Colin's Conundrum: A Steamy 19th Century Romance (The Victorians Book 3)

by Simone Beaudelaire

  The setting sun touched the horizon, turning the sky before Colin into a copper plate, from which his anguished prayer rebounded, unheard.

  “The iniquities of the father are visited upon the children,” he paraphrased.

  The sun set, and darkness shrouded the inn yard.

  Chapter 3

  Colin woke hungry. Nothing unusual in that, nor in the aches in his muscles from hard work. In contrast to his usual morning, however, he woke cradled in a comfortable mattress, not the lumpy reject he'd dragged from a forgotten corner of his crumbling home. An enticing smell wafting up the stairs set his mouth watering. No thin gruel. No watery tea. Smells like heaven. He stared up into the thatch of the attic bedroom's ceiling as rosy sunrise filtered through a small window and cast lights and shadows over him. For a long moment, he luxuriated in the unfamiliar comfort of a homey morning. All over the world, people wake to this, he contemplated. No luxury or any expectation of it, only a day filled with toil and another day of the same, day after day, until life's journey comes to an end, and yet, they find contentment in hot, tasty meals, peaceful slumber, evenings spent with friends and nights with their own willing woman. Simple, family life. In a way, it's what Christopher and his brother have. They live at peace despite their labors.

  Middle-class life seemed a blessing he could only dream of. Nobility had provided precious few pleasures. No less toil, but much fewer rewards, and the burden of worrying about my tenants. Sitting up on the bed, he shook his head. Inheritance be damned. What wouldn't I give to work in Chris's factory?

  Though such an option would never be available to him, he paused to imagine it for the briefest of minutes. Then, shaking off the dangerously appealing nonsense, he rose to his feet, dragged on his clothing, and washed his face and hands in an ewer of cool water, before descending the stairs, passing an entire floor of guest bedrooms, and arriving in the cozy kitchen.

  Miss Granger stood before a cauldron suspended above a small fire, her back to the room. Colin allowed himself a moment to regard the womanly curve of her hip, where it flared below the string of her apron, before clearing his throat. “Good morning.”

  She turned and grinned at him. “Mister Butler. I hope you passed a pleasant night?”

  His lips curved in an unfamiliar sensation: a genuine smile. “Marvelous. I can scarcely recall feeling so well-rested.”

  Her hazel eyes narrowed, and she seemed to search his face for a moment, reading his expression with discomfiting shrewdness.

  Yes, my lady, my life is hard. Harder than I would like, and no sign of it ever easing. It's the reason I cannot pursue this luscious flirtation, no matter how my heart and soul long to.

  Unearthly compassion set the green in her eyes welling. Had he been less hardened, he might have wept at it. Mercifully, when she spoke, it was of the mundane. “I'm glad to hear it. Let us cap off a comfortable night with a hearty breakfast.”

  “Sounds marvelous. What are we having?”

  “Take a seat,” she urged. “You worked hard yesterday. I'll bring you a plate.”

  Having someone bring him a meal seemed like such a luxury, Colin's knees went weak. He sank into a chair and without thought rested his forehead against the table.

  A soft thump in front of him drew his awareness, but he didn't rise. The weariness of his soul far surpassed the weariness of his body. His eyes slid closed as he fought to keep all thought from forming.

  A soft pressure on his shoulder transferred heat through the ragged sleeve of his shirt into his skin, where it seemed to take on a life of its own, a golden glow that radiated out from the touch to soothe him. Finally, he raised his head and his eyes met hers. Again, her empathy struck a deep chord with him.

  “Are you a fairy in truth?” he demanded. “What is this magic you possess that makes hope seem possible again?”

  She tilted her head slightly to one side and regarded him curiously. “Strange for such a young, handsome man with so much humor and kindness to be so sad. I know we've just met, but a burden shared is a burden eased. Can you let me help you?”

  He shook his head. “I cannot. If I told you everything, you would draw back from me, fearing I would harm you. Let me remain a mystery, my lady. The truth is far too painful. Knowing it will harm me without helping you.”

