Lady Eustice decided we did not suit after all, a conclusion, I confess, I was reluctantly coming to myself. A conclusion, I suspect as well, Father had already come to, although, in his infinite wisdom, he refrained from interfering in my decision. For once, I rather wish he had.

I do so hate making mistakes of this sort, as I have done twice now. One would think, given the many mistakes I made in my younger days, I would be accustomed to making unwise decisions. So it is as surprising to me as it may well be to you that choosing the wrong bride yet again bothers me.

I have come to think of myself as being more than moderately intelligent and yet, in one of the biggest decisions I shall ever make, I have been in error twice now. One can only hope I have learned my lesson. Although I did think the lesson was Miss Whitingdon, and Lady Eustice was the result of what I had learned. Apparently not.

In some respects, I blame you for my misfortune. In a most superstitious manner, I have begun to think that fate, or some higher power, will not allow me to be wed if I have invited you to the wedding and you have failed to appear. Therefore, as I suspect your presence can never be assured, I shall simply not tell you of my impending nuptials in the future. You will receive an announcement of my wedding only after it is an accomplished fact.

And, yes, Gray, I will attempt this again. It is my duty after all to provide an heir and as you have failed to assure the continuance of the family name, that too falls to me. The burdens of responsibility are great, but I do attempt to bear them without complaint. Do try not to laugh.

There is a beneficial side to all this. While dreadfully disappointed, Mother has already thrown herself into attempts to find a perfect bride for me. She has begun discussing the current offering of debutantes in a most casual manner, as if I will not notice what she is doing. She is never so happy as when she, and her friends, are attempting to make a match. Although, my latest failure at matrimonial bliss has oddly enough made her question her own judgment in this arena. She did believe Lady Eustice was a perfect match for me.

Father now claims he never liked her. . . .


Part Three:

Caroline



Sir William and Lady Hibbitt


request the honour of your presence


at the marriage of their daughter


Miss Caroline Gwendolyn Hibbitt


to


The Right Honorable


The Viscount Stillwell


on Wednesday, May twenty-first


eighteen hundred and eighty-four


at half-past ten o’clock


Fairborough Hall


Chapter 5



April 1884


My dear Gray,

Is there a more optimistic time of year than spring? I think not. Why, the very air itself is imbued with the promise of better days ahead. Days of warmth and light and frolic. Do not scoff at the poetic nature of my words, Gray, as I am certain is your inclination. Perhaps you have forgotten, but I can be quite lyrical when the appropriate mood strikes. Regardless, my humble words can only approach the delight of this season of new beginnings.

Would that the glory of budding primroses and blooming violets work their magic and lure you home. While there is no lack of pride in your accomplishments, it has been nearly nine years since you have last set foot on England’s shores. Your family and friends agree that is entirely too long. Do consider returning, if only for a short time. Mother fears she will no longer recognize you or worse, with the passage of time, you will not recognize her.

Until then, I should acquaint you with some of the more interesting bits of news that I have happened upon of late. You may recall, my first engagement came to an end when Miss Whitingdon decided she preferred marriage to Mr. Hedges-Smythe over marriage to me. As Mr. Hedges-Smythe was the sole heir to the elderly Duke of Monmount, Miss Whitington looked forward to one day becoming the Duchess of Monmount. What is it they say about even the best laid plans?

Forgive me, Gray, if I seem decidedly snide or smug or even wicked in the telling of this tale, but I cannot seem to help myself. Indeed, since I heard the news I have had the most disgraceful tendency to grin like a lunatic. Last year, much to everyone’s surprise, the duke wed a lady some forty years younger than himself. A few weeks ago, the duchess gave birth to twin boys, thus ending Mrs. Hedges-Smythe’s ambitions.

I suspect you too are now grinning like a lunatic....



Win strode down the walkway on the west side of the broad stretch of lawn that ran the length of the Fairborough Hall formal gardens. The breeze whispered through the twelve-foot-tall beech hedges that effectively boxed in outdoor rooms on either side of the lawn.

