“I know.”
“Still, you should feel flattered. It means Penny must like you very much.”
Caroline just gave him a stony stare. “Blake,” she finally said, “I believe you are choking on your foot.”
There was an awkward silence, and then Blake attempted to patch things up by saying, “Mrs. Mickle refused to prepare any food unless she knew you were here.”
“Yes, I surmised as much. She's very sweet.”
“That is not quite the adjective I would use to describe her, but I can see where you might think so.”
There was yet another uncomfortable silence, and this time Caroline broke it. “I understand your brother had a daughter recently.”
“Yes, his fourth.”
“You must be delighted.”
He looked at her sharply. “Why would you say that?”
“I should think it would be lovely to have a niece. Of course, as an only child I shall never be an aunt.” Her gaze grew wistful. “I adore little babies.”
“Perhaps you will have one of your own.”
“I doubt it.” Caroline had always hoped to marry for love, but since the man she loved intended to go to the grave a bachelor, it seemed she would remain unwed as well.
“Don't be silly. You can't possibly know what the future holds for you.”
“Why not?” she countered. “You seem to think you do.”
“Touché.” He regarded her for a moment, then his eyes filled with something that looked suspiciously like regret, and he said, “I do rather enjoy my nieces.”
“Then why were you so upset about the new one?”
“Why should you think that?”
She scoffed. “Oh, please, Blake. It's quite obvious.”
“I am not in the least displeased with my new niece. I'm sure I shall adore her.” He cleared his throat and smiled wryly. “I just wish she had been a boy.”
“Most men would be thrilled at the prospect of being next in line for a viscountcy.”
“I am not most men.”
“Yes, that much is clear.”
Blake narrowed his eyes and regarded her intently. “What is that supposed to mean?”
She just shrugged.
“Caroline…” he warned.
“It's quite obvious that you adore children, and yet you're determined not to have any of your own. That particular line of reasoning shows even less logic than usually demonstrated by the males of our species.”
“Now you're beginning to sound like my sister.”
“I shall take that as a compliment. I quite like your sister.”
“So do I, but that doesn't mean I always do what she says.”
“I'm back!” Penelope sailed into the room. “What are you talking about?”
“Babies,” Caroline bluntly replied.
Penelope started, then her eyes filled with unconcealed glee. “Really? How intriguing!”
“Penelope,” Blake drawled, “what was it you wanted to show Caroline?”
“Oh, that,” she said distractedly. “Couldn't find it. I shall have to look later and invite Caroline to return tomorrow.”
Blake wanted to protest, but he knew that tea with Caroline was the only way he was going to get a decent meal.
Caroline smiled and turned to Penelope. “Have your brother and his wife named their new daughter?”
“Oh, you were talking about their baby,” Penelope said, sounding more than vaguely disappointed. “Yes, they did. Daphne Georgiana Elizabeth.”
“All those names?”
“Oh, that is nothing. The older girls have even more names—the oldest is called Sophie Charlotte Sybilla Aurelia Nathanaele—but David and Sarah are quite running out.”
“If they have another daughter,” Caroline said with a smile, “they will have to simply call her Mary and leave it at that.”
Penelope laughed. “Oh no, that would be quite impossible. They've already used Mary. Their second daughter is Katharine Mary Claire Evelina.”
“I don't dare guess what their third child is called.”
“Alexandra Lucy Caroline Vivette.”
“A Caroline! How lovely.”
“I'm amazed,” Blake said, “that you can remember all those names. It's all I can do to recall Sophie, Katharine, Alexandra, and now Daphne.”
“If you had children of your own—”
“I know, I know, dear sister. You needn't repeat yourself.”
“I was merely going to say that if you had children of your own you shouldn't have any trouble remembering names.”
“I know what you were going to say.”
“Do you have children, Lady Fairwich?” Caroline asked.
A look of pain crossed Penelope's features before she replied softly, “No. No, I don't.”
“I'm so sorry,” Caroline stammered. “I shouldn't have asked.”
“It is nothing,” Penelope said with a shaky smile. “The earl and I have not yet been blessed with children. Perhaps that is why I so dote on my nieces.”
Caroline swallowed uncomfortably, well aware that she'd inadvertently brought up a painful topic. “Mr. Ravenscroft says that he, too, dotes on your nieces.”
“Yes, he does. He's quite a wonderful uncle. He should make an ex—”
“Don't say it, Penelope,” Blake interrupted.
Further conversation on the topic was thankfully prevented by the entrance of Perriwick, who was staggering under the weight of an overcrowded tea service.
“Oh my!” Penelope exclaimed.
“Yes,” Blake drawled, “it is quite a feast for high tea, isn't it?”
Caroline just smiled and didn't even bother to feel embarrassed by the way her stomach was roaring.
Over the next few days it became apparent that Caroline was in possession of a crucial bargaining chip: The servants refused to prepare a decent meal unless they could be certain she would be partaking of it.
And so she found herself “invited” to Seacrest Manor with increasing regularity. Penelope had even gone so far as to suggest that Caroline spend the night once when it was raining.
