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 6 

“Were you happy when Hartley proposed to Cecilia?”

Nicholas’s expression did not waver. “No.”

“Not even a little?”

“Not even a little.”

Caroline searched his face. “But you —”

“I was hopeful. And ashamed of being hopeful.”

Her throat tightened.

“But while you were standing there, looking as though someone had quietly removed the floor beneath you, there was nothing in me except the wish that I could make it hurt less.”

Caroline’s eyes burned.

“I do not want to be the man you choose because Hartley was unavailable.”

“You think I would do that?”

“No. Which is why I am telling you now.”

“Telling me what?”

His eyes held hers. “That I am going to court you.”

Caroline stared. He said it as calmly as if announcing the weather.

“You are going to what?”

“Court you.”

“You cannot simply announce that.”

“I believe I just did.”

“Nicholas —”

“This is precisely the sort of ducal behavior I dislike.”

“Then refuse me.”

She opened her mouth. Nothing came out. His eyebrow rose.

“I am not promising you anything.”

“I have not asked you to.”

“You said you intend to court —”

“Not marry you by force before luncheon, Caroline. I want a chance.”

She looked at him. “For what?”

“For you to know me. While actually looking in my direction.”

The words struck deeper than any flirtation could have. Caroline thought of all the years she had watched Samuel. All the rooms in which Nicholas had also been present. All the conversations she suddenly remembered differently.

“How long?” she whispered.

Nicholas knew what she meant. How long would he wait?

“As long as it takes.”

She looked at him. Something inside her shifted. Not enough to call love — but enough to make love possible.

Nicholas walked with her through the gallery and down toward the stable yard, where his horse stood already saddled. He mounted, gathered the reins, and looked down at her a moment longer than the leave-taking required.

“Tomorrow.”

“What happens tomorrow?”

“I intend to begin courting you.”

She laughed despite herself. “What have you been doing for the last fortnight?”

“Apparently badly.”

“I noticed.”

His eyes warmed. “That is encouraging.”

He turned his horse toward the drive. Caroline remained beneath the archway, watching until he disappeared beyond the trees. Only then did she realize she was smiling. And for the first time since Samuel had opened that blue velvet box, Caroline did not feel as though one future had ended.

She felt, very faintly, as though another had begun.

Nicholas Ravenscroft began courting Caroline Everly the following morning by sending her nothing.

No flowers. No jewels. No elaborate note. No basket of fruit tied with ribbon. Nothing.

Caroline found this so irritating that by eleven o’clock, she had begun to suspect it was deliberate. By eleven-fifteen, she was certain. By noon, she was angry with herself for being certain. By one, she had walked past the front windows three times.

Her mother noticed on the fourth pass.

“Expecting someone?”

“No.”

Frances Everly looked toward the drive. “Then the elm trees must be unusually compelling today.”

Caroline turned from the window. “I am not waiting for Nicholas.”

“Of course not.”

“I am not.”

“I agreed with you.”

“You agreed in a way that suggested disbelief.”

“I have been married thirty years. I have developed several forms of agreement.”

Caroline frowned and returned to the embroidery she had not meaningfully advanced for twenty minutes. Her father entered from the corridor, carrying two letters and a small wooden box.

“This came for you.”

Caroline looked up too quickly. Sir William saw. Frances saw. Caroline hated both of them.

The box was plain. No crest, no ribbon, no dramatic insignia announcing that a duke had turned his attention upon her. Her name was written across the top in a firm, unmistakable hand.

Miss Caroline Everly.

Caroline opened it. Inside lay a brass compass — not jeweled, not especially expensive. Old, perhaps. There was a folded note beneath it.

You once told me that people become lost less often from not knowing the road than from refusing to admit they have left it. I have been thinking about that ever since.

— Rivenhall

Caroline read it twice. Then a third time.

Her mother said nothing. Her father lasted fourteen seconds.

“A compass?”

“Yes.”

“He courts strangely.”

Caroline closed the box. “I like it.”

Frances smiled into her tea. Sir William looked at his wife. “Should I have sent you navigation equipment?”

“You once sent me a dead pheasant.”

“I had shot it.”

“That did not improve matters.”

Caroline laughed, and for the rest of the afternoon, she kept the compass in her pocket.

Nicholas arrived the next day. He made no mention of the gift. This irritated her further. They walked through the lower gardens, which had mostly surrendered to winter.

“You sent me a compass.”

“I did.”

“That was an unusual gift.”

“Would you have preferred diamonds?”

“No.”

“Excellent. They are expensive.”

Caroline looked at him. He looked ahead.

“You knew I would like it.”

“I hoped.”

“You remembered something I said. Months ago.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Nicholas turned. “Because you said it.”

She stopped walking. There were moments when the simplicity of him disarmed her more completely than any practiced charm could have. Most men answered such questions with ornament. Nicholas rarely did. He remembered because she had spoken. As if that were sufficient reason.

She began walking again. “You are making this difficult.”

“I had been told courtship was meant to be pleasant.”

“For whom?”

“An excellent question.”

Caroline smiled. They reached the small stone bridge over the stream. The water beneath was dark and quick. Nicholas rested one hand against the parapet.

“I have invited your parents to Rivenhall next week.”

“For what?”

“Dinner.”

“That sounds harmless.”

“It is intended to be. Which makes me suspicious.”

“I shall tell Cook to make something threatening.”

Caroline laughed. Then she studied him.

“You really are serious.”

“About dinner?”

“About me.”

Nicholas did not smile. “Yes.”

The answer moved through her quietly. She looked at the stream.

“You make it sound easy.”

“What?”

“Wanting someone.”

“It is not.”

“No?”

Nicholas’s voice lowered. “Wanting you has been one of the least convenient things I have ever done.”

Caroline glanced at him.

“It would have been much easier to want someone impressed by Rivenhall.”

“Why?”

“Because I know how to manage Rivenhall.”

“And me?”

“No idea.”

That made her laugh. Nicholas watched her.

“Though I am learning.”

“What have you learned?”

“That flowers would annoy you if sent daily.”

“Yes.”

“That jewels would make you suspicious.”

“Yes.”

“That you enjoy gifts with a thought attached to them.”

Caroline touched the compass in her pocket.

“And that you pretend not to enjoy being pursued.”

She turned. “I do not pretend.”

“You checked the drive yesterday.”

Caroline stared at him. “How could you possibly know that?”

“Your father.”

She gasped. “Traitor. I like him. He will never recover from that compliment.”

Nicholas smiled. Caroline shook her head. Then, quite suddenly, she said, “Samuel once brought me roses every year on my birthday.”

Nicholas’s expression changed only slightly. Caroline noticed. She had not meant to mention Samuel. The old name had simply appeared.

“He remembered,” she added.

Nicholas nodded. “That was kind.”

Caroline looked at him. No jealousy. No irritation. No attempt to compare. That steadiness made her continue.

“I used to think everything he remembered meant something.”

Nicholas waited.

“I suppose now I am wondering whether I am doing the same thing again. With you.”

“Yes.”

Caroline frowned. “What?”

“Do not interpret. Ask.”

She looked at him.

“If I remember something you said, ask whether it means something. I will answer truthfully.”

Caroline studied him. “All right.”

She touched the compass. “Did this mean something?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

Nicholas’s eyes remained on hers. “That I pay attention to you.”

Caroline swallowed. “Anything else?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“That I wanted you to know I pay attention to you.”

Her breath caught. He smiled faintly.

“You see. Much faster.”

Caroline laughed. And in that laugh, something changed. Not dramatically. But truly. For the first time, she began to understand that love with Nicholas might not require guessing.

That alone felt almost radical.