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

by Simone Beaudelaire

  Colin cleared his throat. “Um, it's a long-standing argument, love. Mrs. Farrell… she…”

  “I mentioned she was very religious, did I not,” Mrs. Bullock jumped in, noticing Colin had stuttered to a halt.

  At Daisy's nod, she explained, “Well, she's a bit… a bit obsessed… with witches. She thought the former Lady Gelroy was one and went out of her way to bait her. I wouldn't go so far as to say she made her life miserable…” This time Mrs. Bullock spluttered and shut down.

  “She's harmless,” Colin added, “but a bit cracked. Mother had enough misery when she lived here, without that batty girl pestering her, but I don't think it was more than a passing nuisance for Mother. Not with leaky roofs, crumbling walls and a husband three times her age, who loved to drink, gamble and chase skirts with the money they didn't have, but it may have been one thing too many. When Father… when he had a sudden heart seizure and died, she was happy to wash her hands of the estate and leave. She never looked back. Mrs. Farrell likely had something to do with that.”

  Daisy remained silent, taking in the conversation and processing it slowly. At last, she said, “That's interesting. What does it have to do with me?”

  Colin cleared his throat again. “Well, love, it has occurred to me that you might have… a Pagan streak?”

  “Yes,” Daisy agreed. “I honor the old ways and respect ancient wisdom, though I wouldn't really call myself a Pagan. I was baptized in the Church of England like everyone else, and I'm still a Christian. I don't think those things contradict.”

  “I would tend to agree with you,” Mrs. Bullock said, laying a hand on Daisy's arm in solidarity. “I don't see the contradiction in making an herbal cordial that has legendary powers to imbue the land and its people with life and fertility. It won't stop me from going to church in the village. Most people don't fear to mix religion and tradition.”

  “Except for Mrs. Farrell?” Daisy guessed.

  Everyone nodded.

  “Oh, dear.”

  “Without the forced formality of a large manor house and the buffer of servants between you and her, she may criticize you more directly than she was able to do with Mother,” Colin added.

  “And her prejudice has only strengthened over the years,” Mrs. Bullock added. “She sent us these.” Reaching into her basket, she pulled out garlands woven out of wispy green stalks with small yellow flowers.

  “Devil's chase?” Daisy guessed. “But if she thinks traditional wisdom is witchcraft, why…”

  “It's St. John's plant,” Mrs. Bullock explained. “For John the Baptist Day. She thinks if we light a fire and indulge in 'Pagan revelry' instead of honoring our Lord, we'll invite evil spirits, but this plant will keep us safe.”

  “Well, she does sound a bit… off, and I won't lie. Those garlands stink.” Daisy rubbed her nose to dispel the acrid odor of the flowers. “I'm not worried about evil spirits, though if we hang these up near the forest, maybe the reek will keep that stone-throwing beast away. Did you men find him?”

  Bullock visibly relaxed, now that talk of his neighbor had ended.

  Daisy made a mental note of his reaction. Everyone tolerates Mrs. Farrell, but no one likes her. In a place like this, that must be quite a lonely existence. No wonder her eccentricities have become more concentrated. I'll have to watch myself around her.

  “We found signs of someone loitering in the woods,” Colin explained, “but no camp, and certainly no person. I do hope he moved on after I chased him away from the house last night.”

  “So, we'll have to be on guard throughout the party?” Daisy guessed.

  “I'm afraid so,” Colin replied.

  At that moment, the rest of the tenants—all but the Farrells, of course—wandered into the clearing clutching baskets and bowls from which enticing scents wafted to tempt the hunger of the revelers.

  “Come on!” Daisy urged. “We're behind schedule. The lamb and the duck will be done roasting any minute, and we don't have the table set up.” She waved at the kitchen table they'd wrestled out the kitchen door of the manor-turned-farmhouse. It had been covered with a crisp white cloth, held down in the corners by river rocks. Daisy had laid out a few items—vegetables from the kitchen garden, herbed sauce for the meat, a couple of bottles of table wine and cakes stuffed with fruit and iced in sugar glaze, but the platters for the meat stood empty and the guests' contributions had not yet been placed. The barrel of ale stood at the corner, where several tin cups had been laid.

