A Daring Liaison(43)

Carlington nodded. “Quite. If she was of sufficiently good birth to be accepted at a finishing school and become Caroline’s friend, she was certainly eligible to be presented to society. But if she’d been betrothed beforehand, I suppose there wouldn’t be much point in a season. Expensive, I hear.”

Charles smiled as he realized that Carlington had no firsthand knowledge of female expenses. “Then you don’t know Mrs. Carson’s maiden name?” He accepted the sherry from an impassive footman.

Carlington shook his head. “Don’t believe it was ever mentioned. I knew a George Carson who was a captain in the Royal Navy. Just assumed he was the husband. George—Georgiana, you see.”

There was sense in that, Charles thought.

“But you’re engaged to the gel and don’t know about her family?”

He shrugged. “I am inquiring now, sir. Apparently, I only know what you do. Lady Caroline was silent on the matter at our one meeting.”

Carlington sat forward, a spark of interest in his blue eyes. “You met Caro? When?”

“Georgiana’s come-out year. She summoned me to discuss her ward. I was a bit smitten by her even then.”

“What was she like?”

“Beautiful even then. Lively and quite popular. I had a great deal of competition.”

“Not Georgiana. Caroline. That was...after, you see. And Caroline would never receive me after.”

“After?”

“Her accident. The one that sent her back to Kent, never to appear in society again.”

Charles noted the sudden redness in Carlington’s eyes, which spoke of threatening tears. “Did you love her?”

Carlington blinked and leaned back again. “Completely. As I hinted at our last meeting, we were engaged, though it hadn’t been announced.”

So Wycliffe’s information had been accurate. Sympathy should have kept him silent, but he had to know. “What happened, Carlington?”

“Coaching accident. I handed her into her coach one night after a ball, and never saw her again. She wrote me that the coach tipped and either the window or the coach lamp broke and cut her badly. What did she look like, Hunter?”

He sighed. Lying would be kinder, but that would be a disservice to the man. After all these years, he had a right to know. Perhaps it would ease his mind. “She wore a veil, but even so, I could see her scars. They were...extensive. I gather the doctors were unable to repair her to any semblance of her former self. I’ve seen a portrait of her at her town house, but it bore little likeness to the woman I met.”

Carlington nodded as if Charles was confirming his own information. “I hoped to persuade her that her appearance mattered little to me. It was the woman I loved, not the face. I even went to see her in Kent but she would not receive me. She wrote to me afterward, begging me never to call upon her again, and saying she could never impede me with an unpresentable wife. I was pleased when I heard that she adopted her friend’s daughter. I would not have wished a life of solitude on her.”

A life such as his own had been?

“But back to your problem, lad. Would you like me to inquire about Captain Carson? Perhaps we could find her family that way. Or at least learn something about them.”

“Thank you, Carlington. Your help would be most welcome.”

“You’re not thinking of backing out of the engagement, are you? Based on the information you gather about her family?”

How could he answer such a question when they weren’t actually engaged? But if they were... “Blood matters, sir. It is who you are.”

“Pah! That’s nonsense, Hunter. If you believe that, you’d best not involve yourself with an orphan.”

“But Georgiana is of good blood, else Lady Caroline would not have been her mother’s friend or taken her in and raised her as her own. Indeed, left her all her worldly goods.”

Carlington gave him a sage smile. “Good blood, bad blood—we all stand naked before our maker, stripped of titles, position, wealth, beauty or consequence. We will be called to answer not for who we were born to or where we came from, but for what we have made of our lives and how we have conducted ourselves.”

Charles did not know if he could believe that. Surely the Carlingtons of the world were not on equal footing with the likes of Dick Gibbons.

He finished his sherry and stood. “Thank you for your time, Carlington. Send to me if you learn anything, will you?”