The Earl's Iron Warrant (The Duke's Pact Book 6)

by Kate Archer

  For one, she had insisted she would never marry.

  For another, he had insisted he would never marry. Loudly. Vociferously. Repeatedly.

  For another, he had taken certain steps to stop his friends from marrying.

  His had been a firm decision, well thought out. Was he just to throw it over? How would it even be done? What was he to say to his friends?

  See here, I realize I have been against the thing, but now I find I’m not. And if you will be so good as to not remind me of anything I have said, and definitely not remind me of anything I have done, that would be convenient.

  His scar burned just thinking about it.

  Charles paused. It occurred to him that what he’d just been thinking about had nothing to do with his original impediments. He was supposed to be opposed to marriage because of what he’d seen in the war. He was supposed to remain firm in not producing children who might go off to war themselves. That had been the beginning of everything.

  Where had that idea gone? Why was the impediment now to be what his friends, or everybody who ever knew him, would make of it? Was that really an impediment at all? Might not a man develop different opinions over time? Was a man to be saddled with a particular opinion for a lifetime? Should one’s friends hold a person to an opinion forever?

  Charles stood up and paced the small sitting room. “I think not,” he said. “And as to that, might not a woman change her opinion too? After all, must they not be given the same rights?”

  “Must who be given the same rights, my lord?”

  Charles spun around and found Bellamy standing in his doorframe, carrying a tray.

  “Nobody, never mind,” Charles said.

  As Bellamy carried the tray to the rickety table he dined on, Charles said, “By the by, we will remain here for another month, then to Somerset to Lord Burke’s wedding. I know not where we go after that.”

  Bellamy set the tray down with a clatter. “Here? We stay here? I was sure we were to be off. The boys and me would go to the London house while you fanned about the countryside for the shooting.”

  “I don’t fan about anywhere,” Charles said.

  Bellamy uncovered the tray and looked sadly down at the beef and roasted vegetables that sat on the plate. “I was counting on leaving the plaguey tornado behind!”

  “I presume by that colorful description that you are still being overcome by Mrs. Broadbent.”

  “As ever,” Bellamy said. “It’s like we’ve all joined a militia—one step out of line and a string of what-fors rains down upon our heads.”

  “It can’t be all bad,” Charles said, finding some amusement in his butler’s defeat. “You did win the argument about the drinking chocolate.”

  Bellamy straightened himself and got a faraway look, as if he were a retired general recalling a successful campaign fought against all odds. “Indeed I did. Decisively, I might add. Furthermore, as the weather cools, I will demand an increase. If she dares cross me on the subject, I will be the one raining down the what-fors! Just see if I don’t!”

  The butler turned on his heel and marched out, steaming back to the house. The cat had got to the tray as soon as it was uncovered, sniffed at the vegetables, and slinked off with a large slab of beef. Charles assumed she was eating it under his bed, as that seemed to be her preferred dining room.

  So this was what his life had come to—the uncomfortable knowledge that he might have gone slightly offtrack with his vow to stay a bachelor forever, a butler who thought he might air his grievances at any and all hours, and a cat who made off with a good part of his dinner.

  Thank God Flanagan had sent over a bottle of wine.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  For some days, Daisy had watched Lord Dalton’s bench inch closer to the house. Not even inching, as it had been, now it was progressing by feet at a time.

  It was alarming, but she was not unhappy about it. She just did not quite understand it. Where was he going? What was he doing? How close would he come?

  As had been her habit all summer, she blew out the last candle and sat by the open window, moving the curtain aside ever so slowly and quietly.

  She ought not to be doing it, not because there was anything particularly wrong in it, but it really was getting too cool at night for it to be at all sensible. The change in the weather had come on suddenly, as it often did. The mild nights had been changed to crisper and cooler, with a distinct feeling that autumn was not far off. She was wrapped in a heavy dressing gown as if it were January and had requested the housemaids build a fire, all to sit by an open window. They likely thought she was mad.

  Lord Dalton did not come in only his shirtsleeves rolled up anymore, but kept on his coat. It could not be comfortable sitting there of an evening, even when one had a glass of brandy at one’s side.

  His bench had now come so close that she might have thrown something down to him. Where once he had been so distant across the garden that she could hardly make out his features, now she saw him more clearly by the light that shined from the kitchen windows.

  “Getting the air again?” he said.

  He’d startled her, and she pulled back and let the curtain fall to hide her.

  “No need for excessive modesty,” he said.

  Daisy did not know if she were being excessively modest or not, but she did know the idea of her taking in the night air in such weather was ridiculous.

  “I do not suppose,” he went on, “that there is anything disreputable about a window open or talking across a distance.”

  Daisy slowly pulled the curtain aside once more. “No,” she said. “The night air is…bracing. Certainly, nobody could claim I am compromised by any conversation that accompanied it.”

  “Conversation does pass the time, after all.”

  “Indeed,” Daisy said. “I suppose we might talk of anything, within bounds.”

  “Whatever I am, I am hardly known for going out of bounds,” Lord Dalton said.

