The Nightingale Legacy (Legacy 2)

Bess Treath was frowning as she assisted Caroline to rise from the bed. “You’re not feeling nauseous, are you?”

“Oh no, just horribly embarrassed. I know it’s silly since he’s a doctor, but true nonetheless. Thank you for helping me, Miss Treath.”

“Yes, he is a doctor.” Bess Treath smiled down at Caroline, who was still very flushed in the face, and handed her her chemise and stockings.

The Duchess was depressed. She’d searched every single foot of that area Caroline had told her about, she said, and not a thing, not even a clue to be found anywhere. She then sighed, forked down a bite of blancmange, and said, “Of course, it’s been over a thousand years. Doubtless many feet have walked over that entire area and many eyes looked to see what they could find. If only your great-grandfather could have been more precise about that wretched armlet, North.”

“Sorry, Duchess, but believe me, that wretched armlet never existed, or if it did, it didn’t have a thing to do with King Mark.”

The earl patted his wife’s hand. “You tried, sweetheart.”

The large clock that sounded like it had swallowed a frog began chiming seven strokes.

Alice shivered. “How I hate the sound that clock makes. Has it always done that, my lord?”

“As long as I can remember. I was telling Caroline that if only the bloody thing would stop, I’d dump it in the kitchen midden.”

“I rather like the sound of it,” Owen said. “Rather like a king with a very bad cold.”

Caroline laughed and shook her head. “All of you are vastly romantic and far too imaginative. It just sounds to me like it needs a good oiling.”

After a sumptuous dinner of carbonnade of beef, baked anchovy pie, roasted lamb with white beans, innumerable side dishes, and blancmange and macaroons for dessert, the earl and countess announced that they would be leaving for London on Wednesday.

Caroline was down in the mouth. She liked the Duchess and was finally at her ease with her and her outrageous husband, who said exactly what he wanted to say, teased his wife mercilessly, then kissed her hard, and was very amusing, not as amusing as North, but nonetheless, he did occasionally make her smile.

“Come, sweetheart,” North said to her later that night in their bedchamber, “and climb on my lap. I don’t like to see you depressed. That’s right, face me, ah, yes, the feel of you, how much I love the feel of you.” He kissed her then even as his hands were pulling up her dressing gown and nightgown, his fingers on her bare flesh, stroking her and caressing upward.

“Goodness, North,” she said into his mouth and promptly moaned when his warm fingers touched her. When they slipped inside her, she suddenly stiffened.

“Whatever is wrong?”

“That’s what Dr. Treath did. It was awful.”

“Well, I didn’t like it either, but if it had to be done, then so be it. Now, just relax. It’s me, not Dr. Treath, and I have scarce a thought about the babe, just its mother and making her scream with pleasure. That’s right, Caroline, you’re becoming softer. I like it. Kiss me some more.”

When he lifted her onto him, she sighed with the pleasure of it. When his fingers wove their magic, she screamed. North felt the wet of her tears against his neck when she was slack against him.

He froze. “What the hell is wrong? Did I hurt you?”

“Oh no, it’s just that I love you so very much, it’s sometimes too much, that’s all.”

“I see,” he said slowly, “nothing more than that. Good, that relieves my mind. Let’s go to bed, Caroline.”

He didn’t sleep for a very long time, but he didn’t let her away from him, holding her close the entire night. He knew he’d give anything to keep Caroline with him. He knew he’d give his life for her.

But it wasn’t North who saved Caroline’s life the following day. It was the Duchess.

34

CAROLINE AND THE Duchess were riding close to the sea, high above on the narrow cliff road, before cutting inland to search about the series of hillocks and in the midst of the oak tree copse again. Ah, and there was that long stone fence with perhaps some crevices between the stones that held something, a clue perhaps, another armlet like the one North’s great-grandfather had claimed he’d found. At the moment, though, the wind whipped at their riding hats and they were discussing why Coombe would leave evidence behind that surely proved his guilt.

They pulled up their horses a moment to look over the Irish Sea. “It makes no sense,” Caroline said, tucking her hair up beneath her hat.

“And that relative of yours, Caroline, Bennett Penrose?” the Duchess said. “No chance at all that he was responsible, at least for your aunt’s death?”

“No,” Caroline said. “North looked into everything, probably even checked Bennett’s teeth. Unfortunately he just wasn’t here when Aunt Eleanor was killed. As for poor Nora Pelforth, Bennett had many witnesses to claim he was at Mrs. Freely’s inn in Goonbell until he had to be carried back to Scrilady Hall, so drunk he couldn’t even crawl.”

“A pity.”