The Lucky One (Brethren Of The Coast #6) (12 page)

Dirk and Dalton stood to exchange pleasantries.

“That was very kind of you.” Dirk glanced at Mrs. Jones and nodded. “May we offer you a spot of tea?”

“No, thank you.” Harold hitched his breeches and eased to the sofa. “Must confess I am rather curious, as your vague note conveyed little information, but I suppose it safe to presume it has something to do with Governor Harcourt’s whereabouts.”

“Father is dead.” Robert draped an arm about Richard’s shoulders, and her youngest brother stared at the floor. “I found him in the rose garden, face down, over a month ago. We had thought him merely unconscious from too much drink, which was not uncommon. But he had an empty bottle of laudanum in his clutch, so we suspect he abused the substance to his own end.”

“Bloody hell.” Harold snapped to attention and met her gaze. “Daphne, why did you not tell me?”

At seven and twenty, and the eldest of four, Harold had always been a cherished and reliable friend. With bright blue eyes, sandy brown hair, and a sturdy frame, he was the catch of Portsea Island. What girl had not fancied herself his bride? In short, none but one, as Daphne had never considered her cousin anything more than a lifelong chum.

“I did not wish to burden you, Harold.” The expectant shame threatened to overwhelm her. “And I could not risk your reputation, should our situation erupt in scandal.”

“But we are family.” Resting elbows to knees, Harold leaned forward. “And our parents presume we shall wed, so you have should have known you could rely on me.”

“Harold, any woman would count herself fortunate to have you as her husband.” She swallowed hard.

“But not you.” Her cousin smiled. “May I ask why you refuse my suit?”

“Because you love Ellen, the butcher’s daughter, and everyone knows it.” For the second time that day, she spilt one of her closest guarded secrets, and it was such a relief. “I could not, in good conscience, allow you to sacrifice yourself for my benefit.”

“Given we speak candidly, you should know the townsfolk are aware of your father’s less than virtuous habits, as well as your role in governing Portsea.” With a sigh, Harold shook his head. “You have assumed responsibilities that were not yours to carry, and your character does not hinge on your father’s, God rest him. Know that whatever you decide, I will support you. And if you require my pledge, I will marry you, Daphne. Although my heart belongs to another, we would get on well, you and I. Never would I treat you as your father dishonored your mother.”

“She will not call upon you to meet that obligation,” her true knight declared in an acerbic tone. Was it her imagination, or had Harold annoyed Dalton, somehow? “But I would have my brother write the King and ask to have you appointed interim governor, if that is amenable to you.”

“Sir Dalton, nothing would please me more.” Harold shifted his weight. “But what of Courtenay Hall and the governor’s debts?”

“You know about that?” In that moment, her heart fractured.

“Dear Daphne, you know, very well, that Portsea is a small community.” Harold cast an expression of pure sympathy. “The more apt question is who is not aware of your financial difficulties.”

“Oh, no.” Despite her hard work, her family name had been ruined. “Then all is lost, and we are paupers, in every respect.”

“No, darling.” Dalton gave her a gentle nudge. “All is not lost.”

“Have you any claim to Courtenay Hall?” Dirk inquired. “Or do the standard rules of primogeniture and entail apply to the estate?”

“No, sir. While Courtenay Hall has persisted as Portsea’s seat of governance, there are no entailments, to my knowledge, in regard to the inheritance.” With a nod to Robert, Harold rubbed his chin. “The property, and its accrued arrears, passes to the oldest son.”

“So we need only contrive a plausible explanation for Governor Harcourt’s extended absence and announce his demise.” The viscount stood and paced. Then he halted and peered at Dalton. “Damian’s ancestral pile is not too far. We could circulate rumors of the governor’s visit to Penhurst, along with a mysterious illness. After a suitable period, Harold could post news of the death.”

“Who is Damian?” As Daphne pondered their machinations, fear knotted her belly. “And can we trust him?”

“The Duke of Weston.” Dirk ticked off an imaginary list on his fingers. “To us, he is a brother, and I would trust him with my life.”

“A duke?” Harold’s brows almost reached his hairline. “Oh, I say. Daphne, do not argue.”

