To Catch an Heiress

Chapter 19

lat-i-tu-di-nar-i-an (adjective). Allow­ing, favoring, or characterized by lati­tude in opinion or action; not insisting on strict adherence to conformity with an established code.

In Bournemouth -as opposed to Lon­don-one can act in a more latitudinar-ian manner, but still, even when in the country, there are certain rules of con­duct to which one must subscribe.

-From the personal dictionary of

Caroline Trent

"You!" Penelope accused. "What are you doing here?"

But her voice was drowned out by that of Blake, who was yelling at Caroline, "Why the hell didn't

you run down the stairs when you heard us com­ing?"

His only answer was a sneeze.

James, who was rarely ruffled by anything, raised a brow and said, "It appears she's a bit incapacitated."

Caroline sneezed again.

Penelope turned to James, her expression furious. "I suppose you're in some way connected to this subterfuge as well."

He shrugged. "In some way."

Caroline sneezed.

"For heaven's sake," Penelope said testily, "get her out of the stairwell. Clearly there is something putrid amid the dust that is sending her into con­vulsions."

"She isn't having a bloody convulsive fit," Blake said. "She's sneezing."

Caroline sneezed.

"Well, whatever the case, move her into your bedroom. No! Not your bedroom. Move her into my bedroom." Penelope planted her hands on her hips and glared at everyone in turn. "And what the devil is going on here? I want to be apprised of the sit­uation this very minute. If someone doesn't-"

"If I might be so bold," James interrupted.

"Shut up, Riverdale," Blake snapped as he picked up Caroline. "You sound like my damned butler."

"I'm sure Perriwick would be most flattered by the comparison," James said. "However, I was merely going to point out to Penelope that there is very little untoward about Caroline being in your bedroom, seeing as how she and I are also in atten­dance."

"Very well," Penelope conceded. "Set her down in your bedroom, Blake. Then I want to know what is going on. And no more nonsense about honey and pet birds."

Caroline sneezed.

Blake turned to his sister and suggested, "Maybe you could get her some tea?"

"Ha! If you think I'm going to leave her alone in here with the two of you-"

"I'll get some tea," James interrupted.

As soon as he left, Penelope narrowed her eyes at Blake and Caroline and demanded, "Are you having an affair?"

"No!" Caroline managed to exclaim between sneezes.

"Then you had best start explaining your pres­ence. I had judged you to be a lady of stern moral character, and it is requiring all of my tolerance and broad-mindedness not to alter that opinion."

Caroline looked to Blake. She wasn't about to give away his secrets without his permission. But he just groaned, rolled his eyes, and said, "We might as well tell her the truth. Lord knows she's going to ferret it out eventually."

The entire tale took twenty minutes. It probably would have only required fifteen, except that James returned with the tea-thankfully accompanied by fresh scones-and the narrative naturally slowed while they all partook of it.

Penelope asked no questions during the telling except for "Milk?" and "Sugar?" which really didn't signify as she was pouring the tea.

Blake, James, and Caroline, however, interrupted one another to an astonishing degree. Still, after a quarter of an hour, they managed to relate the events of the past few weeks to everyone's satisfaction.

When they were through, Caroline watched Pe­nelope's impassive face with a mixture of curiosity and dread. She had grown quite fond of Blake's sis­ter, and it tore her heart in two to think that the countess would cut her off completely.

But Penelope surprised them all by murmuring a quiet, "I see," followed by an even quieter, "Hmmm."

Caroline leaned forward.

James leaned forward.

Blake started to lean forward, then caught himself and snorted in disgust. He was well used to his sister's tactics.

Finally Penelope took a deep breath, turned to Blake, and said, "You are a beast not to have in­formed the family of your governmental activities, but I will not address that insult now."

"How kind of you," he murmured.

"It is indeed lucky for you," she continued, "that the thoughtlessness of your secrecy has been eclipsed by a matter of even graver concern."

"Indeed."

Penelope glared at him as she jabbed her finger first at the marquis, then back at her brother. "One of you," she announced, "is going to have to marry her."

