To Catch an Heiress

“If any female can do it, it would be you.”

Caroline raised her brows. “Why Percy, was that a compliment? I'm stunned.”

“It wasn't even close to being a compliment. What kind of man would want a woman who could get along quite well without him?”

“The kind who could get along quite well without his father,” Caroline retorted.

Percy scowled as he flicked his head toward his bureau. “Open up the top drawer … no, the one on the right …”

“Percy, these are your undergarments!” Caroline exclaimed, slamming the drawer shut in disgust.

“Do you want me to lend you money or not? That's where I hide it.”

“Well, it stands to reason that no one would want to look in there,” she murmured. “Perhaps if you bathed more often…”

“God!” he burst out. “I cannot wait until you leave. You, Caroline Trent, are the devil's own daughter. You are plague. You are pestilence. You are—”

“Oh, shut up!” She yanked the drawer back open, disgusted with how much his words stung. She didn't like Percy any better than he liked her, but who would enjoy being compared to locusts, gnats, and frogs; the Black Death; and rivers turning to blood? “Where is the money?” she demanded.

“In my stocking … no, the black one … no, not that black one … yes, over there, next to the … yes, that's it.”

Caroline found the stocking in question and shook out some bills and coins. “Good heavens, Percy, you must have a hundred pounds here. Where did you get this much?”

“I've been saving for quite some time. And I nick a coin or two each month from Father's desk. As long as I don't take too much, he never notices.”

Caroline found that hard to believe; Oliver Prewitt was so obsessed with money it was a wonder his skin hadn't turned the color of pound notes.

“You can take half of it,” Percy said.

“Only half? Don't be stupid, Percy. I need to hide for six weeks. I may have unexpected expenses.”

“I may have unexpected expenses.”

“You have a roof over your head!” she burst out.

“I might not, once Father discovers I let you get away.”

Caroline had to concede his point. Oliver Prewitt was not going to be pleased with his only son. She dumped half the money back into the stocking. “Very well,” she said, stuffing her share into her pocket. “You have the bleeding under control?”

“You won't be charged with murder, if that's what you're worried about.”

“It may be difficult for you to believe, Percy, but I don't want you to die. I don't want to marry you, and I certainly won't be sorry if I never clap eyes on you again, but I don't want you to die.”

Percy looked at her oddly, and for a moment Caroline thought he was actually going to say something nice (or at least something as nice as she'd said) in return. But he just snorted. “You're right. I do find it hard to believe.”

At that moment, Caroline decided to dispense with any last shred of sentimentality she might be feeling and stomped to the door. Hand on the knob, she said, “I'll see you in six weeks—when I come to collect my inheritance.”

“And pay me back,” he reminded her.

“And pay you back. With interest,” she added before he could.

“Good.”

“On the other hand,” she said, mostly to herself, “there might be a way to conduct my affairs without meeting with the Prewitts again. I could do everything through a solicitor, and—”

“Even better,” Percy interrupted.

Caroline let out a very loud, very irritated exhale and quit the room. Percy was never going to change. He was rude, he was selfish, and even if he was marginally nicer than his father—well, that still made him a boorish lout.

She scurried along the dark corridor and up a flight of stairs to her room. Funny how her guardians always gave her rooms in the attics. Oliver had been worse than most, relegating her to a dusty corner with low ceilings and deep eaves. But if he had meant to break her spirit he had failed. Caroline loved her cozy room. It was closer to the sky. She could hear the rain against the ceiling, and she could watch the tree branches bud in spring. Birds nested outside her window, and squirrels occasionally ran along her ledge.

As she threw her most prized belongings into a bag, she stopped to peer out the window. It had been a cloudless day and now the sky was remarkably clear. It somehow seemed fitting that this should be a starry night. Caroline had few memories of her mother, but she could recall sitting on her lap outside on summer nights, staring up at the stars. “Look at that one,” Cassandra Trent would whisper. “I think it's the brightest one in the sky. And look over there. Can you see the bear?” Their outings had always ended with Cassandra saying, “Each star is special. Did you know that? I know that sometimes they all look the same, but each one is special and different, just like you. You are the most special little girl in the whole world. Don't ever forget that.”

Caroline had been too young to realize that Cassandra was dying, but now she cherished her mother's final gift, for no matter how bleak or desolate she felt—and the last ten years of her life had given her many reasons to feel bleak and desolate—Caroline had only to look up at the sky to give her a measure of the peace. If a star twinkled, she felt safe and warm. Maybe not as safe and warm as that long-ago toddler on her mother's lap, but at least the stars gave her hope. They endured, and so could she.

She gave her room a final inspection to make certain she hadn't left anything behind, tossed a few tallow candles into her bag in case she needed them, and dashed out. The house was quiet; all the servants had been given the night off, presumably so there would be no witnesses when Percy attacked her. Trust Oliver to think ahead. Caroline was only surprised that he hadn't tried this tactic sooner. He must have originally thought that he could get her to marry Percy without resorting to rape. Now that her twenty-first birthday was approaching, he was growing desperate.