A Return of Devotion

by Kristi Ann Hunter

  How had he gotten his hands on a Haven Manor ledger?

  Mr. Thornbury reached over and pointed at a page. “There’s another set of strange deposits.”

  “Yes, I know.” Lord Chemsford glanced down at the pages and then back at Daphne. “Tell me about the goats, Daphne.”

  “We’re using Christian names again, are we?” Daphne bit out, fear and anxiety pushing her to find some way of putting him off, of delaying what was now inevitable. Jess would have been rather proud of the attempt.

  “I wasn’t aware we’d stopped.”

  Apparently her diversion had worked. But now she didn’t know what to do with his attention. “I believe it leads only to confusion, my lord.”

  He rose and came around the desk to lean against it about a foot away from where she was standing. “Not as much confusion as the goats bring.”

  Daphne’s face screwed up in confusion. They were going to talk about the goats? Not the children? Not the payments their parents had made so that Kit and Daphne could raise and hide their illegitimate children? “Goats?”

  “Yes. Goats. When I inherited my father’s properties, my solicitor very expressly told me that the estate hadn’t generated one shilling of income in the entire time Father owned it. In fact, other than the allotment of basic caretaking funds that were sent and acknowledged each quarter, he had no records of this property at all.”

  He gave her a moment to respond, but what could she possibly say? Yes, the goats had been at Haven Manor for years. They’d milked them for not only their own use but to make cheese to sell at the market and provide funds to care for the children.

  “I’m assuming there are more ledgers somewhere.”

  There were definitely more ledgers. An entire stack of them in the corner of her bedchamber at the cottage.

  She pressed her lips together and folded her hands in front of her. If ever there was a time to think before she spoke it was now. “I don’t suppose you’d tell me where you found that.”

  “Under the desk,” Mr. Thornbury said, coming around to be part of the conversation. “Wedged beneath a drawer. It was quite dusty down there.”

  Of course it was. There was little point in getting down on her belly and cleaning the short gap beneath the drawers.

  Or she’d thought there was little point. Apparently there’d been a ledger-sized point.

  “I believe Daphne and I can handle this discussion, Derek. Perhaps you could begin seeing if there’s anything interesting in the portrait gallery?” Lord Chemsford, who was apparently still supposed to be William despite the fact that she wasn’t allowed to dine with him anymore, didn’t break eye contact with Daphne while he spoke.

  It made it impossible for Daphne to look away either.

  Derek collected his ever-present notebook and left the room.

  Daphne felt a pang of envy at the ease of his exit. She had a feeling it wouldn’t be quite such a simple matter for her to walk from the room.

  “Shall we drag this out question by question?” William asked in a voice so calm it felt deadly. “Or would you simply like to tell me what’s been going on at Haven Manor?”

  She couldn’t stop herself from wincing. “You know the name?”

  “Derek found a sketch labeled such.” He reached back and tapped the cover of the ledger. “It’s also written on the front page. Along with the year 1809.”

  1809. Daphne tried to filter through her memory to remember who all was in residence in 1809. By then they’d started having the babies live with wet nurses for the first year, so Alice wouldn’t have been here yet, but she would have been in the book.

  Daphne wanted to speak, she did. But when she opened her mouth there were no words. She didn’t know what to say. Every time she’d imagined this moment of discovery, he’d been angry. He’d blustered about like her father had when he learned she was with child, making damning comments about how her life was over and everything they’d worked for was in ruins.

  Never had she considered this calm curiosity, though perhaps she should have. William had never shown an inclination toward rage.

  “Daphne,” he said on a sigh. She understood why he was frustrated, but he didn’t understand that she just truly didn’t know where to start.

  “I don’t know what to say,” she choked out in a rushed whisper. “Twelve years is a lot of information.”

  His blue eyes met hers in a few moments of silence. When he spoke again, he voice had lost the edge of frustration and returned to firm curiosity. “Question by question, then. We’ll start with the goats.” He turned the book so he could read it from this side of the desk. A clump of dust drifted onto the floor as he flipped through the pages. “Cheese and milk?”

  “Yes,” Daphne said before taking a deep breath and plunging on. “Mostly cheese. We didn’t have a good way to transport the milk, so what we didn’t drink got made into cheese.”

  “And the money from the cheese went to . . . ?”

  Daphne frowned, rather embarrassed to have to admit she’d never paid much attention to the money handling of Haven Manor. “I wouldn’t know. I didn’t keep the books. I assume that was how we paid for coal and the foodstuffs we couldn’t grow or provide ourselves.”

  “Have a seat, Daphne, before you fall down. You look pale as death.”

  Did she? That would explain why she felt so cold. He tucked the book under one arm and led her to the sofa with the other. Once she was seated, he sat across from her and put the ledger on the tea table between them.

  “Who kept the books? Jess?”

  The idea of Jess keeping the books was enough to break Daphne out of her frozen trance. Numbers were probably the only thing that struck fear into the woman. Books in general made her a bit nervous.

