Castaway Dreams

by Darlene Marshall

  "Rycroft wanted to contact you and tasked me with finding you. I found you, but your father was dying. He at least had the satisfaction of knowing you were coming home to England, but he did not live to meet with you as he desired so strongly."

  The solicitor's face showed the weariness of a lifetime of losing too many people to age and disease.

  "Before he died, your father wrote you a letter, and as I said, left you a bequest."

  He reached into his portfolio and withdrew a folded document.

  "Please read the letter first, as your father wished."

  Alexander took the letter with an unsteady hand. There was a part of him wanting to throw it directly onto the fire, but Childes was correct. A man longed to know who he was, where he came from, and Alexander was no different from anyone else in that regard. He needed to know. The letter felt heavy in his hand, and there was a seal on the back stamped with a device. He heard the sounds of the traffic outside in the poor neighborhood with its shops and peddlers, its sailors and serving girls, but all of that faded as he broke the seal and began to read.

  My dear son,

  I hoped to have this conversation with you face to face, but that is not to be. My life is full of regrets, none greater than my failure to take care of you and your mother.

  I did not contact you over the years because it would have distressed my wife. At the time, I thought I made the right decision, and had provided sufficiently for your welfare. I learned I was wrong.

  Not being able to see my only child grow into a man has been the lasting sorrow of my life. Your mother was very dear to me, and not a day went by I did not think of her. The all too brief time I spent with Janet was the happiest of my life.

  I cherished the reports I received of your growth and achievements. By the time I learned the money I spent to further your education was stolen by my agent, it was too late to make amends. Even without my assistance you made much of yourself, and I am proud of you, and proud of your service to King and country.

  I hope yet that I will be able to say these things to you in person, but my physicians tell me it is unlikely. I have delegated Childes to share with you my wishes, and I hope you will take this bequest and think well of me, despite everything.

  You are the son of my heart.

  The weakness of the letter's author was evident in the shaky scrawl at the bottom. The clock in the parlor ticked away the minutes as Alexander looked down at the document in his hands, then carefully folded it and put it in his coat. He did not know exactly what he was feeling at the moment, but regret was part of it. Regret for his mother's shame and suffering, regret he never had that face-to-face meeting, though he did not know what would have transpired. Perhaps it was better this way.

  "Do you know what he wrote?"

  "He dictated it to me," Childes said. "By that time, he was too wasted to write it himself."

  The solicitor gave Alexander another moment of silence, then briskly opened his portfolio again.

  "Your father wished to make amends to you, Mr. Murray. He could not, of course, leave you the entailed estates, but he had other properties."

  The older man adjusted his spectacles again and looked over the documents in his hand.

  "Specifically, you now own a townhouse in London, a house and land in Kent, a substantial share of a mill in Lancashire, a portion of a shipping venture, and funds. I must tell you the Kent property was sorely neglected. Part of the problem is the poor harvests of the past year and lack of oversight, but if you put some effort into it, there's no reason it cannot again be a prosperous and attractive holding."

  Alexander very much feared his jaw gaped open.

  "I am wealthy?"

  "You are at the moment. Of course you could gamble everything away, neglect your property and not manage your funds well, but you do not strike me as a profligate person.

  "Do you still want to turn down your bequest?"

  Alexander's jaw snapped shut.

  "No, but not for the reasons you think, Mr. Childes. There is a young lady--"

  He stopped because he could not imagine why he would be sharing personal information with this man, except that the shock of the events was overridden by one overwhelming thought. He could approach Daphne's father now with his head high. A man of property, with funds, the son of an earl--even if he was a bastard--could compete for Daphne's hand where a poor surgeon could not.

  "Yes, Mr. Murray, I would say you became an attractive marriage prospect in the last thirty minutes," Childes said dryly. "I wish you luck."

  He slowly rose and gathered his things.

