Brethren of the Coast Box Set 2

by Barbara Devlin

  “Oh, no.” Despite her hard work, her family name had been ruined. “Then all is lost, and we are paupers, in every respect.”

  “No, darling.” Dalton gave her a gentle nudge. “All is not lost.”

  “Have you any claim to Courtenay Hall?” Dirk inquired. “Or do the standard rules of primogeniture and entail apply to the estate?”

  “No, sir. While Courtenay Hall has persisted as Portsea’s seat of governance, there are no entailments, to my knowledge, in regard to the inheritance.” With a nod to Robert, Harold rubbed his chin. “The property, and its accrued arrears, passes to the oldest son.”

  “So we need only contrive a plausible explanation for Governor Harcourt’s extended absence and announce his demise.” The viscount stood and paced. Then he halted and peered at Dalton. “Damian’s ancestral pile is not too far. We could circulate rumors of the governor’s visit to Penhurst, along with a mysterious illness. After a suitable period, Harold could post news of the death.”

  “Who is Damian?” As Daphne pondered their machinations, fear knotted her belly. “And can we trust him?”

  “The Duke of Weston.” Dirk ticked off an imaginary list on his fingers. “To us, he is a brother, and I would trust him with my life.”

  “A duke?” Harold’s brows almost reached his hairline. “Oh, I say. Daphne, do not argue.”

  “Dirk, I would ask a favor.” Dalton tugged at his cravat, and she wondered at his purpose. “While I know you wish to return home, I would prefer you remain here, for an additional two days. In that time, I shall remove the Siren to the naval yard at Portsmouth and transfer supervision of the repairs to my first mate. If you could pen a missive to His Majesty, supporting Harold’s promotion to the office, dispatch young Robert in my coach to the War Office, with a commission sponsorship, and review Courtenay Hall’s accounts, I shall rejoin you, whereupon we will journey to the city, with Miss Harcourt.”

  “What?” Daphne leaped to her feet. “Why must I leave my home? And what of Richard?”

  “Richard will stay here, with Hicks and Mrs. Jones to guard him.” Dalton caught her in his sights, and his unmasked determination gave her a shiver. “And you need a husband—a simple, dull, uninspired fellow with an ocean of patience and deep pockets. There is no better place to find such a creature than the marriage mart, which does a brisk business in the ballrooms of the ton, as the Season is in full swing.”

  And just like that, Daphne Harcourt, backwater girl, pondered an impending trip to that magical, mythical place known as London.

  THE LUCKY ONE

  CHAPTER SIX

  A smattering of buildings declared they neared the heart of the British Empire, and Daphne kept her nose pressed to the glass, as she fidgeted with excitement. Soon the landscape yielded to clusters of structures, until the crowded streets of the city consumed the view beyond the windows. And while he found her delight infectious, all Dalton could wonder was what had possessed him to bring the delectable provincial to London.

  “I shall drop you at your bachelor lodgings.” Dirk adjusted the lace trim of his sleeve. “And then Miss Harcourt and I will continue to Randolph House.”

  “But Daphne is staying with me.” Yes, he knew it was wrong, but Dalton could not bear to let her out of his sight. “I promised Robert I would care for her, so she is my charge.”

  “That is out of the question.” His stuffy elder brother gave Dalton the look, which conveyed a wealth of recriminations and reproaches he knew too well. “You cannot quarter an un-chaperoned, unwed woman of character. It is not done. And I doubt her sibling intended you to share your residence with her.”

  “But these circumstances are unusual, and I shall hire a lady’s maid.” Numerous justifications danced in his brain, but the simple fact was he wanted Daphne at his side. “As she has no acquaintances in town, what objection could you have?”

  “Do you want the long or the short list?” Dirk arched a brow. “You know better, brother.”

  “Have I a say in the matter?” the source of his discomfit inquired.

  “No.” What was he doing? Why could he not leave her at Dirk’s doorstep, so Rebecca might find Daphne a husband? Were he smart, he would abandon her to his sister’s care and resume his rakish endeavors. “And there will be no more discussion.”

  As the coach slowed to a halt before Dalton’s Mayfair residence, Dirk mouthed, Bad form.

