She was about to open her mouth and attempt to extend an olive branch when the carriage turned through a set of high iron gates, topped with gray angels who had their stone heads bowed.
So soon?Her heart lurched into her throat.
The carriage bumped and rattled down a long driveway, flanked by pleasantly curved cypress trees that wafted an earthy, pleasant scent into the gloomy space. Immaculate lawns stretched out in all their emerald glory, bordered by woodland on one side, and what appeared to be a lake glimmering on the other side. Not as pretty as Westyork, but nothing to sniff at.
The house itself was a large Tudor-style manor of rusty red brick, interrupted by dark wooden beams and crosshatched windows that glinted in the dull afternoon light. Eerie and gloomy compared to the warm and welcoming sandstone of Westyork, or so Caroline thought. But probably quite fitting for the newly married couple who would reside there together.
“I hope your cook will not be put to any trouble for the wedding breakfast,” Caroline said, her voice sounding strange after so much quiet.
Max did not look at her as he answered, “I doubt it. She barely cares about an ordinary breakfast.”
His sarcasm irked her, but she would not let him see that.
“Will I meet the staff today?” she proceeded.
“Unless they decide to hide, I expect so.”
Prior to the wedding, Amelia had instructed Caroline as to what she could anticipate from her new household: how she would be expected to meet all of the staff and make a good impression, how the staff would expectherto take control of the domestic affairs, and how, in due course, she would be expected to host balls and dinner parties to increase her favor in society.
Caroline had not paid as much attention as she should have done, considering she had had no intention of getting married that day. Now, she wished she had listened more intently.
“I suppose they will not be anticipating a duchess,” Caroline said, her stomach lurching at the realization that shewasa duchess now.
The carriage came to a halt, and without answering, Max got out. Caroline waited for him to help her down with as much decorum as she could muster, but he did not reappear, merely leaving the door open for her to exit of her own accord. And with that act, any thought she might have had about apologizing for her earlier remarks disappeared.
“Your Grace.” A footman came to the door, clearly as bewildered as she was.
He bowed and offered his hand to help her out.
Caroline put on a smile and took the proffered hand. “Thank you. For a moment, I feared I might have to stay in this carriage all day, awaiting permission to alight.”
The footman smiled back but said nothing more as he let go of her hand and bent into a deeper bow.
Apparently, she was to enter this strange, unfamiliar house all by herself. There would be no doting husband to scoop her up and carry her across the threshold. There would be no shy giggles and gentle whispers of affection over tea and cakes, to refresh themselves after the journey. There would be no warmth, no holding of hands, no discreet touch to the small of her back as her loving husband showed her around her new residence.
Those dreams belonged to the Caroline of a week or so ago, who had not yet made the mistake of following Dickie to the study.
“Are you not entering, Your Grace?” the footman asked after a few minutes.
Caroline had not moved, splitting her concentration between the spooky manor and the white gravel of the driveway. Her family and friends ought to be arriving at any moment, for they had left immediately after the newlyweds, and she knew she would feel better if she had them at her side.
“I am going to wait for a while,” Caroline replied, taking herself down the flower-bordered front of the manor to where a bench looked out on the estate.
She sat down, surrounded by the sweet fragrance of the wildflowers, admiring the bright colors of the poppies and violets and yellow St. John’s Wort—an excellent flower with many medicinal properties, according to Matilda’s latest bookabout common herbs and plants, which Caroline had devoured in the fitting gardens of Westyork.
It can be brewed to ease melancholy,she remembered, thinking of all the books and precious belongings that were yet to be packed at her former home. As she had not thought she would be anyone’s wife today, she had asked the staff to wait until ‘after the honeymoon.’ A gross oversight, now that she was the Duchess of Harewood, with nothing in her possession but the gown she was wearing.
“Are you waiting for something in particular, Your Grace?” the footman asked anxiously, his gaze flitting to the manor entrance. Perhaps, he too was expecting Max to come back to see his wife inside.
Caroline smiled sweetly. “My family.”
“Very good, Your Grace.” The footman seemed to relax and gave a nod to the driver.
The carriage wheeled around, taking another path around the side of the manor and disappearing out of sight. To the coach house and the stables, most likely, but the absence of it was a swift kick to Caroline’s chest. Out in the countryside like this, a carriage was her only means of being anywhere else, and without it nearby, she began to panic once more.
I cannot do this. I should not have agreed. I should have fled when I had the chance.
She plucked a daisy that grew by the front leg of the bench, and steadfastly, rhythmically began to pick off each white petal.