In all truth, it wasn't raining that hard, but Penelope was no fool. She'd noticed the servants' peculiar habits, and she liked breakfast as well as anybody.
Caroline soon became fast friends with Blake's sister, although it was becoming difficult to keep putting her off whenever she suggested a jaunt into Bournemouth. There were too many people who might recognize Caroline in the small city.
Not to mention the fact that Oliver had apparently plastered her likeness in every public place, and Blake reported that the last time he'd gone into town, he'd noticed that a reward was now being offered for Caroline's safe return.
Caroline didn't particularly relish the thought of trying to explain that to Penelope.
She didn't see so much of Blake, however. He never missed teatime; it was the only opportunity for a decent meal, after all. But other than that, he avoided Caroline's company save for the occasional visit to the bathroom to give her a new book.
And so life ambled on in this bizarre yet oddly comfortable routine—until one day, nearly a week after Penelope's arrival. The threesome were all hungrily wolfing down sandwiches in the drawing room, each hoping the others wouldn't notice his deplorable lack of manners.
Caroline was reaching for her third sandwich, Penelope munching her second, and Blake slipping his sixth into his pocket when they heard booted footsteps in the hall.
“Who could that be, I wonder?” Penelope asked, blushing slightly when a crumb blew out of her mouth.
Her question was answered moments later, as the Marquis of Riverdale strode into the room. He took in the scene, blinked in surprise, and then said, “Penelope, it's good to see you. I had no idea you were acquainted with Caroline.”
Chapter 18
ar-is-tol-o-gy (noun). The art or “science” of dining.
As a field of research and study, aristology is highly underrated.
—From the personal dictionary of Caroline Trent
Utter silence ensued, followed by a burst of nervous chatter so loud and forceful that Perriwick actually poked his head into the room to see what was going on. He did so under the guise of coming in to clear away the rest of the tea and biscuits, which caused nothing short of mutiny, and Blake practically yanked the tray from his hands before pushing him back out the door.
If Penelope had noticed that the Marquis of Riverdale had been so forward as to call Miss Dent by her given name, she made no remark, commenting instead upon how overwhelmingly surprised she was that they were acquainted.
Caroline was talking very loudly about how the Sidwells had long been friends with the Dents, and James was agreeing profusely with everything she said.
The only person not adding to the din was Blake, although he did emit a rather loud groan. He didn't know which was worse: the fact that James had arrived and nearly blown Caroline's cover, or the newly fierce matchmaking gleam in his sister's eye. Now that she'd discovered that Caroline's family was in some way—however tenuous—connected to the marquis's, she'd obviously decided that Caroline would make an excellent Ravenscroft wife.
Either that, he thought grimly, or she'd decided to concentrate her prodigious matchmaking skills toward Caroline and James.
All in all, Blake decided, this had the makings of a truly colossal disaster. His eyes made a slow sweep of the room, watching Penelope, James, and Caroline, and he decided that the only thing keeping him from violence was that he couldn't decide which of them to strangle first.
“Oh, but it's been an age, Caroline,” James was saying, clearly enjoying himself now. “Almost five years, I should think. You are very changed since we last met.”
“Really?” Penelope queried. “How?”
Put on the spot, James stammered for a moment, then said, “Well, her hair is quite longer, and—”
“Really?” Penelope said again. “How interesting. You must have had quite a crop, Caroline, because it isn't so very long now.”
“There was an accident,” Caroline improvised, “and we had to cut it quite short.”
Blake bit his lip to keep from asking her to tell them about the “accident.”
“Oh, yes, I remember that,” James said with great enthusiasm. “Something involving honey and your brother's pet bird.”
Caroline coughed into her tea, then grabbed a cloth napkin to keep from spraying it all over Blake.
“I thought you didn't have any brothers or sisters,” Penelope said, furrowing her brow.
Caroline wiped her mouth, suppressed an urge toward nervous laughter, and said, “It was my cousin's bird, actually.”
“Right,” James said, slapping his forehead. “How silly of me. What was his name?”
“Percy.”
“Good ol' Percy. How is he these days?”
She smiled peevishly. “Much the same, I'm afraid. I do my best to avoid him.”
“That is probably a wise course of action,” James agreed. “I remember him as a mean-hearted sort of fellow, always yanking on people's hair and the like.”
“Riverdale!” Penelope said in a disapproving voice. “You are speaking of Miss Dent's relation.”
“Oh, I don't mind,” Caroline assured her. “I'd be quite pleased to disown Percy.”
Penelope shook her head in confusion and looked up at her brother with a faintly accusing expression. “I cannot believe that you did not tell me that our dear Caroline is friends with Riverdale.”
Blake shrugged and forced himself to unclench his fists. “I didn't know.”
Perriwick entered the room with uncharacteristic unobtrusiveness and began to clear away the half-eaten remnants of high tea.
“NO!” Blake, Penelope, and Caroline yelled in unison.
James looked at them with interest and confusion. “Is something amiss?”
“We're just—” Penelope said.
