“Yes, that's it. I don't hate you, Daisy. Not at all. If I were a superstitious man, I might say something about fate or… or soul mates.”
Daisy gulped. “That makes it worse!” she cried. “I am a superstitious woman, and it does feel like fate. If you feel it too, what on earth could hold you back from at least trying to find out what fate has in store for us as a couple?”
“I'm trying,” he said softly. “I…” something seemed to break in Colin, and he tugged Daisy forward, enfolding her. “I wish you could understand.”
“I wish you would tell me,” she replied. “You don't understand so I'm not allowed to try?” She shook her head, and yet, heart to heart with her husband, something essential felt as though it had to click into place. We fit together like the cogs of a machine, but the machine is broken, and the technician won't explain what went wrong.
“I'm sorry,” he said simply. “I'm sorry, Daisy. I'm sorry I'm not the man you thought I was. I admit I pretended to be something I'm not. I didn't think there would be any harm in it. I only wanted someone to remember me fondly.”
“I do,” she replied, her cheek against his shirt as she listened to the slow, steady beat of his heart. “I do remember that man fondly, but I don't think you misrepresented yourself. You wouldn't have been able to do it so convincingly if it isn't at least part of who you are.”
“It was who I wanted to be,” he said, his voice aching in her ear.
“Then, once all the mysteries are revealed, once the terrible secret is known, become that man. He's part of you. Turn him loose.”
Colin's arms tightened around Daisy. His cheek rested against her forehead for a moment. She could feel waves of longing and regret buffeting her. The man I met might be real, but this tortured soul is as well. I must never forget that. Despair is his natural state, and that won't change easily, if ever.
Then, a curtain fell between their hearts. He stepped back, and his cool, unreadable look had reappeared. “I can't do that, Daisy. I'm sorry. Let's go.”
Chapter 7
“Well, here we are,” Colin said as he and his wife stepped out of the forest into cultivated land crisscrossed by ragged fences and filled with animals. The stench of cattle, birds and sheep rose up from to meet them, and flies buzzed irritably in the heavy air. His new horse, Pesadilla, whickered and pawed the ground with one foot.
He's better-natured than I expected, Colin thought, patting the glossy black coat. I hope it helps enough.
Daisy paused and scanned the scene. Before her, the fallow fields had been transformed into grazing pens. In the distance, crumbling tenant homes, their walls warped, barely managed to hold up their slate roofs. Children in ragged garments sat in front of their homes, digging in the dirt with sticks, but lacking the energy to run and play after a late-winter infection swept through the estate.
They still look ill, though most are on the mend. Then, his gaze fell upon young Bobby Bullock. The child leaned against the wall of the house, coughing miserably into a handkerchief. The sight of them made Colin's heart clench. Will we have enough time to save him? We couldn't save Mrs. Billings, nor Mrs. Smythe when the fever set in. How many will die before we can afford a physician?
“Where is here, precisely, Colin?”
“My estate,” he replied. “Welcome to Gelroy land. Isn't it dreadful?”
Daisy turned to the left, toward the noisy, quacking and honking pond. Then, she turned to the right and stilled at the sight of the crumbling manor house. Colin saw the exact moment when she noticed the entire east wing had collapsed, the stones and boards lying in a pile of plaster rubble. The central portion sported gaping holes in the walls through which it was easy to see decaying furniture and rotting fabrics. Only the west wing stood strong and solid, its walls defying the slow march of time.
“What happened here?” Daisy demanded, staring at the wreck.
A bead of sweat sprang onto Colin's brow. It's muggy for spring, or maybe the animals themselves are lending to the heat and humidity. Though the sight of so much manure on his fallow land caused a swell of pride, Daisy's presence beside him quickly turned it to shame.
“Nothing outside the ordinary,” Colin replied, frowning at the ruins of his life. “Over a century ago, my great, great, many times great grandfather was a minor advisor to the king. He gave the king good advice, so the king created the Gelroy Viscountcy and gave him a small piece of land. He managed it well, as did his son and grandson, but over the years, the idea of leisure took hold of the Gelroys, and they forgot to work hard, forgot to be wise. With an estate this small, it didn't take long for poverty to set in. By the time my father inherited the title, the land was depleted, as were any funds set aside for the maintaining of the manor or the estate. Debts had begun to mount up. This is what I inherited.”
