Again and Again

Chapter 8

“Have to get away, have to, have to, have to get away.... Panic-stricken, her thoughts in chaos, Caroline rushed up the stairs, needing to put distance between herself and Simon, needing time to think. Dashing into her room, she slammed the door behind her and for the first time since her arrival looked to see if there was a key in the lock. She grimaced. None.

HOW COULD THIS BE HAPPENING?

In all of England-how could it be that Simon was not only in this backwater area of the country, but downstairs! In this very house! It wasn’t just bad luck, it was incredibly bad luck-of which she’d had more than her share of late. Even a rank amateur wouldn’t have bet on them meeting in this remote castle in the middle of nowhere! “Damn,” and “double damn,” and any number of other pithy observations on her misfortune escaped her lips as she slumped against the door in frustration.

Simon was sure to be trouble… enormous, persistent, unrelenting trouble-with everyone watching. She groaned, her position untenable with Simon in the house. He wasn’t one to take his conge with good grace-or at all, which seriously impacted her options.

Much as she’d like to pretend some reasonable solution was available to her, it was impossible to even transiently delude herself that she had anything but limited choices. She could go or stay. That was it. No third or fifth or twentieth alternative existed. Biting on her bottom lip, she tried to assess the advantages and liabilities in going or staying without undue emotion, but she found herself trembling despite her best intentions. “Stop it,” she said aloud, consciously stilling her fears and drawing herself up to her full height, she took a deep breath. Calmly now. Option one, first. Flight.

It was the dead of winter and already dark outside which seriously curtailed immediate flight. But even should she wait until daylight, she still had limited funds, no other employment, and the nearest coaching inn was miles away.

Well…that was easy.

Now how exactly would she manage the staying part? Presumably, she would have to keep Simon at bay. Impossible, of course. He wasn’t a man of temperate impulses. On the other hand, she could simply capitulate, and if she knew him as well as she thought she did, she would be well taken care of. He was more than willing. Their time at Shipton had made that plain.

But if she allowed that, what would she have become?

Pushing away from the door, she walked to the window and pressed her forehead against the cool pane, as though the chill glass would soothe her confusion. There were women at all levels of society who were paramours. Women of rank, women of substance, intelligent women. And if she put herself under Simon’s protection, she’d no longer have to deal with the precariousness of her life. She wouldn’t have to worry about the price of a pair of stockings, or mend her outdated cloak for the tenth time, or wonder if she might offend her employer and be cast out into the cold.

It was tempting. She’d been struggling for so long.

But stark reality couldn’t be so easily ignored and she better than most understood Simon’s record on constancy… and faithfulness.

He was incapable of both.

She’d known that five years ago and knew it still and if she was looking for either quality in him, she was a fool.

It was a shame he was so loveable.

And more unfortunate still that he knew it and used it to his advantage.

Her brief moment of blissful fantasy dissolved before the painful truth and she turned from the window to face the harsh uncertainties of the real world.

Now… how best to deal with Simon’s expected pursuit? Although she wasn’t a novice at eluding men, Simon in such close proximity would prove a formidable challenge. Particularly, she thought, glancing at her door, in this keyless room. “Never show fear,” her father had always said. “Remember your game face, darling… It’s the first rule.” Not that staring down Simon would prove useful for more than a second or two; he wasn’t easily intimidated.

But suddenly another of her father’s maxim’s came to mind and she experienced a heartened moment of hope. “Only bet on a sure thing,” he’d always said and of one thing she was sure-Simon would come for her. She’d bet her last shilling on that.

So if she played her cards right, she just might be able to put herself in a position of power. Moving to her small desk, she lit a candle, sat down, pulled out a sheet of paper and began writing.

When a servant came to fetch her sometime later, Caroline returned downstairs for the children in a new frame of mind. While not precisely calm, she was at least composed, her decisions clarified. Arriving at the door to the study, she paused for a moment, feeling as though she were about to step on stage.

Taking a deep breath, she raised her fist and knocked.

Simon hadn’t known exactly how he would respond when next he saw Caroline, although numerous possibilities had passed through his mind. In the interest of good manners and his present company, however, his preferred choices had to be delayed for a more opportune occasion.

But he’d watched with keen attention as Jane had gone to the bell pull and rang for a servant. With raised consciousness, he’d listened to her instruct the servant to fetch Caroline, then silently chafed as he waited for her arrival. When the knock on the door finally sounded, he set his glass down so he wouldn’t spill it this time and turned toward the door.

Caroline stepped into the room.

Simon blew out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

Ian frowned.

Jane sent Simon a warning look, then turned to Caroline. “The children have eaten so many sweets they may not want their supper,” she noted, her tone constrained. “I’ll be up later to tuck them into bed.” She smiled at her children. “Now, go with Miss Morrow or is it Lady Caroline?” Jane lifted her brows in query.

“Miss Morrow is fine.”

Jane nodded. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

The statement had an ominous sound, but Caroline gave no sign of her misgivings. “Very well, ma’am. Come, children.” She studiously avoided Simon’s gaze as she shepherded her charges from the room.

Once the door closed, the silence in the study was oppressive.

Jane stared at Simon with such gravity he felt a twinge of guilt. “I hope I don’t have to remind you to behave.”

“You needn’t remind me.”

“I should hope not,” she said crisply.