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

“So it would seem, for now.” He counted to three. “And what news of your father?”

“I have had none.” She sighed. “Draw rein, here.”

“Where?” Aside from a rudimentary shack in which he would not stable his horse, as it appeared on the verge of collapse, there remained only an open field. “Are we to walk the rest of the way, to the house?”

“Quiet, Sir Dalton.” She handed him the basket, after he disembarked. “This is their home, and they might hear you.”

“You can’t be serious.” He lowered her from the saddle, even as he scrutinized the dilapidated structure. “Are you telling me someone lives here?”

“Yes.” She snatched the basket from his grasp. “And I would thank you not to make disparaging comments about our neighbors or their unfortunate accommodations. Not everyone can afford a Mayfair mansion, and if you cannot hold your tongue, then you may wait outside.”

Duly chastised, Dalton followed the beautiful governor’s daughter on her charitable sojourn, and his respect for her grew by leaps and bounds with each passing hour. At one stop, she washed dishes and swept floors, while he chopped firewood. At another destination, she cleaned and bandaged a wound, as he cleared refuse. But what struck him was Daphne’s genuine care and concern for those she considered her responsibility.

No petition seemed too unreasonable, to her. Whatever the townsfolk asked of her, the charming young woman either fulfilled their request or promised to do so, as soon as possible. And the citizens adored the incomparable Miss Harcourt. By the time he steered his mount for Courtenay Hall, with the source of his quandary nestled between his thighs and humming a flirty little ditty, he knew not what to do next.

“It was awfully kind of you to indulge the widow Cartwright’s boys.” She grinned, as he handed her to the graveled drive. “And I am so sorry little Amy Oldman puked on your beautiful coat, but you were a good sport.”

“No worries, as my young niece has done the same thing, on occasions too numerous to count.” Without thought or consideration of the consequences, he toyed with a wayward curl and then caressed the crest of her ear. “And I quite enjoyed our day, Miss Daphne.”

“As did I.” At her brilliant smile, his breath caught in his chest. “Must confess I have never found my chores so entertaining, as I did in your company. Never would I have guessed you were so handy with an axe, though I feared you might sacrifice a few fingers while you toiled, as you cannot be accustomed to hard labor.”

“Very funny.” In play, he tapped the tip of her nose. “I would have you know that commanding a ship is no easy task, and I am often required to soil my hands.”

“Is that so?” He found her answering giggle far more intoxicating than the most skilled doxy, as he realized, in that instant, he wanted Daphne Harcourt. “Then I suppose you are not interested in joining my family for dinner, tomorrow night, in appreciation of your efforts.”

“Now I would not say that.” For some unfathomable exercise in foolishness, Dalton bent his head and claimed a quick but lethal buss. Again, to his indefinable confusion, the earth beneath his feet rocked, the world tilted on end, and molten fire scorched a path from his lips to his crotch. When she emitted a soft gasp of surprise, he retreated a step. “I beg your pardon, Miss Daphne, as such behavior is unforgivable.”

“Oh, please, do not apologize.” With an expression of pure wonder, she touched a finger to her mouth, and the apples of her cheeks flushed a charming rose hue. “I would take it as the height of insult were you to mark my first kiss with an exclamation of regret.”

“Your
first
kiss?” For the second time in as many minutes, shock invested his frame. “Do you mean you have never indulged in a bit of harmless love play with the local dandies?”

“I have not.” She frowned and thrust her adorable chin. “What do you take me for, Sir Dalton? Let me assure you, I am no woman of loose morals.”

“And I never implied such, but—what about when you were a young girl?” Incredulity rattled him to his toes. “Did you not explore any newfound physical urges with someone of similar age?”

“What physical urges?” She blinked, and he reminded himself the governor’s daughter was but a backwater lass, reared on an island, no less. “I know nothing of the sort.”

“You must have been curious.” Stunned by the revelation, and the newfound temptation she manifested, he sputtered and stammered. Then he surmised she joked. “Pull my other leg.”

“Pull your leg? Are you mad?” She scoffed and backed beyond reach. “I will do no such thing.”

“Relax, as it is a harmless old adage, my dear.” Dalton splayed his palms. “It was not my intent to alarm you, but you have addled my brain, given your unexpected, rare, and altogether arresting naïveté.”

