Everyone agreed that something was happening between Mrs. Caroline Gardner and Captain John Merriweather. But no one could agree on what exactly that was.
Of course, Rosalind and her sisters were willing to speculate. The four girls were gathered together in the castle’s solar, happily munching on Christmas baking and enjoying their last few days together as a foursome before Gracie and Linden left on their wedding voyage.
“Mother marry again?” Claire exclaimed, aghast after Rosalind mischievously made the daring suggestion. “Why would she wish to do such a dreadful thing? She has been perfectly happy. She loves Orchard Hill. She would never wish to leave it. And besides, Thomas and I are so close by!”
Rosalind and Gwendolen exchanged a glance.
Rosalind rolled her eyes. “It is not a crime to marry a second time, Claire. Or to love a second time,” she stressed.
“Yes, but when one has had such a grand and fulfilling love as Mother and Father had, I simply don’t see how anything else could compare,” Claire said crossly. “Besides, Mother hates change.”
“No, you hate change,” Gwendolen corrected, gently, exchanging an amused smile with Rosalind over their second eldest sister’s dark head.
“Let us see you go ten or twenty years without Thomas to share your bed or your days and then let’s talk about how one must never love again, shall we?” Rosalind said, flippantly.
“Rosalind!” Claire gasped, then scowled. “What a horrid thing to say! And I suppose you would simply replace Philip if he were to drop dead tomorrow?”
“Of course not.” Rosalind shrugged. “But perhaps in four or five years. Who is to say what might happen? Philip is proof enough that one may find love more than once when not expecting to.” She referred to Philip’s first wife.
“Thomas would never replace me,” Claire said, stoutly.
Gwendolen wrapped her arms around her sister.
“Of course, he wouldn’t. This is a morbid topic,” she said, looking at Rosalind pointedly. “The matter is not whether we would choose to marry again but whether mother deserves to if she chose—and of course she does. And we would support whatever she chose. She has been alone a very long time after all. And now that her last little bird has flown the nest…”
The three turned to look at their youngest sister Gracie who had been silent up until then, sitting and listening as she contentedly scratched Perita’s head.
The mastiff had been brought to her at her request from Orchard Hill and Gracie had announced her intention to bring the animal along on the sea trip she and her bridegroom would be undertaking—from Scotland all the way to Italy, eventually.
Gracie’s wedding day was still fresh in all of their memories, having occurred just a few days before. She had made a beautiful Christmas bride.
“I cannot imagine loving any man but Linden,” Gracie began.
“Of course, you can’t,” Claire said, loyally.
“Especially as you have only been married a week,” Rosalind countered.
“But I hope that Mother could,” Gracie continued. “Captain Merriweather seems lovely and kind. He has had a fascinating life. He makes Mother laugh and she brims with interest when they talk. He appears genuinely interested to learn about her as well.”
“He is wonderful with the children,” Gwendolen mused. “So patient.”
Claire looked upset. “You sound as if you have all but replaced Father with John already.”
“I did not even know Father,” Gracie reminded her older sister, quietly. “All I know is based on what I have been told. It’s odd but in my mind, he is always only a little older than I am now. I can’t imagine him as old as Mother at all.”
“He was Claire’s age when he passed,” Gwendolen said, softly, her face sad. “Not even thirty years. So young. It was unfair. We had all been so happy.”
They were all quiet a moment.
“Do you think they’ve kissed yet?” Rosalind said, brightly, after a pause.
“Rosalind!”
“Thank you, again, for coming with me,” Captain John Merriweather said, looking across the carriage at his traveling companion.
Mrs. Caroline Gardner had said little since they had departed a few hours before, and had spent most of the morning looking contemplatively out the window at the falling snow.
Now she pulled her gaze away to meet his eyes, at first with a vacant expression. Then she seemed to recall her whereabouts.
“Of course,” she said, smiling. “I am only too happy to help.”
He hesitated a moment. “You truly did not mind leaving your family? And Gracie?”
“Well, Gracie does not need me anymore,” she replied, smiling a little sadly. “She and Linden will be off tomorrow on their wedding voyage. The others will be fine without me. It will still be a merry time, with all of the children, and Rosalind and Philip’s friends from London due to arrive in a few days.”
