by Kate Archer
The duke might have boasted to his son about his hand in arranging the whole thing, but the dowager was a more discerning sort and warned him against it. Nobody made comments or expressed surprise, which suited Lord Dalton very well. In any case, the duke would have his opportunity to crow when he would next meet with the other dukes, their pact now fully realized.
Daisy was not certain if she would have been particularly put out if the duke had claimed his hand in pushing them together. After all, he had indeed done it, with rather wonderful results. She found her new father-in-law a rather doting old fellow and Charles’ mother an energetic and helpful woman. The dowager, of course, was everything marvelous—sprightly and devilish and reminding Daisy of her own dear departed grandmother. While it took some time to become used to being surrounded in kindness, she was well-satisfied with the family she’d married into.
To her further delight, she was equally well-satisfied with the particular gentleman she’d married. Charles had told no tales when he’d informed Mrs. Jellops that a particular thing could not be done proper in twenty minutes. The duke’s servants were scandalized at their luxurious mornings abed and how late they descended the stairs each day, the time being closer to noon than morning.
They spent a month under the duke’s roof, walking the gardens and discussing the practicalities of a household. Daisy had thought there would be much to debate and decide between them, but it seemed that things were to go all her own way. When she had first noticed it, she’d playfully wondered aloud if pink silk curtains, or perhaps a print of palm trees and parrots, might not do well in his library. Charles had nodded and said it would be as she wished, though he had been mightily relieved to discover she had not actually meant it. It had been the first teasing between them, but was not the last.
Mrs. Jellops and Mrs. Phelps came to stay at the duke’s estate for a fortnight. Charles informed his mother and father of the ladies’ interesting mode of playing piquet, which became an amusing diversion. If six people played cards in the drawing room, two of them stumbled forward with ever-changing ideas on scoring while the rest stifled their laughter. Those two ladies had become such fast friends that they had plans already to visit one another often.
Charles, well-knowing the sort of insults and cruelty Daisy had endured at the hands of her father, took every step to ensure she would never suffer such again. The London house was re-made from top to bottom to her liking, and Charles was endlessly surprised to find a new carpet or draperies having arrived but took it in with good humor.
The house was re-made in temperament too—there were no drunken staff, no intemperate indulgences, no harsh words, no low acquaintances making themselves comfortable in her drawing room. The mistress’ house was inviolate and nothing untoward was to occur. Though, Daisy kindly left her husband’s library alone and it remained a clutter of open books on every surface.
Charles sometimes smiled to himself, knowing full well that with Mrs. Broadbent at the helm and Mrs. Jellops in the wings, anything out of bounds would have been stopped in its tracks anyway. They hired another butler after Bellamy retired to a cottage on the duke’s estate, where he was assured of having as much wine as he liked.
Mr. Roberts had come into the role severe and strong, but after enduring a series of relentless what-fors, questions, notations, and comments, that fellow was entirely outmanned by Mrs. Broadbent.
In truth, the only being in the house who was not very attentive to Mrs. Broadbent’s directives was the cat. That feline had various names at various times, though was mostly just called the wretch. She made herself free with laps and beds, pulled down curtains for her amusement, and shredded chair covers with reckless abandon. She and Mr. Flanagan had a tense relationship, as whatever she could make off with from the kitchens was gone in a trice and she eventually grew very fat. Her only exercise was being chased off for some infraction, though she usually left the scene of the crime in a rather unapologetic leisurely stroll, waving her tail high in the air.
Not a year after Charles and Daisy were married, a bit of gossip traveled to their doors by way of Lady Grayson, who was a regular visitor along with the rest of the ladies of the pact. The season had begun with no sign of Lady Montague and it was discovered that Lord Montague had finally put his foot down. He’d sold his London house and forbade her to return to town. It was reported that Lady Montague was in a frenzy over it and writing letters everywhere, hinting she ought to be invited as a houseguest. Kitty was confident that she would receive no replies and she was right. Lady Montague was never seen in London again.
