Breakfast went well, in the sense that no one remarked on Caroline’s early-morning walk, or demanded to know why she’d been alone with Snowdon. The gentleman himself was the soul of discretion, greeting her near the coffeepot as if he hadn’t spent an hour with her previously.
Her hunger sharpened by activity, Caroline enjoyed a liberal helping of the ham, the eggs, the sausage, and the whipped potatoes, not to mention a few slices of Cook’s cinnamon bread, toasted by the fire until butter dripped into the flames, causing them to flare up.
She then huddled with Estelle by the window, discussing in low tones all that she’d learned.
“But where would it go?” Estelle repeated several times with a perplexed expression. “Who steals a snowman?”
By midmorning, the heavy clouds started to drop plush white flakes upon the world, and that meant most of the guests remained indoors until the snow stopped and the paths could be cleared. Caroline spent a few hours in the laboratory with her father, running numerous tests on the latest version of the formula to measure its strength and potency.
At last, her father said, “You ought to take a rest, darling. You’re young and shouldn’t be cooped up here all day. Your mother would expect you to spend time with our guests as well.”
“But I’m more useful here. We are very close, aren’t we?”
“Indeed! However, I can manage on my own for a bit. This last round will be just waiting until I can measure the temperature of all the solutions. Do run along.”
“Very well, Papa.” Caroline tidied up her part of the work surface and then swung her cloak around her shoulders before going outside.
On the snowy path, she stopped in surprise. Francis stood there, looking up at the roof of the small outbuilding that served as the laboratory (her mother drew the line at having “those concoctions” in the main house).
Caroline said cheerfully, “Francis, you braved the snow after all. I thought you said you might stay at home today. Did you want to speak to Papa? He’s quite busy with an experiment now, but he’ll come to the house for lunch.”
“Hmm, experimenting? Making people drink all manner of potions, I expect.”
“Don’t be absurd. He doesn’t use people to test,” she reminded him. “He uses pigs.”
“Is that why the sideboard is always so well supplied with bacon?” Francis said with a laugh.
Caroline cringed slightly at the joke. “Francis, please.”
“Only kidding you, Caro. No, I don’t want to talk to him. I want to talk to you. Let’s take a little stroll.”
She thought he meant a stroll around the gardens, which was something they did quite often when he visited. Even in winter, the paths were cleared so that the family could enjoy a brisk walk past the snow-bedecked shrubs and bare trees, which were beautiful in their own way. Francis had offered his arm, which Caroline felt was a little formal compared to their usual pattern, when they simply walked side by side. But perhaps he was concerned about her slipping on hidden ice.
“I’m glad we’ve got a chance to be alone,” he said once they’d passed the garden closest to the house.
“Papa did tell me I ought to enjoy the day more. He’s worried I spend too much time in the lab. But not half so much as he does!”
“You are a lucky girl,” he said. “Your father indulges your hobbies, and your mother gives you her finest rubies. I’m sure all the other ladies in the shire are jealous, especially of the jewels.”
“Surely not.” Caroline supposed some women would covet the necklace, but it wasn’t as if she were living an extravagant life.
“You really are beautiful, Caro. You know that, don’t you?”
She laughed, though an odd little shiver ran through her as she caught an unfamiliar glint in Francis’s eyes. “It’s kind of you to say, but please don’t say it again. I shouldn’t wish to have compliments go to my head. Why I’d be like that young lady a few years ago—what was her name?—the one who was sure that all of London would fall at her feet just because she won the Queen of the May one year at the fair.”
“You’d win if you wanted to. Such a beautiful young lady ought to be courted. It’s a crime to let you rattle around this house on your own.”
“I’m not on my own. I’ve got my whole family. And Estelle. Not to mention everyone nearby and in the village.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about. You ought to be a wife. My wife.”
She was so surprised she almost stumbled. “What?”
“Why not? It’s rather perfect, really. Come, kiss me, Caro.”
“Francis, I really would rather not!”
He just chuckled. “So prim and proper. Fine, I shall kiss you.”
He took her, his hands gripping her upper arms, preventing her from stepping away. She turned her head to the side, still protesting that he was acting mad.
“Don’t be coy, Caro. You surely have been kissed before.”
“Not by you!”
“All the more reason to correct the—”
He broke off at the sound of approaching footsteps and a male voice humming a tune. After a second, Caroline recognized it as “The Holly and the Ivy.” Then Snowdon rounded the corner, past a large yew that was so thickly covered in snow that it served as a solid wall.