“Ah, yes,” John said, recalling there had been talk of further guests arriving before the ringing in of the New Year.
There was a question he wished to ask. Although he felt fairly certain of the answer, he could not help fretting about it.
He coughed. “Mrs. Gardner—” he began.
“John! Please!” Mrs. Gardner’s laugh was tinged with exasperation. “You must call me Caroline. We are on this expedition together, are we not? Please, dispense with the formalities.”
There was a sweet twinkle in her eye that seemed to suggest he do away with more than the formalities of proper titles. But perhaps he was reading too much into it.
In fact, Mrs. Caroline Gardner made him want to dispense with a great many protocols.
First and foremost, those involving the wearing of articles of clothing.
Almost from the first moment he had met Caroline Gardner, on the London docks the day she had come along with her daughter and son-in-law to welcome him back to England, John had been having unsettling thoughts like these.
That first day, in the carriage, he had dozed off for a spell, only to find himself waking from an incredibly vivid dream of finding Mrs. Gardner stark naked on the deck of the Witch of the Waves. In the dream, it had been night and she had been standing with her back to him, up at the bow, her hands on the rail. As he approached, she had turned, her body gleaming in the moonlight, every inch as beautiful and forbidding as the ship’s own carved mermaid figurehead.
Ever since, he had tried to guard his thoughts—and other parts—around her. But it was no use.
She simply had a strange and startling effect on him.
“John?”
Now he was the one who was staring absently—except rather than out of the window, he found he was still gaping at Caroline Gardner, silent and unspeaking, for God knows how long.
“I beg your pardon,” he said, horrified. “My mind must have wandered.”
“Yes, at our age, that tends to happen,” she agreed, cheekily. “Do you mind if I include you in that category?”
“That category?” John said, still trying to get his bearings.
“The elderly,” Mrs. Gardner explained, smiling so girlishly that it quite contradicted her claim. “What are you, John? Forty-five? Fifty?”
“Fifty,” he said, quickly. “Why?”
“Well, it is only that I am a few years older,” she explained. “Fifty-four, you see. Practically ancient.”
He smiled. “To your daughters, I’m sure we both seem to have one foot in the grave.”
“Well, perhaps to Gracie. She is such a baby still in my mind. It is hard to believe she is truly a married woman. And yet they will be here, where we are, soon enough. Is it not strange? How fast the time goes?” Mrs. Gardner sighed. “I feel not a day over twenty.”
“You do not look it either,” John said, softly. Perhaps she would think it hyperbole but it felt, to him at least, very true.
Caroline did not laugh or say something dismissive about the compliment. She merely smiled wistfully.
“I suppose that is why I was so eager to come along with you,” she said.
John raised his eyebrows. “Does being around your children and grandchildren make you feel more your age?”
She shook her head. “Quite the opposite. Though when the very youngest gets married, I suppose it is quite a reminder. But no, generally being around the children has the opposite effect upon me. Is that strange? I feel younger and, well, more joyful, when I am around little ones.” Her smile faded. “But Gwendolen’s children are all in London. I do not see them as often as I would like.”
John recalled what he had been about to ask her.
“I see. So, you miss having young ones about? Then you truly meant what you said?” he ventured. “About taking the Bennet baby back to Orchard Hill for a time?”
She nodded seriously. “If you are certain that you would not know what to do with her. If you meant what you said about not wishing to try to raise her yourself…”
“I did not mean I would simply drop her off at a foundling home or some such,” John said, in his own defense. “I would engage a woman to look after her. Someone with sense and experience...”
“No, no.” Mrs. Gardner was shaking her head. “Please, no. Not when she might have something much closer to a mother.”
She looked so appalled by the idea that John was ashamed.
“I would simply have no idea what to do with a child,” he tried to explain. “I have never even been around children. Well, I was there when Philippa Rose was born,” he corrected, recalling the birth of Philip’s sister’s child on the Witch of the Waves. “But she was on board so briefly.” He smiled. “It was pleasant, having a baby on the ship. The sailors enjoyed it. But it is as not as if that gave me a taste of fatherhood.”
“You would learn though,” Caroline Gardner said, softly. “It would come to you. As it did to me.”