While both Daisy and her lord went forward perhaps still a bit too dignified for their own good, that could not hold when children arrived. When that blessed event came to pass, they had both thought to carry on as was the custom—hiring an army of nannies and governesses to manage the nursery. Yet, they found themselves constantly drifting into that youthful sanctuary. Eventually, they found themselves eating an exceedingly early and unimaginative dinner there, on very short chairs, on nights they did not go out. Then, whenever there was laughter or tears heard somewhere in the house, they both felt an urgent need to investigate. There was no entertainment to be had that surpassed what their children were able to provide.
It was very hard to maintain a serious and dignified manner when one was surrounded by ridiculous naughtiness, outrageous hi-jinks, and the heartfelt speeches of regret and sorrow that inevitably followed.
Daisy could not help but laugh when Marigold made off with her brother’s toy soldiers and they were discovered in the un-soldiery location of her collection of cotton bunnies. Her brother was suitably outraged to find his generals lounging on the lap of an overstuffed and irritatingly fluffy rabbit.
Charles could not help but laugh when the younger Charles swore he’d not touched the sponge cake that had been left to cool on Mr. Flanagan’s kitchen counter, despite the fact that the only remains of it were the crumbs on his face.
Neither Daisy nor her lord could successfully remain stone-faced when they found both children in tears, only to discover they had dared one another to take a spoonful of Mr. Flanagan’s mustard.
Whatever nonsense they got up to, Daisy was determined in making sure that her children’s world was soft and cushioned. They might do wrong, and delight in it until they were caught, but they could never be wrong in who they were. Their house was both their bedrock and their feathered mattress to fall on.
The family summers in Brighton were made brighter by two children who made laughing runs at waves, or jealously collected their own piles of shells and sea glass, or marveled at a sailing ship in the distance and then argued over who would make the better captain. And, after all, was there anything more charming than two children fighting to keep their eyes open after a day of salt and sun?
Aside from the well-apportioned Brighton house, a cottage was built, not much bigger than the one the lord had uncomfortably occupied at Ramsgate. At least twice a week in the summers they would travel to this humble abode to have a picnic dinner, never caring that there was often more sand in the sitting room than there was on the beach.
Their friends often joined them in Brighton. At times, all of them arrived together, overrunning the house and straining even Mrs. Broadbent’s determined arrangements. These young parents were always under great pressure to come, as a visit to the house was considered a highlight amongst their various offspring. Traipsing down to the cottage, nannies were dismissed and the evening’s entertainment was a lively game of cards the children invented called Catch the Pirate. The rules of the game were so ever-changing that nobody over the age of eight, except for Mrs. Jellops who was often responsible for a changed rule, had ever a chance to keep up. Great amounts of farthings changed hands and the game was not over until the last pirate had fallen asleep.
The children sometimes marveled at the scar that ran down the side of Lord Dalton’s face, traced it with their pudgy fingers, and demanded to be told what had cau
sed it. As Charles had finally been able to leave that time of his life in the past where it belonged, he told them various stories having to do with dragons and ogres. He did not think he was particularly lying, as Quatre Bras had been full of them. He had even been one of them.
The London season was all well and good, but it was the summer and the seaside that called them always.
Lord Dalton’s softened edges were attributed to age and the mellowing of time. Daisy’s warmer nature was thought to be an ease at finding herself settled. Between themselves, though, they knew the truth.
It was the children—their joy of being alive, their high spirits, their innocent transgressions—that brought back an enduring faith in mankind and its potential for good. Of course, it all would have been for naught if they hadn’t first developed an enduring faith in one another.
And so, the six gentlemen of the pact who vowed never to marry all did marry in the end. That Lord Dalton was the very last of them surprised nobody. That he may have ended the happiest of them all, certainly did surprise. But then, when one has the furthest distance to travel, arriving is all the sweeter.
The End
P.S. The Scepter of Dagobert was indeed stolen from the Basilica of Sant-Denis. It has never been found—check your bedposts!