Hope Tarr - [Men of the Roxbury House 02]

by Enslaved

  Sitting back against the desk, Rourke shrugged. “Dinna fash yourself. By the looks of it, your belly was empty save for ale and gin. If anything, I think that spot’s the cleanest of them all.” Turning back to Gavin, he added, “So, are you going to tell me why someone who’s always sober as a judge—or a top notch barrister of Her Majesty’s Queen’s Court, I should say—suddenly decided to get stinking drunk, or am I to play guessing games into the wee hours? Come to think of it, it is the wee hours.” He lifted a broad-backed hand to his mouth and yawned behind it.

  “It’s Daisy.”

  “Now, there’s a shock.”

  Gavin whipped his head about. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  Rourke looked up from pouring a dram of whiskey into his coffee cup. “Only that everything’s been about Daisy since she turned up again. It’s amazing to me that one wee woman can be the cause for so much mischief.”

  Gavin swallowed more coffee, the scalding chicory blending with the bile scoring his throat. “Mark my words, your day will come.”

  Rourke took a long swig of the whiskey-laced coffee. “Maybe, maybe not. I’m betting on the latter but, for the present moment, the subject of this conversation is you. What’s the trouble, man?”

  “She’s lied to me—again. Last week I found a letter she was writing to someone named Freddie. Naturally, I assumed Freddie was a man, her lover.”

  “Naturally.”

  “As it turns out, Freddie is Fredericka, Daisy’s daughter.”

  “Bonny name.” Rourke didn’t look nearly as shocked as Gavin thought he should.

  “The very worst part is that when I confronted Daisy with the letter, she let me go on thinking Freddie was a man, a lover.”

  “Did she? Sounds to me like maybe she was scared to come to you with the truth. I wonder why that might be, hmm?”

  Gavin didn’t much care for the Scot’s tone of voice. He’d come in search of a friendly ear to bend, a sympathetic shoulder, and instead he’d gotten what must be the world’s worst coffee—and what was beginning to feel suspiciously like a lecture.

  “Suffice it to say she’s not the same sweet girl we knew in Roxbury House.”

  Rourke shrugged. “I wouldn’t expect her to be. For one thing, she’s a grown woman, not a girl. For another, life has a way of marking us all. Daisy’s spent the past fifteen or so years in and out of Paris playhouses, not convents in the country. Anyone who takes the name Delilah can be counted on to have had … experiences, shall we say. Mind, you knew the rumors before she ever stepped out on that stage.”

  “That was before I knew Delilah was Daisy or rather vice versa.”

  “Must be a family trait?” Rourke murmured beneath his breath.

  The remark hit Gavin squarely on his softest, weakest spot. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Oh, I was only wondering aloud whether you and your grandsire are so verra different after all. I mean, it looks to me as if the both of you have verra high, some might say lofty expectations for the loved ones in your lives. Daisy’s disappointed you, but is it her current actions you canna abide or the parts of her past she canna change?”

  “She lied to me.”

  “Daisy’s disappointed you, fair enough. You canna change what’s past, but you can decide where you go from here. Do you turn your back on her and walk away, cut her out of your life as your grandsire did your mum? Or do you go back and fight for her? Were I you, I’d tie her up, sit on her if need be until she tells you why she’s acted as she has.”

  “What possible excuse can there be?”

  Rourke shrugged. “Who knows why any of us do what we do? Maybe she was afraid of getting hurt? Maybe the other men she’s known have turned tail once they found out about the wee lassie and she feared you’d do the same? People are no perfect, Gavin, not Daisy and not even you. Sure you’ll never find out the answer unless you ask her.”

  Gavin rose to leave, the ache in his head second to the ache in his heart. Rourke called him back. “Gav?”

  Gavin turned about. “Yes?”

  “One more thing occurs to me.”

  Gavin groaned. “I’m not sure I can absorb much more self-reflection at the moment.”

  “Nothing profound, just a wee afterthought. Daisy let you believe Freddie was her lover, aye?” Gavin nodded. “If she had to invent a lover, that must mean she doesna have a lover … other than you?”

