“Ah yes. You see, I had an idea that you had doubts about that wedding. After all, you did disobey him and decide to go to the Vatican. An unusual thing to do.”
She flushed. “I—it was a momentary lapse. I was sick of his domineering ways.”
“So, I believe, are all those who serve under him,” Daniel said. “I’ve never heard more ill being spoken of a man.”
“Lord Bathurst is…he is strict,” Diana said. “That does not mean he is evil.”
“No. Being strict is not evil; ordering the death of a fourteen-year-old boy and his entire family—that is evil,” Daniel said heatedly.
“How can you be sure it was Nathaniel who did it!” she exclaimed.
Daniel shook his head. “You have changed the topic admirably, my lady. Yet you did not give me a direct answer. Do you love Nathaniel?”
“Of… course.” Diana stammered.
“Ah,” Daniel said. “Then it makes my task a little harder.”
“You speak in such riddles,” Diana said. “I demand you be direct, sir. Why have you kidnapped me and what heinous accusations are you slinging on my future husband?”
In reply, Daniel smiled again, a maddeningly beautiful smile that Diana rather wished she could stop staring at. It was infuriating, really, that her eyes seemed to want to roam over him of their own accord. He had taken a giant handkerchief and scrubbed his face so that his nose seemed sharper, his cheekbones stood out, and his color seemed paler than it had been when he was masquerading as a footman. That, in addition to the removal of the wig, had presented an entirely new man—a handsome youth who looked rather like Michelangelo’s statue of David. He had the same arrogance about him and the same coiled power in his relaxed body.
Daniel spoke now. “My dear, it is simple enough. I am the true heir to Bathurst, and Nathaniel wished to be rid of me so that he could claim the lands. And for now, he thinks that I am long dead. When he finds out that I am not, he will no doubt begin the chase. As for you, you are the key to inheriting Bathurst. Without you, there can be no inheritance. I have kidnapped you for one reason only—so that I may be married to you.”
Chapter 5
Picnic in the Country
“S top this carriage immediately,” Diana declared. “I demand it!”
“Very well,” Daniel said, to her surprise.
He whistled out, and Antonio brought the horses to a stop.
“You’re letting me go?” Diana asked, surprised.
“Of course not,” Daniel said. “It’s simply time for supper, and I do not wish my bride to be malnourished.”
He got out of the carriage. Since the window shades had been pulled down, Diana had seen nothing of the countryside. She gasped as she saw the Tuscan countryside spread in front of her.
“Beautiful, is it not?” asked Daniel, smiling. “I was raised here though my heart belongs to England—though I never tire of gazing at this scene.”
They were stopped on the side of the road on top of a hill and spread below them were the gently undulating curves of earth, covered in a quilt of orange and green, flowering fields bordered with green cypress trees, neatly lining each road that cut through them. The sky above was powdery blue, with specks of clouds floating, mirroring the sheep that dotted the landscape below.
Antonio was spreading out a red checkered blanket under a tree, putting stones on each corner so that it would not fly away. Finishing this, he went to the carriage and brought out a large hamper, whose contents he began arranging on the blanket.
Daniel offered her his hand, and said, “Miss Honeyfield, my dear, I know this is all a shock to you, but will you promise, for just an hour, to enjoy this place, this scene, with no further questions or arguments? I promise, now that we are far enough away, that I will tell you all you need to know after we finish eating.
Diana was about to object, and to demand he tells her now what his plans were—but the pleading look he gave her coupled with the tiredness she now noticed in his eyes, silenced her. Besides, she told herself, she was hungry—and an hour of quiet reflection would be the perfect time to plot how to escape from Daniel’s clutches. By now, she was quite convinced that he was either mad or up to some villainy that she could not comprehend.
Daniel smiled, delighted when she accepted his hand and sat down on a pillow that Antonio had spread out.
“I’d like to introduce you to Antonio,” Daniel said. “He is my valet, yes, but he is as close to me as a brother. We were raised by the same man after all. His father.”
