to gain her attention. 

“Excuse me, miss, a light luncheon is being served
in the family dining room. The gentlemen wondered if
you might wish to join them.”

“Oh! I had not realized how much time had passed. Yes, that would be very agreeable. I shall be along di
rectly.”

As the butler left, she looked around for her reticule,
but realized she hadn’t brought it. Well, her hair
would just have to go uncombed. At least her mint-
green dress was presentable.

In the eyes of the gentlemen, she was more than pre
sentable. The meal was a merry one, with Caroline
being drawn out of her shyness by Richard’s inter
ested questions. Soon she was describing the horrors
of a London Season, finding amusement in events that
seemed an unrelieved ordeal at the time. Exercising a
gift for mimicry she hadn’t known she possessed, she
parodied some of the more foolish society types.

Her favorite story was of the harridan who thor
oughly investigated all young ladies at their first Al
mack’s assembly. “I swear, I thought she would ask me
to open my mouth so she could check my teeth. She asked about my parents and grandparents and would go ‘Harrumph!’ at every answer. She is known to be
looking for a wife for her depressing son. While no girl
could possibly be good enough, I did have one feature
that her son lacked.”

“What is that?” Richard asked.

“A chin!”

When the laughter from that subsided, the captain
said, “I am reminded of some of the young aristocrats
who came into the Army expecting romance, adven
ture, and all the comforts of home. Perhaps some of the
Guards regiments could supply that, but the Ninety-
fifth Rifles are a rowdy lot, and proved a sad shock for
them. When these fine young sprigs of the nobility
found they were really expected to sleep in tents and
rise at dawn ...!”

He shook his head sadly. “But that
was not the worst.”

“What was the worst?” inquired Chelmsford.

“When they discovered that Army life would ruin
their boots!” They all laughed. Young dandies had been known to suffer nervous collapse if they got even a scratch on their gleaming Hessians. The
effects of campaigning in the Peninsula must have
been dire.

After the meal, it seemed entirely natural that
Richard accompany Caroline back to the music room.
As he pointed out, account books must needs be fol
lowed by an antidote lest they prove fatal.

“I have been given as much information as Mr.
Chelmsford feels I need,” he said. “Or perhaps he as
sumes, correctly, that I can absorb no more.”

“What will you be doing here?” Caroline
asked.

“Nothing too arduous,” was the reply. “The estate
is in trust until the end of the year. There were several
small bequests to servants, with the remaining prop
erty to go to the heir. Because the late earl was rather
secretive, it’s uncertain what the heir will receive.
Mr. Chelmsford is a careful man and wishes to deter
mine how things stand. I will be checking the reality
against some of the old accounts of what should be in the house and on the estate.”

“Who is the heir?” Caroline asked. “My aunt was
wondering this morning.”

Richard turned to one of the cupboards holding the
more obscure stringed instruments. With his face
averted, he said, “That isn’t clear yet. The heir
presumptive is Reginald Davenport, the nephew of
the late earl. However, Mr. Chelmsford thinks there
may be a nearer heir. In the meantime”—he looked up at her with a smile—“I am having a fine holiday in the
Cotswolds.”

“Will you be staying here long?” Caroline said hesi
tantly.

“I don’t know. I haven’t thought much about
the future.”

As he rummaged in the cupboard, she looked at his
broad shoulders regretfully. It didn’t sound as if he
were likely to stay.

Richard made a pleased exclama
tion and pulled out a flat instrument with six strings
and a sound box shaped like an hourglass.

“What is that?” she asked.

“A guitarra. It’s called a guitar in English. I learned to play one in Spain.”

He lovingly stroked the
inlaid pattern around the sound hole, then strummed
the strings. He winced at the discordant noise
and rapidly started tuning it.

“It seems to be related to the lute,” she remarked.

“Yes, but less delicate and much simpler to play. The
sound is strong, coarse, perhaps, but full of vitality.
The Spaniards could play them to make the hair curl
off your head. My own guitar got lost with the rest of
my baggage after Waterloo.” He struck a dramatic
chord. “I understand the lute is harder to keep tuned.”

“That is certainly true,” Caroline said with heartfelt
agreement. “My music teacher says that if a lutenist
lived to be eighty years old, he would have spent sixty
of those years tuning his instrument. I know mine requires considerable attention.”

“You play the lute?”

“Yes, it’s my favorite instrument after the pi
anoforte. It is so very private. I can play mine late at
night without disturbing anyone. But I am more interested in your guitarra. Will you play some characteris
tic Spanish music for me?”

