Rebellious Desire

Chapter Three

The duke of Bradford couldn't get the beautiful blue-eyed woman out of his mind. Her innocence tempted him, her smile dazzled him, but most of all, her ready wit absolutely pleased him. The duke was given to a cynical nature and it was a fact that he wasn't easily pleased by any female. Yet every time he thought of how she had brazenly challenged him with the bold threat to shoot his horse, he found himself grinning. The lady had courage and Bradford admired her for it.

By the end of the day of the accident, Bradford had Brummell comfortably settled in his rooms and left him to the pampering attention of his faithful servants. He then traveled to his own London home and undertook the task of finding out just who Caroline belonged to. The only clue he had to her identity was that she was returning to London to visit her father. From the way she spoke about the gatherings of the ton, he assumed that her father was indeed a member of the socially elite. Perhaps he was titled as well. The little cousin had mentioned returning to a townhouse in London to await Caroline's father. Bradford concluded that the man owned a country home and was still in retirement there until the season started.

He felt confident that he would have his answers by nightfall. But by the end of the fourth day, his confidence had deserted him. Not a hint of a single clue had presented itself and the frustration was beyond his

His mood turned sour, and the smiles the servants had been so amazed to see when the duke had first returned to his home completely vanished. The help now whispered that they had surely been mistaken. Their employer was back to his usual nature, gruff and unapproachable. Cook told everyone within earshot that she was glad for it, as she disliked anyone or anything that wasn't predictable, but Bradford's man, Henderson, knew that something quite significant had occurred to his employer and found himself concerned.

Henderson was both eager and relieved when the duke's best friend, William Franklin Summers, the Earl of Milfordhurst, arrived for an unexpected visit. Henderson was pleased to escort the earl up the curved stairway to the library. Perhaps, Henderson considered, walking beside him, the earl could nudge his employer back into his pleasant mood.

Henderson had served Bradford's father for ten good years, and when the tragedy had taken both the father and the firstborn son, he had turned his loyalty and attention to the new Duke of Bradford. Only Henderson and Bradford's best friend, Milford, remembered the duke before the title was thrust upon his young shoulders.

Glancing over at Milford, Henderson remembered that the two friends used to be quite alike. At one time, Bradford was just as much the rascal as his dark-haired friend, and just as much the mischief maker with the ladies of the ton. Yet over the five years he had served his new master, Henderson had all but given up hope that the duke would ever return to the carefree, easygoing disposition of long ago. Too much had happened. Too many betrayals.

"Brad giving you fits, Henderson? You're frowning all over the steps," the earl asked with his usual wide grin, looking every bit the scoundrel Henderson knew him to be.

"Something has happened to cause his Grace distress, "Henderson replied. "I, of course, am not privy to my lord's thoughts, but I do believe that you will notice a subtle change in his disposition."

Henderson wouldn't make further comment, but his remarks caused Milford to frown in speculation.

As soon as Milford got a good look at his friend, he decided that Henderson was the master of understatement. Subtle was the last descriptive word he would have considered, for the Duke of Bradford looked like he had just returned from a rather long carriage ride, being dragged below the vehicle instead of sitting inside.

Bradford was slouched behind his massive desk, frowning with intent as he scribbled a name on one of several envelopes littering the desktop.

The mahogany table was a cluttered mess, but then so was Bradford, Milford decided. His friend was in desperate need of a shave and a fresh cravat.

"Milford. I'll be finished in just a minute," Bradford told his friend. "Pour yourself a drink."

Milford declined the drink and settled himself in a comfortable chair in front of the desk. "Brad, are you writing to everyone in England?" he asked as he ungraciously propped the heels of his polished boots on the desktop.

"Damn near," Bradford muttered without looking up.

"Looks like you haven't slept in days," Milford commented. He kept the grin on his face but his eyes showed his concern. Bradford didn't look at all well and the longer he watched him, the more concerned he became.

"I haven't slept," Bradford finally replied. He dropped the pen and leaned back against the soft cushion of his wingback chair. His boots joined his friend's on the top of the desk and he let out a long sigh.