“—a little—” Caroline interjected.
“—hungry,” Blake finished emphatically.
James blinked. “Apparently so.”
Penelope filled the ensuing lull by turning to James and asking, “Will you be staying with us, my lord?”
“I had thought to, yes, but only if there is an extra room for me.” He glanced over at Caroline. “I hadn't realized that Miss Dent was here.”
Penelope scrunched her brow. “But surely you realize that Caroline is only visiting for the day. She lives barely a mile away.”
“Father bought a summer house near Bournemouth just last autumn,” Caroline blurted out. “I'm afraid we haven't yet gotten around to informing everyone of the move.”
“Hmmm,” Penelope mused, her eyes growing narrower by the second, “I was under the impression that you had resided in Bournemouth for some time.”
Caroline smiled weakly. “We visited quite often.”
“Yes,” Blake said, thinking that he ought to do something to save the situation, even though he was quite furious with both Caroline and James, “didn't you say that your father leased the house for a number of seasons before he bought it?”
Caroline nodded. “That's exactly it.”
Blake shot her the most arrogant of smiles. “I am in possession of a remarkable memory.”
“Of that I have no doubt.”
There was an immeasurably awkward silence, and then Caroline stood. “I had best be getting home. It's growing late, and…ah…I think Cook is preparing something special for supper.”
“Lucky you,” Penelope muttered.
“I'm sorry?”
“It was nothing,” Penelope said quickly, glancing between Blake and James. “But I am sure one of our two gentlemen will be happy to accompany you.”
“That's not necessary. Truly, it's not a long way.”
James jumped to his feet. “Nonsense. I should love to walk with you. I am certain we have a great deal of catching up to do.”
“Yes,” Caroline agreed. “Probably much more than you would have ever imagined.”
The moment the front door closed behind them, Caroline turned to James and said, “Have you anything edible in your carriage?”
“A bit of cheese and bread I brought with me from an inn, why?”
But Caroline was already scrambling into the conveyance. “Where is it?” she asked, poking her head back out.
“Good God, woman, haven't they been feeding you?”
“Not really, and it's been worse for Penelope and Blake, although I have little sympathy for the latter.”
James climbed in and pulled a hunk of bread from a satchel on the seat. “What the devil is going on?”
“Mmmble nnn munchke.”
“I beg your pardon?”
She swallowed. “I'll tell you in a minute. Have you anything to drink?”
He removed a small flask from his pocket. “Just a spot of brandy, but I don't think that's what you—”
But she'd already grabbed it and taken a gulp. James waited patiently while she coughed, sputtered, and gagged, then said, “I was going to say that I didn't think brandy was precisely what you wanted.”
“Nonsense,” she said hoarsely. “Any liquid would have done.”
He took the flask back, screwed the top on, and said, “Suppose you tell me why the three of you look gaunt and starved. And why the hell is Penelope here? She'll ruin the entire operation.”
“Then you got permission from London to go ahead with your plans?”
“I'm not answering a single one of your questions until you answer mine.”
She shrugged. “We should pretend to walk, then. I'm afraid this might take a great deal of time.”
“Pretend to walk?”
“It certainly isn't going to take us an hour to walk me back to Blake's bathroom.”
James's mouth fell open. “What?”
She sighed. “Would you like the long version or the short version?”
“Since it appears I must somehow use up an hour accompanying
you to Ravenscroft's bathroom, I'll opt for the long version. It's bound to be more interesting, anyway.”
She hopped out of the carriage, clutching the chunk of cheese she'd found with the bread. “You have no idea.”
Two hours later, Blake was feeling very irritable. Downright mean, as a matter of fact.
James and Caroline had been gone a long time—much longer than it should have taken for them to go to the bathroom.
Blake swore at himself. Even his thoughts were beginning to sound inane.
Still, James only needed to be gone an hour to perpetuate the ruse that he'd walked Caroline home. Not that anyone, Caroline included, had any idea just how far away her “home” was supposed to be, but Blake had never taken longer than an hour to pretend to fetch her for tea.
He had spent so much time pacing back and forth in his washing room that Penelope undoubtedly thought he had some sort of vile stomach ailment.
Finally, as he perched on the edge of the washbasin, he heard laughter and footsteps coming up the side stairs. He hopped down onto the ground, settled his mouth into a grim line, and crossed his arms.
A second later, the door flew open, and Caroline and James practically fell in, both laughing so hard they could hardly stand.
“Where the hell have you been?” Blake demanded.
They looked like they were trying to answer him, but he couldn't understand what they were saying through their laughter.
“And what the devil are you laughing about?”
“Ravenscroft, you've done some truly bizarre things,” James gasped, “but this—” He waved his arm at the washing room. “This is without compare.”
Blake just scowled at him.
“Although,” James said, turning to Caroline, “you've done quite a nice job turning this place into home. The bed is a nice touch.”
Caroline looked down at the neat pile of blankets and pillows she'd arranged on the floor. “Thank you. I do my best with what I have to work with.” She giggled again.
“Where have you been?” Blake repeated.