And as it turned out, that was the one thing she needn’t have worried about.
Because before she’d even woken up, her sister-in-law had entered her chamber. Opening her eyes, Caroline expected to see Eloisa with chocolate and biscuits—a luxury she didn’t mind.
But there was no chocolate. No smiling maid.
Goldie drew the drapes open, allowing the early morning sun to streak across the room, and stared at her with accusing and red eyes, as though she’d been crying.
“What happened?” Caroline pushed herself up immediately. “What’s wrong?”
“How could you? How could you?” Goldie held something in her hand. Today’s paper?
“I tried...” Caroline could explain the door incident, but really, it was a rather weak excuse. “I’ll do better in the future. I’m so sorry. Have they come to Reed for questioning yet?”
Goldie’s brows furrowed. “What are you talking about?” The paper was folded over and open to the society section. “Why would you write that about my mother? You know how difficult things are with my father right now. How could you?”
A sick feeling slammed into Caroline. It was guilt.
She’d had reservations about the article, but she’d rationalized them away. But staring into Goldie’s red and swollen eyes, Caroline couldn’t remember why. She’d known the article could cause trouble. Had she soothed her conscience with nothing more than wishful thinking?
“Nia and I had plans to meet Mother at Gunter’s today, but there’s no way Father will allow her to come after he reads this.”
Caroline closed her eyes. She had done this.
“I didn’t… I hoped… Oh, Goldie. I’m so sorry.” She’d gotten carried away with her desire to impress Mr. Wallace—and Mr. Black, no doubt. “Maxwell suggested the idea, and I guess I wasn’t thinking straight. I’m so sorry. I think I just… hoped…”
Goldie sniffed and dashed away a tear. But then she narrowed her eyes and pinned her stare on Caroline. “Maxwell? You call him by his first name?”
“I didn’t. He’s my employer. He’s Mr. Black.”
“You did. You said ‘Maxwell suggested the idea’.” Goldie put her hands on her hips, but she was even shorter than Melanie and, even angry, lacked the ability to look threatening.
“It doesn’t matter. What does matter is trying to fix the mistake I made by writing that article.” Caroline stared at the offending paper, wishing in the moment that she’d never had anything to do with the London Gazette.
She’d hurt Goldie and her sister! She’d suspected the article could cause trouble and she’d written it anyway. “I’m so sorry,” she said again, even knowing an apology wouldn’t fix anything.
“Words…” Goldie’s umbrage seemed to seep out of her. “Sometimes I think they’re more dangerous than a pistol.”
“Even more so when printed,” Caroline agreed. This wasn’t the first time her enthusiasm had gotten her into trouble, and as much as she hoped it would be the last, she wasn’t naïve enough to believe that. “I really am sorry.”
“I know. I just wish…” Goldie frowned. “Wait, though. You said something about Reed. What were you talking about? Who is coming to question Reed?”
This was getting worse by the minute. Caroline opened the folded paper and pointed to the Scotland Yard section.
Even in the yellow sunlight, Goldie paled as she read it. And then she pinched the bridge of her nose, right between her eyes. “You said you tried to stop it?”
“It was my first day. I’m a nobody right now. But I’ll change that. I promise.” Caroline had not, in fact, made a good faith effort, and she hated making excuses for herself. “This is only one article. I’ll do better next time.” She clamped her mouth closed.
She really didn’t want to explain what had happened with the door and she certainly couldn’t tell Goldie that she had feelings for a man who’d once been willing to see Reed charged with murder.
“What happened to your head?” Goldie leaned forward and touched a fingertip to Caroline’s forehead. “Is that a bruise?”
“It’s nothing.”
“You have purple around your eyes.”
Goldie was not going to let this go.
“I, er, ran into a door.” Or the door ran into her, rather. But the sun was bright and Caroline didn’t have time to dwell on yesterday’s mistakes. “What time is it?”
