a commitment from him.” Twisting back to the bed, she fingered a beaded ivory gown. “This one is lovely, but it will draw attention to your wide hips.”
Looking down, Caroline skimmed her hips with her hands and grimaced. It was a common complaint of her mother’s.
“If only you had inherited my physique.” Louise tutted, “instead of Albert’s mother’s. Ah, well, there’s nothing to be done about it. Let’s hope the Turner name is enough to draw him in.”
The familiar feeling of not measuring up, of not being good enough, coiled inside her chest, slowly suffocating any measure of contentment she was able to eke out of her daily life.
She hugged her middle. “I don’t wish to marry Theo Marsh.”
“You’re not a fresh-faced eighteen-year-old.” The skin around her watery blue eyes tightened. “You can’t afford to be picky at this stage. Theo will be considered a good catch.”
“You wouldn’t mind that I’d be living in Charleston? What about my responsibilities here?”
“I’m perfectly capable of handling Gatlinburg’s affairs.” Rifling through the dresses, she lifted a floaty creation of seafoam green and studied her daughter with a critical eye. “This one might do.”
Caroline drifted over to the large four-poster bed. “You wouldn’t see me very often,” she persisted. “A couple of times a year.”
Louise cast her a sharp glance. “What’s the matter with you? You’re not getting sentimental all of a sudden, surely.”
“No, of course not.”
She’d stopped yearning for hugs and bedtime stories long ago.
“Good.” She picked up the pale green dress. “Wear this one. I’ll send Sylvia and Betty up with the tub.” She sniffed. “You may borrow a sample of your father’s latest soap—he’s calling it Parisian Citrus—a blend of grapefruit, orange and tangerine with white musk from France. Hopefully that will be enough to rid you of the lake stench.”
Caroline’s gaze slid to her dressing table and the bottom drawer where she’d stashed the documents. Was the white musk truly from France?
“It’s been years since I’ve toured our facilities,” she rushed out. “I think a trip to Charleston would be perfect this time of year, don’t you? We could go as soon as the Marshes and Lightwoods leave. I’d like to visit our old neighborhood, perhaps attend services at our church. I’m sure we could fit in a trip to the factories.”
“You know your father resents anything he sees as interference in his business. If I delve beyond the most basic of inquiries, he gets testy. It’s not a woman’s world, he says. There is the issue of safety to consider, as well.”
“He allowed me to visit as a child.”
“You’ve forgotten the filthy conditions.” Her nose wrinkled. “And the smell, at times, can overwhelm a body.”
“I haven’t been out of Gatlinburg for two years, Mother. I’d like a change of scenery.”
Being in Charleston would give her the opportunity to discover if the information in those documents had been fabricated. She could pretend interest in the family business and gain access to the offices, the machinery, storerooms where they kept the ingredients and even the laboratory where new compositions were tested.
“Then stop balking at the issue of marriage. If you want out, Theo is your ticket.”
With that, she swept out of the room.
Caroline sank onto the mattress, testing the idea of taking her satchel and going alone. If she hoped to be free of the blackmailer’s evil plan, she had to find out the truth. Her father saw her as an empty-headed heiress, good for hosting dinner parties and little else. He wasn’t going to divulge his deepest secrets to her.
Snaring Theo was a short-term solution. Sure, she’d get to Charleston. She just wouldn’t get out. She’d be locked into a loveless marriage like her parents’, an intolerable proposition.
Once she was clean and her hair dry, she dutifully donned the seafoam green gown, choosing pearl-and-emerald earbobs and a matching necklace to accompany it. She sat for an hour while Betty brushed her hair and twisted the mass into a tidy twist. Then, pasting on her best smile, she descended the stairs and entered the parlor. All the guests turned to greet her. Theo, distinguished in his black suit, his short dark hair brushed off his handsome face, waited until everyone had drifted back to their original conversations to take his turn. Lifting her hand to his lips, he kissed her knuckles. His gray eyes gleamed with appreciation.
“You’re even lovelier than the last time I set eyes on you,” he drawled. “I’m glad my father insisted I come.”
Unexpectedly, Duncan’s mocking blue gaze entered her mind. She blinked it away. “You’d rather be somewhere else?”
He lowered her hand but didn’t release it, his thumb stroking her knuckles. While pleasant, his touch didn’t evoke butterflies in her tummy or prickles of excitement along her skin. Duncan didn’t have to make contact for that to happen. All he had to do was come close. Irksome man!
“I had planned a hunting trip with my friends. But Father’s been in correspondence with Albert, and he hinted how lonely you’ve been. I thought I’d see if I could remedy the situation.”
The strange light in his eyes made Caroline uncomfortable. Intuition warned he didn’t have serious intentions.
Pulling out of his grip, she lifted her chin. “I’m afraid you gave up your hunting trip for nothing. Your father was misinformed. If I were lonely, I wouldn’t need you to assuage it. I have plenty of pets already.”
Glancing about to ensure they weren’t overheard, he leaned close, a hardness entering his gaze. “Careful, Caroline. Your reputation as a cold, bitter shell of a woman means your options are few. A light flirtation with me would go a long way in convincing others that you’re not a lost cause.”
His words sliced into her, mainly because she sometimes did feel hollow inside. Maybe he was right. “My mother thinks I should aim for a marriage proposal from you.”
His head jerked back in horror. “Marriage? To you?”
The couple standing beside the fireplace turned to stare. Humiliation surged. Louise’s glass halted halfway to her mouth. Disapproval wrinkled her skin, and her gaze seemed to scream what Caroline had always suspected—you’re a mistake, a complete failure as a daughter.
She turned away and hurried for the nearest exit, desperate for privacy.
Outside, the brisk, moisture-heavy wind tugged her hair and skirts. Jogging to the stables, she made for Rain’s stall and began readying her for a ride. All she wanted was to be on her horse, climbing high into the mountains, with nothing around save for the birds and trees.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
From the aisle behind her, the rolling accent lashed at her. She didn’t have the strength to deal with Duncan right now. Not looking at him, she fought threatening tears. “Going for a ride, what does it look like?”