“Good God,” she breathed.
“At the risk of sounding sacrilegious, God hasn't been particularly good to me thus far.” He sighed. “This is the great secret, Daisy, the reason I never planned to marry. The estate is deeply in debt. We live month to month in the worst of conditions. There are five families under my care, and at this time, they are all unable to buy even a scrap of fabric to repair their clothing or a single nail to repair their homes. If all goes well, at midsummer and at the end of summer, we should be able to take animals to market and bring in a bit of income to pay the taxes and make another payment on to the creditors. If the sale fails, we go under.”
“That's a wise plan,” she said softly.
“It's not enough,” he said bleakly. “Debts must be paid on schedule. We've delayed too many already. Even if the creditors don't foreclose, what do we do until then? One of the tenants has a son who has an illness. He needs medical care. Without it, he may not live another year. I cannot supply it. His family cannot supply it.” His voice broke.
Daisy's hand sneaked into his, and she squeezed his fingers gently. “I'm so sorry,” she told him. “That must weigh on you like… like a slate roof.”
“Apt analogy, my dear,” he said, feigning lightness. Her hand in his felt like life, like a life he dared not embrace. “This is why I doubt the wisdom of you remaining. To be blunt, Daisy, I cannot afford you. If I had any money, I would pay down the balances on the estate's debt or use it on my tenants. I would repair their homes or hire a physician. Honestly, this may be the thing that finally finishes us off.” He bit his lip. “Come on, wife. Let me show you to our manor.” The irony dripped in his voice.
Don't be a bastard, he scolded himself. You know she didn't do this. Even basic logic will tell you that. She doesn't want to be here any more than you do. Be angry, as always, at your own impotence, but leave Daisy out of it. Her sunshine beauty has no business being in this dark place. Even the passing thought showed how much he'd grown to care for her, and how quickly, and it upset him. This is the most unfair thing of all. Why do I deserve to meet the woman who could very well be my soulmate, when I have nothing to offer her? The setting sun illuminated her golden hair and her tanned, freckled face, so she shone like a spring flower in the dirt.
“I would like that,” she said at last.
He led her forward, angling toward the ruin in which he lived.
“Are you sure the west wing is solid?” she asked, eyeing the structure doubtfully.
“It seems to be,” he replied. “At any rate, the kitchen is in decent shape, and it's warm. I've been sleeping there for a year.”
“In the kitchen?”
He nodded, angling a glance at Daisy. Her surprised expression did not surprise him. Not what she expected, is it. “At whatever point you decide to leave, I won't hold it against you. I will make no attempt to fight the annulment. I cannot help you, and I do not know what you will do, but I have no malice toward you. Not at all. I only wish I could have been the man you need.”
Daisy turned her head and looked at him for a long moment, seeming to be on the verge of saying something, but then she fell silent, eyes fixed ahead, and
walked along.
Crossing the fields carefully, as each step contained a different risk, they arrived at the crumbling façade of the manor house. Up close, it looked worse. Bricks lay scattered. Huge holes revealed the overgrown garden at the back. The front door had fallen in. All the windows seemed to be broken.
“Step carefully,” Colin urged. He turned his stallion loose in a penned field filled with sheep and led his wife up to the gaping maw that had once been a front door. Inside, the structure had collapsed to the extent that the sky was visible through two floors of construction. “Never go upstairs,” Colin urged. “The stairs aren't safe, and the floor above…”
“I see it,” Daisy replied grimly. “Colin, are you sure any part of this structure is safe?”
“I don't know,” he replied honestly. “The kitchen isn't beneath anything, so I don't think the ceiling will fall in. It isn't drafty. I've set up… a sort of nest there. It isn't much, but it's comfortable if you have low expectations.”
