For two boring days, Caroline lay in bed alone. Millie came to help her with her private needs and meals. Bramwell had not returned with whiskey or tea since their little tiff, and she assumed her comment about Lady Bellingham had all but severed their relationship.
As she lay there looking about the room for hours, she wished that she could rise and walk about and examine every item of clothing and rummage through the drawers. Millie had confirmed that the room lay untouched and locked at Mr. Croft’s insistence since Lady Bellingham’s death. He wished to keep everything as it was the day she died—an odd memorial to a woman Caroline knew so little about. With her arrival at Thorncroft, he had seemingly changed his mind, allowing her to wear Lady Bellingham’s clothing and recover in her bed.
“Millie,” Caroline asked one afternoon as she came with lunch. “Did you know anything about Lady Bellingham’s parents?”
“Oh, indeed,” she answered. “She came from a very wealthy and prominent family in Devon.”
“But she lived here with Mr. Croft as an unmarried woman.”
Millie lowered her eyes. “Yes, miss. It was quite the talk in Pendeen, and she shamed her family.”
“Then why didn’t they marry before they cohabited?” Caroline frowned.
“Not for me to say. I suppose they had their reasons, but we only served and did not question.”
Caroline did not know what to think. It must have been an excellent source of town gossip. How in the world did Darby condone his friend’s actions? Didn’t he say that he visited often for drinks? Did Lady Bellingham join them? Why had he never mentioned her to Georgina, or had he done so and forbidden her to talk about it? Now she understood her cousin’s dislike of Bramwell Croft.
“What was she like?” Caroline pointedly asked.
“Like any other lady of wealth.” Millie answered with a slight tone of aversion.
“Was she demanding and unkind?”
For a few seconds, Millie remained silent. She reached over, straightened the coverlet on her bed, and then fluffed her pillow.
“By your silence, I am assuming your answer to be yes,” Caroline said.
“When she first came, she was reasonable and well mannered. But as the years passed, she changed and was not so kind,” Millie said in a near whisper.
“How?” Caroline hoped that Millie would answer and not remain silent.
“They often argued the last few months before her death,” she whispered.
“About what?”
“Oh, Miss Woodard, I do not want to gossip,” she pleaded.
“All right then,” Caroline conceded. “I would not want you to get in trouble because of my curiosity.” Caroline, disappointed yet determined to learn more, changed the subject for the sake of Millie.
She sighed and glanced about the room. “I would be most grateful if you could get me something to read from the bookcase,” she said, glancing at the books against the wall. “I like poetry, if there is any.”
“Surely, miss.” Mille perused the books and found one of interest. She handed it to Caroline.
“A book of poems by William Blake, Lord Byron, and others. That appears entertaining, but I shall hide it from Mr. Croft lest he disapproves of me touching Lady Bellingham’s belongings.”
“Oh, I don’t think he would mind, Miss Woodard. He has never come into this room since the day she died either to touch or look at anything, as far as I know.”
“I would think he would want her things removed to lessen his grief,” Caroline replied. Perhaps that was a cruel thought, but his continual misery had to be due to the mausoleum of memories.
“Pearson thinks the master morbidly believes she will return one day. They never found her body, you know.”
“He is an odd man,” Caroline said aloud.
“Hardly,” Millie disagreed. “He can be very congenial at times and is kind to the staff, though he has a tendency to raise his voice when frustrated.”
“So I have noticed.”
“Is there anything else you need right now, Miss Woodard?”
“No, I am fine. You may go.”
Caroline settled in and felt far too alert to sleep. The pain in her leg had begun to subside, so she insisted on taking less of the laudanum and refused any further liquor.
She opened the book and noted that the first page carried an inscription. “To my darling Rebecca – Bramwell.” Caroline squinted and read it once more. Did the gloomy master like poetry, or did he merely purchase the book to cater to her likes? She could not imagine anyone as miserable as Bramwell reading syrupy love sonnets. As she pondered the thought, it did explain much about his miserable existence. Perhaps he had deeply loved her and suffered an irreversible broken heart.
Of course, her mind began wildly speculating about their relationship. The entire prospect made her glance about the room, eyeing the various drawers. She wanted to search for secrets that could be hidden in the room. Instead, she decided to stay put.
After reading a few verses, all resolve to mind her business vanished. Surely she could balance on one leg and hop around the room from furniture piece to furniture piece to invade a dead woman’s privacy. She had, with Millie’s help, gotten out of bed for other private matters.
Caroline shoved the book of poems underneath her pillow and scooted toward the edge of the bed. She swung around and placed the foot of her unbroken leg firmly upon the floor. If she only had a crutch, she could navigate, but Mr. Croft had not been thoughtful enough to provide one. His lack of attention solidified her belief that he did not care for her one bit.
With her right hand, she firmly clung to the bedpost and stood up. Her good leg wobbled, but she was able to hop a few feet to the end of the bed, keeping hold of one post and then grabbing another.
“This isn’t so bad,” she said. She bravely hopped over to a dresser a few feet away. After reaching her destination, she pulled out the top drawer.
“Oh, my, what beautiful undergarments,” she fussed. Without hesitation, she picked up a silken chemise and examined every detail. “She must have been a wealthy woman by the looks of it. I could never afford such items.”
Caroline pulled out a second drawer and saw a bright red corset. Her mouth gaped open at the flamboyant color. No doubt Mr. Croft had unlaced it many times. As she fingered the smooth fabric, she felt jealous that Lady Bellingham had once enjoyed his body. If she were ever to marry, Caroline wanted a muscular and handsome mate. The thought aroused a female yearning, which quickly brought a blush to her face.
After a few more minutes of peeking into the contents of other drawers, she made her way to the vanity and sat down. After glancing at herself in the mirror and observing how wretched she looked, Caroline snatched a brush off the top and pulled it through her unruly hair.
