Jane Lark - The Secret Love of a Gentleman

He would never understand if she told him she loved Albert still.

Mary touched Drew’s shoulder and Caro looked up to see her holding out a gentleman’s handkerchief. Lord Marlow’s, Mary’s father’s.

“Thank you.” Caro forced a smile, then looked away as she dabbed at her tears.

“All will be well, now,” Drew said, his hand patting her arm. Then he stood and looked at Lord Marlow. “I thought you were hungry. Are we not going to eat?”

Lord Marlow turned and in a moment the dinner gong sounded.

Caro’s heart pounded, but Drew gave Mary an apologetic smile and raised his arm to Caro.

She stood and lay her fingers on his sleeve. Drew was her security—and now her only hold on sanity. She could not have walked into the room to dine without him.

“I shall buy you some new clothes,” he said quietly as they walked ahead of Mary and her father. “Living among the Pembrokes is not the same as living in a cottage.”

“I cannot bear this, Drew, is there nowhere else –”

“I have a home. I am buying a property bordering Pembroke’s. You will have a home there too, Caro.”

Tears blurred her vision again. She was grateful, and yet she did not wish to be a burden and beholden to him for the rest of her days, a poor, shamed, dependent relation.

She would be a blight on his happy home.

Three years later

Rob leaned on a windowsill in the first-floor drawing room, looking out onto the gardens below. His gaze caught a sudden movement across the lawn. It could have been the shadow of a cloud sweeping across the sky, if the movement was dark and not light. But it had been something pale blue.

It could have been a ghost if it was night and not midday. But it was not a spectre. He would lay strong odds it was the tail end of Caroline Framlington’s skirt disappearing behind the hedge. Perhaps a ghost of sorts, then.

Rob leant more firmly onto the windowsill.

Her fingers had held the rim of her bonnet, hiding her face as she’d hurried away, head down, scurrying from the house.

He assumed she’d left the house because he’d arrived. He had not even come within ten feet of her. It did not bode well.

“Do not take it personally.” His brother-in-law said jovially, in a low tone, resting a palm on Rob’s shoulder. “Caro does not appreciate company.”

Rob turned to look at Drew “And male company particularly… Yes, I know. Are you sure it is a good idea for me to stay here if it will disturb her?”

“Life must go on, Robbie, she cannot orchestrate what we do. Caro will keep to her rooms as she does most of the time. I wish she would be braver, but I do not have the heart to force her into facing her fears, and yet nor will I pander to them. She’ll cope because she has to. We have servants, after all, and men among them. It is not only Mary and I who live here. It is just because your presence is unfamiliar and so she feels threatened.”

“I could stay at John’s.”

“Rattling about your brother’s monstrosity of a mansion on your own. No, Robbie. Mary invited you for the summer because she wants to spend time with you. You and I can go out shooting and fishing, and riding.”

“I can ride over daily from John’s and do that. His property is only a few miles from yours.”

“And kick around the house alone all night, bored. Do not be foolish. You will stay, and Caro will adjust. It is only going to be for the summer. Caro will survive.”

“Or hide.”

“Well more likely that. But either way, it will do her no harm.”

“Uncle Bobbie!” George, Drew’s son, charged across the room and barrelled into Rob’s leg. The boy was barely two, and a little tyke, but adorable despite it. He still refused to sound his “r”s and thus Rob, known to his family as Robbie, had become Uncle Bobbie to the boy.

Rob bent and caught the child by his chubby arms, lifted him and tossed him in the air once, then caught him and turned him upside down. George laughed in his childish giggle.

His nephew was another good reason to stay, as was his infant niece, whom his sister currently cradled on her arm while speaking with their mother.

Rob loved the children. There was something very endearing about being hero-worshipped by George, something his younger brothers rarely did.

Mary was the sibling he was fondest of. She was the closest to him in age and temperament, and her notorious husband had always treated Rob like a grown man, even when Rob had been scarcely that. Rob had been eighteen when Drew and Mary had eloped.

“And I have been looking forward to your company, as has this rapscallion.”

“Uncle Bobbie, I want to fly!” George cried.

Rob carefully let him descend to the floor, head first.

The boy rolled onto his back, then rose and turned to his papa to be caught up again, in a firm hold. “Your uncle Robbie is not going to swing you about all day, George.”

“Boats!” The boy yelled.

Rob ruffled the child’s hair. “Yes, I will play boats and kites, and ball, George. We’ll do lots of things.”

“Aun’ie Ca’o too.”

“Perhaps.” Drew avoided the true answer.

“We ought to be getting back to John’s, if you are ready, Robbie?” Rob looked at his mother as she stood up.

Mary stood too, with the baby sleeping in her arms. “We shall see you at John’s tomorrow. I believe we have even persuaded Caro to come, because the children are. But I doubt she will speak to anyone but them.”

“I do feel sorry for her. I wish there was more I could do.” Their mother smiled at Mary, then Drew. “But I have no idea how to help her, she always looks so uncomfortable the moment I begin any more personal conversation.”

“She is not so unhappy, Mama. She adores the children. She would be more distressed to think you pitied her.”

Unease swung over Rob, like a cloak settling on his shoulders, as Drew continued reassuring Rob’s mother.

Rob was still unsure about staying, but he did not really wish to remain at John’s. He turned to look from the window again.

His eldest brother’s, his step-brother’s, property was vast. So vast it currently housed every branch of the family. But after the garden party the family would splinter again and each aunt, uncle and cousin would return to their own homes, and John and his wife, Kate, were retiring to a smaller estate for the summer.

Rob could change his mind and go home with his parents or stay with any of his uncles and aunts, but he would still be one of a dozen wherever he went with them. He wanted to spend some time just as himself.

He’d finished at Oxford at the beginning of the summer. He wished for independence. If he went home he would be lost among his siblings, and with his aunts and uncles, lost among his cousins, and being lost among his cousins was worse because most of the men his age were titled. He was not. Rob was the odd one out in his extended family, the only firstborn son without a title or a huge inheritance awaiting him.

Here with Mary and Drew that did not matter. Rob could be himself, independent, respected, and hero-worshipped by his nephew, and it was close enough to town that he could also begin to plan for his future. He could hunt for lodgings in London and move into them in the autumn. All he needed to do then was choose a living. In his mind he had a grand idealistic plan, yet in practice he was unsure how this great feat of his might be managed.

Not that he needed an occupation, he had an income provided by his ducal brother. He’d come of age, he was one and twenty, and on the day of his coming of age he’d received his first quarter’s allowance—but the idea of living off John jarred brutally.