Page 62 of An Enchanting Dare

“Oh, fustian. This was none of his doing and you know it. You saw what happened. He thought she was drowning and went to rescue her. Don’t you remember dragging me out of the sea when we went looking for pirate treasure? She’s my daughter through and through, and it’s exactly the sort of daft scrape she ought to get into. She always used to before… well, before something changed her. Besides, it was her dare. She had to complete her dare, didn’t she?”

Luke smiled down at her, adoration shining in his eyes. “Yes, Kitten, and looking at poor Mr Cootes, she has enchanted him the same way you did me. Are you certain you’ve no fairy blood in your veins?”

Kitty laughed, hugging him tightly. “What if I have? I’ve found you, and you’ve found me, and so… we shall be together, and never alone again.” He kissed her then, as he always did when she reminded him of the words she’d given him so very long ago. “I want this for Aisling, Luke. Help that poor boy. Please,” she whispered, clinging to him.

“Anything for my tricksy fae,” he murmured, giving her one last kiss before escorting her back to the house.

Chapter 21

Dearest Biddy,

Was this your doing? If it was—thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you!

― Excerpt of a letter from Lady Aisling Baxter to Old Biddy Burke

26th August 1841, Swan Hall, East Sussex.

Sylvester dragged a deep breath into his lungs. His chest felt uncomfortably tight, as did his cravat. He tugged at the wretched thing as he strode up the elegant driveway to Swan Hall. Unsurprisingly, it was an impressive residence. Mr Knight had built it for his wife, Lady Helena, upon whom he doted, and it boasted every modern convenience, including indoor plumbing. Mr Knight had gone himself to view the Tremont Hotel in Boston, which was the first hotel of its kind to offer water closets and baths. Naturally for a man of his wealth and ambition, he’d immediately gone about building his own luxury hotel in London. It had been an instant success, adding to an already prodigious fortune. Swan Hall was surprisingly restrained compared to the opulence of that establishment. Likely his wife’s influence, for Lady Helena was widely recognised as the personification of good taste.

The sight of the beautiful building and the elegant, well-tended gardens surrounding it did little to soothe Sylvester’s mood. This was one of Knight’s smaller properties, a mere summer get away, and the sort of place he could only dream of offering Aisling. Men like Mr Knight and the Earl of Trevick might as well exist on another planet, they were so far from anything he could compete with financially. Misery welled up inside of him, making his footsteps drag as he got closer to the house, closer to saying farewell to the only woman he would ever love. How was he to bear it?

He gave his card, hat, and gloves to the butler and waited in the elegant entrance hall. Brisk footsteps sounded upon the marble floor and Sylvester looked up, surprised to see the Earl of Trevick striding towards him.

“Mr Cootes,” the earl said, his expression unreadable, though he did not appear surprised to see him. “I’m glad you’re here. I’ve been wanting to have a word with you.”

Panic darted through him as Sylvester wondered if the earl had got wind of his tendre for Aisling, or perhaps last night’s folly, but… surely not? Still, the fellow did not look as though he wanted to disembowel him and display his head on a pike, so maybe it was something unrelated?

“My Lord Trevick. A pleasure to see you again.”

“Hmm,” murmured the earl, looking him up and down and making Sylvester want to tug at his cravat again. He had the strong urge to check his cuffs weren’t fraying or dirty, but he stood the scrutiny as best he could without fidgeting. The earl sighed. “I suppose you’ll do.”

“Do, sir?” Sylvester queried.

“What do you know about drainage?” the earl demanded.

“Er….” Sylvester stared at him for a moment.

“Well?” Trevick asked, one eyebrow raised in imperious enquiry.

Sylvester rallied, forcing his startled brain into action. “Oh, well, quite a lot, actually. We’ve just done a great deal of drainage work at Marcross and—”

For the next hour and a half Sylvester was cross-examined about drainage, crop rotation, foot and mouth, his views on the best method of dealing with turnip beetle, and the efficacy of the single horse skeleton harvest cart. By the end of this interview, his brain felt like mush, and he had the oddest notion there was some significant part of this conversation he was missing.

“Hmmm,” the earl mused, regarding him with intelligent blue eyes. “Mr Cootes, I am in need of an estate manager for Trevick. The fellow I have now is a good sort, but should have retired five years since. I’m tired of fighting him over every new method or piece of machinery I wish to introduce. It’s high time I pensioned him off, and I’m in the market for someone young and hardworking. Someone with an interest in all that is modern. Do you think that could be you?”

Sylvester stared at the earl, dumbstruck.

“Well, sir?” Trevick demanded, impatient now.

“My lord, I… I am honoured by the offer you make me truly, but… but I am working for my brother at present, and—”

The earl nodded, waving this away as a mere trifle. “And you’ll need time to find him a suitable replacement. That’s no problem, though I understand your younger brother is well qualified to take over. Is that right? Of course, you’d need some financial inducement, so I’m prepared to be generous.”

The earl named an outrageous yearly sum that made Sylvester’s head spin.

“B-But that’s far too much,” he protested, stunned.

Trevick’s eyebrows rose. “Aren’t you worth it?”