A Gentleman's Daughter: A sweet, clean historical romance (Sisters of the Revolution Book 1)

by Diana Davis

  “You know, I was his age when I came here,” Uncle Josiah mused. “And even more naïve, believe it or not.”

  Lord David, naïve? That was one epithet she hadn’t applied to him.

  Uncle Josiah continued. “He seem to have a quick enough mind. If he is able to apply himself and put his time to good use, I’m sure he’ll find purpose in his life soon.”

  Cassandra drew a breath. That was precisely what she needed. Purpose. Direction.

  Those sorts of things were simple for a man. A woman cared for hearth and home, and if she didn’t have that, nor tenants nor charity work to keep her busy, what would she do with her time? Sit by the fire and knit?

  She didn’t even know how to knit. Mama had always said needlework was more useful.

  She drew her knees up to her chest, gathering her wrapper over herself. She wasn’t even certain of their position in the community. Certainly there were no estates like Heartcomb. This place was far more like London, all city. How ever would she find people to help here? Let alone friends?

  At least she had Helen. And her cousins seemed nice, if a strange mix of flighty and dour.

  Did they have a purpose?

  Did she?

  Uncle Josiah poked the fire again.

  “Did he find it?” Cassandra asked.

  “Hm?”

  “Did Lord David find his purpose?”

  Uncle Josiah didn’t answer at first. “I think he will, in time. If he learns to adapt to his life here.”

  Cassandra pondered that for a long moment. Perhaps she had been too quick to judge Lord David. It seemed they had more in common than she’d thought. She had no choice but to adapt to her life here as well.

  Would there be a place for her? She didn’t have Helen’s nature, always forging ahead, sure of herself. She could match wits with a man like Lord David, dance with a man like Lord David, even — heaven forbid — marry a man like Lord David. Those things might give her a household, a position in society, a name. But none of them would matter.

  Had she ever cared about this before? She’d always known her place at home. She was the younger daughter of Thomas Crofton, a gentleman. She was a mistress of Heartcomb.

  That was her position and her place. They had given her something to occupy her time. None of those was a purpose.

  Was that something she could find in the colonies?

  She turned to her uncle, who was pondering the fire. “Why did you come to the colonies?”

  “Hm?” He perked up as if his deliberating had really been dozing.

  She repeated the question.

  “Oh. I came for glory.” He snorted. “Your Uncle William and I thought we would find it in the war.”

  She had heard only the vaguest stories of Uncle William. Mostly, she knew he’d died as a soldier. Brave. Honorable. Loyal.

  But Uncle Josiah did not sound patriotic right now. He simply sounded sad. “We didn’t find it, if you were curious.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Uncle Josiah merely nodded. “I was going home to Surrey when I met Anne. I had never known anyone so gentle. She was the salve I needed.”

  That sounded much sweeter than her own parents’ story, having met at a country dance. She’d always found that romantic, though not quite as rapturously as Constance probably would have. Still, her parents had married for love as well.

  “Do you miss it?” Cassandra’s voice was barely above a whisper.

  “Yes,” Uncle Josiah said. “But I have a life here, and I should miss that much more were I ever to leave.”

  “Not your family?”

  “I would never leave without them, my dear. But this is our home.”

  Cassandra turned back to the embers, which were steadily growing colder. Would she ever feel that way about this place?

  She wasn’t sure, but she was starting to hope so. What other choice did she have?

  “Did you find purpose?” Cassandra asked. “After the war?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “In Aunt Anne?”

  A soft smile pulled at one corner of his mouth. “In a way, yes. But also our children, and my work, helping people. It’s good to feel needed, as though you’re a part of something. A community.”

  Yes. She might not have been needed, but she had felt as though she was a part of a community at Heartcomb. Of course she didn’t have that here after a single day. “Did it take you long to find that community?”

  Uncle Josiah’s eyebrows raised as though he were surprised by the question. “I suppose it did take a while. Hard to say, child. It’s the work of a lifetime.”

  Cassandra pondered that a moment. Her stomach was finally beginning to settle.

  “It’s good that you’re here now,” he said. “With the smallpox in Germantown, Ginny’s family may need her help.”

  “Does she live in Germantown?”

  “She lives here.” Uncle Josiah eased back in his chair. “Her cousins live in Germantown. Six of them, all very young. Her aunt married a German.”

  Obviously Germantown had earned its name from its settlers’ origin. “And they’ll need Ginny?”

  “They’ll need all the help they can get.”

  Cassandra pondered that for a long moment. Somewhere help was needed.

  How many times had Mama gone to help a poor local family in need of aid when sickness befell them? Cassandra had been too young to accompany her most of the time, but she’d learned a few things from her.

  Perhaps that was what she was meant to do. She would have to ponder on this more. She leaned her head against the wing of the armchair.

  “I’m sure you’re very tired,” Uncle Josiah said.

  At his words, she jolted awake. Had she dozed off? “Would you like me to sit up with you?”

  “No need. I won’t be much longer.” He reached into his waistcoat and withdrew a flask.

  “I thought Aunt Anne said your family abstains from alcohol.”

