The Secret Love of a Gentleman

The sight of him filled Caro with a mix of emotions, relief and happiness, he was her home, the only place she felt safe, but there was sadness too, to know that she was dependent on him.

When Drew reached her he sank down onto his haunches and took her hands in his, looking concerned. “How are you, Caro?”

Caro hugged him and broke into sobs, the pent-up fear and pain spilling out of her. He held her in return.

“I am glad you are safe. I am sorry. This was my fault,” she whispered in his ear.

“No,” he whispered back, speaking into her ear too. “It was not. It was Kilbride’s, but it is done with, and all will be well now, I promise.”

“I feared for you, but it seems now you have all you deserve.”

“I was afraid for me too,” he jested. “This feels strange, doesn’t it? I shall not lie. I am ready to run as much as you are, I should think… But these people are not like ours, Caro –“

“I know.”

“The Duke of Arundel, Lord Wiltshire, Mary’s uncle, told me Kilbride is going to sue for divorce. You will be free soon, too, and then you may begin a new life.”

Fresh tears gathered in her eyes. Albert wished to be rid of her entirely, and then he would find a wife who would bear him children. The pain of that cut at her heart. Drew pulled away and gripped her hands gently.

He would never understand if she told him she loved Albert still.

Mary touched Drew’s shoulder and Caro looked up to see her holding out a gentleman’s handkerchief. Lord Marlow’s, Mary’s father’s.

“Thank you.” Caro forced a smile, then looked away as she dabbed at her tears.

“All will be well, now,” Drew said, his hand patting her arm. Then he stood and looked at Lord Marlow. “I thought you were hungry. Are we not going to eat?”

Lord Marlow turned and in a moment the dinner gong sounded.

Caro’s heart pounded, but Drew gave Mary an apologetic smile and raised his arm to Caro.

She stood and lay her fingers on his sleeve. Drew was her security—and now her only hold on sanity. She could not have walked into the room to dine without him.

“I shall buy you some new clothes,” he said quietly as they walked ahead of Mary and her father. “Living among the Pembrokes is not the same as living in a cottage.”

“I cannot bear this, Drew, is there nowhere else –”

“I have a home. I am buying a property bordering Pembroke’s. You will have a home there too, Caro.”

Tears blurred her vision again. She was grateful, and yet she did not wish to be a burden and beholden to him for the rest of her days, a poor, shamed, dependent relation.

She would be a blight on his happy home.

Chapter 5

Three years later

Rob leaned on a windowsill in the first-floor drawing room, looking out onto the gardens below. His gaze caught a sudden movement across the lawn. It could have been the shadow of a cloud sweeping across the sky, if the movement was dark and not light. But it had been something pale blue.

It could have been a ghost if it was night and not midday. But it was not a spectre. He would lay strong odds it was the tail end of Caroline Framlington’s skirt disappearing behind the hedge. Perhaps a ghost of sorts, then.

Rob leant more firmly onto the windowsill.

Her fingers had held the rim of her bonnet, hiding her face as she’d hurried away, head down, scurrying from the house.

He assumed she’d left the house because he’d arrived. He had not even come within ten feet of her. It did not bode well.

“Do not take it personally.” His brother-in-law said jovially, in a low tone, resting a palm on Rob’s shoulder. “Caro does not appreciate company.”

Rob turned to look at Drew “And male company particularly… Yes, I know. Are you sure it is a good idea for me to stay here if it will disturb her?”

“Life must go on, Robbie, she cannot orchestrate what we do. Caro will keep to her rooms as she does most of the time. I wish she would be braver, but I do not have the heart to force her into facing her fears, and yet nor will I pander to them. She’ll cope because she has to. We have servants, after all, and men among them. It is not only Mary and I who live here. It is just because your presence is unfamiliar and so she feels threatened.”

“I could stay at John’s.”

“Rattling about your brother’s monstrosity of a mansion on your own. No, Robbie. Mary invited you for the summer because she wants to spend time with you. You and I can go out shooting and fishing, and riding.”

“I can ride over daily from John’s and do that. His property is only a few miles from yours.”

