Page 259 of Dukes for Dessert

“Thank you,” she mumbled. “I didn’t mean to rouse you from slumber.” She started to turn away, then thought better of it. “When you speak to Swinton, can you ask him—”

“Can’t, Miss.” The footman made an apologetic face. “Left with His Grace, Mr. Swinton did.”

Carole stared at him in horror, her heart beating too fast. She’d ruined Judith’s chance at happiness as well as her own. This was going to destroy her.

Just as it was destroying Carole. There was nothing left for her here.

Somehow, she stumbled down Adam’s front walk and back into her bedchamber. She shut the door firmly, crawled up into her fourposter bed, and closed the curtain tightly.

Darkness. That was what she needed. And her pillow. And a good cry. But the tears didn’t come, no matter how long she lay there, staring blindly into the dark. They didn’t come until Judith crawled in beside her and said it wasn’t Carole’s fault. Sometimes people leave, even when we love them. Sometimes they leave and never come back. That was life. All they could do was carry on.

The days blended together. Carole stayed in her dark hideaway where it was safe. Where she could pretend she was still dreaming and might wake up at any moment.

The rattle of a tea tray jerked her back to the present. She waited in silence for the sound of the tray sliding onto the table and the metallic latch of the door, indicating Rhoda had returned to her duties. The tray rattled onto the table. The door did not close behind the maid.

Carole slipped a finger in the crack between her curtains and gasped.

Her father sat on the dressing stool next to the tea tray.

“What are you doing?” she stammered.

He poured two cups. “You didn’t keep our billiards match.”

A hitch somewhere between a laugh and a sob tangled in her throat. That was what it had taken for her father to take an interest in her life.

“Did you wait long?” she asked bitterly.

“Two days.” He stirred a lump of sugar into one of the cups. “But I’m getting better at making your tea how you like it. Do you want some while it’s still hot?”

Father had been bringing in her tea trays?

“I…” was all she managed.

He tied the curtains to the posts, then brought two steaming teacups to the edge of the bed. “Sit with me?”

She sat up and accepted the warm cup. “You forgot the saucers.”

“I’m not very good at this,” he answered lightly, but his eyes were full of pain. “I’m not good at this, love. I haven’t been good at anything since your mother died.”

Her heart twisted. “I’ve been trying to help. I—”

“You’ve been singlehandedly running this household since before you were old enough to leave the schoolroom. In my grief, I let you. I shouldn’t have. I closed myself away when you needed me most.”

“I didn’t mind helping,” she whispered.

“That’s how you dealt with your grief. If you personally filled the hole, then maybe there wouldn’t be one. Being in charge gave you a purpose. Making decisions about the menu made you feel you still had some say over life. I know, because I was doing the same thing, up in my study. I couldn’t save your mother, but maybe I could save more money for our household. I just had to research a little more. Sell this stock. Buy that bond. Concentrate on the market.”

She stared down into her cup and nodded. “I knew you were working.”

“I wasn’t working, sweetling. I was running away. I was hiding inside ledgers and books and numbers. Sound familiar?”

“Maybe.” Sketchbooks, billiards. Geometry she could predict. Drawings she could control. “So what do we do?”

“We stop running away and start running to. That’s why I came here to you.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “What do you want?”

What she couldn’t have.

“The duke next door?” Father guessed, his gaze fierce. “If he hurt you—”

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