The Gentleman's Daughter

by Bianca M. Schwarz

  Max grinned and nodded his approval of the amended plan, then headed for the stairs. “Oh, I like the power and submission games! It’s the whips and chains I’m not overly fond of.”

  WITH THE PLANS FOR THE display settled, Max turned his attention to the task of saving his childhood friend from being forced into marriage with one of the attending Knights. There hadn’t been a claiming for over three hundred years, the practice too medieval even for the Knights. But Max had observed the Earl of Weld in his club, and didn’t doubt him capable of such cruelty toward his daughter.

  A claiming, as it was recorded in the old documents, was an archaic practice, designed to keep all the wealth within the circle of the Knights. His grandfather had forced Max to study those documents after he’d decreed he should live at Warthon rather than with his mother.

  Max made it to his friend’s door without coming up with an explanation why Jane had to leave so urgently. He would have to risk his grandfather’s wrath and tell her some of the truth. Knocking, he entered almost before he heard her muffled response.

  Lady Jane Castleright stood up from behind her writing desk by the window, shook out the folds of her unassuming taupe walking dress, and beamed at her visitor. “Diddy, I’ve been waiting for you.” She stepped toward him with a conspiratorial glint in her eyes. “I knew you would come for the Knights’ dinner, and I just have to talk to you.”

  Max walked over to buss her cheek, and led her to the sofa by the ornately carved but empty fireplace. “Whatever for, Jane? I told you to get out of Brighton and to stay away from my grandfather. And what do you do? You move less than five miles out of town and sit yourself right into the hornet’s nest.”

  Lady Jane smiled with complete confidence in her own assessment of the situation. “Oh, Warthon is just an old curmudgeon. His gout improved since I told Cook to stop serving pork, and he has warmed to me considerably in the last couple of days. Papa even stopped asking me to return to Weld.”

  Max turned his eyes to the ceiling, seeking strength, and tried his best to address her various misconceptions. “Jane, you need to leave, and I mean without delay. The women of our families haven’t attended gatherings like the one tomorrow for more than three hundred years.”

  Lady Jane interrupted him in her usual abrupt manner. “That’s precisely why I have decided to stay. It’s utterly ridiculous to keep us from these functions, and it’s about time there were some changes made. How am I to take an active role if I can’t attend the functions where decisions will be made? But I’m about to change all that, and you’ll help me.”

  Max ran both hands through his hair in frustration. Perhaps he should just let her stay and go through with the claiming; it would certainly solve all his problems with her. But she was his friend, and he would end up feeling sorry for her, and then he might end up claiming her himself, and he had no desire to be married to the little harpy.

  “Jane, you need to stop deluding yourself and listen to me. The reason my grandfather is reasonably nice to you is not that he has warmed to you. He is gleefully awaiting your humiliation, which will come tomorrow if you don’t leave in time. I can’t tell you any of the hows or whats, but I can tell you the why. He has convinced your father that after the Sir Henry disaster, your only chance to get married is to be offered to a member of the Knights. He might even hope I’ll feel sorry for you and offer. I suppose he thinks matrimony would make me more controllable.”

  Jane looked at him as if he’d gone mad. “I’m over twenty-one. My father can’t force me to marry.”

  Max just shook his head and stood. “He wouldn’t have to. You wouldn’t dare to object after what they’d do to you.”

  Lady Jane looked at him for a moment longer, then burst out laughing. “How wonderfully dramatic of you. You should suggest that to Mrs. Radcliffe for one of her novels.”

  Max had always known Jane was stubborn, even bullheaded, but this was the moment he lost his temper and took his childhood friend by her shoulders to give her a good shake. “Pack your things and be gone from here by the time I come down for breakfast or, so help me, I’ll carry you out of here and throw you in the coach myself. Is that clear?”

  With that he turned on his heel and left her standing there, open mouthed and indignant.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  THE SUN SHONE BRIGHTLY ON AN AZURE BLUE sea, beckoning bathers to come dip their feet in the gentle waves. It was a pull most strongly felt by the young, resulting in a certain young lady being rather impatient. Henry had yet to emerge from his bedchamber when Emily stormed into his sitting room, where William was laying out breakfast.