  Anxious to avoid an upbraiding, he had not waited for the footman to open the door. Instead, Dalton jumped to the sidewalk and turned to assist Daphne. After a quick check of the vicinity, he ushered her up the entrance stairs and into the foyer.

  “Have Miss Harcourt’s trunk conveyed to the red room,” Dalton instructed his butler. “And have cook prepare an early dinner, as we are hungry.”

  “Yes, sir.” Merton bowed and then rushed to fulfill the requests.

  “What is the red room?” The picture of innocence, Daphne blinked. “And are you certain I should reside here, with you?”

  “Right now, I am certain of nothing.” At a loss to explain his behavior, Dalton grabbed her hand, dragged her down the side hall, and hauled her into his study. After he poured two balloons of liquid courage, he offered her a glass, which he clinked with his. “Here is to your health.”

  “And the same to you.” Then she sipped the amber intoxicant and choked violently.

  “Are you all right?” He patted her back. “Are you ill?”

  “No.” She cleared her throat. “I have partaken little brandy, so I am unaccustomed to it. It is quite different from wine, and it burns.”

  And there it was—her naïveté on full display, which he could not ignore. In search of relief, he downed the contents of his snifter, snatched hers, emptied it in a single gulp, snared her by the wrist, and retraced his steps. In the foyer, he veered right and led her upstairs. At the landing, he steered left and strolled into what he had hastily designated her chamber.

  To his surprise, she wriggled free, so he released her, and she moved to the center of the opulent apartment. Garbed in a lavender frock, which he had purchased from a boutique in Portsmouth, she looked out of place in her accommodation, which sported a bold crimson décor, adequate to its primary use. Circling slowly, she studied her surroundings, and the stark contrast between her innocence and the immorality that had occurred in the bed, which loomed as a lascivious backdrop, struck him between the eyes.

  The previous November, during a rare instance of sheer depravity, after an evening of heavy drinking, he had done something terrible, something appalling. He had engaged in conduct that would shame his mother, embarrass his brother, and scandalize his entire family, were it known throughout society. Worse, it could cost him Daphne. It had not been a proud moment.

  “Sir Dalton, I hope you do not think me ungrateful, but I would prefer to consider the viscount’s generous offer.” When she peered at the four-poster, she gulped and then frowned. “As I do not wish to inconvenience you, and you seem unprepared for guests.”

  “Perhaps you are right.” He speared his fingers through his hair. “I can summon—”

  A commotion downstairs gave him pause. Dalton stomped to the landing, with Daphne in his wake, just as Rebecca stormed into the foyer.

  “Where is she?” Dirk’s wife inquired of Merton. “What has he done with her?”

  “I beg your pardon, your ladyship.” The butler bowed. “To whom do you refer?”

  “Who is that woman?” With a half-smothered shriek, Daphne yanked hard on his coat sleeve. “And what is she to you?”

  “There you are.” At that second, Rebecca came alert. As she ascended the stairs, on a wave of high dudgeon that bespoke trouble, she cast an expression of molten ire. “You ought to be horsewhipped.”

  Had he thought the circumstances grim? It had just gone from bad to worse. There was no escape, so he sought to spike the former spy’s guns, as he tugged on his cravat.

  “Miss Daphne Harcourt, may I present my sister-in
-law, Lady Rebecca, Viscountess Wainsbrough.” Then he braced for the assault. “Becca, this is Daphne.”

  “How are you, poor dear?” Rebecca embraced the governor’s daughter. “Dirk told me of your misfortune, and I am so sorry for your loss.” And then she caught Dalton in her sights. “How can you possibly think it acceptable to board an unmarried woman of character in your bachelor lodgings?”

  “Do not claim I did not warn you.” Dirk chuckled, as he neared. To Rebecca, he said, “Shall I have Miss Harcourt’s things conveyed to our coach?”

  “Please, do so, as she will reside at Randolph House for the duration of her London stay, and I shall brook no refusal.” With an arm draped about Daphne’s shoulders, Rebecca returned to the foyer. “I have all sorts of events planned, and tomorrow you will meet our extended family, at a special dinner I shall arrange, to welcome you to the city.”

  “I hope you have not gone to too much trouble, on my account.” Daphne glanced over her shoulder, with a countenance of utter helplessness. “And it is wonderful to make your acquaintance.”