  "I suggest we make an appointment to meet again so I can go over with you in more detail what you now own. You are, of course, free to hire your own solicitor if you wish."

  "I will be in contact with you."

  "In that case, I will wish you a good day, Mr. Murray."

  Alexander nodded absently. He finally had something to offer Daphne Farnham besides his battered self. Not a title, and not the kind of wealth with which she'd been raised, but he could keep her comfortably. And he could offer her his love.

  If he was not too late.

  * * * *

  Daphne was bored and frustrated and feeling out of place and out of sorts. Of course there were fittings for a new wardrobe, exhausting fittings, and training Betsy to take the now-married Hattie's place, and walks with Pompom, but none of that was enough to take her mind off of her Alexander. What was he doing? The foolish man was no doubt pining for her, because who else wanted to learn a new word every day from a grumpy surgeon? Who would he snuggle next to at night and practice Latin? She frowned at that thought as she tied the tapes on the second-hand dress Alexander purchased for her in Portsmouth.

  Daphne marched down into the kitchen and the conversations came to a halt. Mrs. Webster was directing her underling on the finer points of chopping carrots just so, and a footman rose hastily to his feet and slapped on his wig, crookedly, while her maid, Betsy, stared at her charge.

  "Miss Daphne! Whyever are you wearing that old thing? You should have called me to help you dress in your new merino, that one delivered yesterday."

  "I cannot be useful in those new dresses, Betsy. This garment is much more suitable, and I like it."

  When Daphne said "useful" she thought she heard a snicker or two. Mrs. Webster frowned at the other servants. She had been with the family since Daphne's father's marriage, and knew her exalted place in the Farnham universe.

  "Useful, Miss Daphne?" the cook asked calmly, wiping her hands on a spotless apron, her broad face flushed with the heat from her soup pots.

  Daphne looked around the room. She was being judged by people who'd spent their entire lives being useful, just as Alexander had. It did not matter that she was the daughter of the house. At this moment she was in their territory, and she must prove herself or risk being banished. Gently, politely, but banished.

  She took a deep breath and wiped her damp palms on her skirts.

  "I can build a fire and I can boil an egg. Oh, and I can cook fish in leaves."

  It was probably best to start small before offering to help with wounded pirates who needed their guts rearranged or limbs removed.

  Mrs. Webster's basilisk stare froze anyone who might have giggled or snickered.

  "Boiled eggs are an important part of breakfast, Miss Daphne. For lunch, however, I planned on a custard. Can you help with that?"

  "Yes!" Daphne said, her tense facial muscles relaxing as her smile sprang out. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the footman start to smile back, but Betsy saw that also and elbowed him in the side. "Custard is just another way of cooking eggs, is it not?"

  Perhaps she would track down Alexander and leave him a custard. Wouldn't he be surprised!

  "Custard is eggs, milk, a few other things, but yes, it is cooking eggs. Betsy, fetch Miss Daphne an apron. If she likes that dress she will not want to spill anything on it."

  Daphne hummed to herself as
she followed cook's instructions on how to properly scrape the tiny seeds from the vanilla beans to obtain the most flavor. The aromas filled the air around her and she chatted with Betsy about the remaining alterations to her new ball gown. The ball gown was similar fabric to the pink satin she and Alexander found. No matter that it was being sewn by the finest French modiste in London, it would never be as dear to her as the bedraggled cloth lovingly tucked away in a corner of her wardrobe. Last evening she'd taken it out and inhaled the cloth, and thought she could smell the salt of the sea on it, a fragrance that brought back memories and brought tears to her eyes.

  She was fast running out of patience with that man. If he did not show up on her doorstep in the very near future, hat in hand and contrition in his eyes, she would need to take matters into her own hands. Daphne had dealt with shipwrecks and pirates and sea creatures who did not wish to be eaten. She was not going to let a surgeon block her path to happiness!

  "What is the meaning of this?"

