Christmas Carol by Flora Speer Page A

probing
gaze, Carol seriously considered revealing her true situation. She
quickly decided against the idea. She did not think Montfort would
believe her outlandish story. Furthermore, if Carol were to be
returned to the twentieth century in the next few hours, poor Lady
Caroline would be left to make explanations for incredible events
that she could not possibly comprehend. People might think Lady
Caroline was the mad one.
    This business of thinking for two people at
once—and of voluntarily and without expectation of any payment
considering another person’s welfare before her own—was a
completely new experience for Carol. It was also tiring. She raised
one hand to rub her forehead. Montfort responded to the weary
gesture by moving closer to her, as if he wanted to protect her in
some way.
    “Surely you know by now that you can trust
me?” he urged.
    “Can I? How I wish I could be sure of
that.”
    “Why this sudden uncertainty now, when you
expressed no qualms at all on the day when you agreed to our
bargain?”
    “Refresh my memory, Montfort. Explain to me
exactly what this bargain is, and why I consented to it.”
    “You cannot have forgotten details so
important to your future,” he objected. “Or to your sister’s
future.”
    “Perhaps I want to hear you tell me in order
to be certain that you have not forgotten.” Carol waited,
hoping he would reveal at least a few facts that would help to keep
her from making any mistakes for which the real Lady Caroline would
later have to pay. She looked deep into his eyes and smiled.
“Indulge my foolishness, Montfort. Please.”
    “Are you flirting with me? This is most
unlike you, Caroline.” He looked puzzled. Then: “Very well, if you
are determined to hear the facts once again, here they are. Your
father and mine were lifelong friends. After your parents’ death my
father did his best to see that you and Penelope were well settled
in life. It was my father who suggested to Lady Augusta that she
allow you and your sister to live with her and that she should
sponsor you in society. She was unwilling at first, believing such
an arrangement would cause her too much trouble and would also be
expensive. I do not need to tell you that Lady Augusta can be
foolishly miserly at times. However, I do not think she has ever
regretted taking you in, and she has done her best to launch you
into the world in proper style and to find husbands for both you
and Penelope.
    “When my father died and I became Earl of
Montfort in his place, his obligations fell upon me.” Montfort
paused.
    “Are you saying that you are marrying me out
of pity?” There was a challenge in Carol’s voice that made him look
at her sharply.
    “Not at all,” he said. “Save for the lack of
a large fortune, you are an eminently suitable choice as a wife,
and one my own father would have approved. You and I have always
been on cordial terms. Since I am now in need of an heir to my
title, our marriage seemed the sensible solution to several
problems.”
    “I am to provide an heir,” she prodded when
he fell silent.
    “And one or two other children,” he added,
“since babies do not always outlive their first few years. It is
best to be certain there will be at least one adult heir to survive
me. In return I have arranged a handsome settlement for you, so
that even if I should die at a young age, you will never want for
any material thing. While we both live I have agreed to keep you in
a style befitting the Countess of Montfort.”
    “I see,” Carol murmured. “Financial security
for me in exchange for the use of my body to create your heirs. It
does make practical sense, but it is an awfully cold-blooded way to
arrange a marriage.”
    “You agreed to it as cold-bloodedly as I
proposed it,” he said. “In fact, you left me with the impression
that you were, in your own dispassionate way, pleased by my
proposal. And then, there is the matter of your sister.”
    “What about Penelope?”