The Gentleman's Daughter

by Bianca M. Schwarz

  Neither wore gloves due to the heat, so every time Henry took Isabella’s hand to help her over some obstacle, she felt the intimacy of his physical proximity. His hands were warm and dry, as well as manly and strong, and although that combination would have unnerved her with any other man, she had to admit she liked his touch. Henry was an uncommonly attractive man, and what she felt was visceral, and physical, and entirely new to her. Could it be that other, more intimate things might be different with him too? But then, what did it matter? Her path was set; safe, predictable, and entirely hers. Best to just enjoy his friendship and avoid daydreams.

  They walked in the late afternoon light, mostly in silence, lost in their respective contemplations, sharing a smile and a touch here and there. A little less than an hour later, they arrived at the road, where Roberts awaited them. It was roughly an hour until dinnertime, so Henry offered, “The Waterfront is almost on our way to Mrs. Curtis’s house. We could stop off and send one of the bellboys to retrieve the guidebook from the salon.”

  Isabella directed a tired smile his way as he helped her into the curricle. “I would appreciate that. The quicker I take another look at the drawing, the more likely I am to recognize the problem. I feel I am missing something important about the building.”

  Henry waited for her to arrange her skirts and then handed up her painting and her bag. “It’s settled, then.”

  BUT, LIKE MOST PLANS, IT didn’t account for the unexpected. Not that the arrival of the dowager duchess and Emily was unexpected per se; Henry just hadn’t foreseen it for that very evening. They had just pulled up outside the Waterfront, and Henry had instructed one of the boys to fetch the book, when Emily appeared in the open doorway and shrieked, “Papa! Papa! You’re finally here.”

  Pure delight suffused Henry’s face when he caught sight of his daughter, but her shriek elicited a sigh. “And now the whole of Brighton is aware of that fascinating fact.”

  Henry hopped off the high seat just in time to catch Emily, who had launched herself into his arms. Using her momentum, he swung her in a full circle, earning him a squeal in his left ear, prompting him to set her down with a grimace. “I’m glad you are here, Poppet. How was your journey, and where is Grossmama?”

  Emily, completely immune to her father’s discomfort, beamed up at him. “Grossmama got too hot in the carriage today, so she’s resting in our rooms. Will and I sent her up some soup. I don’t think she’ll come down for dinner, you know how she is about eating late.”

  The pageboy returned with the book, and Henry handed him a penny for his troubles, but kept his focus on Emily. “Indeed, Poppet. I’ll visit her just as soon as I’ve escorted Miss Chancellor home.”

  Emily didn’t register the latter part of her father’s remark. She stood there, her head cocked to the side, her hands set on her hips, ready to do battle. “Papa, you really have to stop calling me Poppet. I’m getting much too old for it.” She accompanied the comment with an exaggerated eye roll, oddly contrasting her battle pose. Isabella had to bite her lip in order not to laugh out loud.

  Henry tried his best to contain his own amusement, and pulled her forward. “I’m sorry if you don’t like it, Poppet, but you’re my daughter and therefore will always be my Poppet. Now, can you stop being a heathen so I can introduce you to my friend?”

  “Oh!” was all Emily could manage as she assessed the stranger in her father’s curricle, but once she caught herself, her manners took over. She curtsied and smiled and waited to be introduced.

  Isabella sensed she was being evaluated as to her suitability and worthiness of Sir Henry’s attention. She almost wanted to tell the girl they were only friends, but that would’ve been wholly inappropriate.

  Henry, unaware of his daughter’s critical appraisal, handed the book up to Isabella, then motioned to Emily. “Miss Chancellor, this is my daughter, Emily.” Turning back to Emily, he added, “Emily, this is my friend Miss Chancellor.”

  Emily curtsied again and kept the polite smile in place, but it had warmed a little. “How do you do, Miss Chancellor?”

  Isabella felt a sense of relief at the subtle change in the girl’s expression and reached down to shake hands with Sir Henry’s beautiful daughter. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss March.”