“Dirk, I would ask a favor.” Dalton tugged at his cravat, and she wondered at his purpose. “While I know you wish to return home, I would prefer you remain here, for an additional two days. In that time, I shall remove the
Siren
to the naval yard at Portsmouth and transfer supervision of the repairs to my first mate. If you could pen a missive to His Majesty, supporting Harold’s promotion to the office, dispatch young Robert in my coach to the War Office, with a commission sponsorship, and review Courtenay Hall’s accounts, I shall rejoin you, whereupon we will journey to the city, with Miss Harcourt.”

“What?” Daphne leaped to her feet. “Why must I leave my home? And what of Richard?”

“Richard will stay here, with Hicks and Mrs. Jones to guard him.” Dalton caught her in his sights, and his unmasked determination gave her a shiver. “And you need a husband—a simple, dull, uninspired fellow with an ocean of patience and deep pockets. There is no better place to find such a creature than the marriage mart, which does a brisk business in the ballrooms of the
ton
, as the Season is in full swing.”

And just like that, Daphne Harcourt, backwater girl, pondered an impending trip to that magical, mythical place known as London.

A smattering of
buildings declared they neared the heart of the British Empire, and Daphne kept her nose pressed to the glass, as she bounced with excitement. Soon the landscape yielded to clusters of structures, until the crowded streets of the city consumed the view beyond the windows. And while he found her delight infectious, all Dalton could wonder was what had possessed him to bring the delectable provincial to London.

“I shall drop you at your bachelor lodgings.” Dirk adjusted the lace trim of his sleeve. “And then Miss Harcourt and I will continue to Randolph House.”

“But Daphne is staying with me.” Yes, he knew it was wrong, but Dalton could not bear to let her out of his sight. “I promised Robert I would care for her, so she is my charge.”

“That is out of the question.” His stuffy elder brother gave Dalton
the look
, which conveyed a wealth of recriminations and reproaches he knew too well. “You cannot quarter an unchaperoned, unwed woman of character. It is not done. And I doubt her sibling intended you to share your residence with her.”

“But these circumstances are unusual, and I shall hire a lady’s maid.” Numerous justifications danced in his brain, but the simple fact was he wanted Daphne at his side. “As she has no acquaintances in town, what objection could you have?”

“Do you want the long or the short list?” Dirk arched a brow. “You know better, brother.”

“Have I a say in the matter?” the source of his discomfit inquired.

“No.” What was he doing? Why could he not leave her at Dirk’s doorstep, so Rebecca might find Daphne a husband? Were he smart, he would abandon her to his sister’s care and resume his rakish endeavors. “And there will be no more discussion.”

As the coach slowed to a halt before Dalton’s Mayfair residence, Dirk mouthed,
Bad form
.

Anxious to avoid an upbraiding, he had not waited for the footman to open the door. Instead, Dalton jumped to the sidewalk and turned to assist Daphne. After a quick check of the vicinity, he ushered her up the entrance stairs and into the foyer.

“Have Miss Harcourt’s trunk conveyed to the red room,” Dalton instructed his butler. “And have cook prepare an early dinner, as we are hungry.”

“Yes, sir.” Merton bowed and then rushed to fulfill the requests.

“What is the red room?” The picture of innocence, Daphne blinked. “And are you certain I should reside here, with you?”

“Right now, I am certain of nothing.” At a loss to explain his behavior, Dalton grabbed her hand, dragged her down the side hall, and hauled her into his study. After he poured two balloons of liquid courage, he offered her a glass, which he clinked with his. “Here is to your health.”

“And the same to you.” Then she sipped the amber intoxicant and choked violently.

“Are you all right?” He patted her back. “Are you ill?”

“No.” She cleared her throat. “I have partaken little brandy, so I am unaccustomed to it. It is quite different from wine, and it burns.”

And there it was—her naïveté on full display, which he could not ignore. In search of relief, he downed the contents of his snifter, snatched hers, emptied it in a single gulp, snared her by the wrist, and retraced his steps. In the foyer, he veered right and led her upstairs. At the landing, he steered left and strolled into what he had hastily designated her chamber.

To his surprise, she wriggled free, so he released her, and she moved to the center of the opulent apartment. Garbed in a lavender frock, which he had purchased from a boutique in Portsmouth, she looked out of place in her accommodation, which sported a bold crimson décor, adequate to its primary use. Circling slowly, she studied her surroundings, and the stark contrast between her innocence and the immorality that had occurred in the bed, which loomed as a lascivious backdrop, struck him between the eyes.