  “I'm not highly in favor of mysteries,” she admitted tartly, shuttering away her rejected vulnerability. “They often cause the harm they're intended to prevent. But at any rate, will you be running away today, or can you linger?”

  “I dare not stay,” Colin replied with regret. “I must go on. Too many people need me to complete my mission quickly. There is no time to spare.”

  “Let me walk with you,” Miss Granger urged, “at least to the edge of the village. I wouldn't want to miss an opportunity to talk to you one last time.”

  Colin tried to refuse, he really did. Further association with the lady in question would do her no good and would infinitely extend his suffering. And yet, when he opened his mouth to refuse her, what emerged was, “I would like that.”

  Miss Granger beamed brighter than the sunshine pouring through the kitchen window.

  “Then eat hearty, my friend,” she urged. “You have a long journey ahead of you.”

  “More than you know,” he muttered, unable to tear his eyes away from her beaming face. Time seemed to suspend itself between them, drawn thin and immobile as it connected heart to heart. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to lean in, and for some reason, Colin couldn't recall why it would be a good idea to resist.

  “Good morning,” a loud voice blustered, shattering the spell. Colin quickly shoveled a forkful of food into his mouth to cover his surprised embarrassment.

  “Father,” Miss Granger rasped.

  “Seeing our guest on his way?” the craggy older man guessed.

  His daughter replied with a curt nod.

  “Good work yesterday, Butler,” Granger added. “I must say, it was a welcome change from my usual routine. Don't suppose you'd consider moving to town and helping out permanently? I'm getting old for all this.”

  Colin snorted into his porridge. Though no youth, Granger retained masses of corded muscle that threatened the sleeves of his shirt. He had many years of strength left to him.

  “No, sir,” Colin replied with regret, wishing he had the freedom to accept such a humble position. How wonderful would it be to have work that led directly to meals—a clear correlation between effort and reward? “I must go. Vital duties await me in London, and at home. I simply cannot delay. I do appreciate your hospitality, both of you, more than I can say.”

  A huge hand clapped Colin on the back, but no further conversation on the topic appeared. Colin, grateful for the silence, continued filling his belly at a pace just shy of unmannerly while father and daughter turned to other topics of conversation.

  “I ran into young John Orville this morning. He asked about you.”

  Colin watched in fascination as Miss Granger's face took on an expression of rage and humiliation. Bright color flared in her cheeks. Her eyes narrowed and her teeth clenched. “And what makes you think I care about that dirty blacksmith's apprentice?” she hissed.

  To Colin's surprise, Granger threw back his head and roared with laughter. “Sheath your claws, kitten. I will never understand why such a fine young gentleman sends you into such a bother.”

  Miss Granger squeezed her eyes shut. “I've told you many times, Father. He's no fine gentleman. He's a classless boor and an all-around nasty human being. I hate him, and I will never change my mind about that.”

  “What a pity,” Granger replied. “I've often wished for him as a son-in-law. Besides, you're exaggerating. He's never been anything but a gentleman.”

  “To you,” Miss Granger shot back. “You're a man. He has nothing to gain by trying to coerce and frighten you. I cannot abide him, and no amount of badgering on your or his part will change that.”

  Granger gave her a shrewd
look under his bushy eyebrows, but let the conversation drop.

  Colin eyed the man, wondering what his speaking expression meant. Miss Granger, her shoulders stiff with anger, fixed her eyes on the window and missed it entirely.

  Swallowing his last bite of food with regret, Colin rose from the table and carried his dishes to the sink, where others waited, presumably for his host's fascinating daughter. “I hate to run after such a pleasant visit, but my errands won't wait. Thank you both for all you've done for me. I won't soon forget it.”

  “You may visit me any time you'd like,” Granger replied with a grin, his huge hand engulfing Colin's for a manly pump. “I enjoyed my evening off.”

  “I appreciate that,” Colin replied, knowing it would likely never happen. “Mister Granger. Miss Granger.” He tipped an imaginary hat, enjoying the role reversal that had him paying obeisance to people who would have done so to him, had they known his title.

