The Lucky One (Brethren Of The Coast #6)

by Barbara Devlin

  How ironic it was that he had arrived at the prearranged time to confess his sins, seek absolution, and discuss the prospect of marrying Daphne. In a private room, his brothers had gathered, and a lone vacant seat beckoned, when he made his presence known.

  “And there he is, the source of so much intrigue.” Shaking his head, Blake compressed his lips. “What have you done now?”

  “I would like to know how you could possibly best your last escapade.” Damian narrowed his stare and frowned. “When you were found half-naked, and I reference the lower half, and three sheets to the wind, wandering the Heath near the Highgate ladies’ bathing pond, with no inkling of how you came to be there.”

  “At least, that was your story.” Lance rolled his eyes and snorted in unveiled skepticism. “Though I suspect otherwise, as I have heard tales of a certain young widow’s licentious proclivities with a respectable viscount’s drunken sibling.”

  “Please tell me you are too wise to involve yourself beyond a simple one-night tryst with Lady Moreton.” Everett peered at Trevor and whistled in monotone. “That rum doxy almost cost me my chance with Sabrina.”

  “She has wrecked more marriages than du Barry.” Leaning forward, Trevor planted forearms to thighs. “It is my understanding she is no longer welcome in several of the ton’s good homes.”

  “During our courtship, my Alex nearly took off my head, when I did nothing more than ask Lady Moreton to dance, at the Northcote’s ball.” Jason winced. “Henceforth, I endeavor to avoid even a haphazard glance at that sparrow-mouthed wench.”

  “And yet you embroiled yourself in her corrupt artifices.” It was a statement, not a question, which Dirk declared with unimpaired equanimity, and Dalton ached to protest, but he could not. “I much preferred your immature antics, like the night you hid beneath the bed in my bachelor lodgings, while I docked in Lady Spencer’s harbor.”

  “I never knew you stirred her waters.” Blake raised his crystal balloon in toast. “I am impressed.”

  “It is not a topic for discussion, in deference to my wife.” Crossing his legs, Dirk gazed at the floor. “And I would not insult Rebecca by spreading carnal canards, which occurred before we met, as nothing signifies prior to my nuptials. So, why are we here?”

  The center of attention, Dalton had benefitted from the spontaneous chatter, as it had allowed him the opportunity to gather his thoughts. But the awful truth was there existed no possible evasion, and he had to warn his family of the dangers of his making.

  “Do you recall our successful supply runs just before the Battle of St. Pierre, last December?” Dalton inquired.

  “When you took that French frigate a prize?” Damian reclined and sighed. “How could we forget, as you crowed for a sennight?”

  That comment gave Dalton pause, as he had not realized he had exhibited such appalling manners. Cursed with uncharacteristic embarrassment, he wondered if he had a right to wed Daphne.

  “As I was saying, we had much to celebrate, when we returned to England, and I admit I indulged in more than my fair share of liquid gratification.” How he dreaded imparting the salient points of his err in judgment. “In the ensuing festivities, I ventured to Lady Darrow’s, where I joined forces with Lady Moreton and Lord Sheldon.”

  “You did what?” Trevor choked on his brandy. “Are you out of your mind? That bastard has been trying to bring down our family ever since Caroline snubbed him.”

  “You drank too much.” Dirk bared his teeth. “It is always the same with you. Do you take responsibility for nothing? Will you not be satisfied until you destroy our good name?”

  “I deserve that and more, because I have not apprised you of the worst of it.” With a deep breath, he braced himself. “You see Sheldon possessed a foreign substance, of some sort, which he indicated would increase arousal and pleasure, and he gave Lady Moreton and I a portion, which we consumed in our drinks. The concoction left me at sixes and sevens, and I scarcely know how we came to be at my bachelor lodgings. In my residence, we engaged in an ménage à trois. To my everlasting shame, I took Lady Moreton, hard and fast, and docked in every orifice the bawdy widow possesses, even as Sheldon used her.”

  And so it was done.

  Tension weighed heavy, as each man avoided his gaze, and Dalton had never felt more alone in his life. While he had disappointed himself, he had injured his familial alliances, and that truly hurt. Never before had he regretted his juvenile pursuits, because he had born the repercussions, exclusively.