  “No, of course not,” Daisy said. She knew that was perfectly true. Lord Dalton was not a breezy, carefree individual, but he was a gentleman through and through. There had been some talk of the bizarre steps he’d taken to stop his friends from getting married, but never a whisper of anything over-forward to do with a lady. Though he did not say so, she thought he had spent far too much time dodging them to have caused any of those sorts of offenses.

  She gripped the curtains a little less tightly at the idea.

  “I was wondering,” Lord Dalton said.

  He’d trailed off and the only sounds were the quiet waves washing up on the rocks. What was he wondering? Why did he not speak?

  “Though,” he said, “perhaps that subject would be out of bounds after all.”

  “What would be out of bounds?” Daisy asked.

  “Do not answer if you do not wish to. The night we discovered the nature of the Dagobert, and I told everyone of the agreement between your father and Farthmore, the agreement that something was to happen when you reached your majority…you seemed as if you understood it, though I still cannot work it out. Why would your father wish to wait until the very moment when he would have lost all power over you?”

  Daisy had not had the first idea of what he’d been wondering, but it certainly had not been that. Of all people, though, she thought Lord Dalton might understand what her father really had been.

  “I questioned myself, not certain if it would be obvious to others,” she said, “then I concluded it would not be, unless a person understood my father’s particular type of depravity.”

  Though Daisy had not ever said half of it aloud, she told Lord Dalton of what had really happened to her mother. The slow death by insult and neglect and occasional fist. Then how he had turned on Daisy, how he’d schemed to get hold of her inheritance and been furious when he could not.

  “So you see,” Daisy said, “he could only have had one plan in mind. When I reached my majority, if I were to die intestate, he would inherit my money as t
he closest living relative. My father planned to murder me for his convenience. Should you wish to confirm the truth of it, you must only know that while I was horrified at understanding the scheme, I was not exactly surprised.”

  “My God,” Lord Dalton said quietly.

  “I will retire now,” Daisy said hurriedly. She shut the window and closed the curtain and threw herself on the bed.

  Why had she told him all of that? Now he knew her. Really knew her. He knew those things about her that she’d kept so well hidden. He knew the important things. The things only Betsy and Mrs. Jellops knew.

  She sighed. It was both disturbing and freeing. Perhaps she need not prevaricate anymore. Or hide anymore. She had been built by adversity. Her coolness, as people called it, had been instilled by fear. She was as she was, and perhaps she need not pretend otherwise.

  Daisy did not know what she and Lord Dalton would talk about on the morrow, but she would be at the window to find out.

  And so began the nightly conversations that would go on for some weeks.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Though Daisy had retired, which had prompted Lord Dalton to go back to his ramshackle cottage, the lights still burned in the kitchens.

  It had not, perhaps, been the household staff’s intention to listen in on the lord and Miss Danworth talking in the darkness, but they had not been terribly successful at ignoring it. Or shutting the open window so they would not hear it. After all, it was the kitchens and very warm even on a cool night.

  Tom had been reading from The Mysteries of Udolpho but had silently closed it and laid it down. The rest of the occupants round the table might have even slightly leaned themselves toward the errant open window.

  Now, the lord and Miss Danworth had ended their conversation, the lady shutting her window with a decided thump and the lord marching back to his cottage. They sat in silence, a horror hanging over them.

  “That poor dove,” Mrs. Broadbent said.

  “For once,” Bellamy said, “we are in agreement.”

  “A most unnatural father,” Mr. Flanagan said. “I feel myself going red in the face just thinking of it. I wouldn’t mind digging the old scoundrel up and beating him about the head with my pots and pans.”

  “But,” Gerald stuttered, “can a pa really be that devilish to his own flesh and blood?”

  “He can,” Betsy said, being the resident authority on the matter, “and he was. I could tell you stories that would curl your hair and set it on fire.”

  The Mysteries of Udolpho clattered to the floor and nobody bothered to pick it up. In a confidential tone, Betsy regaled them with tales of what she had witnessed, and perhaps things she had not witnessed and only thought the master capable of.

  The tales were dark and threatening and had put a chill down their spines as no mere story in a book could. They retired to their respective rooms with candles held high in front of them in case the dead man was to rise again and catch them in the halls. For all their trepidation, every single one of them planned to be conveniently nearby an open window on the following night. There might be further horrors to come.

  And so they did gather the next night, and remained so every night. Their drinking chocolate in hand and leaning toward the open window, they sat silent and listened to Lord Dalton and Miss Danworth.

  It was not every evening that they heard some terrible tale. In truth, most nights were quite usual conversations that flitted from subject to subject. Lord Dalton and Miss Danworth exchanged views on everything from politics to the cat to sidesaddles to India muslin to preferred newspapers. They were in hearty agreement that Brighton was superior to Ramsgate, though Miss Danworth had yet to even visit that town. They even discussed the recent news of the streets of Birmingham having been lit by gas lamps, Miss Danworth thinking it might appear cheery and Lord Dalton thinking it might appear blown to bits one day soon. Mr. Flanagan said they’d begun to sound like an old married couple, which struck everybody harder than he would have thought.

