by Cheryl Holt
“Was that all?”
“I hurled a few other choice invectives, but honestly! He tossed Jane and Bobby out the door, and they had nowhere to go! He’s a monster.”
John shrugged. “His loss of you is definitely my gain.”
“You don’t believe him, do you?”
“Not about you being lazy and slothful, but I’m certain you were impertinent.”
“Only when he deserved to be disrespected.”
“I’m sure that’s true. Who is Miss Bates? Since I’m in charge here, I insist on being apprised as to who’s communicating with you.”
“Why? Will you burn her letter if you don’t feel she’s an appropriate person?”
“Yes. Is she also about to inform me of your tendency toward impertinence?”
“No, she liked me. And she was quite impertinent to Mr. Slater herself.”
“The poor man must have had his hands full with you two.”
“It didn’t matter though. The children were still tossed out.”
She opened her letter as he asked, “Who is Miss Bates? You haven’t told me.”
“Remember my mentioning that Bobby and Jane have a third sibling? Daisy? She resided with us in our cottage at Benton. Miss Bates is her aunt, and Daisy went to live with her.”
“How did she find you?”
“She wrote to my cousin in London, and he forwarded it on to me.” She started reading, struggling to focus as he peppered her with annoying questions. Finally, she reached the end, and she murmured, “My goodness.”
“Is it bad news?”
“No. It’s odd news and wonderful news.”
“About what?”
“Jane’s father died, and his brother, Peyton Prescott, inherited. He promised us he’d protect the children and permit them to remain at Benton. He was a sailor in the navy, but when he returned to his post, Mr. Slater kicked them out anyway. He claimed Peyton Prescott had ordered him too. We were so upset and couldn’t imagine why he’d behaved so despicably, but evidently, Mr. Slater acted on his own. Peyton Prescott had no idea they’d been evicted.”
“For heaven’s sake. I hope Slater was fired over it.”
“She doesn’t say, but she and Daisy are in London at the Benton town house. Peyton Prescott is supporting them for now. He’s invited me to London someday—to bring Bobby and Jane. Miss Bates was eager to notify me, so I can let them know they’ll get to visit Daisy. They’ve been so afraid they’d never see her again.”
“When will it transpire?”
“I’ll reply and ask. If I go, would you mind?”
“I’ll only agree if you swear you’ll come back. If there’s a chance you’ll journey to town and stay there, then I’ll have to refuse.”
She was indignant. “First off, you’re not my father or my husband. If I wish to travel to London—or anywhere else—I will. You can’t boss me.”
“Maybe in a normal world, I couldn’t, but this is Dunworthy, and I’m lord and master here. If I don’t want you to go to London, then you won’t go.”
“And second, of course, I’d come back. I wouldn’t leave Bobby and Jane at Dunworthy without me. I’ve vowed to watch over them until they don’t need me anymore.”
“Is that the sole reason? For Bobby and Jane? You’d better tell me that I would factor into your decision. You’d better tell me you’d miss me.”
“I might miss you if I left, but I won’t admit to more than that.”
“All right, Miss Watson. If you’ll guarantee it will be quick and that you’ll return as swiftly as you’re able, you may plan your trip.”
“Thank you, thank you, my Lord Dunn.”
He grinned, and she grinned too. They were completely bonded, as if a connection had blossomed that could never be severed.
He viewed her as a possible mistress, but why did that sordid scenario have to be their only option? Why couldn’t she marry him? Why not? Cordiality could meld into fondness, then into love. Why couldn’t it?
But would she like to be Mistress of Dunworthy? Could she stand to be his partner in the castle, to run and manage it? She’d have to shove Melvina Dunn aside, would have to maneuver through his mass of lazy, distrustful relatives. Could she spend her life assuming those chores—if it would make him happy?
It occurred to her that she might be willing to bear any burden, to expend any effort, so long as she could have him for her own.
* * * *
“How are you settling in, Jane?”