“Are you complimenting or insulting me, sir?” She gulped. “As I am unsure.”

“Believe me, I pay you the ultimate compliment, loveliest Daphne.” Never in his life had he possessed carnal knowledge of a virgin, as his tastes leaned toward more experienced territory, but he wrestled with a sudden urge to explore Miss Harcourt’s uncharted harbor. “And it would be my honor to dine with you.”

“Then we shall welcome you at six, tomorrow evening.” She sketched a half-curtsey and then, to his befuddlement and delight, leaped forward, pressed her lips to his with a resounding smack, squealed, and ran into the house. Never had such an innocuous overture impacted him with such fervor, as the cannon in his crotch primed for battle. His ears pealed, like the bells in a Wren steeple, and telltale warmth pervaded his chest. For several seconds, he just stood there, grinning as a giddy schoolboy, for no particular reason. When his stallion whinnied, Dalton jumped into the saddle and steered for the lane.

A side path, which led behind the estate, caught his attention, and Dalton veered to the right, even as he retrieved his lucky coin from his waistcoat pocket and flipped the talisman into the air, as was his way. He kept the horse to a simple trot along the verge and ventured forth, scanning either side of the trail. Soon a rundown barn loomed, and he neared with care, on alert for any possible witnesses. After circling the structure, he dismounted.

What struck him as odd was the fact that no stable hand had appeared. In fact, the outbuilding seemed all but abandoned. Inside, each stall sat empty, devoid of even a scrap of hay. There remained not a single tackle, saddle, or coach, and only one phaeton, dust-covered and marred by a broken spring, parked in the main area.

As he stepped into the sunlight, he gazed at the sky and frowned. “Miss Daphne, your situation is more dire than I had thought.”

Palpable silence filled her ears, excepting the repetitive beat of her heart, more deafening than the most ominous clap of thunder or piercing scream. A black chasm encompassed the world, absent any sign of life, save the riveting gold coin, which glowed as a beacon of what she knew not, yet it inspired no fear or trepidation, as it tossed in the air.

Gasping for breath
, Daphne lurched upright in her bed, in what had become an all too common occurrence, after napping with the brooch affixed to her dress. As always, the dream gave no hint or clue to the owner of the curious object, other than the respective lore that indicated the item belonged to her one true knight. But how could she solve the mystery? Should she enact impromptu interrogations? Was she to rifle through the pockets of the entire local population of townsmen?

Of course, deep down inside, where she was always honest with herself, she had to admit that only a single prospective suitor had captured her attention, in defiance of the artifact’s predictive nature. Although she would deny it, should anyone ask, she had grown fond of the dashing Sir Dalton Randolph, as never had she met anyone of his stature, and he stirred something within her, something magical, which she could neither identify nor explain.

“Oh, you are awake.” Mrs. Jones carried an outdated gown to the foot of the bed. “I mended the sleeves and let out the hem, as much as possible, Miss Daphne.”

“What time is it?” Sitting, she stretched her arms over her head and yawned. “It seems as though I slept an eternity.”

“You needed the rest, given the amount of work you have assumed.” The housekeeper, more a second mother than a servant, smoothed the skirt of her latest alteration. “And it is just after six.”

“
What
?” Panic broke the calm, as she scrambled to the floor. “How could you let me linger so long? I want to look my best for our guest, and he will be here in less than an hour.”

“That sea captain is a fine, sturdy one.” Mrs. Jones chuckled. “They did not make them like that when I was your age.”

“Sir Dalton is one-of-a-kind.” If she were smart, Daphne would have concentrated her efforts on locating her true knight, but she could not resist the handsome gentleman from London and could only hope she found her fated suitor half so appealing. So she sat at her vanity, picked up her brush, and arranged her hair in her most flattering style. Gazing at her reflection in the mirror, she frowned, as a particular wayward curl refused to cooperate. “And he has been so generous with his time and money, to the benefit of our community, which is why I issued the invitation.”

“Then we should endeavor to present him with a most pleasant evening, as well as an elegant escort, in grateful appreciation of his admirable altruism.” The housekeeper stood behind Daphne and assumed command of her coiffure. “Lord, but you look more and more like your mother, every day, and she would be so proud.”

