Page 11 of A Bachelor’s Lessons in Love

He had sent Mrs. Lane to the ladies earlier in the day, hoping the delegation—he almost laughed—would take the thoughts of them from his mind. Despite the housekeeper’s capabilities, he couldn’t help feeling he ought to have gone himself. The tactical decision kept him from another verbal sparring match with the aunt, at least. He wasn’t ready to let her know his decision regarding the length of her stay in his home.

That Mrs. Lane had not yet returned with a list of Miss Felicity Price’s demands concerned him. Either they had been so minimal that the housekeeper did not require funds, or they were still producing a list after hours of conversation.

Neither of those outcomes seemed ideal.

Edward stood from the desk and stretched, looking at the clock on the mantel, before opening a drawer and taking out his favorite pipe, crossing the room to the window that looked out over the sleeping rose garden. Once the pipe was lit, he took the stem between his lips and puffed at it for a moment.

He’d taken up smoking a pipe in the military. It was one way to get warm on cold nights, and it distracted from the feeling of an empty belly when rations were low. It wasn’t the most ideal habit, and he rarely indulged it anymore but in moments of duress. Having two women beneath his roof, women he would have to take some measure of responsibility for, women who did not appear to wish for his help, guidance, or even presence, certainly qualified as distressing.

“What does a bachelor know of such things?” he muttered, watching a bird descend to land on the slowly sprouting rose bushes, bobbing up and down on a thorny branch. “Especially a near recluse.”

Well, he wasn’t precisely a recluse. The people in the little village nearby knew him, and most seemed to like him. But he rarely went into London, and had avoided Society for years. While he attended the occasional dinner party, it was only those held by old friends from the military or business acquaintances made after his return from the war. All his correspondence was with the same sort of people.

Thinking back, Edward tried to remember the last time he had danced in a ballroom. Goodness, it had to have been a decade past. And paying court to a woman? At least as long. He hadn’t been part of London’s social whirl in any meaningful way in years.

“This is going to be a problem.” He tapped his reflection in the window with the stem of his pipe. “You, old fellow, are a hermit. How did I come to this?”

If Daphne were to make a proper entrance into Society, she needed introductions. Invitations. Sponsors. Connections. Edward had no sisters, no female cousins in London to help smooth the way. He’d thought there was a decade or more ahead of him before facing such a challenge.

Felicity Price was right about what her niece needed—and she was right when she said Edward could not handle such matters on his own. Admitting that he needed her was the right thing to do, and yet he felt a strange reluctance to give in to her demands completely. He had his limitations, but Miss Price undeniably had her own. She wasn’t married, she had no other family, she had admitted to as much. A maiden aunt with no connections of under thirty years of age—she had to be less than thirty, if he guessed aright—had just as little business sponsoring a young lady’s entrance into Society.

Why was Miss Price unwed? Anthony had come from money, from memory. A dowry had likely existed for her at some point. Besides, she was rather pleasant to look at, when her expression wasn’t stiff as stone.

She had lovely blue eyes, her hair an indeterminate color between gold and umber. Her skin was clear, her figure healthy from what Edward could tell, and she moved with a confidence that intrigued him. All in all, a handsome woman such as she, with obvious intelligence, ought to have been married to a discerning gentleman years ago.

His reflection in the glass smirked, and Edward quickly wiped the expression from his face. He had no business thinking of Miss Price as an attractive woman. Not when his ward, her niece, needed his full attention.

A soft tap at the door pulled his thoughts away from that particular set of troubles, and he called out, “Enter.”

One of the footmen came in, bearing a silver tray with the afternoon post. “Letters for you, Colonel Halstead.”

Edward thanked the young man as he accepted the folded missives. He sorted through the three of them, knowing from whence they came by the handwriting. The first two held little interest for him, but the third⁠—

He broke the seal immediately and read the far too short letter with a deep frown.

Sir—

I have found at last a woman who worked at Miss Goodie’s School for Girls. She was a nurse there, two decades past, and kept records in personal journals of the women who came to them in distress. She has granted me access to her journals for a small fee. She did not know the name I gave her, but she believes most of the women were cared for under assumed names to protect their families and reputations. I will do my utmost to uncover more information from these journals.

I have included a list of my expenses to this point, for your information and an accurate accounting of the use of the payment and fees already allotted for my use. I remain optimistic that I will discover that which you bade me to find.

The signature of the man he had hired ended the note, with a post script detailing how Edward could contact him.

He slowly folded the letter, denying himself the hope that his paid investigator would finally succeed in his task. Two decades separated Edward from his quarry. Two decades of secrets and misdirection.

He closed his eyes and sighed. All those years ago, when his family had sent him away, none of them had known how the gossip would fester in his absence. Perhaps his parents had hoped the war would wipe his sins from the minds of the gentry. Instead, he had returned home at the end of Napoleon’s defeat to find old family friends no longer sought his company. Few of his former friends came to call. His parents had passed on. There had been nothing left of his old life.

Would Society ever forgive him? Did they still whisper about him? Did they still lower their voices when his name was mentioned?

He hadn’t been publicly shunned; not exactly. When he had attended places, however, those first few years, there had always been an edge of polite reserve in certain circles. He hadn’t tested the waters in years, of course. Not since the last time he had come home on leave, a decade before.

What would his reputation mean for Daphne?

All his concerns regarding the young woman in his care came rushing back to the forefront of Edward’s mind as he squared his shoulders and looked to the door. Daphne depended on him. He was her protector. Her guardian. Avoiding the aunt would do little to solve the difficulties facing him when it came to providing for the girl.

He took a step toward the door and at the same moment a soft knock sounded on the wood. He paused, cleared his throat, and tucked his pipe behind his back. “Enter.”

The door opened and Mrs. Lane came inside the study, her expression somewhat stern. She held the book in her hands where she made note of household needs and routines. “I have just come from speaking with Miss Price and Miss Daphne.”