The Coachman's Daughter

by Gayle Eden

  “Yes do that.” Lisette chuckled.

  When Haven got to see her for a moment, the Duchess thankfully did not ask questions, though Haven assumed she knew the facts. It warmed Haven’s heart, her saying she was like her own daughter. She loved the Wimberly family. They had given her siblings, joy, freedoms, an education and training. They had loved her. The woman did not blink either when she said Deme was escorting her, that they would be sharing a coach. She seemed down right pleased about it.

  Afterwards, walking a bit, Haven had time to let it sink in. The thing was, it had been so long since that Aunt sent the letter, Haven was secretly afraid to hope for anything. In addition, she was grown, and the Wimberly’s and her father, provided nurturing, friendship and support. She did not know exactly what they would have in common. She had written a brief letter and had it posted, saying if Lady Jane still wished to see her, she would be in York in two weeks’ time at the latest.

  Haven did not know which estate lay closest, but her father said the reply would be sent to it once he obtained it from the Duke. All of it made her nervous, the trip with Deme most of all.

  “There you are.”

  Haven turned and spied the Duke walking toward her. He was in riding trousers and boots, a jumper and tweed jacket.

  “I’m sorry, were you looking for me?” She walked a few strides to meet him.

  He grinned down at her when she reached him. “Nothing is amiss. I just wanted to walk a bit with Rowland and sought some company.”

  She scratched the mastiff behind the ear when it leaped up. “Aren’t your houseguests up for a stroll?”

  “There about cards or some such.” He motioned and they began walking the main path to the woodlands. “Besides, I wished a private word in case I don’t get the chance before you depart. And—I wish to request first dance tomorrow night.”

  She laughed. “Certainly.”

  “It will be nice seeing you in a lovely gown. Not that I’m a man to disdain a woman in trousers, but I like to see a lovely woman all done up too.”

  “I will enjoy doing so.”

  The mastiff ran ahead, stopping now and then to sniff, or dash about rocks and trees, looking for game.

  “Thing is—I wanted to speak to you about Demetrius too.”

  She almost stumbled. He caught her arm.

  When she was righted he said, “Careful.”

  Her heart was beating in her ears. Surely, he did not know about—

  The Duke dropped his hold and they walked on, him saying next, “I have always admired you, my dear, for your no nonsense approach with him. I fear the rest of us, having witnessed how the…incident, affected him, and how it changed him—we feared doing anything to make him worse. But you, I can see now that your way with him was what kept him from completely self-destructing.”

  “You give me too much credit. He scarcely heeded my opinions.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I have been seeing him more clearly of late, and though I should feel terrible for putting you in the position I did, I give you credit for this latest change, however timid an effort.”

  “I wish you would not.” She sighed and stopped. They were on a hill, overlooking a lake and watching the mastiff dash down to the marshes. Haven chewed her lip then murmured, “I have nothing to do with whatever D—uh, his Lordship decides.”

  “His offering to escort you, or rather his idea that you share the journey north with him, is surprising don’t you think?”

  Her cheeks flushed. “Your Grace. I—I am sure it is merely a convenience for him.”

  She could feel the Duke’s eyes on her before he murmured softly, “I must apologize, my dear; I brought up the subject merely to judge your reaction.”

  Looking at him, she asked roughly, “Why?”

  His blue eyes were smiling on her face. “Because it was so unlike him. And because—of his coming to me and suggesting he oversee the lesser estates—because he was interested in your past, and my dear girl, my son has not so much as mentioned a woman to me in eight or nine years.”

  She drew in a breath and looked away.

  The Duke’s arm went around her, and he pulled her to his side. She felt more than saw he was looking down at the lake.

  “I know all about sparks and passion, and how two people can seem to hate each other, when just the opposite is true. I think, I know my son better now too.”

  “I’m sure you are seeing more than there is.”

  “Perhaps.” He pat her arm. “But may I beg one more favor of you, Haven?”

