Page 55 of The Runner
So, this was how she must play the game to get his attention in this life. If she had to bet on it, she would put her money on him having more feelings for her than he had let on. He had seemed so formal, polite—even stilted in what she had seen of him in this life, but here was her George: a flesh and blood male. She risked a glance in his direction and saw he was still looking at her, and there was a fiery disapproval in his eyes.
Could the lord of the manor already have feelings for the lowly governess?
Cara needed to keep her edge if she was to discover what the state of affairs between them truly was, and so she turned back to the ruddy faced man, named Charles, and she flirted with him demurely. It was a delicate balance; she needed to keep George’s attention but avoid attracting the countess’s. She was just a governess and was supposed to be setting an example for Olivia. Mind you, in those days, a woman’s only role was to secure a good husband, and so perhaps she was setting a more helpful example for Olivia than she would like.
Either way, sweet Olivia deserved a much younger man, and so did Caroline, for that matter. Charles must be sixty if he was a day, and far too old for her, but she noticed that didn’t deter him.
‘Are you married, Charles?’ she enquired, to keep the conversation going and remind him of his duties. ‘Alas, no,’ he said, taking another huge slug of wine. ‘My dear wife passed away last year, and I am alone. I must confess I find it a lonely life.’
His eyes showed he would be more than open to the company of a young woman such as herself, and she drew back a little. He leaned into her again, and she had to force herself to play the game. She glanced in George’s direction and pretended to be looking at the other guests, but in that second, she glimpsed the thunderous expression on his face.
Okay, welcome back George. He clearly had feelings for her—the mark of jealousy was all over his handsome face.
Now she must find out how far their relationship had developed. She guessed they weren’t yet intimate. Charlotte was also casting glances at her—the young woman was no fool and must have noticed there was something going on between them. She turned back to Charles to press her advantage. She would see how far she could push George. That was the only way she would know how far things had gone between them and how deep were his feelings for Caroline.
Time travel on demand was now proven to work, at least in one direction. Last time, she had travelled to Georgiana and returned, presumably through the vortex, with no memory of what happened. She was conscious that she could potentially be swept away to present day at any moment, but there was also the chance that she may be able to travel on demand to return whenever she wished.
There was only one way to find out, but she had more to do first and intended to make use of every moment when she was here as Cara, and not at the mercy of her dreams, having her heart broken as she came to terms with the tragic reality of the class divide between her and George in the eighteenth century.
She risked another look in George’s direction and her heart hurt when she saw he appeared to be absorbed in deep conversation with Charlotte, who was laughing and giddy to have regained his full attention. Caroline continued the flirting charade with Charles, but she knew instinctively that George had withdrawn and would not look over at her again.
She knew him inside out, whatever timeline they were in.
Charles was disappointed when her interest in him abruptly diminished, but he continued to try and capture her attention with tales of his magnificent house in London and how he was certain she would adore his children. He even ventured so far as to hint she might wish to become their governess, rather than Olivia’s.
Caroline’s painful thoughts attacked Cara’s mind as the young girl became more and more distraught at the realisation that George would be with Charlotte. Cara’s logical mind told her to stay calm so she could succeed in carrying out her mission, but she feared she was fighting a losing battle against Caroline’s volatile emotions, and she would break down at any moment.
This must be what it’s like having a split personality…
Caroline was questioning her violent reaction and hating herself for her jealousy of Charlotte, which gnawed at her like a disease. Caroline had never experienced such intense feelings before, and everything was spinning out of control. She wished she had a good reason to dislike Charlotte, but she seemed like a lovely girl, which made Caroline feel even more ashamed.
She confronted the truth: she despised Charlotte and wished never to see her again. It was too painful seeing her with George.
That night Georgedreamt of Caroline. Again. He woke in the darkest, most silent part of the night, before dawn seeped into the sky, and he thrashed about in his bed, unable to fall back to sleep. Caroline’s sweet face monopolised his mind and the thought of her with Charles, the wealthy industrial baron, filled him with hopelessness. He didn’t know the baron well; a friend of a friend had invited him to join the house party, but he knew enough of his reputation to know he wasn’t the sort to be tied down by family duty. He had made his money in the colonies,and George suspected he wouldn’t think twice about taking Caroline as his mistress, if she were to oblige him.
He wondered why he cared so deeply. Why did a lowly servant girl from a questionable background haunt his dreams every night so he could know no peace? It was as though there was some kind of an unspoken bond between them, and he was helpless to break it. His duty was to marry Charlotte and make her his wife, as everyone expected. He had no doubt she would fulfil the role of the next Countess Cavendish perfectly, and she was bright, and he was fond of her. Perhaps over time his feelings for her would grow, but he didn’t love her—he wasn’t inflamed like he was when Caroline entered a room. Her mere presence touched him in a way he had never known, and much less expected. He’d thought love was for saps and he would find a good woman to marry and carry on the noble line in the Cavendish way. But since she had appeared in his life like an ocean of loveliness, he could think of little else—he was bewitched.
George remembered the day when her letter arrived for him to Kensington Palace, and he rushed to his rooms to tear open the correspondence like a parched man desperate for a drink.
He shook his head and then rose quietly from the edge of the bed and fumbled about in the bottom of his bedside drawer and extracted the letter. He had lost count of the number of times he had read it, so what was one more if it gave him some shred of comfort?
My dearest Lord Cavendish,
I received your letter with pleasure and may assure you that all is well with Olivia. She has taken to her studies more enthusiastically than one could hope, and we have been reading Oedipus Rex together daily, as you recommended, and we have found ourselves most enthralled by the day-to-day life of Ancient Greece. If the play continues to hold her interest, we may have even read all of Sophocles’ works by the time you return.
We also ride most days for exercise and fresh air, and the weather is reasonably fine. Please have no fear for her safety. I shall ensure we take a groom with us when we ride off the estate towards Willow Wick or further, as you instructed.
Everyone is well here, but as no doubt they have told you, your company is sorely missed by your mother and sister, and I am certain you will hear from them soon, if you haven’t already.
Be well, your lordship, and know that your sister is in good hands,
Blessings,
Caroline
And what of you,dear Caroline? Did you miss me too, or was that letter merely a function of your duty to your employer?
The thought plagued him still; sometimes he imagined he detected admiration and even love for him in her eyes, but after this evening, he had lost all hope and was tortured by the thought of her with another man. He didn’t blame her—how could she love him when she saw him sworn to another, and out of reach entirely to a woman of her station?
