Charles picked up the letter and examined the date on it. August of 1814, just months after the failed siege of Tarragona. Just months after Farthmore would have returned from Spain.
The last letter was in a different tone and far more recent. Farthmore wrote that he agreed to wait until Miss Danworth’s twenty-first birthday to claim his prize. Charles could not make out what the prize was—Lord Childress would have no ability to force Miss Danworth to marry Farthmore. If he were intent on forcing her, he would hardly wait until she had the maturity to fight him off—he would have tried it when she was sixteen. Further, at her twenty-first she would also have the funds to support herself and would have no need of her father’s house. At her majority, Childress would have lost all power to pressure her into anything.
Charles paused. Perhaps there had been some scheme in the works about the money she was to come into. Or, more likely, perhaps Childress just sought to put Farthmore off for another few years.
While Farthmore served General Murray in Spain, he’d got his hands on something valuable called the Dagobert and he’d gone to his reliably criminal partner with it. But, like most criminals, it looked like that partner turned out to be a double-dealer.
At least, that was how it seemed. He dared not discount that Farthmore might have some scheme still in mind that involved Daisy.
NotDaisy, you idiot!
Miss Danworth.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The card party had been arranged and Daisy was quite looking forward to it. It would break up the sameness of the days, pleasant as they had been. Most had been taken up with tea in the garden, usually with the company of Lord Burke and Miss Minkerton. Lord Dalton would bring out a book and Daisy often observed him when she pretended at some embroidery work. He seemed to lose himself when reading and his features softened quite a bit—it was as if a mask he wore publicly dropped away. Even his scar seemed to recede and fade. She found it both fascinating and unnerving.
While she was being fascinated and unnerved, Lord Burke and Miss Minkerton seemed to be progressing nicely. Miss Minkerton had, at some point in her travels round the garden, managed to twist her ankle. This of course necessitated leaning heavily on Lord Burke’s arm, and the occasional offer from the gentleman to carry the lady if she deemed it necessary. So far, she had not deemed it necessary, but Lord Burke seemed to hold out hope that she would. Daisy did not know to what extent Miss Minkerton suffered, or whether she suffered at all, but it was a fortuitous condition the lady found herself in. Lord Burke appeared delighted with her injury.
The days were a quiet sort of happy, aside from wondering about the Dagobert, Lieutenant Farthmore, and Lady Montague. The four young people who occupied the garden had fallen into a very comfortable and familiar friendship. Daisy realized she’d never experienced anything like it. She had developed some amount of intimacy with other ladies, perhaps more so through letters than anything else, and particularly with Kitty, now Lady Grayson. But she’d never had the opportunity to live day to day with anybody but Mrs. Jellops.
Dear Mrs. Jellops spent most of her time in the garden sleeping, only to wake with a start, certain she was late for something. Discovering she was not, she would soothe herself with a few biscuits or sandwiches and drift off again. At the end of the day, as the sun dropped below the horizon, Daisy and Mrs. Jellops would have a quiet dinner together and retire early. Her companion had moved back to her own bedchamber and Mrs. Broadbent had relocated back to her own quarters, much to Mr. Bellamy’s approval. Daisy could not help but admit that she approved of the arrangement too. After blowing out the last candle, Daisy was free to peek out the window unobserved to spy Lord Dalton, his brandy, and his cat on their usual bench.
All the while, there was a constant watch on the post while they waited for any news from Lady Grayson regarding the Dagobert. There had been some alarms from the watchmen, who felt they needed to report to either Bellamy or Lord Dalton anything unusual they had spotted. Daisy attributed this to Mrs. Broadbent’s scathing what-for to poor Mr. Deer and his hope to never experience the like again.
At first, the watchmen’s racing to report everything they’d seen had startled Daisy, but she’d grown more used to it, as it seemed always to be something verging on the ridiculous. One evening, they had spotted a male cat on the premises and chased it off, lest it put Lord Dalton’s cat in an unwanted motherly condition. They had then promptly second-guessed themselves and inquired over whether Lord Dalton might indeed wish to have kittens about.