He scoffed. “You were a born mother,” he said, laughing lightly. “Do not try to convince me otherwise. You raised four exceptional daughters who have nothing but good to say about you.”
“That may be true,” she said. “But believe me, I was not a born mother, as you put it.” Her face turned pensive. “There is more to it than that, John.
“I’m sorry,” he said, surprised. “I meant no offense. Quite the opposite…”
“Oh, I know,” she said, stretching a hand out reassuringly. It did not touch him. Merely hung in the air. For a moment, he almost reached out his own to take it.
Then the moment passed, and she quickly returned her hand to her lap.
“There are only two people who know…” she began, then stopped, shaking her head.
“Yes?” he prompted. He slid forward on the bench a little, trying to show how keenly he was interested in anything she had to say.
The carriage gave a little sway, suddenly, and she reached out her hand to steady herself against the side.
John glanced out the window. “It’s really starting to come down,” he said, with surprise.
The day had been sunny and clear when they left the little seaside village of Princewood to travel north towards Edinburgh along the coast. Now, the sun was struggling to show through the clouds and large soft flakes of snow were falling. The snowfall seemed to be increasing in speed and heaviness.
“Yes,” she agreed, peering outside with him. “I am not sure we will arrive by nightfall after all.”
John could not care less if they did. He was still anxious over the prospect of meeting his ward, and the idea of spending an extra night in a roadside inn with Caroline Gardner was full of appeal.
They could dine together, walk to their rooms together, say goodnight… And then?
He sighed. Then he would open the door to his room, make sure Mrs. Gardner was safely ensconced in her own, call a polite goodnight, and then close his door.
For who was he fooling? It was not as if he would ever dare to do differently. He was a gentleman. And Mrs. Gardner’s son-in-law was his good friend. His job was to protect the lady who had been so good as to accompany him—not to dream of seducing her.
He had never seduced a woman in his entire life. He was certainly not about to try it for the first time now, was he?
He gave a wry laugh and Mrs. Gardner looked at him oddly.
“What is it?” she asked, curious.
“Oh, it is nothing,” he said, coloring a little. “What were you about to tell me?” he asked, quickly. “Before I distracted you?”
She shook her head. “Oh, that. It was nothing. Perhaps another time.”
He had lost her again, he saw, with dismay. She was more interested in the falling snow than in talking with him.
Well, he could not blame her, he thought, self-pityingly. It was not as if he knew how to converse with women. He was hardly the charming sort. He was a man of the sea and was used to being about sailors.
Here, on land… On the way to take responsibility for a child he had never met? He was entirely out of his depths.
Thank heavens Mrs. Gardner had offered to come with him, he thought, gratefully. No matter what else. Regardless of the attractive company she posed in other ways. He was exceedingly thankful she was there.
Of course, he would have been grateful to have anyone there, really. He had initially thought that Mrs. Gardner’s daughter, Rosalind, and her husband, Philip Calvert, might be interested in coming along and meeting the Bennet girl. Dash it all, he did not even know the poor thing’s first name. The letter he had received from the parish did not include it.
Rosalind and Philip had been married a few years now and had no children of their own. Perhaps it had been rather presumptuous to assume they might wish for one.
But after all, was that not the purpose of marriage? It was certainly a large part of the reason John had chosen never to marry. The idea of leaving a pregnant wife behind—and later, a wife and a baby, and then, other small children. Well, he would have been able to provide for a family, certainly, but he did not relish the idea of being one of those sailors who did not know his own children. Who would boast about having this many girls and this many boys, but whose wife did all of the work of rearing them.
Of course, he had also simply been too cowardly to contemplate fatherhood.
His father had been a hard, mean man—not the sort of man John ever wanted to model himself after. But from what he had seen of life, the chances were high he would become exactly the same sort of father himself were he to have children. That was the way of the world.
And so, when he was a younger man, John had decided for the sake of those unborn, prospective children that he never take that step at all.
A somewhat lonely choice, though he had had a good life in many ways.
“You look lost in your thoughts,” Mrs. Gardner’s voice broke through.
He tried to smile. “Thinking about my life.”
“Oh, yes? A rather large subject to contemplate,” Mrs. Gardner observed. “And? Are you satisfied?”