  “Of course, your Grace.” Dread filled her.

  He said as he stepped away and the mastiff came up the incline, “Consider what I have said. That he was interested, that he asked of you and that he arranged this trip the way it is arranged. I don’t blame you for being cautious because he has a deplorable rep. But I think somewhere deep down, you know him better than any of us.”

  She said nothing until they were almost at the manor. Then Haven met his gaze and admitted, “I am attracted to him, and he is… well, he is. No matter how he puts it. But I—refused to be his mistress.”

  The Duke’s brow rose. He laughed quite a while at that, before he said, “My dear, you do not need my advice, you are doing perfectly well on your own.”

  He was walking off when she murmured, “Some would say that given our stations, that are all I should expect.”

  “Bugger some people.” He turned and looked at her. “And what they say. I want my son to be loved.”

  She did not get to correct him, or rather to remind him she had said nothing of love, merely of attraction, but he had walked on.

  Sometime later, she saw the Marquis in the distance. He was in buff trousers, wine boots and white silk shirt, a beige jacket. He stood just at the drive talking to several men. She saw his head turn and catch her glance before she could about face and head back to the coach house.

  He apparently waited to see if she would approach, but she was not about to so soon after talking with the Duke. She was going to have a hard enough time summoning up her usual attitude at the party and afterwards—in the days they would be forced together. She turned and headed back.

  She could feel things in motion, and there was no turning things back to how they were before. Once you exposed a thing to each other, it altered the whole of the relationship.

  Chapter Six

  It was time for Haven to prepare for the party. To go to the manor and give his Grace that promised first dance.

  For all the turmoil and uncertainty she felt towards the upcoming departure, not certain of what to expect in her Aunt Jane, it would be bittersweet that the first time she wore a lovely gown and joined a real soirée, it would be the night before her leaving the only family she had ever known. Her world, really, for the first time— to seek something of her own life.

  She prepared a scented bath. Fanny was supposed to come in time to help her dress and do her hair. In her 30is, ginger haired and with soft blue eyes, Fanny was simply mad for Patrick. She knew the truth also, all of It., Haven was glad her father had someone like that. She did not think he would ever wed Fanny, and that woman appeared to not expect it. They were not open in their affections and Fanny showed her father an almost formal respect. Still, Haven knew they were not simply eating pie on those evening visits. He found some solace in life.

  Laying in her steaming bath, eyes closed, Haven murmured, “You are attending your first formal party, about to embark on a reunion with an Aunt you hope will like you, and positively mad for going on that journey with a rakehell Marquis. All in all, Mulhern, I would say you are biting off more than you can chew.”

  * * * *

  Deme pulled on his black coat and tugged at the silk cravat his valet had fashioned. Normally he forewent one, but his mother was insistant that no matter how small the group, they were going to do the party with dash and style. His tasseled Hessians were sporting a high sheen, and his snug black trousers had a stripe of satin down e
ach side.

  Trying to smooth his wayward curls, he eventually gave up and walked over to the vanity to collect his white gloves. He lifted a brandy glass he had sipped on for an hour, and polished it off. Reforming took time, and considering how much sleep he lost replaying that scene in the coach house—how many nights his body ached—he was not quite ready to surrender every vice. He step back and caught his reflection with a roguish eye. He would never make a convincing saint, and Mulhern certainly would be dead bored with one.

  Stepping out into the hall, he heard the orchestra that had arrived this morning. The usually closed ballroom was smaller than the one in London, but was decorated and polished, gleaming beautifully under his mother’s eye. White silk and brocade chairs were along the inside wall, the windows on the other side draped with tasseled gold and white silk drapes. Tables were laden with every sort of delicacy and sparkling wines.

  Eccentric or no, his mama had excellent taste.

  At the bottom of the stairs, he saw his friend Lord Montgomery enter the foyer with the lovely Juliette, who had her full figured body in cream and emerald silk. Her hair was drawn up with diamond pens. Elbow length gloves were on her arms, over which she sported diamond bracelets.

