part0013

C aroline sank into a chair. She’d danced for three hours with seemingly every man in the room but Preston. He, on the other hand, had danced with Miss Ross twice, and two other women. Why had he not asked her yet? She had half a mind to walk right up to him and demand the next set. He was here for her, after all. They’d come together.

She couldn’t deny the stares. Everyone looked at him. She’d heard the whispers, too. He hadn’t lied when he said society was difficult, but he smiled nonetheless. That had to be a good sign, right?

Standing from her seat, she pushed through the crowd to find him. She’d given him more than enough opportunities to ask after a set, but enough was enough. Valcourt was due for another dance and sitting around would only give him an opportunity to ask for it.

She found Preston with his mother standing near a table with punch and a small spread of food. He smiled at her and beckoned her over with a nod.

“You must be exhausted,” he said as he poured a glass of punch. “For you.”

She took the glass and sipped. “Not quite,” she said with a meaningful look that she hoped was inviting enough to warrant a dance.

It was not lost on Preston, who chuckled in return. “Might I claim your next set?”

Caroline heaved an exaggerated sigh. “At last.”

Mrs. Blake touched Caroline’s arm. “You dear girl. I’ve told him repeatedly how very rude he’s been.”

“I haven’t wanted to seem overbearing,” Preston retorted. “Besides, I have been quite entertained merely watching.”

“Go on, then.” Mrs. Blake shooed them with her hands. “Dancers are getting in line.”

Preston took Caroline’s hand and led her forward with purpose. She wondered if his heart was as frantic as hers.

They squeezed in between two other couples, and Preston stepped back a few paces in line with the rest of the men. As they waited for the music to begin, Caroline stole a glance at Preston. He chewed on his bottom lip. Was he nervous? Caroline tried desperately to force down her smile. She’d wanted this so badly, dreamt of this moment for a year, and here she was standing in front of him. Preston looked more regal and more handsome than she’d ever seen him.

Music filled the air and Caroline started a step too late. Preston grasped her hand as he passed her, his fingers lingering on her wrist and sending a jolt to her heart. She took in a small breath and caught his gaze as he circled back. He was laughing, or was at least amused, and it was contagious. He brushed the back of his hand with hers as they turned and grinned.

“Be serious,” she whispered, though she felt anything but.

“I am,” he replied, never looking away. Caroline’s stomach flipped into her chest. His eyes were focused and sweet, and every time the steps brought them together, he grinned unabashedly down at her. So instead of being so serious, Caroline planned the next twirl. When Preston took her hand, she drew closer to him than ever before, her nose mere inches from his. Preston’s lips parted as the steps pulled Caroline away again, and his grin changed into something new.

The way Caroline pulled him close. The way her eyes smoldered as she watched him. It would be his undoing.

The set was nearly through, but Preston didn’t want the music to end. He wanted to hold her hand and watch her twirl and pull her close as they spun together in tandem.

He loved Caroline Avery.

And he intended to do anything in his power to make her happy for the rest of their lives. Would the world accept them together? Could he overlook the stares and whispers? Could she?

He bowed as the music lulled, and Caroline curtseyed in return. He couldn’t help but laugh as she said, “Can you believe you missed this the first time?”

“I cannot.” What had he been thinking? Why did he care so much about gossip and ridicule when Caroline’s opinion, her happiness was all that he truly measured?

“Oh, Preston, I am so glad to hear it . . .”

Caroline was talking, but Preston’s ears were suddenly distracted. Valcourt was a few paces behind them with a lady on his arm. “Not to worry,” he was saying. “I cannot imagine his face is contagious . . .”

Preston’s arm flexed. Valcourt was spreading rumors about him. About his scars.

Caroline tightened her hold on him, raising her voice. “You must tell me more about your orchards. When is your next harvest?”

But the voices grew louder too. Hateful and disgusted. Preston stared dumbly at his feet, only half-attentive to her question.

“He is hideous,” the woman with Valcourt replied. Preston’s stomach sank.

“It is a pity,” Valcourt continued. “I wouldn’t go too near to be safe, if I were you. I only mean to help. I’m not entirely sure what Mrs. Ross was thinking, inviting a creature like that without knowing fully his circumstances.”