On seeing them, he stopped. “Oh, didn’t know anyone was out here. Excuse me.”
“No, it’s perfectly fine!” Caroline said in a rush, so relieved by the presence of another person, which would mean an end to Francis’s attentions. “How nice that you’re here. I mean, that you’re enjoying the gardens. Here. Now.”
Snowdon took a few more steps toward them. Though he couldn’t have known the nature of what had just been going on, Caroline’s manner must reveal that she was not exactly at ease.
“Miss Garland? What’s the matter?” Snowdon walked toward her, wearing his blue wool jacket over a snowy white shirt and cravat. Why did he not have anything more substantial on today, especially when he owned the fine greatcoat she saw before?
“Oh! Nothing! I say, aren’t you cold?” Caroline asked to cover her confusion.
“Cold never bothers me,” Snowdon said. “Actually, I was hoping I might find a guide. I’d love to see a bit more of your woods. Everything here is so beautiful in the winter.”
“Oh, I’d be happy to show you around,” she said, leaping at the chance to remove herself from the awkward situation with Francis. “There’s a very pretty pond we use for skating.”
“Excellent.” He offered his arm, and she took it.
Francis reached out and took her other arm. “A moment, sir! We were discussing a private matter.”
“But we were finished!” Caroline added, “And Mama would expect me to show a guest around. Excuse me, please.”
Francis didn’t remove his hand, and Caroline couldn’t step away, not without plowing directly into Snowdon’s side.
Then Snowdon reached over, lifted Francis’s hand up, and slowly moved it away. He didn’t say anything, but there was a sudden sense of icy menace in the air. Francis’s jaw flexed hard, but he held his temper, barely.
“I’ll see you at luncheon, Caro.”
“Of course.” She kept on a fatuous smile and hoped that some extremely precise snowstorm might bury her and hide her embarrassment.
Snowdon led her away, his free hand resting on her fingertips in some silent reassurance. After a few moments, when they could not be overheard, he paused.
“What was that?” he asked bluntly. His tone was low, but concern rippled through his words.
“Nothing, my lord.”
“It was something. You looked quite uncomfortable. I thought you said he was your friend.”
“He was! He is. It’s just that…he was acting as if he wanted something more. Which is not like him at all.” In fact, Francis had been behaving strangely since yesterday, when all the guests arrived at the house. Was it something about the holiday?
“Did he say something he shouldn’t have?” Snowdon asked.
“He tried to kiss me,” Caroline admitted, shamefaced. “I mean, we were alone out here, and he kept saying how I looked beautiful, and I didn’t know what do. Some would say I invited it.”
“You did nothing of the kind,” he told her, his eyes flat grey ice. “To be beautiful is not an invitation. And if any other man attempts to take advantage of you that way, friend or not, I will personally ensure that he’s unable to do it again.”
The fierceness in his tone made her blink. “You are an unlikely champion, my lord.”
“Why?”
“Well…you’ll be gone from here in a few days. I don’t expect I’ll ever see you again after that.”
Something flickered in his eyes, but it was gone before she could tell what it was.
“Let’s simply agree that whatever happened was a momentary madness,” she suggested. “No one is at fault. And we certainly don’t need to ever refer to it again.”
“If that’s your wish.” He took a deep breath. “Tell me about your home.”
That was a safe topic, and she appreciated that he was willing to put aside the previous one. She looked around the estate, saying, “I’ve lived at Hollydell my whole life. It’s been in Papa’s family for such a long time, I can’t remember since what king. In fact, the tradition is that Hollydell is actually a corruption of Holy Dell, because there’s that natural spring in the dell nearby, and pilgrims would come there and say they were healed at the fountain that came up from the ground. Legend has it that the water always flows there—no matter how hot and dry in summer or how cold the winter—because it was blessed by a saint… Am I telling you too much?” she asked, anxious. She always forgot that people rarely cared about the history of her home as much as she did.
“You are telling me not enough, for I’ve got questions. Have you seen this fountain?”
“Of course! It’s deeper in the woods, and you’ve got to go through a combe and then you’ve got to ford a stream—well, not in winter, it’s frozen—and then you get to the fountain. You can tell when you’re close because there are often clouds of mist rising up. The water can get quite warm. Papa says it’s an entirely natural feature, but all the tales say that the saint called upon Mary for help hiding her from a suitor who wished to marry her against her will. Mary sent the mist to cloak the saint, and the suitor couldn’t find her and he eventually gave up and left.” She inhaled sharply as she considered the sudden parallels to her own situation a few moments earlier. She’d have taken a veil of mist if it had been offered. Of course, the arrival of Snowdon had been just as effective.