  Emily’s smile warmed a little more at the use of her formal name. The girl really was stunning. Isabella estimated her to be about fifteen, with the too-slender long arms and legs of an adolescent. But her breasts were already well developed, and she was drawing attention from the male hotel guests. Emily had the most beautiful skin, showing none of the blemishes usually marring girls her age. Her blue eyes were wide and expressive, her hair silvery blond and shiny, and her face exquisitely fine featured. However, she showed none of the fragility that afflicted some blondes and which was carefully cultivated by some of the fashionable misses. Her whole being was imbued with energy and determination, and Isabella had the distinct feeling young Emily was a force to be reckoned with.

  Isabella smiled. “I regret not being able to stay and become better acquainted, but I’m sure we will meet again very soon.”

  Henry waved at Lady Kistel, who had appeared in the bay window of the salon a while ago. She had followed the meeting between Emily and Isabella with interest, and now waved back at Henry, indicating she would look after Emily. Henry nodded his thanks and turned to Emily. “Poppet, why don’t you keep Lady Kistel company whilst I take Miss Chancellor home? Then we can dine together.”

  Emily grinned and in that moment looked the very spit of her father. “That’s what Grossmama said when she begged off for the rest of the day, only she told me to keep Lady Kistel company till you got back, and not to call her for dinner.”

  Emily curtsied to Isabella, who inclined her head in a polite farewell.

  “Until we meet again, Miss March.”

  Henry watched his daughter until she disappeared into the foyer in the direction of the salon, and climbed back into the driver’s seat.

  He couldn’t contain the smile on his face; it had been so very long. First the season, then the measles, the scandal, and finally the Brighton mission. It was good to see Emily, hold her, know she was still his little girl, but he was also nervous about Isabella’s reaction to his almost grown and boisterous daughter.

  “I’m sorry about the delay, but I’m glad you met my daughter. She is a very big part of my life.”

  Some of Henry’s worry must have reflected in his face, for Isabella answered him with a reassuring smile. “She’s absolutely beautiful, your Emily. You must be so proud.”

  Henry beamed. “She is, isn’t she? She takes after her mother more and more, now she is growing into a woman.” He cringed a little at the thought of Emily growing up. “She’ll have to get used to having a maid or, better still, a footman with her. I didn’t like the way she was being ogled just now. She is an heiress too. Double trouble, as far as keeping her swains at bay will be concerned.”

  Isabella frowned at the thought. “You should plan a few outings with her. She doesn’t strike me as the kind of young woman who is content to sit and embroider handkerchiefs.”

  Henry laughed out loud. “You don’t know how right you are. In fact, that’s why she’s here: to keep her out of the way so her cousin can catch a husband.” He contemplated the calm ocean sparkling before them in the golden evening sun. “If the weather is sunny again tomorrow, I shall hire one of the bathing machines. Would you like to join us? You could take the opportunity to make more close-up studies of the waves. What do you say?”

  Isabella didn’t have to think at all. “I would be delighted and most appreciative of the opportunity. I may even do some bathing myself.”

  “It’s settled then. We’ll go swimming tomorrow.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  AS HENRY TURNED THE CORNER INTO BROAD Street, a lone rider approached Warthon Castle at a fast clip from the north. The castle was an impressive gray granite structure, square and bold
, set into the lake surrounding it on all sides. It had guard towers on all four corners, and a parapet ran along its roof, but the windows were too large for a medieval structure. And indeed the castle had been built by the second Earl of Warthon in the sixteenth century.

  The rider, however, paid no mind to the majestic building, nor to the genteel parkland surrounding it. He had dispensed with a hat, leaving his blond mane wild and uncovered, but his dark blue riding coat and buckskin breeches were exquisitely cut and molded to his athletic body like a second skin. He reined in his dappled gray gelding just before he reached the drawbridge and cantered into the courtyard, where a smartly dressed young man hurried from one of the lesser buildings to greet the new arrival. He did not bow, but smiled warmly and held the horse’s head. “Pleasant journey, my lord?”

