The Dutiful Daughter

by Vanessa Gray

  When Chloe came into his reading room, she glanced at the box of books. They had arrived only a few days ago, and already they were boxed and roped, ready for the carter. To Chloe’s question, Edward said with scorn, “None of those books is fit to read.”

  Chloe, gently, said, “How do you know if you did not read them?”

  Edward said, “I glanced at them. The romances, from that foolish Minerva Press, are not fit to read.”

  Once that subject was taken care of, Edward found himself at a loss for words. He hemmed and hawed until Chloe, in resignation, allowed her mind to drift back to Cook’s tooth. But finally Edward came to the point. “I should like this conversation not to go any farther.”

  Chloe nodded agreement, and tried to assume a position of attention.

  “This inheritance of yours! I had no idea it would give me so much trouble. I could almost wish — but then, that’s not kind. I want you to have everything you deserve. But I will admit it’s a problem.”

  Chloe lifted her eyebrows and said, “What is the trouble? I gave you my power of attorney. Wasn’t that what you called it?”

  Edward said, “Yes, yes. But there’s more to it than that. I haven’t even seen the figures on it, I don’t know how much there is, and already the bees are clustering around the hive.”

  The flight of fancy was so unlike Edward that she scarcely knew what he meant. Finally, he blurted, “I want to warn you about fortune hunters.”

  A slow blush crept up from his collar and suffused his cheeks.

  Hardly able to speak from sheer surprise, she faltered in an unbelieving voice, “You mean Francis?” Edward nodded. “How ridiculous!”

  Edward said, “I assure you I am not being ridiculous.”

  She recalled certain words that she had overheard in the hall that day when Lady Rothwell wrote quickly to her sister in town. Sophy had accused her mother of sending for Francis. And then, surprisingly, Francis had arrived on the heels of the message. Perhaps there was something in it after all, she reflected.

  “There is no way I will marry Francis,” she said.

  Edward, not realizing how strange it sounded, said, “My mother is most persuasive when she wishes to be.”

  Chloe said, quizzically, “You mean Francis isn’t? I do not argue with that. But you must remember, Edward, that I was in London for part of a Season, until the death of our father called me home. Besides, at my age I am no longer a green girl.”

  She spoke with humor. If there were an underlying wistfulness, it was not apparent.

  Edward, disregarding the fact that he was only fifteen at the time, said, “I’m sorry I didn’t send you back the next year. There just was not enough money then. Father had more debts than you would believe.”

  Chloe agreed. “I am sure he did not expect to die so suddenly.”

  Edward continued, “By careful management, I am dealing with the debts. And in two years I’ll see it through. Lydia can go to London then, but I must get the estate clear first.”

  “It’s no matter. I would not enjoy London now.”

  She spared a thought to the pleasant world outside Rothwell Manor, of which she had caught only a tantalizing glimpse, but she told herself she was happy at Rothwell Manor, happy enough to spend the rest of her days here. Then, surprising herself even more than she surprised her brother, she said, “I wish to go to Highmoor to live.”

  Edward was stunned. When he could speak, he murmured, “Totally ineligible. You have only a small amount of money, not nearly enough —”

  Chloe pointed out, with unsurpassed logic, “But you said you had no idea about the details of my legacy. How do you know there isn’t enough money to live there?”

  Fairly caught out, Edward said, “It is totally ineligible. What would people think? That your family had turned you out?”

  He continued in that vein, but only after she left did he face the unwelcome truth. Her two hundred pounds a year had been considered part of the household’s income for so long that they had learned to adjust their scale of living to include this amount. If she were to claim it and move to Highmoor, two years would not be enough to get the estate out of debt.

  Chloe left the library behind her, gratefully, and hurried up to her own room. Her mood had been lowered rather than cheered by Edward, and she needed solitude to talk herself back into good humor. There was nothing in her room even to read. She had grown out of the habit but, as she put it, in her younger days she had enjoyed reading.