“I’d like to see it. Could we go? Not alone, of course,” he added.
“Oh, I think that would be lovely. We can’t go now, not with luncheon so soon. But perhaps this afternoon.”
“Maybe not,” he said, looking up at the sky, where the clouds were once again gathering grey and heavy, threatening snow. “In fact, I should take you back to the house. Where you’ll have more people about.”
“I’ll be fine,” she assured him.
“I know you will be.” He gave her a smile and walked her back to Hollydell.
They returned in time for lunch, which was laid out in a much more formal manner than breakfast. The centerpiece—literally—was a massive roast pig with an apple in its mouth and a wreath of roasted potatoes all around.
The guests set upon the meal as if they were all starving (instead of nicely fed from earlier), and the conversation was loud and cheerful. Caroline caught Francis’s eye across the table, but all he did was wink and mouth the word Experiment? while pointing to the pig.
She shook her head, laughing. That was much more typical of Francis. She was so glad he was back to normal.
Snowdon had been seated next to Estelle for this meal, and he was doing a fine job of drawing words from the normally shy young lady. Estelle seemed to be explaining something to him, probably about art. He was listening intently, and Caroline thought that it would be grand if the poor Estelle could marry a nobleman like Snowdon.
But not Snowdon himself! a little voice inside her objected.
Caroline sat still for a moment. Why should she be jealous of Estelle getting attention from Snowdon? It wasn’t as if Caroline wanted him for herself…did she?
Oh, no. Caroline, who’d so recently protested that she needed no suitor, and that she’d settle for nothing less than the perfect gentleman, now confronted the fact that she may have found him. But he might not find her the perfect lady.
Estelle, however. She was blonde and willowy, and soft-voiced and always polite…the sort of lady a man of the aristocracy might feel would look very well as the mistress of the house. And while she was born poor, she led an exemplary life and her family never suffered a hint of scandal. There would be little impediment to a well-off lord taking her for a wife.
For some reason, she glanced at Timothy Stockan, who was watching the same scene with an expression of defeat. He must have had many of the same ideas Caroline did, and agreed that if Snowdon did decide he wanted to court Estelle, there was nothing to prevent him from doing so. Caroline also saw how pained he was by the thought.
My goodness, Mr Stockan has fallen in love with Estelle! The idea roused her from her stillness. True, the young man had fallen for Estelle in a twinkling, but Caroline didn’t doubt how genuine his feelings were. They practically burned through the air. How could Estelle not know of his affection? She appeared completely oblivious.
Must everything be so tangled? Estelle appeared to have two men interested in her, while Caroline had to fend off attention from a man she’d never once considered as a marriage partner. She looked up, and noticed the little sprigs of mistletoe hanging from the chandeliers. She grimaced. The whole house appeared set up to encourage romance, and she was beginning to think it was all a mockery.
* * * *
After luncheon, still in a dour mood, Caroline went upstairs in search of the book she’d been reading. She found it only after an exhaustive search of her room—how did it end up behind the headboard?
Closing her door again, Caroline walked down the corridor, but stopped when she noticed the distinctive blue jacket of Lord Snowdon further down. Something just slightly odd in his manner kept her from speaking. Instead, she stepped back into a bedroom and peeked out.
Snowdon stood at the door of her parents’ bedroom. He knocked twice. Caroline happened to know that her father was out to the village and her mother was in the parlor, but before she could go out and tell him so, Snowdon’s hand fell to the doorknob and he pushed the door open.
She blinked in surprise. What was he doing? Such an invasion of privacy was unthinkable, all the more so because she couldn’t dream of why he’d do it at all.
Snowdon was in the room for only a few moments. Caroline heard a little bit of rustling and the scrape of a drawer being opened and closed again.
Then Snowdon returned to the hall. With one hand he pulled the door shut once more. His other hand was holding something awkwardly under his jacket. He turned toward her and Caroline pulled back, praying he hadn’t seen her leaning out into the hall.
He moved swiftly to his own room and went in, shutting the door tight. Caroline heard the metallic sound of a key twisting. He’d locked the door shut!
She frowned. Was this man a thief? No. He was a lord. He was well-dressed and he had all the manners of a gentleman. But what did that mean, after all? He could be anybody! Caroline steeled herself, then strode forward and rapped on his door.
“Lord Snowdon?” she called, just as she put her hand on the knob, intending to try it despite knowing the door was locked.
To her astonishment, the door swung open easily, sending her stumbling into the room…and into his arms.