  The blond gentleman dismounted with easy grace, but remained next to his horse and grinned with a familiarity suggesting they were friends, not just master and servant. “Rather. The coach will arrive after dark. Make sure the ladies are accommodated in the usual fashion.”

  The young man nodded his dark head. “The east tower is ready. Do you want one of them to be sent to the hall later?”

  The young lord patted the steed’s neck and shook his head. “Not unless the earl asks for one. I would rather they were rested and unmarked for tomorrow. How are things here?”

  “The same. Your Sir Henry is busy in Brighton courting the Chancellor girl. Moses saw them at the abbey today, but they only came so she could draw. And your grandfather is busy with his guests.” The man started to lead the horse toward the stables, but was held back.

  “Guests, Ben? I thought it was only Weld?”

  Ben shrugged. “Don’t worry, Max, it’s just Lady Jane driving everyone crazy. Bradshore came a day early to brag about his title, and that cretin Ostley arrived this afternoon. Has the old men all excited about something.”

  Max, Lord Didcomb, heir to the Warthon earldom, ran his hand through his wind-tousled hair. “Cretin indeed. He was one of Astor’s creatures and has a longstanding grievance against the good Sir Henry. I do hope he doesn’t intend to interfere with my well-laid plans.”

  Ben’s clear blue eyes sparkled with mischief. “I doubt he has the brains, or the power, to prove much of an obstacle. How are your well-laid plans? Am I a rich man yet?”

  There was a matching spark in Lord Didcomb’s jade-green orbs. “You are, my friend. I told you I’d take you with me, didn’t I? The Enterprise came in last week, laden with silks and tea, amongst other things, and once we know exactly how much money we made on the venture, I will invest some of it into the railway project. With a little luck the railway will be the way to travel, thirty years from now.” Lord Didcomb grew thoughtful. “I wonder whether I could draw Sir Henry into the fold with it. An agent of his caliber snooping around is decidedly uncomfortable; better to have him on the inside.” The last was said more to himself, so Ben took it as his cue to take the horse to the stable. Max, lost in thought, made his way across the courtyard.

  Whoever had designed the castle had decided to dispense with the medieval theme on the inside. The interior was entirely Tudor. Dark polished oak paneled the walls and dominated the grand staircase leading from the foyer to the upper floors. Lord Didcomb waved the ancient butler aside and made his way past the staircase to the back of the castle and into the hall. There he found his grandfather, the Earl of Warthon, huddled together with the Earl of Weld, the newly minted Viscount Ridgeworth, and Baron Ostley. They were silhouetted against a fireplace big enough to roast an ox in.

  All four men looked up at the sound of Max’s approach, but it was the old man with the unrelenting ice-blue stare who greeted him. “About time you graced us with your presence, boy.”

  The young lord’s shoulders tensed almost imperceptibly as he bowed. “My lords.” Then he turned to the baron and fixed him with a stare not unlike his grandfather’s. “Ostley, I hope you had a pleasant journey. I take it you’re here for the feast and the display?”

  Ostley looked rather proud of himself and was about to say something when the old earl banged his ivory-carved cane on the oaken floorboards and snapped, “Of course he is, boy. What else would he be doing here?”

  Lord Didcomb’s eyes were still on the baron, whose mouth snapped shut. Max had lived long enough in his grandfather’s formidable shadow to know something was afoot and decided to probe further once his grandfather had succumbed to his gout and gone up to bed. He turned to the Earl of Weld and addressed the other issue on his mind. “My lord, am I correct in the assumption Lady Jane has seen fit to remain here?”

  The earl heaved a put-upon sigh. “She’s got it into her head I need her here.”

  Max had known Lady Jane since birth and was positive she had no concern for her father’s health, but rather wished to make herself indispensable to the Knights. What she failed to appreciate was that to flout eight hundred years of tradition was to put herself in danger. “She needs to be gone by the time I come down for breakfast tomorrow.”

  The Earl of Weld looked chagrined, to say the least, but tried to explain. “She keeps insisting she needs to speak with you, that she is waiting for you.”

  Max could barely hold on to his temper. “Why would you allow such nonsense? There is a good reason why our women are not allowed anywhere near these meetings, have you forgotten?”

