The Secret Love of a Gentleman. Jane Lark
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with embarrassment as she’d tried to look confident before others.
She turned to leave. Unsure of what she would say to Robbie.
“Caroline.”
She turned back. He’d risen from the floor and crossed the room. His long fingers wrapped about her arm to stop her turning away.
His gentle hold reminded her of the way Albert had touched her in bed.
She pulled her arm free.
“May we speak for a moment?”
I respect you immensely. She lowered her head in agreement.
“We shall return in a moment, George. I wish to speak to your aunt. Have the horses move to the far side and set up a cavalry charge.” He lifted his hand so Caro would walk ahead of him. She stopped on the landing, only a few feet away from the nursery door.
Robbie pulled the door closed.
Heat burned in Caro’s cheeks when he took a couple of strides towards her. He was nearly a foot taller than her, at least ten inches, and when he moved his athletic physique expressed energy, a love of life, a desire to discover.
His hand lifted as if he might clasp her arm, but then it fell. “Caroline, I’d like to apologise again. I’m sure you shall become bored of hearing me use the word ‘sorry’ but I wish I had not chosen the topic of conversation I did yesterday. It was crass of me. I am sorry I upset you again. Will you give me another chance?” As he spoke, the hand that had lifted previously rose and swept back his hair, brushing his fringe from his forehead.
“I should have thought before I spoke. Your past is none of my business. Yet I just, well, I wanted you to know that I respect you and I applaud you, and I believe that you must be a lot braver than you think. I see you as a woman full of courage. I did not intend to make you feel uncomfortable. I’ll say nothing more on the subject, I swear, only as I said the other day. I hope that by the end of my stay we might be friends, and although I have been making a mull of it, I still have hopes, if you will forgive me?”
She did not really have anything to forgive him for. He’d only mentioned the name of her former husband, it was hardly a crime—and each day she liked Robbie more. He was a kind, good-hearted young man. “You need not ask for my forgiveness. It was not because of you that I became emotional. Your words simply stirred up memories that I ought not to think of. I am sorry I made you feel uncomfortable. You are a guest here. It was rude of me.”
“Aun’ie Ca’o! Aun’ie Ca’o!” The nursery door handle rattled.
“Master George! Come back and play, your aunt will be here in a moment.”
Caro turned to the door.
Robbie clasped her arm, the gentle touch twisting something in her stomach. “May I ask one thing of you, Caroline? Please do not leave me alone at dinner.”
“You cannot be alone. Mary and—”
“Are a couple, and I feel foolish intruding on them every night, as I’m sure you must do when you are here alone. I presume that is why you frequently do not come down, so why not make the most of my presence and have some company?”
“You are a guest. They do not make you feel unwelcome.”
“Nor do they you.” His tone had dropped and become slightly challenging, but the words were still softly spoken, not threatening.
“Au’nie Ca’o! Play!” George shouted through the wood of the nursery door, as the handle rattled again.
Caro looked at the door then back at Robbie. She had not pulled her arm free. Robbie’s touch was soothing. It had been a long time since anyone other than Drew had touched her, and now Robbie continually did so—she was becoming accustomed to his gentle fingers about her arm.
“Shall we take him outside?” Robbie offered. “We could play on the lawn with him; the day is not too hot yet.”
She nodded agreement.
He let her go and opened the door. “Are you causing trouble, George?”
“I’m sorry, sir,” the nanny said.
“You need not be. We are going to take him outside for a little while, to play in the garden.”
Caro smiled at George as his eyes lit up, then he turned and ran across the room, his little legs on a charge.
“My boat!” George pointed to the sailing boat, which was on a shelf above him. He did a little awkward jump. “Play with my boat, Uncle Bobbie?” He looked back at his uncle with a plea.
Robbie crossed the room. “Yes, you shall sail your boat, George. We’ll take it out to the pond.”
George lifted his arms. Robbie bent to pick him up and held him so that George could take the boat from the shelf.
“Caroline.” Robbie indicated for her to walk ahead of them as he came back across the room.
“I have to fetch my bonnet. I will come down soon.” She turned and went ahead of them, hurrying down the stairs from the attic. Then she ran along the landing on the second floor to her rooms.
The day was warm, so she did not bother with a shawl, but just picked up a straw bonnet and tied the burgundy ribbons, which secured it beneath her chin. The colour of the ribbons matched the flowers in the pattern on her ivory muslin dress.
Her heart raced as she ran down the stairs, yet it was not from fear, it was from expectation and excitement. I applaud you. I respect you. No one had said such things to her.
You must be a lot braver than you think…
Albert had complimented her often when he’d courted her, and during the first year of their marriage, but always for her beauty. Robbie had looked beyond her appearance and considered what was inside, and he’d seen courage.
Courage…
What an odd thing for him to see in her when he’d only known the woman who hid herself away. She smiled as she hurried across the downstairs hall and then she ran lightly through the morning room and out through the French doors into the garden.
She could hear them. George was squealing with excitement, and Robbie’s lower tone cheered along with him. When she turned the corner of the second hedge in the parterre gardens, she saw them. Robbie was kneeling at the edge of the pond and George stood beside him with both hands pressed on the stone rim as they blew at the boat. It moved a little, wobbling through the water and sending out ripples.
Caro laughed, the sound bursting from her throat. She could not remember the last time she had laughed. “I see the wind is not really strong enough and so you are making your own.”
Robbie looked up, his lips parting in a sudden wide grin and his slate-grey eyes, which were paler in the sunshine, looked full of pleasure. “It is good to hear you laugh, even if it is at our expense. Will you help us blow?” His lips twisted into a wry smile.
“Aun’ie Ca’o,” George looked up.
“Are you blowing your boat to make it sail?” She lifted her skirt and knelt on the grass, on the other side of George to Robbie, but as Robbie’s hand was settled at George’s waist she did not touch George. She leaned onto the stone about the pond and blew at the boat’s white sails. George blew too, but he could not purse his lips.
Caro patted his head and laughed at the funny sound he made when he blew. “Who is on your boat, George?”
“Uncle Bahbah and the pi’ates.”
Robbie choked mid-blow and laughed more heartily than Caro had done.
Uncle Bahbah was Drew’s nickname for the black sheep of Mary’s family, Robbie’s younger brother Harry.
“Why is Uncle Harry with the pirates, George? What has he done?” Robbie’s