  He looked over at her, a spark of mischief in his eyes. “Don’t tell her.”

  Cassandra pressed one finger to her lips.

  Yes, she decided as she climbed the stairs. She felt much more settled. She would find a purpose. And, for his sake, she hoped the same for Lord David.

  Lord David sat at the large desk he’d been supplied in Josiah Hayes’s apartment, poring over the papers he’d collected over the last three weeks. Reports from several of Hayes’s friends and associates and clients, not merely sales reports, but business accounts.

  Lord David had not been a terrible student for the tutor his family had hired away from Harrow, and mathematics had been a particularly strong subject for him. And yet neither of those things were making this decision easier.

  He wasn’t sure that directly getting involved in trade was quite fitting, or quite his forte. He knew he wanted to begin investing. But somehow there had to be a way to support these businesses and also make money of his own.

  Really, the question was not how but which — which of all these trades was something he might conceivably manage? Or was that not it?

  A knock sounded at his door. “Come,” he said, without looking up from his papers.

  “Good afternoon, Lord David.”

  That was not the voice he’d been expecting. Rather than his valet, Josiah Hayes stood in the doorway to his study.

  “Oh, how do you do?” Lord David rose halfway. “Do sit.”

  “Thank you.” Hayes took the seat in front of his desk. “Very nice bookcases.”

  Lord David glanced at the only furnishings he’d had time to purchase thus far, flanking the room with most of the books he’d brought with him. A rug and a few more bookcases and the study would be quite serviceable. “Thank you.”

  “How are your investments coming along?”

  “I have some decisions to make.” Lord David tried to keep the tenor of the conversation positive. “Can I do anything for you?” Occasionally, his landlord came up from his law office downstairs simply to
visit.

  Lord David had little enough company that he looked forward to these visits as much as meals.

  “I came to see how you were faring.”

  “Well, several of these businesses seem very strong. It’s quite difficult to choose among them.”

  Hayes picked up a paper. “How about this one?”

  Lord David checked the page. Atop the ledger notes was another note: Flour mill, he’d written. Germantown.

  “That one looks a little uncertain for me.” He took the page and set it to the side. He wouldn’t go risking his life for his investments.

  “What criteria are you using to evaluate?”

  “Distance from the miasma, for one.”

  Hayes chuckled. “Yes, we’ll surely want to steer you clear of that. Are you considering inoculation?”

  “Yes. In fact, Dr. Rush will be here to do it in two days.”

  “That was quick.”

  “Indeed.” Lord David had sought out the physician as soon as he’d had his trunks unloaded in his apartment, but he’d had no idea how extensive the preparations would be. And Dr. Rush said that other doctors would require him to spend several more weeks preparing his body for the illness.

  “Dr. Rush is an excellent choice.”

  “He came highly recommended.” His valet had spent minutes extolling Dr. Rush’s credentials, from an M.D. from the University of Edinburgh to serving as a professor at the College of Philadelphia Medical School. It had been the most Westing had ever said to him.

  “Do you have anyone to care for you?” Hayes asked.

  He regarded the older man for a moment. Josiah Hayes cared how he fared beyond business?

  “My valet,” Lord David answered. He’d finally found help after an entire week of having to dress himself like some commoner. It had been bad enough on the boat.

  Josiah studied him for a long moment. Was that not an acceptable answer? “Good,” he finally said. “Inoculations are nothing to be trifled with. You’re lucky you came at the right time of year.”

  That was another thing he hadn’t been aware of. The science of inoculation had been perfected to the proper season, proper preparation, proper treatment. And still one in fifty died.

  The rest — most of the rest — would become dreadfully ill for weeks, but recover, the sickness purged from their bodies, leaving only a few scars.

  The unlucky few would have nothing happen. They would have to endure the process again, or risk the far deadlier full smallpox.

  Lord David wasn’t sure whether he would rather fall in the former group or the later. The preparations had hardly been enjoyable — odd changes to his diet — but the idea of being bedbound for weeks, fighting off an illness that could still kill him. . . .

  “I look forward to it being finished,” he said.

  “As you should. Will you be making any investments beforehand?”

  A part of his mind hounded him, telling him he shouldn’t make investments, in the event that the unthinkable did happen. But, honestly, it was of little consequence to him if his investments outlived him. He had no heirs, and his family certainly had no need of the few pounds he was prepared to lend.

  For a man as rich as he was, somehow, he had very little to lose.

  He cleared his throat. “I hope so.” He tossed the papers aside. “These are all good investments that are sure to make plenty of money. I simply cannot decide.”

  Josiah cocked his head, one eyebrow raised ever so slightly. “Cannot? Or will not?”

  Lord David straightened in his seat. Was he questioning — he took a deep breath and fought back the tide of indignation. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, these businesses are all sound investments, or I would not have sent them to you. I meant only that perhaps there’s something more you’re looking for than you’ll find in these papers.”

  Lord David nodded slowly. What on earth else did he intend to use his wealth for if not to increase his purse? Was there some other reason for business in America?

  If there were, Josiah would know. “What would you recommend?” Lord David asked.

