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 7
The invitations to Rivenhall became more frequent. So did Nicholas. Sometimes he came to Everly Park. Sometimes Caroline’s parents accompanied her to Rivenhall. Sometimes they met among friends.
Once, entirely by accident, Nicholas and Caroline found themselves alone in a bookshop for nearly twenty minutes while Lady Frances and Sir William argued outside about whether a new history of Rome was worth buying.
Nicholas picked up a volume. “You already own that.”
Caroline looked at him. “How do you know?”
“I saw it in your drawing room.”
“You remember my shelves?”
“I remember most things about you.”
She gave him a look. “That is either romantic or alarming.”
“I had hoped for romantic.”
“Still under review.”
He placed the book down. Caroline moved toward another shelf.
“Do you read novels?”
“Yes.”
She turned. “You?”
“I object to that tone.”
“I am surprised.”
“Why?”
“You look like a man who reads legislation for pleasure.”
“I do.”
“Good God.”
“I also read novels.” He hesitated.
Caroline’s eyes widened. “You are embarrassed.”
“No.”
“You are.”
“I am deciding whether I trust you.”
“With what?”
He lowered his voice. “I enjoyed Persuasion.”
Caroline stared. Then she smiled. “Very much.”
“Moderately.”
“That means very much.”
“It does not.”
“You are blushing.”
“I am not capable of blushing.”
“You are.”
Nicholas looked away. Caroline laughed so brightly that the bookseller looked up. Nicholas gave her a warning glance.
“The feared Duke of Rivenhall reads Persuasion.”
“If this reaches London, I shall deny everything.”
“Too late.”
“What will you demand for silence?”
Caroline considered. “Dinner.”
He stared. She realized what she had said.
“I mean — no.”
Nicholas smiled slowly. “Do continue.”
Caroline felt heat rise to her cheeks. “I meant that you may invite us again.”
“Us?”
“My parents. Of course.”
His expression remained entirely too pleased. Caroline narrowed her eyes.
“You are intolerable.”
“You invited yourself to my house.”
“I did not.”
“History will decide.”
She turned away, but she was smiling.
Later, in the carriage home, Caroline realized she had spent nearly the whole afternoon happy. Not distracted. Not recovering. Happy. There was a difference.
And when she thought of Samuel that evening, the memory did not hurt. It simply belonged to another version of herself.
A week later, Cecilia came home.
Not permanently — only for three days. She arrived at Everly Park in the afternoon and walked into the drawing room without ceremony, because old friendship rarely waits to be announced.
Caroline stood.
For one uncertain moment, neither woman moved. Then Cecilia crossed the room.
“I am sorry.”
Caroline closed her eyes. “No. I am.”
“You must not be.”
“But I should have known.”
“How?”
“I know you. So did Samuel.”
Cecilia flinched. Caroline immediately regretted the words.
“That was unfair.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Cecilia sat. Caroline joined her. For a moment, they simply looked at one another.
Then Cecilia said, “He never knew.”
“I know.”
“I asked him.”
Caroline’s heart tightened. “You did?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
Cecilia swallowed. “He said he had always thought of you as family.”
The words hurt. Not like before. But enough.
Caroline nodded. “Of course.”
“Caroline —”
“It is all right.”
“It does not sound all right.”
“No. But it is true.”
Cecilia reached for her hand. “I would never have —”
“Stop.”
Cecilia fell silent.
“You would have done exactly what you did. You loved him. He loved you. You said yes.”
Tears filled Cecilia’s eyes. “I hate that it hurt you.”
“So do I.”
They both laughed weakly. Caroline leaned back.
“I was wrong about him.”
“Wrong?”
“I thought he loved me because I loved him.”
Cecilia listened.
“I took familiarity and turned it into certainty.”
“He cared about you.”
“Yes.”
“Truly.”
“I know. But not —”
“No.”
Caroline found she could say the rest now. “And perhaps that is what I was actually grieving.”
“What?”
“Not Samuel.” She looked toward the window. “The life I imagined.”
Silence. Then Cecilia asked quietly, “And now?”
Caroline knew what she meant. Nicholas. She looked toward the window.
“Now I think I may have been imagining in the wrong direction.”
Cecilia’s eyes widened. “Oh.”
“Do not.”
“I said nothing.”
“You said it with your face.”
Cecilia smiled. “Rivenhall.”
Caroline sighed. “Yes. The Duke. The man.”
Cecilia’s smile softened. “That sounds serious.”
“It is becoming inconvenient.”
“Excellent.”
Caroline looked at her. “You are enjoying this too much.”
“I have spent three weeks feeling guilty. Allow me one pleasure.”
Caroline laughed. Then Cecilia’s expression changed.
“Does he love you?”
Caroline went quiet. “Yes.”
Cecilia waited.
“Years.”
“Oh, Caroline.”
“I know.”
“You did not know?”
“No.”
