“I quite understand,” Daisy replied. Maybe lining people up has a purpose. I didn't intend to intrude. “The manor isn't in excellent condition either. I'd hate to have a guest pop in without warning before I can get it under control.”
The woman's wry grin turned genuine.
The path outside the tenant houses transformed into a de-facto lineup as two men, one middle-aged, the other verging on elderly, joined the Jones family.
“Ah, here's everyone else,” Colin said mildly. “Daisy, these two rascals are Billings and his son-in-law, Smythe. Both are widowed, so there's no one left for you to meet. Men, this is the new Lady Gelroy.”
They bowed.
“Pleased to meet you both,” she said, wishing there were something more to say. Words will not help in this situation. Not at all. Only actions will make a difference. Thank you, Lord, that I have the power to act. I only hope my husband will allow it.
* * *
Exhausted after forcing cheer while meeting so many desperate families, Daisy collapsed onto the edge of Colin's bed in the kitchen of the manor house.
“Well, wife, have you seen enough?” Colin asked, leaning tiredly against the wall. He left plenty of space between himself and Daisy.
“What do you mean?” she asked. “This is your life. This is their lives. Why would it be too much for me to see? Do you think I'm as fragile as the flower I was named after?”
“Are you?” he asked.
She shook her head. “It's sad, but I've seen poverty before. I… I think I understand your concerns better now.”
He nodded. “Well, then, If we can just hold on until we can get the ducks and chickens big enough to take to market, we'll have enough to make our quarterly payment on the estate's debt, but it will be late, and I don't know if the creditors will wait again. Then, the geese and lambs will bring a bit more, perhaps half of what we need for the taxes. Then… I don't know. I don't think that Bullock's son will last long without medicine. He has a lung infection—we all had it, but over a month ago, most of us have recovered. Sadly, with his deformity, it's harder on Bobby. He can't get clear of it. That's the grim reality?”
“That's hard. Very hard. Please, won't you sit by me? I want to talk to you.”
He shook his head. “I'll listen, but I'll stand over here. It's better this way, Daisy. Surely, you can see that. What future can I offer you?”
She shrugged. “Maybe you don't need to offer me anything. Maybe I have something to offer you.”
“What do you—?”
Daisy cut him off. “I'll explain, of course. Just give me a moment. You've shown me your story. Now, let me tell you a different tale. One that might surprise you. It begins in a whorehouse in France.”
Colin lowered his eyebrows, but Daisy rushed on. “The company was quite successful, and the madam had grown quite rich. Her daughter, who worked for her, also managed to put away a tidy sum of money, but in the end, the daughter grew tired of the Venus trade and decided to marry one of her clients—an Englishman—and return home with him. Eventually, they had three daughters together, but the mother always kept what she'd earned as a dowry for her daughters. She even had legal documents drawn up, keeping the money in trust until her girls came of age. She died only a few years after the youngest was born. Then, more recently, the old madam died and also left all her money to the three granddaughters. The older two refused it, saying it was 'dirty' money, but the youngest… well, she decided that money is like manure. Just because it's dirty doesn't mean it's useless.”
Colin gave her a rare half-grin. “If there's one thing I understand these days, it's the value of manure.”
Daisy smiled. “So, at any rate, that granddaughter… well, I'm not without resources, Colin.”
“I'm glad to hear it,” he said intensely. “I was worried about what you would do once you'd had enough of this place. Is it enough to keep you comfortable and far away from your father?”
“Plenty,” she replied.
“Then why have you stayed with your father so long?” Colin demanded. “He hasn't been particularly kind to you, has he? Even before he cooked up a plan to trap you in marriage with that… that creature… he was always a bit of a brute, am I right?”
“Oh, yes,” Daisy agreed. Taking in a deep breath, she released it in a shuddering sigh. Don't cry, Daisy. Not now. He's proven more than a brute. He's a villain, but I have no time to mourn that realization now. “I'm used to it, I suppose. Anyway, his brutish ways were only a minor annoyance until recently, and I always did plan to move on, when the time was right. In the meanwhile, I enjoyed the work. Business is in my blood. But, Colin, I don't think you're understanding the point I was trying to make.”