  “Monty.” He welcomed them, and ignored Juliette’s snort when he bowed over her hand and kissed it.

  “Deme. Juliette wanted to arrive early to see to Lisette.”

  “She’s still in her rooms.” Deme told her. “May hide out there all evening, if someone doesn’t drag her down.”

  “I’ll go speak with her.” Juliette lifted her hem and headed for the stairs.

  “When she came over to Wolford,” Monty told him chuckling, “it was all Juliette could do to convince her to come back home. As much as I like your sister, I don’t think I could survive helping her play hide and seek with the Viscount.” He added, “I have known Marston for some time, not intimately but we have some mutual interests. I daresay, Lisette is being a bit extreme in her judgment of him.”

  “She’s certainly determined to avoid him.” Deme led the way into the sitting area just before the ballrooms, both sets of doors opened and others already inside talking and partaking of the sweets and wine.

  “The Duchess isn’t set on him, I understand.”

  “No. but Lisette isn’t hearing it.”

  In his formal black and white also, a diamond pin in his cravat, Monty leaned against the mantle and regarded him. “You look sharp tonight. I hope the transformation I have observed in you is indeed permanent, my friend. I always detested the way you wasted your intellect and opportunities, Deme. I would love to see you actually enjoying your life.”

  “I don’t know about transforming. However, I declined father’s invite to take over Wimberly. This is his home; all of the younger ones love it here. He and mother do also. I have asked instead, that he give me one of the minor properties. I’ve hardly proved myself.”

  “And do you intend to do that. Prove yourself?” Those brown eyes regarded him.

  Deme shrugged. “I suppose.”

  “Why? His grace would hand you everything, in any case. I know why I— have always wished you would, but why do you feel you must.”

  Deme eyed the decanter, wishing he could drink the whole bloody thing. “One must do something when idleness loses its appeal.”

  His flippant answer did not sway or fool Monty, but all the Marquis said was, “It never suited you, Deme. You had to work too hard at it.”

  Deme grunted but was saved from further unease by his mother coming out of the ballroom to greet them.

  She amused Monty by offering her cheek, which he dutifully kissed. Dressed in black and silver gown, she was quite a vision in her pearl and diamond pumps and silver crownlet.

  She took their hands. “Come, you must keep the Viscount company. He has been surrounded by Little John and James for a half hour and I fear their tales of Lisette’s exploits might put him off.”

  “Better he knows she is a woman with spirit.” Monty told her, “And enjoys it. Otherwise, they certainly will not suite.”

  “Oh, I’ve already determined that Lisette will put no effort into such a notion. However, I know my boys and they will exaggerate where the truth is enough, and I would not have Marston think us completely uncivilized.

  Once the Duchess left them, they exchanged a look and laughed, considering the Duchess had her “pets” in the ballroom—parrots in a lace ruffs and pooches in their canine formals. The rabbits were hopping in and out of chairs, their diamond collars sparkling. The only one banished was the rooster, and Deme was certain that Marston had made its acquaintance as it crowed for an hour on the banisters this morning.

  Deme stopped by a refreshment table, long enough to hand Monty wine and collect one for himself.

  “He looks ready to flee.” Deme observed the tall formally dressed man standing between the brothers on the other side of the ballroom.

  “I would be too. There’s no telling what those lads are up to.”

  They crossed the room. Deme did introductions, seeing that the Viscount indeed knew Montgomery. He complimented Monty on his publications about Egyptian artifacts and mentioned a lecture they had both attended.

  Those silver eyes and that craggy visage gave little away, but Deme nearly spewed wine when the Viscount leaned down and that seldom heard voice drawled, “There would not by chance be whiskey served tonight, would there?”

  “Only the finest.” Monty waved toward a door past two columns at the end. “The card room is usually well stocked.”

  When the Viscount excused himself and headed that way, Monty grinned and told Deme, “I’ll join him.”