“Do you really think so?” Daphne sighed, as she pondered how different their situation would have been, had her mother survived the nasty fever she had contracted, while caring for some of Portsea’s most unfortunate citizens. “Dear mama, how I miss her.”

“There, now.” Mrs. Jones yielded the silver-backed brush, folded her arms, and assessed her work. “I don’t expect the most expensive stylist could have done better.”

“You are a miracle worker.” With a quick glance from side to side, Daphne stood. “Oh, if only I could purchase a new dress.”

“Why will you not wear some of Mrs. Harcourt’s things? We could take them in much easier than altering your old clothes.” The housekeeper cupped Daphne’s chin. “She would want you to make use of them.”

“I know, as yours is a logical suggestion.” At the mere prospect, tears welled, and she gulped, as Mrs. Jones loosened the laces of Daphne’s morning dress, which slipped to the floor. “But I can’t bring myself to do it.”

“Then what about the shoes, given yours pinch your toes?” Mrs. Jones frowned. “Do not even try to convince me you are comfortable.”

“Everyone must sacrifice something, and my feet pale in comparison with what others have surrendered.” With a wiggle of her hips, Daphne shimmied into the unflattering and immature gown. “And mama’s slippers are too big—Oh, you removed the ruffles.”

“Well, I had to open the seams, so it struck me as an obvious revision.” The housekeeper adjusted the collar and grinned. “No one would guess it is but a girl’s frock.”

“That has to be the sweetest lie you have ever told, old friend.” The powder blue satin, with the conservative neckline and passé bodice, screamed youth and innocence. On normal occasions, Daphne bothered not with such shallow concerns, but for the first time in her life, she rued the deficiencies of her wardrobe and struggled with shame. “All right, enough primping. Let us go downstairs and subvert whatever mischief my brothers entertain.”

“You should watch Robert, as he does not approve of your alliance with Sir Dalton.” Mrs. Jones opened the door, and they strolled into the hall. “And Richard follows his elder brother’s example.”

“Yes, he does, much to my chagrin. And we cannot risk insulting Captain Randolph, given all he has done for us.” She noted the shine on the newel post. “Did you polish the bannister?”

“Hicks did, this afternoon, while I beat the rugs.” Mrs. Jones adjusted a stunning arrangement of fresh flowers, which brightened the foyer. “And these arrived only an hour ago. The accompanying card is addressed to you.”

“I am sure it is nothing.” Daphne ripped the envelope and withdrew a note.

My Dear Miss Harcourt,

Please accept this meager offering to your incomparable beauty, in thanks for the dinner invitation, which I await with baited breath. Until this evening, think of me with fondness, as I shall think of you.

Your most humble servant,

Dalton Randolph

“I wager I was correct in my assumption, regarding the sender?” Mrs. Jones giggled. “As you blush.”

“Indeed, they are from Sir Dalton.” Daphne’s knees buckled, and her fingers shook, as she read and reread the missive. A strange sensation blossomed in the pit of her belly, and a giddy euphoria invested her consciousness, as hope filled her chest. “Mrs. Jones, do you think a worldly man of the sea could ever love a simple backwater girl, blessed with no connections or fortune?”

“I do not see why not.” The housekeeper arched a brow. “This is eighteen fourteen, not the Middle Ages.”

“But London society lives by its own rules, and it is notorious for its rejection of outsiders that do not conform to its sensibilities.” Yet Daphne could not quell the fantasies coloring her vision, no matter how unrealistic. “And Sir Dalton is a knight of the Crown, though I know not in what capacity.”

“You care for him.” With an expression of utter shock, Mrs. Jones pressed a clenched fist to her breast, and her mouth fell agape. “I had thought you tolerated him, but you have developed a sincere attachment to the captain.”

“Yes, I have, but I know not what to do about it.” And she had no experience with matters of the heart, beyond the books she had read, thus her current situation prevented her from mingling an illusory fictional existence with a harsh reality. “But since he anchored at Portsea, when I am with Sir Dalton, I feel safe, as though nothing could hurt me, and I dream of that which I never thought possible—a husband, a family, and a comfortable home absent financial worries and the stress of my responsibilities. Am I being silly, Mrs. Jones? Is it wrong to want such things? Am I selfish?”