The previous November, during a rare instance of sheer depravity, after an evening of heavy drinking, he had done something terrible, something appalling. He had engaged in conduct that would shame his mother, embarrass his brother, and scandalize his entire family, were it known throughout society. Worse, it could cost him Daphne. It had not been a proud moment.

“Sir Dalton, I hope you do not think me ungrateful, but I would prefer to consider the viscount’s generous offer.” When she peered at the four-poster, she gulped and then frowned. “As I do not wish to inconvenience you, and you seem unprepared for guests.”

“Perhaps you are right.” He speared his fingers through his hair. “I can summon—”

A commotion downstairs gave him pause. Dalton stomped to the landing, with Daphne in his wake, just as Rebecca stormed into the foyer.

“Where is she?” Dirk’s wife inquired of Merton. “What has he done with her?”

“I beg your pardon, your ladyship.” The butler bowed. “To whom do you refer?”

“Who is that woman?” With a half-smothered shriek, Daphne yanked hard on his coat sleeve. “And what is she to you?”

“There you are.” At that second, Rebecca came alert. As she ascended the stairs, on a wave of high dudgeon that bespoke trouble, she cast an expression of molten ire. “You ought to be horsewhipped.”

Had he thought the circumstances grim? It had just gone from bad to worse. There was no escape, so he sought to spike the former spy’s guns, as he tugged on his cravat.

“Miss Daphne Harcourt, may I present my sister-in-law, Lady Rebecca, Viscountess Wainsbrough.” Then he braced for the assault. “Becca, this is Daphne.”

“How are you, poor dear?” Rebecca embraced the governor’s daughter. “Dirk told me of your misfortune, and I am so sorry for your loss.” And then she caught Dalton in her sights. “How can you possibly think it acceptable to board an unmarried woman of character in your bachelor lodgings?”

“Do not claim I did not warn you.” Dirk chuckled, as he neared. To Rebecca, he said, “Shall I have Miss Harcourt’s things conveyed to our coach?”

“Please, do so, as she will reside at Randolph House for the duration of her London stay, and I shall brook no refusal.” With an arm draped about Daphne’s shoulders, Rebecca returned to the foyer. “I have all sorts of events planned, and tomorrow you will meet our extended family, at a special dinner I shall arrange, to welcome you to the city.”

“I hope you have not gone to too much trouble, on my account.” Daphne glanced over her shoulder, with a countenance of utter helplessness. “And it is wonderful to make your acquaintance.”

“What did I tell you?” Dirk arched a brow, as he elbowed Dalton. “My wife has a habit of deciding, for herself, what is or is not appropriate, and you would be wise not to challenge her, as she is bloody formidable when she sets her mind to something. Now help me fetch the lady’s belongings.”

“Could you not have forestalled her intrusion, as this is a private matter?” Dalton clutched the handle at one end of the trunk, while his brother perched at the opposite side, and together they hoisted the old chest. Yet, even as they exited what Dalton had come to deem a garish dwelling, he knew Rebecca was right. “What am I to do, brother? As I am at sea, and nothing makes sense.”

“You find yourself in a quandary, when it comes to the impeccable Miss Harcourt?” Dirk smiled, as they descended the stairs. “She muddles your thoughts?”

“Daphne muddles everything.” Outside, Dalton relinquished his burden to the liveried footman. “How can such a sweet little thing disrupt my entire life?”

To his dismay, Dirk merely stared at Dalton and smirked.

“Oh, no.” Dalton shuddered. “Do not even attempt to suggest I am smitten with Miss Daphne. She is not my type. She is too pure. I am a rake. We do not suit. I am not in love.”

Dirk burst into laughter. “Brother, I do not envy you, as you are in for the ride of your existence.”

“What do you mean?” He followed his elder sibling and waited until Dirk occupied the seat beside his bride.

“You will learn soon enough.” Dirk claimed Becca’s hand and brought it to his lips. “Are we ready, darling?”

“Indeed, my love.” She giggled, until she noticed Dalton attempting to enter the spacious equipage. “And where do you think you are going?”

“Uh, I had thought to join you, at Randolph House.” In light of the frigidity of her stare, he halted in his tracks. “Given I maintain a—perhaps I should remain here.”