  Her own room was comfortable, but far from luxurious. She sank into a chair before the dark grate not ambitious enough to light a fire in the grate or even to pull the bell for Bess. Rain streamed down the windows. The wind, fitfully rising, banged the shutters and Chloe shivered.

  Lydia hurried in with only a token knock. Never one for beating about the bush, she sank into a chair opposite Chloe and came to the point.

  “I’m bored.”

  Chloe said, “There is a great deal to do ...”

  She had in mind getting Cook’s tooth taken care of, calming the disturbances in the kitchen caused by Francis’s valet, teaching the kitchen maids to make gingerbread while giving up on trying to give them a light hand with the pastry, and —

  “You could help Miss Sinclair with the mending,” pointed out Chloe.

  Lydia lifted one hand and dropped it. “I don’t know how. If only I could get away to London! Stuffy Edward says two years. I’ll die before then!”

  Chloe said wryly, “I doubt it.”

  Lydia ignored her. “Edward is so old,” she exclaimed. “He has no idea what it is to be young.”

  Chloe said mildly, “I’m older than Edward, you know.”

  Lydia said, “But you don’t understand! I want to see London while I’m still young enough to enjoy it. Think of all the balls, the routs — and the Tower of London and the lions —” she continued in her panegyric about the details of London which, to her, must surpass anything that Heaven had to offer.

  Chloe said, “There’ll be time enough to enjoy all that.”

  “When I get too old! But, dear Chloe, you could help me. If you went to London — or sent me to London —”

  “Sent you?” said Chloe.

  Lydia nodded impatiently. “Of course you probably wouldn’t enjoy all of the parties, you’re so — so settled.” Chloe was amused rather than hurt by Lydia’s thoughtlessness. Lydia was simply expressing the inconsideration of youth. But the hurt rankled, and suddenly Chloe felt very old. Soon she would have to order her spinster caps. The prospect was dismaying, but she saw no help for it. It did not occur to her that Lydia overlooked the possibility that Chloe herself might want to escape from Rothwell Manor. If Lydia were bored, then it followed that Chloe herself might be bored, and Chloe had the means of escape. Lydia quite simply never thought of it.

  Chloe moved to the window and watched the rain streaming down the pane. Movement below caught her eye and she mentioned, “There go the books.”

  Lydia, wrenched back to the present, said, “Books?”

  Chloe said, “Yes, Edward sent all the books back.”

  Lydia said, in a kind of triumph, “Too late!”

  Chloe questioned her. “How is this? The books have been downstairs in Edward’s book room for three days.”

  Lydia laughed. “Not all the time! Sophy goes down after Edward has gone to bed and brings the books back upstairs.” Chloe allowed her jaw to drop in surprise. Lydia laughed. “I know it’s sneaky, but you expect Sophy to be devious. And Sophy reads the books and puts them back before Edward knows they’re gone.”

  Chloe said, energetically, “But if you read the books, then you’re as bad as Sophy.”

  Lydia laughed again. “I have to pay Sophy, so that makes it more honest.”

  “Pay?”

  “Yes. Sophy lets me read the books she borrows, but I have to give her a third of my allowance.”

  Chloe was shocked. Sophy’s character left much to be desired in the way of r
ectitude, but Chloe had not dreamed she was so blatant as to sneak books out of the book room, knowing that Edward did not want her to read them. Beyond all, then, to charge her sister for the privilege of reading them also! Chloe shook her head.

  “By the way,” said Lydia, “I want to borrow your new bonnet. For the expedition to the church, you know.”

  “I haven’t worn it yet myself.”

  Lydia coaxed, “You can buy lots more, now that you’re rich.”

  Chloe gave in, not because she was rich, but because over the years she had formed the habit of yielding before any kind of opposition.