  When Gavin walked out of Rourke’s, the first streaks of daylight were slicing through the fog. On the hansom ride home, he allowed Rourke might have a point. He had always detested his grandfather’s rigidity, his absolute belief that he and he alone knew what was best. But isn’t that how he behaved toward Daisy? He discouraged her from trying out for the latest Gilbert & Sullivan production because, in his estimation, operetta wasn’t proper theater. When she finally came up with something, in this case, an illegitimate daughter, that he could neither manage nor wish away, he’d as good as walked out of her life.

  He had to see her. But when he reached his flat, a grim-faced Jamison met him at the door. “Where is Daisy … Miss Lake, I mean?”

  The butler shook his head. “Gone, sir.”

  “What do you mean gone?” It was all Gavin could do to keep himself from shaking the information out of the older man.

  “She packed her bags and left while you were out the other day.”

  Pushing past the butler, Gavin raced to Daisy’s room. It was empty and depressingly neat except for Mia who lay stretched out across the foot of the bed. In her short time there, Daisy had even managed to win over his cat.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed stroking Mia’s fur, the unnatural quiet churning about him, Gavin forced himself to consider what Rourke had said. Was he more like his grandfather than he might care to admit? Like the old man, was he rigid and unforgiving? Did he hold people to an impossible standard, starting with himself, and then punish them when they invariably failed? He’d faulted Daisy for not coming to him with the truth but if she had, how accepting would he have been?

  Jamison stuck his head in the doorway. “If you’ll pardon my intrusion, sir, I thought you might wish to have this.”

  Lifting his head from his hands, Gavin regarded the folded paper Jamison held out. “What is it? Never say it’s another letter.”

  “It’s Miss Lake’s direction. I, er … overheard her mention it to her parents when she was packing and took the liberty of writing it down.”

  For the first time that morning, Gavin smiled. Taking the folded paper, he said, “Jamison, you are worth your weight in gold. However much it is I pay you in salary, consider it doubled.”

  The butler blushed but he looked well-pleased. “Bring Miss Lake home, sir. I shall consider that reward enough.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “Speak you so gently?

  Pardon me, I pray you:

  I thought that all things had been savage here,

  And therefore put I on the countenance of

  stern commandment.”

  —WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, Orlando,

  As You Like It

  The rooms Daisy had let were off of Mitre Square in Aldergate, the scene of one of the Ripper’s more grisly murders a mere two years before. Once his hired hansom turned off the heavily trafficked Whitechapel High Street and deposited him in St. James’s Place, Gavin found himself stepping over drunkards and digging into his pockets for spare coins to give the beggars who approached. Taking in the tempo of the neighborhood, he worried about her coming home from the theater at night by herself. Surely this was no place to bring up a child.

  The flat she rented set atop a bakery. He walked up the ladder steps, the wholesome aroma of oven-fresh bread at odds with the foulness of rotting garbage and piss. In the absence of a door knocker, he rapped his gloved knuckles upon the peeling paint.

  Daisy answered the door, a look of surprise on her face. Hair pinned into a haphazard knot and lovely, long-limbed body ensconced in a loosely b
elted black silk dressing gown, she looked as though she’d just risen though it was nearing noon. Following closely on the heels of that observation was the worry she might not be alone, that he might have interrupted … something… but the misery reflected in the hollow-eyed gaze meeting his put that fear at least to rest.

  “Gavin, what the devil are you doing here?” Not the most promising of greetings, but at least she wasn’t slamming the door in his face, not yet at any rate.

  From within, an older woman’s voice called out, “Daisy, dear, aren’t you going to invite your gentleman caller inside?”

  Saved from floundering, Gavin looked beyond Daisy’s slender shoulder and saw the pleasant-faced matriarch he remembered from the park. “Good day, madam.”

  “Best call me Flora.” She nudged Daisy to the side and waved him in. “Bob, look who’s come to call.” She addressed herself to the thin, gray-complexioned man seated on the sofa, a blanket about his knees.