  The new arrivals clustered around the table, setting out bread, butter, cheese, fruit, sliced mutton and pastries. A lovely fragrance wafted through the meadow, dispelling the lingering aroma of manure and complementing the rich temptation of meat roasted on a spit. Daisy hurried over to turn the crank, making sure their supper cooked evenly.

  “Here, let me take a turn,” Mrs. Bullock offered.

  “No need,” Daisy replied. “They're done. They've been cooking most of the day, and the coals are almost spent, though I wouldn't object if you helped me by bringing the platter for this duck. If we get him out of the way, we'll be better able to deal with the lamb.”

  Mrs. Bullock smiled and retrieved the plate.

  * * *

  A short time later, the entire Gelroy estate—less the Farrells—savored food, drink, conversation and cheer.

  Colin watched his tenants enjoy a good meal. A sense of lightness grew even as darkness closed in on them.

  Daisy bounced past, clearly in her element. She beamed from ear to ear. “Looks like rain,” she murmured, waving at the darkening sky. “This is the longest day of the year but look at that sky. All those heavy clouds make it seem almost like autumn.”

  “I hope the storm holds off until we're done,” Colin replied. He took a bit of ham rolled around a wedge of cheese, a simple snack he'd always appreciated.

  “Me too,” Daisy agreed. “Can't have a bonfire in the rain, but if it rains afterward, that would be beneficial.”

  Colin nodded.

  Daisy flitted away.

  She's like her namesake, he thought, not for the first time. All summer sunshine. I don't understand how she thrives in such a dark place.

  “She doesn't see the darkness,” his reason reminded him. “She sees a place where she's respected and appreciated, where her ideas can be heard. She sees hope and a future, and although she knows of the suffering that we endured, she didn't share it. So let her not bury herself in it. Let her bring light to the darkness. Let her bring sunshine and flowers and… and wallpaper. Why not?”

  “Why not indeed,” he muttered aloud.

  At that moment, one of those odd silences that sometimes occur fell over the chatter, and his comment rang aloud in the clearing.

  The guests turned to gawk.

  “Why not what, my lord?” Bullock asked. “Why not have more ale? If you're talking to yourself, you may have had enough.”

  Colin thought of the half cup he'd sipped, and knew he was sober. Sober and daft. Shut your mouth, man. His face felt suspiciously hot, despite the coolness brought by the clouds.

  “I'm sure he was debating an idea I proposed earlier,” Daisy jumped in, saving him. “He wasn't sure, but it seems our beloved Lord Gelroy has agreed to join me in providing a bit of entertainment.”

  Colin raised one eyebrow but approached his wife, nonetheless. What are you up to now, you imp? he asked her with his eyes.

  Her broad grin didn't inspire any confidence. She took his hand and drew him to a place of prominence in front of the table. Then, she stepped back, affected an offended air, and spat, “ 'What! Jealous Oberon? Fairies skip hence. I have forsworn his bed and company.' ”

  Colin gulped. Do I remember enough to do this with her? She jumped in to save me from looking a fool, talking to myself in public, and now she wants me to perform Shakespeare in front of my tenants? Though he wanted to run, his lips formed the words, which rasped from him in imitation of anger. “ 'Tarry, rash wanton. Am I not thy lord?' �
�

  “ 'Then I must be thy lady,' ” Daisy snapped back, perfectly presenting a furious demeanor as though she were in truth a wronged fairy queen. As the lyrical verse tripped lightly on her tongue, her eyes flashed in a way that aroused him beyond belief.

  He grasped one wrist in the opposite hand and let them rest lightly before him. Ah, she is my lady, is she not? And not nearly as standoffish or quarrelsome as Titania. She's a wonder and a jewel, my fairy queen. God, but I love her.

  The realization staggered him. Love Daisy? But how?

  “Because she's your match,” the sly voice whispered in his head. “You were meant for each other.”

  “ '… to give their bed joy and prosperity,' ” she finished.

  Colin fumbled, still half-lost in astonishment, but eventually choked out his line. “ 'How canst thou thus for shame, Titania.' ” His gaze turned harsh, but it was an act. A ploy. A mere evening's diversion to keep himself from dragging his wife away from all these watching eyes and ravishing her in private.