  The earl flashed him an annoyed look. “Indeed I have not. And if you ask me, a claiming might be her only chance to catch a husband now.”

  Lord Didcomb snorted in disgust. So that was the plan. Not if he could help it. “I’ll see Jane now, so there will be no obstacle to her speedy departure in the morning.”

  Max turned back to his grandfather, who had watched him throughout the exchange with a curious mixture of pride, disapproval, and affection. He kissed the back of the old man’s outstretched hand. “I shall convey all news over dinner, sir. I still have a lot to prepare.”

  The old earl waved him away with an impatient “Bah,” but then addressed his departing back. “Just make sure the display is more interesting than the last one. At the very least, chain them to the altar so they can’t hide behind their hair and such. The Knights come from all over the country for this, you know.”

  Max gritted his teeth and continued to make his way to the door. “Yes, sir, I am aware of your preferences.”

  And thanks to Mary and her big mouth, he was now also aware of the good Reverend Bradshore’s rather disturbing tastes. For a girl like her to run out on a lucrative arrangement, things must have gotten very rough indeed. He would have to watch the man, especially now he’d gained a title. It would be just like his grandfather to use his former lapdog’s new status to block reforms long overdue.

  Max made his way back to the foyer, where some commotion heralded the arrival of another player in this continuous game he engaged in with his grandfather. Ever since the last dungeon master, Lord Astor, had so spectacularly died in his own dungeon, Max had taken it upon himself to forge a new direction and purpose for the organization, one that was more closely aligned to its medieval origins. He considered his grandfather’s generation’s political leanings as pointless, since there were no Stewarts left to restore to the throne.

  Lord Jennings, the present dungeon master, was an intricate part of Max’s plans, but not someone Max trusted. He plastered a pleasant smile on his face, greeted the new arrival with a handshake, and got right down to business.

  “Jennings, I’m glad you’re here already. The earl just admonished me to offer a display more to his taste this time and at least to chain the women to the altar so they can’t hide their charms. We will have to shift some equipment to the abbey after all. I’m not well pleased with having to use manpower for that instead of for securing the surrounding area.”

  Jennings returned the smile. “Well, my boy, we might just have to pack the ladies and some equipment into a hay wagon and drive out there, set it up well in advance, and then r
eturn to dinner.”

  Max shook his head. “I don’t dare go out there before dark with Sir Henry on our scent. He found out about Mary; Ben saw him at the Red Lion. And he paid a visit to the Widow Twill. The man is too smart for us to ignore his presence in the area. Besides, all the footmen are needed to serve dinner, so we would have to rely solely on Ben. Although he knows about it, I don’t think he could operate the pulley system by himself and chain the ladies before we get there with the crowd.”

  Lord Jennings slapped his riding crop into his gloved hand a few times, mulling the problem over in his head. “I could leave when the cognac is served and help Ben chain the girls. It’s almost expected of me to have to prepare. Who will I have to work with?”

  Max nodded. “That might work. I would do it, but I can’t leave the newer members alone in the wolf’s den. You have Patsy, Marie, and the new girl, Jenny.” Max indicated the crop with his head. “Apropos, go easy with the whip. Some of the new gents haven’t even been to the club yet, so we should leave off the more acquired tastes.”

  Jennings had an evil little grin on his face, reminding Max of his grandfather’s just before he would tell him to bend over and hold on to the desk.

  “Well, I have to at least crop them, or the old guard will have me replaced.”

  Max grunted a grudging acknowledgment. “Perhaps you should crop Marie; at least she doesn’t mind. Then we force them all to take our cocks down their throats and fuck Patsy together. We could suspend her with the pulley system, her arms high above her head and her legs spread wide. This year’s honoree can have Jenny, whom we’ll tie to the altar stone. Does that sound debauched enough for you?”

  Jennings laughed out loud. “For someone professing not to care for any of our games, you have quite a talent for staging them. Have one of the girls try to escape—that always gets them going. And have them all tied up in the corner. We can chain them when we get there and use the pulley system for the second half of the display.”