“Oh? What was it then?”
“I have money. I want to help you and your poor tenants.”
Silence crashed louder than any wave at the seashore over the occupants of the manor kitchen. Colin stared at Daisy, unable to form a coherent thought, let alone a word. His ragged respirations, like the gasping of a fish on the bottom of a boat, added no sound and drew no air into his laboring lungs.
Daisy, a look of concern crumping her pretty face, bounced up off the bed and hurried to Colin, wrapping her arms around him and drawing him into an embrace.
“How… what…” Words still fought him, refusing to form anything like a sensible comment.
“I suppose you've had estimates done long since,” Daisy rushed on, covering his awkwardness with pertinent questions. “How much would you need to fully restore the estate, pay off the debt and cover this year's taxes? I mean, I surely don't have enough for that, but…”
“Thir—” he coughed, swallowed and tried again. “Thirty thousand pounds. That's what it would take to fully repay the debts, the taxes, restore the manor and all the tenant houses, purchase new farming equipment, a bull, several cows and compensate the tenants for not planting this year. But there's no way…”
“No,” Daisy agreed. “My inheritance is twelve thousand pounds, with another five thousand in my dowry. If you don't mind, I'd like to keep the dowry for myself. As the 'lady' of the manor, I have responsibilities that, in their own way, are just as important as yours, for the estate and its inhabitants. Colin, are you sure you're all right? You look pale.”
He shook his head.
“Come on, then.” Though not a large woman, she managed to maneuver him to the bed. Then, she plunked to a seat beside him on it. “I think, with careful management, that might be enough to make a difference. There's no need to restore the manor. In fact, if we tear down the ruined east wing, there might be materials enough to repair the tenant houses without needing to purchase much. It needs to come down regardless. It's dangerous in there, and we run the risk that, when the upper floor finally falls altogether, it might damage the rest of the structure.”
Still, Colin couldn't speak.
“Love, please, say something.”
“Twelve thousand pounds?” Colin managed to croak.
“Yes. There may be a bit of interest on it, after all these years, but I would need to check with my solicitor. I don't think restoring the house is the best use of the money, though.”
“No, of course,” Colin said quickly, so quickly she was quite sure he wasn't thinking about what he was saying. He paused, he brow furrowing, and he blurted out, “The debts. The taxes.”
“Exactly. I'm sure I can cover the taxes. And the debt?”
He nodded. “Not all.”
“But would it be enough to restructure the payment plan; reduce the payments to a manageable level?”
He nodded, though his eyes remained wide and startled.
“And then, the money from selling the animals—and breeding Pesadilla—would more easily cover the taxes and leave enough for the tenants to have a more comfortable life?”
Colin blinked but didn't directly answer the question.
“And just maybe, if your tenants have a decent life, you could finally feel worthy of one f
or yourself?”
“Why are you doing this for me?” he croaked. “Why not take your money and go to London? Rent a flat and live in leisure? Or you could open a shop, since you like business, or write a novel, or take to the stage. Your lack of middle-class sensibility means the world is open to you. Why stay here, in a ruined home, on a ruined estate with a ruined man?”
“I don't see any ruins here,” Daisy said, growing serious. “Well, perhaps that other part of the house where we don't live. I only see a chance to make a real difference with my money. You're right, I could take to the stage. That might be enjoyable. I could write a novel. I could create a business. I could also do all those things here while helping you and your people. The money is no great matter to me. I'd rather see it go to something useful. Now, then. If apply my inheritance to your taxes and debts, how much of a difference would it make?”
“There are no words for how important that money would be to me, if I accepted it.”
“Then you had better accept it, Colin. As my husband, my inheritance already belongs to you. In fact, I'm surprised you didn't marry some wealthy businessman's daughter long ago.”
