A Rose At Midnight. Jacqueline Navin

a shiver coursing down her spine.

      “Chilled already?” he inquired.

       Did nothing escape his notice?

      “Fleetingly.” She gave him a smile. “I shall be fine.”

      “Splendid.” He led her out into the flagstone porch. A soft breeze played among the turning leaves. It was only September, and although cool, the bright kiss of the sun lent a lingering memory of summer as they walked across the well-tended lawn and into the formal garden.

      He pointed out the different flora, displaying acute pride in the tranquil place. From time to time he would stop to finger a wilted flower or faltering perennial. He seemed most enthusiastic about the plethora of rosebushes, blowzy things with their sagging blooms and naked branches, saying how lovely they were in the spring. It was the sadness in his voice—just a trace—which caught her attention, and Caroline was struck with the realization that he would never see them bloom again.

      And suddenly her delight in her fantastic good fortune faded. Angling a covert glance at him, she felt a pang of stark regret. He seemed so invincible, strong and handsome, profiled against the azure of the sky as he surveyed his beloved garden. Noble, mysterious, and today he had shown he could be charming. Dangerous, too, she reminded herself. This was no weeping philosopher. This was the infamous Earl of Rutherford. Yet, in this moment, she had never seen a person look so vulnerable.

      Then he turned and the moment was gone. His green eyes caught hers, perhaps read the sympathetic look, and he said, “All this will be yours shortly. Not bad for a few months’ work, eh?”

      She was saved from having to make a reply to that outrageous statement by the call of a new voice. “Halloo!”

      Caroline turned around to find a lanky young man coming toward them. He waved. She felt the possessive grasp of Magnus’s fingers at her elbow and his low voice whispered in her ear. “David.” Her flesh tingled as she tried to suppress the shudder caused by his caressing breath.

      “So this is the delightful Miss Caroline Wembly of whom I have heard so much good,” David said as he drew up to them. Caroline noted his boyish good looks, ready grin, and lean, graceful form. She mentally compared him with his elder brother, seeing a resemblance, but the differences were far more striking. Where Magnus was broad and tall, this man was rather rangy and elegant, almost dandified. His dark hair was not as lustrous as the earl’s, and his eyes were an ordinary brown. On the whole, he appeared to be a thinner, more amicable and somewhat lesser version of his commanding brother.

      “I am pleased to meet you,” Caroline murmured. David bowed. When he straightened, he took her hand in his. “Who would have thought old Caractacus Green could do such a marvelous thing as find you?” He swung toward the earl. “I apologize for not being here for luncheon, Magnus. I set out later than I had planned.”

      “Mrs. Bronson was disappointed. She cooked enough for an army.”

      “I shall ask her to fix something for me later. And I will not be able to stay but overnight.” Turning back to Caroline, he smiled. “Not to worry, sister-to-be, I will be on hand for the wedding.”

      They began to walk back toward the house. “I have been meaning to ask you about Mr. Green,” Magnus said. “Chiefly, I am wondering why you chose such a disagreeable old coot for this job.”

      “You did not get on well with Caractacus?” David gasped in mock horror. “I chose him for his agreeable nature, of course.” Caroline stifled a giggle as they entered the house. She liked this man, with his easy wit and bedeviling manner. Yet something about his good humor gave her the impression he was trying too hard. To impress her, or ingratiate himself with his dour brother? Caroline wondered. Or perhaps, she silently amended, it was the forced cheerfulness people sometimes used to patronize the ill. Goodness knew she was guilty of the same with her own brother.

      David crossed the library to fling himself onto one of the leather chairs. “I thought the two of you might have a small conflict of wills. Bossy fellow, isn’t he? But he fills two very important qualifications which you specifically asked for. One, he is not in our usual circle, and therefore unlikely to have any clients who might know you.” Looking to Caroline, he explained, “Discretion is a valuable asset in a solicitor, but not always a realistic one.”

      “What was the second qualification?” Caroline asked.

      “He was willing to do the job.”

      Magnus scowled. Turning his back to them, he walked to the large window as David broke into peals of laughter. Awkwardly, Caroline shifted her gaze between the two. Magnus grumbled, “His fees are outrageous. For a solicitor not in fashion with society, he has an awfully high opinion of himself.”

      “Oh, Magnus,” David said when he had sobered, “Lady Sarah Gleason has told me to send her regards, as well as her wishes for a speedy recovery. She was distressed when she heard you were ill.”

      Magnus merely grunted, apparently unimpressed with. Lady Sarah’s concern. David continued, “And Carstairs was asking after you. Did I tell you about the railroad he has invested in? Made him a fortune.” As David launched into a report on the latest London gossip, Caroline relaxed. For the first time since she had come to Hawking Park, she was free of the earl’s intense and undivided scrutiny. Indulging her curiosity, she studied her future husband.

      He was standing perfectly still, looking out of the window. Since their walk, he had been pensive. She sensed him withdrawing into himself as if beset by a deep melancholy. Yet there also was an edge to him, hinting at a keen, biting rage just below the surface.

      How difficult it must be for such a man to lean on others. Even his brother, with his lighthearted manner, did not understand this. Magnus Eddington was proud to a fault. It was something Caroline could understand. And identify with. When the bottom had fallen out of her world, she had carried on with nothing but stubborn determination to get her through.

      He looked over just then, and caught her staring. His face was, for once, blank and open. Unreadable. She wondered what he was thinking.

      David was still talking about their society acquaintances when Magnus cut in. “Miss Wembly wishes to return to the Barrister’s Ordinary.”

      David stopped in midsentence. “Oh. Of course. Do you want me to take her there?”

      “No need. She is quite accustomed to my phaeton.”

      David shrugged. “Surely she would prefer companionship for the ride.”

      “It is only a half hour to the village,” Magnus countered.

      “Even so, she may enjoy it better—”

      “Gentlemen!” Caroline cut in. “Miss Wembly is standing right here, and is not an incompetent. Therefore, your disagreement over my preferences can be easily resolved simply by asking me. Yes, I am quite used to the ride and do not mind taking it alone, but I would welcome company if you are so disposed, Mr. Eddington.”

      “Excellent,” David declared, jumping to his feet. “It shall give me the opportunity to tell you all the stories of my brother any future bride of his is in need of knowing.”

      “That was what I feared,” Magnus mumbled. “Very well, David. Send Billy to fetch the phaeton.”

      David gave a short bow and exited, presumably to find Billy.

      Magnus came to Caroline’s side. “I shall arrange to have the items we discussed sent to the Ordinary. Also, I will have my man come round to make arrangements as to the flowers. If you need anything else, simply send me a message and I will see to it. I will be in the village later on this week, so I expect to visit you then.”

      She nodded, still a bit put out with the detached way he and his brother had discussed her. What did she expect, when she was merely an employee of sorts—a wife-for-hire?

      “Do not sulk, Cara. It is much too attractive on you.” He smiled, a hint of his earlier charm softening the harsh lines of