Chapter Three
September 4, 1818
Caroline resisted the urge to clamp her hands over her ears like she’d done as a child when the noise that filled the room clanged through her head like a wild cacophony. She’d only consented to join her cousin’s rout due to the fact that Mr. Butler—John—might be there. It had been three days since he’d come upon her at Hyde Park, and she’d rather missed having him around. The peace and safety he made her feel would be most welcome now.
And still, her muse had dictated that she continue to sketch and paint him, much to her maid’s amusement and Cousin Andrew’s consternation. Her dressing room was rather crowded with paintings.
Dinner had been a trial and a form of torture, for she didn’t wish to talk and the men on either side of her weren’t the slightest bit interesting. Even if she had wished to add to the conversation, they talked incessantly of themselves or conversely, they ignored her to blather about politics. There was simply no beauty or inspiration in that; it only inspired arguments and hurt feelings. She’d picked at her food, the meal more daunting than it should have been due to the fact she disliked her foods to touch each other.
And though she enjoyed perusing the ladies’ dresses and jewels, perhaps making up stories about them to pass the time, John hadn’t arrived at the meal, which left her feeling an odd sort of emptiness she couldn’t explain.
Now, she slowly edged around the perimeter of the drawing room. People filled the space, all laughing and talking until the noise gathered into a loud, clinging wad of sound that threatened to steal her peace of mind and her ability to think. For far too many years, she’d spent the bulk of her life alone in that asylum, confined to her room, only seeing the doctors and nurses when they deigned to visit or remove her from said room when they wished for experiments. She’d taken meals alone, trays brought to her room, for she’d been deemed too volatile to partake of such in the dining room. Occasionally, she’d been granted an escape to a courtyard, but was always accompanied by a member of the staff.
And the silence had been deafening until she’d become used to it.
Now, the unrelenting noise found within the society of London threatened to drive her truly mad. And everyone sent glances her way: questioning, judging, wondering. She detested feeling as if she were in a fishbowl without escape from the scrutiny. Yet the absence of one man pushed her toward the depths of despair.
What the devil for? It was ineffable.
Cousin Brand caught her eye, and with a grin, he moved toward her. Caroline frowned, for she wasn’t certain how to interact with him. Even though he was her family, he was much a stranger, and the need to do the pretty with anyone left her gasping and uncomfortable, for the chance for a misstep or to make a fool of herself remained high.
“Good evening, Cousin,” he greeted with the wide grin she was beginning to associate with him. In his dark evening clothes and with the eyepatch he’d acquired when he’d returned from the war, he resembled a wayward pirate. A reformed one, to be sure, but a pirate, nonetheless. His expression contained a hint of amusement, as if he were laughing up his sleeve at all these people. “How do you fare tonight?”
“Overwhelmed.” What she wouldn’t give to escape the drawing room and hide away in her room, or better yet, run from the house entirely merely for the opportunity to revel in the quiet. Since she’d been taken from the asylum, this was the second society event she’d attended, and she didn’t enjoy it any more than the first.
“I can understand that.” He gently touched her arm. “You look nice tonight, though. That color suits you.”
“Thank you.” Caroline glanced down at her gown. Done in a light blue almost periwinkle silk, it was the most ethereal garment she owned. Silver embroidery lined the bodice—that she considered entirely too low—as well as the hem of the skirt. It felt cool and sophisticated against her legs every time she moved and helped her to pretend she might be a long-lost princess. It might sound immature if she uttered that thought aloud, but she adored fairy stories and secretly wished to live one out. “It’s pretty.”
“Oh, indeed.” His grin faltered. “I haven’t seen you since Christmastide last, but I hope you don’t hold that against me. I…” The muscles in his throat worked with a hard swallow. “I was working through my own demons and emotions that stemmed from growing up in the Storme family as well as things I assumed were failures on my part.”
Caroline’s eyebrows raised. Was it possible her cousin had been as confused and angry at the family as she? “Troubled, too, you were?” Heat sank into her cheeks, for once more the words were jumbled.
“Yes.” He nodded. “Troubled is an understatement. In fact, I was mad at the world, bent on destructive behaviors, but then I met Elizabeth. Everything changed then. She helped me let go of things that didn’t matter.” Longing clouded his eyes. “I miss her,” he added in a soft voice. “And the baby.”
Everyone in the family was starting their nurseries or had someone in their lives that made them… better. Jealousy speared through her chest. She couldn’t help it. Never had she given much thought about a future containing those things, but then, she’d not been afforded chances to capture any of that. With great concentration, she asked, “When you married, was it a happy time?”
“God, no.” Brand chuckled. “It was confusing and difficult and sometimes painful.” His levity sobered as he met her gaze. “There at the end, when I thought I’d hurt Elizabeth beyond repair—nearly lost her—I figured out that my only obstacles to the future I wanted were put there due to my own hand.”
“You acted as a hero though.” She’d heard enough snatches of the story to know it had been a romantic affair.
“I suppose if you mean my actions toward the end, when I finally won her heart.” Brand shrugged. “But I was a different person then. I had to change to be worthy of her—of the dream of us together.”
“A storybook romance.” Caroline sighed. She offered a smile to her cousin. “I want that too.” Of course, she had no experience around men, to say nothing of the fact that most shied away from her once they realized who she was and her history. No amount of Cousin Andrew’s influence could help that, and it was an oddity that she was even here tonight at all. One couldn’t meet others if one kept to their rooms.
Shock filtered through Brand’s expression. “You want a husband.” It wasn’t a question.
“No.” She shook her head. “A romance. Like in fairy stories.” She wouldn’t know the first thing about how to behave in a marriage, and even more to the point, if she were well and truly mad, any children she might have didn’t deserve that.
“Oh, my dear girl.” Brand put an arm about her shoulders. She stood stiffly at his side, for she wasn’t in the habit of being touched by people. Not even her family. The only person with whom she felt comfortable in close proximity was John. “I’m not sure you can have one without the other.”
She frowned. “Princess and tiara I want to have. Hand kisses too. And kindness.” Was that too much to ask? When she glanced about the crowded drawing room at the people assembled there who paid her no mind, perhaps it was. “Men are selfish.”
“Yes, they are.” He leaned in and bussed her cheek. “Perhaps you should stay far away from them. You needn’t put yourself into possible scandal, for you are doing well enough alone.”
Alone. Where she always was.
Bubbles of anger danced through her blood. She shook off her cousin’s arm. Once more, someone in her family thought to make decisions on her behalf. “Not good enough am I for romance? You assume I am a freak.” That last bit came out loud and clear as a bell.