Page 21

The Reconciliation

THE FIFTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS

S he had not caught a glimpse of the blacksmith in several days, but there he was, across the street, entering the post office. If she hurried out there, she could catch him on his way out and determine once and for all if she had lost her opportunity.

Over the past three days, since visiting the smithy and learning he was gone to Bath, Caroline had worked under a shroud of turmoil. One moment she was committed to working, the next she was wondering, what if?

What if William was not courting another woman?

What if this was a misunderstanding, and his offer to wed was still valid?

What if they could form a wonderful union, two successful proprietors united in a partnership? Assist each other in realizing their respective dreams?

For the first time in days, she might have an opportunity to find out where matters stood.

“I think perhaps I would like to see the blue silk again.”

“Miss Jolie, Lady Jolie, would you mind if my apprentice assisted you for just a moment? I see someone I must converse with, but I will be right back.”

The young woman and her mother nodded, still fingering the fabrics they were inspecting. Caroline brought out the silk they had requested while calling for Annie, keeping a nervous eye out for William to ensure she did not miss him, before hurrying out the front door.

Crossing the street, she stopped outside the post office, fidgeting with her gown while she tried to decide if she should follow him in.

Leaving her shop without a cloak had been ill-advised—she was quickly growing cold in the winter air, but if she entered, they could hardly speak of anything meaningful.

Just as she raised her hand to enter, she saw William approaching from the other side of the door and stepped back to allow him to exit. He caught sight of her through the glass panes and appeared to hesitate for a moment, as if he were preparing himself before he opened the door and strode out.

“Mrs. Brown, season’s greetings.” His words were polite, but the intonation was flat, as if he were parroting appropriate behavior.

Caroline gave a slight curtsy in greeting. “Mr. Jackson, I … wanted to discuss that lock.” She glanced restlessly toward the two women passing behind him. William stared over her shoulder, refusing to meet her eyes.

Realizing William would not look at her, Caroline’s heart sank. So it was true. William had moved on after her rejection. He had found someone who would appreciate him—something she had failed to do.

“However, it is not urgent. I shall visit you at the smithy when I have time.” She stepped back, her hopes and what-ifs finally dashed to pieces like the waves hitting rocks in the seascape over his mantel. Which she would never see again—not these holidays or the next.

William put out a hand as if to stay her. “Mrs. Brown, I—” He stopped, his eyes focused on a point over her shoulder. It was clear he had been about to say something, but now he stood taciturn, even unnerved. Behind her, she could hear the rumble of wheels. “—I must go!”

With that, he abruptly turned to storm down the street. Caroline was left to watch his retreating form until she was distracted by how loud the approaching vehicle was.

Frowning, she turned around to see what had caught his attention and discovered that a large, ornate carriage, pulled by a perfectly matched set of four chestnut geldings, was approaching. Liveried servants could be seen in blue with gold brocade. Someone important must be visiting Chatternwell.

Realizing she had left Miss Jolie and her mother alone with Annie and a promise to return, Caroline quickly crossed the street to re-enter her shop. The warmth was a relief, even if it could not warm her frozen heart.

“Miss Jolie, my apologies. I … had a lock that needed repair, and Mr. Jackson happened to be passing by.”

“It is no trouble, Mrs. Brown. I shall have the gown made with the Saxon blue silk, if you could?”

Caroline blinked in surprise. It was one of her most expensive fabrics, so the order would include substantial profit. It appeared her business would continue to thrive while inside she floundered. She nodded, pulling out her order book to write down the details.

Shortly, the two women exited the shop, chattering about a visit to the haberdashery next door. That was when Caroline realized that the elegant carriage she had seen approaching earlier had stopped in front of her shop, and a footman stood at attention.

Lady Jolie and Miss Jolie paused, peering curiously at the carriage. It was the finest Caroline had ever seen, with an intricate coat of arms on the door, luxurious drapery in the windows, and a gilded finial at the crest of the slanting roof.

The footman continued to stand at attention, paying no mind to the two women gawking at him. Eventually, they moved off, casting inquisitive glances over their shoulders as they walked away.