And then, without further hesitation, he told his friend about his encounter with the woman named Caroline, leaving out only the portion with Brummell as he, too, had promised not to say a word about his friend's humiliating incident with the bandits. He found himself embellishing her physical characteristics, taking quite a length of time to adequately describe the color of her eyes, but finally caught himself and rushed out the ending of the tale with the furious statement that all his inquiries had led down dark alleys.

"You're looking in all the wrong places," Milford advised with a smug voice when he had stopped laughing over Bradford's retelling of the event. "She actually believes that the Colonies are more sophisticated than our London?"

Bradford ignored the question and homed in on the former statement. "What do you mean when you suggest that I'm looking in the wrong places? She's returning to her father. I'm following that lead." Bradford's voice sounded harsh.

"Most of the ton have not yet returned for the coming season," Milford patiently pointed out. "And that is the simple reason you haven't heard any gossip. Get hold of yourself, man, she'll be at Ashford's bash. You can count on it. Everyone attends."

"The season holds no promise for her." Bradford lowered his voice as he repeated Caroline's statement concerning the activities of the ton and found himself shaking his head. "Those were her exact words."

"Most odd." Milford was trying hard not to laugh. He hadn't seen his friend so rattled in such a long time, and the relief that the cause was not from a serious matter made him light-headed. It also made him wish to bait his friend, just like he used to in the old days when the two roamed London together.

"Not so odd," Bradford contradicted with a shrug. "I don't attend any of the functions."

"You mistake my meaning. I meant that you are behaving most odd," Milford replied with a chuckle. "I don't believe I've ever seen you in such a state. This is an occasion to savor! And the cause is a lady who hails from the Colonies no less." Milford would have continued, but laughter got the better of him, and much to his friend's frowns of displeasure, he couldn't contain several loud snorts.

"You're really enjoying yourself, aren't you?" Bradford snapped when Milford had quieted enough to hear him.

"That's a fact," Milford readily admitted. "I seem to remember a rather fervent vow made by you a couple of years back," he continued. "Something to the effect that all women served one purpose only and to give your heart would be the height of stupidity."

"Who said anything about giving anything?" Bradford roared the question. "I'm merely intrigued, that's all," he insisted in a calmer voice. "Don't irritate me, Milford. You'll come out the loser for it."

"Calm down," Milford replied. "I do wish to help." He forced himself into a serious expression and said, "You should be checking with the dressmakers. If she's from the Colonies, then she's hopelessly out of fashion. Her relatives won't wish to be embarrassed by her attire and will therefore see to the fitting of new gowns."

"Your logic astounds me," Bradford replied. A glimmer of hope appeared in his eyes and he actually grinned. "Why didn't I think of that?"

"Because you don't have three younger sisters, as I do," Milford answered.

"I'd forgotten your sisters," Bradford returned. "I never see them around."

"They hide from you," Milford told him with a chuckle. "You scare the hell out of them." He shrugged then and said, "But I swear to you that fashions are all most women, including my sisters, talk about." His voice turned serious when he asked, "Is this just an infatuation or is it something more? In the last five years you've only escorted courtesans around town. You aren't used to gently bred ladies, Brad. This is rather a dramatic turnaround."

Bradford didn't immediately answer. He didn't seem to have any firm answers in his mind, only feelings. "I believe that it's just temporary insanity," he finally remarked. "But as soon as I see her again, I'm certain I'll get her out of my blood," Bradford ended with a shrug.

Milford nodded. He didn't believe his friend for a minute. But Bradford was so serious over his opinions that Milford didn't dare contradict. He left his friend to his note writing. His step was light as he made his way down the stairs, his mood so vastly improved that he smacked Henderson on his shoulder in a show of affection before he took his leave.

The Earl of Milfordhurst was suddenly quite anxious to meet the enchantress from the Colonies, the unique woman who was accomplishing what no other had been able to do in the last five years. Though she was unaware of it, the lady called Caroline was bringing the Duke of Bradford back to the living.

Milford liked her already.

Morning arrived and with the sun came new thoughts, new plans. Caroline Richmond, always an early riser no matter what time she had taken to her bed, welcomed the sun with a huge stretch of contentment.

She dressed quickly in a simple violet walking dress and tied her unruly hair at the back of her neck with a white lace ribbon.