  “What did I tell you?” Dirk arched a brow, as he elbowed Dalton. “My wife has a habit of deciding, for herself, what is or is not appropriate, and you would be wise not to challenge her, as she is bloody formidable when she sets her mind to something. Now help me fetch the lady’s belongings.”

  “Could you not have forestalled her intrusion, as this is a private matter?” Dalton clutched the handle at one end of the trunk, while his brother perched at the opposite side, and together they hoisted the old chest. Yet, even as they exited what Dalton had come to deem a garish dwelling, he knew Rebecca was right. “What am I to do, brother? As I am at sea, and nothing makes sense.”

  “You find yourself in a quandary, when it comes to the impeccable Miss Harcourt?” Dirk smiled, as they descended the stairs. “She muddles your thoughts?”

  “Daphne muddles everything.” Outside, Dalton relinquished his burden to the liveried footman. “How can such a sweet little thing disrupt my entire life?”

  To his dismay, Dirk merely stared at Dalton and smirked.

  “Oh, no.” Dalton shuddered. “Do not even attempt to suggest I am smitten with Miss Daphne. She is not my type. She is too pure. I am a rake. We do not suit. I am not in love.”

  Dirk burst into laughter. “Brother, I do not envy you, as you are in for the ride of your existence.”

  “What do you mean?” He followed his elder sibling and waited until Dirk occupied the seat beside his bride.

  “You will learn soon enough.” Dirk claimed Becca’s hand and brought it to his lips. “Are we ready, darling?”

  “Indeed, my love.” She giggled, until she noticed Dalton attempting to enter the spacious equipage. “And where do you think you are going?”

  “Uh, I had thought to join you, at Randolph House.” In light of the frigidity of her stare, he halted in his tracks. “Given I maintain a—perhaps I should remain here.”

  “I should say so.” Rebecca humphed. “Ridiculous fool.”

  “You know I rather fancy your feisty side, sweetheart.” Dirk kissed his wife’s forehead. “What say we retire to my study, upon our arrival home, and after you settle our guest?”

  “My lord, I shall be too delighted to indulge you.” Rebecca narrowed her stare, as Dalton retreated to the sidewalk. “And we will see you tomorrow, for dinner, Dalton. Be prompt, as I cannot abide tardiness.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He nodded.

  “Drive on,” Dirk stated.

  Alone at his doorstep, Dalton sighed and wondered what had just happened.

  #

  The London residence of the Viscount and Viscountess Wainsbrough boasted red brick with Portland stone trim and stood at almost twice the size of Courtenay Hall. The interior featured rich mahogany, leather wall inserts, and burgundy accouterments. In contrast to Dalton’s bachelor lodgings, with its less than elegant décor, Randolph House presented a classic but sophisticated abode Daphne found somewhat intimidating in its grandeur.

  The previous evening, after unpacking her meager belongings, she had dined in the sitting room of her opulent bedchamber and retired early. The soul of gentility, Rebecca had recommended a good sleep, as they would venture into the shopping district, today. And then they were supposed to have lunch with the Brethren women, but that meant nothing to Daphne.

  Gowned in the simple but stunning dress of sprig muslin, which Rebecca had sent with her lady’s maid just after breakfast, Daphne located the butler in the foyer.

  “May I be of assistance, Miss Daphne?” Hughes bowed.

  “Lady Rebecca summoned me.” Reminiscent of Hicks, the very proper manservant smiled, and Daphne liked him in an instant. “Do you know where I might find her?”

  “Her ladyship is in the morning room, with his lordship.” Hughes stood tall. “If you will follow me, I shall show you the way.”

  “Oh, that is not necessary.” She peered about the chasmal foyer. “If you would point me in the right direction, I will announce myself.”

  “Down the hall to the left.” Hughes inclined his head. “It is the last door on the right.”

  “Thank you.” With a half-curtsey, she grinned and then sought her host and hostess. As she neared the end of the well-appointed passage, she heard voices and discovered the oak panel ajar. Inside, seated on a sofa, the viscount hugged the viscountess, who nestled in his lap.

  “You were superb, last night, sweetheart.” Dirk growled and nipped his wife’s nose.

