Chapter Fifteen
Caro was still abed the next morning, Ludwig curled in an almost perfect circle in her lap, a cup of steaming chocolate in her hand, when she heard her mother’s shrill tones.
“What were you thinking?” her mother demanded, unceremoniously showing herself into Caro’s bedchamber. “How could you have gone against my wishes like this?”
“Good morning to you, too, Mama.” Caro took one last sip of her cocoa before handing the drink to her waiting maid.
Ludwig, who was not fond of Lady Lavinia even when she was at her most serene, dove beneath the counterpane. He remained as still as a stone near the foot of the bed, clearly unaware that the lump he’d formed in the smooth bedclothes made his location evident.
“Your papa just informed me that his lordship has requested the ceremony take place this very weekend,” Mama fumed. “How am I to plan a wedding with so little notice? I had thought we might hold it at the chapel on the duke’s estate so as to give the occasion the respect it deserves.”
“Given that the family is only just out of mourning and that Val’s cousin is missing, Mama, imposing upon them like that would be unnecessarily burdensome.” Caro was careful to keep her voice calm so as not to further inflame her mother’s nerves.
She loved Mama dearly, but she did have a tendency toward the dramatic when she was overset. And on this particular detail of her wedding plans, Caro was unwilling to compromise. She already knew that Val’s father, at least, was displeased with his remaining son’s choice of bride. But however pride and familial affection might urge her to follow Mama’s lead—if only to prove to the duke and the rest of London society that she was unashamed of her father’s origins—she refused to plan a large celebration while Effie and Mr. Thorn were missing and likely in danger.
“Oh,” Mama said, deflated. “I hadn’t realized Lord Wrackham’s cousin was missing. How dreadful. Does it have something to do with your friend’s disappearance?”
“We don’t know yet,” Caro explained. “But you can see why we don’t wish to press the matter.”
“I know they must be worried,” Mama said, frowning, “but surely for a matter as important as the heir to the dukedom’s wedding—”
Caro interrupted her. She knew how much it meant to Mama to prove—through Caro’s marriage—that Papa was the equal of any puffed-up aristocrat who might snub him. But the very fact that Caro was marrying into the Thorn family would have to be enough.
“Mama, neither Valentine nor I am willing to ask such a thing of the duke and duchess.” Caro rose from her bed and slipped her arms into the dressing gown her maid had left out before making her discreet exit. “And we have agreed that we would like a small ceremony. I hope that you will respect our wishes.”
Her mother’s pretty face crumpled with disappointment. “But you are my only child, Caroline. I have been dreaming of your wedding since the day you were born!” Then, her expression hardening, she went on. “Not to mention that this is the perfect opportunity to show them that your papa is every bit as good as they are.”
There was no need to ask Mama who “they” were. She’d been clear enough the night of their trip to the theatre that she resented the way her own family and the aristocracy looked down their nose at her husband.
“Surely the fact that I am marrying the heir to the Duke of Thornfield is enough,” Caro reasoned. “It’s not necessary to travel to their country estate for the nuptials to prove the point.”
“I suppose not.” Mama perched on the edge of the window seat with a sigh. “Of course, I have every sympathy for Valentine’s parents. I cannot imagine how difficult it must have been for them to lose their son at such a young age. And it must be distressing that their nephew is missing. I simply want your wedding to be perfect—and not just because of what it will mean for your father. He only wants to see you happy. And he has a high opinion of your Lord Wrackham.”
“They’ve only met a few times.” Caro turned from where she’d been brushing her hair at her dressing table. “How can he have come to anything like a firm conclusion?”
Mama smiled at Caro, her eyes full of affection. “He’s always been perceptive about people. It’s what makes him a successful businessman. And I wonder you should ask such a question, given that it’s a trait you’ve inherited from him.”
Caro supposed that her mother was right. About Papa at least.
“I may be quick to judge,” Caro said wryly, “but I’m not nearly so proficient as Papa at it.”
Thinking of how wrong she’d been in her assessment of Val’s character, she wondered that she could boast any powers of discernment at all.
“You’re far better at it than you think,” Mama said, her voice laced with pride. “Why do you think your readers are so drawn to your column with Kate? It’s because you are both able to assess situations that are difficult for most mere mortals to even fathom. You make a determination on what happened and who might be responsible.”
“But that’s only reporting facts and interpreting them,” Caro protested. “We don’t solve cases like Eversham or the Yard does. We simply discuss the crimes and their implications for society and women in particular.”
“Yes,” Mama said patiently, “and part of that interpretation and discussion is making judgments. Not everyone always agrees with you, but if you weren’t good at it, your readers would tell you. I’ve read everything you’ve written, and much as the subject matter disturbs me, I’m proud of what you and Kate have accomplished.”
Caro had never considered the matter like that. She’d begun to question if her tendency to see situations in such stark contrasts was a weakness. It certainly hadn’t helped her in her interactions with Val. But now she wondered if her difficulty had less to do with being wrong in her judgments and more to do with her tendency to distrust her instincts. The thought unraveled the knot that had been constricting her opinion of herself this past year. “Thank you, Mama. That means a great deal to me.”
Caro gave her mother a quick hug.
“Does it mean enough for you to change your mind and allow me to plan a lavish wedding?” Mama’s hopeful look was so blatantly false that Caro couldn’t help but laugh.
“I’m afraid it doesn’t.” Caro had to credit her mother’s persistence.
“‘How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is to have a thankless child!’”
If Mama hadn’t been born into the aristocracy, Caro thought, she might have made a very good actress. Aloud, she said, “I might be willing, if you are able to arrange it, to have the ceremony at St. George’s, so as to increase the size of the guest list to include Papa’s business associates. And whichever ton families you might wish to ask.”
As most ton weddings took place at St. George’s Church, Mama’s eyes brightened. “I’m sure I would be able to arrange that. And we can have the wedding breakfast here. I know Mrs. Honeychurch and the rest of the staff will do their utmost to ensure we celebrate your nuptials properly. No matter how small a gathering you insist upon.”