Charity was still sleeping, and Benjamin, from the muffled noise coming from above, sounded like he was just getting up. Caroline went on downstairs, her intent to wait for her father in the dining room. She found him already seated at the head of the long polished table. He held a teacup in one hand and a paper in the other.

He didn't notice her standing in the doorway, and Caroline did nothing to draw his attention. She took the time instead to study him as thoroughly as he seemed to be studying his paper.

His face was ruddy and full, but he had high cheekbones like hers. He was an older, rounder version of the man who had raised her. Yes, he looked quite a bit like his younger brother, Henry, and she suddenly realized that she should count herself fortunate. In her mind she had two fathers. Her uncle Henry had seen her raised and she loved him. It didn't seem disloyal to share her love with the man who had given her life. Her real father. He was that, she admitted again, and it was her duty to love him, too.

The earl finally sensed that someone was observing him and glanced up. He was just about to take a sip from his teacup but froze in the middle of that action. His hazel eyes showed his surprise. They fairly sparkled and Caroline smiled, hoping her own expression showed the affection she was feeling, and none of the awkwardness she was fighting.

"Good morning, Father. Did you sleep well?"

Her voice shook. She was terribly nervous, now that she faced her father.

The teacup dropped, making a fine clatter against the tabletop. Tea spilled everywhere but he didn't seem to notice the sound or the mess. He attempted to stand, thought better of it, and plopped back down again. His eyes filled with tears and he mopped at them with the end of a white linen napkin.

He was as nervous and unsure of himself as she was. That realization helped Caroline. Her father acted a bit dazed, and Caroline decided that he just didn't know how to proceed. She watched the paper he had been holding slowly float to the floor and decided that it was up to her to carry on.

She kept the smile on her face, even though she was beginning to worry over his reaction to her, and walked into the room. She didn't stop until she stood next to him, and quickly, before she could think better of it, kissed him on his bright red cheek.

Her touch pulled him from his trance and he suddenly exploded into motion. He knocked over the chair he was sitting in when he stood and grabbed Caroline by her shoulders, pulling her into his embrace.

"You're not disappointed?" Caroline whispered into his chest. "I look like what you imagined me to be?"

"I could never be disappointed. How can you think that? I was momentarily stunned," he explained with another hug. "You're the replica of your dear mother, God rest her soul. I couldn't be more proud."

"Do I truly resemble her, Father?" Caroline asked when he let up on the pressure of his embrace.

"You do. Let me have another look at you." The command sounded like an affectionate growl. Caroline obliged, standing back a space and twirling around for his inspection. "You're a beauty to be sure," her father praised. "Sit," he cautioned with a quick frown. "You mustn't overtax yourself and get sick on me. I won't have you overtired."

Guilt rather than his order pushed her into the chair he held ready for her. "Father, there is something I must tell you. This is difficult to say but we must deal honestly with each other. I decided that is the only way, once I saw the drawings I had done as a little girl, and so-" Her shoulders slumped at his expectant look and she sighed instead of finishing her sentence.

"Are you trying to tell me that you're as healthy as a horse?" her father asked with a twinkle in his eyes.

Caroline's head jerked up and she knew she looked quite astonished. "Yes," she admitted. "I've never been sick a day in my life. I'm so sorry, Father."

Her father laughed with genuine amusement. "Sorry that you haven't been ill or sorry that you and your aunt Mary tried to trick me?"

"I'm so ashamed." The admission was honest but it didn't make her feel any better. "It was just that I was so…"

"Content?" her father asked with a nod. He righted his own chair and sat down again.

"Yes, content. I lived with your brother and his family for such a long time. I must tell you that I've thought of Aunt Mary as my mother and have called her Mama. My cousins became my brothers, and Charity was always just like a sister to me. I never forgot you though, Father," Caroline rushed on. "I misplaced the pictures of you in my mind but I always knew you were my true father. I just didn't think you'd ever send for me. I thought you were very content with the arrangement."

"Caroline, I understand," her father announced. He patted her hand and then said, "I waited too long to demand your return. But I had my reasons. I'll not go into them just yet. You're home now and that's all that matters."

"Do you think that we'll get on well with each other?"