He shook his head. “I may be a fool, but I won't do that. I won't drag some spoiled merchant's girl to this place. She would hate it, and me, and there we would be.”
“I don't hate you, Colin,” Daisy said gently. “Once upon a time, we found a special connection with each other. Now, I understand why you felt unable to act on it, but I can help. I can make a contribution to your estate. Then, if you're not so desperate, maybe we can go back to where we started. Where our hearts touched, if only for a day.”
Colin bit his lip. The picture she was painting looked so appealing, but he feared to take hold of it. The endless litany of lack and despair now played in his mind. It isn't enough. It won't be enough. You are not enough. Nothing will ever be good enough.
“Colin. Colin.” Daisy patted his hand.
He drew in a shaky breath and met her eyes. The glowing green, like life, like spring tried to take root in his heart. Tried to grow, but too much anguish stifled it.
“I… I don't know if I can manage that,” he said, despair ravaging his voice. “I'm more ruined than you know, Daisy. I cannot in good conscience refuse your gift. Not when it might mean the difference between life and death for Bullock's son, but…”
“But accepting charity goes against the grain?” she suggested. “Don't think of it as charity. It's only a hand up, just the same as if you fell into a pit. If I lowered a rope, would you refuse it?”
“It's too much.”
“It's barely enough,” she insisted. “Look, Colin, you've already done the hard work. You took a failing estate and found a way to save… not the crops, but the people, and we so often forget that every business is for people, not people for business. Your idea to raise animals is pure genius, but it's slow. Let's take the pressure off this year. Pay your taxes. restructure the debts. Then, when the animals go to market, the tenants can keep their share. That's all I'm offering. Just a bit of leeway to stave off the reaper. Before you know it, the estate will become self-sufficient. It's already OUR money. Please, use it.”
“I—ugh. Yes, Daisy. I will accept your help. I must. I cannot refuse the funds to compensate my tenants. Write to your solicitor as quickly as you can. Argh.” His voice died. “I cannot… I need to…”
“Take your time, Colin,” Daisy said gently. “It's a large change in thinking.” She laid her hand on his.
He recoiled, right up off the bed and out the door without looking back at his wife.
Colin flew through the field, heedless of the messy piles the animals had left in the uncultivated ground. Unformed thoughts and a vague sense of shame kept him moving aimlessly away from… from everything. From the estate he had given his body and soul to save and failed. From the wife who had offered to rescue him from his failure, which was, in itself, a failure. A failure I must embrace, lest my people suffer. It's my pride or our future. There is no question which route I must take. And yet, humiliation burned in his guts. “I gave my life to this place, and I couldn't save it. Daisy waltzes in with her whorehouse money and sets the whole thing to rights. And she's right. Demolish the east wing and hand out the materials. If my father hadn't terrified everyone into submission—myself included—we might have done that long since. Pay the taxes. Reduce the debts. Give the tenants a fighting chance to make a life for themselves… and bring in a physician to care for Bobby. Not a rich life, but a decent one, lies suddenly in our grasp.”
Why are you so angry? a voice in his head that sounded remarkably like his mother scolded.
He couldn't answer. He only knew that in his heart, this success was his ultimate failure. I'm worthless.
Darkness closed in around him, and he glanced up, surprised to find himself past the tree line into the forest. Out of sight of prying eyes, a scream of pure frustration ripped itself from his raw throat. He collapsed to the mossy, leaf-littered ground and beat his fists against the soil as impotent rage tore into his soul until fatigue claimed him and he lay still.
How long he lay in the cool loam, he could never have said, but at last, he stilled. He rested his cheek on a mossy stone and closed his eyes.
With a loud rustling sound, a shower of leaves and sticks rained down onto his back.
Colin sat up, staring into the tree and expecting to find a sassy red squirrel.
The dense foliage was moving, but he couldn't see any creatures.
Well, I know it's there, anyway. “Say, what do you mean by all that?” he asked the unseen rodent. In response, an acorn clunked down on the top of his head. “If you're trying to knock some sense into me, it won't work. If I had any sense, I would have sent all the tenants away and let this land go to ruin years ago.”