“I’m fine, Mistress Dunn.”
Melvina glared at Jane, irked that the girl appeared distracted, as if she didn’t like Melvina bothering her. “Lord John heard from Benton that you’re really Rebecca’s daughter.”
“I hate that none of you believed me.”
“It means I’m your aunt. You may call me Aunt Melvina if you’d like.”
“Miss Watson wouldn’t like me to be so familiar. I should probably stick with Mistress Dunn.”
Jane’s tone was almost snippy, and Melvina’s temper flared. “Jane! Look at me when I’m speaking to you.”
Jane flinched and whipped around. “I’m sorry, Mistress Dunn, but Lord John is talking to Miss Watson, and I like seeing them together.”
“If Lord John is conversing with someone, it’s not your affair, and you have no business spying on him.”
“I wasn’t spying. Miss Watson is so nice, and she deserves to be noticed by him. I love how he flirts with her.”
“Lord John is not flirting with Miss Watson!” Melvina huffed.
At being contradicted, Jane’s aristocratic blood surged to the fore, and she was livid. “Yes, he is. He flirts with her all the time.”
They were in the main hall, breakfast just over, the crowd dispersing. Melvina glanced over to where John and Miss Watson were huddled in a corner, and it definitely seemed as if Jane was correct.
Their heads were pressed close, their bodies leaned toward each other as if they were utterly attuned. Now that Jane had mentioned it, their attraction was so visible that it practically encircled them in a golden halo.
How had this happened, and how could she put a stop to it?
He was insane to fixate on an outsider like Winifred Watson. He knew better, and there was too much at stake. Miss Watson would expect a marriage proposal as her conclusion, but John would never wed her. So there was no role for her except that of temporary doxy.
He was supposed to wed Melvina, and she’d simply been waiting for him to get on with it. She hadn’t broached the subject, but she hadn’t felt she should have to.
He was aware of their customs. If he tried to marry Miss Watson and raise her up above Melvina, there would be a mutiny. Their kin would never accept her, and she’d already made dozens of enemies with her dictatorial, superior attitude. Whatever nonsense John was pursuing with her, Melvina had to nip it in the bud.
First off, she needed to keep Jane from spreading any stories. “You have a vivid imagination, Jane, and you’re observing things that aren’t there.”
“I am not,” Jane fumed. “He even visits her in the middle of the night.”
Melvina scowled. “What?”
“I had a bad dream, and I wanted to tell Miss Watson about it. As I arrived at her door, he was coming out of her bedchamber.”
The news was so shocking that Melvina was surprised she didn’t faint.
“You saw him exiting?” Melvina demanded.
From Melvina’s sharp query, Jane realized she’d revealed more than she should have. She relented instantly, looking like the young girl she was.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” she mumbled. “I might…ah…be confused. It was dark, and I was very tired.”
“I’m sure that’s it, and I would caution you to be more circumspect. If you dare to spew false tales about Lord John, there will have to be consequences.”
“I understand.”
“Why don’t you
find a way to occupy yourself, so you’re not snooping where you shouldn’t?”
“Bobby is playing outside. I’ll join him.”
“You do that.”
Jane skittered off, and Melvina watched her go. She thought she’d scared the stupid child into silence, but how could she be certain?
Melvina had to confer with John and remind him of the dangers of misconduct toward Miss Watson, but he was so surly and unapproachable that he wouldn’t listen to any chastisement.
Freddie wandered up, and in her current mood, she wasn’t eager to endure his company. They had an odd relationship. They didn’t particularly like one another, but they had many common interests.
Freddie had burned all his bridges out in the larger world, so he was anxious to tarry at the castle, but he was in the doghouse with John and trying to ingratiate himself. He and Melvina often shared a whiskey and discussed John and their various issues regarding him.
“If you keep frowning like that,” he said, “your face will crack.”
Melvina smoothed her expression. “I’m not frowning. I was just thinking.”
“What about? It must be a vexing topic.”