“And kick around the house alone all night, bored. Do not be foolish. You will stay, and Caro will adjust. It is only going to be for the summer. Caro will survive.”

“Or hide.”

“Well more likely that. But either way, it will do her no harm.”

“Uncle Bobbie!” George, Drew’s son, charged across the room and barrelled into Rob’s leg. The boy was barely two, and a little tyke, but adorable despite it. He still refused to sound his “r”s and thus Rob, known to his family as Robbie, had become Uncle Bobbie to the boy.

Rob bent and caught the child by his chubby arms, lifted him and tossed him in the air once, then caught him and turned him upside down. George laughed in his childish giggle.

His nephew was another good reason to stay, as was his infant niece, whom his sister currently cradled on her arm while speaking with their mother.

Rob loved the children. There was something very endearing about being hero-worshipped by George, something his younger brothers rarely did.

Mary was the sibling he was fondest of. She was the closest to him in age and temperament, and her notorious husband had always treated Rob like a grown man, even when Rob had been scarcely that. Rob had been eighteen when Drew and Mary had eloped.

“And I have been looking forward to your company, as has this rapscallion.”

“Uncle Bobbie, I want to fly!” George cried.

Rob carefully let him descend to the floor, head first.

The boy rolled onto his back, then rose and turned to his papa to be caught up again, in a firm hold. “Your uncle Robbie is not going to swing you about all day, George.”

“Boats!” The boy yelled.

Rob ruffled the child’s hair. “Yes, I will play boats and kites, and ball, George. We’ll do lots of things.”

“Aun’ie Ca’o too.”

“Perhaps.” Drew avoided the true answer.

“We ought to be getting back to John’s, if you are ready, Robbie?” Rob looked at his mother as she stood up.

Mary stood too, with the baby sleeping in her arms. “We shall see you at John’s tomorrow. I believe we have even persuaded Caro to come, because the children are. But I doubt she will speak to anyone but them.”

“I do feel sorry for her. I wish there was more I could do.” Their mother smiled at Mary, then Drew. “But I have no idea how to help her, she always looks so uncomfortable the moment I begin any more personal conversation.”

“She is not so unhappy, Mama. She adores the children. She would be more distressed to think you pitied her.”

Unease swung over Rob, like a cloak settling on his shoulders, as Drew continued reassuring Rob’s mother.

Rob was still unsure about staying, but he did not really wish to remain at John’s. He turned to look from the window again.

His eldest brother’s, his step-brother’s, property was vast. So vast it currently housed every branch of the family. But after the garden party the family would splinter again and each aunt, uncle and cousin would return to their own homes, and John and his wife, Kate, were retiring to a smaller estate for the summer.

Rob could change his mind and go home with his parents or stay with any of his uncles and aunts, but he would still be one of a dozen wherever he went with them. He wanted to spend some time just as himself.

He’d finished at Oxford at the beginning of the summer. He wished for independence. If he went home he would be lost among his siblings, and with his aunts and uncles, lost among his cousins, and being lost among his cousins was worse because most of the men his age were titled. He was not. Rob was the odd one out in his extended family, the only firstborn son without a title or a huge inheritance awaiting him.

Here with Mary and Drew that did not matter. Rob could be himself, independent, respected, and hero-worshipped by his nephew, and it was close enough to town that he could also begin to plan for his future. He could hunt for lodgings in London and move into them in the autumn. All he needed to do then was choose a living. In his mind he had a grand idealistic plan, yet in practice he was unsure how this great feat of his might be managed.

Not that he needed an occupation, he had an income provided by his ducal brother. He’d come of age, he was one and twenty, and on the day of his coming of age he’d received his first quarter’s allowance—but the idea of living off John jarred brutally.

John had everything. He was rich, titled and successful in both the management of his estates and in the House of Lords. He’d lived abroad for several years and explored archaeology in Egypt, returning with his finds as trophies. He drew like a master, sung with the voice of a professional and played the pianoforte equally well.