  They had almost decided to go back to The Mysteries of Udolpho when one evening, Miss Danworth was heard to say, “Lord Dalton, if I might ask, what made you decide you would not marry? Are your mother and father terribly unhappy?”

  The servants round the table froze. They were intrigued to view Bellamy’s reaction to that question.

  He shook his head vigorously and whispered, “That’s not the reason.”

  They were even more intrigued to hear where the conversation went from there.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Daisy had found a strange comfort in her nightly talks with Lord Dalton. The only uncomfortable part was that she knew she was allowing her feelings to run on ahead of her.

  Suddenly, the idea of marriage did not seem so frightening. At least, not frightening if a particular individual was considered.

  She’d already admitted to herself that she’d always been a little in love with Lord Dalton. She had always felt more like herself with him than she ever had attempting to converse with an over-cheerful fop. A little in love had been perhaps as much as she’d ever allowed herself to be. But, she knew her feelings were more than a little these days.

  She knew so much about him now. That was, she knew so much but for the big question. Why had he sworn he’d never marry?

  What would she do when she found out? Would it cool her feelings, which were beginning to run far hotter than was quite safe? What was she to do when they both went their separate ways? Would she remove to Brighton alone, as she said she would? The whole idea had begun to seem most unsatisfactory!

  If she were honest with herself, she would marry him if she could. But only him. There could not be another like him.

  She was setting herself up for heartbreak and she knew it, but she could not stop. Her feelings had become a runaway carriage barreling down a steep hill. Only the inevitable crash would halt them.

  Still, she pressed on.

  The night was the coldest yet and aside from her heaviest dressing gown and a well-built fire, she had piled a thick blanket on her lap. It was so chill out of doors that she wondered if he would come. Certainly, he would have to give it up at some point.

  He did come, though.

  They talked of this or that, though Daisy could hardly keep her attention on it. Then, she said what had been on her mind for so long. “Lord Dalton, if I might ask, what made you decide you would not marry? Are your father and mother terribly unhappy?”

  “The duke and duchess?” Lord Dalton said, almost sounding amused. “They go on well enough. He does what she says when it comes to social engagements and she leaves him alone about his clubs. They are fond of one another, I think. At least, it has always seemed so to me.”

  Daisy was silent for some moments. She supposed she had assumed his determination to remain a bachelor must be connected to an unhappy household, as that was what she herself had experienced. But if it were not that, what on earth was it?

  She hoped it was not solely due to the Dukes’ Pact. It was true that the whole idea of the old dukes pushing their heirs into penury to get them married was ludicrous. But it would be somehow boyish to vow he would cross his father and never produce an heir, only in an effort to thwart him. It would not be a worthy reason for Lord Dalton. There must be something else. Something she did not understand.

  “Then why?” she asked softly.

  She was not certain he heard her, as he did not answer for some moments. Finally he said, “I am not at all sure I should tell you the story. Sometimes it is not right to put a burden on someone else and create a memory that is unpleasant and was never their own to carry.”

  “I do not mind,” Daisy said. “I have enough of my own, I will not be overcome by one more.”

  Daisy saw his dark head nod in the gloom. He said, “When I fought at Quatre Bras, there was a French fellow I came upon. He really looked too young to be there, but I suppose he was not. We came at one another with swords and he fought like the devil though he was not
nearly skilled enough to have been sent into the fray.

  “I wounded him, but I did not kill him. I thought to leave him there and he might make his way out to live another day. As I turned away, I heard something behind me. The fool had risen and had his sword raised. I was taken by surprise and did not react quick enough.”

  Lord Dalton paused and ran his hand down the scar on his face. “That is how I got this embellishment on my cheek—he sliced me before I knew what was happening. In my anger, I dealt him a deadly blow. He died at my feet.”

  “But what choice did you have?” Daisy asked, hardly daring to breathe.

  “None, I suppose. But the last thing he said was Ma pauvre femme, elle est enceinte.”

  “My poor wife, she is with child,” Daisy said softly.

  “Yes, and so you see I decided I would not bring any boys like him into the world only so they might go out like that. I saw plenty of men die, but none with the look of fear that he had.”

  Daisy felt as if her heart skipped beats in her chest. She’d known all along it would come to this. She’d find out why he would never marry and that would be the end of it. He might have gotten over a parents’ unhappy union, but he would never get over what he had just described. Whether or not he was right in it would not matter. It had not just left a scar on his face, it had left a scar on his soul.

  “I have given it up, though. Funnily enough,” Lord Dalton said.

  Daisy clutched the blanket to her chest. “Given it up?” she said. “Given up what?”

  “My vow to never marry,” Lord Dalton said.

  “Why?” Daisy asked, her own voice sounding as if she were choking.

  “I think you know.”

  She did know. Only a moment ago, she had been certain he’d never give it up. Just as quickly, he’d said he had given it up.

  He had given it up for her.

  All her life Daisy had looked for a way to be happy. A chance to be happy. Here it was. She knew chances did not come raining down from the sky. If one were to spy a chance, one had better reach for it before it disappeared from view.