  A hint of a shy grin creased Daisy's features, but she quickly suppressed it, returning to her role of a flashing-eyed hoyden.

  Colin loved it. Loved the way they had memorized the same text, so that they could play it here together without needing preparation.

  “ 'Give me that boy, and I will go with thee,' ” Colin proposed in Oberon's stead.

  The rage that rose in Daisy, though false, almost frightened him. “ 'Not for thy fairy kingdom,' ” she shrieked. “ 'Fairies away. We shall chide downright if I longer stay.' ” Line delivered, she raised her chin, turned to the audience, and curtseyed.

  Colin stood strong, not willing to bow for such an impromptu presentation, but the tenants applauded anyway. Daisy blew them a kiss, laughing. She reached out to grasp Colin's hand again. Her fingers felt warm in his hand. Pleasant tingles shot up his arm and settled in the vicinity of his heart. So that he could put off thinking so much about his feelings until an appropriate time, he said, “The sun is set. Let's light the bonfire.”

  Thunder rumbled in the distance, but Colin retrieved the box of matches from the table anyway. Striking one, he tossed it into the pile of wood and kindling he and his wife had assembled. Circling partway around, he lit another, and then a third. The twigs and paper crackled in the center of the cone-shaped configuration. Flames licked upward, tickling the larger logs.

  The small group gathered around the growing fire.

  Daisy approached again and slipped her hand into Colin's again. He stroked his thumb over her skin. She squeezed.

  “Shall we dance?” Daisy asked.

  No one answered.

  “What? Dancing around the Midsummer bonfire is traditional.”

  “Love,” Colin whispered, “Mrs. Farrell may be eccentric, but she's part of this community, and the other tenants have to live with her. No one will wander that far into the Pagan. This is a celebration of John the Baptist, and anyone who breathes a word to the contrary will create a controversy no one wants to face.”

  Nodding, Daisy subsided, though her expression suggested she would be bringing up this issue again soon.

  The flames caught and held in some of the thicker kindling, holding it against the large logs, giving them the chance to ignite. It's like us, he thought. The flame sparked immediately. It burned hot and bright like an infatuation, but it didn't burn out. Despite the madness of our connection, we could not release each other. She waited so long and patiently while I sorted myself out. Now, I can't imagine not having her with me. She's right. We're a family.

  The big logs caught, and flames shot upward toward the sky.

  The Bullocks caught hold of their milling children and kept them back from the hypnotic sight. Warm, smoky smells wafted through the meadow and up into the sky. The sun crept even lower on the horizon, half gone from view.

  Colin dropped Daisy's hand and wrapped his arm around her waist, drawing her against his side. She rested her head on his shoulder. The sweet scent of her perfume mingled with the smoke.

  Time seemed to bend and jump, years passing in a second, decades in a breath. The sun died in the distance and darkness closed in, darker than dark because thick clouds covered the moon. Only the fire provided light, a shifting, dancing orange light that drew the eye and stung it at the same time.

  The restless children settled and stared, sinking into a quiet, trancelike state. Daisy's breathing deepened and Colin's slowed to match. The fire crackled.

  After a time, Mary Jones yawned and rubbed her eyes, turning to lead her husband out of the meadow back toward the irregular row of tenant houses on the edge of the woods, their basket now stuffed with leftovers.

  Time seemed to jump again. Hours or seconds later, Colin couldn't guess, the Bullocks drifted away, herding yawning, well-fed children home to bed. They too had a significant package of food for their next days' meals. The two widowed men remained the longest, staring at the fire, a peaceful expression on their weathered faces.

  “Thank you for this evening, my lord. My lady.” Billings heaved a huge sigh. “I didn't know if a night like this would ever come. You're given…” He paused, clearing his throat. “You've both done the impossible, and you've given us all hope again. Thank you.”

  “I only did what I could, Billings. I wish I could have done more,” Colin said, while Daisy lowered her eyelids, hiding coyly under her eyelashes.

  Billings shook his head. “It was enough. You did enough.” Without another word, he turned, retrieved a plate that had been prepared for him, and followed the other families back to their homes, his son-in-law trailing after him.

