Caroline.
“I don’t see how you can be so sure when you know nothing. How can you know anything, Caroline? You’re just a child! He would tell you anything to get such a fine and wealthy wife. And you believe every word! You will leave your home and your family and all your prospects here. To live where you will have no name, no society and no comfort.”
“I will have comfort,” Caroline insisted.
A week after the ball, Corin had taken Caroline to the skating pond in Central Park, along with Charlie Montgomery and his sister Diana, who gave them a tactfully wide berth. It was late in February and the sky was an odd yellowy-white against which the spiralling snowflakes at first looked black, then turned pale against the bare trees before they reached the ground.
“As a boy I was always half afraid to skate here. I kept waiting to fall through the ice,” Corin smiled, taking small, cautious steps more akin to walking than skating.
“You needn’t have worried, Mr. Massey. They drain most of the water out at the beginning of the winter, to be sure that it freezes right through,” Caroline smiled. The cold was biting. It reddened their cheeks and hung their breath in ragged white clouds around them. Caroline tucked her gloved hands into her coat pockets and skated a large, smooth circle around Corin.
“You’re very good at this, Miss Fitzpatrick. Much better than I!”
“My mother used to bring me here all the time. When I was a little girl. I haven’t skated in a while, though. Bathilda does not care for it.”
“Where is your mother now?” Corin asked, circling his arms clumsily to keep his balance. Snow had gathered on the brim of his hat, giving him a festive look.
“My parents died. Eight years ago,” Caroline said, skating to a halt in front of Corin, who also fell still. “There was an explosion at a factory, as they were travelling home one evening. A wall collapsed and . . . their carriage was trapped beneath it,” she told him, quietly. Corin put his hands out as if to hold her, but then let them fall again.
“What a tragic misfortune. I’m so sorry,” he said.
“Charlie told me about your father, and I’m sorry, too,” Caroline said, wondering if he noticed the similarity, as she had, in the nightmarish, claustrophobic way in which they had both lost family. She looked down at her skates. Inside them, her toes were going numb. “Come, Mr. Massey; let’s move on before we cleave to the ice!” she suggested, holding out her hand to him. He took it, smiling, then grimaced as she towed him along, wobbling like a toddler.
They drank hot chocolate in the pavilion, once the ice had become so crowded with skaters that steady progress was nigh on impossible. From their table by the window they watched young boys darting recklessly between the adults. Caroline realized that she hadn’t been feeling the winter weather as she normally did. Perhaps being close to Corin was enough to warm her—it seemed to make her blood run more quickly than ever before.
“You have the most extraordinary eyes, Miss Fitzpatrick,” Corin told her, smiling bashfully. “Why, they shine like silver dollars against the snow out there!” he exclaimed.
Caroline had no idea how to reply to him. She was not used to compliments, and so she looked down into her cup, embarrassed.
“Bathilda says that I have cold eyes. She laments that I did not inherit my father’s shade of blue,” she said, stirring her chocolate slowly.
But Corin reached out a finger and lifted her chin, and she felt his touch like an electric charge. “Your aunt is quite wrong,” he declared.
H is proposal came a scant three weeks later, as the ice began to melt in the parks and the washed-out sky took on a deeper hue. He called upon her on a Tuesday afternoon, knowing he would find her alone, it being her aunt’s custom to play bridge with Lady Atwell on that day. As Sara ushered him into the room, color poured into Caroline’s face
“I don’t see how you can be so sure when you know nothing. How can you know anything, Caroline? You’re just a child! He would tell you anything to get such a fine and wealthy wife. And you believe every word! You will leave your home and your family and all your prospects here. To live where you will have no name, no society and no comfort.”
“I will have comfort,” Caroline insisted.
A week after the ball, Corin had taken Caroline to the skating pond in Central Park, along with Charlie Montgomery and his sister Diana, who gave them a tactfully wide berth. It was late in February and the sky was an odd yellowy-white against which the spiralling snowflakes at first looked black, then turned pale against the bare trees before they reached the ground.
“As a boy I was always half afraid to skate here. I kept waiting to fall through the ice,” Corin smiled, taking small, cautious steps more akin to walking than skating.
“You needn’t have worried, Mr. Massey. They drain most of the water out at the beginning of the winter, to be sure that it freezes right through,” Caroline smiled. The cold was biting. It reddened their cheeks and hung their breath in ragged white clouds around them. Caroline tucked her gloved hands into her coat pockets and skated a large, smooth circle around Corin.
“You’re very good at this, Miss Fitzpatrick. Much better than I!”
“My mother used to bring me here all the time. When I was a little girl. I haven’t skated in a while, though. Bathilda does not care for it.”
“Where is your mother now?” Corin asked, circling his arms clumsily to keep his balance. Snow had gathered on the brim of his hat, giving him a festive look.
“My parents died. Eight years ago,” Caroline said, skating to a halt in front of Corin, who also fell still. “There was an explosion at a factory, as they were travelling home one evening. A wall collapsed and . . . their carriage was trapped beneath it,” she told him, quietly. Corin put his hands out as if to hold her, but then let them fall again.
“What a tragic misfortune. I’m so sorry,” he said.
“Charlie told me about your father, and I’m sorry, too,” Caroline said, wondering if he noticed the similarity, as she had, in the nightmarish, claustrophobic way in which they had both lost family. She looked down at her skates. Inside them, her toes were going numb. “Come, Mr. Massey; let’s move on before we cleave to the ice!” she suggested, holding out her hand to him. He took it, smiling, then grimaced as she towed him along, wobbling like a toddler.
They drank hot chocolate in the pavilion, once the ice had become so crowded with skaters that steady progress was nigh on impossible. From their table by the window they watched young boys darting recklessly between the adults. Caroline realized that she hadn’t been feeling the winter weather as she normally did. Perhaps being close to Corin was enough to warm her—it seemed to make her blood run more quickly than ever before.
“You have the most extraordinary eyes, Miss Fitzpatrick,” Corin told her, smiling bashfully. “Why, they shine like silver dollars against the snow out there!” he exclaimed.
Caroline had no idea how to reply to him. She was not used to compliments, and so she looked down into her cup, embarrassed.
“Bathilda says that I have cold eyes. She laments that I did not inherit my father’s shade of blue,” she said, stirring her chocolate slowly.
But Corin reached out a finger and lifted her chin, and she felt his touch like an electric charge. “Your aunt is quite wrong,” he declared.
H is proposal came a scant three weeks later, as the ice began to melt in the parks and the washed-out sky took on a deeper hue. He called upon her on a Tuesday afternoon, knowing he would find her alone, it being her aunt’s custom to play bridge with Lady Atwell on that day. As Sara ushered him into the room, color poured into Caroline’s face
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