Cecilia stared at her. “Were you blind?”
Caroline burst out laughing. “Yes. Apparently.”
And for the first time, the idea did not frighten her. It amused her.
A little.
Three days before Christmas, Nicholas stopped courting her.
Not entirely. He still called. Still spoke to her. Still looked at her in that unbearable way. But something changed. The invitations became fewer. The notes stopped. He did not mention marriage. He did not mention the future.
Caroline noticed immediately.
She lasted two days.
On the third, she arrived at Rivenhall with her parents and cornered him in the long gallery.
“You are avoiding me.”
Nicholas looked genuinely surprised. “No.”
“Yes.”
“I saw you yesterday.”
“For twenty minutes. With twelve other people.”
“I did not arrange the twelve people.”
“You could have spoken to me.”
“I did.”
“You asked whether I preferred tea or coffee.”
“A serious question.”
“Nicholas.”
He went quiet. Caroline crossed her arms.
“What happened?”
Nicholas looked toward the windows. “Nothing.”
“Do not lie.”
His jaw tightened. She knew that look. He was deciding whether to tell her.
Caroline waited.
Finally, he said, “I decided I was becoming unfair.”
“To whom?”
“You.”
She stared. “How?”
Nicholas exhaled. “When Hartley became engaged, I allowed myself to hope.”
“Hope what?”
“By Christmas, I might ask you to marry me.”
Caroline’s heart stopped.
“By Christmas?”
“Yes.”
“Why Christmas?”
“No particular reason. It seemed far enough away to be possible and near enough to be hopeful.”
Caroline almost smiled.
“I thought if I had several weeks, I could show you — show you what? — that I could make you happy.”
“And now?”
Nicholas looked at her. “Now I think the deadline was selfish.”
She frowned.
“You never knew about it. I know. That makes it selfish. It made me measure your feelings against a calendar.”
Caroline said nothing.
“I realized two nights ago that I had begun wondering whether you were close enough to loving me.” The honesty hurt — not badly, deeply. “I do not want to do that.”
“Why?”
“Because your heart is not a task I am completing.”
Caroline’s eyes burned.
“If Christmas comes and you do not love me, nothing has failed.”
“Nicholas —”
“If January comes and you do not love me, nothing has failed.”
His voice softened. “If spring comes —”
She looked at him. “What if spring comes?”
“I wait.”
“And if I never —”
The possibility hurt him. She saw it. He answered anyway.
“Then I shall be grateful I was allowed to know you honestly.”
Caroline stared at him. Something inside her broke open. Not from pain. From recognition.
Samuel had once occupied her imagination. Nicholas occupied her life. There was the difference. She had spent years wondering whether Samuel would choose her. With Nicholas, she had spent weeks discovering that she was already chosen. Not because of beauty. Not because of rank. Not because she would make a suitable duchess. Because she was herself. Because he had listened. Because he knew when she needed silence. Because he had danced with her while she was breaking and never once asked gratitude in return. Because he had waited when she loved another man.
Because he was willing to wait again.
“I have been an idiot,” she said.
Nicholas’s brows rose. “I will not allow your father to hear you say that.”
“I have spent weeks telling myself not to confuse your attention with love.”
“That seems prudent.”
“And years confusing Samuel’s friendship with love.”
Nicholas’s face softened.
“I thought love meant hoping. I thought it meant reading every kindness twice. I thought it meant waiting for someone to become certain.”
“And now?”
Caroline’s eyes filled. “Now I think perhaps love is much simpler.”
“How?”
She reached for his hand. Nicholas went utterly still.
“It is being able to stop guessing.”
He inhaled.
“I know you love me.”
“Yes.”
“I know.”
“Yes.”
“And I think —” She laughed nervously. “I think I have been in love with you for several days and too embarrassed to admit how long it took me to notice.”
Nicholas did not move.
“Well,” she said, “this is the part where you say something.”
“I cannot speak.”
“At all?”
“I have imagined this moment for two years. I never once prepared for it to actually happen. I seem to have no plan.”
Caroline laughed through tears. “The feared Duke of Rivenhall has no answer.”
His hand closed around hers. “Say it again.”
“What?”
“The important part.”
Caroline’s heart pounded. “I love you.”
His eyes closed. Only for a second. When they opened, there was nothing guarded left in them. Caroline had never seen him like that. No duke. No reputation. No control. Only Nicholas.
“You love me.”
“I am beginning to regret telling you.”
He pulled her closer — not abruptly, enough to ask without words. Caroline stepped the rest of the distance herself.
His hand came to her cheek. “Caroline, if I kiss you, I am unlikely to be sensible afterward.”
She smiled. “That sounds promising.”
Nicholas laughed. Then he kissed her.
It was not gentle because he had waited too long. It was gentle because she mattered too much.
Caroline felt every foolish imagined future she had once built fade into insignificance. Not erased. Replaced by something real.