  While Chloe was being despoiled of her bonnet and Lydia was retreating in triumph to her own room, Richard arrived at Rothwell Manor. Lady Rothwell had not yet made ready to receive guests. Richard, quite properly asking for Lady Rothwell first and being denied, asked then for Chloe. Field had put Richard into the Green Salon, a chamber of some handsomeness with a fine view of the drive. Chloe hurried down the stairs and patted her hair automatically. She was obscurely glad that she had not yet ordered her spinster caps.

  While he was waiting for Chloe, Richard framed his proposal. He was following his original plan to offer for Chloe this very morning. Presuming upon long acquaintance, he did not feel it necessary to ask Edward for his approval. Time enough for the formalities. Richard would have said, if asked, that he simply wanted to straighten things out with Chloe first, to wipe the woebegone look from her eyes. The truth of the matter was that Richard could not wait to throw himself at Chloe’s small feet.

  Richard was not overweeningly conceited, but he felt justified in believing, from Chloe’s greeting on the path that first day and her quiet sharing of amusement with him since then, and especially her look of appeal across the tea table, that she would welcome his offer.

  He had a strong suspicion that her position in this household was unhappy, that she would leap at the chance of leaving Rothwell Manor behind her.

  Her fortune, whatever it was, meant nothing to Richard. He was marrying now, contrary to all his expectations when he left the Continent and came home to London, where his heart lay. Chloe’s legacy meant only one more reason for haste in offering marriage to her, so that the idiot Hensley would be forestalled and Chloe would be spared much distress. There was no thought of rejection in his mind.

  The door opened and Chloe entered, and his heart turned over. With new insight on his feelings, he recognized that all these years she had occupied a very special place in his thoughts.

  Chloe, suddenly feeling out of breath, apologized for Lady Rothwell and Edward, and stammered some remark about the weather. “There is, of course, no question of an outing today to the vicar’s find in the church. I suppose that is why you are here?”

  “No, surprisingly enough, I had forgotten it.”

  The mischievous dimple showed on her cheek, but she did not smile. Instead she said, “How could you have forgotten? Edward was so set on it.”

  Richard said, “That expedition is the farthest thing from my mind. I came to talk to you.”

  Her hands fluttered and she swallowed hard. She apologized for her manners, bade him sit in a chair near her, and said, with an attempt at brightness, “What shall we talk about? If it is books, I am sadly out of touch.”

  Why on earth did she mention books? She scolded herself and then remembered that Lydia’s indiscretion about Sophy’s purloining of Edward’s box of books still lay heavy on her mind.

  Richard was diverted by the introduction of the subject of books. It opened a vista that he had not time to explore, and yet he was fascinated by the way her mind worked. Why on earth would she think that he came to make a morning call to talk about books?

  She hastened to explain. “Edward received a box of books from the booksellers in London,” she told Richard, “three days ago, and he sent them all back this morning. You may have met the carter.”

  Richard echoed, “Sent them all back?”

  “Yes,” said Chloe in a matter-of-fact voice. “He felt that none of the books was suitable for us to read.”

  She could not help but smile at the irony of it — the two younger girls, whose morals and education he was protecting, had read the books, while his older sister Chloe, of what she could only call mature years, was denied the privilege.

  Richard, with the beginnings of anger, said crisply, “He is your guardian?”

  Chloe, taking his question literally, said, “No, I am too old for that. But it is easier —”

  Chloe’s explanation was artless, but Richard’s astuteness told him much. Chloe was a gentle, yielding person, needing a strong protector. It was clear that in this household she was giving far more than she received. He, Richard Davenant, had the means in his hands of rectifying that situation. He was more than anxious now to get her away from this family that he could only consider selfish. He had chosen the right moment — he was sure of it. She would in only moments see a new vista opening before her.

  7

  Richard crossed to stand closer to Chloe. Now that the time had come, he was not quite sure what to say. He was not helped by Chloe’s eyes fixed on him. He tried to read in their depths something of her thoughts, but his vision turned back on himself. If the truth were told, he rather fancied his role as knight-errant. His regard for Chloe was deeply sincere, but he was in the habit of self-discipline, which included an eye to his own behavior and appearance.

