When the question of a return to that little town house was mooted in
earnest, Caroline joined issue with Mrs. Brenton in pronouncing the
suggestion impracticable.
She was honest enough to confess that her objection was to a large
degree based on sentiment.
"Oh, don't go back there; you had so many, many dark days there," she
urged. "Besides, the house is let till March. Why not let us go to
Paris for a few months? Don't you think that is a good idea?"
"Oh!" said Camilla, delightedly; "then you _are_ coming with me?"
It was Caroline who looked surprised.
"Of course. I should love to stay six months in Paris. I want to pick
up French if I can, and it would be so good for the children."
Camilla agreed.
"And if Cuthbert should pass through Paris we need not see him," she
mused. "Happily he would not be able to stay for more than a few days;
he owes too much. Caroline, we _will_ do this!"
So it was settled, despite Mrs. Brenton's protestations; but, as usual,
Camilla upset the arrangement. She was happy at Yelverton for a week or
two, but all at once she got restless, and went up to town for a few
days. From thence she announced that she was going to pay one or two
country visits.
Caroline was still making preparations for the migration to Paris, when
the children's mother wrote announcing that their plans would be
changed.
"I have some news for you," she scribbled; "Sammy is going to be
married! My little matrimonial scheme has 'panned out' successfully. I
can't say that Sammy is exactly my idea of a husband; but this girl is
apparently wildly in love, and thinks herself ever so lucky. They are
both staying here. It seems that old Lady Broxbourne is delighted, and
the wedding is to be in a few weeks' time. For my sins I have promised
to do all I can for the bride this season; she is quite provincial, you
know, and has everything to learn, and she clings to me almost
pathetically. So I am afraid our little jaunt abroad will be knocked on
the head till the summer, at all events; and then I think we ought to
coax a yacht out of Rupert, and have a real good time. What do you
think?"
Yelverton was very quiet without Camilla, and the children fretted for
her a good deal.
Caroline herself was actually conscious of a sensation of void and
loneliness. She could never pass the room where Camilla had been
without a sort of pang.
Long ago she had ceased to question or to speculate on the
extraordinary power of this other woman; to ask herself why or why not
certain things should be! She simply recognized that, despite all that
had gone and all that might come, she loved Camilla with a deep, and an
anxious love, and would always give homage to the caressing, the
bewitching influence of this beautiful, this most unreliable of women.
Sometimes, indeed, Caroline confessed to herself that even with her
eyes widely opened as they now were, she would still do what she had
done in the past, and if protection were needed, exert every effort of
wit and courage to stand beside Camilla and keep trouble away.
And this although she had sacrificed her own feelings so vainly,
although she knew Camilla would have been totally unable of
comprehending what that apparent friendship with Broxbourne had cost
her, and what real suffering had come to her through it.
On the day the letter came containing the news of the approaching
Broxbourne marriage, Caroline left the children playing hide-and-seek
in the hall, and went out for a little walk.
The day was bleak, and she felt the cold penetrate her heart.
She pushed on quickly till she left the house well behind her, and then
she sat down and closed her eyes. Of late there had been many moments
when she had felt tired out in spirit, when life would seem empty and
unprofitable; such a mood fell upon her now. She was not sure if it was
disappointment or a sense of relief that followed on the realization
that she was not to be uprooted from the life of the last six months.
All she knew was that she had become so nervous that she winced when
the children screamed either in play or temper, and that she had a
strong desire to scream herself sometimes.
"I think I will go off somewhere all by myself for a week or two," she
mused now. "I know I must be horrid to live with just now. When I
banged my books down on the table last night, I saw Mr. Brenton look at
me as if he thought I had gone mad. I believe I ought to have taken Mr.
Haverford's advice, and have travelled a little last year. I should
hate to leave the children now, but I am not at all sure it would not
be a good thing for them. Perhaps I will talk it over with Mrs.
Brenton." A moment later she said, "No, I don't think I will. If I do
she will only question, and if she wants to know what is wrong, and why
I want to go away, what on earth am I to say to her? If I cannot
satisfy myself I am not likely to satisfy her."
With a sharp sigh she relinquished this train of thought, and leaning
back, she closed her eyes, and remained with them closed for a little
while. Then all at once she was conscious that some one was watching
her, and she opened her eyes quickly. In reality, Rupert was not
looking at her, but was pacing to and fro in front of the bench.
As she sat forward with a jerk, he turned and came hurriedly towards
her.
"What madness brought you out here to sleep?" he queried, almost
sharply.
Caroline knit her brows.
"I don't think I have been asleep," she answered. Then confusedly, "How
long have you been here?"
"Ten minutes--a quarter of an hour?"
He continued to look at her fixedly.
"You are ill," he said; "you look very white. Mrs. Brenton wrote me she
was anxious about you; that is what brought me down to-day."
This brought the colour flaming to her cheeks.