Caroline's question drew a surprised expression from her father. "I believe that we will," he said. "You must tell me all the news from my brother and his family. I understand that Charity is here too. Tell me, is she truly the ball of fluff Mary's letters led me to believe?" His voice was filled with affection and Caroline smiled over it. That, and his apt description of her cousin.

"If you are inquiring if she is still fat, the answer is no. Talking has replaced eating," she added with a grin. "She's very slender and quite fetching in appearance. I believe she'll cause a stir, Father, for she is blonde and petite and we were told those were the requirements for acceptance by the ton."

"I fear I've not kept up with the latest fashions and expectations," her father admitted. His smile evaporated, replaced by a frown of concern. "You have stated that we must deal honestly with each other, Daughter. And I agree. I, too, have been weaving tales in my letters to you."

Caroline's eyes widened. "You have?"

"Yes, but I'll tell you the truth now. I haven't attended any of the balls since you left with my brother and his family and went to Boston. I fear I'm considered a recluse."

"Truly?" When her father nodded, Caroline said, "But, Father, your letters, with all the descriptions of the goings and comings, and the gossip! How were you ever able to sound so accurate?"

"My friend Ludman," her father replied with a sheepish grin. "He never misses a single event and has kept me somewhat up to date. Enough to fabricate my tales to you."

"Why?" Caroline asked after she had mulled over his comments. "Don't you like the parties?"

"There are many reasons and I'll not burden you with them now," her father hedged. "Your mother's brother, the Marquis of Aimsmond, and I have not spoken to one another in fourteen years. Because he does attend some of the gatherings, I do not. That is a rather simple explanation but enough for now I think."

Caroline was far too curious to let the matter drop. "Fourteen years? Why, that's the length of time I've been away."

"Exactly," her father agreed with a nod. "The marquis was furious over your departure and stated, in public, that he wouldn't say another word to me until you were back in England." Her father coughed and then added, "He didn't understand my motives for sending you away and I didn't explain them."

"I see," Caroline commented. She didn't, of course, and the more she thought about what her father was telling her, the more confused she became. "Father, just one last question and then we'll turn to other topics, please."

"Yes?" Her father was smiling once again and it made her question all the more difficult to ask.

"Why did you send me away? Mama, I mean Aunt Mary, explained that you were grief-stricken when my real mother died and that you couldn't deal with me. She said that you only considered my well-being and thought that I would be happier with them. Is that the truth of the matter? And if it is," Caroline continued before her father could form an answer, "why did I stay away such a long time?" She didn't voice the thought that hid at the bottom of her questions. The facts all indicated that her father didn't want her. Was that the real truth? Was she used in some kind of feud between the families? Was she sent away to punish the marquis in some way? Hadn't her father loved her… enough?

Caroline frowned as she considered all the possibilities and the ramifications. Her aunt's simple explanation was just that. Simple. It no longer held water now that Caroline was an adult and not the trusting child of yesteryears. Yet the drawings contradicted all the easy explanations. Why had he saved them?

"You must be patient with me, Caroline," her father stated. His voice was brisk, closing the discussion. "I did what I thought best at the time, and I promise you that one day I'll explain everything to your satisfaction." He cleared his throat and then changed the subject. "You must be hungry enough to eat a bear! Marie!" He yelled over his shoulder as he tried to mop up the spilled tea with his napkin. "Bring in food and more tea."

"I'm really not hungry," Caroline said. "The excitement has taken away my appetite," she admitted.

"That's just as well," her father returned. "Marie's my new cook and the fare leaves much to be desired. She's the third this year. My domestic difficulties are always an issue."

Caroline smiled, thinking of all the countless questions she longed to ask. She wasn't allowed, however, to do more than nod or shake her head, as her father controlled the conversation all through breakfast.

They finished their meal and Caroline barely touched the food. The fare was indeed below her standards. The rolls were hard enough to crack a tooth, the fish overdone. The jam, apparently quite old from the amount of dust surrounding the jar, was runny and sour. She decided, as she followed her father into the library, that she would see if Benjamin had a mind to lend a hand in the kitchen. He loved to cook and often helped with the meals back in Boston.

Her attention returned to her father. He stood before her artwork, grinning with pride, and showed Caroline how he had dated each drawing on the back. It was his way, he explained, of watching her progress.