“Dear God, I look a fright,” she moaned. “No wonder he hasn’t come to visit.”
Caroline helped herself to the vanity’s contents. She brushed and fixed her hair, powdered her nose, and put a bit of color on her cheeks and lips. A perfume bottle enticed her to sniff, and she felt so overcome by the fragrance that she gave herself a quick spray on her neck.
After she had finished primping, Caroline pulled open a side drawer. Inside laid a small, silver box. She placed it upon the vanity top and opened it to reveal the contents. A few embroidered handkerchiefs were inside, which she thought a strange place to put them. As she lifted them up, she found an envelope addressed to Lady Bellingham.
“Oh, this might tell a secret or two,” she murmured. Her fingers fiddled with the lip of the envelope, and then she halted her actions, afraid of being caught. What if Millie walked in upon her or even Mr. Croft? If he caught her in the act, it might prove detrimental. Perhaps she should take it to her bed and hide the letter under her pillow to read later.
Caroline took the correspondence and replaced the box back into the vanity drawer. Using the furniture for support, she rose and turned to hop toward her bed. She slipped the letter inside the pocket of her robe, not wanting to drop it while jumping like a rabbit. After three hops that sent pain through her lower leg, her long robe caught underneath her foot. As a result, she tumbled backward landing on her derrière with a hard plop. The jolt to her body sent another stab of pain through her leg, bringing tears to her eyes.
Heavy footsteps approached the door. A moment later, it flung open, giving her a shock. Bramwell stood in the threshold, surveying the room. When he caught sight of her toppled position, he approached and stood above her, glowering with his usual disapproving frown. A moment later, he put both of his hands on his hips.
“Well, just don’t glare at me, Mr. Croft, help me up to my feet!”
“Why are you out of bed?” he barked.
She couldn’t very well tell him what she had been up to in his former fiancée’s room. Unfortunately, she was on the wrong side of the bed because the bath chamber was on the other. It would not be plausible that she had risen to take care of private matters.
“I was bored,” she huffed. “You have left me to rot in bed.” It sounded reasonable to blame him once more for her predicament. “I tried to get up and look out the window.”
“Look out the window,” he repeated suspiciously. “For some reason, I find that hard to believe.”
“Why?” She looked up at him and frowned, sticking out her lower lip.
“Because I smell Rebecca’s perfume on you, that’s why.” He took a step closer, knelt down beside her, and sniffed.
Caroline leaned in the other direction caught off guard by his actions. “Stop sniffing at me like a dog.”
“You are the most audacious woman I have ever known. How dare you try her fragrance without my permission?” he roared. “The items in this room do not belong to you, Miss Woodard.” His nostrils flared, and his eyes widened in rage.
“They belong to a dead woman who will no longer use them,” she replied bravely, lifting up her chin. “Why do you keep everything here?”
She expected him to answer her question with a crotchety response. Instead, Bramwell reached out, put his hand on her shoulder, and squeezed it hard. His eyes glared with disapproval, and his lips pressed together in a familiar straight line. The look in his eyes frightened her, and for a brief moment, she thought he would physically hurt her body. Instead, he slipped his arms underneath her and stood to his feet.
Surprised by his action, she flung her free arm around his neck to hang on. Gently, he lowered her upon the bed. His eyes turned lustful as he contemplated her open robe that had come undone from the movement. Caroline flinched when his hand moved toward her neckline and fingered the nightgown between his thumb and finger.
“This used to be Rebecca’s,” Bramwell said.
He looked mesmerized as he touched the fabric. Caroline wondered if he remembered taking it off Lady Bellingham’s body. “Please remove your hand,” she asked softly, not wanting to anger him. Reluctantly, he pulled back.
“I apologize for my foolhardy behavior,” he said in a clipped tone. Bramwell stood tall and looked down upon her reclining on the bed. “I will call Millie to tend you, Miss Woodard. My advice is that you do not leave the bed without assistance lest you fall and injure yourself further.”
He turned to leave, but Caroline did not want him to go. She felt lonely and needy for his company. “Do you think I might dine with you this evening rather than taking dinner in bed?”
Bramwell stopped in the doorway and turned around with a dismal look upon his face. He stared at her for a few moments as if he were deciding whether he wanted her at his table or not. “I suppose that would be amenable,” he said. “I am afraid, though, the menu tonight is sea bass. Will that be agreeable to your taste, or would you rather have fowl or venison?”
“Did you purchase it or catch it?”
“What do you think?”
“For someone who owns and manages a mine, you do seem to have a lot of time to hunt and fish,” she said lightheartedly. “The fish will be fine. However, you will have to carry me downstairs. Will that be a problem?”
“No, it is not. Until seven thirty then,” he said. Bramwell gave a courteous nod and exited the room.
Caroline patted the side of her robe, relieved that the letter she had tucked in her pocket remained unnoticed. Thank God he didn’t discover her thieving act. Nevertheless, it felt good to comb her hair and dab a bit of rouge and lipstick on her face. At least he didn’t see her appalling appearance earlier.
“Oh, and Miss Woodard,” Bramwell said, startling the daylights out of her when he returned to her doorway. “You may choose one of Rebecca’s dresses to wear for dinner this evening.”
Bramwell looked at her thoughtfully and then made a surprising move toward the armoire. He opened the double doors and slid the hangers one by one until he found a particular gown.
“Why don’t you wear this one,” he suggested, laying it upon the foot of her bed. “It was always one of my favorites on Rebecca. I think your figure will do it justice.”
“If you wish,” she answered, eying the fashionable frock.
Apparently, he did not mind her wearing the perfume after all since he just asked that she put on another piece of Lady Bellingham’s clothing. Caroline didn’t know whether to be thankful for the offer or concerned.