  “I can’t say for certain if even you don’t know what you’re looking for. But I suggest meeting with each of the owners of your topmost choices. That might give you a clearer path forward.”

  “How does one meet with a business owner to make an investment if one is not actually making the investment yet?”

  Josiah laughed. “That is one you’ll have to figure out, I’m afraid. But I’m sure you’ll find a way.”

  “Thank you for your confidence.”

  A knock sounded at the door, and Westing, his valet, stepped in. “Miss Cassandra Crofton is here for Mr. Hayes, my lord.”

  Cassandra was here? Surely she meant to wait in the drawing room for her uncle to leave, but he wanted to see her. “Show her in.” Lord David motioned for her to be admitted, and his rib cage seemed to constrict as he stood. He couldn’t imagine why. Unless perhaps it was because he hadn’t seen anyone he’d known longer than three weeks in . . . three weeks.

  She hardly counted.

  Cassandra stepped in and offered a perfect curtsy before looking to her uncle. Her hair was curled and swept up underneath a violet-trimmed straw hat, and her fashionable sack-back gown had clearly come with her from England, though Lord David felt sure he’d seen it before, and not aboard the Rimington.

  “Miss Crofton,” he greeted her before she could address Josiah. He braced himself for whatever clever remark she might fire off at him.

  “Apologies, my lord,” she said. She seemed . . . sincere. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything terribly important.”

  “No, no,” Lord David reassured her. “Merely chatting about business.”

  “Ah.” For perhaps the first time, she regarded him with something like respect. “Have you found your purpose?”

  He paused for a moment, tilting his head to the side. Though she certainly meant the reason for their meeting or the intent of his business, he couldn’t help but think she intended something deeper with that word.

  Or perhaps he simply thought that because he was so desperate to find his own purpose here.

  “And what is your purpose here, my dear?” Josiah asked, teasing in his tone.

  “I was sent to find you, Uncle.”

  “Then you have succeeded.” Rather than anger at interrupting their meeting, informal though it might have been, Josiah’s face held only warmth for his niece.

  How must that have felt?

  “We were hoping you might come,” she said. The last word seemed to hold some additional meaning which Josiah quickly caught.

  “Oh, yes, that’s today. Certainly.” He bowed to Lord David. “Good luck, my lord.”

  “Thank you for coming,” Lord David said.

  Josiah nodded, but Cassandra didn’t acknowledge him.

  “Both of you,” he added. Her eyebrows crinkled together almost imperceptibly before she dropped into another curtsy and left with her uncle.

  What? No repartee? Well, their prior conversations were mostly alternating insults, but he found himself missing her wit all the same. Were they not friends?

  No, he supposed they were not.

  He moved to the window to watch them leave the building from the story below him. Before she boarded the coach, Cassandra lifted her gaze and saw him. She quickly looked away and allowed her uncle to hand her into the coach.

  That had been foolish of him. Why had he wanted to see her again? Yes, he’d known her a few months, but she was no real connection to home.

  Moreover, she was frustrating and pretentious. He did not even like her, he reminded himself.

  Or did he? If she now regarded him with respect, something had changed.

  Lord David finally returned to his desk after Cassandra’s coach disappeared down the street, the distraction gone at last. He should probably endeavor to avoid her.

  Unless perhaps she no longer hated him? She cared to ask abou
t his purpose, and the look in her eyes today suggested she could feel something other than loathing for him.

  He would have to find out. Some sort of gesture or gift, perhaps, to attract her attention. Silk for a new gown? Westing could tell him if such a thing was done in the colonies. She could probably use it to replace her dyed wardrobe if she was out of mourning now. The gown and petticoat she’d worn today had grapes and vines on cream fabric.

  She looked very well in it. She should have more like it. Yes. Silk for a gown and petticoat. As soon as this inoculation business was over.

  He turned back to his work, reading over the papers again and casting each summary aside. Any of these businesses could double his investment.

  A large purse did not a purpose make.

  “No,” he murmured to himself, finally answering Cassandra’s question. “I’ve not found my purpose.”

  Two days after he saw Cassandra, Lord David admitted a different kind of visitor to his study: Dr. Benjamin Rush. Though Dr. Rush couldn’t be any older than Lord David, he knew the doctor was the right choice, well educated, well respected. Rumor had it Benjamin Franklin had personally selected the doctor to fund his education in Britain.

  And yet his stomach seemed to veritably crawl.

  “Good day,” Dr. Rush greeted him. “Are we ready?”

  Lord David drew a deep breath and managed a curt nod.

  This was not the same thing as having the smallpox. This was much safer, and it would rid his system of the disease. He would not die.

  Unlike Georgette.

  Those were merely his mother’s fears talking, and it was a small wonder, as he’d had little else from her. He hadn’t even known his sister Georgette; she’d died before he was born.

  He shook off the thoughts and turned to Dr. Rush. “Shall we?” He gestured toward the door. Surely this was something done in a bedroom, not one serving as a study.

  “Oh, we can do the procedure here. It will take only a moment.” He gestured to the chair. “Please, sit.”

  Lord David obeyed. “Shall I take off my coat?”