  “What is the matter with you?” Dirk scoffed, just as Dalton had anticipated. “You were loved, you were tended as befits a prince, and you have been given every advantage. Is this how you thank mama and honor our father’s memory? And if you care nothing for our parents, what of my wife, my daughter, and my unborn child? What have they done to you, that you would embroil them in such a nasty scandal, because you know, very well, Sheldon will out you, and we will all suffer the consequences.”

  “I am sorry, brother.” Slumped forward, Dalton rested elbows to knees and cupped his chin in his hands. “I know not why I do the things I do.” But that was a lie.

  “I believe I have the answer to the mystery.” After signaling for a refill, Everett stretched his legs and shifted in his seat. “You have persisted in the shadow of a titled sibling.”

  And in that moment, Trevor’s childhood chum reduced Dalton’s never-ending agony to a single pedestrian sentence.

  “Oh, come now—”

  “Bear with me, Dirk. As I know something of the situation, given my history.” Everett pointed for emphasis. “Although your sire may have loved you with equal enthusiasm, the population, as a whole, treats second sons with open disdain, and no one knows the hardship like one who survived it.”

  “You seek to excuse his antics?” Dirk asked, with unmistakable disgust. “You would acquit him of his offense?”

  “No, not excuse or acquit.” When the waiter brought a fresh glass, Everett gazed into the amber liquid and furrowed his brow. “My intent is to help you apprehend his difficulties, which have plagued his existence from birth, given he wears his deficiency as a mark on his forehead, and people do not see him but for you. In your absence, Dalton functions as a non-entity. He would do better as a manservant, as society would at least deem him necessary, in some respects. So Dalton resorts to capricious capers and wild stunts, which increased in intensity, as he grew older, if only to force the ton to acknowledge his presence.”

  “Gentlemen, I fear I am going to vomit.” Wiping his eyes, Dalton inhaled and exhaled, as the room seemed to spin out of control, and excruciating memories flashed a brief but concise inventory of his youth, adolescence, and adulthood. All of a sudden, the Brethren—save Dirk and Everett, retreated, scooting their chairs beyond the danger.

  “Easy, brother. It will pass.” Dirk patted Dalton on the back. “Is Everett correct? Is this how you have felt, all these years?”

  “Yes.” Somehow, Dalton had expected great relief, having his long-held secret recognized. Instead, a new form of torment weighed heavy on his heart and mind.

  “Like you, I spent countless hours devising ways to garner attention, as I was so often overlooked, in favor of Charles. I studied hard, excelled at university, expended extra effort in service to the Crown, amassed a personal fortune Croesus would envy, and yet my lack of rank defined my worth.” Everett compressed his lips. “And I hate myself for admitting it, but I’d wager you know my ignominy.”

  “Aye.” In a flash, Dalton met Everett’s stare. “And the torture.”

  “But I have always protected Dalton.” Dirk smacked a fist to a palm. “And I have never mistreated him.”

  “You do not have to, because society does it for you. Did you know that prior to Charles’s demise, the only women who ever approached me were those seeking either a night of passion or access to the heir—with a lone exception.” With a ghost of a smile, Everett chuckled. “Sabrina is my salvation. My most unlikely lady wanted me,
however she could get me. And I am so grateful for her, as I would be a lonely, miserable, and jaded earl, without my wife and son. So I understand Dalton’s motivations and would not judge him. He made a mistake, albeit in spectacular fashion. Who among us is perfect?”

  “Yet you ultimately gained the title.” And Dalton envied Everett, though he would never declare it. “Your suffering has ended.”

  “You might think so, but you are wrong.” Everett scooted to the edge of his seat and reclined against the armrest. “That particular noose brings with it a whole host of new problems I had never foreseen. And in some ways, I remain invisible, as no one is interested in forming an acquaintance with Lord Everett Markham. Rather, they wish to know the earl of Woverton. Likewise, the title has brought my countess unwanted overtures Sabrina Markham never would have confronted. Do you recall the contretemps with Lord Belford, last fall, during the Little Season?”