  “He's right, you know,” Daisy said softly, voice wavering with emotion. “You've done enough. You're good enough. Colin, can't you let it be enough?”

  “I don't know how,” he rasped. “It's been so long since I could please my mother with a handful of summer weeds or a messy drawing of her cat. Since then, good enough has never been good enough. If I didn't get top marks at school, Father would beat me. But he was a coward. A coward and a fool. A damned wasteful beast. Some peer of the realm.”

  He cleared his throat. “In his eyes, I could never shake the shame of my mother's working-class background or her otherworldly Paganness, and I was allowed to show neither. I was taught to spend without working, work without profiting, indulging in every carnal pleasure but never thinking of anything beyond this world, and any sign of anything other than his shallow pursuit of power and pleasure led to…” He shuddered as the memory of pain bloomed across his back.

  “Why would someone so snobby marry a commoner?” Daisy demanded. “It's not like us, that's for sure. Was he struck by some mad passion?”

  Colin shook his head. “He wanted an heir, and he was old. Over fifty. He wanted someone young and malleable he could control. Mother's parents forced her into it. She was miserable. I'm glad she connected with her old sweetheart, Colonel Turner, after Father passed. She finally got a chance to be happy.”

  “What a beast,” Daisy said, stepping against his body and wrapping her arms around his back. “You and your mother are well rid of him.”

  “But I'm not rid of him,” he said, despair rising thicker and blacker than ever. The pain clamped down hard on him, excruciating because he'd dared for a moment to take hold of the light. “I'll never be rid of him. He's here.” He tapped his temple.

  “Then banish him,” Daisy insisted. “Send his memory to hell. I'm sure it will join his soul there.”

  “How do I banish my entire childhood?” Colin demanded. “What can replace such a fundamental evil?”

  “You're already doing it,” she told him. “Speak it aloud. Say it to the fire and let it be burned away. Midsummer is a time of renewal. The year is turning. You've worked and succeeded. You've built and planned. Now, we look toward the hard work of the end of summer and the harvest. The selling and the buying, and then the long cold winter. Let the end of this year bring about the end of your father
's tyranny over your heart. Let this fire burn away his lies so you can finally see yourself as you truly are. I'll do the same. My father needs banishing as well.”

  Colin stared into the flickering flames. Their height had reduced as the logs burned away, but a strong, red glow remained. Hot coals. “ 'Woe is me! For I am a man of unclean lips.' Daisy, I just named my father a fool and a coward. I've thought it so many times. How can there be any mercy for one such as me?”

  “ 'Then flew one of the seraphims unto me, having a live coal in his hand, which he had taken with the tongs from off the altar.' ” She laid her fingertips on his lips. “ 'And he laid it upon my mouth, and said, Lo, this hath touched thy lips; and thine iniquity is taken away, and thy sin purged. Also, I heard the voice of the Lord, saying, Whom shall I send, and who will go for us? Then said I, Here am I; send me.' ” Daisy quoted back, finishing the verse. “Let the fire burn away your words, love, but also let them burn away his legacy. God sent you. He chose you. You didn't fail. Your father's sins are not yours to mitigate. You were only called to strive and to love. You've done both.”

  “Love, Daisy?”

  She smiled, moving her hand so she could stroke his lower lip with her thumb. “No heart as passionate as yours could do anything other than love. Admit it. You love this land. Love it as much as you hate it. You love your tenants. I can see that every time you speak to or about them. And I dare say, if you let yourself admit it, you love your wife too.”

  Her words hit so close to home, they almost choked him. He gasped, drawing air past her fingers and drawing the essence of Daisy into him again.

  The fire burned beside him, and for a moment, he could have sworn he felt the pain of his childhood burning. Burning. All the while, Daisy's light shone into his eyes. Into his heart, where it found… the light he'd buried so long ago. It flared white, brighter and cleaner than any thought he could remember. Her love, pure like his mother's love, like his siblings'. Like how his friends loved their wives, and how their wives loved them. Like how his mother had learned to love her husband and he her. It is for me too. Somehow, this pure love belongs as much to me as any other man.