Susan Johnson - Again and Again

Simon was sourly contemplating similar vengeful thoughts as he stood at the window of their bedroom at the inn. His attempts to cajole or threaten the grooms and ostlers to divulge Caroline’s direction had been unsuccessful. God knows what story she’d given them; they’d looked at him with disdain. And now duped and deceived, he was at an impasse. She could have dropped off the face of the earth for all he knew. Damn her. This was the second time she’d left him without so much as a word.

He swore, his breath frosting the window pane. It wasn’t as though he’d dragooned her into staying. She’d obviously enjoyed herself, unless her orgasmic screams were pretense and he’d bet his estates they weren’t-hell… they’d barely left the bed. He swore again, his expletives having to do with deceitful women and his own gullibility. He’d actually considered asking her to accompany him on his hunting holiday-like some idiot wet-behind-the-ears pup. And maybe he would have asked her more… maybe he would have asked her-his low growl interrupted the humiliating thought.

Damn! How could he have been so stupid?

Probably because women didn’t run away from him, he sullenly thought. On the contrary-they were always in pursuit. Although he wasn’t so vain or crass that he didn’t understand Caroline had a life of her own. He wouldn’t have asked her to make undue or drastic changes in whatever plans she might have.

She needn’t have left like a bloody thief in the night!

He blew out a frustrated breath, staring unfocused at the busy street below, resentment and desire warring in his brain. Sighing, he contemplated his nonplussed situation. Then, despite himself, a smile slowly formed on his mouth. God, she was good. His smile broadened. Incredible actually. And he should know after fucking his way through a multitude of ladies here and abroad for a great many years.

His libertine propensities well honed, he turned from the window. Looking for Caroline was certainly worth a day or two of his time. And should he find her-no, when he found her, his frustration would be mitigated on numerous levels.

His smile this time was wicked.

It shouldn’t be too difficult picking up her trail. He’d head south first, he thought, moving toward the door. Presumably she was on her way to London.

While Simon was scouring the countryside south of Shipton, Caroline was traveling north as quickly as bad roads would allow. Her employers had expected her two days ago and she didn’t dare lose this job. It wasn’t as though there were dozens of governess positions that paid this well, nor were there many conveniently located at the proverbial ends of the earth. Her employers’ proximity to the Scottish border appealed to her need for seclusion.

As she neared her destination, Netherton Castle came into view. Perched on the heights above a north branch of the River Tyne, its crenellated silhouette was visible from afar. One of the early border fortresses built by England to keep the northern marauders at bay, the fort had been added to and improved upon over the centuries, the latest Palladian wing pale against the sky. But the sprawling structure was still predominantly medieval: gray, massive, built for defense, its dark shadow casting the valley below in shade.

At close range, Caroline was awed by the immensity of history that had transpired inside and without its walls. She surveyed the great pile of granite with wonder as her carriage clattered over the drawbridge, rolled over the cobblestoned court, and came to rest before an enormous door crisscrossed with great iron bars designed to keep out an enemy. Stepping down from the carriage, she gazed at the family motto carved over the formidable door: HE SHALL RULE THEM WITH A ROD OF IRON.

Harsh, unwelcoming words.

Struck by a sudden chill, she wondered if she could really do this-become a governess… assume a subservient position… give up the freedoms she so dearly craved. Maybe she should take Simon’s two hundred pounds and flee back to the Continent where no one knew her-where she could at least live an independent life, albeit in the demimonde. Taking herself to task a second later, she reminded herself there would be time enough to run should her employment prove untenable.

Taking a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders, moved toward the imposing door and reached for the knocker.

The Countess of Netherton was in a small sitting room, writing at a white and gilt desk when Caroline was shown in. She immediately smiled, rose to her feet and hurried forward, holding out her hand. “Do come in. May I call you Caroline? We’re quite informal out here in the wilds. Thornton, have tea brought up.” She took in Caroline’s paleness. “You look chilled to the bone. The weather’s been dreadful, hasn’t it? Come,” she drew Caroline forward. “Sit by the fire.”

Within moments, Caroline was put at ease, her new employer so genuinely kind the tightness in her shoulders melted away. Tall and fair, Lady Carlisle was dressed in a scarlet wool gown without ornament, her hair, fashionably short and curled, her smile quite capable of renewing a cynic’s faith in humanity. They spoke of the weather and the state of the roads, of the castle’s history and antecedents, of children in a general way and in short order, Caroline was feeling as though her new position was going to prove agreeable.

Tea arrived as Lady Jane was describing her two children in the glowing phrases of a doting mother. “You’ll meet the little darlings later,” she said with a teasing smile. “Hugh and Joanna are out riding with their father. Since it warmed up slightly today, Ian agreed to take them to the village for sticky buns. It’s not as though our cook can’t bake sticky buns, but you know how much better they taste when you’re away from home.”

“I understand. My father and I would ride to our village for cream cakes,” Caroline said. The pleasure as a child is out of all proportion to the simple treat.“

“Isn’t it just… although Ian and the children enjoy each other’s company most, I think.”

“I know the feeling.” Caroline went silent, her childhood made perfect by a father who adored her, his loss like a wound that wouldn’t heal.

“You said in your letter, your parents are gone.” Lady Jane’s tone was sympathetic.

Caroline forced her thoughts to the present. “My mother died when I was very young so I don’t remember her well.” How often had she uttered that phrase; it never got easier. “My father has been gone five years now.”

