“And your brothers?” They’d been too young to serve, thank all that was holy.
“Ornery as ever,” she said with a small smile and a shake of her head.
“How’s Ross? He hasn’t written me since his discharge.”
“He’s well, as far as I know. He returned about three months ago and called on Amanda several times, but we haven't seen him since.”
Jackson frowned then shook his head, as he often did in regards to his younger brother. “Ah, well. Knowing Ross, he's off celebrating his freedom. Probably couldn't get out of his uniform fast enough,” he added with a chuckle. Unlike him and their elder brothers, Ross had been compelled into service by conscription.
Caroline laughed. “I think you have the right of it.”
“How’s Amanda? Or should I askwhere’sAmanda? I expected her to have gamboled out and taken my other arm by now,” he added, earning him a grin. There had rarely been a walk with Caroline when her younger sister didn’t tag along. Most males would resent it, once they’d turned from childhood friend into hopeful suitor. But Amanda was a delightful addition to any social situation—and more of a chaperone than he’d realized at the time. She’d likely been the reason Caroline’s father had allowed her such freedom into and beyond her teens, a time when most others would have tightened the parental reins.
“She’s well. She complained of a headache and went up to her room after lunch.”
“Nothing serious, I hope.”
“No. I suspect it has more to do with bruised romantic sentiments than any physical ailment. She was flattered when Ross began paying calls on her—thrilled when he escorted her to a celebratory ball in town—then turned up withdrawn when his visits stopped. She won’t admit it, but she pines for him.”
Arousing a woman’s affections then haring off without a word—not well done of you, Ross.“Obliviousness to the feelings of the fairer sex has always been a shortcoming of my brother. I’ll have a word with him.”
Jackson stopped and turned to Caroline, taking her hands in his. “I should go. My presence in town has been noticed, and my parents will thrash me if they hear of my return from anyone but me.”
“Of course,” Caroline murmured, her fingers tightening around his, echoing his reluctance to part.
“I'll call again on Saturday afternoon, if I may.”
Her answering smile was radiant. “I'd like that very much.”
With a gentle squeeze of her hands, Jackson took his leave.
Chapter 2
The late afternoon sun cast a golden glow over everything, and a gentle breeze carried the scent of honeysuckle. Caroline's heart fluttered, and she kept a brisk pace as she returned home from looking in on Mrs. Putnum, an elderly neighbor whose eyesight was failing. She hadn’t intended to stay so long, but Mrs. Putnum seemed especially lonely. Jackson would understand.
Her fingers went to the silver comb in her hair and traced the rose engravings.He’s going to ask my father’s permission and make our courtship official.I know it. I could see it in his eyes.
Her breath caught as she rounded the corner. Jackson’s carriage stood beneath theporte cochère, its polished wood gleaming, and his horse standing calmly in the harness, swishing its tail.
Propelled by a burst of giddy excitement, Caroline hurried up the porch steps, pausing to collect herself before opening the door. She smoothed the bodice of her russet dress and bounced on her heels to shake the wrinkles from her skirts, ensuringevery ruffle and pleat lay just so. She wanted to look perfect the moment her most treasured dream came true.
The comforting scent of beeswax and lemon oil surrounded her when she entered. Jackson’s hat and coat hung on the rack, so she moved deeper into the house, her skirts skimming the polished wood floors, and her steps echoing through the foyer and down the hall.
Soft sounds of leisure emanated from the family parlor—the graze of rockers against the floor, the steady ticking of the grandfather clock, and the click of a chess piece being moved followed by a masculine grunt of discouragement.
If someone had engaged her beloved in a game, they would have to promptly give him up.
Caroline stepped into the room. Her mother was perched on her favorite chair by the window, nimble fingers working a delicate embroidery hoop with only the aid of the light. At first glance, she could pass for an older sister. Her eyes crinkled at the edges, and gray hairs had invaded the wavy golden-brown ones at her temples, but she’d kept a trim figure, and her skin still had a youthful glow.
In the chair beside her, 18-year-old Amanda had her face buried in a well-worn novel, and two of their brothers—16-year-old Simon and 12-year-old Knox—sat hunched over the chess board.
“Where’s Jackson?”
Without taking his eyes off the game, Simon hooked a thumb over his shoulder, in the direction of their father’s study. “In there.”
“Been there a while,” Knox added.
Caroline took a seat near the study door, in a worn leather armchair where her father often sat, clasping her hands in a knot so she wouldn’t wring them.