  “Only last night?” Rebecca pouted. “As I exercised you quite thoroughly this morning, too.”

  “Now that was inspiring, beyond words.” He tipped Rebecca’s chin and engaged her in a shockingly intimate kiss, which brought the burn of a blush to Daphne’s cheeks.

  Averting her stare, she retreated a step. But fascination brought her to the portal, and she could not stop herself from studying the heated clinch, as never had her father and mother exchanged such depth of affection.

  “I love you, darling.” Dirk rested his forehead to Rebecca’s. “And I missed you terribly.”

  “Well I abhor sharing our bed with nothing more than a cold pillow, as I much prefer your warm body at my side.” The viscountess trailed her tongue along his bottom lip. “And I love you, too, with all my heart. But I apologize for disturbing your slumber, after your long road trip.”

  “You could never disturb me, my lady.” He caressed Rebecca’s cheek. “I just wish we could identify the source of your nightmares, that we might curtail them, as I cannot bear your torment. It hurts me to see you suffer.”

  “Yet I do so favor your special brand of medicine, which never fails to soothe my distress.” Rebecca wound her arms about his neck. “And I would not have you fret for me.”

  When Dirk drew Rebecca close for another remarkable kiss, Daphne stepped back, cleared her throat, grasped the knob, and knocked before peeking around the edge of the door. “Hello. Am I interrupting anything?”

  The couple stood in the center of the stylish but cozy room, as Daphne entered, and Dirk adjusted his coat and winked at his wife. “Morning, Miss Daphne.”

  “How are you, my dear?” Rebecca came forward. “Are you settled and comfortably situated? Is there anything you require, as I would have you lack for nothing?”

  “On the contrary, everything is wonderful.” How the smitten couple riveted Daphne, as they enjoyed what she had never believed possible, and she coveted hope for her future. “You had mentioned a visit to Bond St. When should we depart?”

  “Posthaste.” The viscountess scrutinized Daphne’s appearance. “And you look marvelous.”

  “Thank you.” Daphne envied Rebecca’s air of poise and grace. “I appreciate the use of your wardrobe.”

  “So you venture out?” Dirk inquired of his wife, as he caught her by the waist.

  “Yes.” Rebecca smoothed a lock of hair from his face. “Our charge requires new clothes suitable for the marriage mart and Almack’s.
And that reminds me, will you secure the necessary vouchers?”

  “Please, do not bankrupt the viscountcy.” He grimaced. “And you know I detest knee breeches.”

  “But you will make the sacrifice, for me, else I must tour the hallowed hall, on my own.” Then Rebecca laughed. “And your brother has given Miss Daphne carte blanche, so he finances her trousseau.”

  “Permit my ravishing bride to wander the ton’s ballrooms sans escort?” Dirk snickered. “Not by a long chalk. And Dalton assumes responsibility for the bills? By all means, spend at will, darling. And when can I expect you in residence?”

  “How magnanimous is my husband with another man’s wallet?” Rebecca cooed. “And I shall return home, at two, for my nap, should anyone wish to join me.”

  “Until then, take care.” Despite Daphne’s presence, Dirk again kissed his wife. “And you know, very well, I will guard your rest.”

  “Then I shall away and formulate something to inspire you, once again.” With that, Rebecca set her sights on Daphne. “Come, my dear. As we have much to accomplish and little time prior to lunch with my sisters.”

  “But I do not wish to be a burden.” With Rebecca as taskmaster, Daphne charged the foyer. “And how many sisters do you have?”

  “There are five, in all.” The viscountess glanced at the butler. “Hughes, is the coach ready?”

  “Yes, your ladyship.” The manservant bowed and then rushed to the fore, with pelisses in his grasp.

  “Oh.” Rebecca snapped her fingers. “Is there any peach jam pudding leftover from last night’s supper?”

  “Yes, your ladyship.” Hughes smiled. “I had cook prepare an extra large dish, in the event you preferred an additional portion.”

  “How perceptive, as I craved it constantly when I carried Angeline. What would I do without you?” Rebecca grinned, and the butler blushed. “I expect to return promptly at two, and I should like to wash away the road dust, soon thereafter. Will you have a bath waiting, along with the dessert, in his lordship’s sitting room?”