Brethren of the Coast Box Set 2

by Barbara Devlin

  “What would I do without you, Mrs. Jones?” Daphne stood and untied her robe. “Now, will you help me into Sir Dalton’s magnanimous gift?”

  “Of course.” With great care, the housekeeper draped the gown over Daphne’s head and shoulders. “Give me a shimmy, my girl.”

  “The way I did as a child?” Daphne giggled and wiggled her hips, and the skirt dropped into place, with a whispery shush. “Oh, Mrs. Jones. I feel so regal, like a princess.”

  “Hold still, while I tie your laces.” A familiar chorus of grunts and groans signaled the battle had commenced, as Mrs. Jones pulled Daphne left and then right, in an awkward tug of war. “Exhale, Miss Daphne.”

  “This is so unfair.” She hugged the corner of her four-poster. “I wager men have never suffered such degradation in the name of fashion.”

  “All right.” The housekeeper retreated. “Turn around and let me have a look at you.”

  “What do you think?” Daphne rotated. “Will Sir Dalton be pleased?”

  “Perhaps.” Narrowing her stare, Mrs. Jones frowned. “Wait right here.”

  Alone, Daphne stepped into the new slippers, walked to the center of her chamber, extended her arms, and whirled. An imaginary world, straight from a fairy story, materialized, with brilliant pastorals, azure skies, and mischievous cherubs, as she hummed a little ditty and squealed with delight. When the door opened, she skidded to a halt.

  “Did you find what you sought, Mrs. Jones?” Daphne inquired with a hastily mustered air of ennui.

  “Yes.” The housekeeper loosened the ties of a velvet bag. “I think these will suit the color of your dress.”

  “Mama’s pearls.” In a flash, visions from the past composed a staccato of precious moments. Sewing tutorials, history lessons, lute practice, stillroom organization, and charitable visitation. Her mother had always indulged Daphne’s insouciant dreams of independence and then taught her another recipe or household management skill. “Dare I wear them?”

  “Mrs. Harcourt always intended you to have them.” Mrs. Jones secured the necklace in place, as Daphne donned the matching earrings. “And there is no better time than the present.”

  “But she had saved them for my wedding day.” She trailed her fingers over the delicate orbs. Standing before the long mirror, Daphne did not recognize the woman in the reflection. “Do you think Sir Dalton will find me satisfactory?”

  “Oh, I say.” Mrs. Jones snorted. “If he can summon a coherent comment, upon spying you, I will eat my old purple bonnet.”

  THE LUCKY ONE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The sun rested below the yardarm, and Dalton stowed his lucky coin and checked his pocket watch, as the coach halted before Courtenay Hall. As usual, he was punctual. After a quick assessment of his black formalwear, which he had summoned, along with his valet, from London, he descended to the graveled drive and then skipped up the front stairs.

  “Good evening, Sir Dalton.” Hicks bowed. “Miss Daphne awaits your presence in the ballroom, as we will use the separate side entrance for the guests. If you will follow me, I will take you to her.”

  “Excellent.” For some odd reason he could not fathom, his palms dampened, and his pulse raced. He wondered if Daphne favored the garment he had sent or if he had insulted her with his well-intentioned gift. When he passed through the double doors and spied his lady, he clenched his gut, sucked in a breath, and an invisible but nonetheless potent lightning bolt seared him, on the spot.

  “Sir Dalton, how handsome you look.” The source of his strange affliction cast him a shimmering smile, and she bestowed upon him a radiant countenance. “And I cannot thank you enough for the beautiful gown.”

  In that instant, she rotated for his inspection, and the one-eyed marauder below his belly button woke with a vengeance. Numerous polite compliments and even more not-so-nice propositions echoed in his brain, as he fought to maintain composure.

  “There, now.” The housekeeper, Mrs. Jones, grinned, as she elbowed Daphne. “What did I tell you?”

  “It appears your old bonnet is safe.” Daphne giggled, but he could make no sense of her statement. “Will you join me, in the receiving line, Sir Dalton?”

  “Yes.” He shuffled his feet, tugged on his cravat, and cleared his throat. “I-I am fine.”