"I am perfectly well. I am always well!"
He bent forward, took both her cold hands, and drew her to her feet.
For an instant he chafed her hands almost unconsciously. Then they
walked on a little, Caroline as in a dream.
Suddenly he paused, and catching her hands again more closely, faced
her. There were tears in her eyes just ready to run down her cheeks.
"If you are well, why are you crying?" he asked abruptly. Then
tenderly, "Come, Caroline, be honest with me. Something is wrong, and I
must know what that something is. Don't you realize that I would give
my life itself to be sure that you were happy? Have you the least idea
what you are to me--how much I love you?"
She shook her head; and then she looked up, and her lips smiled for an
instant.
"How should I know these things? You have never told them to me."
"Surely yes," he said.
"Surely no," she answered. "That day you spoke to me just after you
came back from America, you simply dictated to me the fact that you
found you required a wife, and that you considered me a suitable person
for the situation; and your letter at Christmas was just the same
thing."
"I knew I had done some clumsy thing," he said remorsefully. "But
dearest, sweetest heart, you must have known that I love you!"
He unloosened her hands as he spoke, meaning to gather her into his
arms, but she placed those two little hands in protecting fashion
against his heart.
"No. Wait," she said. "It can't be true. Remember what she was to you.
If you are the man I imagine you to be, then you are not one to easily
forget. You--you can't love me if you loved her."
He smiled, but he answered her gravely.
"Since you have apparently studied me and my nature so well, the whole
situation should be clear to you. Other people might doubt, but not
you, Caroline. You were so closely mingled in with that episode, and
you must have realized that when she took herself out of my life
everything appertaining to her faded absolutely into the background.
The way had been prepared for this so thoroughly. You know that evening
I came down here that I was clinging to a last hope, even though I knew
how poor it was. I confess," he said, with a faint smile, "that had we
separated differently, some sentiment might have lingered. It was the
way she did this that swept my heart clean. And yet," he added, "I am
wrong to deny all sentiment. I am her friend--I am glad to be her
friend--and I shall never cease trying to help her to the happiness she
craves for; but I shall never succeed. No one can help her. It is her
destiny to be a disappointment to herself, and to all who have her
interest at heart."
Caroline shivered a little. Her hands had dropped. They were standing
apart now.
"And still she holds one. There is a sort of spell about her," she
said, in a low voice--"you must recognize that. I, too, have suffered
through her, and yet----" Then she bit her lip, flushed crimson, and
said passionately, "I could never share! Don't think I am only
sensible, and practical, and quiet ... I ... I know myself better, I am
capable of horrid feelings, and my temper can be quite savage.... I
don't want to fill a gap.... I want all for myself. Why, even when I
realize what she was to you, I feel as if I could suffocate...."
She was turning away, but he caught her by the shoulder and wheeled her
round.
"Do you know what that means?" he said, in a curious voice; "that means
that you love me. And do you suppose I am going to let you slip out of
my life now that I know this? Caroline, you _shall_ not deny me my
right! I have stood by all these months I even came here to-day with
the intention of saying nothing more to you on this subject, because I
said to myself, 'I have no right to force myself upon her; if she cared
a toss of a button about me she would not play with me;' but the
temptation to speak was too strong, and now that you have confessed
that I am indeed so much to you ... you will never get rid of me!"
He was holding her so tightly that he almost hurt her.
The colour waned in her face, and came back with a rush as she tried to
look at him and could not meet his eyes.
"When will you marry me?" he asked.
She gasped.
"Oh, please," she said, "I don't think I said anything to ... to ...
but if ... suppose that I should care for you a little, that does not
mean that ..." she broke off.... "Really, I cannot marry you," she said
then, with a note of desperation in her voice.
Haverford laughed.
"Why? Give me one good reason, and I will let you go."
She had to laugh too, but she would not yield easily.
She enumerated many reasons.
"The children need me ... it is so soon. I have ever so many things I
want to do this year...." Then finally and a little weakly, "I don't
want to marry at all."
Rupert looked at her intently.
"There is not one honest reason in all these, and the last is the
weakest of the lot," he said coolly. "I really cannot listen to it.
You must think of something else...."
"I can hear the children," Caroline said, in a hurry. "Listen! don't
you hear them calling for me? I am convinced they will have forgotten
their coats, and this wind is so cold."
Rupert's eyes glistened.
"Let them come.... I will refer the matter to Betty.... She will soon
settle everything."
Caroline turned crimson, and then she put out her hand.
"Perhaps ... I will marry you ... but it must be ever so far off....
Wait ... will you wait?" she asked half wistfully.
He stooped, and despite the fact that the children were so very near
now, he kissed her hands and then her lips.
"You know I will ... all my life, if you insist," he answered.
But Caroline did not keep him waiting quite so long.
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End of Project Gutenberg's Capricious Caroline, by E. Maria Albanesi