“I’m sorry. My parents too are no longer with me. I understand how difficult it can be.”

Caroline smile was strained. “One must make do.”

“Yes, of course.” Jane leaned over to pat Caroline’s hand. “The passage of time helps, I’ve found, and keeping busy is an additional antidote. Tell me of your life abroad,” she added, diplomatically changing the subject. “Your letter mentioned you’d been living in France.”

“I was married to a French émigré. He died a few months ago.” Divorce was often perceived as scandalous. Caroline chose caution.

“My condolences. Do you have other family?”

Caroline shook her head, suddenly unable to speak as a great rush of loneliness washed over her.

“How awful for you. Perhaps I could give you some of my eight brothers and sisters-please, I beg of you, take them,” Jane said with a grin. “They all live in the neighborhood and are constantly underfoot”

Jane’s attempt at levity served its purpose and Caroline smiled. “I look forward to meeting them.”

“You won’t be so gracious once you do. My sisters love to give orders and my brothers speak of nothing but their hunting dogs and horses.” She chuckled. “I’m afraid, it’s an instance of the pot calling the kettle black-but nevertheless, they are a trial on occasion. I’m the youngest, you see.”

Caroline lifted her brows. “And always in need of their advice, they no doubt presume.”

“So they contend.” Jane shrugged and smiled. “I have quite a different opinion, of course.”

“It sounds as though you have a busy household. I look forward to the distractions.”

“Good. Perhaps we can help ease your loneliness. As for your duties, you needn’t be apprehensive. I don’t expect my children to be serious students. Neither Ian nor I are bookish. Our interests are almost exclusively horses and hunting,” she added. “The countryside is perfect for coursing… and very beautiful.” Jane waved her hand in a deprecating gesture. “Not so much now as in the warmer months. Should you like to ride, we have a good stable. Feel free to take your pick of the mounts,” she offered.

“Thank you. I do like to ride.” Caroline almost said, I used to hunt with the Beaufort Hunt.

“We’ll see that you’re set up then. Do you have any requirements in terms of books and supplies for the schoolroom? I must say, your education is splendid-intimidating as a matter of fact; you speak six languages. How very impressive,” Jane said with a casual politesse; most of the aristocracy had little interest in education. “Your recommendation by the Duchesse of Montclair was impressive as well.”

The duchesse was extremely kind. She’s a distant relative of my poor departed husband.“ Caroline inwardly cringed at her fabrications, but she needed privacy and hermitage right now-somewhere far from London and the ton where she could take stock of her options. And additionally, since Shipton, somewhere Simon couldn’t find her.

“I have a feeling we’re going to muddle along famously,” Jane observed, brightly. “Please, have more cakes and jam. You’ve hardly eaten a thing. Let me freshen up your tea,” she declared, reaching for the teapot. “I can’t wait until Ian and the children meet you. They’re going to love you!”

Several days later, in the early evening, a mud-spattered carriage arrived at Netherton Castle, and a tall, dark-haired man leaped down to the cobblestones and strode toward the same door that had intimidated Caroline on her arrival. He was glowering, his mouth was set in a grim line and if it had been possible for fire to actually spark in one’s eyes, he would have incontestably illustrated that principle.

When Thornton greeted him in the cavernous entrance hall, the butler glanced at the man’s muddy boots, but knew better than to make mention of the muck he was leaving on the oriental carpet.

His host, however, wasn’t so politic when the visitor entered his drawing room.

“Good God, Simon, take off those filthy boots. Jane will have your head if you ruin her carpets.”

A muted growl issued from Simon’s pursed lips, but he sat, pulled off his boots and handed them to Thornton who received them with relief, grateful the muddy trail from the entrance hall up the grand staircase, down the corridor to the drawing room had come to an end.

“You look like you need a whiskey,” the Earl of Netherton said.

Simon nodded and rose to his feet “It’s been a miserable few days.”

“In what way, although from the look of you, I’m not sure I want to know. You look ready to do battle.”

“Damned women,” Simon muttered, moving toward his host. They’re the bane of my existence.“

Well aware of his friend’s reputation with the ladies, the earl’s concern lessened. “It’s nothing serious then.” He handed Simon his whiskey. “I stand relieved. I thought I might have to serve as second to you in some duel.” He turned to pour himself a drink.

“What makes you think it’s not serious?”

Ian Carlisle glanced over his shoulder, his brows arched in surprise. “You mean to tell me, it might be?”

Simon didn’t immediately answer. He tipped the whiskey down his throat, handed the glass back, said, “Fill it up,” and blew out a breath so obviously of frustration, Ian’s concern returned. “It could be serious,” Simon murmured. “Under the right circumstances… Oh, hell, I don’t know if it is or not… It doesn’t matter anyway. I can’t find her.”

Ian turned with their drinks and surveyed his friend’s less than impeccable attire. “You’ve been looking for some time apparently.”

“For three days. She disappeared off the face of the earth.”

“Anyone I know?”

“No. She was gone from London when you and Jane first came down.” Ian and Simon had become friends at Waterloo. “Oh, bloody hell.” Simon lifted the glass to his mouth. “Screw it. Tell me about the hunting.”

Dismissing women was more the norm than the exception with Simon. Back on familiar ground, Ian waved them into chairs near the fire and proceeded to describe the state of his coverts, deer herds, and hunting pack. By the time Jane came back with the book she’d gone in search of, the men were deep in a discussion of the next day’s hunt.