“With my life?” John furrowed his brow. “I suppose that is the question.” He hastily added, “In large part, I believe I am.”
He gave her a guilty smile. “I suppose the idea of the child…”
“Ah, yes. Funny how the prospect of a child can cause one to consider one’s mortality in an entirely different way,” Mrs. Gardner noted. She tilted her head. “Even when adopting a ward, I suppose. Though, from what you have said, you have little interest in knowing the girl.”
“I did not say that.” He frowned, more annoyed by himself than anything. He must come across as hard and unfeeling to a motherly woman like Mrs. Gardner. “I may have given that impression, I suppose,” he conceded.
“So, you do wish to know her then?” Mrs. Gardner said, with surprise.
“Well,” he hedged. He looked at her. “Would you permit that?”
She looked incredulous. “Of course!”
“I simply meant,” he said. “That I would not wish to interrupt her rearing. Or cause any confusion…”
“As to who her father is?” Mrs. Gardner shook her head. “You may have no concern on that account. The girl is certain to remember her own parents. Even if she is… How old did you say she is?”
“I had assumed she was little more than a baby from the way the letters described her. Perhaps…two years old?” John guessed. “The agent who wrote to me did not include that detail in his letter either.” He shifted uncomfortably.
“Poor little mite,” Mrs. Gardner murmured, shaking her head. “Well, no matter how old she is, she will need time to recover from such a devastating loss.”
“Yet you wish to keep her,” John said, in awe. “Without knowing anything more than that about her. Although, it must be a great deal of work to raise a child.”
“A great deal, yes,” Mrs. Gardner agreed, appearing shockingly happy at the prospect. “But it will be satisfying work. Most of it not work at all, really. Simply love.”
“Simply love,” John repeated.
“Yes, loving her and letting her love in turn,” Mrs. Gardner said, looking amused by his expression. “Why John, you look as if you have hardly heard the word.”
She giggled. She sounded very young when she made that sound.
He found himself grinning back sheepishly. “I cannot say that I teach my sailors that lesson, myself,” he admitted. “It is not a large part of sea life.”
“And yet they must love and admire you as captain,” Mrs. Gardner suggested.
“Admire, certainly. Well, I would hope so,” John said, hesitantly. “Now love is quite a different matter. I would not be so bold as to guess as to feelings so… well, intimate.”
Mrs. Gardner snickered.
“Do I amuse you, Mrs. Gardner?” John said. Once again, he imagined what a cold fish he must seem to her and cringed.
“You do, Captain Merriweather,” Mrs. Gardner said, smiling. “And it is Caroline. Yes, you do amuse me a little, John, I must admit.” She shook her head. “You are just so… so… so…”
“Proper?” he guessed, scowling a little. “Stodgy? Dull?”
She laughed. “Perhaps a little proper. But no, I was going to say simply so different. Especially from my daughters’ husbands. You have lived such a different life—to me, I admit, it seems a lonely one. Though of course, you have your men. There must be a camaraderie there, a trust that forms while working at sea together. Yet you are the captain. That must mean you are set apart somewhat, which hinders closeness.”
“A father is set apart from his family,” John said, rather stiffly. “My own certainly was.” A man who believed himself entitled to beat his wife and children somewhat guaranteed there would be such a hierarchy of power.
Mrs. Gardner looked a little shocked. “Well, I suppose that is true in some families. It was not in ours. Henry was a warm and approachable father when he was alive.”
She frowned and suddenly seemed uncomfortable. “That said, my own father… It sounds as if he was more like your own. Well, he is, I suppose I should say.”
“Your father is alive?” John said, surprised.
Mrs. Gardner shifted restlessly on the bench. “I believe so, yes. I do not see him.” She clarified, “I have not seen him in more than thirty years. By my own choice.”
John held her gaze. “I see,” he said, softly. “You and I were not so fortunate as to be blessed with a father like your girls had then.”
Mrs. Gardner’s face softened. “No, we were not. If only.”
John hesitated, then said, “I am glad that this little girl will have you for a mother, Mrs. Gardner. Caroline.”
