Page 52 of Every Rogue Has His Charm

“And what do you suggest for me, Hartwell?” drawled her father.

Again, that dangerous flash in Maxim’s eye. But when he spoke, he only asked with exaggerated politeness, “What would be your pleasure, Laughton?”

Caro wondered how long he intended to maintain this façade of civility, and to what end. She’d agreed to let him manage the situation, but she was still uncertain whether he could truly earn her trust.

“Is there any shooting hereabouts?” Papa had always enjoyed the pastime and frequently wrangled an invitation from friends; he had never gone to the trouble or expense of maintaining his own coveys.

Maxim’s answering smile was positively wolfish. “I’m certain that could be arranged.”

Caro scrambled to remember whether, among the various rumors she’d heard, there happened to be one about Maxim killing men, merely for the pleasure of watching them die? If not, he looked ready to start one.

“What a lovely day you’ve planned for everyone, my dear,” she said with an approving nod.

In short order, the ladies had donned their pelisses and bonnets and were ready to depart through the front door, while the gentlemen, in sporting garb, prepared to leave out the back. “I’ve given Mrs. Horn instructions to have dinner ready at seven,” Maxim announced, and they all agreed they would be ready to dine by then.

From Royal Crescent, Caro led her sister, mother, and aunt along her more usual stroll down the Marine Parade toward the center of town, though at half the pace. Still, she had the pleasure of seeing the wind and the sunshine bring some color to her mother’s wan complexion.

“Brighton is a lovely spot,” Mama said. “I can see now why you chose it.”

“We ought to have paid her a visit sooner,” said her aunt.

For the first time, Caro almost wished they had—though preferably without Papa. She’d always been lonely here. She’d told herself she wanted to be alone.

But she hadn’t. Why else had she sought out a place with a constant bustle of activity? Why else had she been so quick to accept the overtures of women like Mrs. Scott and Mrs. Drummond? She didn’t feel betrayed by either of them. Not exactly. She felt…foolish. Foolish for not having seen through their warm smiles. And oddly, naively hopeful that, despite the fact they’d been following General Scott’s orders, there might still be something genuine in the friendship they’d offered.

Six years ago, Caro had let a fantasy of rescue, of being swept away from her problems, lure her into heartbreak. Now, however, the future that beckoned on the horizon felt different, more substantial. More real.

Had anything actually changed, though? Had Maxim changed?

Had she?

Cathy slipped her arm through Caro’s. “Do you know, I have never once in my life believed that Aunt Brent was truly ill.” Their father’s sister stumped along ahead of them, making little use of her walking stick. For once, she was not complaining. “You seem well too. Though none of us had any notion we would find your husband in residence.” Her sister’s expression was sly. “In town, one hears nothing but rumors—”

“I wouldn’t put much stock in those,” Caro said.

They had walked along the Marine Parade to the bottom of the Steyne, still green despite the late season. Mama’s and Aunt Brent’s pace began to slow. “Shall we turn back?” she asked them.

Catherine’s plump lips flattened into a thin line of disappointment. “I wanted to see Mrs. Fitzherbert’s house. It’s near here, isn’t it? I’ve heard Prinny set her up in grand fashion—is it very scandalous?”

“It’s very elegant,” Caro corrected, her tone a subtle reprimand—too subtle for Catherine, she felt sure.

“I wouldn’t wish to spoil your afternoon,” Mama insisted. “I’m sure I can find my way back. If Hester will accompany me…” She looked toward her sister-in-law.

“The air here is fine,” Aunt Brent said, as if mulling over the decision, “but one must be careful not to overdo.”

“Geoffrey will accompany you both.” Caro signaled to the footman who was, as always, keeping a respectful distance. “And Mrs. Horn will see to your comfort—whatever you need. Cathy and I will go on, perhaps peek into some shops. Once you have these ladies settled,” she said to Geoffrey, “you may come back for us.” She suspected that her sister hoped to accumulate a few purchases.

“Very good, Your Grace.”

Once the two elder ladies were on their way, Caro led her sister into the narrower streets of town, expecting her to exclaim over the shop windows filled with various delights.

Cathy was oddly silent, however. At last, outside a dressmaker’s, she paused to inspect a bonnet on display. Caro braced herself for the pleading to begin.

But when she spoke, she said nothing of the hat. “I thought, after you married, you might have me to stay with you. People do issue such invitations, you know.”

Caro started. She and her sister had never been close, and the differences between them had only been amplified by the five-year gap in their ages. “Papa would never have allowed it,” she reminded her. “Especially not given my…circumstances.”

Cathy’s shoulders sagged. “No. I suppose you’re right. But he isn’t easy to live with, you know.”