  “Good Lord, William, he hasn’t broken his fast yet?” She picked a rasher of bacon from the breakfast platter, took a bite, and threw herself into one of the chairs by the empty fireplace. “Honestly, how can he sleep this long? It’s past eight already. Grossmama and I have been up for hours. Can’t you wake him? I want to try out these bathing machines.” The whole speech was one continuous flood of words, lasting until the speaker finally ran out of breath.

  A grin tugged at William’s lips as he carried on setting the table. “Your papa will wake soon enough.”

  Emily lounged in her chair, impervious to the still-chilly English summer morning, her pose in contrast to her impatiently jiggling foot. “He better, or I will go in there and pull his covers off.” The last bite of her bacon disappeared into her mouth and she made as if to rise, prompting William to step between her and his master’s door in some alarm.

  Breaking into a delighted peal of laughter, Emily slumped back into the chair. “You should see your face, Will.”

  Her laughter turned into a snort when William rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath, “Should’ve known.”

  “Don’t pout, Will, I got you fair and square.”

  At that moment, Henry emerged from his bedchamber, walked over to his daughter, and bent to kiss her cheek as she raised her torso up to meet him halfway. “Good morning, Poppet.”

  “Good morning, Papa. Can we go swimming now?”

  Chuckling, Henry made his way to the table. “May I eat my breakfast first?”

  A big put-upon sigh slumped Emily back into her chair. “If you must, Papa. But for the love of God, hurry.”

  Amused, Henry sat and spread his napkin with deliberate leisure before he poured his coffee. Then he turned and winked at his mulish daughter. “I see your aunt still hasn’t broken you of taking the Lord’s name in vain.”

  Emily couldn’t help the smile, banishing the pout from her beautiful face, and when the dimple appeared in her cheek, Henry knew it wouldn’t be long before she joined him at the table to indulge in a second breakfast.

  “Oh, but she thinks she has, and that’s all that counts, according to Uncle Arthur. He is quite devious really. He constantly lets her think he is agreeing with her, then goes and does the opposite. She never even notices.” She wrinkled her nose in thought. “I don’t think I would like my husband to tell me what I want to hear just so I leave off harassing him. Come to think of it, I don’t think I want a husband who lets me harass him. I want someone who will talk to me and I can trust to make the right decision.”

  She had strolled over to the breakfast table during her little speech and taken a cup of coffee her father had poured for her. Stirring liberal amounts of sugar and cream into it, she helped herself to another piece of bacon before she took a seat at the table.

  Henry set down his coffee cup and smiled at his daughter. She wasn’t just growing up physically, she was maturing in other ways, too, and he liked the woman she was becoming. “That’s what I want for you, too, Poppet. Someone who loves you and appreciates you for who you are as a person, not just your pretty face or your money.”

  Emily preened, having zeroed in on the comment about her appearance. “You think I’m pretty?”

  His mouth full of eggs and mushrooms, Henry winked at his daughter, but then grew more serious. “Yes, Poppet, I think you are ve
ry pretty. And so does half the male population of this hotel, and no doubt the town, once they lay eyes on you.” All amusement vanished from his expression as he remembered the ogling she’d been subjected to the evening before. “This town is full of bachelors on the lookout for amusement, so no trips down the road to the shops or strolls on the beach without either me, William, or Grossmama; understood?”

  The playfulness melted from Emily’s face, and she looked at her father in some distress. Henry didn’t issues orders very often, but there was no question he expected his decrees to be obeyed when he did resort to giving them. She searched his eyes, trying to gauge how serious he was, and seeing the resolve, lowered her gaze with a quiet “Understood.”

  They sat and ate in silence for a while until Henry inquired, “Does Grossmama intend to come down to the beach with us?”

  Grateful for the change of subject, Emily nodded eagerly while she swallowed the last bite of her scone. “She said she would have them carry a chair down to the surf for her, but that wild horses wouldn’t get her into a bathing machine.”