“Don’t be obvious, but glance across the room to where John is chatting with Miss Watson.”
He peered about, his eyes casually passing over them. “Oh, my. Would you look at that?”
“You see it, don’t you? He’s sweet on her.”
“We’re far beyond that point. Gad, they should just hang a sign over their heads.”
“Has he mentioned her to you?”
“No, but then we’re men. We don’t sip tea and titter about the girls who’ve caught our fancy.”
“This is bad. This is very, very bad.”
“Winifred Watson is a shrew,” he said, “and we can’t let her sink her claws into him. If she can wedge herself into a spot of authority by his side, I have no idea what would happen to you, but I’m positive she’d convince him to toss me out.”
“It appears she already has her claws dug in. We might be too late.”
“It’s never too late,” Freddie said, “so what will you do about it?”
“I haven’t decided, but I’ll think of something.”
“Well, you should think fast or I’m afraid you might shortly be calling her Mrs. John Dunn.”
Melvina gasped. “You can’t be serious. He wouldn’t…wouldn’t…marry her.”
“Who can guess?” Freddie shrugged. “I’ve known him for twenty years, and he’s never previously smiled at a woman like that.”
The star-crossed pair walked down a rear hall toward John’s office. Melvina and Freddie glared until they were out of sight. Then Melvina said, “We have to get rid of her.”
“I agree, but since he’s infatuated, we have to tread cautiously. I won’t commit any act that would leave me with dirty hands—where I’d be blamed for your mischief.”
“It would be our mischief, Freddie. We both want the same conclusion. We both want her gone.”
“Yes, but plan meticulously, Melvina. I can’t enrage John again.”
“He won’t always be at Dunworthy to protect her.”
“Won’t he?” Freddie asked. “I haven’t heard that he intends to travel off island any time soon.”
“Or maybe we could push her to depart. She’s alone and on her own. If she was away from the castle, any misfortune could befall her.”
“True,” Freddie said.
“I’ll ponder the situation. I’ll notify you when I’m prepared to take action.”
“As usual, I’m at your service, Mistress Dunn.”
Freddie gave a jaunty salute and sauntered away, so Melvina had to fuss and stew by herself.
* * * *
John sat at the desk in his office. He was drinking a whiskey and staring at the letter Winnie had penned to her friend, Miss Bates. He need only drop it in the mailbag so it would be winging to London in the morning.
He hadn’t moved though.
Clearly, he was rushing to an ominous end with her. He shouldn’t just send her letter to London. He should send her too. He ought to shield her from his wicked self by buying her a ticket on the next coach. He could draft a stellar reference for her, could concoct details and claim she’d worked as governess at Dunworthy instead of Benton.
With her famous name and obvious level of schooling, he had no doubt she’d find a job right away. Wouldn’t that be better?
If she stayed at Dunworthy, nothing good would transpire. He always got his way, so ultimately, they would engage in a torrid affair. But when he liked her so much, why would he mistreat her? It wasn’t so much that he was debauched or immoral. He recognized that it would be awful to ruin her, but he simply didn’t care.
One of the key aspects of wallowing at Dunworthy was that a person stopped contemplating the rest of the world. They were so isolated that it seemed as if the rules of decorum didn’t apply. Out in the larger universe, a gentleman would never seduce an innocent maiden, but at Dunworthy—where he was lord—he could carry on however he pleased.
He stared at the letter again.
If he posted it, her friend would reply. They’d begin to arrange Winnie’s trip to London. Gradually, she’d be pulled away from Dunworthy. She’d promised she’d return after any visit to town, but he didn’t believe her.
When she was trapped at Dunworthy, it was easy to forget the negative features—the seclusion, the rural customs, the surly residents—that could be so draining. A trek to London would remind her of the differences, how she should be in the city rather than on his rustic, desolate island.
It would be fine for her to travel to town someday, but not yet.