What do I have, what can I do? Rob wished to make something of himself. To make some mark on the world. To do something worthwhile with his life, but he wished to achieve it through his own efforts. His cousins and brother might mock him as a philanthropist but he did not think it a bad thing to wish to make a difference. He refused to sit back and live on the largesse of his brother. He wished to do something meaningful and inspiring. Something more than being dependent and idle.

He was the grandson of an earl and a duke, but not within the line of inheritance for either, and his father’s estate was small, too small for his father to require assistance. Rob could paint with moderate skill, sing with pleasing countenance, ride as well as any man, and shoot well, but he could not join a regiment, he was still an heir. He was good at many things, but a master of nothing, so numerous occupations were beyond his reach, while his step-brother had set a bar above him that was so high it could never be achieved.

But he still had his plan that would, he hoped, give him the sense of pride in himself that he craved, some separation from reliance on his family and bring benefit to thousands.

He longed for a position in government. That was his great plan—to carve out his place in the political world and create a niche for himself.

Yet to be elected he needed money for a campaign, and he did not wish to involve his father, or John, or anyone else in his family because they would simply offer him one of their pocket seats, which they owned through bribery. The whole idea of that rankled. It would feel immoral, and then again Rob would have achieved nothing on his own. There would be no pride in it. If he were to respect himself, when he spoke out for the poor, he could not do it when everything that had got him to that point had come from the wealthy.

He’d rather give the money he received from John to the poor and bypass himself, if that was the way he had to earn a place in parliament. Perhaps I am a philanthropist. But he hadn’t a clue where to begin without using John’s money. The only detail in the conception of his plan to date was that he did not wish it to become John-shaped.

This summer, therefore, was his time to think things through and develop his method to win himself a place in the governance of the country which had been earned and not inherited.

“Robbie.” His mother touched his elbow.

His thoughts had been a mile away.

Looking at her, he smiled. He’d driven her over here to see Mary. His father was with John, looking over John’s estates.

“We ought to go, and leave Mary to settle Iris and George down for a nap.”

He agreed. He kissed his sister’s cheek, before bending to kiss his niece’s forehead as his finger brushed over the wispy hair on her soft head.

He would stay here. With Mary and Drew, where he did not feel such a lesser mortal, or so lacking in achievements and ability.

Drew slapped Rob on the shoulder. “We shall see you tomorrow, and we shall have a merry time over the summer.”

~

Caro looked out of the open French door at those gathered on the terrace and the lawn beyond it. It had been over three years since she’d first visited the Duke of Pembroke’s. She had felt then as she felt now, overwhelmed, afraid, and yet angry. Nervous sensations tingled across her skin, as her heart raced.

There were dozens of people here, adults and children, all laughing, smiling and talking.

Drew was among them playing cricket as Mary sat on a blanket beneath a canopy watching him, with Iris in her arms.

Many of the women held young children.

Caro was the only parasite—unmarried and childless, sucking the blood from this family, hiding among them, dependent and clinging to her brother. She hated her reliance on Drew, it pressed into her side, a steel-hard pain. Sometimes she felt as though Albert’s hands were still about her neck, cutting off her breath and that she had not taken a breath since she’d left him three years before.

Yet this family accepted her, all of them. She could not blame her misery on them. They were simply a constant reminder of what she had failed to possess, she had not succeeded in winning the love of her husband, or to bear his child. Guilt, shame and longing hung about her and whispered in her ears as constant companions.

Caro sipped from the glass of lemonade she held. If the family had gathered at Drew’s house she would have retired to her rooms and found a book or embroidery to absorb her thoughts. But today she had been foolish enough to agree to travel with them. Yet Mary had asked specifically and refusing would have seemed too rude.

“Throw!” The Duke of Pembroke yelled from his position behind the wicket, holding up his open hands. The ball was thrown to him and his uncle was caught out.

Some of the women and children cheered and others booed, depending on who their allegiance lay with.

The Duke slapped his uncle’s shoulder and his uncle laughed.

The Pembrokes were a happy, harmonious clan, and Drew was now one of them. He’d thrown the ball to John.

The crack of hard leather hitting willow echoed across the open space above the sound of conversation. Mary’s brother Robbie held the bat and ran.

