His driver closed the door behind them and a moment later, the carriage dipped under the weight of the man scrambling back onto his perch. Then they continued on in silence.
Which lasted but a moment.
“Thank you for seeing that my brother came for me,” Alice said with a smile for Daphne.
“I…” Daphne looked back and forth between brother and sister.
“She believes I forgot her,” Daniel supplied with a deliberate vagueness that came from clever prevaricating where irate husbands were concerned.
“Ah,” she said noncommittally, setting her cane alongside her seat.
A blessed silence finally fell. He lowered his head along the back of his seat and closed his eyes. He was either aging or the village widow had thoroughly exhausted him. He opted to believe it was the latter. Yet blissful peace was short-lived.
“What were you doing at Mrs. Belden’s?” God, had his sister always chattered like a magpie?
He yawned, again. At the quiet, he popped an eye open. Another one of those telling blushes stained Daphne’s cheeks. Long ago, blushes and shifty gazes had ceased to arouse even the faintest curiosity or interest. It took a good deal more than those innocent gestures to prompt a question. Yet, he stared on, oddly intrigued by Miss Daphne Smith. Then, he had always been more than fascinated by her. As a girl who’d raced, rode, and spat, she’d been wholly unlike any other. As a woman, it merited she’d still command his notice.
The prim miss cleared her throat and then glanced down at her folded hands. Yes, she was certainly the primmest lady who’d ever ridden in his carriage. And she didn’t fawn, flirt, or seek to seduce with her eyes and movements. “I was discussing a matter of employment.”
Alice slapped a hand to her mouth. “Surely you are not going to become a dragon?” Daniel’s sister turned horrified eyes to him and by the furious glint in their brown depths, something was expected of him here.
He lifted his shoulders in a slight shrug, not knowing precisely what that something was. Nor did he have an inclination to muddle through to what it might be.
Daphne cleared her throat. “I was discussing the possibility of a post with Mrs. Belden.”
Discussing the possibility. In short, the lady had been denied.
“You cannot become a dragon.” Alice’s words contained an entreaty. “Your spirit will die.”
By the tense lines at the corner of Daphne’s downturned lips, her spirit had died long ago.
Fortunately, she knocked hard on the ceiling and the carriage rolled to a stop outside the thatched roof cottage. Daniel stared for a long, suspended moment. How many times had he played on that very lawn? Tossed pebbles at her window. He frowned. She was unmarried and, yet, she lived in the cottage, still.
“I thank you for seeing me the remainder of the way home, my lord. Lady Alice,” Daphne murmured in parting as his driver drew the door open and helped her outside.
As she limped along the small rose-lined walkway to the front of her cottage, Daniel watched her stiff, jolting movements. How time changed a person. Daphne Smith had gone from a girl who could outrace him, outjump him, and outswim him…and now she’d become this tight-lipped creature.
“Her spirit is going to die, you know?”
“You said as—oomph.” Alice nudged him hard in the leg with her sharp knee.
“You really owe it to the lady to do something.”
Other than outstanding debts to creditors and other lords, he owed nothing to anyone, and certainly not to a tart-mouthed woman whose only hold on him were unwanted memories. “I’m not certain how you expect me to help Miss Smith.” Nor had the lady asked for any specific assistance. More to the point, she’d blatantly ignored his earlier offer of aid. And furthermore, neither were there funds to, in any way, help Miss Smith, not that he was in the habit of debating sixteen or seventeen-year-old innocents.
And once more, he gave silent thanks as they reached the front of the crumbling country estate—the former great stone building gifted to the first Earl of Montfort three centuries ago. Not bothering to wait for the conveyance to come to a full stop, Daniel shoved the door open and jumped down. He started forward. Now that he was home, he could see to a hot bath, a bottle of brandy, and some much needed rest. Not necessarily in that or—
“Ahem. I said ‘ahem’.”
