“Perhaps you will have one of your own.”
“I doubt it.” Caroline had always hoped to marry for love, but since the man she loved intended to go to the grave a bachelor, it seemed she would remain unwed as well.
“Don't be silly. You can't possibly know what the future holds for you.”
“Why not?” she countered. “You seem to think you do.”
“Touché.” He regarded her for a moment, then his eyes filled with something that looked suspiciously like regret, and he said, “I do rather enjoy my nieces.”
“Then why were you so upset about the new one?”
“Why should you think that?”
She scoffed. “Oh, please, Blake. It's quite obvious.”
“I am not in the least displeased with my new niece. I'm sure I shall adore her.” He cleared his throat and smiled wryly. “I just wish she had been a boy.”
“Most men would be thrilled at the prospect of being next in line for a viscountcy.”
“I am not most men.”
“Yes, that much is clear.”
Blake narrowed his eyes and regarded her intently. “What is that supposed to mean?”
She just shrugged.
“Caroline…” he warned.
“It's quite obvious that you adore children, and yet you're determined not to have any of your own. That particular line of reasoning shows even less logic than usually demonstrated by the males of our species.”
“Now you're beginning to sound like my sister.”
“I shall take that as a compliment. I quite like your sister.”
“So do I, but that doesn't mean I always do what she says.”
“I'm back!” Penelope sailed into the room. “What are you talking about?”
“Babies,” Caroline bluntly replied.
Penelope started, then her eyes filled with unconcealed glee. “Really? How intriguing!”
“Penelope,” Blake drawled, “what was it you wanted to show Caroline?”
“Oh, that,” she said distractedly. “Couldn't find it. I shall have to look later and invite Caroline to return tomorrow.”
Blake wanted to protest, but he knew that tea with Caroline was the only way he was going to get a decent meal.
Caroline smiled and turned to Penelope. “Have your brother and his wife named their new daughter?”
“Oh, you were talking about their baby,” Penelope said, sounding more than vaguely disappointed. “Yes, they did. Daphne Georgiana Elizabeth.”
“All those names?”
“Oh, that is nothing. The older girls have even more names—the oldest is called Sophie Charlotte Sybilla Aurelia Nathanaele—but David and Sarah are quite running out.”
“If they have another daughter,” Caroline said with a smile, “they will have to simply call her Mary and leave it at that.”
Penelope laughed. “Oh no, that would be quite impossible. They've already used Mary. Their second daughter is Katharine Mary Claire Evelina.”
“I don't dare guess what their third child is called.”
“Alexandra Lucy Caroline Vivette.”
“A Caroline! How lovely.”
“I'm amazed,” Blake said, “that you can remember all those names. It's all I can do to recall Sophie, Katharine, Alexandra, and now Daphne.”
“If you had children of your own—”
“I know, I know, dear sister. You needn't repeat yourself.”
“I was merely going to say that if you had children of your own you shouldn't have any trouble remembering names.”
“I know what you were going to say.”
“Do you have children, Lady Fairwich?” Caroline asked.
A look of pain crossed Penelope's features before she replied softly, “No. No, I don't.”
“I'm so sorry,” Caroline stammered. “I shouldn't have asked.”
“It is nothing,” Penelope said with a shaky smile. “The earl and I have not yet been blessed with children. Perhaps that is why I so dote on my nieces.”
Caroline swallowed uncomfortably, well aware that she'd inadvertently brought up a painful topic. “Mr. Ravenscroft says that he, too, dotes on your nieces.”
“Yes, he does. He's quite a wonderful uncle. He should make an ex—”
“Don't say it, Penelope,” Blake interrupted.
Further conversation on the topic was thankfully prevented by the entrance of Perriwick, who was staggering under the weight of an overcrowded tea service.
“Oh my!” Penelope exclaimed.
“Yes,” Blake drawled, “it is quite a feast for high tea, isn't it?”
Caroline just smiled and didn't even bother to feel embarrassed by the way her stomach was roaring.
Over the next few days it became apparent that Caroline was in possession of a crucial bargaining chip: The servants refused to prepare a decent meal unless they could be certain she would be partaking of it.
And so she found herself “invited” to Seacrest Manor with increasing regularity. Penelope had even gone so far as to suggest that Caroline spend the night once when it was raining.
In all truth, it wasn't raining that hard, but Penelope was no fool. She'd noticed the servants' peculiar habits, and she liked breakfast as well as anybody.
Caroline soon became fast friends with Blake's sister, although it was becoming difficult to keep putting her off whenever she suggested a jaunt into Bournemouth. There were too many people who might recognize Caroline in the small city.
Not to mention the fact that Oliver had apparently plastered her likeness in every public place, and Blake reported that the last time he'd gone into town, he'd noticed that a reward was now being offered for Caroline's safe return.
o;Perhaps you will have one of your own.”
