"I-I don't know what to say."
"There's really nothing to say. Or do. That's the problem." James looked away for a moment, his eyes focusing on some spot on the horizon, then asked, "Do you remember when I said you reminded me of someone?"
"Yes," Caroline said slowly, horror beginning to dawn in her eyes. "Oh, no... not her."
James nodded. "I'm not certain why, but you do."
She bit her lip and stared at her feet. Dear God, was that why Blake had kissed her? Because she somehow resembled his dead fiancee? She suddenly felt very small and very insignificant. And very undesirable.
'It's really nothing," James said, clearly concerned by her unhappy expression.
"I would never take a risk like that," Caroline said firmly. "Not if I had someone to love." She swallowed. "Not if I had someone who loved me."
James touched her hand. "It's been a lonely time for you these past few years, hasn't it?"
But Caroline wasn't ready for sympathetic comments. "What happened to Blake?" she asked sharply. "After she died."
"He was devastated. Drunk for three months. He blamed himself."
"Yes, I'm sure he would. He's the sort to take responsibility for everyone, isn't he?"
James nodded.
"But surely he realizes now that it wasn't his fault."
"In his head, perhaps, but not in his heart."
There was a long pause while they both stared at the ground. When Caroline finally spoke, hef voice was soft and unnaturally tentative. "Do you really think he thinks I look like her?"
James shook his head. "No. And you don't look like her. Marabelle was quite blond, actually, with pale blue eyes and-"
"Then why did you say-"
"Because it's rare to meet a woman of such spirit." When Caroline didn't say anything, James grinned and added, "That was a compliment, by the way."
Caroline twisted her lips into something that was halfway between a grimace and a wry smile.
"Thank you, then. But I still don't see why he's being such a beast."
"Consider the situation from his view. First he thought you were a traitor, the very breed of vermin who'd killed Marabelle. Then he found himself in the position of your protector, which can only remind him of how he failed his fiancee."
"But he didn't fail her!"
"Of course he didn't," James replied. "But he doesn't know that. And furthermore, it's quite obvious he finds you rather fetching."
Caroline blushed and was immediately furious with herself for doing so.
"That, I think," James said, "is what scares him the most. What if, horror of horrors, he were to fall in love with you?"
Caroline didn't see that as the worst horror in the world, but she kept the thought to herself.
"Can you even count how many ways he'd think he was betraying Marabelle? He could never live with himself."
She didn't know what to say in reply, so she just pointed to a hole in the ground and said, "Put the plant there."
James nodded. "You won't tell him of our little chat?"
"Of course not."
"Good." Then he did as she asked.
Chapter 7
di-a-crit-i-cal (adjective). Distinguishing, distinctive.
One cannot deny that a complete lack of order is the diacritical mark of Mr. Ra-venscroft's garden.
-From the personal dictionary of
Caroline Trent
By the end of the day, Caroline had the garden looking the way she thought a garden ought. James agreed with her, complimenting her on her excellent sense of landscape design. Blake, on the other hand, couldn't be prodded into uttering even the most grudging words of praise. In fact, the only noise he'd made at all was a rather strangled groan that sounded a bit like: "My roses."
"Your roses had gone wild," she'd returned, thoroughly exasperated with this man.
"I liked them wild," he'd shot back.
And that had been that. But he'd surprised her by ordering two new dresses to replace the one she'd brought from Prewitt Hall. That poor rag had been through enough, what with being kidnapped, slept in for days, and dragged through the mud. Caroline wasn't sure when or where he'd managed to get two ready-to-wear dresses, but they seemed to fit her reasonably well, so she thanked him prettily and didn't complain that the hem dragged just a touch on the floor.
She took her supper in her room, not feeling up to another battle of wills with her somewhat cranky host. And besides, she'd obtained a needle and thread from Mrs. Mickle, and she wanted to get to work shortening her new dresses.
Since it was high summer, the sun hung in the sky well past the time she ate her evening meal, and when her fingers grew tired she put her sewing down and walked to the window. The hedges were neat and the roses were trimmed to perfection; she and James had clearly done an excellent job with the gardens. Caroline felt a sense of pride in herself that she hadn't experienced in a long time. It had been much too long since she had had the pleasure of starting and completing a task that interested her.
But she wasn't convinced that Blake had come to appreciate her worth as a helpful and courteous houseguest yet; in fact, she was rather certain he had not. So tomorrow she would have to find herself another task, preferably one that would take a bit more time.
He had told her that she could remain at Seacrest Manor until her twenty-first birthday, and she was damned if she was going to let him find a way to escape his promise.
The next morning found Caroline exploring Sea-crest Manor on a full stomach. Mrs. Mickle, who was now her greatest champion, had met her in the breakfast room and fed her no end of delicacies and treats. Omelettes, sausages, kidney pie-Caroline didn't even recognize some of the dishes that graced the sideboard. Mrs. Mickle seemed to have prepared food for an entire army.
After breakfast she set about finding a new project to keep her busy while in residence. She peered into this room and that, finally ending up in the library. It wasn't as large as those in some of the grander estates, but it boasted several hundred volumes. The leather spines gleamed in the early morning light, and the room held the lemony smell of freshly cleaned wood. But a closer inspection of the shelves revealed that they had been filed in no order whatsoever.
Voila!
"Clearly," Caroline said to the empty room, "he needs his books alphabetized."
She pulled down a stack of books, plunked them on the floor, and idly examined the titles. "I don't know how he has managed this long in such chaos."
More books found their way to the floor. "Of course," she said with an expansive wave of her hand, "there is no need for me to try te order these piles now. I'll have plenty of time to do that after I
finish unloading all of the shelves. I'll be here for five more weeks, after all."
She paused to look at a random volume. It was a mathematical treatise. "Fascinating," she murmured, flipping through the pages so that she could glance at the incomprehensible prose. "My father always told me I should learn more arithmetic."
She giggled. It was amazing how slowly one could work when one really put one's mind to it.