He did notthinkhe would change his mind. But then, he’d begun to notice that his views developed after Quatre Bras had seemed to somehow soften. He’d also noticed that, despite the shabby living conditions of the cottage, the insects, and the troublesome cat, he did not wake as often from a nightmare. Did he still have them and not remember? Perhaps they still came but did not wake him in a cold sweat because he was too exhausted from the endless inconveniences of the abode. Perhaps, though he really did not know.
Well, it was better that he held to his convictions. There was no point in throwing them over unless she threw her own over as well.
Would she? He did not know. What if she did and he did not see the change until something was announced? Burke might swoop in. Well, if she were going to marry, it could not be Burke. He was a safe choice, but he was not a right choice. Once she became used to Burke’s endless good humor, evenhandedness, generosity, indulgence of his friends, kindness to his servants and tenants, affection for his neighbors, and all-around reasonableness, she would…what? Become bored?
That was likely it.
He remained firm in his opinion that they would not suit.
Perhaps he would just wait and see. Was not time often the great solver of mysteries? Had not his grandmother, wily as a fox but wise too, often counseled him to do nothing about some matter? Simply wait and allow time to pass. Time would often make clear what direction one ought to take, or if one needed to take a direction at all.
There was the shooting season not too far off and he’d thought he might accept invitations with a note to the hostess that Miss Danworth and her companion would also arrive. Inconvenient to the hostess, to be sure, but he doubted any of them would say anything of it.
But then, there were so many men at a shooting party. He was her guardian and he ought to ensure she was not harassed by those fops’ unwanted attentions. As well, Daisy would not like to be dragged from house to house, having to smile at dinner every damn night.
No, she would rather stay here, he thought, until she reached her majority and had the funds for a house in Brighton.
Perhaps he would suggest it. Perhaps he would propose that they just go on as they were.
He glanced behind him at the decrepit cottage and wondered exactly how cold it would get when autumn rolled in. The doctor had expressed little faith in the chimney and he suspected the doctor was right.
The cat jumped on his lap, a large grasshopper hanging from her mouth.
“You are a revolting wretch,” he said.
The cat stared at him defiantly. Charles had not been at home for dinner, a meal she had become accustomed to sharing, and he supposed this was her way of protest. If she could not have fish or beef or fowl, she would cater to herself from the garden.
It was all well and good to ponder how he would manage Miss Danworth, but what on earth was he to do with this cat?
He sighed and carried her inside. There was probably a cup of milk or a wedge of cheese to be had somewhere.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Daisy had been busy with Mrs. Broadbent and Mr. Flanagan for most of the day. She was to have Lord and Lady Bartholomew, Miss Minkerton and Lord Burke to dinner. And Lord Dalton, of course.
Somehow, each time she thought of food and Lord Dalton at the same time, she found her cheeks burning. She must not be so silly over one remark about how much she ate, or did not eat, or a suggestion that she eat more. He may well have said it only to end the conversation about the danger of Lady Montague and Lieutenant Farthmore.
Still, Mr. Flanagan had just left, having suggested including a particular beef dish as one Lord Dalton favored and she was certain her face looked as if she’d spent the day in the sun without a bonnet. She’d practically jumped when he’d suggested the lord’s fondness for it and her cook had looked at her in alarm.
She felt jumpy in general, though she did not relaythatto Mr. Flanagan.
Something was happening to her, though she was not sure what. It was as if she were coming alive after being half asleep all her life. The things she looked at seemed brighter, the sea seemed bluer, the sun blazing. She felt filled with an energy she’d never had before—as if she hardly had need of sleep.
Where once she might have satisfied herself to pass an afternoon quietly sewing with Mrs. Jellops, gratified that nothing frightening or untoward was happening around them, now she was restless. Now, she often paced the room or fiddled with a book she had no intention of reading or gazed out the window, only to go to another window.
She had not guessed that her father’s death would produce such a change, but it seemed that it had. She supposed she’d been living some sort of half-life all along, and she was coming to full life. Now, her mind was finally convinced that Lord Childress could never again reappear. All the energy that had once been spent on staying out of the way, guessing at his moods, and avoiding trouble had nowhere to go.
Her restlessness had begun to prompt her to think about how going on in Brighton as a spinster might be. All along, she’d looked forward to the peace of it, especially during the winter months when barely a soul would be in town. Early and quiet dinners in a hushed house had been her dream. Rainstorms when nobody was about and reading by soft candlelight on a chill and cloudy afternoon seemed as if it would be heaven. The more closed in she could be, the more comfortable she would be.
Would it really suit, though? Might not she become bored? And what of Mrs. Jellops? She’d assumed the lady would like the quiet just as much as she looked forward to it, but was that true? Of course, Mrs. Jellops would claim it was true, if she thought it was what Daisy preferred.
Though, if she did not go forward with her plan to live an isolated life, what then?
Perhaps she might return to London and set herself up as a lady eccentric and host salons for amusing people?
Daisy sighed, knowing she would be more bored with that than being alone in Brighton. There were endless amounts of people who considered themselves amusing, but very few who actually were. She would be plagued by every young gentleman-poser come to town, determined to throw around carefully composed bon mots. It would be tedious.
Daisy sighed. It seemed no place she could think of seemed exactly right. Perhaps she ought to simply wait to decide what to do. Her feelings had changed quite a bit since the day her father died, they might change more still.