Caroline, who had been studiously examining the tips of her shoes so as not to give Blake an I-told-you-so smirk when Penelope scolded him about his secrecy, jerked her head up. The sight that awaited her was not reassuring.

Penelope was pointing her long index finger di­rectly at her, and Blake and James had gone utterly white.

That evening found Blake having an exceedingly unpleasant conversation with his sister. She was trying to convince him to marry Caroline with all possible haste, and he was doing his best to ignore her.

He wasn't terribly worried about the outcome of this latest debacle. He had sworn never to marry; Penelope knew it, Caroline knew it, James knew it. Hell, the entire world knew it. And James wasn't the sort to let his best friend's sister goad him into doing anything he didn't want to do. In fact, the only way that Penelope could ensure that Caroline would be swiftly married would be to tell tales and create a huge scandal.

That, Blake was sure, was not a danger. Penelope might be willing to create a little gossip, but she wasn't about to ruin the woman she was now call­ing "my dearest, closest friend."

Penelope, could, however, endeavor to make a general nuisance of herself and annoy the hell out of everyone at Seacrest Manor. And in Blake's case, she was succeeding handily.

"Blake," she said, "you know you need a wife."

"I know no such thing."

"Caroline has been irrevocably compromised."

"Only if you decide to tell tales in London."

"That is beside the point."

"That is exactly the point," Blake growled. "She has been living here to safeguard national security."

"Oh please," Penelope said disdainfully. "She is staying here to escape the clutches of that guardian of hers."

"A guardian who is a threat to national security," Blake shot back. "And Caroline has been assisting us in his apprehension. A most noble endeavor if you ask me."

"I didn't ask you," Penelope said with a sniff.

"You should have," he snapped. "Caroline's presence here is vital to the security of England, and only the worst sort of unpatriotic buffoon would use that to ruin her reputation." So he was exag­gerating a bit about the national security. Desperate times did occasionally call for desperate measures.

James chose that moment to wander in. "I sup­pose you're still talking circles around Caroline's future," he said.

They both leveled annoyed stares in his direction.

"Well," James said, stretching his arms like a cat and yawning as he sank onto a sofa, "I've been thinking about marrying her."

"Oh, how lovely!" Penelope exclaimed, clapping her hands together, but her comment was drowned out by Blake's yell of, "WHAT?"

James shrugged. "Why not? I have to get married eventually."

"Caroline deserves someone who will love her," Blake bit off.

"I certainly like her. That is more than most mar­riages can claim."

"That is true," Penelope said.

"You," Blake snapped, pointing at his sister. "Be quiet. And you-" He turned his furious visage to­ward the marquis, but intelligent discourse escaped him, so he just blurted out, "You be quiet too."

"Well said." James chuckled.

Blake glared at him, feeling quite capable of mur­der.

"Tell me more," Penelope begged. "I think that Caroline will make a lovely marchioness."

"Indeed she would," James replied. "And it would be a rather convenient match. I do need to marry

at some point, and it appears that Caroline needs to marry quite soon."

"There is no reason for her to marry," Blake growled, "as long as my sister keeps her mouth shut."

"Penelope is certainly discreet," James continued in a voice that Blake was beginning to find irritatingly jovial, "but that cannot be a guarantee that no one will find out about our peculiar living arrange­ments. Caroline might not be a member of the ton, but that does not mean that she deserves to have her name dragged through the mud."

Blake jumped to his feet and roared, "Don't you dare accuse me of wanting to sully her good name. Everything I have done-"

"The problem," Penelope smoothly interrupted, "is that you have done nothing."

"I refuse to sit here and-"

"You're standing," Penelope pointed out.

"James," Blake said in a dangerously low voice, "if you don't restrain me, I shall surely commit a

great many crimes in the next ten seconds, the least regretful of which shall involve the painful

death of my sister."

"Er... Penelope," James said, "I'd move out of his reach were I you. I think he might be serious."

"Bah!" was Penelope's response. "He's just out of sorts because he knows I'm right."

A muscle started twitching in Blake's jaw and he didn't even bother to look at James when he said, "You don't have a sister, do you, Riverdale?"

"No."

"Consider yourself blessed." Then he turned on his heel and stalked away.

