Caroline told them about Timmy the maid.
North looked at her, smiled, then cursed. “I wish you hadn’t seen him, Caroline. He’s little, but he’s fast. Damnation. You’ve got good eyesight.”
“I do like the notion of a twelve-year-old bodyguard, North, but perhaps he could just accompany me instead.”
“No,” the Duchess said, “that’s not the point. You would be endangering Timmy were he to simply be with you. No, he must follow you, out of si
ght, so that if anyone tries anything, he would be on the spot.”
Caroline sighed as deeply as Tregeagle ever did when awakened in the middle of the night by Little Owen screeching his head off for milk. Both Evelyn and Miss Mary Patricia took turns feeding him, and both agreed that he was a proper little glutton, even as they kissed the soft blond down on his head.
Thank God, Caroline thought. Alice, your son will grow up big and strong and he won’t be hurt ever, not if I can help it, not like you were.
She shook her head, hating the tears that always seemed so very close to trickling out of her eyes.
North said to the earl and countess, “Dr. Treath came to see Caroline today, even asked to see her alone, so he could talk to her. Miss Treath and I were consigned to the corridor. Did he tell you that all your roving about wasn’t all that good for you right now?”
She tried to smile, but it was so difficult. “Yes, he told me to rest more, but, North, there’s so much to be done. I wrote a letter to this man in London that Marcus told me about. He just might come here and begin restoration on all the Nightingale women’s portraits. I do hope it’s soon.”
“At least all the frames are spotless,” the earl said. “Oh yes, the Duchess told me how you’d scrubbed them down to their gold.”
“Yes, I did. I do hope we can have the fellow who will restore the paintings here right after Christmas.”
“Only two weeks away now,” the Duchess said. She sat forward, laying her fork down on her plate of spiced pears. “Marcus and I have decided we’ll remain here at Mount Hawke until four days before Christmas, then we must return to Yorkshire to Chase Park to be with our own family. We’ll return here around the first of the year and we’ll stay until all the mystery is cleared up.”
North was shaking his head. “Oh no, Duchess. You could have been hurt that day. I can’t allow it. Marcus, take her to London, take her home, and keep her there. I don’t want either of you coming back after Christmas. Besides,” he added, seeing the stubborn set of the earl’s jaw, “there could be no resolution for months and months. As much as I think both of you are excellent houseguests, I must tell you that I am beginning to tire of you and even a respite at Christmas won’t help. It’s true, I’m not lying. Isn’t that right, Caroline?”
“Yes,” she said quickly, right on his heels. “Already I’m bored, just like North. It’s all I can do to stay awake in your company. I already wish you were well gone from here.”
“You didn’t have to go that far,” North said to his wife. “And you’re laughing at me, aren’t you?”
She wished she weren’t seated ten feet away from him at the other end of the table. She wished she were seated in his lap, his palm gently smoothing up her stocking to her thigh whilst she was nipping at his earlobe, lightly licking his jaw, kissing his bottom lip. She wished…“No, North,” she said, “it’s just that you don’t know your friends. They will be back after Christmas and then, I dare say, they won’t budge until everything is resolved. And that means that we must determine who was behind that wire business else they’ll be living with us forever, and I can’t imagine anyone happy with that arrangement.”
North cursed and said to Tregeagle, “I would like a bottle of port. I would also like the ladies to excuse themselves so that the earl and I could drink ourselves under the Aubusson carpet.”
Caroline laughed. It felt good, but life being what it was, memories flooded through her, and the laughter died.
“I know,” North said, then turned back to speak to the earl. Caroline rose and said, “Duchess, shall you and I go to the drawing room and drink our own port? There’s rather a large carpet in there as well.”
“You won’t, Duchess,” the earl shouted, the pulse pounding in his neck. “I forbid it. You won’t get tipsy without me to entertain you.”
“I told you he was a sweetheart,” the Duchess said to Caroline. She turned back to her furious husband and said, “Try not to bore North, my dear. He just might eject both of us from Mount Hawke this very minute.” She then grinned at her husband and followed Caroline from the formal dining room.
Every Mount Hawke denizen, including old Pa-Dou, who was toothless and hard of hearing, argued, yelled, poked, and insulted one another, all in all having a fine time before the yule log was finally agreed upon and dragged behind two dray horses to the castle, there to be lit and remain burning in the cavernous fireplace in the great entrance hall until after Boxing Day.
Polgrain prepared a delicious hot mulled wine and all toasted North when he finally managed to get the log lighted. The laughter was sweet, poignant, with a bittersweet edge to it when Little Owen waved a tiny arm toward Miss Mary Patricia, whose turn it was to feed him, pumped his legs, and yelled.
If Caroline wondered why there were always at least three people with her except when she had to relieve herself, even when she’d wandered off to look at some rather pretty moss growing in the rocks, she didn’t let on.
Everyone cared about her and that felt wonderful. She tired easily but any nausea was gone. North said to her as she sat on his lap in front of their fireplace later that night, “Your breasts are larger. Are they sore?”
“No,” she said, nodding, and kissed him.
“Don’t lie to me, Caroline. Dr. Treath told me that—”
She reared back in his arms, so embarrassed she nearly sputtered. “You and Dr. Treath talked about my breasts?”
“Yes, don’t be silly. He just warned me to be careful when I touched you. Just like Rafael and Victoria Carstairs.”