Caroline was transfixed, staring at the carriage. As soon as the two women disappeared from sight, the footman sprang into action, as if he had been awaiting their departure. He reached up to open the carriage door, then fixed the steps in place before stepping aside.

Highly polished black riding boots came into view on the top step, followed by buckskins draped over powerful legs, and then a man descended. A very large Viking of a man, several inches over six feet, with blond hair and an elegant blue tailcoat.

Caroline blinked rapidly, trying to place him, before her mouth fell open. It was the Duke of Halmesbury!

The earl had briefly introduced them back in August when she had visited Lord Saunton at Chatternwell House to sign her loan documents.

The duke turned and held up a hand to assist a woman to descend from the dim interior. All Caroline could make out was the expensive hem of a burgundy carriage dress, the duke blocking most of her view, but blood began to pound loudly in her ears.

There could only be one woman who would accompany the duke in the ducal carriage—Caroline was about to meet her past.

“Annie!” The girl came running from the back, clearly alarmed at the sharpness of her employer’s voice.

“Yes, Mrs. Brown?”

Caroline drew a breath to modulate her tone. “Please run over to Mr. Andrews and purchase some pies for us.”

Annie’s brown eyes brightened in anticipation. A visit to Mr. Andrews was certain to earn her a sticky bun. “Yes, Mrs. Brown.”

As the child turned away, Caroline called out, “And, Annie, take your time. I need to meet with this customer in private.”

Annie nodded vigorously, more than happy to have some time to herself as she skipped to the back. Fortunately, Mrs. Jones and her daughter were not working today, so Caroline had the shop to herself. And her unexpected guest.

Outside, the duke stepped aside to reveal his wife.

Miss Annabel, chestnut hair neatly coifed and brandy eyes shining, sought her out through the windowpanes.

Caroline flushed as their gazes met, licking her lips and wiping her damp palms over her skirts to still their trembling while Her Grace approached the door.

The footman opened it, stepping back to allow the duchess entry and then shutting the door behind her. This was to be a private audience.

Caroline and Her Grace stared at each other across the shop for several seconds before Caroline recalled her place and sank into a deep curtsy. “Miss Anna—Your Grace.”

The young woman laughed out loud. “No matter how long I am married to the duke, I never grow accustomed to how old acquaintances behave because of my increased station as his wife. It is”—the duchess tilted her head as if seeking the right word—“disconcerting.”

“My apologies, Your Grace.”

The duchess walked over to where Caroline was awkwardly posed in the curtsy, uncertain if she was to rise in these circumstances. “I have come to visit an old friend, so perhaps you should rise and we can converse freely.”

Caroline choked as she returned to a standing position and rubbed at her dry throat. When she regained the ability to speak, she sputtered, “Old friend?”

Her Grace tilted her head again, contemplating her with a sad expression. “Were we not friends?”

Her throat muscles worked, and eventually, Caroline croaked her response. “Until I ruined it.”

“Hmm.”

“What are you doing here?” Caroline clapped a hand over her mouth at the shrill demand. “Your Grace,” she added in an attempt to soften her high-strung tone.

“I received a visit from a Mr. Jackson on Saint Stephen’s Day. He told me you were in dire need of an audience with me. He seemed to think that I was a woman of noble character who would be magnanimous if I were to understand your troubles.”

Caroline’s eyes widened in horror. To do such a thing! Rage rose as a heavy feeling in her head, making her feel giddy from the force of it. The Sunday finest! He had not been to Bath to court a lass. He had been to the ducal estate to visit the duchess!

William was rude, insufferable, arrogant, invasive, and … and …

“Sweet? Loyal? Determined to secure your happiness?” the duchess responded.

Caroline clapped a hand over her mouth again. Had she spoken the words out loud?

“You did. What struck me during his visit was that you must care deeply about this man if you shared your secret with him. I was very pleased to discover that a man of such quality had taken it upon himself to speak on your behalf, but grew concerned when he informed me that his offer to marry you had been declined because of our shared history. Which is why I agreed to visit you. I would have come earlier, but this is the first day of Christmastide that did not have specific obligations to attend to.”