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

by Diana Davis

  How difficult was it to say I’m sorry?

  He stared into her amber brown eyes, but no words followed.

  After a long, awkward moment, Cassandra broke the silence. “Why are you here?”

  “Your uncle invited me. I didn’t know you’d be here.”

  “Ah. Sorry to disappoint.”

  “Not at all.” He’d actually hoped to find her here. To have this very conversation. That he was failing at.

  The conversation, such as it was, lapsed until Cassandra made another attempt. “You said you found your purpose?”

  “Ah, yes.”

  “Would you . . . care to impart that purpose?”

  She wanted to know? “Certainly. I’ve learned that the colonies send most of their raw goods like cotton or wool to England, which sends back finished goods such as fabric. That seems terribly inefficient and unwise, so I’m going to be helping businesses that will make the colonies more economically independent.”

  Cassandra tilted her head quizzically. Had he not explained it well? “I didn’t realize you’d put such depth into your business study.”

  “I’ve had excellent tutors.”

  “Ah, yes, that makes all the difference. Dr. Drinker has taught me so much.”

  He’d begun to suspect that Cassandra and the doctor were not courting, but that was the final confirmation he wanted. He resettled himself on the couch, moving a little closer so he could lower his voice. “You were already a very talented nurse.”

  “Apparently not.” Her tone was clipped.

  And that was his fault. Guilt stabbed like a dagger in his chest. “Cassandra, I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have thrown you out. I regret it every day.”

  “It was an abominable way to treat your oldest friend.”

  He couldn’t help a smile. Was it too much to hope that was still true? “And I’m so very sorry for it.”

  Cassandra was quiet for a long moment. “Why would you treat me so?”

  The pain in her voice flayed his heart again, but he had to tell her the truth, awful as it was. “I thought I saw . . . pity in your eyes. Contempt.”

  Her eyebrows knitted together, and Lord David pressed on. “I was wrong to show you so little courtesy. Respect. I — so many other people in my life have treated me that way, and I thought — I couldn’t bear to have a country gentleman’s daughter scorn me.”

  “Oh.” The syllable carried a little descending note of disappointment.

  “But I was wrong there, too.” The thoughts that had been spinning in his mind the last few weeks were finally starting to coalesce around an idea that would have upended his life a month ago, let alone three. “I’m beginning to see that — that’s the wrong thing to be concerned about. Rank, birth, they mean virtually nothing here. The smallpox didn’t care a fig if I were King George himself. What matters is what we do. The difference we choose to make.”

  Cassandra shifted on the couch — closer? — as she pondered his words. “Yes. That’s precisely what I’ve been thinking. That’s what I love about nursing: helping others.”

  “That’s your purpose.”

  She nodded.

  That was why she’d looked at the doctor when he’d asked about her purpose at the office. “I was wondering how a gentleman’s daughter got to be so good at nursing.”

  Cassandra’s smile was small, but it brightened her countenance more than the sun did the sky. “I’m more than that, you know. I’m a kind woman’s daughter.”

  Lord David reached for her hand. “You are indeed.”

  She looked down at his hand and back up at him.

  “Please don’t ever leave me,” he said, staring into her amber eyes.

  “Lord David —”

  “No.”

  Cassandra gave him another quizzical expression. Apparently he was being difficult, though he wasn’t trying to be. “I — I can’t use my title any longer.”

  “Did your father say something?”

  “Oh, no.” He waved a hand. “He probably still hasn’t noticed I’ve left. I simply want to stay here, with people I care about.”

  “And what of your title?”

  “Here, it means virtually nothing,” he said.

  Cassandra laughed a moment, and it sounded like the same wonder he felt. This was the last thing he’d expected to find when he’d come to the colonies to prove himself, to find that he’d never needed proof in the first place. He merely needed meaningful work and to be far away from his family.

  His courtesy title was the last thing tying him to that entire system. He would be glad to hear it gone.

  “I think I know the answer,” he said, “but to be certain — Dr. Drinker is not courting you, is he?”

  “No, though he might mean to.” Cassandra’s smile bore a trace of pain in sympathy. The very look he’d mistaken for pity and scorn was just another manifestation of her kindness.

  “He’ll have to wait his turn.” He braced himself. “If your oldest friend in the colonies might . . . be welcome to try his hand?”

  Cassandra beamed at him. “I shall have to let the doctor know gently.”

  On an impulse — that he’d been fighting for longer than he should admit — he leaned forward and kissed her quickly, as if that sealed the agreement of the beginning of their courtship.

  Giggling behind them cut short any other display of affection, and when he pulled back, he saw Cassandra’s blush. “Oh, I’m sorry, I hope I haven’t ruined you to your family.”

  “I don’t know, but it certainly wouldn’t be the first time.”

  “I’ll go back for appearances. You can take your rest.” He began to stand.

  She kept hold of his hand. “I’m feeling much better.”

  “Good.” He started for the dining room again, but Cassandra did not follow, pulling him to a stop.

  “Wait a moment. What shall I call you now?”

  “Oh, His Majestic Worshipfulness Lord Popinjay of Coxcomb, naturally.”

