"Who said anything about giving anything?" Bradford roared the question. "I'm merely intrigued, that's all," he insisted in a calmer voice. "Don't irritate me, Milford. You'll come out the loser for it."
"Calm down," Milford replied. "I do wish to help." He forced himself into a serious expression and said, "You should be checking with the dressmakers. If she's from the Colonies, then she's hopelessly out of fashion. Her relatives won't wish to be embarrassed by her attire and will therefore see to the fitting of new gowns."
"Your logic astounds me," Bradford replied. A glimmer of hope appeared in his eyes and he actually grinned. "Why didn't I think of that?"
"Because you don't have three younger sisters, as I do," Milford answered.
"I'd forgotten your sisters," Bradford returned. "I never see them around."
"They hide from you," Milford told him with a chuckle. "You scare the hell out of them." He shrugged then and said, "But I swear to you that fashions are all most women, including my sisters, talk about." His voice turned serious when he asked, "Is this just an infatuation or is it something more? In the last five years you've only escorted courtesans around town. You aren't used to gently bred ladies, Brad. This is rather a dramatic turnaround."
Bradford didn't immediately answer. He didn't seem to have any firm answers in his mind, only feelings. "I believe that it's just temporary insanity," he finally remarked. "But as soon as I see her again, I'm certain I'll get her out of my blood," Bradford ended with a shrug.
Milford nodded. He didn't believe his friend for a minute. But Bradford was so serious over his opinions that Milford didn't dare contradict. He left his friend to his note writing. His step was light as he made his way down the stairs, his mood so vastly improved that he smacked Henderson on his shoulder in a show of affection before he took his leave.
The Earl of Milfordhurst was suddenly quite anxious to meet the enchantress from the Colonies, the unique woman who was accomplishing what no other had been able to do in the last five years. Though she was unaware of it, the lady called Caroline was bringing the Duke of Bradford back to the living.
Milford liked her already.
Morning arrived and with the sun came new thoughts, new plans. Caroline Richmond, always an early riser no matter what time she had taken to her bed, welcomed the sun with a huge stretch of contentment.
She dressed quickly in a simple violet walking dress and tied her unruly hair at the back of her neck with a white lace ribbon.
Charity was still sleeping, and Benjamin, from the muffled noise coming from above, sounded like he was just getting up. Caroline went on downstairs, her intent to wait for her father in the dining room. She found him already seated at the head of the long polished table. He held a teacup in one hand and a paper in the other.
He didn't notice her standing in the doorway, and Caroline did nothing to draw his attention. She took the time instead to study him as thoroughly as he seemed to be studying his paper.
His face was ruddy and full, but he had high cheekbones like hers. He was an older, rounder version of the man who had raised her. Yes, he looked quite a bit like his younger brother, Henry, and she suddenly realized that she should count herself fortunate. In her mind she had two fathers. Her uncle Henry had seen her raised and she loved him. It didn't seem disloyal to share her love with the man who had given her life. Her real father. He was that, she admitted again, and it was her duty to love him, too.
The earl finally sensed that someone was observing him and glanced up. He was just about to take a sip from his teacup but froze in the middle of that action. His hazel eyes showed his surprise. They fairly sparkled and Caroline smiled, hoping her own expression showed the affection she was feeling, and none of the awkwardness she was fighting.
"Good morning, Father. Did you sleep well?"
Her voice shook. She was terribly nervous, now that she faced her father.
The teacup dropped, making a fine clatter against the tabletop. Tea spilled everywhere but he didn't seem to notice the sound or the mess. He attempted to stand, thought better of it, and plopped back down again. His eyes filled with tears and he mopped at them with the end of a white linen napkin.
He was as nervous and unsure of himself as she was. That realization helped Caroline. Her father acted a bit dazed, and Caroline decided that he just didn't know how to proceed. She watched the paper he had been holding slowly float to the floor and decided that it was up to her to carry on.
She kept the smile on her face, even though she was beginning to worry over his reaction to her, and walked into the room. She didn't stop until she stood next to him, and quickly, before she could think better of it, kissed him on his bright red cheek.
Her touch pulled him from his trance and he suddenly exploded into motion. He knocked over the chair he was sitting in when he stood and grabbed Caroline by her shoulders, pulling her into his embrace.
"You're not disappointed?" Caroline whispered into his chest. "I look like what you imagined me to be?"
"I could never be disappointed. How can you think that? I was momentarily stunned," he explained with another hug. "You're the replica of your dear mother, God rest her soul. I couldn't be more proud."
"Do I truly resemble her, Father?" Caroline asked when he let up on the pressure of his embrace.
"You do. Let me have another look at you." The command sounded like an affectionate growl. Caroline obliged, standing back a space and twirling around for his inspection. "You're a beauty to be sure," her father praised. "Sit," he cautioned with a quick frown. "You mustn't overtax yourself and get sick on me. I won't have you overtired."
Guilt rather than his order pushed her into the chair he held ready for her. "Father, there is something I must tell you. This is difficult to say but we must deal honestly with each other. I decided that is the only way, once I saw the drawings I had done as a little girl, and so-" Her shoulders slumped at his expectant look and she sighed instead of finishing her sentence.
"Are you trying to tell me that you're as healthy as a horse?" her father asked with a twinkle in his eyes.
Caroline's head jerked up and she knew she looked quite astonished. "Yes," she admitted. "I've never been sick a day in my life. I'm so sorry, Father."
Her father laughed with genuine amusement. "Sorry that you haven't been ill or sorry that you and your aunt Mary tried to trick me?"
"I'm so ashamed." The admission was honest but it didn't make her feel any better. "It was just that I was so…"
"Content?" her father asked with a nod. He righted his own chair and sat down again.
"Yes, content. I lived with your brother and his family for such a long time. I must tell you that I've thought of Aunt Mary as my mother and have called her Mama. My cousins became my brothers, and Charity was always just like a sister to me. I never forgot you though, Father," Caroline rushed on. "I misplaced the pictures of you in my mind but I always knew you were my true father. I just didn't think you'd ever send for me. I thought you were very content with the arrangement."
"Caroline, I understand," her father announced. He patted her hand and then said, "I waited too long to demand your return. But I had my reasons. I'll not go into them just yet. You're home now and that's all that matters."
"Do you think that we'll get on well with each other?"
Caroline's question drew a surprised expression from her father. "I believe that we will," he said. "You must tell me all the news from my brother and his family. I understand that Charity is here too. Tell me, is she truly the ball of fluff Mary's letters led me to believe?" His voice was filled with affection and Caroline smiled over it. That, and his apt description of her cousin.