Diana bowed to Antonio as she would have to a viscount or an earl, Daniel noticed. It pleased him that she would treat Antonio with the same dignity.
“You grew up here, you said?” Diana asked.
“Yes. After the attack-” Daniel hesitated. “When I was fourteen, Antonio’s father, who was once my father’s valet, brought me here to his homeland, and raised me in the shade of the same cypress trees you see down there.” Daniel pointed in the distance, to a small white cottage that sat on the crown of a hill. “Antonio’s home and my childhood refuge.”
“You grew up together then?”
“Yes. Antonio’s father attempted his best to raise me with the manners of an earl, but I’m afraid I was not a very willing student. I found it terribly unfair that I had to learn while the other boys played, and consequently I often escaped my lessons to run wild.”
Diana smiled, picturing him as a little boy, chasing chickens in the farmyard, or climbing trees or playing at swords with other boys.
“It was a peaceful, idyllic time, and it helped me to recover from the trauma of seeing my family-” Daniel stopped abruptly. “But—I must not bore you with my woes. Would you like to taste this?” He offered her a slice of pie, and Diana cut herself a tiny piece.
The food was simple but wonderful. There were cold cuts of salami, deep red marbled with white chunks of fat, spicy to the taste, and wonderfully chewy. There was bread, dark brown and sprinkled with salt, yet white as a cloud inside. A jug of whole milk had appeared, as had a plate of butter and a hunk of crumbling goat’s cheese, which each of them helped themselves to. Somehow, Antonio had also produced a large salad, of mixed greens, cherry tomatoes, and freshly sliced cucumbers. Finally, there was the pie, with a buttery crust, cinnamon and apples nestled inside, and a slice of melting yellow Emmental cheese that Antonio insisted on topping it with. The cheese balanced the sweetness wonderfully well, and, as she stared at the scene in front of her, Diana reflected that the simple meal tasted better than any cordon bleu arrangement Lord Bathurst had arranged for.
She felt a silent companionship with the man sitting beside her and glanced sideways at him. Daniel was looking out at the land in front of them with a meditative, faraway look in his eyes. His plate was pushed aside now, and he lounged on the blanket with his hands propping up his chin. His brows were pushed together, and his wonderfully sharp profile had shadows and light intermixing on it as the tree’s leaves moved above them.
For a moment, Diana imagined how it would be if they were truly married—would they have bright, beautiful days like this, where each sat in silence, yet connected together? Contentment and peace seemed to spread through her. Time seemed to stretch out, a string that flowed on forever.
Then, she remembered who she was—a kidnapped woman who needed to escape. Kidnapped by a man who must be a madman—no matter how skillfully he was able to convince her otherwise. No matter how much she longed to believe him.
“The meal is done,” Diana said. “You promised you would tell me your plans after we ate—it is time you did.”
Daniel sighed as if he too had been feeling the same magical contentment she had. He stretched his arms and stood. “Very well, my lady. You shall know it all.”
Chapter 6
The Truth Revealed
A ntonio had wandered off somewhere so that now it was only her and Daniel under the oak tree. Diana still sat, her bonnet removed and at a little distance from her whil
e Daniel leaned against the tree.
“Do you know much about the late Earl of Bathurst?” asked Daniel.
“Only that he was a champion dueller, as is Lord Bathurst,” Diana said. “I have seen a portrait of him, and he was, I’ve heard, a giant of a man: full beard, barrel chest, and taller than a horse. My grandfather used to be his best friend once upon a time. But he never spoke of him—my grandfather died when I was only seven, so I suppose I never had a chance to hear much from him. But I know that Sir Bernard was a well-known man.”
“Sir Bernard was well known, yes. He was many things.” Daniel said. “He was a champion dueller, a handsome rake, a suave statesman—and a crook.”
“A crook!” exclaimed Diana.
“Indeed,” Daniel said. “But I get ahead of myself. Let me begin by saying that Bernard was, in his early years, a wild man—he had married early, at twenty, and begat Nathaniel. Through Nathaniel’s childhood, his father was never home, as he was too busy riding, gambling or-” Daniel stopped himself, and said after a moment’s thought, “or escorting various ladies to various balls.”