  Cassandra laughed. “Yes, Your Magnificence.” She used his help to regain her feet as well and treated him with a smile that clearly conveyed she was waiting for her real answer.

  “David,” he said. “Simply David.”

  “Certainly, David,” she said. And it sounded perfect on her lips.

  So he kissed them again, and this time he didn’t let any giggling deter him.

  Helen sat alone in the corner of her aunt’s drawing room, watching the party. Her new brother-in-law made his way around the room, heartily thanking the guests for coming as if they were his own kith and kin.

  She assumed most of the guests were friends of her aunt or clients of her uncle who could not resist the opportunity to gawk at a scion of English nobility. Certainly neither David nor she and Cassandra could boast so many acquaintances in the colonies. If Cassandra had married at Heartcomb, they would have had scores of their own friends to invite.

  Helen pushed the thought of Heartcomb out of her mind. Dwelling on the past did no good, and she had plenty to worry her about the future. Cassandra would live in David’s home now, and Helen would be left alone with her cousins. She couldn’t begrudge her sister her happiness, but Helen had already made an unsupportable number of changes in such a brief stretch of time.

  How could she bear to lose the last member of her family?

  Temperance grabbed Helen’s arm, startling her into nearly falling off her chair.

  “He’s here!” Temperance bounced on her toes, nearly beside herself with excitement. “I’d hoped he would come!”

  Helen did not need to look up to confirm whom Temperance spoke of, though she did anyway. Temperance’s obsession with Winthrop Morley, son of the Governor of Pennsylvania, must have been renowned all the way to New England. She talked of nothing else to every single person she met. Helen had to admit to herself that she was curious to compare the fantasy of the man to his actual person.

  The sight of him startled her more than Temperance had. He was young, perh
aps early twenties, and his manner of dress surely would rival the most elegant suit of clothes the King of England could command. Even David, dressed in a ruby red coat trimmed with coordinating silk and velvet, was eclipsed by Winthrop’s floral brocade coat with ribbon, rope, and embroidered W’s. Could this be real? Helen had to blink to make sure she hadn’t accidentally fallen asleep.

  Winthrop turned and caught sight of Temperance, then proceeded to mince over to them in heels of at least four inches height. They were balanced by a four-inch-high white wig atop his head.

  “Mister Morley,” Temperance sighed, extending her hand to him.

  He bowed nearly to the ground and then took her hand. Was that supposed to be a handshake, or did he expect her to kiss his ring? “Miss Hayes.”

  Temperance stared at Winthrop adoringly. Helen thought she might be sick.

  Winthrop turned to her. “And who is this?”

  Helen pasted on an insincere smile as Temperance reluctantly introduced her to Winthrop.

  “Come and refresh yourself.” Temperance took his arm and steered him toward the food.

  Helen chuckled a little. Temperance was making light work of proving her affection to Winthrop.

  David watched Temperance and Winthrop strut past as he reached Helen’s corner. “There you are. We haven’t seen you since we left the church, sister.”

  She’d never been addressed that way before by a man — or anyone other than Cassandra. “David.”

  He was still staring after Winthrop, barely concealing a laugh. “I don’t know whether to be more offended he’s shown up me or my wife.”

  “I’ll tell her you think so.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Look at my wife: she’s radiant.”

  He was right. Cassandra’s new crimson damask silk robe à la française was only outshone by her smile.

  A high-pitched guffaw pealed over the jovial crowd. Helen was scarcely surprised to trace the cackle to Winthrop Macaroni — rather, Morley.

  “How does he wear a wig that tall?” David mused.

  “And those heels?” Helen laughed with him.

  David took a sip of his punch and grimaced, eyeing his mug. “Is this what we’ve been serving all night?”

  “I believe so.” She hadn’t tried it.

  “Dreadful.” He set the mug on the nearest side table.

  She resisted the urge to snort. He might have left off using his courtesy title, but underneath, was he still the same pompous nobleman they’d met on the ship from England nine months ago? What had her sister gotten herself into, going off with this man?

  David turned to Helen. “Do you mean to speak to my wife at some point tonight?”

  “You quite like calling her ‘my wife,’ don’t you?”

  He grinned. “Am I that obvious?”

  Helen nodded, glad he’d taken the bait of the subject change. He was right there, too, though. She should go speak to her sister, but she couldn’t quite manage it. Every time she thought about what to say a lump the size of a grapefruit rose up in her throat.

  “Captain Carter,” David called. “You came!”

  A tall man dressed in unrelieved black strode purposefully toward them.

  “May I introduce you?” David asked Helen before the other man arrived.

  “I suppose.” She accepted his offered hand to help her to her feet.

  The man in black reached them, and David began the introduction. “Helen, may I present Captain — sorry, what’s your given name?”

  The man furrowed his brow. “Nathaniel.”

  “Ah. Captain Nathaniel Carter. Carter, this is Miss Helen Crofton, my new sister.”

  Another new title he kept repeating. “Pleased to meet you,” Helen said politely.

  Captain Carter nodded curtly and turned back to David. “I have that information you requested.”

  He’d barely acknowledged her. What shocking rudeness.