  Everything came to a halt as the kitchen staff turned to stone at the sight of the master of the house standing in the doorway. Cook was whitefaced. Betsy actually trembled.

  Daphne straightened her shoulders and faced her father.

  "I am cooking. I insisted Cook teach me how to prepare a custard. I am being useful, Papa."

  "Useful?" He frowned at her.

  "Yes." She twisted her hands together in her apron. "Now I will prepare your luncheon and it will be good, you'll see."

  The kitchen servants and cook turned and looked at her as if she'd sprouted another head, but Daphne held her ground. Her father silently watched her, a bemused expression on his face. Daphne's insides were all aflutter, but if she could face down grumpy surgeons and pretty pirates she could prepare a luncheon for her father, who loved her very much.

  After a moment that stretched itself out forever, he gave her a nod and said, "Very well, daughter. Bring my luncheon to my study when it is ready."

  He started to turn to leave, then paused.

  "Bring enough for two. You will dine with me, Daphne."

  "Yes, Papa."

  * * * *

  "Enter."

  Her father's command on the heels of Daphne's knock made her take a deep breath. Behind her, the footman, Prentice, whispered, "Chin up, miss," and she smiled to herself and entered her father's sanctum with as much dignity as she could muster. Prentice set the tray on the table and arranged it, then exited, closing the door behind him.

  Daphne looked around the study. She had not spent much time in here over her life. It was her father's domain, while hers, he'd made clear, was the ballroom and the parlor.

  The study was lined with books and she thought to herself how much Alexander would enjoy a room like this, a room filled with books and serious pursuits.

  Daphne's father came out from behind his desk, a desk covered with papers and more books and some maps. Her father, she knew, was a most useful person.

  But he was still her papa, and there was a smile on his face now as he said, "I am anxious to taste this luncheon you prepared for me, Daphne."

  "Cook made the leek soup, Papa, but I made the sauce for the ham. A pirate taught me how to make the sauce. And this is my first custard."

  Her father paused from where he was lifting the cover off of the soup tureen.

  "Pirates? I believe it is time we talked about your adventures, Daphne."

  He served her some soup

  "Yes, Papa."

  It was raining outside, but in the study Daphne felt nothing but sunshine, warmed by the cozy fire burning in the grate, cook's soup and her father's regard. She could not remember spending time with him like this since... She could not remember ever spending time with him like this. He was always busy with his ships and his meetings and his investments and newspapers.

  In addition to the leek soup, there was ham with a spicy sauce made from jam. Hill the cook had showed her how to prepare that. There was ale for her father, tea for her, and for the dessert, her custard.

  After the first bite of custard, her father, who'd been eating silently up until that point, raised his brows and looked at her.

  "It is tasty. All of it is quite excellent, Daphne."

  Daphne turned away from his regard to look out the window, where the view was only rain sheeting down. She saw a glimpse of white from the corner of her eye and picked up the handkerchief her father passed to her, then dabbed at her eyes.

  Her father cleared his throat.

  "You learned how to do this while you were gone?"

  "Yes, Papa."

  "Will you tell me now about your adventures, Daphne? We do not spend time talking, do we? Yet here we are, in the same house--you always seemed to be flitting from a party to morning calls to dressmakers."

  "You were at your warehouses and in your study, Papa. But I always knew you were there for me."

  He blinked his own eyes, then cleared his throat again. He studied her, as if he had never seen her before. Perhaps he had not, not really seen her, not since she was a little girl and her mother died. His eyes, so much like her own, crinkled at the corners.

  "Pour me a cup of tea, daughter, and tell me about Daphne Rose Farnham. I would like to know more about this intrepid young lady."

  Daphne poured him a cup of tea and added the sugar, just as he liked it, then poured herself another cup. The fragrant steam rose around her, tickling her nose, and it made her smile.

  "There were many mornings on the island when I wished for a cup of chocolate or tea just like this one, Papa. I believe I enjoy it more now, because of that."