Daniel stopped abruptly and wheeled around. His sister gave him a pointed look. And standing there at the front steps, the cracked steps of his estate, a dawning horror slammed into him. By God in heaven…he was going to have…a bloody sister underfoot. He’d not truly given proper consideration, or rather, any consideration, to the note from Mrs. Belden. Or was it Mrs. Belten? Regardless of the harpy’s name, he’d not given it a thought until this very moment.
And by the slow, widening, wicked grin on her lips, his sister had recognized his growing horror. With a curse, Daniel stalked back to the carriage and handed her down.
A bottle of brandy. Yes, that was decidedly the first order of bloody business when a goddamned rake found himself saddled with a—a shudder wracked his frame—a sister. He stalked up the steps, not bothering to see if she followed, and the door was thrown open.
“See that a bath is readied,” he said as he doffed his hat. He threw it to one of the few remaining footmen who easily caught it. Daniel shed his cloak next. “And have a bottle of brandy sent to my chambers.” In thinking, he could have two of the very orders of business he required. He tossed his cloak to his butler and it sailed through his fingers, landing in a shuddery heap at his feet.
Haply dropped to a knee and retrieved it as Daniel started past him. “My lord,” his butler cleared his throat. “You have a visitor.”
Daniel stopped on the third step. A visitor? He furrowed his brow. “Tell Mrs. Stillwell I’m not accepting calls at this time.”
His sister sailed through the still gaping front door.
The butler glanced red-faced between brother and sister. “Uh…it is not…” He gulped audibly. “It is not, ahem… It is a different visitor,” he settled for.
First Daphne Smith and now another guest. “Tell her—”
“I’m not one of your fancy pieces, Daniel Winterbourne,” a thunderous voice boomed from down the hall.
Oh, God. Please let this entire day be a liquor-induced dream. If it were so, he’d swear off spirits and whores and…well, mayhap not the whores, but he’d certainly give up the bottle. Or, at the very least, give it a serious consideration.
Viscount Claremont strode forward, slowly. His cheeks more wrinkled, his eyes more rheumy, and his shock of white hair thinner, but it was invariably the same, disapproving uncle. And if Daniel had learned one thing in history, it was that he never wanted a visit from his uncle.
Bloody, bloody hell.
“Uncle Percival,” he greeted with false cheer. The miserable bugger had not only cut off his funds but also Alice’s tuition for Mrs. Belden’s.
The old man ignored him. He looked to Alice, who took in the exchange with, by Daniel’s estimation, far too much glee in her mischievous eyes. God help him, she was going to be a bloody nightmare in London. “You’ve returned from that gloomy school, then?”
“This very moment,” she said with a smile and hugged the bear of a man.
The viscount folded her in a brief embrace. “I should have cut off your tuition to that place a long time ago. And I would have,” from over Alice’s head, Lord Claremont glared, “if there had been some honorable nephew about to see to your care.”
In the whole of his adult life, Daniel couldn’t draw forth a single embrace or kind word this man had ever had for him. Not that he blamed the man. There was hardly anything redeeming about Daniel.
…It should have been you, Daniel…
“Your brother remembered to get you, I see,” Uncle Percival observed, turning his focus on Alice. There was a question in the viscount’s eyes.
Daniel braced for her to reveal the truth and then the stern
lecture that would invariably follow. “Shocking, isn’t it?”
Lord Claremont grunted and then patted Alice on the head. “Run along. I’ve words for your brother.” Bloody spending. “In your office, boy,” the man bellowed. If he’d not received a small fortune from his childless uncle through the years, he’d have lifted a crude finger up at that insulting form of address. Alas… Daniel eyed the top of the stairway covetously and, with a long sigh, started for his office.
The sooner he could be done with this meeting and the whole day… the sooner he’d have to figure out what to do with a sister underfoot. A gentleman couldn’t go about his rakish pursuits and his beddings if there was a sibling to care for. He slowed his footsteps. A husband. Of course. Alice would make her debut and she’d fetch a husband. Mayhap one who was plump in the pockets. His spirits lifted. There was some benefit to having a sister about, after all.
They reached his office and he motioned the slightly smaller gentleman ahead of him. Then closing the door behind him, Daniel started for the sideboard. “To what do I owe this—?”