  Then he made his way out of the kitchen into a sunny yard, where a nearby barn drew his attention as a likely place to find his horse. Sure enough, in the dusty, hay-scented interior, a familiar silver head peeked over a wooden door and whickered in greeting. “Good morning, old fellow,” Colin said, stroking the silky nose.

  The horse pawed the stall with a noisy clunk.

  “I know. It's been a pleasant idyll for me as well, but we must press on. You have a better future ahead of you if only you can make your way to London. My friend has found a place for you to live in comfort on a lush, grassy estate by the sea. Isn't that nice? I wish I could afford to keep you, old man, but caring for an idle animal is beyond me. Once the grass in the pasture dies, you'll need hay, and I need the hay for other animals, but by then, you'll be comfortable in your new home.”

  He led his companion out into the warm sunshine.

  “Wait,” a voice ordered, soft and feminine, and filled with sadness. “Wait, Mr. Butler.”

  He paused. “Miss Granger?”

  Like yesterday, she burst out of seemingly nowhere, the light sparkling on her strands of messy, golden hair as they escaped a parody of a tidy chignon. A faint smattering of freckles appeared against the light tan of her face. Her full lips pursed and then turned downward in a showy pout. “Did you really mean to leave without saying goodbye?”

  He blinked. “My apologies. I didn't think you meant it.”

  “Oh, you foolish man.” She drew close and swatted his arm in a showy gesture. “Of course I did. In fact, just for that, I'm going to walk you right out of town.”

  Colin glanced around. “Are you sure that's wise, accompanying a stranger into the woods? What of your reputation, Miss Granger?”

  “I'll risk it,” she replied grimly and then muttered something under her breath that he couldn't quite make out.

  I ought to dissuade her. It would be best for us both not to draw this out. He opened his mouth, intending to urge her back inside her father's inn, but his tongue betrayed him. “Very well. I should be glad of your company as long as I can keep it.” Fool. Why did you say that?

  “If only you could keep it longer.” Miss Granger took a hesitant step toward the line of trees that delineated the boundary between town and forest. “So, so much longer.”

  Colin followed, his attention fixated on his companion. “There are many causes in this life to think 'if only' and be wistful, but what good does it do? 'If only' never fixed a roof, plowed a field, sheared a sheep. Why bother with what cannot be?”

  She glanced at him, meeting his eyes, and he blinked to see tears sparkling in the hazel depths. “Why read poetry, or plays? Why look at the stars, or smell the summer roses? We're human, Mr. Butler. We have feelings. No, indulging them doesn't get the work done, but life is more than work.”

  “Colin,” he urged. “I will never pass this way again, Miss Granger, so let this small indiscretion be part of my memory. Let me hear my name on your tongue. If you're right, and I'm to live for more than work, I could think of no sweeter memory to take with me.” Fool, what are you writing your poetry now? Ode to a Daisy, by the worthless Viscount Gelroy. He rolled his eyes at his own maudlin thoughts.

  “Colin,” she replied immediately, a sad smile spreading across her lips. “Now you.”

  “What?” he blinked away self-recrimination.

  “Say my name.”

  Colin froze, one foot on the grassy meadow that edged the town, the other between two gnarled tree trunks, and turned fully to face his companion. A shaft of sunlight fell gently on her hair, creating the illusion of a glow. Again, Colin thought of a fairy. “Daisy,” he breathed. A spark of something words could not express flickered to life in the dark core of his being, shedding light through him.

  “Come on,” she urged, grabbing his hand and dragging him past the tree line. The sudden movement tightened the reins on his hand for a brief, painful moment before the horse consented to move with a grumpy whicker.

  The dense spring foliage shielded the town from their view, and they were alone. Yesterday, he'd scarcely registered that they were in isolation. Today, it felt like the most important thing that had ever happened to him. Infatuation is a strange thing, he reflected, trying to dismiss, or at least minimize, the irrational feeling. It didn't work. Something about Daisy, something he couldn't name or even fully understand, radiated out from the vicinity of his heart.