He turned her sharply to the left and twisted a doorknob, guiding her over uneven floorboards and into a room that contrasted sharply with the rest of the house. Solid and cozy, the large kitchen had been well maintained. A modern stove gleamed in the light filtering through unbroken windows. A long, wooden counter had a couple of chairs set at one end, to create an eating area. In the corner below the window, a bed had been dragged in and simply dressed in a thin blanket and flat pillow. Beside it, a small shelf that must have once held cookware housed…
“Books!” Daisy exclaimed. “Why, Colin, do you still make time to read?”
“You know I do,” he reminded her. “Is it wrong that I take a moment each evening to escape my troubles?”
“Lord, no!” Daisy replied. “I love to read. It was a habit my mother picked up in her youth and passed on to her daughters. We all adore reading, no matter how many people protest. I think it's healthy to cast off your cares and take part in someone else's adventures now and again. Do you have any favorites, other than Shakespeare, that is?”
“Many,” he replied. “Did you bring any of your own books? There's room.”
She eyed his meager collection, a sad look on her face, and then she brightened, though it looked less than convincing. “I did, and I appreciate a spot on your bookshelf. I'll unpack later if you don't mind. Um, what's through that door?”
“The pantry,” Colin replied. “There are a few potatoes and onions in there, and I think an apple or two, but nothing of any great interest.”
“All right then,” Daisy said, regarding the kitchen. “So, we'll be living small. Good. Less to clean that way. Shall I prepare onion and potatoes for supper?”
“If you'd like,” he agreed easily. “There may be something growing out back, but it's early to find much. Make free with any of the cookware. It's a surprisingly extensive collection, all things considered.”
Daisy nodded, dropping her bags beside the bed. She meandered around the kitchen, examining the supplies closely. In the end, she claimed a saucepan and set it on the stove.
“You say you've been sleeping in here for a year?” she asked in a soft, neutral voice. “What about before?”
“Oh,” Colin replied, unlacing his boots and falling back on the bed. Fatigue, exacerbated by not knowing what Daisy had in mind, left him unable to rise for a time. “I had a bedroom in the east wing. Upstairs. It leaked like a sieve for as long as I can remember, but I didn't realize how bad the structure had gotten. I spent several months in London, trying to get a loan. When that didn't work, I sold the townhouse. I used that money to supplement the taxes and credit payments, and to compensate my tenants for a poor harvest the year before last. When I came home, the roof had fallen in completely and crushed most of my furniture and belongings.”
“Oh, dear,” Daisy said gently. “That's a terrible shame.”
“I agree,” Colin said, his voice carefully neutral. It did not convey in any way the despair he'd felt upon arriving and finding half his home and most of what was left in the world that he cared about destroyed. “I salvaged a few books, some of my clothing, and the bureau in the corner there. This bed was in a downstairs bedroom that wasn't ruined, as was this bookshelf, but both came from guest rooms, so I don't have any particular attachment to them. Perhaps it's better that way.”
“Perhaps,” Daisy agreed cautiously. “I'm going to take a look in the pantry.”
“Don't expect much,” he warned.
“I don't,” she replied, ducking out of sight.
Colin stared at the ceiling, letting his overwrought mind finally go blank. He didn't know what the future held. Not even the next ten minutes, and he didn't care. He only wanted to rest. Rest, ha. Rest forever. Sometimes I wish I could just die and get it over with. This is a miserable existence.
“Look what I found!” Daisy called, hurrying back into the room with two fat potatoes, a huge onion, and… “Did you know there was a crock of butter in here?”
“I had no idea,” he replied, not sitting up. “Sometimes the tenants bring me things if they have excess. I wish they wouldn't, but… they wait until I'm out and sneak it in, so I don't know who to return it to. Go ahead and use it, I suppose.”
“I aim to. Don't return gifts, Colin. Your tenants probably feel badly that they're not living up to their part.”
“I would never ask it of them,” he explained. Who's not living up to what, woman? My family has taken advantage of these people for ages. I owe them far more than they owe me.
“You don't have to ask it. Clearly, everyone feels equally responsible for life on this estate. It's a healthy way to live, you know, caring for one another.”