  Henry smiled at his daughter repeating his grandmother’s phrasing. “Why don’t you go and organize the chair for Grossmama? And have them put one into the bathing machine for Miss Chancellor so she can paint the waves from there. I’ll go fetch her.”

  Emily looked at him thoughtfully. “You like Miss Chancellor, don’t you? And not just because she’s suitable and available. You like her.”

  Henry brushed a strand of silky blond hair out of his daughter’s face, then let his hand rest on her shoulder and met her gaze with equal sincerity. “Yes, I like her. Miss Chancellor has purpose, an independent spirit, and is a very talented artist. She is smart and funny, and I very much hope you will like her too.”

  Emily patted his cheek in a gesture that would have been patronizing had she not been fifteen, and his daughter. “If you like her, I’m sure I will.”

  Henry pulled her into his arms for a quick squeeze, kissed her rosy cheek, and turned to shout for William: “Will, help Emily and my grandmother down to the beach with the chairs and organize the bathing machine. I shall meet you there in half an hour.”

  BY THE TIME HENRY RETURNED with Isabella, their party had claimed a sizable portion of the beach directly in front of the hotel. Several chairs had been brought down to the water’s edge, and Henry was pleased to see Lady Kistel had joined their group. He was less pleased, however, to find a gaggle of young men attached to the ladies, no doubt to ogle Emily. The object of all this inappropriate attention was blissfully unaware of it and fully engaged in driving the owner of a bathing machine to distraction.

  Henry handed the reins to Roberts and instructed a page to unload Isabella’s painting kit from the box. With the practicalities taken care of, he jumped off with a graceful turn of his body and lifted Isabella down, enjoying the opportunity to hold her for a moment. Isabella didn’t believe in corsets on a hot summer’s day, and Henry felt like blessing the inventor of jumps, for they allowed him to feel the warmth and weight of her breasts against his thumbs when she bent forward to steady herself against his shoulders. Of course he let go of her the instance her feet were firmly on the ground, but Henry found himself increasingly affected by Isabella’s physical presence. He reached for her hand to pull it through the crook of his arm, and led her down to the beach.

  Isabella wondered at the strange giddiness possessing her whenever Henry was near. Why was she in a near swoon when his strong arms lifted her down from the curricle? If anyone had told her a fortnight ago she would soon relish the play of a man’s muscles under her hand, she would’ve told them they had taken leave of their senses, but relish the play of Henry’s muscles she did.

  Walking down to the beach, Henry’s attention was drawn to the young bucks. The presence of Mr. Wickham among them caused him a twinge of distaste.

  “One of your admirers seems to have attached himself to our group. I suggest you stay close to Emily and me, especially when we go bathing.”

  “I’m planning on doing so in any event.” Isabella smiled up at him, and Henry’s heart did a little somersault. He returned her smile, but she had already turned back to the spectacle in front of them, the brim of her rather ridiculous poke bonnet obstructing his view of her beautiful face. Henry resolved to flout convention once again and replace the ruined wide-brimmed hat. Apart from affording him a better view of her face, it also seemed far more practical for painting; the poke brim of the current fashion obstructed her peripheral vision.

  “Whatever is Emily so excited about?” she asked.

  Following Isabella’s line of sight, Henry found Emily waving a wildly accusing finger in a bemused-looking local’s face. Henry deduced the man was the driver of the machine next to the one William had hired for them, which William was currently equipping with a chair. Their machine was a boxy sort of carriage with tiny windows and a door on the side of it as well as double doors and a platform with stairs that would lead into the ocean in the back. It had been pulled onto the sand and the horse was happily munching oats from a sack of feed around its neck. But the horse next door was forced to stand in the waves and was obviously miserable. It seemed the machine was occupied and the driver had decided not to unhitch the horse while the occupants were bathing. Emily no doubt was incensed by the driver’s disregard for the horse’s well-being. Henry knew without a shadow of a doubt he would have to intercede on the horse’s behalf, and lengthened his stride to get there before the situation escalated. He noticed with pleasure that Isabella matched his pace before he could ask her to; he patted her hand in approval, earning himself a grin from underneath her voluminous brim.