Caroline—he decided he must make an effort to think of her that way—gave a wry smile. “Believe me, I am sure she will help me as much as I am to help her. Please do not doubt that.” Her face turned sad. “With Gracie gone, I don’t know what I would have done with myself. This has come at the perfect time, really. I do some midwife work in the village, when it is needed. I have other interests of my own, of course. Claire and Thomas are nearby, as well, and I have many friends in the neighborhood…”
“Of course, you do,” John replied. Of course, she would. She was probably one of the most well-loved women in the region. Of that he had no doubt.
“But,” she continued. “The house would have been very empty without Gracie.” She looked at him. “To be honest, I had been considering this idea already for some time—taking in a child, I mean. Or more than one.”
“Why not?” John said. “If you have room… not only in your home but—” He hesitated over saying such silly-sounding words, then pressed ahead. “—but also, in your heart.” He felt his face redden.
“Precisely,” Mrs. Gardner—Caroline—said, looking surprised by his observation. “That is exactly it.” She smiled.
He felt ludicrously proud of himself. For making her smile. For saying something she agreed with. For somehow impressing her with such a silly sentiment.
He felt a warm glow inside. How deucedly strange.
Yet there was something almost sad about the smile she gave. It puzzled him.
“Oh, my,” Caroline said, peering out the window again. “I am surprised our driver can make out the road at all. Look!”
He took in the fast-falling snow, now thick over the road, and his brow furrowed.
“We are slowing down,” he noted. “Why?”
“Is the carriage becoming stuck?” Caroline suggested.
He shook his head. “In a few more hours, the road will likely be impassable but not yet.”
The carriage slowed even more.
“What the devil—” John began.
As he spoke, the carriage rolled to a complete standstill.
Caroline waited inside, unsure of what to expect. Captain Merriweather had jumped out to see what why they had stopped.
At least it had not been bandits. That much was clear. Nothing so exciting as what Gracie had recently experienced, she thought, smiling to herself with relief.
He had closed the door behind him to keep out the cold. Always thoughtful. For a man who had not lived around women, Caroline sensed that John Merriweather was nevertheless a gentle and considerate soul.
She wondered if he missed the sea, though he had only been away from it a few weeks now. Did he long to return already? Or did he dream of one day retiring and making a different kind of life for himself, on land? Why had he never married? He was the kind of man many women would count themselves fortunate to have for a husband—rather reserved, yes, but strong and stalwart.
The door opened with a bang and she found herself inexplicably blushing. Though why she should blush simply for considering the idea of John Merriweather on land…
“It’s the driver.” His face was grim. “He’s had some kind of attack. We must get him inside.”
“Of course,” Caroline exclaimed, picking up her scarf from the seat beside her and beginning to wrap it around her neck. “I’ll help you, shall I?”
He hesitated, then nodded. “He is a larger man, or I should not ask it of you,” he explained, courteously. “I should not like to jostle him more than necessary.”
“Of course,” Caroline agreed. “I can at least take his feet.”
The driver was a little on the portly side and sturdily built. He sat slumped on the bench. It was a miracle he had not fallen off into the snow and broken his neck, Caroline thought.
Slowly and awkwardly, they worked together—John taking the greater bulk and she assisting as they got the man down and into the carriage.
She was breathing hard by the time they had laid the driver out on the bench.
The man’s face was a ghastly grey color but he was breathing.
“The poor man,” Caroline murmured. She looked to John. “Are we close to anything? The next village…?”
The driver’s eyes opened. He mumbled something.
“What was that?” John demanded, leaning closer. “Tell us, man, if you can speak. We must get you to a surgeon.”
The driver’s eyes closed, then flickered open again, and he spoke a little louder. Caroline could not make out the words but John was closer. She saw his eyes light up in recognition.
“Finnwick-Upon-the-Sea,” he explained, turning to her. “The nearest village. No wonder he could not get it out so easily. Quite the mouthful.”
“How close is it?” she replied, leaning forward eagerly.
“Very close,” he said, already rising and stepping out. “But we must make haste before the road becomes more impassable.” He grimaced. “I cannot say I am as skilled a driver.”
Understanding dawned. “Of course, you are used to ships,” she said, chuckling. “Well, do your best. I will keep an eye on him and try to make sure he does not roll off the bench.” She glanced at the driver whose eyes had closed once more.
John nodded, and then with a small encouraging smile, was gone into the white.