“Your father knew what you were,” Lord Claremont interrupted and Daniel froze, hovering his hand over the impressive collection of decanters.
“Are you here to speak about my dear departed papa?” God rot his soul. Daniel swiped the finest French brandy and poured himself a tall glass.
“Bah, time changed your father. Wretched bastard.” So they were of like opinion on one matter. But then the late earl hadn’t always been that way. Grief had turned his soul black and his heart empty, just as it done to Daniel. “My late sister is an altogether different story,” his uncle continued.
He remained with his back presented to the often bellowing viscount and stared a moment into his glass. His mother. God, he’d not thought of the woman in… too many years to remember. All his mother’s good and kindness gone with his parents’ quest to bring a new child into the world—a worthy child. He turned around and propped his hip on the edge of the mahogany sideboard.
“I promised your mother I’d watch over Alice.” Because when she’d been dying, in the days after her childbirth, at Daniel’s young age, she’d known precisely the manner of person her youngest son was. That truth had once left an ache, now he was immune to that pain. Mayhap that was why his father had become the miserable bastard he had. He froze and forcibly quashed the remembrance of his late sire. He’d not thought of the late earl in years. Now, in one bloody afternoon, Daphne and his uncle forced his past upon him.
Fueled by impatience, Daniel raised his glass in mock salute. “A good place to begin watching over Alice is at the finishing school you so abruptly cut funds to.”
It was a credit to his uncle’s temerity that he showed no outward reaction to that insolence. “And what, have the girl remain there while you rut your way around London and host your naughty parties with coin you do not have?” The Winterbourne line had once been a wealthy one. After his heir and his wife’s passing, Daniel’s father had lived the life of a wastrel and pissed away a fortune.
Though, his father hadn’t always been reckless. Just as Daniel hadn’t always been a coldhearted rake. His brother’s visage flashed behind his mind’s eye.
…I can’t hold on any longer, Alistair. Forgive me…
“Are you listening to me, boy?” his uncle barked, impatience lacing that query.
Daniel snapped his head up. “So is this why you’ve come? To lecture me at thirty years of age?”
His uncle snorted. “Bad behavior knows no age boundaries.” Yes, given the company Daniel kept, there was truth to that claim. “You can drink yourself to death for all I care,” he added, gesturing to Daniel’s glass, as though contained within were those final, fateful sips.
“Why, thank you. I’m touched,” Daniel drawled, lifting his glass again in mock salute.
“I didn’t always think you were bad.” That admission came as though dragged from the older man. “I believed you would sow your oats and cleanse your system of your wickedness. Instead, you only descended further and further into depravity.”
Yes, Daniel had been bad so long, he was certain his soul had been crafted in the Devil’s image. As a young man, his father’s contempt had shredded him. As such, Daniel had reshaped himself from the weak fool he’d been. In his place, he’d resurrected barriers so he was immune to the world’s disapproval and condemnation.
“I am not going to be around forever,” his uncle went on, “and I’ll not draw my last breath with knowing that you,” as though there were another “you” in question, he flicked a derisive hand in Daniel’s direction, “are the only one left to care for the girl. Your mother would greet me at the gates of heaven and send me on my way promptly to hell if I trusted Alice’s future to you.”
Daniel glanced over at the long-case clock, wishing the other man would get on with whatever had brought him ’round. He’d long ago tired of Society’s ill-opinion. His family was included amongst those polite peers.
“I’ve eight thousand pounds left me by your mother, to go to you.” That admission brought Daniel’s head whipping back around. “I see I have your full attention, boy.” By God, it was a fortune. Albeit a small one. But certainly enough funds to pay off the most pressing creditors and debt holders, and mayhap a fine mistress, and—
“You can stop counting those coins in your head,” Lord Claremont snapped. “You won’t see a pence or pound until your sister weds.”
All he needed to do was see Alice married off? Life had given him countless reasons to be wary. He thinned his eyes into narrow slits. “Surely you require more than that.”