“I see,” Diana said, disapproval showing in the wrinkle of her nose. “Not a good father.”
“A bad father, and an even worse friend,” Daniel said. “Your grandfather, your mother’s father, Mr. Willow, was a good man, and a friend of Sir Bernard’s. He had his own business building ships, did he not? A famous one, I think.”
“It went bankrupt within a few years,” Diana said. “I think my grandfather was not cut out for business.”
“He was a shrewd businessman, but his loyalty killed the business,” Daniel said. “He was cheated out of his money by a man he had trusted—Sir Bernard.”
“What!” exclaimed Diana. She was shocked to hear the history of her own family being uncovered by a stranger.
“I’ve had to interview a lot of people to understand it all,” Daniel said. “I promise you, this is not the last time in my story that you will be exclaiming in shock.”
He put a hand to his forehead, deep in thought, then continued. “Sir Bernard was a cheat, a crook, yes—but he was also Mr. Willow’s friend—so out of loyalty, Mr. Willow did not contact the law, or in any way harm Sir Bernard’s reputation. He simply suffered in silence and watched his business crumble. From what I’ve heard, his family suffered one blow after the other in the years that followed. First, his business went bankrupt. Then, his only son died in a hunting accident. Then, your mother—his last child—and her husband, that is your father, passed away in an attack of typhoid. This happened when you were about two years old. He was left with only you, and he tried his best to bring you up properly.”
“Yes,” Diana said, tears coming to her eyes. It surprised her deeply that Daniel knew so much about her family—it surprised her even more to hear the empathy in his voice as he spoke of her grandfather’s pain.
“Your grandfather was a saint of a man,” Daniel said. “I have heard many tales of his kindnesses—but the one I think is the greatest is something that was never revealed until after his death. He had only a few thousand pounds to his name after Sir Bernard had cheated him—but your grandfather, Mr. Willow, spent them all to save the same man who had cheated him. He spent them to clear the debts of Sir Bernard—from a loan shark who would otherwise have killed him.”
Diana felt the tears drop out of her eyes. “Yes. That is the kind of man he was. Loyal to the end, even to a man who had stabbed him in the back. You wouldn’t find such devotion today.”
“No.” Daniel said, his voice softening as he looked at her. “It is a rare thing, such devotion.”
“Well, what next?” Diana asked. “How does this tie in with your kidnapping me?”
“Well, so here we are—your mother’s family had one surviving heir—you. But after your grandfather passed away when you were seven years old, you were left with very few prospects, only the title and little land that your father, Sir Honeyfield, had left you. You were raised by your aunt, were you not?”
“Aunt Florentia,” Diana said. “Who must be worried out of her mind right now.” She felt a pang, realizing that she had not given a thought to her aunt in all the rush of, well, being kidnapped.
“I am truly sorry about the pain I must be causing her. I hope to make it up to her someday.” Daniel said. “But we will leave you, for now, as a seven-year-old, being raised by Aunt Florentia, and go back to the life of Sir Bernard.”
“Since he had cheated your grandfather twenty years ago, Sir Bernard had married twice—Nathaniel’s mother was his first wife, and his second was a woman named Angela Pentacross, my mother, who he married three years after Nathaniel’s mother died. It was my mother’s second marriage too, my father having died when I was but a toddler. I was ten at the time of their marriage. Nathaniel was about sixteen years of age. This woman, my mother, changed Sir Bernard’s life. Her love reformed him. No longer was he a rake, a crook, and a cheat. Through my mother, Sir Bernard became a firm believer in our Lord God. He renounced his ways and did his best to make amends. The one person he could not repay was your grandfather.”
“Then—this means you are Lord Bathurst's brother!” gasped Diana.
Chapter 7
Related But Not by Blood
“N ot his brother,” Daniel said, sitting beside Diana. “I am Nathaniel’s stepbrother. We are not related by blood. I was not related to Sir Bernard either—but I only saw the best of him. Sir Bernard was a father to me. I was so happy when he married my mother: not only was I getting a father, I was getting a new brother too! I longed for the manly guidance and support the two would offer me.”
