Page 38 of Awakening a Lord's Desires
Caroline knew her father was right, but she could not allow him to remain any longer there. “It doesn’t matter. Max can stay if he likes. But we should take you home.” She managed to get him to the door when Penelope and Max approached her.
“What is going on?” Penelope said sharply, frowning at her, and it took all of Caroline’s patience to reply as calmly as she could.
“Father is ill. I found him sitting alone in a chair and sweating.” She tried to loosen his cravat, and she motioned to a footman to assist. “He must go home.”
Penelope looked at her husband with irritation, and then she took his arm.
“Very well,” she said. “Max, you will come, too.”
“But Aunt,” he argued, and she shook her head.
“It will not look good if you do not come.”
They stared at one another for a few seconds before he relented. Caroline would have been very happy for him to not come, but she took her father’s other arm, and the footman helped him from the other side, down the steps and into the waiting carriage.
Everyone was silent on the way home, and her father closed his eyes and leaned his head back as the carriage rolled on. Penelope watched him closely while Max, frustrated and bored, looked out of the window. As for Caroline, she tried to keep herself from crying. She was worried about her father and his recent fatigue and wondered if this was the summation of it all.
All she could think about for the rest of the ride was that he should not leave her alone.
Do not leave me with these people, Father, I beg you.
But she hated herself for her selfishness and tried to think only of his recovery. When they arrived home, the young footman helped him out of the carriage, and she followed him up to bed with Penelope at her side. They said nothing to one another as they ascended.
But once they entered the room, and the footman had helped her father into his bed, removing his boots, and placing him under the covers, Penelope looked grim.
“I shall call for the doctor,” she said quietly before she slipped out, and Caroline and her father were left on their own.
Caroline pulled a chair up next to her father where he reclined, and he reached out for her.
“Father,” she sighed, “I wish you would take better care of yourself. You should not have gone to the ball tonight. You could have stayed home to rest.”
“And miss seeing my daughter looking so lovely in her gown?”
She smiled. “Yes, you can miss that, for there will be other balls. It seems there is an endless stream of them.”
He started to laugh, but then he coughed, and she patted his hand. “Oh, I should not make jokes. You need to rest.”
“Please, Caroline. You look worried, just like your mother used to look. You, just like her, get this line right between your brows.” He motioned to the spot on his face with his thumb.
Caroline breathed out slowly. Her father hardly spoke of her mother, but when he did, she soaked up every last word, wishing she could hear more and more.
“Well, she must have known just how stubborn you are about your health.”
“She certainly did.”
“Now,” he said sharply. “Go downstairs and enjoy the rest of your evening. I will not have you sitting here worrying about me, and the doctor will be along presently. I shall be fine in the morning. I know it.”
She rose reluctantly, knowing that her father would not stop pressing her until she did leave. “Very well. Although if you mean for me to enjoy my evening with Max, then you have a far better opinion of me than I realised.”
He chortled, and she left quickly afraid to start another coughing fit, and she wandered into the drawing room where Max sat and the butler had left out a few refreshments. She poured herself a cup of tea, and Max folded down his paper and stared at her.
“I see what you are doing, Caroline.”
“What?” she replied in a bored tone, sipping at her cup.
“You are getting in the way of me making a match with your friend, Lady Chatsworth. And now, your father has done so by forcing us to leave so early.”
Anger soared through her. “Max, that was not intentional, as you well know.”