The older man chortled. “Indeed. I will have your sister wed a good gentleman. Not a miserable blighter like yourself who beds any willing woman.”
“I assure you, I’m far more circumspect than you credit.” Only the most full-figured, inventive creatures found a place in his bed. The more scandalous, the better.
He’d not debate his uncle on the obvious truth that there were, in fact, no good gentlemen. The men who attended his naughty parties were proof of that. Daniel grinned coldly and raised his glass to his lips for another sip.
“I want you behaving until the girl finds herself a husband.” The viscount took a furious step toward him, glowering. “A good husband. Not some bounder you’re quick to marry her off to so you can get your coin.” With each cool cataloguing, Daniel drew his shoulders further and further back. “I don’t want a single, bloody scandal attached to your name. Not one widow. Not one orgy. Not even a mistress.” Daniel choked on his swallow. “Find the girl a companion and a proper suitor, who will make her an even better husband.” His uncle ticked off on his fingers. “I want your sister cultured. See she visits museums. The opera. Take her riding.”
Daniel shuddered. “Egads, surely you aren’t expecting me—?”
“I don’t care if it’s you or the bloody companion. But someone must see to the girl. You do those things and the eight thousand entrusted me by your mother is yours.” There was no other accounting for it. The man was fit for Bedlam. “We’re through here.” He’d enter Daniel’s home, disrupt the order of his wicked existence, and then casually leave? He gritted his teeth. God, the man should have been born a duke. Only a man just below royalty could manage such arrogance.
“And who, exactly, will serve as Alice’s companion?” he called after him. The sooner she was married off, the sooner he could be on with his own pursuits.
Lord Claremont stilled, his fingers poised on the door handle. “My boy, that is for you to figure out,” he drawled. With that whirlwind of chaos he’d brought upon Daniel’s life, he stepped out.
Well, bloody hell.
“Where in blazes am I going to find a goddamned suitable companion?” he muttered, tossing back his drink.
Chapter 4
A desperate woman would do desperate things in order to survive. And Daphne Smith would most definitely place herself in the quite desperate category.
It was the only logical explanation to account for an entirely illogical decision. For a second time in the span of a day, she made the long trek to the Winterbourne estate. A second trek, when she’d not visited these once opulent grounds in many, many years. Long ago, she’d learned to be wary of those lofty lords of which Daniel was now one. Particularly the rakish, roguish sorts. It was only because this particular nobleman had once been a friend that she sought him out, even now.
Slowing the frantic pace she’d set for herself, she leaned her weight on her cane and dusted the back of her hand over her damp brow.
Daniel was not long for Surrey. The boy, who’d so loved the English countryside and all the beautiful pleasures in living in these great grounds, had somehow lost that appreciation. Instead, he spent most of his days in London. That was, of course, with the exception of when he returned to Winterbourne Manor for his summer hunt, which Daphne had the misfortune of learning only after she’d come upon a pair of his guests at the lake they’d once loved. It was the last time she’d ventured anywhere near his property. She gave her head a disgusted shake and resumed walking.
Nonetheless, a desperate lady had little recourse. Daniel had once been a friend. Even though he was nothing to her now, he did have the title earl affixed to his name. And though she well-knew how little worth actually went with those titles, the Mrs. Beldens of the world did not. They still oohed and aahed and dropped their curtsies and eyes in deferential greeting.
Then, that was the way of their world, wasn’t it? A fraction of people, a ton to be precise, ruled the minds and opinions of all around them.
After the infernal walk, Daphne reached the base of the stairs of Winterbourne Manor. Lifting her hand to shield her eyes, she looked up the long, long row of steps. Once she could have and would have made the trek to Daniel’s property in but ten minutes. Once, she would have skipped every second step or hopped along on one leg to reach him. She settled her cane on the bottom stone stair and began her long climb. Inevitably, life changed a person. One went from being one person, capable of running—quite literally—wherever her legs would carry her to a prisoner in her now-failed body.
A Heart of a Duke Regency Collection : Volume 2--A Regency Bundle Page 78