Daisy had not considered that. Still, she did not see why she should be forced to dine with Lord Dalton every evening.Especiallynot Dalton.
She had perhaps allowed herself to enjoy their verbal sparrings more than she ought. She had perhaps failed to understand why people thought his scar marred his looks when it only made him look…morehim. She had perhaps thought him superior to the posing dandies of the season.
That was precisely why he should not make it a habit to dine in the house. She had allowed herself to find him interesting because he was never any threat to her. Dalton was a man whose real temperament could not be known. It was too hidden; he revealed nothing.
Daisy was certain that was precisely how her mother had made the mistake with her father. The dear lady could not make him out, and so invented a temperament for him that had never been and only later found she was mistaken.
It suited Daisy, just now, to claim she would never marry. She would stay with that attitude for some time or forever, she knew not. She was not unaware of the problems of spinsterhood—particularly the lack of children she very much wished for and the greatly reduced social circle. If she did ever conclude that she might marry, it would only be to a gentleman who was thoroughly known and proved not a man like her father.
She thought she could devise ways to know, because she knew all the little things about her father. How did a gentleman treat animals and children and those who were weak? How did he interact with servants? How did he seem when a delay was caused, or a wine glass spilled over, or an errant ember burned a hole in the carpet? Was he generous or mean? What were his gambling habits? How did he take his losses? Were there any rumors of him having participated in a duel? Did he spur his horse more than he ought?
When it came to her father, she knew the answer to all those questions. And as for his horse, Daisy was certain he had spurred the beast one too many times, and the horse had finally got its revenge by throwing his master over a fence.
The weaker often did get their revenge somehow. The horse would throw, the cook would overbake, the maid would build a damp fire, and the daughter…well, the daughter would simply outlive. Her mother had not had the chance, and Daisy would not waste her own opportunity.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Charles had arrived to Ramsgate late the evening prior. Now, in the cold light of morning, he stared at the drawing room of the ramshackle structure he was meant to occupy. No, he could not even call it a drawing room, as that would imply there were other rooms of differing uses. There was no library, no sitting room, no dining room, not even a water closet—only a privy some yards behind this hovel. There were not servants’ quarters! There was only this room, a lone bedchamber, and a rudimentary kitchen with no cook in it. The roof over his head was laid bare, with no proper ceiling put in—he could see darts of sunlight coming through gaps in the old shingles.
He’d met the agent to open the main house and had, at first, thought it might be pleasant. The house itself was located on the west cliff. It was commodious, of sturdy gray stone, and had a charming view of the sea. The furnishings were not elaborate, but then a seaside house did not need expensive curtains that would only grow moldy from the salty ocean mist or deep carpets that would only trap sand. Its worst fault was that it needed to be cleaned up, it looked as if the occupants had suddenly left without the slightest preparation. For all that, he thought it would do very well, indeed.
He should have realized why the agent paled when he asked to see the cottage and informed the man that he would stay in it. Amongst the fellow’s mumblings about its modest circumstances, he’d followed him through the back garden to one of the smallest houses he’d ever seen. It seemed hardly worth the effort of building!
“This is unacceptable,” Charles said to the agent standing by the door.
The agent, glancing around the sparse room, did not see reason to argue with the assessment. “Perhaps, my lord,” he said hopefully, “you might consider a hotel? Or there are any number of bachelor apartments to be had. You might even rent your own house.”
Charles thought he might consider any or all of those things, had he any money to pay for them. The particulars of the Dukes’ Pact were so well known by this time that he could not think he would be extended credit by a landlord. Any proprietor worth his salt stayed well apprised of who was in town and what they had at their disposal. They had no choice, else there would be an endless parade of young men who had suffered heavy gambling losses enjoying their rooms for free.
The agent reddened and Charles took that as rather a confirmation that his predicament was well understood.
“This will have to do, for now,” he said. “Perhaps there are ways to bring this place up to snuff.”
The agent nodded eagerly, as if relieved to hear the lord duping himself in such a manner. Charles well knew hewasfooling himself. There was not enough money in the world to make something of this place.
It was an ungodly situation. Bellamy, his own butler, would stay in the main house. So would his valet, as there was nowhere to put him in here. His servants would live in better conditions than their master!
His father was a cruel fellow. Or his mother, or his grandmother. Or all of them, whoever had cooked this scheme up.
Well, they might plot and plan all they liked. Living in rough conditions would not be enough to defeat him. He would liken it to his old tent in the war or the camping he had done as a youth. It certainly would not be any more comfortable.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Harry Dale, Viscount Burke and heir to the Duke of Somerston, knew full well that he should not have accepted the Minkertons’ offer to stay at Ramsgate. All in the neighborhood thought him as an older brother to Belle Minkerton. Belle Minkerton, herself, looked up to him as a brother. After all, he was four years her senior and she was not even to be out until the coming season. His parents and hers had a longstanding friendship born of close proximity and similar tastes. It would not have occurred to any of them that there was anything romantic in the air. And of course, there was not, it was only in his own head. Everyone, his parents and the Minkertons themselves, looked forward to whatever assistance he would lend at her launch. What eligible fellows would he steer in her direction?
He would rather not steer anybody toward her. He had been in love with Belle since the moment he’d first set eyes on her all those years ago. Her father, a baron who’d been sent to Antigua by his father to make a family fortune, had found he could not abide the slave trade. Much to his father’s surprise, he’d returned not with a fortune but with an Antiguan lady he’d made his wife, after spending some years as an attaché to an admiral. He had brought his bride to England when Belle was just thirteen and settled on the neighboring estate. Her hair was ebony that shined in tight ringlets in the sun, her skin a rich deep brown, her dark eyes perennially amused, her lips always dancing on the edge of a smile. He had stuttered at their first meeting, and shehadsmiled kindly then, as if encouraging him not to make such a cake of himself. He had been certain his face had gone a deep red, though of course later, alone, he assured himself that he would only have appeared sunburnt.
At first, he’d been just seventeen and it was no more than a boyish crush—a deep secret he kept from his friends lest they tease him mercilessly. Over time though, he had grown into man and she into woman and the crush had not left him. It had transformed itself to a more mature love and he did not know what he was to do about it.
Though really, there was nothing to be done about it. It was not their age that separated them, but their relationship to one another. Belle would never regard him as anything but a brother and so as a brother he must act. He wished for her happiness above anything, though it inevitably led to his own never-ending unhappiness. He would assist her during her season, though he’d really rather not.
His resolve was firm on the idea. He knew that he should have stayed well clear of her over the summer. Yet, here he was, in her very house. He cursed himself for his weakness.
It would have been well if he could have been more like Dalton. That gentleman might be trapped in the company of Miss Danworth and yet he would never fall for her charms. Dalton was impenetrable. He was not.
He would call on Dalton as soon as he might. Perhaps spending more time with the hardened gentleman would rub off on him. He would introduce Dalton and Miss Danworth to the Minkertons and thereby keep Dalton’s good example of disinterest squarely in front of him.
Burke sighed. If he were to be honest with himself, he did not mind bringing Dalton into Belle Minkerton’s sphere because he knew full well she would not like him. She would size him up and find him self-indulgent for his scowling, as she would not know that of all gentlemen, Dalton had been most changed by war. At school, he’d been the one always joking. The transformation was an understood thing among his friends, though nobody thought it right to comment upon. They’d all just become incredibly lenient with him, even forgiving him for endless interference with their future wives. Burke supposed it must be a testament to their friendship that they’d not all broken with him. Not even Lockwood, who he’d imprisoned to keep him away from his lady.