James and Penelope stared at the doorway through which Blake had just exited until Penelope finally blinked a few times, turned to James and said, "I don't think he's very pleased with us just now."

"No."

"Were you serious?"

"About marrying Caroline?"

Penelope nodded.

"I would hardly make a statement like that if I weren't prepared to see it through."

"But you don't want to marry her," Penelope said, her eyes narrowing.

"Certainly not the way Blake does."

"Hmmm." She crossed the room and sat down. "You're quite clever, Riverdale, but your plan may very well backfire. Blake can be very stubborn."

James sat down across from her. "A fact of which I am well aware."

"I'm sure you are." She curved her lips, but it wasn't really a smile. "And are you also aware that I share the same trait?"

"Stubbornness, you mean? My dear Penelope, I would run unclothed across England in the dead of winter just to escape a battle of wills with the likes of you."

"Nicely put, but if your little declaration fails to produce the desired results, you will marry Caro­line."

"I have no doubt that you will hold a pistol to my back until I do."

Penelope's voice rose. "This is not a joke, Riverdale."

"I know. But I meant what I said earlier. I need to marry eventually, and Caroline is a damned sight better than I'm likely to do if I go hunting for a wife in London."

"Riverdale!"

He shrugged. "It's true. I quite like Caroline, and if I have to marry her because Blake is too cowardly to do it himself-well, then, so be it. Frankly, I can think of worse fates."

"What a coil." Penelope sighed.

"Don't worry. Blake will propose," James said with a confident wave of his hand. "It'd kill him to See me married to her."

"I hope you're right. Lord knows he needs a little happiness." And then Penelope sighed and sagged back against the back of her chair. "I just want him to be happy. Is that so very much to ask?"

Outside the doorway, Caroline stood with her hand over her open mouth. She'd thought her humiliation was complete when Penelope had de­manded that someone -anyone!- marry her. But this-

She choked back a sob. This went beyond humil­iation. Humiliation was something she could live through, something she could endure and eventu­ally put behind her.

But this was different. Something inside her was dying, and Caroline wasn't sure whether it was her heart or her soul.

It didn't matter which, she realized as she ran back up to her room. All that mattered was that she was hurting, and the pain was going to last the rest of her lifetime.

It took two hours, but eventually Caroline was able to compose herself. A bit of cold water reduced the puffiness around her eyes, and several minutes of deep breaths had managed to remove the quaver from her voice. Unfortunately, there wasn't much she could do to take her heart out of her eyes.

She made her way down the stairs and wasn't surprised to find James and Penelope still sitting in the drawing room. Their conversation drifted down the hall, and Caroline was thankful to hear that they had moved on to more ordinary topics.

They were discussing the theatre when she reached the doorway, and she knocked softly against the doorframe. James stood up instantly when he saw her.

"May I come in?" she asked.

"Of course," Penelope said. "Here, sit by me."

Caroline shook her head. "I'd rather stand, thank you.

"As you wish."

"Do you know where Blake is?" Caroline asked, her posture as regal as a queen's. "I wish to say this only once."

"I'm right here."

Caroline whipped her head around. Blake was standing in the doorway, his body somehow rigid and weary at the same time. His cheeks were touched with color, and she wondered if he'd been walking in the chill night air.

"Good. I would like to say something if I may."

"Please do," Blake said.

Caroline gave each of the room's three other oc­cupants an assessing glance and then finally said, "

I do not require a husband. I certainly do not re­quire a husband who does not require a wife. All I wish is to be allowed to remain here, in hiding, until my twenty-first birthday."

"But Caroline!" Penelope protested. "These gen­tlemen have compromised you. You must allow one of them to make it right."

Caroline swallowed. She didn't have much in life, but she did have her pride, and she wasn't about to let Blake Ravenscroft humiliate her any more than he had already. She looked straight at him even as she addressed her words to his sister. "Lady Fairwich, these gentlemen have done nothing to com­promise me."

"Nothing?" Blake asked.

Caroline glared at him, wondering what devil had prompted him to speak when he was so vocal about avoiding marriage. "Nothing which meant anything," she said in a scathing voice.