“I doubt it.” Caroline had always hoped to marry for love, but since the man she loved intended to go to the grave a bachelor, it seemed she would remain unwed as well.
“Don't be silly. You can't possibly know what the future holds for you.”
“Why not?” she countered. “You seem to think you do.”
“Touché.” He regarded her for a moment, then his eyes filled with something that looked suspiciously like regret, and he said, “I do rather enjoy my nieces.”
“Then why were you so upset about the new one?”
“Why should you think that?”
She scoffed. “Oh, please, Blake. It's quite obvious.”
“I am not in the least displeased with my new niece. I'm sure I shall adore her.” He cleared his throat and smiled wryly. “I just wish she had been a boy.”
“Most men would be thrilled at the prospect of being next in line for a viscountcy.”
“I am not most men.”
“Yes, that much is clear.”
Blake narrowed his eyes and regarded her intently. “What is that supposed to mean?”
She just shrugged.
“Caroline…” he warned.
“It's quite obvious that you adore children, and yet you're determined not to have any of your own. That particular line of reasoning shows even less logic than usually demonstrated by the males of our species.”
“Now you're beginning to sound like my sister.”
“I shall take that as a compliment. I quite like your sister.”
“So do I, but that doesn't mean I always do what she says.”
“I'm back!” Penelope sailed into the room. “What are you talking about?”
“Babies,” Caroline bluntly replied.
Penelope started, then her eyes filled with unconcealed glee. “Really? How intriguing!”
“Penelope,” Blake drawled, “what was it you wanted to show Caroline?”
“Oh, that,” she said distractedly. “Couldn't find it. I shall have to look later and invite Caroline to return tomorrow.”
Blake wanted to protest, but he knew that tea with Caroline was the only way he was going to get a decent meal.
Caroline smiled and turned to Penelope. “Have your brother and his wife named their new daughter?”
“Oh, you were talking about their baby,” Penelope said, sounding more than vaguely disappointed. “Yes, they did. Daphne Georgiana Elizabeth.”
“All those names?”
“Oh, that is nothing. The older girls have even more names—the oldest is called Sophie Charlotte Sybilla Aurelia Nathanaele—but David and Sarah are quite running out.”
“If they have another daughter,” Caroline said with a smile, “they will have to simply call her Mary and leave it at that.”
Penelope laughed. “Oh no, that would be quite impossible. They've already used Mary. Their second daughter is Katharine Mary Claire Evelina.”
“I don't dare guess what their third child is called.”
“Alexandra Lucy Caroline Vivette.”
“A Caroline! How lovely.”
“I'm amazed,” Blake said, “that you can remember all those names. It's all I can do to recall Sophie, Katharine, Alexandra, and now Daphne.”
“If you had children of your own—”
“I know, I know, dear sister. You needn't repeat yourself.”
“I was merely going to say that if you had children of your own you shouldn't have any trouble remembering names.”
“I know what you were going to say.”
“Do you have children, Lady Fairwich?” Caroline asked.
A look of pain crossed Penelope's features before she replied softly, “No. No, I don't.”
“I'm so sorry,” Caroline stammered. “I shouldn't have asked.”
“It is nothing,” Penelope said with a shaky smile. “The earl and I have not yet been blessed with children. Perhaps that is why I so dote on my nieces.”
Caroline swallowed uncomfortably, well aware that she'd inadvertently brought up a painful topic. “Mr. Ravenscroft says that he, too, dotes on your nieces.”
“Yes, he does. He's quite a wonderful uncle. He should make an ex—”
“Don't say it, Penelope,” Blake interrupted.
Further conversation on the topic was thankfully prevented by the entrance of Perriwick, who was staggering under the weight of an overcrowded tea service.
“Oh my!” Penelope exclaimed.
“Yes,” Blake drawled, “it is quite a feast for high tea, isn't it?”
Caroline just smiled and didn't even bother to feel embarrassed by the way her stomach was roaring.
Over the next few days it became apparent that Caroline was in possession of a crucial bargaining chip: The servants refused to prepare a decent meal unless they could be certain she would be partaking of it.
And so she found herself “invited” to Seacrest Manor with increasing regularity. Penelope had even gone so far as to suggest that Caroline spend the night once when it was raining.
In all truth, it wasn't raining that hard, but Penelope was no fool. She'd noticed the servants' peculiar habits, and she liked breakfast as well as anybody.
Caroline soon became fast friends with Blake's sister, although it was becoming difficult to keep putting her off whenever she suggested a jaunt into Bournemouth. There were too many people who might recognize Caroline in the small city.
Not to mention the fact that Oliver had apparently plastered her likeness in every public place, and Blake reported that the last time he'd gone into town, he'd noticed that a reward was now being offered for Caroline's safe return.