There were six such rooms, each concealing a different purpose or landscape. One sheltered the rose garden; a large fountain and pool filled another; two more were devoted to tennis and croquet courts respectively; and the remainders were dedicated to whimsical, some might say confusing, gardens with a profusion of blossoming plants, arbors, statuary and whatever else struck his mother’s fancy in any given season. She had long ago surrendered the planning and design of the rose garden to the gardener, but these two areas she retained to rule over and do with as she pleased.

The center lawn was bounded and crossed at right angles by crushed stone walkways. As a child, Win had always thought it was a pity that those long past designers of Fairborough’s gardens had decided to train hedging for rooms rather than mazes like those at Millworth Manor. Although at the moment, Win was grateful that he was trying to find his fiancée in easily navigated boxes rather than a puzzle of a maze.

Caroline’s maid said she had gone for a walk in the gardens but had no idea which one. As the day was so delightful, Win thought he would join her. He had checked the first two rooms on this side of the lawn and was headed toward the third. The spring in his step matched the lightheartedness of his mood. He was about to be married to the woman who was surely his perfect match. This time, he had nothing to worry about. Not that he had worried before, an annoying voice in the back of his head noted. He ignored it.

Winfield Elliott was not the sort of man given to introspection. He was not prone to melancholy, brooding or the writing of dark poetry late in the night. Nor was he the type given to searching his soul even if, on occasion, his conscience might bear further examination. No, on the contrary, he considered himself quite a jovial, friendly sort. He hid no deep secrets, no skeletons in his closet as it were. Indeed, he was very much an open book sort of person.

Life, he firmly believed, was a pleasant adventure.

Certainly, in his younger days he had often come perilously close to full-fledged scandal, but in nearly every instance he had escaped relatively unscathed. And because he had far more intelligence than most usually credited him with, he had learned a lesson from every misadventure. He had never known real tragedy or true heartbreak. But with Caroline, while he knew he wasn’t truly in love with her, he suspected he was very, very close to it. He suspected as well that he had resisted giving her his heart as something of a precaution. After all, he had already experienced two failed engagements.

There was nothing about Miss Caroline Hibbitt not to love. She was much younger than he, which struck him as beneficial, as his previous fiancées had been close to his own age. She was lovely, of course, with hair a shade of red so pale it seemed more like gold, creamy flawless complexion and eyes the color of summer skies that sparkled when she laughed. And she laughed a great deal, finding amusement in much the same things he did. She was clever and funny and at ease with her place in the world. She was not overly outspoken, but she was not especially quiet as well. Win considered himself fortunate to have found her. Caroline was surely his destiny. The woman he had been waiting for, even if he hadn’t known it, and well worth waiting for. This was a woman he could gladly spend the rest of his days with. A woman he could—he would—easily love. And in a scant four days, she would be his wife.

The faint murmur of voices sounded on the breeze, apparently coming from the last garden room on this side of the lawn, the one sheltering the croquet court. It appeared someone had already joined Caroline in the gardens.

The rooms did not open directly onto the lawn. Indeed, from the lawn one would have no idea of the hidden gardens behind the hedges. One had to follow the walkways between the hedges to find the arched openings on the north and south sides of each separate room.

Win turned and approached the opening. In spite of continued trimming, the hedges had grown thicker through the years and were now nearly ten feet in width. He started through the archway. That was indeed Caroline’s voice. He didn’t recognize the second voice, but it was definitely male.

“What are you doing here?” Caroline’s voice rose. Win slowed. What on earth was going on? “You shouldn’t be here.”

“You can’t marry him, Caro.”

Win stopped short. Caro? That was rather affectionate. Who was this man?

“Oh, but I can,” Caroline said firmly. “And I fully intend to.”

The right thing to do at this point would be to make his presence known. But right would not answer the questions that immediately came to mind. Win stepped back, moved to one side, found a small break in the leaves and bent to peer through the hedge.