"I have given up drawing pictures," Caroline told him with a laugh. "As you can see, Father, I lacked the talent."

"That isn't significant. Henry wrote that you were a quick study with an ear for languages."

"That's true," Caroline conceded, "but my accents are deplorable." She smiled and added, "Though I have been told that my singing doesn't offend and I am adequate playing the spinet. Of course, the praise has come only from family, and they are a bit prejudiced."

Her father laughed. "I've no worry that you suffer from being a braggart, Caroline. But you mustn't underplay your talents," he added. He sat down in one of the chairs and motioned for Caroline to sit in the other. "Tell me, why has Henry allowed Charity to accompany you? I'm pleased, mind you, but surprised, too."

Caroline immediately answered, telling her father about Charity's infatuation with Paul Bleachley and his sudden disappearance. She ended her story and then asked, "Have you heard of this man, Father?"

"I haven't," her father replied. "But that isn't too relevant when you consider that I've been out of touch for such a long time."

"Father, your servant, Deighton, said that you were returning for the season. Did you plan to attend the parties this year?"

"No," her father answered. "I always return to London this time of year. My country home is too drafty for winter living. And Deighton, stubborn as they come, insists on seeing that the townhouse is made ready. It's his measure in case I change my mind," he added. "Now, however, I'm glad for it. With my lovely daughter at my side I'll once again take my place. I find I'm eager for it too." Her father laughed with real amusement. "You'll cause an uproar, Caroline."

"Because of the marquis?" Caroline asked.

"No. Because you are quite the thing," her father replied. "The marquis will, of course, be pleased to have his sister's child back in London, but I'm thinking of the young bucks and their reaction to you. It will be something to see. Your mother would be proud."

"How did you meet her, Father? I don't remember her at all and I'm sorry for it. Aunt Mary told me she was a very gentle woman."

The Earl of Braxton got a faraway look in his eyes and smiled with tenderness. "Yes, she was gentle and loving, Caroline." He took hold of Caroline's hand then and told her the story of how he had come to know and love that spirited, black-haired woman.

"She was so pleased with you, Caroline. I had demanded a boy and wouldn't even consider names for girls. When you were born, your mother laughed until tears coursed down her cheeks. Yes, she was pleased."

"And were you disappointed?" Caroline asked, smiling. She knew that he couldn't have been because of the way he told the story, but she wanted to hear him admit it. She felt very much like a little girl hearing stories before bedtime, found herself eager to hear about her early life.

"I was just as pleased as your mother," her father admitted. He squeezed her hand and then dug into his pocket for his handkerchief. He mopped at his eyes and then cleared his throat. In a voice that sounded almost gruff, he said, "Now then. We must see that you and Charity are fitted with new gowns as soon as possible. The Duke of Ashford's annual ball will be in just two weeks and we'll make our appearance then. The old rascal sends me an invitation every year. He'll be shocked when I accept." Her father started chuckling as he pictured the look on Ashford's face when he made his entrance with his beautiful daughter beside him.

Caroline, watching her father's excitement grow as he described the activities they would participate in, wouldn't have been overly surprised if he had begun to rub his hands together. The way his eyes sparkled with mischief, he reminded her of her cousin Luke. He seemed as eager as a child about to embark upon a new adventure. She wished to caution him about expecting too much but decided not to dampen his enthusiasm. She vowed, as she listened to him, to do her best not to let him down. God willing, perhaps she could pull it off. Perhaps, before the two weeks were up, she could learn to be correct. It was certainly a challenge, and Caroline decided that she would give it her best.

She continued to sit by her father's side most of the morning, listening to him as he talked about his past years. She noticed that he spoke more of England's growing problems and concerns and rarely talked about himself. She realized what a terribly lonely man he had been and her heart ached. It was all by his own choice, she told herself, for he could have had her by his side the last fourteen years, but she found she couldn't fault him for it.

There was another reason behind his motives for sending her away, she was sure of it. In time, when she had gained his full acceptance, she would learn the truth.

Caroline realized then that the foolish promise she had made to her relatives in Boston would have to be broken. It was a promise made by a child, and one made in anger and confusion. Now she accepted the truth. Her place was by her father's side. She could never go back to Boston. Her future was here.