  “When Sabrina trounced the rake’s foot and broke his big toe, during a waltz at the Richmond’s gala?” Trevor guffawed. “Smarmy bastard got his comeuppance.”

  “Is my bride not magnificent?” Everett slapped his thigh. “Gifted her a parure of sapphires and diamonds, as I was so proud of her for that, and how I love my Brie.”

  “No, no, no.” Wrinkling his nose, Blake rose from his chair. “While I sympathize with Dalton, regarding his travails, I draw the line at such sappy emotional expressions. This conversation has turned too maudlin for my tastes, and I would take my leave.”

  “I concur.” Standing, Damian winced. “While there will, no doubt, come a day when we require your assistance in such mawkish endeavors, now is not the time. Until then, you may find me plowing the fields.”

  “But I would caution you to remember something.” Blake met Dalton’s stare. “Not many second sons have two dukes, at the ready, to do his bidding. And you are a better man than you realize, even if you are a bit droopy about the ears. This business with the Moreton wench and Sheldon will pass, and you will not ride the storm on your own, as we are with you, come what may. And therein lies the beauty of societal dictates, as no one can ignore us.”

  “Thank you, brothers.” Dalton dipped his chin, and the ducal duo departed.

  “So what do you intend where the charming Miss Harcourt is concerned?” Lance queried. “Have you composed a proposal?”

  “Now there is where I require your expertise, as Dirk has assured me courtship is a far cry from seduction.” And in that moment, Dalton made his decision. “But I will marry her, if she will have me.”

  “Really?” Everett blinked. “How marvelous for you. Then I suppose you should—”

  “Heed our counsel.” Trevor elbowed Everett. “As we are past masters in the game of hearts. For example, while courtesans favor monetary expressions of interest, wives savor romance. Trust me, you do not want to disillusion the poor girl.”

  “So I should wait?” But now that Dalton’s course was set, he was anxious to secure Daphne’s hand. “For how long would you suggest?”

  “A fortnight, at least.” Scratching his cheek, Jason glanced at Lance, who nodded. “That should permit us—I mean, you to gain sufficient ground.”

  “Oh, I say, Collingwood is correct.” Everett cleared his throat. “Got ahead of myself, you know. Now, you must schedule regular deliveries from the hothouse. Is she partial to a particular bloom?”

  “And what of chocolates?” Lance winked. “Cara loves truffles, and she conveys her gratitude with profuse enthusiasm. And do not forget monogrammed handkerchiefs. My sugar kisses treasures them.”

  For some strange reason, Dirk scowled. “Brothers—”

  “Are we or are we not offering wise guidance, as not every man is fortunate enough to have his bride-to-be seduce him?” Trevor snorted. “And do not forget useless knickknacks. Does she stockpile a particular dust collector, such as paperweights?”

  “Very funny.” Dirk folded his arms. “And I would have you know Rebecca adores her paperweights.”

  “My friends, I owe you a debt I can never repay, as I could never manage without your sage advice.” For the first time in a long time, Dalton hoped. “Else I would kneel before Daphne, at the next opportunity, pledge my troth, and bungle it. How can I ever thank you?”

  “To quote my darling Alex, stuff and nonsense.” Jason grinned. “As your future happiness is our just reward, and we shall satisfy ourselves with that.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The roses arrived just after noon, the beautiful box of lace-edged monogrammed handkerchiefs appeared around two, and a liveried messenger delivered the tin of delicious chocolates at three. Sitting in her chamber at Randolph House, surrounded by her treasure, Daphne read and reread the accompanying cards, stark but resplendent in their simplicity. The sender, alone, would have sparked excitement, but it was the singular salutation with which he had signed each missive that captured her attention and rendered her lightheaded with dizzying euphoria.

  Love,

  Dalton

  Were there two more glorious words in the entire world? Hugging herself, she bubbled over with nervous laughter, and gooseflesh covered her from top to toe, so she scarcely heard the knock at the door.

  “Come.” Daphne stood and smoothed the skirts of her lavender gown, as her gracious hostess entered the room.

  “Are you ready for the Promenade?” Bedecked in her signature shade of burgundy, which she declared Dirk’s favorite, Rebecca beamed with inexpressible joy. “My dear, you look so sophisticated in your new finery. And Dalton is downstairs.”