Richard was happy to oblige. He was very skilled
and the Spanish music he chose was new to Caroline.
She was bewitched by the performance, feeling the in
tense gaiety and the underlying sadness.

After playing several numbers,
he called a halt. “If I don’t stop soon, I will have blisters on my fin
gertips. All my string-holding calluses have vanished, and it will take time to recreate them.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I could have listened all day
and never thought of your poor fingers. May I try the guitar? My lute calluses should protect me.”

With her natural talent and Richard’s instruction,
she was soon playing very creditably. They were
laughing together over a chord gone astray when the sound of light footsteps interrupted.

Caroline recognized the step and looked up. She had
forgotten Jessica said she might come by.

Her aunt
swept into the room like a queen, glowing in a topaz-colored dress and a delicious Florentine bonnet with
matching ribbons. Caroline felt a twist in her
midriff. She found she didn’t want to see Richard with
the stunned expression men got when they first saw
Jessica.

She slanted a sideways look at him, but his expres
sion wasn’t stunned. Rather, it showed pleased surprise as he stood up and quickly crossed across the
room.

“Jessica Sterling! Is it really you?”

Jessica laughed in delight as she reached out both
hands. “Richard Dalton! This is beyond anything
great. What brings you to Gloucestershire?”

Her aunt was almost as tall as Richard, and they
were looking into each other’s eyes as they clasped
hands. Caroline felt the affection between them, and
shivered as the room felt
colder.

Richard said, “I am working at Wargrave Park tem
porarily, taking inventory. Do you live in this neighborhood?” 

She shook her head, “I’m visiting at Wildehaven with my niece, whom you have so obviously
met. You see me dwindled to a chaperon!”

He laughed. “I am sure you can hold court there as well as anywhere else.”

He released her hands and turned to include Caroline in the conversation. “You
will have deduced we are old campaigning friends
from the Peninsula. Mrs. Sterling was celebrated as the
finest hostess and the best rider in Spain.”

Caroline suppressed her sense of loss
and moved forward with her sweet smile. “How
lovely to find an old friend unexpectedly. Surely it is
four or five years since you have met. It was 1812
when you left Spain, wasn’t it, Jess?”

A shadow passed over her aunt’s face, dimming
some of its brightness. “Yes, Linda and I left very soon
after Salamanca.”

Richard hesitated, then said quietly, “I know this is
four years too late, but you have my deepest sympathy
for your loss. Major Sterling was as fine a gentleman as he was an officer. I knew no one who did not grieve for
him. He died as bravely as he lived.”

Jessica swallowed and said in a low voice, “Thank
you. It is never too late to hear such kind words. I have
always been glad that against everyone’s
wishes, I chose to follow the drum. Without those years on the
Peninsula, I would have had no real marriage and no
memories.”

“Was everyone against it, Jess? Even John?” Caro
line asked.

Jessica laughed, the shadow gone. “Especially John!
He would have wrapped me in cotton wool if he
could. It is amazing that anyone could think such a
strapping creature as I could be fragile, but it was quite
charming. At least he knew better than to try to make
me behave with ladylike languor.”

At this point Somers entered carrying a tray. “I
thought perhaps you would wish some refreshments.”

Since the afternoon was well advanced, his offering
was gratefully received. Over tea and cakes Jessica and
Richard exchanged histories and queries about mutual friends.

Caroline sipped her tea and watched thoughtfully.
She had never truly envied Jessica’s dramatic beauty,
but as she observed her aunt’s lovely face ripple with
vivid expression, she found herself wishing she was as
interesting a person. Nothing noteworthy had ever
happened to her. When Jess was twenty-one she was
married, a mother, and had already traveled out of
England.

Happened to her
... Perhaps her problem was that
she waited for events to come to her. Jess had always
seized life with both hands.

If she had lived richly, she
had also paid the price; she had been the target of crit
icism and unkind snubs; narrow-minded women had
been lavish with “I told you so” and “Serves her right”
after she had returned to England a widow of small fortune.

Though she had lived quietly these last four
years, it had been by choice. Her sparkle and enthusiasm were undimmed, and she could talk to a man like
Captain Dalton about things that interested him.

Caroline had always admired her aunt as a wonder
ful, inimitable being, so different as to be almost from
another species. She knew she could never be wonder
ful in the ways Jessica was, but she might try adapting
some of that gusto and determination to her own life.
If she started working now, perhaps in ten years she
could be wonderful in her own way.

Her musings were interrupted when Jessica drew
her into the conversation. “Has Richard demonstrated
his guitar playing for you? Sometimes at informal par
ities he would play and I would dance. The Spanish
dances are wonderful—much more primitive and dra
matic than ours.”