  A giggle mixed with the tension and fear inside her until it burst forth in an uncontrollable fit of laughter. Not delicate laughter, but the kind that required Daphne to fold herself over her legs to try and catch her breath while tears threatened to trail down her cheeks.

  Once she finally caught her breath, she wiped away the moisture clinging to her lashes. “No, I can assure you that Jess did not do the books.”

  Taking a deep breath, Daphne ran sweaty palms across her skirt and tried to remember that she’d done the right thing with Haven Manor. Or thought she’d done the right thing. She’d been trying to do the right thing, even if the mess she was currently in meant there’d been more than one decision made in the past dozen years that wasn’t entirely forthright.

  “We might want to ring for tea, W-William.” She stumbled over his name but pressed on, trying to cling to the delicate friendship they’d been forming. She was going to need it to confess all without fainting. “It may take a while to answer your questions.”

  Chapter thirty-two

  Daphne was beautiful when she laughed. It brought out that hidden passion that had lured him into asking her to dine with him, only it came with an edge of joy that made her almost irresistible.

  He had to resist, though, because this discussion was obviously serious. He thought he could guess most of it. Or at least some of it. What he was thinking didn’t make him angry. Instead, it brought a sense of relief that several mysteries might finally be solved.

  But she really was beautiful when she laughed.

  It wasn’t just the way her face changed, though the laughter made the apples of her cheeks glow. The dimples that formed deep on each side of her mouth drew his attention and made him remember every moment of that night in the music room. The laughter then had seemed to free her somehow. In that moment he’d been behind the wall she kept between herself and the rest of the world.

  He’d thought she’d let down her guard before, but now he could see how much she’d been holding back.

  With a happy sigh, she let her mirth fade into a smile that dropped but didn’t die when she looked down at the book between them. She leaned forward and flipped to the front page filled with bold, decorative words. Haven Manor was
written in beautiful curving letters, vines and swirls surrounding it.

  “I did this every year,” she said, tracing a finger over the vines. “Kit always laughed at me and told me I was ridiculous, but I did it anyway. I suppose it was my way of hoping the year would be a good one.”

  He’d seen that happy trance before, the night he’d found her playing the piano. As lovely as she was, he couldn’t leave her in it. It was time she laid out all the answers.

  Especially since a brand-new name had just been brought into the mix. “Who is Kit?”

  “A friend,” Daphne said, not entirely losing the hazy look from her face. “She left London with me when my father kicked me out. We ended up here.”

  “Here being Marlborough?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Mrs. Lancaster took us in.”

  “And then Mr. Banfield placed you here?” William was under no illusions that the solicitor hadn’t been aware of everything that was going on.

  The documentation sent about the supposedly empty property had been much too neat and thorough for anyone to question anything about his handling of the house and grounds.

  It was admirable how well it had been done. If he hadn’t decided to live in whatever property his father had occupied the least, they might have been able to go on as they were for another dozen years.

  “Where is Kit now?” Because she certainly wasn’t here. Although she kept a very neat set of books. He refused to acknowledge the relief he felt that the unknown Kit was a woman.

  “On her wedding trip. She got married a few months ago.”

  And the surprises continued to come. “To whom?”

  The vacant look left Daphne’s face, but she still gave a dreamy sigh before answering. “Graham. Lord Wharton.” Her face tightened as she thought for a moment. “He’s a baron, I think, though it’s just a courtesy title. He’s the heir to the earldom of Grableton.”

  And there went any idea that he was starting to get a grip on what had been going on. “Perhaps we should simply go back to 1809 and work our way forward.”

  “We should probably start a little before that,” Daphne said as she rubbed her hands along her skirt. “Kit, Benedict, and I moved into Haven Manor in 1804, after all.”

  And then she started speaking.

  And the story she told left him silent in shock.

  Two women determined to help those with no way to build a future if their reputations became ruined, desperate to save the children from being left in the gutter or worse. They’d built a home for those children, given them a family. Then another woman had joined them and their family had grown.

  And with each new piece, details that had been bothering him for months were explained.

  Rows of beds that accidentally left marks on the wall as children wiggled in their sleep. Goats and chickens to feed fifteen hungry mouths and provide income.

  “These are the children’s names?” He ran his finger down the column. “What are the large sums beside them?”

  Daphne’s gaze dropped to her toes for the first time since she’d begun telling the story. “Payment. From the parents. We put away whatever we could, hoping to be able to give it to the children to buy apprenticeships or start life on their own. A lot of it went into simply living, though. It’s expensive, maintaining a house such as this.”

  “And you didn’t want to ask for additional money when there were repairs to be made, like the roof.”

  Daphne nodded. “But then Graham—Lord Wharton—came along, and he had a new plan. They’re finding families for them now. The children. That’s why many of them aren’t here anymore. They’ve been taken in, mostly by farming families. Not the older ones, though. They don’t . . . Nobody wanted them.”

  Suddenly Daphne pushed to her feet, words and emotions seeming to pour from her entire body. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. We shouldn’t have used your house without permission, but if I had to do it over again, I would because each and every one of those children deserved to know that they were precious, no matter how they’d been born. It wasn’t their fault.”