More acorns fell. A whole shower of them. They bounced painfully on his skull and shoulders.
“Say, now. That's a bit much. I was only looking for some peace here, not to have an encounter with a territorial squirrel. You mind your business and I'll mind mine.”
The next object that dropped onto Colin was a good-sized rock.
He shot to his feet. “What the devil?”
The rustling mass in the treetops bounded away. He could see its movement among the branches, though of the creature itself, he could make out nothing. It seemed strangely large. That was no squirrel.
Shaking his head in confusion, he beat a hasty retreat out of the forest and back to the pasture. Pesadilla whickered and trotted over to him, thrusting his black head through the fence in search of treats.
“Sorry, amigo,” Colin told the horse. “I haven't got anything for you.” He patted the silky neck. “I need to let people know they can bring their mares to you. You'd like that, wouldn't you? To have a lady friend now and again?”
The horse bobbed his head and snorted.
“Just like any red-blooded male. I wouldn't mind a lady of my own. Might be relaxing.” Then, he recalled that he did have a lady, and bedding her had indeed proved relaxing. She still thinks we have a future. I can't think that way. It would be unfair to take her again. Not when I'm still struggling to understand what the future holds. Confused, conflicted and frustrated, Colin made his way to the pond to check on the ducklings. At least I can keep on working with our animals. That's something.
Chapter 9
“I'll be going to London,” Colin informed Daisy at the breakfast table one morning two months later. I can't believe how much lighter I feel with taxes paid and the debt restructured. The payments will be so much easier to make now. I wonder if Daisy regrets giving away her fortune. She's stuck with me now. He eyed his wife curiously.
“Oh?” Daisy spooned porridge into his bowl, sprinkled berries and honey on top, and joined him, digging a spoon into her dish. She looked completely comfortable at his table, though the way her gaze lingered on him spoke of volumes still waiting to be uttered.
Our table, he reminded himself. Wha
t's mine is hers, such as it is. “Yes. The ducks, geese and chickens are grown enough to go to market. The men and I need to figure out who will buy them. Make connections. This will be our income for many years to come, so this first sale is particularly important.”
“I'd like to come with you,” Daisy said. “I'd like to visit with the Bennetts and pay a call on your mother. I also need to arrange the purchase of some more furniture. If you're determined to sleep in a separate bedroom, wouldn't it be nice to have a bed?”
“I have a bed,” he grumbled, spooning porridge into his mouth. The sweet, sharp flavor of the berries tasted like sun-soaked heaven.
“You have part of a bed,” Daisy replied, “that you salvaged from the rubble of the east wing. Aren't you worried about splinters?”
Colin shrugged. “It's better than the pile of dirty clothes I used to sleep on. I'd hate to use our limited funds on an unnecessary indulgence like that.”
“Colin, a bed is not an unnecessary indulgence. You work hard. You deserve to sleep… when you're able.”
He raised his eyebrow.
“You think I haven't noticed your sleeplessness? You rustle around the house like a mouse at all hours of the night.”
“I'm sorry if I disturbed you,” he said, his voice flat and neutral. “A bed won't help. Sleep has always been hard for me.”
“I know,” she replied. “I was already awake. Do you think you're the only one who ruminates over dark thoughts in the night?”
She has a point, he realized. She's been through a hell of her own.
“I'd also like to add some wallpaper to the bedrooms. They're so relentlessly plain.”
“Now, come on, Daisy, that is an indulgence,” Colin argued. “Wallpaper is expensive. Isn't there a better use for your money than that?”
“It's not expensive at all,” she replied. “I don't buy premade wallpaper. I make my own out of fabric scraps. I have a feeling the Bennett mill might have a few they'd part with for little or nothing. A bit of ink and a few inexpensive ingredients and we'll be able to brighten our space quite cheaply.”
Colin's Conundrum: A Steamy 19th Century Romance (The Victorians Book 3) Page 11