Her father laughed with genuine amusement. "Sorry that you haven't been ill or sorry that you and your aunt Mary tried to trick me?"

"I'm so ashamed." The admission was honest but it didn't make her feel any better. "It was just that I was so…"

"Content?" her father asked with a nod. He righted his own chair and sat down again.

"Yes, content. I lived with your brother and his family for such a long time. I must tell you that I've thought of Aunt Mary as my mother and have called her Mama. My cousins became my brothers, and Charity was always just like a sister to me. I never forgot you though, Father," Caroline rushed on. "I misplaced the pictures of you in my mind but I always knew you were my true father. I just didn't think you'd ever send for me. I thought you were very content with the arrangement."

"Caroline, I understand," her father announced. He patted her hand and then said, "I waited too long to demand your return. But I had my reasons. I'll not go into them just yet. You're home now and that's all that matters."

"Do you think that we'll get on well with each other?"

Caroline's question drew a surprised expression from her father. "I believe that we will," he said. "You must tell me all the news from my brother and his family. I understand that Charity is here too. Tell me, is she truly the ball of fluff Mary's letters led me to believe?" His voice was filled with affection and Caroline smiled over it. That, and his apt description of her cousin.

"If you are inquiring if she is still fat, the answer is no. Talking has replaced eating," she added with a grin. "She's very slender and quite fetching in appearance. I believe she'll cause a stir, Father, for she is blonde and petite and we were told those were the requirements for acceptance by the ton."

"I fear I've not kept up with the latest fashions and expectations," her father admitted. His smile evaporated, replaced by a frown of concern. "You have stated that we must deal honestly with each other, Daughter. And I agree. I, too, have been weaving tales in my letters to you."

Caroline's eyes widened. "You have?"

"Yes, but I'll tell you the truth now. I haven't attended any of the balls since you left with my brother and his family and went to Boston. I fear I'm considered a recluse."

"Truly?" When her father nodded, Caroline said, "But, Father, your letters, with all the descriptions of the goings and comings, and the gossip! How were you ever able to sound so accurate?"

"My friend Ludman," her father replied with a sheepish grin. "He never misses a single event and has kept me somewhat up to date. Enough to fabricate my tales to you."

"Why?" Caroline asked after she had mulled over his comments. "Don't you like the parties?"

"There are many reasons and I'll not burden you with them now," her father hedged. "Your mother's brother, the Marquis of Aimsmond, and I have not spoken to one another in fourteen years. Because he does attend some of the gatherings, I do not. That is a rather simple explanation but enough for now I think."

Caroline was far too curious to let the matter drop. "Fourteen years? Why, that's the length of time I've been away."

"Exactly," her father agreed with a nod. "The marquis was furious over your departure and stated, in public, that he wouldn't say another word to me until you were back in England." Her father coughed and then added, "He didn't understand my motives for sending you away and I didn't explain them."

"I see," Caroline commented. She didn't, of course, and the more she thought about what her father was telling her, the more confused she became. "Father, just one last question and then we'll turn to other topics, please."

"Yes?" Her father was smiling once again and it made her question all the more difficult to ask.

"Why did you send me away? Mama, I mean Aunt Mary, explained that you were grief-stricken when my real mother died and that you couldn't deal with me. She said that you only considered my well-being and thought that I would be happier with them. Is that the truth of the matter? And if it is," Caroline continued before her father could form an answer, "why did I stay away such a long time?" She didn't voice the thought that hid at the bottom of her questions. The facts all indicated that her father didn't want her. Was that the real truth? Was she used in some kind of feud between the families? Was she sent away to punish the marquis in some way? Hadn't her father loved her… enough?

Caroline frowned as she considered all the possibilities and the ramifications. Her aunt's simple explanation was just that. Simple. It no longer held water now that Caroline was an adult and not the trusting child of yesteryears. Yet the drawings contradicted all the easy explanations. Why had he saved them?

"You must be patient with me, Caroline," her father stated. His voice was brisk, closing the discussion. "I did what I thought best at the time, and I promise you that one day I'll explain everything to your satisfaction." He cleared his throat and then changed the subject. "You must be hungry enough to eat a bear! Marie!" He yelled over his shoulder as he tried to mop up the spilled tea with his napkin. "Bring in food and more tea."

"I'm really not hungry," Caroline said. "The excitement has taken away my appetite," she admitted.

"That's just as well," her father returned. "Marie's my new cook and the fare leaves much to be desired. She's the third this year. My domestic difficulties are always an issue."

Caroline smiled, thinking of all the countless questions she longed to ask. She wasn't allowed, however, to do more than nod or shake her head, as her father controlled the conversation all through breakfast.

They finished their meal and Caroline barely touched the food. The fare was indeed below her standards. The rolls were hard enough to crack a tooth, the fish overdone. The jam, apparently quite old from the amount of dust surrounding the jar, was runny and sour. She decided, as she followed her father into the library, that she would see if Benjamin had a mind to lend a hand in the kitchen. He loved to cook and often helped with the meals back in Boston.

Her attention returned to her father. He stood before her artwork, grinning with pride, and showed Caroline how he had dated each drawing on the back. It was his way, he explained, of watching her progress.

"I have given up drawing pictures," Caroline told him with a laugh. "As you can see, Father, I lacked the talent."

"That isn't significant. Henry wrote that you were a quick study with an ear for languages."

"That's true," Caroline conceded, "but my accents are deplorable." She smiled and added, "Though I have been told that my singing doesn't offend and I am adequate playing the spinet. Of course, the praise has come only from family, and they are a bit prejudiced."

Her father laughed. "I've no worry that you suffer from being a braggart, Caroline. But you mustn't underplay your talents," he added. He sat down in one of the chairs and motioned for Caroline to sit in the other. "Tell me, why has Henry allowed Charity to accompany you? I'm pleased, mind you, but surprised, too."

Caroline immediately answered, telling her father about Charity's infatuation with Paul Bleachley and his sudden disappearance. She ended her story and then asked, "Have you heard of this man, Father?"

"I haven't," her father replied. "But that isn't too relevant when you consider that I've been out of touch for such a long time."

"Father, your servant, Deighton, said that you were returning for the season. Did you plan to attend the parties this year?"

"No," her father answered. "I always return to London this time of year. My country home is too drafty for winter living. And Deighton, stubborn as they come, insists on seeing that the townhouse is made ready. It's his measure in case I change my mind," he added. "Now, however, I'm glad for it. With my lovely daughter at my side I'll once again take my place. I find I'm eager for it too." Her father laughed with real amusement. "You'll cause an uproar, Caroline."