  William knew he should stand, should have stood as soon as Daphne found her feet, but his muscles weren’t quite working properly. He was too much in awe of this woman. Everything she’d done, everything she’d built.

  She hiccupped. “It wasn’t his fault. It was mine. My fault. And I was so afraid that life would make him pay for it.”

  Words continued coming in a babble he couldn’t quite catch, though he had a feeling she’d moved on to talking about Benedict specifically instead of the children in general. And William couldn’t pretend anymore that he didn’t find this beautiful and unbelievably capable woman appealing.

  “And then you were here.”

  When had she started talking about him?

  “I didn’t want you to meet him, I thought you’d throw him out, try to make him go away, but you didn’t. Everything you’re doing for him, the furniture orders, the business lessons, it is incredibly nice of you, but then, you’re incredibly nice. That’s one of the things I like about you.”

  The babbling turned incoherent then, but he caught a word here and there, enough to know that she found him appealing as well and had been suffering as much as he had these past few days since Derek’s arrival.

  And all of the reasons he’d told himself why he and Daphne were a horrible match didn’t seem to matter much anymore.

  He stood, intending to go to her, but his movement broke her free of whatever rant she’d been caught up in and the shock on her face told him she’d revealed far more than she’d intended.

  She was going to run.

  If she left now, she’d go stuff these feelings under a pillow somewhere and rebuild her wall higher and stronger than before. He might never find a way through it again.

  And since the new admiration had made his feelings grow past the point of being able to be stuffed anywhere, he rather hoped he could convince her to keep hers out in the open as well.

  William stepped sideways to block her way around the couch and she ran into him with such force that he had to shift his feet to maintain his balance. Her balance was a far more lost cause so he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close until she had her footing back. He allowed his arms to drop, but he didn’t move. There was ample room for her to step back and a clear path behind her to the door, but he hoped, prayed, that she didn’t really want to run from this.

  Whatever this was.

  She straightened her shoulders and slid back a half step. Close enough he could still touch her. Close enough that he could still hold her.

  If she would let him.

  “What do you want from me?” she asked softly.

  What did he want? For so many weeks it had been the truth, but now that he had it, he wanted more. He wanted to know her, not just her past. He wanted her to be someone he could court, someone who would happily build a quiet life with him.

  More than any of those, though, he wanted to know with complete certainty that he wasn’t alone in this infatuation. He didn’t want to be the only one staring at the ceiling every night, wondering what he could have done differently that day.

  “I want you to stop running.”

  “I’ve a house to care for.”

  “I can hire another maid.”

  She frowned at him. “You’ve already hired half the county.”

  He scoffed. Did she even know how many people lived in Wiltshire? “Hardly. Still, I’m sure there’s another young woman in need of work.”

  “But why?”

  “Because I can’t stop thinking about you.” He lifted a hand slowly, watching her face while she watched his hand. When she didn’t move away, he brushed a curl gently from her cheek. “Even before now, before I learned you aren’t who I thought you were.”

  A half-smile preceded a short laugh, and she dropped her gaze to the floor. “You weren’t expecting your housekeeper to be the shamed daughter of a gentleman, hiding out in the coun
try, raising her secret son and a dozen other illegitimate children in your house without permission?”

  The hand that had gently brushed her hair back forced her chin up so that she could see the sincerity in his face. “You are not shamed, ruined, or any other of those horrendous adjectives you probably wear like an apron. I’ve never seen a woman with more honor. You have lived your life for the care of others and discarded all the luxuries you knew before so that they could live.”

  His other hand rose so he could cradle her face, thumbs lightly stroking her cheekbones, ready to catch any tears her glistening eyes were threatening to produce.

  But she didn’t cry, didn’t even sniffle. And she didn’t pull away.

  He took a shaky breath. “I want you to know, Daphne, that I’m here, right here in this room with you right now because I want to be. You realize that, right?”

  Her brows pulled together. “Why would you ask that?”

  “Because this time, when I try to kiss you, I want there to be no question that it’s real.”

  He paused for a breath, watching her face, her eyes, seeking a sign of panic or fear. He was aware, all too aware, of how vast a gulf stood between them socially. As far as the rest of the world was concerned, he held all the power in this room. What they didn’t know was that right now he was at her mercy. She could tell him to leave and he would. He would probably pack up his residence and move it elsewhere because he couldn’t imagine this house without her, and he didn’t want to have to see her without him.

  She blinked. Her lower lip curled into her mouth for a moment, then returned, glistening a bit. A deep breath caused her shoulders to slowly rise and fall.

  But she didn’t leave.

  She didn’t break eye contact. Even as he lowered his head.

  His own eyes slid closed as his lips neared hers and time seemed to stop. Her breath brushed his lips first, then her lips were under his.

  Time didn’t matter. The urge to pull her in, make her part of him was overwhelming. His hands slid from her neck to her shoulders and when he felt the gentle press of her hands against his sides and the shift in the pressure of the kiss as she lifted onto her toes, he couldn’t stop his arms from circling her fully and pulling her close.