Preston stopped in his tracks. Caroline looked back at him in haste, clearly worried. Anger spread from his nostrils to his toes. No more would he feel shame or offer apology for his appearance, or for who he was. Caroline was all that mattered now. And he intended to make that known to her first thing in the morning.

Valcourt prattled on he passed by them as though he was completely unaware of Preston’s presence. Preston needed air before his fists made him remorseful. “I’ve forgotten something,” he told Caroline. “A handkerchief.”

Caroline’s brows knit together. She didn’t believe him, but he’d have to beg her forgiveness later.

“I’ll return in a moment.” He nodded her forward. Valcourt aside, the night hadn’t been as uncomfortable as he predicted. Not with Caroline so close. The stares and the whispers were there, as usual, but the loneliness he so often felt was abated by her presence. Everything he thought could never be was changing into a beautiful possibility.

That was, as long as he didn’t punch a soon to be earl in the nose.

He made his way to the entry, waving off the butler who attended those leaving. He wouldn’t need his coat, just a quick breath of fresh air.

Until those same voices caught up with him.

“There he is again,” a woman sneered as he passed. “Is he leaving, finally?”

“Look at that face. How does he live?”

“Did you see him dancing with Miss Avery? She almost looked . . . happy. I cannot fathom it.”

“Never fear, ladies,” Valcourt interjected.

Preston’s fingers twitched. His arm ached to follow through. He needed out of this place, and quickly. In all his years, he’d never been so publicly slandered.

A man in front of him paused to adjust his hat, blocking the only way out.

Valcourt continued, “We can all breathe openly again. The monster is leaving at last.”

There was no time for thinking. Preston’s arm was fueled by the anger and callousness he’d harbored since the fire. Turning, he anchored his focus on Valcourt’s nasty smile and swung like his very life depended on it.

A pop cracked the air, and Valcourt fell back cursing. Ladies all around gasped and retreated. Preston’s hand pounded with pain that shot up his arm and into his shoulder.

Valcourt hobbled to a standing position and raised his fists.

“That is enough,” a man was rushing forward. “Enough!”

Preston lowered his hands as the man came upon them, but Valcourt swung. Preston’s jaw burst with pain, blood poured from a gash in his lip, but Preston didn’t hesitate. He’d wanted to best this man for too long. Another swing, another punch, and Valcourt was down again.

Arms encircled him, pulling him back. Voices all around were murmuring in shock.

“Enough, Preston,” Mr. Avery said fiercely. He held Preston up. “Think of where you are, son.”

The very word sobered him. Son. What would his father say, seeing him now?

Valcourt was on his knees surrounded by a dozen men patting his shoulders, and ladies throwing their handkerchiefs at him.

Standing across the hall with her hand over her chest was Caroline. She was pale, as though she’d just lost something dear.

Mrs. Ross approached the two of them. “Mr. Avery, if you do not mind. I must ask you and your guest—”

“Of course, Mrs. Ross,” Mr. Avery bowed, pushing Preston out the door. “Do forgive us. I hope your evening can continue on after this.”

Wind cooled Preston’s face. His right side ached, for Valcourt had meant to damage the better of him. Mr. Avery’s neck was red, his lips were a tight line as he pressed a cloth to Preston’s chest and forced him into the carriage.

“I must offer every apology, Mr. Avery,” he began after sitting, dabbing the cloth to his bloody lip. “But that man—”

“I heard every word.” Mr. Avery sat across from Preston. His hands were fists. “If not for my family’s reputation, I’d have pummeled the man myself.”

Preston’s jaw dropped. “I shouldn’t have—”

“You very well should’ve.” Mr. Avery leaned closer. The moonlight fell through the carriage window, lighting the new anger in his eyes. “To treat another man with such disdain is disgraceful. Your father would’ve been proud to see you defend yourself.”

The door to the carriage cracked open, and a footman helped Mother up the stairs. She reached her arms out to him as she took her seat beside him. “My boy. My dear boy.”

“Forgive me, Mother,” Preston whispered. Mrs. Avery settled in beside her husband, followed by Caroline. What must she think of him now? He couldn’t see her face in the dark.