  So Daphne told her papa about her adventures. Some of them, anyway. How she'd learned to garden, and cook an egg, and start a fire, and a few carefully selected words she'd learned. Finally, after taking a deep breath, she told him of assisting Alexander in his surgery during the battle aboard the Prodigal Son.

  "You were not afraid?"

  "I was so afraid! Petrified! But I asked myself, how could I sit alone in the cabin with just Pompom when Dr. Murray needed my assistance?"

  Her father leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers across his stomach.

  "These pirates, they did not harm you?"

  "Oh no, Alexander protected me, always."

  "Alexander, is it?"

  Daphne blushed and looked down at her tea cup. She did not feel it necessary to explain the sleeping arrangements aboard the Prodigal Son, and thankfully, Papa did not ask.

  He did, however, sigh loudly.

  "I was hurt and worried when you ran off with George Tyndale, Daphne. I wanted to marry you to a stable, mature man, one who would take care of you, not a useless fribble. You are an heiress, daughter, and that means you bear great responsibilities. Responsibilities to yourself, but also to those people who depend on me for their livelihood, and who will depend upon your husband and your guidance some day."

  Daphne looked down at her lap, for she knew that her father was right, and yet...

  "Papa, I cannot marry a man I do not love. I made a mistake with George, I know that now. I do not know a great deal about business, but I can learn, Papa. I need to get advice from people who know more than I do. I know that, but I also know I need someone I can trust by my side to help me, and I had no trust in the man you picked for me. I had no feelings at all for him, so how could I learn to trust him?"

  She looked up at him and said what should have been said months past.

  "You never asked me what I wanted, Papa. I will tell you now I am a woman grown, and I learned things over this past year about myself, and about others."

  "You are more like your mother than I ever suspected," he said, almost to himself.

  That brought tears to her eyes again, but she blinked them away because he was still speaking.

  "This surgeon, Murray. I would hardly consider him a good marriage prospect for you, Daphne."

  Daphne thought about it before opening her mouth to defend Alexander. She needed to pic
k the right words to impress her father.

  "You would like Alexander, Papa. He is mature and he is full of gravitas."

  "Gravitas?"

  Daphne nodded her head.

  "Yes, Papa, it means--"

  "I do know what that word means, thank you. You care about this Scotsman, don't you, Daphne?"

  "I love him, Papa, and I trust him," she said simply. "Even though he is not very intelligent."

  "How do you mean?"

  "I told him I loved him and wanted to marry him and he told me I needed to come home to you so that I can marry some peer."

  She shook her head at this foolishness.

  "But wouldn't that make you happy, Daphne, to be a fine lady and go to the finest parties?"

  "I like parties, Papa, I won't deny it. But many of the people I see there? I hate to say this about them, but they are useless! I would rather be with people where I can be useful. With Alexander I am useful. And he listens to me."

  Her father picked up his teaspoon and tapped it on the table, thinking. Daphne sipped her tea, though she wasn't tasting it.

  "Maybe you should go to the country for a fortnight or two, Daphne, to rest and recover from your adventures. There was talk after you ran off with Tyndale, unpleasant talk. If you decide what you want is to re-enter society, we will discuss the best way to accomplish this. I can see how your time away helped you in many ways, but society will not look at you as I do. In the meantime, you have given me a great deal to think about and we should not rush headlong into making decisions."

  Daphne was about to protest, but held back. She did not want to rusticate, not while Alexander Murray was loose in the city. He might do something foolish like ship out to sea thinking it was best to not be around where he would tempt her like a new bonnet with flowers on it, flowers like the pretty little purple ones that grew in the shade on their island...

  She pulled her mind away from bonnets and focused.

  "Give me a few days, please, Papa. I still have fittings left on my dresses, so I must stay in town for now."

  "Very well," Mr. Farnham said, rising to his feet. "But I trust you not to do anything foolish while you are in town, Daphne Farnham."