Daniel had sunk down now and was resting beside Diana on the blanket. Diana resisted the urge to reach out and smooth his hair. When her grandfather died, Diana had spent a few years being shuffled along from one distant relative to another. Each of them had treated her with the mix of disdain and politeness that is given to unwanted guests. A child that she was, she had suffered in silence, wishing for someone to love—and when Aunt Florentia had finally bustled into her life, Diana had felt like her prayers had been answered. She could imagine how poor Daniel had felt too. She saw him in her mind’s eye, only ten, shining with hope and eager for the approval and love of Sir Bernard. She had been like that too once—an orphan determined to please any man or woman who showered her with love.
“Nathaniel hated me from the first,” Daniel said. “He hated my mother, and he hated the change in Sir Bernard. He had been allowed to run wild all his life, you see—and now Sir Bernard was trying to rein him in, but it was too late.”
“It was unfair on him, wasn’t it? To have an absent father all his life and then see that father change when he was sixteen.”
“I suppose it was,” Daniel said, “But I have very little pity for Nathaniel. For four years, Sir Bernard tried his hardest to make amends with Nathaniel for having been a bad father. He was unfailingly kind to Nathaniel. He ignored every complaint that Nathaniel’s teachers made, he ignored every rumor of Nathaniel’s bullying ways. Each time, he tried to speak kindly to Nathaniel and convince him to change—but Nathaniel spat back his kindness and went about being worse than ever.”
Diana said nothing, not knowing whether to believe Daniel—after all, Daniel hated Nathaniel, and a man who hates another is quite biased in speaking of his character.
“I was fourteen when Sir Bernard finally snapped. Nathaniel was twenty and did something his father could not forgive him for. He took advantage of a servant girl—and though there was no proof of whether it was his evil or her own shame that took her life, we only know that she was found face down in the lake a day after. Sir Bernard, even at his worse, had never done something like this. He and Nathaniel had a huge row, they almost came to blows. Nathaniel left the house that day, and Sir Bernard asked for a new will to be made.”
Diana watched Daniel now. There was a sardonic smile on his face. He absentmindedly pulled at the lapels of his footman’s unif
orm. Diana found herself stifling a laugh—he looked so out of place in that uniform—as if an iron vise had been forced onto his body.
“It is, I suppose, bad luck to make a will that disowns your only son,” Daniel said. “But that is what Sir Bernard did. He disowned Nathaniel and willed that I would inherit his lands on his death.”
“That is not possible,” Diana said. “Isn’t an earl’s land entailed? Does it not pass only onto his eldest son? How could a stepson inherit it all?”
“You operate under misgivings about the law,” Daniel said. “An earl’s land may be entailed to pass on only to his male heirs, but having adopted me, I was every bit his son. Besides which, he had disowned Nathaniel. Sir Bernard’s will is legally valid even today, which means I am the Earl of Bathurst. I do not care about the title—but I do care about the last wishes of the man I considered my second father.”
Diana stared at him. He had thrown back his head and shoulders, and even now, when he was still dressed in his plain footman’s uniform, she saw in his face the hallmarks of a man who is destined to lead. His body, veined and muscled, testified to his strength while the light that seemed to shine from his face affirmed his inner strength and his own self-belief.
“If you do not care about the title, why fight so hard for it?” she asked. “Leave Lord Bathurst be. After all, many would argue he deserves his father’s property.”
“If the fight between them was a personal one and not about the heinous crime he committed, I would have stepped out of Nathaniel’s way,” Daniel said. “But Nathaniel’s evil seemed only to grow. When he learned of Sir Bernard’s will, Nathaniel murdered my entire family. He murdered my mother. He tried to murder me. I will not let Sir Bernard’s lands go to the very man who he had disowned, the very man who murdered him.”
Diana was horrified. No. Nathaniel was—he may not be kind, but he was surely not as evil as Daniel claimed. He could not have committed these crimes Daniel accused him of! Could he?
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