  “You shouldn't be alone with me,” he said gruffly. “It will do your reputation no good.”

  She shrugged, turning to face him. “I care little about such things.”

  “You should,” he informed her, his solemn concern for her welfare reflected on his face. “You have a long life to live in this village, and if people decide you're…”

  “You know nothing about my future,” she replied, irritation snapping in her hazel eyes. “I might run away with a traveling theater troupe. I might move to London and seek my fortune in any number of ways. Assuming that I plan to spend my life in this village, running my father's inn with whatever poor idiot he strong-arms me into marrying is… Well, Colin, suffice it to say, I don't think that will happen. I have more in mind than letting myself be steered by those who care little for my thoughts and dreams.”

  “Dreams are dangerous, my dear,” he said grimly. “They will leave you disappointed. It always happens. Pain is our destiny.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “You're young to have such a gloomy outlook.”

  “Life has been a hard master,” he replied. “I hope you do escape. I hope you do find a future filled with everything you ever dreamed of, and I hope,” he added, shyness creeping into his blunt delivery, “that you take a little piece of me with you. There is no other way my soul can fly free.”

  Daisy bit her lip. “What has happened to you?”

  He shook his head. “I dare not say. Why mar the final moment of our idyll with harsh reality?”

  She raised one eyebrow. “You started it.”

  He grinned, a wry twisting of his lips. “So I did. I apologize. My life has been harder than it needed to be for as long as I can remember. I'm out of the habit of happiness.”

  Daisy stepped close to him and laid a gentle hand on his cheek. “You live in the past… or perhaps a dark future you don't see an escape from, but neither of those things is here with us in this moment. There is only you, me, the sunshine and the trees.”

  Stormcloud snorted as if to remind them they weren't entirely alone.

  “Yes, and you, old boy,” Daisy said, laughter trilling in her voice.

  Colin's own words stuck in his throat, reined in by the fragrant sweetness of Daisy's hand against his skin.

  Without hesitation, she rose on tiptoes, her bare feet allowing the move in the way no shoe ever could and laid a gentle kiss on his cheek.

  Colin gulped, heat and tenderness bounding out from his heart and taking up residence in his every extremity. His fingers tingled. His toes curled. The most skillful caress of the most expensive courtesan could scarcely have elicited such a re
sponse. He closed his eyes. “Why did you do that?”

  “I wanted to,” she replied. “No matter that we must now part, never to cross paths again, there is something between us. Something special. I wanted… I wanted to taste it.”

  Self-control wavered. Shuddered. Snapped. Dropping Stormcloud's reins, Colin dragged Daisy against his chest and lowered his head, claiming her lips.

  Daisy froze in surprise, but only for a moment before her warm, supple body melted in his arms. Her hand, still lingering on his face, trailed down to his neck and inched around to embrace him.

  Colin's skin tingled, and the tingle had more than a trace of heat. Blood rushed to his groin until he felt dizzy and almost off-balance. Oh, God. It's better than I imagined. Why, oh, why would I find someone so… perfect, only to rush away and never see her again.

  “Stop that,” his heart reminded him. “Savor the moment without weakening it by wishing for more. Just relax and enjoy.”

  Colin heeded the warning, leaning into Daisy's willing embrace and savoring the eager cling of her lips. The warmth of her supple, young body. The sweet scent of her hair. If sunshine has a physical form, this is it; she's like a nature spirit.

  Reluctantly, he released her, drawing back a scant inch to look down into her face.

  She inhaled deeply through her nose and opened her eyes. “Colin,” she breathed.

  “I should go,” he murmured. “I have another half day's walk to get to where I'm going, and I'd like to arrive before dark.”

  “One more,” she begged. “We may not have a future, but I'm not ready for this moment to end.”

  “Neither am I, sweet sprite,” he replied, his voice going low with longing.

  As one, they leaned together in an embrace of the tenderest, most excruciating joy he had ever imagined. I would love her, given enough time. Dear Lord.

  Long they lingered, as the shadows of overarching tree branches danced upon their faces, until they broke apart, breathing raggedly.