“What a scene,” Mrs. Avery sighed as the door closed behind them. “Are you all right, Preston?”

“I believe we should worry more about Mr. Valcourt.” Mother patted Preston on the knee.

“He’ll recover,” Mr. Avery said. Preston leaned his head against the window. He couldn’t say he felt bad about injuring Valcourt. Indeed, he was quite liberated. But he’d hurt Caroline in the process and that was inexcusable.

“Did you see to him before you left, Caroline?” Mrs. Avery sounded like she asked more from curiosity than worry. Still, Preston did not care to know.

Silence filled the open space.

“Caroline?” she asked again.

“He is fine, Mama.”

Preston lifted his head. There was sadness in her voice. Grief.

“Leave her be, Laura,” Mr. Avery warned.

Mother squeezed his hand, and Preston replayed the night’s events in his memory. He’d endured worse back home, but nothing as personal and vindictive as how he’d been treated tonight. And yet, his dance with Caroline had been the happiest moment of his year. How did one differentiate the two? Would there always be bad with the good? Punching Valcourt had been very bad indeed, and yet, the act itself was so liberating. But Valcourt was Caroline’s friend, was he not?

No, he should have kept walking. The night would have ended pleasantly. Caroline would have been happy. He could’ve taken her out for a drive first thing in the morning. Could she ever forgive him?

When the carriage rolled up the drive to Mayberry Park, Preston’s muscles tensed. He needed to speak with Caroline alone and beg her forgiveness. He had to make her see that he could live her life without losing his grip at every turn. Now that he knew what it felt like to have her in his arms, he needed her.

“Caroline,” he called moving quickly after her. She was nearly running for the house. “Caroline, wait.”

She was sniffling, wiping her cheeks with her hands when he reached her. “Let me go, Preston.”

Preston’s limbs went numb. He’d ruined everything. He’d hurt her even worse than before. “I just—let me explain.”

“I heard what he said. I am so sorry,” she wiped a loose tear from her cheek. “I understand now. What you said about Society.”

The Averys were hovering at the entryway with Mother between them. But Preston needed more time. He needed Caroline to hear him. He’d changed his mind. He wanted the life she’d spoken of, regardless of Society.

“I must go.” Caroline lifted her gaze to his. The pain in her eyes was worse than any fire. “Thank you for the dance.”

He tried calling out for her again, but his voice failed him. Preston stood alone on the gravel watching the love of his life walk away. His entire body was unsteady, shaking with a pulse of helpless desperation.

He thought he knew what isolation felt like. But he’d had no idea.

Mother was walking toward him. She’d have some sort of lecture, to be sure. Warranted or not, he’d acted with disgrace this evening. He’d showed the worst of himself in more ways than one. Perhaps sleeping in the barn with Tybalt should be his punishment.

“The air is cold,” Mother said, tightening her shawl. “Why don’t you come inside? A long night of sleep will do us all some good.”

“I am not yet tired,” he managed in a low voice. His mind was not tired, but his legs and feet ached.

“Tomorrow is a fresh day, darling. Caroline will see things clearly.”

“She sees everything clearly now, Mother. That is precisely the problem.” Preston rubbed his chin. He’d finally gotten what he wanted. Caroline saw what everyone else did: Preston wasn’t accepted by Society.

“Her heart has not changed,” Mother sighed.

Preston had nothing to say to that. He didn’t wish to talk of love with his mother, especially when he was so sure of it slipping through his fingers. What he wanted was to invade Caroline’s room and insist she hear him out. He wanted to beg her for another chance to prove himself capable of self-control, of not letting minute things affect him. Especially minute people, like Valcourt.

And now more than ever he wanted to make things work between them.

“Do you know how your father proposed marriage to me?” Mother crossed her arms defiantly. Preston shook his head.

“He made a grand gesture.” Mother’s forehead wrinkled. “His was not a mere declaration of affection. He showed me. So, since you do not wish to speak to your mother about these matters, I will tell you my opinion straight out. If you love Caroline Avery and wish to marry her, show her what you will do to deserve her for the rest of your life. Show her to what end you will go for her happiness.”