He walked over to the fire and threw her letter onto the flames. He watched it ignite, then crumble to ash. Once he was certain it was destroyed, he nodded with satisfaction, then went back to his desk and poured himself another whiskey.
* * * *
“Are you ready?”
“Yes, I’m ready.”
“You’ll have to swear, and you’ll have to mean it.”
“I know.”
Bobby gazed at Lord John, and a wonderful sense of belonging flooded him. His entire life, he’d yearned to be wanted, to be welcome. He’d grown up at Benton as a bastard son, as a loathed and unnecessary child who’d been a burden.
No one had ever valued or cherished him. Just his sisters, Jane and Daisy. And then Miss Watson who’d arrived so very late in the game. Now John Dunn was offering him a place and a connection.
They’d talked for hours about the significance of being invited to join the Dunn clan. Outsiders were never trusted and couldn’t be relied on to be faithful, to keep secrets. Bobby had pummeled Huntly, then stepped forward to accept the blame, but he couldn’t have grasped the benefit his candor would bestow.
They were down in the caves beneath the castle. Torches burned in the brackets on the walls, the flickering light casting stark shadows on the rocks, so the episode seemed magical and dangerous.
“You’re ready,” Lord John said, “but are you sure? Once you pledge yourself to me, there’s no going back.”
“I’m sure,” Bobby firmly responded.
“If you ever betray me, it will be the only time it occurs.”
“I understand.”
“When we Dunns swear, we swear forever.”
Bobby glared at him, looking regal and annoyed. “I can make a vow and keep it. I don’t need to be lectured.”
Lord John snorted with amusement. He was the sort of man Bobby wished his father had been. He was smart and tough, dashing and valiant. He’d never recklessly produce a bevy of bastards, using unsuspecting females—as Bobby’s father had done. He’d never die and leave his children unprotected so they had to fend for themselves. He was too ethical to behave in such a dastardly fashion.
Bobby thought—from this point on—he would pretend Lord John was his father. Why n
ot? With how vain and imperious Bobby deemed himself to be, he deserved to have been sired by someone like John Dunn rather than Neville Prescott.
“Kneel down, Bobby,” Lord John said, “and repeat the words after me: I, Bobby Prescott, will always be loyal to Lord John.”
After intense discussion, they’d decided Bobby’s oath would be to Lord John personally, and his obligation would be to Lord John alone. If something ever happened to Lord John, Bobby would be freed from any commitment to the family.
They’d also agreed that they wouldn’t tell anyone else. Lord John’s kin were a cynical lot. They didn’t like strangers, and strangers were never allowed to bind themselves. He and Lord John would have a special secret. Over the years, others would speculate as to why Bobby had remained steadfast, but he and Lord John would know why.
“I will be faithful,” Lord John said, and Bobby spoke each line after him. “I will be honest and dedicated and true. I will be brave and fearless, and Lord John will be able to depend on me. I will never shirk a task or fail in my duty.”
“Never,” Bobby insisted. “I will serve you all my days, Lord John, until you draw your last breath.”
“Dunn now, Dunn always, Dunn forever,” Lord John solemnly chanted, and Bobby joined in.
There were probably people who’d think he was crazy for attaching himself to John Dunn. After all, they’d been acquainted for such a short time. He supposed, too, that he was abandoning his Prescott heritage, but who cared? It wasn’t as if his Prescott relatives had ever spent a single second being glad he was around.
Lord John would give him a purpose, and Bobby had wrestled a spot for himself at Dunworthy. He’d be permitted to stay with Jane, to watch over her and keep her safe. He’d be in a position to advocate for Miss Watson too. He’d persuade Lord John to defend and support her.
A grim satisfaction riveted him. He’d tossed the dice to better himself, and John Dunn would always be delighted by Bobby’s gamble.
“Stand up,” Lord John said. “Roll up your sleeve.”
Lord John had explained this part, that it would hurt and would be raw and sore for a few days afterward. Bobby was determined to get through it without flinching.