  “Chloe,” he began, “we’ve known each other for a long time”

  With a sprightly air, she agreed. Animation crossed her features, as she cast her mind back. “Do you remember,” she began, “the time we went fishing — the time you thought you could catch more fish with your hands than I could with my line?”

  Richard interrupted. “We would have no surprises for each other ...”

  He stopped short. It was not going the way he planned. He had lost the fine phrases he had practiced to use — and then he remembered that those phrases he had rehearsed for someone else. No wonder they didn’t fit here.

  How could he backtrack and start over? Chloe prevented him from the necessity of working his way out of it. “No,” she agreed, “we would have no surprises for each other.”

  She was aware of Richard’s uneasiness. The only reason she could think of to account for her old playfellow’s nervous clenching of his hands and regrettable tendency to pace the floor was that he had something unpleasant to tell her.

  The most unpleasant thing she could think of, at this moment, was that he was about to tell her of his approaching marriage. She smoothed the fabric of her muslin gown across her knees with nervous fingers. She must not give vent to her feelings, especially since she was not quite sure what they were. Richard was to marry, everyone said so. It was only a matter of question as to which of the candidates — there was really no other kind way of putting it — he would choose. Chloe, perhaps prejudiced, could not believe that Richard’s suit could ever be refused. Not by any girl of sense, at least.

  On the contrary, while Richard’s mind dwelt on matrimony, to be sure, his vision was entirely different from Chloe’s. Even though Lady Rothwell had raised an eyebrow, in coy questioning, he still did not realize how firmly the impression of the certainty of a London wife was imprinted on the household at Rothwell Manor.

  His immediate worry was his unaccustomed lack of fluency. Before he could blurt out his true intentions — and it looked as though that was the only way he could put his thoughts into words — he saw tears welling in Chloe’s speaking gray eyes. He was totally unmanned. He could not have said a word had his life depended on it. His impulse was to gather her into his arms, and then his imagination faltered.

  Chloe herself was on the verge of leaping to her feet and fleeing out of the Green Salon. She could not bear this painful interview any longer. And yet her training, more rigid than that of either of her sisters’, held her civilly seated, with a bright air of expectation on her face.

  Richard took hi
s courage and his scattering wits in both hands and opened his mouth.

  Through the open window came the sound of a four-wheeled carriage, coming fast on the gravel drive. Chloe leaped to her feet, seizing upon this heaven-sent excuse, and ran to the window to look out. Richard, conscious of a vast relief, and yet thwarted, followed her to the window. The green damask draperies were pulled back and fastened, and their view was unobstructed. The carriage came around the curve before the house, a fashionable curricle driven by a pair of blacks.

  While the two of them watched through the window, standing companionably side by side, they watched the driver descend from his curricle.

  Chloe breathed, “What a dandy!”

  “The latest crack,” agreed Richard. But then, he thought, there was something not quite sharp, else perhaps too sharp, about the man.

  Richard thought how out of place the man looked. He was not dressed for the country — he would look better driving his rig across Hyde Park. At the moment that Richard recognized him, Chloe cried out. “What on earth is he doing here? I had thought Julian Stoddard a dyed-in-the-wool city man.”

  Richard exclaimed also. “I agree. I heard he was having a run of luck for a change. What on earth does he want with Rothwell?”

  Richard, in his surprise at seeing Julian Stoddard, was jolted out of discretion. He had no very high opinion of Edward Rothwell, but he did feel he was honest, and he was not so sure about Julian Stoddard.

  Stoddard alit and looked up at the façade of the house. Chloe pulled back quickly from the window with a muffled exclamation, and her expression changed. Richard, newly alert, noticed the change in her features and said, quietly, “What’s the trouble?”

  She looked at her hands and with an obvious effort of will kept them from trembling. She said, with wistful resignation, avoiding Richard’s glance, “I believe he does not come to see Edward. I believe he comes to see me.”