  Deme wanted to. However, he made himself mingle, getting to know the men James and Aiden would serve with, and used a bit of his wit and charm to have them laughing before he stood with his father. They spoke about the estates on a casual level.

  Deme spied the women when they entered, Lisette holding onto Juliette as if she were entering a lion’s den. The chit looked lovely. Straight hair done up in some weaved with pearls, a fat curl over her shoulder. Aqua blue silk gown, sleeveless, banded under the breast with white velvet. Her pumps were dyed silk and beaded with pearls.

  like Mulhern, she preferred trousers or comfortable skirts, but his sister knew how to put on the shine.

  “You look ravishing.” He took her hand and kissed it, and then winked at Juliette before the Lady went to join his mother. “Monty is with the Viscount Marston.”

  Hearing Lisette groan, he told her, “I’ve never known you to be so anxious. Enjoy yourself; I believe mama has finally realized you two would never suit.”

  “I hope so.” She replied and then looked over his shoulder. “I have made every effort to highlight how absolutely opposite we are.”

  Deme turned, seeing Monty and the Viscount had emerged.

  He knew what Lisette’s expression was—utter dread, but Marstons was harder to read as the man spied her, and stopped in his tracks.

  Lisette pulled her hand free, did an about face, and was soon over with her brothers, too obviously fawning over the gents in uniform and ignoring the Viscount.

  With the man again, and Monty, Deme thought he heard Marston mutter, “baggage” but was not sure, since his own attention went to the entry and remained there.

  To Haven.

  He watched her enter on her father’s arm,

  Patrick looked like a man swelled with pride, dressed in formal black and white that oddly suited his tall frame.

  He had good reason to feel that pride.

  Deme could scarcely breathe when he looked at her.

  Her blood red hair was drawn back in a twist he saw when she curtsied to his father, and it was decorated with amber gems. Semi full Lips were glossy, her lashes darkened. Drop earrings of sparkling diamond and topaz were in her ears and with her hair up, it enhanced her slender neck. The gown—quite the loveliest thing he had ever beheld, edged her shoulders and showed her su
rprisingly delicate collarbone. Sheer lace sleeves, matched the wispy lace over topaz silk gown. The bodice was low and gathered. The lush jewel tone gown fit her lithe form to perfection.

  When Patrick released her arm, he saw her move to kiss the Duchess’s cheek. Her pumps were cream satin with gold heels. Small bows glittered on them. She did a perfect curtsy.

  It came to him as he observed her greeting Juliette and others, as she was being teased and obviously complimented by his brothers—that she knew how to move and carry herself in that gown as well as she did in trousers. Staring at her profile when she sipped champagne, he suddenly saw it, the proud nose, high cheekbones, and the fine arch of her brow.

  By God, he laughed at himself, at his utter blindness. She was the very picture of a blue blood.

  Deme jerked from his trance when catching a signal from his mother.

  He crossed the room and met her.

  “Madam?”

  “You are going to partner me. His grace has been promised the fist waltz by Haven.”

  “My pleasure.” He swept her out onto the floor with a grand gesture that made her laugh. The music commenced. He went through the steps, but Deme could hardly keep from glancing a few feet away, watching with envy whilst his father waltzed with Haven. She had grace, a light step, and when his father chuckled and twirled her, she laughed full and throaty.

  “She’s lovely.” The Duchess sighed.

  He attended his mother. “Yes.”

  Her blue eyes twinkled back at him. “Shall we change partners?”

  “Yes.”

  She stopped. He freed her to go to his father, realizing that everyone was watching the two couples. No one joining them yet.

  When the Duke had his mother in his arms, Deme watched Haven walk toward him. He would swear his knees went a bit weak.

  She curtsied, and he bowed, and then he was taking her in his arms and husking, “You are breathtaking.”

  “Thank you.” She skimmed his face then looked somewhere over his shoulder. Though both of them moved well together, he could feel her tension.