He was to stay at Drew’s for the summer.

Caro watched him run from one wicket to the other. He was tall but lithe. He touched the bat to the ground, then ran back.

Discomfort rippled through her nerves.

“Papa! Uncle Bobbie!”

Caro’s gaze turned to Drew’s son. He’d escaped the women and was running on his little legs to join the game.

Before he’d run more than a dozen steps, Mary’s father caught him up and tossed the child, squealing, into the air.

Drew’s children were the only part of Caro’s life that brought her happiness. She spent hours with her nephew and niece.

Applause echoed over the lawn as Robbie ran his fourth length and beat the ball back to the wicket. He turned and braced himself to hit again, his dark-brown hair falling forward over his brow.

He was different from most of the Pembrokes, and from most of Mary’s family. He looked like his father, not his mother. He did not have the Pembrokes’ dark hair or their pale-blue eyes.

Drew had told her Robbie had seen her leave the house yesterday. Drew had said she’d made Robbie concerned about staying. Then Drew had waited as if he hoped she would say she did not mind Robbie coming.

She had not answered. She did not wish to discuss her silent madness with her brother. Guilt and shame had eaten away at her in the last three years and she was not a whole woman; she could not simply snuff out her feelings like the flame of a candle. She did not understand it herself, so how could she discuss it anyway. He’d encouraged her to speak with doctors in the early years, and yet the only one she had told had offered her laudanum to calm her nerves—nothing else.

She did not wish to feel ill as well as mad.

Perhaps Drew ought to have her admitted to an asylum and be done with it. She felt as though she was trapped within a prison anyway—a glass gaol of her own making.

A raucous cheer rang across the lawn outside as Robbie’s wicket was smashed by the bowling technique of one of his cousins. Once the cheering was over the men began to walk back up the hill towards the house.

Her heartbeat pounded violently in her chest.

Drew spotted her. Of course, he knew where to look. He knew she would not be outside among Mary’s family. He lifted his hand, peeling away from the others, who walked towards the women.

Her brother was a man to match the Pembrokes, he was tall, athletic and handsome; brown-haired and hazel-eyed. He’d carried his own insecurity before he’d married Mary, but not now. Mary and her family had healed him—made him a complete man. He was at peace with himself, confident and in love with Mary. He deserved more than to have a sister who clung like a shackle about his neck.

“Caro!” he called as he drew nearer. “Come and sit with Mary and me!”

“I am happy here!” she called back.

“Are you?” he responded with a smile. “You need not exclude yourself, though! Come!” He held out his hand as he walked closer.

Unfortunately, he was also stubborn.

Her lips trembled when she tried to smile.

Then he was there, taking her hand, whether she willed it or not. He pulled her outside. “Kate will take it as an insult if you do not join us.”

“She will not. The Duchess will not notice.” Yet Caro gave in to his urging rather than cause a scene.

His hold on her hand was loose as he pulled her on.

The only people she felt comfortable touching her were Drew and the children… and yet she craved touch. She felt starved of it at times. It was another anomaly of her madness.

He flashed a smile across his shoulder. “She notices. They all do. But admittedly no one thinks ill of you, and yet you still hide.”

She said nothing to that.

The family groups were gathered about the refreshment tables. Some of the children ran between people’s legs, playing a game of chase, until one of the Duke’s uncles called a stop to the game. “Enough, children, you shall knock one of us over!” Caro flinched at the tone of his voice. It rattled through her nerves.

“Come on.” Drew’s hold tightened on her hand as he felt her hesitation.

Caro focused on Mary, her heart racing with the pace of a galloping horse. Her panic was irrational, there was no threat and yet every one of her senses tingled with a need to run. Fear hemmed her in and tightened in a heavy grip about her chest, making it difficult to breathe.

Flashes of memory stirred, images sparking through her thoughts like flashes of lightning—there and then not.

“Look what I found,” Drew said to Mary.

Caro fought the growing pain in her chest when Drew let go of her hand and tried not to gasp for breath as her heart pounded out a wild rhythm.

