He’d thought Dalton would slowly come out of whatever morass he’d landed in, but the change seemed rather permanent at this point. He should be deeply ashamed that he was happy Belle would not like him. He should be even more ashamed that he would probably fail to mention the cause of his friend’s unhappy outlook.
He must get better at wrangling his feelings!
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The lead coachman the duke had sent for Daisy and Mrs. Jellops had been convinced that they departed early enough to make the trip in one day, assuming they did not require too many stops. Daisy was not so anxious to arrive to Ramsgate and insisted it be done over two days with a stop overnight at an inn. If she had her way entirely, she might have stretched it to three days, but that would have pushed the already-irritated coachman a step too far. While most travelers would prefer to arrive to their destination as quickly as possible, Daisy would rather be jostled in a carriage day after day forever than reach the house at Ramsgate.
She gripped Mrs. Jellops’ hand as they neared the outskirts of the town.
Mrs. Jellops squeezed back and said, “But my dear, it will not be as it was. You are the mistress of the house now and nobody shall come through the doors unless you admit them.”
Daisy nodded, knowing in her logical mind that was true. Still, she could not erase the memories of what those past summers had been. Her father was always attracted to low company and the house seemed forever filled with soldiers of some sort. As they caroused downstairs, Daisy and Mrs. Jellops would bar her door with furniture pushed up against it before they dared sleep. Even as a young girl, she’d sensed the danger without needing Mrs. Jellops to tell her.
Her father, thinking as highly of himself as he did, would never imagine that one of those soldiers invited in and served his best brandy would dare meddle with his daughter. But men dared all sorts of things late at night and full of liquor. Sometimes, it might even be in the daylight, as Daisy had found cause to run out of the garden one afternoon after being forcefully kissed by one of those men.
Daisy felt her heart pounding as memories flooded back. “You do not think,” she said, “that some of them, those who made their home in the town, might see the house has been opened and come knocking?”
Daisy had no need to identify whothemwere, Mrs. Jellops knew well enough.
“If they have the nerve to do it,” Mrs. Jellops said, “Lord Dalton will put them to rights. I suspect they would leave with a bleeding lip or a blackened eye.”
Daisy’s heart slowed its pounding. Mrs. Jellops was right, whatever Lord Dalton was, he was a refined gentleman and would not countenance her father’s rough associates.
“Lord Dalton may not be the most cheerful fellow,” Mrs. Jellops went on, “but I think he can be relied upon.” The lady hesitated a moment, as if a new idea was presenting itself to her.
“What is it?” Daisy asked. “I can see that something worries you.”
“Ah, I suppose it is nothing. I only fear that Lord Dalton may not be in the best of spirits having gained an understanding of his accommodations.”
Daisy bit her lip. “That is true, I suppose. But then, would it really be possible to further darken the lord’s mood? Black cannot become blacker, after all.”
Both ladies did their best to suppress their laughter, silently looking out their respective windows and only the shake of their shoulders giving them away. It was forever a habit between them, born of dark days, to laugh when contemplation grew too uncomfortable.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Charles had done his best to ready the house, and ready the hovel that was to be his own home for the duration. He’d hired a service to straighten both places, wash linens, gather the dust up, and air things out. He’d already spent one dashed uncomfortable night in the cottage, harangued by crickets and beetles and God knew what else crawling around. It had rained in the early morning and he was helpfully informed of that fact by the gentle pounding of drops on his forehead. He’d arisen damp and irritable. The next night, he’d spent in the house in peace, but now that Miss Danworth was set to arrive, he’d be back to his untenable lodgings.
He had not been able to avoid noticing the maids’ pursed lips at the endless amount of empty wine and brandy bottles that littered the main house. They were under tables and rolled into corners, standing on bookshelves, and hiding behind curtains. There were cabinets full of them and a bin in the kitchen overflowed. Even for himself and his not particularly fastidious household, this seemed beyond the pale. He shuddered to think what had gone on in the house when Lord Childress was its master, or what Miss Danworth may have witnessed.
Bellamy and Charles’ valet, Tate, had arrived several hours ahead of Miss Danworth and Mrs. Jellops. Their reactions came as no surprise to Charles.
Bellamy worked to keep the mirth from his face, especially after he’d got a look at the well-stocked wine cellar. His mirth faded mightily when he was informed that procedures in this particular house would not mirror their own in town. His butler was not to touch a bottle in the cellar without the express permission of Miss Danworth. While it had never botheredhimthat his servants were drunk below stairs, it would not suit a lady.
Tate, a retired Navy seaman, had looked round the ramshackle cottage to see where and how he would do his work. The curses that flew from him would have made any sailor blush. He had marched back to the house to devise a system of attending his lord across a garden each day without even the most rudimentary set-up to aid him. Though he deemed it impossible, Charles was certain he’d come up with some plan or other.
Finally, the ladies’ carriages made their way up the drive and stopped at the front doors. Two of the grooms leapt down and assisted Miss Danworth to the gravel.
While many a lady had been made drab in mourning, her black silk dress seemed to suit Miss Danworth. Her person was all blond curls and pale cheeks and seemed even more so in their current dark frame. Her blue eyes shone bright on the cheerless background.
“Lord Dalton,” she said, waiting for Mrs. Jellops to descend behind her.
Though she was assisted by grooms on either side, that lady struggled down the steps and landed with a thud. “My lord,” she said.
“Miss Danworth, Mrs. Jellops,” Charles said, bowing. “I condole on the loss of Lord Childress.”
“Then you will be in small company,” Miss Danworth said. “And do not count me among the few who will miss him.”
Charles had not expected such an answer. Whatever Lord Childress had been, he had supposed his daughter would appear suitably stricken.