  “I beg your pardon?” The stunning Miss Harcourt blinked, as she could not possibly comprehend what she had done to him, and he dared not apprise her. “Are you all right?”

  “Where are your brothers?” Until he could marshal his wits and leash the beast, he sought safe harbor in an innocuous subject. “Should we not assume our positions?”

  “Yes, as I believe we have our first arrivals.” Daphne peered over his shoulder. “Robert, Richard, take your places, and no grumbling.”

  “We will be but a moment, as I require a word with your brothers.” The scamps attempted to evade him, but Dalton splayed his arms. “Gentlemen, this evening is important to your sister, and I will not allow you to spoil it. Robert, if you upset her, in any way, I will box your ears. And Richard, whatever wiggles in your coat pocket had better remain there else I will make you swallow it. Are we clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” the gadlings replied in concert.

  “Wait a minute.” Dalton adjusted Richard’s neck cloth. “Who taught you to tie a cravat?”

  “I did.” With a mighty scowl, Robert folded his arms. “And I think it looks fine.”

  “Well that explains it.” Never had he dealt with such unruly delinquents. Dalton gave his attention to the elder sibling and a butchered mathematical. “Yours is not much of an improvement on his.”

  “What do you care?” As he reworked the yard-length of linen, Dalton met Robert’s harsh stare. “And what are your intentions, in regard to Daphne?”

  “This is neither the time nor the locale to discuss such matters, and button your coat.” And Dalton had no idea how to answer the question, as he had not pondered his fledgling feelings for the governor’s daughter. “You will do. Now march, and smile for your sister.”

  After a lengthy tour of duty at the entrance, welcoming what he presumed was the entire Portsea population, the orchestra, if he could call it that, as it was comprised of an awkward assemblage of resident musicians—again a generous description, struck the signature, if less than graceful, notes of a waltz. And given their brief rehearsal, he could only hope they maintained a consistent rhythm. As prearranged, he claimed his hostess for the evening, to commence the gala.

  “Shall we show your neighbors how it is done?” Just the simple practice of anchoring his arm about her waist had Dalton pondering how any man had resisted Daphne, as she manifested a potent combination of innocence mixed with unassuming strength, which could drive a sane man mad as a March hare from an overwhelming desire to possess her.

  “I do so wish to make a good impression.” With a glowing expression, she rested her palm on his shoulder, and they clasped hands. “But I am nervous, as I have never danced with anyone but my father.”

  “Then you may rely on me, as I am an expert.” For a scarce second, he doubted her inexperience. Then again, Miss Daphne had spent her entire life, thus far, on an island. “Stay close, my dear.”

  In that instant, Dalton steered the impeccable backwater lady in what he hoped was the most refined ride of her existence. Around and around, they twirled in each other’s embrace, moving as one entity, until he could no longer discern where he ended and she began. Soon they slipped the bonds of the mortal coil and whirled beyond the crowded confines of the palatial ballroom, soaring ever higher. Swathed in an imaginary indigo blanket filled with twinkling stars, and aware of nothing save the constant beat of his heart, he luxuriated in her ocean blue gaze.

  And then a pebble struck him in the cheek.

  Gritting his teeth, he glanced to his left and discovered her brother Richard, standing at the edge of the dance floor, grinning as he tucked a slingshot into his coat.

  “Is something wrong?”
Daphne traced circles on the back of his neck. “Did I trounce your toes?”

  “No.” For several seconds, he studied her plump and rosy lips. “Promise me something.”

  “Anything, Sir Dalton.” All manner of naughty requests echoed in his ears, given her generous offer.

  “While I understand you must entertain your guests, I would have you save your waltzes for me, alone.” The simple request would raise many eyebrows in London, but they swayed not within the ton’s confines, so he would make his own rules. “Will you do that, for me?”

  “It would be my honor, Sir Dalton. As nothing would please me more.” Her charming confession, bereft of artifice, warmed him to his toes. “And I have a surprise for you.”

  “Then we are of similar disposition, because I have news to impart.” The orchestra segued into another waltz, and he veered to the right, to evade a prospective interloper, as he refused to relinquish his bounty. “I am to depart for Portsmouth.”

