His Christmas Nymph Read Free

two sons. She’d never fully recovered, and it ultimately shattered her already fragile health. 
    Losing her brother Arthur had almost destroyed her mother. Losing Christopher at the battle of Waterloo had put her mother into the ground—she died not two months after receiving the dreadful news. Having always suffered from a weak constitution, she just couldn’t survive the heartbreak of losing both her sons.
    The deaths of her mother and brothers had worn heavily on her father as well. His dark brown hair had since turned completely grey from the crushing grief. She lived in a constant state of fear that her father would lose his fight against death and leave her at the mercy of Gertrude.
    She waved at Fanny as she ambled away.
    Sighing heavily, she looked toward Whitney Park. When her mother was still alive, she’d told her thrilling stories about her time as a young girl attending countless balls at Whitney Park, back when the Old Duke had been in residence.
    The Old Duke had been a young d uke back then and the catch of the season as her mother had said. The Old Duke had died around the same time as her mother. As for his son, no one had seen him in years. If memory served, the last duke’s son was a few years older than Arthur. He, too, was a veteran of the wars against Napoleon.  
    Whitney Park was a sprawling manor house, looking more like a Palace than a stately country home, and it was a shining example of the 18th century Baroque Architecture. Many i n the area wondered if the new duke would ever reopen the grand house and take up residence here rather than constantly remaining in London, as his mother preferred.
    She walked past the pretty holly trees, bordering the Estate, and passed the hedge maze and Gardens. Slowly, she made her way toward the Greek Temple folly. The river was a short distance away, and in the summer the beauty of the place quite literally stole her breath.
    In the winter, it lost some of its shine but still remained quite glorious. Equipped with a stone bench she’d spent many hours there reading and daydreaming, thinking of better times—happier times. 
    She sank down upon the stone bench and looked wearily toward Whitney Park. She closed her eyes and imagined the grand ballroom as it must have been during her mother’s youth. She’d told Caroline that she’d danced with many suitors before finding her father.
    Once he swept her out onto the dance floor she told her that her mind was made up. Her parents had frowned on her desire to marry someone with no fortune and no title to inherit, as her mother had been the daughter of an earl whose fortunes were also a windmill dwindled to a nutshell, and so therefore hoped for more for their eldest daughter.
    If only her father could afford to send her to London to attend the balls where so many other young ladies found their future husbands. She’d never officially been on the marriage mart as she hadn’t been to any real social engagements and so her prospects were quite dim. 
    Of course, she’d attended a few soirees in the Buckland Assembly Rooms but they were a far cry from the majestic ballrooms of London. She knew her Aunt Georgia had begged her father to allow her the privilege of paying for Caroline’s coming out in London and had even told him that she would make the trip from Boston to be her chaperone and would incur any of the cost needed for such a Season, as she had married a man with extremely impressive coffers. Unfortunately, he’d denied her aunt’s help to Caroline’s detriment.
    His pride had gotten in the way—she knew it, and he knew it. Her aunt had not made it for Margaret’s funeral as she’d been heavily pregnant with her sixth son at the time. Nothing stopped her from making the sea voyage now, and Caroline often wondered if her aunt would summon up enough energy to do so.
    Secretly, she wished she would. If she did, Caroline could finally escape the clutches of Gertrude for she would dare not