“That's one way to look at it, I suppose,” he said, though it didn't much dispel the sense of overwhelming failure with which he'd lived his whole life.
A loud hiss told Colin that Daisy had lit the stove. A few moments later, the wonderful smell of onions hitting hot butter wafted through the room. His mouth watered. Soft snicking sounds told Colin Daisy was peeling and slicing the potatoes. They hit the pan in a series of thuds and then silence fell.
He tried to think of something, anything to say to the wife he wanted but couldn't afford to keep. Thus far, she'd accepted the news kindly, but he knew she wouldn't tolerate their poverty for much longer. Who would? This is beyond anything anyone would want. No, she'll move on. Go back home with a stern word for her brutish father. Or go back to London and take a position in a shop or perhaps in a restaurant. She's good with food and knows how to cook for a crowd. I hope she can manage it safely.
“Colin?” Daisy said gently. “The food is ready. Are you hungry?”
He sat up, considering how he felt. His stomach growled painfully after such a busy day. His mind did not connect to it. In fact, the idea of food made him ill. Still, he needed to fuel himself. There's a lot of work ahead. Fill your belly.
He joined Daisy in the chair at the large worktable. In front of him, a lovely pile of crispy, brown food sent a luscious aroma that tempted him not in the slightest. Lifting a spoonful on his fork, he put it in his mouth and chewed. It stuck, dry despite the savory butter that bathed each piece. In the end, he succeeded in swallowing it, and when it hit his stomach, something strange happened. A tingling surge of energy radiated out from his belly, traversing up to his head, where lingering dizziness he'd long since stop noticing faded away. Strength flowed into his legs and fingers. It allowed him to raise his fork again. His mouth watered on the second bite, releasing the flavors in his mouth. Between one bite and the next, ravenous hunger awoke and sent him shoveling the tasty dinner into his mouth in monstrous chomps.
“Easy, love,” Daisy said, laying a hand on his arm.
He whirled, staring at her with feral eyes, and she recoiled. Moving slowly, she scraped half of her portion onto his plate. He consumed it without reflection.
As the last morsel slid down his throat, his wildness eased. His eyes focused on Daisy. She was staring at him, concern cr
imping her eyes and gauging lines in the corners of her mouth.
Colin had no idea what to say to her. “That… that was delicious,” he finally blurted. “Um, did you get enough?”
“I'm fine,” Daisy replied. “I'm glad you enjoyed it. Next time, I'll prepare a larger portion. Men who work hard tending animals and plowing fields need a good supper.”
“There isn't enough food for it,” he replied.
“Let me be the judge of that,” she said stubbornly.
She is stubborn, he thought. She hasn't conceded defeat. Probably still embarrassed to leave after her deflowering. He knew he ought to be ashamed of taking her virginity, but he wasn't. Though he'd been tipsy enough to overcome his restraint and take her, he still had the memory of every moment he'd spent touching his wife. It was delicious. Daisy is an excellent wife. If only I could be a decent husband.
“Well, Colin, now what?” Daisy asked. “It's too early to go to bed. Will you show me around?”
“Around what?” he asked. “You've seen the manor and the estate. What do you think is left?”
“I stared at your estate,” she said, “from the edge of the forest. I doubt I saw all there is to see.”
“Perhaps not,” Colin agreed, “but I'm tired. I have a lot of work waiting for me tomorrow.”
“Starting with gathering your tenants and introducing me,” Daisy replied, firm as always.
Looks like she's here to stay, for the time being anyway. “Yes, fine,” he agreed, fatigue making him snappish and irritable. “You can meet everyone in the morning. It's five men. Two are widowed, three married. Two of the married ones have children. The third has a child on the way.”
“Good,” she replied. “I won't forget anyone's name then. Um, where are we sleeping? Are we sharing? The bed is big enough.”
“You take the bed,” he grumped, angry that she had addressed the question rather than just letting things flow in their own way. “I'll find somewhere else to sleep.”
He stomped out of the kitchen into the ruined east wing, looking for a safe corner to curl up in.
Colin's Conundrum: A Steamy 19th Century Romance (The Victorians Book 3) Page 9