  “What?” Her smile faded, and her chin quivered. “When?”

  “Tomorrow, I am afraid.” That afternoon, he had pondered her reaction to his revelation, and she had not disappointed him. “I received my orders this morning, and I am to remove the Siren to the naval docks, for additional repairs.”

  “So soon?” She bit her bottom lip. “When shall I see you again, or do you depart for London, thereafter?”

  “Once I secure my ship, I plan to return to your fair isle, but I may be recalled to Greenwich, without warning.” And now he had to divulge the harsh truth and pray she would not sever all ties with him. “Daphne, given my service to the Crown, I cannot, in good conscience, abandon Portsea into your hands, as we are at war, and the situation is dangerous. In light of the raid on the Siren, however unexceptionable, I must notify the King of your father’s absence, and I am honor-bound to report the theft of the brooch to the constable.”

  “But what if you located it?” An underlying flinch betrayed her discomfit. “Why can you not leave us as you found us? I would consider it a personal favor.”

  “Because my allegiance is to His Majesty.” How he hated to discompose her. “But you must not misconstrue my action as an attack on you and your family, as I seek to protect you.”

  “By usurping my father’s position?” With a half-sob, she squeezed his fingers. “I beg you, do not place us in peril, as you know not the whole situation.”

  “Would you care to share the circumstances with me?” Just then, he realized the music had ended, and he escorted her to the long dining table, where Mrs. Jones had arranged the refreshments, which Dalton had purchased for the event. “I would very much like to help—”

  “Miss Daphne, we are ready.” The widow Cartwright clutched his arm. “And Sir Dalton, we have a special seat, just for you.”

  “By all means, lead the way, Mrs. Cartwright.” As Daphne disappeared into the throng, Dalton weaved between the revelers, until the crowd parted, just in front of the orchestra, where a chair had been situated. “I gather this is for me?”

  “Indeed, Sir Dalton.” The grey-haired widow chuckled. “Miss Daphne has practiced for days, in order to serenade you.”

  As she settled before the assemblage of musicians, Daphne hugged a lute. For a few seconds, she plucked the strings, and then she glanced at the guests.

  “My dear friends of Portsea, I cannot thank you, enough, for your hard work in preparation for our impromptu ball. But I would like to dedicate my performance to the person responsible for this wonderful fête, as it has been far too long since Courtenay Hall hosted a party.” And then she fixed her gaze on him. “Sir Dalton Randolph, tonight, I play and sing for you.”

  What followed her elementary proclamation was the most precious experience of his life. As his lady strummed an exquisite melody, with the expertise of a professional, and intoned the lyrics of love, as a nightingale, in what he suspected was a local folk ballad, he dreamed of her naked, sitting at the foot of his bed, in a private production. He pictured her in the ballroom at Randolph House, entertaining his family and friends. At last, he envisioned her in the drawing room of his Mayfair home, diverting their visitors, while he stood as a proud husband.

  That singular thought brought him alert, in a flash.

  Perched upright, he focused on Miss Daphne and tried to convince himself she was not so spectacular, as he had believed. He had created her. He had idealized her. He had turned her into a damsel in distress and posited himself as her knight rescuer, in some frivolous romantic notion he neither coveted nor possessed the ability to fulfill, and he cursed himself a fool.

  The night’s mission charged the fore, and he rolled his shoulders. When Daphne ceased her spontaneous rendering, he stood and clapped, and the gathered citizens lauded her talents with boisterous hoots and hollers. The orchestra screeched the initial hints of a quadrille, and the butcher claimed Daphne as his partner, which provided Dalton the perfect opportunity to instigate his search of the house.

  In mere minutes, he spied Hicks poised at the side entry, Mrs. Jones refilled a platter with slices of boiled chicken, Robert groused as the innkeeper’s daughter dragged him into the mix, and Richard had scrambled beneath a table and taken aim at another unsuspecting partygoer. So Dalton retreated, slow and steady, to avoid rousing suspicion, until he backed into the main hall.