Their eyes met, and both knew she was talking about their encounter on the beach. The difference was that only Caroline knew she was lying.

Her time with Blake had meant everything to her.

Every minute of every encounter was held close to her heart.

She blinked back tears. Soon she'd be gone, and all she'd have to keep her warm inside were mem­ories. There would be no man to hold her, no friends to tease her, no seaside manor that had, in just a few short weeks, become home.

But of all the things she would miss, the absence that would hurt the most was that of Blake's smile. It was so rare, but when his lips turned up at the edges... And then when he actually laughed, the pure joy of the sound made her want to sing.

But he wasn't smiling now. His face was hard, and he was glaring at her as if she were some sort of antidote, and she knew that if she didn't get out of the room that instant she was going to make an utter fool of herself. "Excuse me," she said quickly, rushing toward the door.

"You can't go now!" Penelope exclaimed, jump­ing to her feet.

Caroline didn't turn around as she said, "I've said what I came here to say."

"But where are you going?"

"Out."

"Caroline."

It was Blake's voice, and just the sound of it made her eyes tear up. "What?" she managed to say. Per­haps it was a rude reply, but it was the best she could do.

"It's dark out. Or hadn't you noticed?"

"I'm going out to look at the stars."

She heard his footsteps and then felt his hand on her shoulder, slowly drawing her away from the door.

"The night is cloudy," he said, his voice surpris­ingly gentle. "You won't be able to see the stars."

She didn't even turn around as she said, "I know they're there. And that's all that matters."

Blake closed his eyes as she ran from the room, for some reason not wanting to see her retreating form.

"Now look what you've done," he heard his sis­ter say. "You've broken that poor girl's heart."

He didn't answer, not knowing-hell, not wanting to know if his sister's words were true. If he had broken her heart, then he was a bastard of the worst sort. And if it wasn't true, it meant that Caroline didn't care about him, that their one night of pas­sion hadn't meant anything to her.

And that was almost too painful to bear.

He didn't want to think about what he felt for her. He didn't want to analyze it, to pick it to pieces, or to try to put a label on it. Because he was terrified that if he did, the only word he'd be able to come up with was love, and that would have to be the cruelest joke of all.

Blake opened his eyes just in time to see the ex­pression of disgust on Riverdale's face as he said, "You're an ass, Ravenscroft."

Blake said nothing.

"Marabelle is dead," James hissed.

Blake turned on his friend with such violence that Penelope flinched. "Don't mention her," he said in

a threatening voice. "She has no place in this con­versation."

"Exactly," James replied. "She's dead, and you can't go on mourning her forever."

"You don't know," Blake said, shaking his head. "You don't know what it's like to love."

"And you know all too well," James murmured. "In fact, you've known twice."

"Blake," Penelope said softly, putting her hand on his arm. "I know you loved her. We all loved her. But Marabelle wouldn't have wanted you to go on like this. You're just a shell. You buried your soul along with hers."

Blake swallowed convulsively, wanting more than anything to flee the room, yet somehow he remained rooted to the spot.

"Let her go," Penelope whispered. "It's time, Blake. And Caroline loves you."

His head whipped around. "She said that?"

Penelope wanted to lie. He could see it in her eyes. But finally she shook her head.

"No, but it's easy to see."

"I won't hurt her," he vowed. "She deserves bet­ter."

"Then marry her," Penelope implored.

He shook his head. "If I marry her... God, I'd hurt her in more ways than you could imagine."

"Bloody hell!" James burst out. "Stop being so damned afraid. You're afraid of loving, you're afraid of living. The only bloody thing you're not afraid of is death. I'll give you one night. One night only."

Blake narrowed his eyes. "For what?"

"To make up your mind. But I promise you this: I will marry Caroline if you don't. So ask yourself if you'll be able to bear that for a lifetime."

James turned on his heel and stalked from the room.

"He's not making an idle threat," Penelope said. "He's quite fond of her."

"I know that," Blake snapped.

Penelope gave him a brief nod, men walked to the door. "I'll leave you to your thoughts."

That, Blake thought bitterly, was the last thing he wanted.