She Watched the Man She Had Loved for Four Years Propose to Her Best Friend—Unaware the Duke Who Had Silently Loved Her All Along Was Finally Ready to Make Her His Duchess

PART 2 

Caroline cried at home.

Not elegantly. She had intended to cry elegantly — there had been a plan. She would dismiss her maid, remove her gown, sit beside the fire, and permit herself perhaps six dignified tears before composing herself for the night.

Instead, her mother entered the bedchamber without knocking.

Caroline looked at her, and four years of hope collapsed all at once.

“Oh, Mama.”

Lady Everly crossed the room. That was all it took. Caroline cried against her mother’s shoulder like a girl half her age.

Frances Everly did not tell her that Samuel was unworthy. He was not. She did not tell Caroline she had been foolish. She had not. She did not say that another man would come, because some griefs should not be answered with replacements. She simply held her daughter.

Later, Sir William came in wearing his dressing gown, because fathers who love their daughters are rarely as obedient to bedchamber conventions as society prefers. He sat at the foot of the bed.

“I could shoot him.”

Caroline lifted her tear-streaked face. “No, Papa.”

“Very small wound. Leg.”

“William,” Frances said.

“Leg,” Sir William repeated. “He would walk again. Eventually. With a slight limp that would remind him —”

“Papa.”

Her father’s face softened. “He did nothing wrong.”

“I know.”

“That makes it worse.”

Caroline looked at him. “I know that too.”

She wiped her eyes. “I thought he loved me.”

Neither parent answered too quickly. Finally, Frances said, “Did he ever tell you that?”

“No.”

“Did he behave cruelly?”

“No.”

“Did he deliberately encourage you?”

Caroline found that was harder. Samuel had sought her company, trusted her, brought her books, asked her opinions, written when he traveled. But he had done those things because she was his friend. Had there been flirtation? Perhaps. But Caroline herself had laughed and flirted lightly with men she had never intended to marry. Affection was not a contract.

“No,” she whispered.

Frances took her hand. “Then perhaps what you have lost tonight is not a man who belonged to you.”

Caroline looked at her mother.

“What have I lost?”

“A future you had begun loving before it existed.”

The words hurt because they were true. Caroline closed her eyes.

“I feel so stupid.”

Sir William immediately said, “Absolutely not.”

“Papa —”

“No. I will permit heartbroken. Disappointed. Furious. Embarrassed. Unreasonable quantities of chocolate. I will not permit stupid.”

Despite herself, Caroline smiled. He leaned forward.

“You loved someone. You hoped he might love you. There are greater crimes.”

Caroline looked down. “I told him blue.”

Her mother frowned. “What?”

“The sapphire. Weeks ago. He asked which stone I preferred.”

Understanding crossed Frances’s face. “Oh, darling.”

“I thought he was asking for me.”

The tears returned. Frances held her again. Outside, December rain moved against the windows. No one mentioned Christmas. No one mentioned dukes.

And Caroline fell asleep believing that the greatest love of her life had ended before it ever began.

She was wrong.

But it would take Nicholas Ravenscroft to prove it.