  Crossing inside the narrow threshold, Gavin hunkered down to avoid scraping his head on the low hanging lintel. “I am pleased to meet you again, sir.” He reached to shake the man’s hand, belatedly remembering the slightly wilted bouquet of field daisies he purchased from a street corner flower seller.

  Flora snatched them up. “Oh, why, these are lovely. Aren’t they lovely, Daisy?” Flora held them up to be admired as though they were the finest long-stemmed roses. When Daisy didn’t answer beyond a nod, she added, “I’ll just go and put these in some water and put on my fine new kettle for tea.” Gaze shifting to Daisy, she added, “Dearest, why don’t you go and put on one of your pretty morning frocks and comb out your hair. Papa and I will keep Mr. Carmichael company whilst he waits.”

  Daisy hesitated. Tossing her adoptive mother a glare, she exited from the room.

  “Won’t you take a seat, Mr. Carmichael? I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail with that tea.” Round cheeks red as apples, Flora Lake scurried off in the direction of what must serve as the kitchen.

  Gavin accepted a seat on the sofa next to Daisy’s adoptive father. The peeling plasterwork, bare floors, and threadbare furniture brought to mind the flat his family had let when he was growing up. Holding his hat in his lap, he acknowledged it had been a long time since he’d felt quite this uncomfortable. Though he loved Daisy and had every intention of making her his wife once he got past her stubbornness, the fact remained he’d spent the better part of the past month bedding her. He found it difficult to look Bob Lake in the eye. Conversation between the two men did not come easily.

  “Are you a rugby man?” Bob asked at length, tenting his fingers and twiddling his thumbs.

  “Pardon?”

  “Do you follow the matches?”

  Gavin hesitated, wondering where this was leading. “I captained the team when I was at university, but that was quite a while ago.”

  “I’m a boxer myself though you wouldn’t know it to look at me now. The consumption’s winnowed me down to skin and bones.” Given the wracking cough and unnatural pallor, Gavin suspected that might be the case. He nodded his sympathy. “Bare knuckles boxing was my specialty,” Bob continued, eyes shining at the memory of those halcyon days. “I did a stint in Her Majesty’s navy when I was a youth. Back then I was known as Blarney Bob, and I won nearly every match I fought.”

  The emergence of Daisy saved them from further floundering. Living with her, albeit briefly, had afforded him quite an education in cosmetics; otherwise he would never have attributed the slight tint to her cheeks to rouge nor the disappearance of the dark circles beneath her eyes to skillfully applied powder.

  She glanced down at her gown, a smart emerald-colored carriage dress trimmed in blond braiding with matching hat he remembered seeing her wear before. “I wasn’t certain where we were going. I can change if you prefer.”

  Gavin hid a smile. She just assumed he’d come to take her out, but that was not the case, not just yet. “Actually it was Freddie I came to see. It occurred to me she might fancy the Zoological Gardens at Regent’s Park.”

  Freddie must have been nearby because at the mention of her name, she flew into the room. “Maman, Maman, may I go? I want to go, s’il vous plait?”

  Feeling as though the tide had begun to turn in his favor, Gavin shot Daisy a wink. “Indeed, I’m told the elephants are very popular with children.”

  From the back of the flat, Flora called for her husband to join her in the kitchen.

  Expression rueful, Bob got up to go. “If you’ll excuse me, I mean, us.” The closing of a door confirmed they’d gone into another room, though Gavin had a strong suspicion there were two ears pressed against the wood panel.

  “Maman, Maman, s’il vous plait.”

  Looking up from her daughter’s small hand tugging at her sleeve, Daisy sent Gavin a dagger glare. Turning back to her daughter, there was a rapid fire exchange spoken in French and then the child seemed to settle.

  “Go to your room and find a jacket to carry with you. It gets chilly in London in the evenings once the fog sets in.”

  Freddie’s tense little face dissolved into delight.” Merci beaucoup, Maman, merci.” She let out a delighted squeal and sped off.

  Daisy’s gaze stabbed into Gavin’s. “I know what you’re about, Gavin Carmichael, and I’m warning you, don’t you so much as try it.”

  He contrived to look innocent. “You act as though I’m out to abduct her.”