  David clapped him on the back. “I’m sure that can wait. It’s my wedding day! Come, have some punch.” He glanced at his abandoned mug. “Or something else.”

  Helen rolled her eyes at their retreating backs. Good riddance to Captain Taciturn.

  “Cousin, would you like some cake?” Verity Hayes approached, offering Helen a plate. “I helped to make it.”

  “Thank you.” Helen accepted the cake. She would need something to bolster her courage to speak to Cassandra, and cake was likely the strongest thing they had.

  She took a bite, and the overpowering flavor of nutmeg seized her mouth. She tried not to gag. She didn’t want to offend her cousin by spitting out the whole mouthful, but it was difficult to swallow without chewing further. Unfortunately, the cake did not seem to yield to chewing. Had they dropped a pebble in the batter?

  Her teeth made a loud crunch on the pebble, and her cousin turned back to her. “You’ve found it!” Verity exclaimed. “You got the nutmeg.”

  Everyone who’d eaten this cake must have gotten plenty of nutmeg. Helen again tried to swallow, but the pebble threatened to lodge itself in her throat. A mug was thrust in her face and she drank deeply, grateful to clear her throat.

  Perhaps it was the aftereffects of so much spice, but she had to agree with David. This punch was weak and honestly terrible.

  “Thank you,” she rasped. She looked up to see who had saved her and found Captain Carter. He scrutinized her as if she were a horse he wasn’t sure about buying.

  She couldn’t help a little cough. To her complete horror, Captain Carter thumped her hard on the back. A tiny wad of cake flew from her mouth.

  Mortified, Helen flew forward to retrieve the crumb, knocking over the empty punch cup.

  “You shall be the next to marry!” Verity announced.

  Helen looked uncomprehendingly from Verity to Captain Carter. Was this some kind of punishment in the colonies? Spew one’s cake and one was forced to marry the man who tried to dislodge it?

  Aunt Anne rushed over to them when she noticed Helen on her hands and knees, frozen in humiliation.

  Captain Carter slid a hand under her elbow and helped her to stand.

  “Thank you,” Helen muttered, cupping the chewed cake in one hand. Hopefully nobody would notice when she threw it in the fire.

  “She got the nutmeg, Mama,” Verity informed her mother.

  “Oh dear, we should have warned you! It is a tradition here in the colonies. One nutmeg is left whole in the bride’s cake, and the person who finds it is next of all the guests to marry.”

  “I see,” Helen said. Perhaps they could make a joke of it. “I thought —” She broke off and stared at Captain Carter, who was not smiling. “Never mind.”

  Captain Carter stooped to pick up the discarded mug and shoved it at her. Helen accepted it and dropped the crumb inside. It clinked against the metal. Ah, the nutmeg.

  No more cake or punch for her.

  Captain Carter glanced behind himself and then stepped aside to reveal Cassandra. “Sister dear, what happened? Why were you on the floor?”

  “Oh, I’m fine.” And hopefully Captain Carter would take the cue to end their awkward conversation and go away.

  He simply stood there.

  She attempted to focus on her sister, who was still positively glowing. Then pain creased Cassandra’s features. “We’re leaving.”

  Helen caught a little gasp. The moment she opened her mouth, she would start to cry.

  They had never lived apart before.

  Cassandra’s chin trembled, and she drew Helen in for a hug.

  “I’m not going far,” Cassandra murmured.

  Helen stifled a sob. She found she couldn’t speak above a whisper either. “I don’t know what I’ll do without you.”

  Cassandra held her at arm’s length, her eyes full of tears. Her husband appeared at her side. “What’s this, dearest?” David sounded mildly terrified.

  Helen had always been the one to call Cassandra “dearest.” That was all it took to break the dam holding back Hele
n’s tears, and that set Cassandra off as well.

  David looked from his wife to Helen. “We can’t have tears on our wedding day!”

  Helen turned to dab her cheeks surreptitiously. She inadvertently made eye contact with Captain Carter, who was staring at her with horror. Really? He was going to stand there and gape at their pain? Helen had never encountered such an ill-mannered man in her life! She hoped never to have to see him after today.

  “We’ve never been separated,” Cassandra was explaining to David. “Never fear; we shall rally.”

  David frowned. “Nonsense! I could never sacrifice your happiness for mine! Helen, you must make your home with us.”

  Helen turned to Cassandra, who was just as surprised as she was.

  “What?” David consulted each of them. “No?”

  “Are you certain?” Cassandra asked him.

  “To be sure.” David already had an arm around Cassandra’s waist, but he pulled Helen in to join in an embrace. “My wife and my new sister under the same roof. What could be better?”

  “What do you say, Helen?” Cassandra asked. “Maybe you had rather stay here.”

  “If you’ll have me, I’d love to come,” Helen assured her.

  “Wonderful!” David said. “Bring out more punch! Or do you have anything else?”

  Helen smiled. Some things might never change about her new brother, but he had his good points. She threw her arms around David and Cassandra. Perhaps her family wasn’t shrinking after all.

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  Can Helen and Nathaniel put aside their differences long enough to fall in love?

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