Mary smiled and patted a vacant space beside her on the blanket.

Caro sat down.

“Caro was in the house. I thought I’d bring her out here so that she could converse with you at least.”

Caro’s gaze fell to Iris—her niece was asleep in Mary’s arms. Instantly the panic eased, replaced by love and longing.

“Would you like to take her,” Mary offered.

Mary was a few years younger than Drew, but she was so good for him, and good to Caro.

“Thank you.” When Caro took Iris from Mary, the child stirred, her little hands opening as her eyes did.

Drew’s fingers brushed his daughter’s cheek. Iris looked up at her papa.

“Poppet,” he whispered.

Iris gurgled in recognition.

“Aun’ie Ca’o!” George barrelled into her side, tumbling onto the blanket with a roll. She clasped one arm about George while the other held Iris, and the world was at peace again.

“I hit a ball with Uncle Bobbie.” George announced.

“I held the bat with him.” The words came from above them.

Mary looked upward. Caro did not. Robbie’s voice grated on her nerves.

“I hit it far,” George declared slipping from beneath Caro’s arm to hug his mother instead.

“Clever boy,” Mary praised her son. “Perhaps Uncle Robbie will teach you how to hold the bat yourself in the summer.”

“And I missed this marvellous feat,” Drew said. “You will have to do it again after luncheon so I may see you.”

Robbie stepped closer.

Tremors ran across Caro’s skin and unravelled into her veins. She wished Robbie to move away.

He dropped down to sit on the end of the blanket, near Mary’s feet.

Panic claimed Caro in full force, her chest becoming so tight she could not pull the air into her lungs.

The baby made an impatient sound in Caro’s arms.

“Sorry, she’s fractious, she is hungry, I ought to take her in and feed her.” Mary gave her son another squeeze, then let him go and stood up. “Come along, little one.” She reached down so Caro could pass Iris back.

Robbie’s gaze rested on Caro as she held Iris up.

When Mary walked away, Drew sat down beside Caro and leant back on his hands, stretching out his legs. “You know your mother is taking your absconding personally,” he spoke to Robbie.

Caro’s limbs filled up with the weight of lead and she adjusted her sitting position, bending up her knees within the skirt of her dress and hugging them, as George crawled towards Robbie.

Robbie laughed and his hand ruffled George’s hair. “She is not ready for me to leave the nest. She thinks we are all growing up too fast.”

“I suppose that is my fault, for snatching Mary from it.”

“She does not hold that against you. You have given her more grandchildren in return. It is an exchange. I am just a loss.”

“Shall I tell her to stop henpecking and let you fledge?”

Drew was joking. He was close to Mary’s and Robbie’s parents. They were his parents too—because theirs had never fulfilled that role.

“Papa spoke to her. He supports me. He knows I cannot live on his estate, there is nothing for me to do there.”

When Caro had first come to the Duke’s home Robbie had been eighteen. He’d smiled and laughed frequently, but as a man he seemed more serious than the others. Most of his cousins had no interest in the children, his peers within the family always kept to their own group, but Robbie never stood with them. Yet his younger brother, Harry, did. Drew at his age had been wild, playing with danger, fighting everyone and everything.

“Of course you cannot, if you wish to sow a few wild oats?” Drew added.

“Not my style,” Robbie answered.

Drew’s face split into a broad smile, “So your brother told me.”

“Harry?”

“Harry…” They laughed again. Caro did not know the joke.

“Well, you may tell Harry to mind his own business, not mine,” Rob said, with a smile.

“But younger brothers are born to be a thorn in the side. Mary and I are working on one for George solely for that purpose”

“I have never been a thorn in John’s. He’d win whatever argument I started with a simple glance.”

“True, your older brother does have a way of making a man feel as small as a mouse. I ignore it.”

“I do not risk it. I never give him cause to deploy that look on me.”

Another laugh was shared between them as George scrambled back across the blanket to Drew, then began using his father as a climbing frame. He clambered up Drew’s back and then tumbled over Drew’s shoulder. George’s legs flew out towards Robbie.

Robbie reached to catch him and slow his fall.