  “Dirk told me Dalton has always avoided the spectacle, like the plague.” A shiver of delight traipsed her spine, as Daphne pondered the abrupt about face of her extraordinary suitor. “Oh, Becca, is it too soon to covet hope? Am I counting my eggs before they are in the pudding? Do you believe Dalton intends to propose?”

  “I think our men did their part, as they gathered last night, at White’s.” The glamorous viscountess lifted her chin and narrowed her stare. “And I shall thank my husband, into the wee hours, for his unfailing support of our cause.”

  “May I ask a personal question?” Daphne accepted Becca’s haphazard escort.

  “Of course.” Rebecca nodded once. “What do you wish to know?”

  “Were you always so confident, in matters involving…that is to say…what I wonder is…where did you gain such information regarding the connubial bed?” Daphne’s cheeks burned with embarrassment, and she cursed the ever-increasing blushes. “I would never dream of impinging upon our fledgling friendship, but I am curious, and you seem so comfortable discussing what I had thought a taboo topic. You, along with the Brethren wives, make marital relations sound so natural and, to my amazement, enjoyable.”

  “Well, indeed, marital relations constitute an integral and indispensible aspect of wedded bliss.” Rebecca halted on the landing, and Daphne almost tripped. “My dear, what happens between a husband and a wife is quite natural and enjoyable, especially when they are in love, as are Dirk and I. And as for my knowledge, some I learned in service to His Majesty, but I acquired most of my experience in my devoted Dirk’s ardent embrace and gentle tutelage.”

  “Might you be willing to share some of your instruction with me?” Daphne inhaled a shaky breath. “As I must confess the prospect of my honeymoon terrifies me.”

  “Then we shall do something about that, at another luncheon with our sisters.” Rebecca drew Daphne downstairs. “And now I deliver you to your endearing companion, and Dirk and I will chaperone.”

  “Ah, here are our ladies.” Dirk came forward and claimed Rebecca. “Darling, you wear another splendid creation in my favorite color.”

  “Hello, Dalton.” Daphne had prepared a short speech to convey—something. But when her true knight grasped her gloved hand, twirled her once, and then brought her knuckles to his lips, every single coherent thought fled her.

  “Hello, Daphne.” The devilishly handsome man had the nerve to wink. Garbed in an everg
reen coat, with a tan waistcoat, which highlighted his crisp cravat, black wool breeches, and polished Hessians, Dalton would have made many a fair Portsea maiden swoon. “Shall we depart?”

  After gathering pelisses and coats, the foursome journeyed by coach to the park, where a huge crowd made the rotations. Near a tall hedge, the odd extended family waited. As they approached the well-matched couples, it dawned on Daphne that if she married Dalton, that would be her life. She would subsist in a magical world of fashionable ladies and powerful men, confined by a tangle of unwritten and unspoken rules, and spend her days in a never-ending repetition of tea parties, galas, and requisite outings. Taken care of by a gentleman of considerable fortune, she would want for nothing. Yet she longed for the backwater and her charities.

  “You are awfully quiet.” Dalton settled her securely at his side, as they strolled, with the married compliment in their wake. “Did my offerings to your incomparable beauty not please you?”

  “Oh, no. I mean—yes.” Daphne clamped shut her mouth and counted to three. “What I intended to say is I love everything. The roses, the handkerchiefs, and the chocolates are wonderful, and I thank you. But why did you send them?”

  “I thought it obvious.” He favored her with a shy smile, and how she adored him. “I am courting you.”

  “What?” Her ears rang, her heart skipped a beat, and she stumbled.

  “Are you all right?” Dalton slowed his pace. “Daphne, look at me. You are as white as a sheet.”

  “Sorry.” She peered over her shoulder and discovered their legion of chaperones attempting to appear invested in conversation, as everyone avoided glancing in her direction. “But you gave me no warning, and given your behavior, which has confounded me, I fretted you marked me for another, because you stated as much.”

  He opened and then closed his mouth, as he shuffled his feet.

  “Dalton. Daphne.” Lady Elaine waved, with Lady Celia, Lady Amanda, and Admiral Douglas, in tow. “We hoped we would see you.”