  The commotion had attracted the attention of the young bucks, one of whom seized the opportunity to make himself known to the young lady. Henry and Isabella came into hearing range just as the young man inquired, “What is this great oaf doing that has you so upset, miss?”

  Emily turned toward him, face flushed, eyes flashing with anger. “If you have to ask, you are as stupid as he is.”

  The young man colored with embarrassment.

  Emily, however, spotted Henry. “Oh, Papa, tell him to unhitch the horse! It’s obvious it doesn’t like standing backwards in the surf.”

  Henry noted with relief Emily was about as impressed with the local bucks as she was with her ducal cousins and smiled reassuringly at his daughter. “Take Miss Chancellor over to Grossmama and introduce her, Poppet.” With that, he turned to the driver and handed him a crown, while Emily, her cause championed and her head held high in triumph, took Isabella’s arm and led her toward the group around the dowager duchess.

  What was said between Henry and the driver was drowned out by the sound of the waves, but within seconds the driver jogged to the horse and unhitched it without the slightest hesitation or delay.

  Isabella watched the interchange over her shoulder. “I wonder what your father said to change the man’s mind.”

  Emily chuckled, no longer interested in the man or his horse, now she had achieved her objective. “I haven’t the foggiest idea. But my father can be downright scary when he takes command.” Emily’s grin was so easy, Isabella concluded Henry’s daughter had never been taught to fear her father, and she was glad of it. In fact, Emily seemed to consider him her very own secret weapon.

  “So he just commanded him?”

  Emily laughed. “Of course he did, but the crown he handed him may have helped motivate the man to comply.”

  Isabella laughed too. In Emily she saw the same easy bravado she had admired in Henry on a number of occasions. The woman and the girl looked at each other, and everything seemed to still for a moment as they recognized within each other the free spirit trying to plot its way in a world governed by social rules.

  Emily broke eye contact first as she took in the pale violet-lined brim of Isabella’s hat and crinkled her nose in distaste. “That bonnet is atrocious.”

  A new peal of laughter stopped Isabella i
n her tracks. “Oh, please don’t let my mother hear you say that. She thinks it de rigueur and insisted I should have it for our stay here.”

  Emily’s grin was open and utterly irresistible. “Come shopping with me and Grossmama tomorrow, and we will find you something that suits you better.” She then took Isabella’s hand and pulled her unceremoniously through the throng of young men to her grandmother, throwing over her shoulder, “Come on, the sooner we get into the bathing machine, the quicker you can take that monstrosity off.”

  Still grinning when she found herself face to face with the Dowager Duchess of Avon, Isabella hastily sank into a curtsy of the appropriate depth. But Emily only laughed, bobbed the briefest of curtsies to Lady Kistel, and introduced Isabella with a flippant, “This is Miss Chancellor, Grossmama. Papa likes her.”

  Isabella blushed, sank a little deeper into her curtsy, and promptly forgot she was meant to wait until spoken to by such a great lady. “Your Grace, I’m honored to make your acquaintance.”

  Lady Kistel cackled her amusement. “They indeed made beautiful music together the other night.”

  The heat rising in Isabella was more annoyance than embarrassment now. Why did people always have to assume marriage to be a woman’s only objective? She was just about to reply something to that effect when the dowager stepped in.

  “Oh, hush, you two.” The duchess then turned her attention to Isabella. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Chancellor. Do come and sit down before your legs cramp up.”

  Isabella rose from her curtsy with as much grace as she could manage in the sand and smiled at the old lady with the slightly windswept steel-gray curls and the youthful blue eyes. Eyes just like Henry’s, sparkling with the same mischief and joie de vivre. The old lady patted her hand and indicated the painting board and bag being loaded into the bathing machine. “You are planning on painting rather than bathing?”

  Isabella let her eyes travel to the horizon and shrugged. “I was hoping to do both.”