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Frowning, she turned around to see what had caught his attention and discovered that a large, ornate carriage, pulled by a perfectly matched set of four chestnut geldings, was approaching. Liveried servants could be seen in blue with gold brocade. Someone important must be visiting Chatternwell.

Realizing she had left Miss Jolie and her mother alone with Annie and a promise to return, Caroline quickly crossed the street to re-enter her shop. The warmth was a relief, even if it could not warm her frozen heart.

“Miss Jolie, my apologies. I … had a lock that needed repair, and Mr. Jackson happened to be passing by.”

“It is no trouble, Mrs. Brown. I shall have the gown made with the Saxon blue silk, if you could?”

Caroline blinked in surprise. It was one of her most expensive fabrics, so the order would include substantial profit. It appeared her business would continue to thrive while inside she floundered. She nodded, pulling out her order book to write down the details.

Shortly, the two women exited the shop, chattering about a visit to the haberdashery next door. That was when Caroline realized that the elegant carriage she had seen approaching earlier had stopped in front of her shop, and a footman stood at attention.

Lady Jolie and Miss Jolie paused, peering curiously at the carriage. It was the finest Caroline had ever seen, with an intricate coat of arms on the door, luxurious drapery in the windows, and a gilded finial at the crest of the slanting roof.

The footman continued to stand at attention, paying no mind to the two women gawking at him. Eventually, they moved off, casting inquisitive glances over their shoulders as they walked away.

Caroline was transfixed, staring at the carriage. As soon as the two women disappeared from sight, the footman sprang into action, as if he had been awaiting their departure. He reached up to open the carriage door, then fixed the steps in place before stepping aside.

Highly polished black riding boots came into view on the top step, followed by buckskins draped over powerful legs, and then a man descended. A very large Viking of a man, several inches over six feet, with blond hair and an elegant blue tailcoat.

Caroline blinked rapidly, trying to place him, before her mouth fell open. It was the Duke of Halmesbury!

The earl had briefly introduced them back in August when she had visited Lord Saunton at Chatternwell House to sign her loan documents.

The duke turned and held up a hand to assist a woman to descend from the dim interior. All Caroline could make out was the expensive hem of a burgundy carriage dress, the duke blocking most of her view, but blood began to pound loudly in her ears.

There could only be one woman who would accompany the duke in the ducal carriage—Caroline was about to meet her past.

“Annie!” The girl came running from the back, clearly alarmed at the sharpness of her employer’s voice.

“Yes, Mrs. Brown?”

Caroline drew a breath to modulate her tone. “Please run over to Mr. Andrews and purchase some pies for us.”

Annie’s brown eyes brightened in anticipation. A visit to Mr. Andrews was certain to earn her a sticky bun. “Yes, Mrs. Brown.”

As the child turned away, Caroline called out, “And, Annie, take your time. I need to meet with this customer in private.”

Annie nodded vigorously, more than happy to have some time to herself as she skipped to the back. Fortunately, Mrs. Jones and her daughter were not working today, so Caroline had the shop to herself. And her unexpected guest.

Outside, the duke stepped aside to reveal his wife. Miss Annabel, chestnut hair neatly coifed and brandy eyes shining, sought her out through the windowpanes. Caroline flushed as their gazes met, licking her lips and wiping her damp palms over her skirts to still their trembling while Her Grace approached the door.

The footman opened it, stepping back to allow the duchess entry and then shutting the door behind her. This was to be a private audience.

Caroline and Her Grace stared at each other across the shop for several seconds before Caroline recalled her place and sank into a deep curtsy. “Miss Anna—Your Grace.”

The young woman laughed out loud. “No matter how long I am married to the duke, I never grow accustomed to how old acquaintances behave because of my increased station as his wife. It is”—the duchess tilted her head as if seeking the right word—“disconcerting.”

“My apologies, Your Grace.”

The duchess walked over to where Caroline was awkwardly posed in the curtsy, uncertain if she was to rise in these circumstances. “I have come to visit an old friend, so perhaps you should rise and we can converse freely.”

Caroline choked as she returned to a standing position and rubbed at her dry throat. When she regained the ability to speak, she sputtered, “Old friend?”

Her Grace tilted her head again, contemplating her with a sad expression. “Were we not friends?”

Her throat muscles worked, and eventually, Caroline croaked her response. “Until I ruined it.”

“Hmm.”