  She wagged a finger at him, looking very maternal. “Freddie may be not yet eight, but she’s cannier than a great many adults.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me. She’s your daughter, after all.”

  Ignoring the compliment, she continued, “You can’t pull the wool over her eyes and you can’t buy her, either, so don’t even try.”

  “I’ll remember that.”

  “And mind you don’t go feeding her a great deal of romantic rot about us getting married because we’re not.”

  To avoid further argument, he declined to disagree. “Will that be all?”

  She hesitated. “I suppose so … for now.”

  “Fine, then. I’ll have her back by suppertime.”

  “See that you do.”

  Freddie exploded back into the room, wearing a charming blue felt bonnet with a wide black velvet band and carrying her coat. Gaze softening, Daisy lifted Freddie’s small chin in her hand. “Mind your manners, Freddie, and promise me you’ll stay close to Mr. Carmichael.”

  “Oui, Maman. I promise.”

  Spearing Gavin’s gaze over Freddie’s ebony curls, Daisy whispered the words weighing most on her mind. “Take care of her. She’s my whole life.”

  “Don’t worry,” he spoke aloud. “I’ll guard her as if she were my own.”

  I’ll guard her as if she were my own.

  Watching Gavin walk off with her daughter’s small hand wrapped about his was almost more than Daisy could bear. Tears building, she closed the door to the flat and turned back inside. Sinking into a moth-eaten armchair, she fitted a hand over her forehead. The pattering of approaching feet had her looking up.

  Flora entered the room carrying the tea tray. “You let her go off with him after all?”

  Biting back tears, Daisy nodded. “Yes.”

  She set the tray between them. “You must trust him very much.”

  Daisy nodded. “I do … with some things.”

  When it came to Freddie’s safety, Daisy had no doubt Gavin would guard her with his life. It was her heart she didn’t trust to place in his keeping, not now at any rate. Fifteen years ago, it had been a very different story. She had trusted him completely, believed every word that had come out of his mouth, and ended up deeply hurt.

  She buried her head in her hands. “She was supposed to have been his, you know.”

  There was a pause followed by the sound of liquid—tea—splashing against the bottom of a cup. “Life doesn’t always work out according to plan, ours at least, but sometimes The Powers That Be grant us a
second chance to set matters to rights. This may well be that second chance you’ve been dreaming of.”

  Looking up through her spread fingers, she asked, “How can you be so sure?”

  Flora handed her a cup and saucer, but she shook her head. She’d lived abroad too long to think of tea as the antidote to all ills.

  Stirring cream and two sugar lumps into her tea, Flora thought for a moment. “When you were separated before, it was beyond either of your controls, but this time if you separate, it will be by choice.”

  “In coming here today, Mr. Carmichael—Gavin—has made his intentions perfectly clear. He’s taking an interest in Freddie because he’s interested in you. More than interested, the man’s in love with you, Daisy. He means to do right by the pair of you. I can feel it in my bones.”

  Over the years, Flora’s bones had proven a cannily accurate barometer for gauging whether a play’s opening night would go off without a hitch or be plagued with problems, or whether the critiques would print a glowing review or a gloomy one. While Daisy had a great respect for her adoptive mother’s skeletally inclined intuition, she feared this once Flora might have overstepped her bounds.

  “Gentlemen like Gavin don’t marry actresses, Mum—especially actresses with readymade families.”

  There had been far too many men as it was walk into her life only to promptly walk out again once they discovered she had a child. One or two of them had even made a show of playing the father to Freddie—but only as long as it took to win their way into Daisy’s bed. She’d never forget the night she’d come to Freddie’s door and overheard her daughter asking God to please send her a papa. The memory brought a telltale tightening to her throat—and a fresh ferocity to her heart. She absolutely refused to stand by and allow her precious child to have her hopes dashed yet again.

  And yet in letting Freddie go off with Gavin, wasn’t that precisely what she was doing? Even if the outing was perfectly innocent on Gavin’s part, and she very much doubted it was, she hadn’t been prepared for the heart-wrenching feeling of watching her little girl walk off hand in hand with the man who, by rights, should have been her father.