Another time, they’d harassed a grocer who was only attempting to bring Mr. Flanagan the radishes he’d been waiting for. Just an hour ago, they’d told the tale of a peddler who was turned back and noted there was a boat sailing off the coast. Daisy had listened, amused, as Bellamy gave them the what-for by way of noting there were peddlers everywhere on God’s green earth —and the boat was in the water because it would not do very well if it attempted to sail on land.
Now, though, the watchmen were back at their posts and had been told to expect the Minkertons so there was no danger of them driving her guests off like the poor peddler.
Two extra tables had been brought into the drawing room and a sofa moved out to accommodate it. Lord and Lady Bartholomew were to bring Mrs. Phelps, a lady visiting from their own neighborhood in Somerset, to make an even eight. They might pair off in fours for whist, or one table of whist and two tables for piquet.
As the activity swirled round her, Daisy could not help but notice the unusual spring in the servants’ steps. Betsy said it was due to everybody having perfected the skill of giving the what-for and feeling like they’d armed themselves against all comers. Daisy only hoped they would not be too liberal with it and start giving what-fors to anybody they might encounter.
The last platter for the buffet had been laid, a fanning of perfectly sliced ham with Mr. Flanagan’s secret recipe mustard cream in a crystal bowl in the center. Betsy had reported that they’d all been chased out of the kitchen while he prepared the mustard and all he would say about it was he used very cold water and liberal vinegar. However he prepared it, Daisy had found it was as hot-tempered as Mr. Flanagan himself. Mrs. Jellops had just taken a small spoon to taste it and appeared rather red in the face and teary-eyed.
Daisy gazed round the transformed drawing room with satisfaction just as the Minkertons’ carriage rolled up to the doors.
Lord Dalton came in not long after, and Daisy wondered if he’d been waiting for them to arrive before coming himself. The idea irked her, though she could not say exactly why. He was as handsome as he ever was though, perhaps more so with his tanned face, despite the usual scowl on it and the more recent addition of telltale cat hairs liberally decorating the bottom of his trousers.
Mrs. Phelps had been introduced round and Mrs. Jellops had taken an instant liking to her, the ladies being of similar age. She’d already warned Mrs. Phelps about the heat of the mustard cream as if this were a usual subject between middle-aged ladies. Mrs. Phelps had nodded knowingly and they went together to the sideboard to examine it more closely.
“Miss Danworth,” Lady Bartholomew said, “we have just had a lively exchange in the carriage. Lord Burke claims that he and Belle can easily trounce Lord Bartholomew and myself at whist. My lord says it is terrible nonsense.”
“So it is. Though I also mentioned,” Lord Bartholomew said, “that as much as we’d like to find out, it must be the hostesses’ purview to pair us up.”
“If it is my purview,” Daisy said, “then I say let the battle commence.” She could see they were all keen on the idea and she was rather delighted with Lord Burke for coming up with the notion. It was precisely the sort of gambit a lovesick gentleman might be counted on for. She was further gratified to see Miss Minkerton’s eagerness for the scheme. This satisfaction was capped off by Lord Burke insisting that Miss Minkerton’s ankle must still be sore and lending his arm to escort her to a chair. Really, the two of them were fooling themselves if they did not see they were exceedingly admiring of one another.
Mrs. Jellops and Mrs. Phelps returned from viewing Mr. Flanagan’s mustard at the sideboard. Mrs. Phelps said, “I was just telling Mrs. Jellops that I really do not understand piquet as well as I’d like, and she has graciously consented to be my instructress.”
Daisy hardly knew what to do with that information. For one, Mrs. Jellops was ghastly at piquet. They occasionally played together, as she did have a fondness for the game, but Daisy was forever making bad moves just to stay apace of Mrs. Jellops’ bad moves to keep the game going. For another, that would only leave herself and Lord Dalton un-paired, and therefore paired.
Still, there was not much she could do about it. It seemed everybody had decided what they would be playing, and with who. Was she even sorry over it? She supposed she was not.
Daisy said, “It seems, Lord Dalton, that it is left to you and I for a game of piquet.”
The lord nodded, but as usual it was impossible to determine if he viewed it a good thing or bad.