  With nary a witness about, he strode to the drawing room, tossing his familiar lucky coin to ease the tension investing his frame, flung open the doors, and was shocked to discover—nothing. To his inexplicable confusion, the chamber sat empty, bereft of a single stick of furniture or a rug. So he reversed course, scanned the immediate vicinity, and skipped up the grand staircase. On the landing, he snatched a taper from a candelabrum and reconnoitered the second floor, which exhibited decrepit conditions similar to the ground level.

  After a quick inspection of the master suites, which appeared to have been vacant for a length of time and further stimulated his curiosity, he learned most apartments mirrored the drawing room’s condition. Only three other quarters sported accouterments indicative of the occupant, and Daphne’s accommodation rendered him bewildered, as it seemed more accustomed to a young girl of eight or nine, given the profuse pink décor, not a woman of three and twenty.

  In haste, he returned to the foyer and traveled the side hall, which led to the study. Ensconced in the man’s domain, he rifled through the large oak desk and uncovered an appointment book. Based on the information therein, he discerned the governor had not held a meeting, of any sort, in more than a couple of months. Just as Dalton had opened an account ledger, voices snared his attention. After replacing the items, he closed the drawer and sheltered behind the thick velvet drapery, just as the door creaked.

  “Mr. Allen, why have you come here, tonight, of all nights?” In a high-pitched tone, Daphne heralded her distress. “I thought we had an agreement.”

  “Seeing as how you have the money to throw this big festivity, I figured you could spare me a few extra pounds this month.” The blackguard snickered, and Dalton eased back the heavy fabric to catch a glimpse of his lady’s tormentor. “And just look at your fancy garb and baubles. Perhaps you have played me false.”

  “I have done no such thing,” she exclaimed. “It is common knowledge Sir Dalton Randolph, of London, funded the gala. The dress was a gift, and the pearls were my mother’s.”

  “No doubt a rich man’s whore can afford all manner of luxuries, and he will not miss a few trinkets.” The oily bastard sneered. “Or should I apprise the good citizens of Portsea of the governor’s debts and true character?”

  “How dare you, as I am no man’s whore.” She thrust her chin, in her usual frank bravado, but Dalton could smell her fear. “And I gave you half my father’s stipend at the first of the month, as arranged. If it interests you, I will sell the gown and give you the proceeds.”

  “And the jewels.” The villain approached Daphne, and Dalton almost revealed his presence, but he summoned patience, kn
owing he could intervene on her behalf, if necessary. “Which I will take—now.”

  “Get away from my sister.” The impetuous Robert charged the field. “If you touch her, I will raise the alarm, and all of Portsea will answer the call.”

  “And maybe I will tell them of your beloved sire’s gambling habit.” The sullen Mr. Allen flexed his fists. “I own the governor’s markers, and I must be paid, else I will shame your family and foreclose on Courtenay Hall.”

  “Wait.” After a pregnant pause, Daphne sighed and removed the necklace and earrings. “Here, you may take them as additional payment toward the final sum.”

  “Daphne, no.” Robert came to a halt at her side. “We have sacrificed enough to this mongrel.”

  “But we must settle papa’s financial obligations.” She leveled a stony gaze on the enemy, and Dalton vowed to aid her, however he could. Had he thought her strong? She was formidable. “Until such time, we will surrender what we must. However, Mr. Allen, if you disparage my father’s name, in any way, in violation of our terms, I will consider the matter closed and report your nefarious enterprises to the constable. Do we understand each other?”

  “My lady.” The scoundrel sketched a mock bow and exited the study.

  “What are you doing, Daphne?” Robert raked a hand through his hair and paced. “Why will you not sell Courtenay Hall, and let us leave this place and start anew, somewhere else?”

  “Because this is our home, our legacy.” With her palms pressed to the blotter, she leaned over the desk. “Mama is buried on this land, along with our ancestors. Would you abandon all that we are, out of convenience?”

  “Yet we risk losing everything, if we stay the course.” The lad faced his sister. “What of Sir Dalton? Perhaps we could appeal to him—”

  “No.” She shook her head, and Dalton could only speculate in regard to her refusal. “He departs Portsea, tomorrow. And I would not drag him into this mess.”

  “But he might help us.” The elder brother stiffened his spine. “He seems very fond of you, and I know you are fond of him.”