Daniel's True Desire

by Grace Burrowes

  All of their touches now were for comfort, none for arousal, though desire plagued Daniel relentlessly. The tenacity of his carnal interest in his lady was a backhanded source of reassurance, for all else was in tumult.

  “Papa wrote his true feelings. I’d thought he considered me a young fool, and he did, but he also respected my academic accomplishments, and he liked that I thought for myself, even when I reached the wrong conclusions.”

  “He loved you,” Kirsten said.

  Her words brought an ache to Daniel’s throat, a not entirely sad ache. “He loved me. I love you, my lady, so very much.”

  Daniel kissed Kirsten then, a soft, lingering press of lips. A kiss of shared regrets, not a little weariness, and endless longing.

  Footsteps sounded on the stairs. Daniel felt the moment when Kirsten heard them, and felt her fling aside the impulse to break apart from him. When Fairly came prowling down the corridor, Daniel was the one to end the embrace.

  “My lady”—Fairly tossed off a crisp bow—“Banks, good day. The meeting has been arranged for tomorrow morning as you suggested, and my traveling coach awaits your pleasure. As far as Carmichael knows, my own dear viscountess spotted Olivia earlier this week while out shopping in the wilds of Mayfair. Per your instructions, my note to Carmichael intimated that I’m prepared to pay a large sum if a certain irregularity in my brother-in-law’s circumstances can be kept quiet.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” Kirsten said. Her voice was calm, but her grip on Daniel’s hand was quite snug. “I’ll fetch my cloak.”

  She kissed Daniel’s cheek and hurried away, and abruptly, the waiting was over.

  This scheme Daniel had concocted was as worthy of a rotten boy as it was of a bishop, and that combination—of creativity, conviction, and strategy—was as peculiar as it was…appropriate.

  Papa would have been proud of him, a fortifying notion. Kirsten was proud of him, and Daniel was even a little proud of himself.

  “You were right, Banks,” Fairly said when Kirsten was out of earshot. “Bloody, exactly, goddamned—excuse my language—right. Money, and the notion that you’re in severe difficulties was all we needed to lure Olivia from the shadows. She has been shopping too. Buying out half the modistes and milliners in Mayfair.”

  Bills for which Daniel, technically, was responsible. Ironic, that.

  “My thanks for your efforts,” Daniel said, and now, when he should be racing full tilt for London, he was reluctant to leave the dower house.

  “Must you be so confoundedly calm, Banks? We’re about to catch a demon brewing her mischief, about to thwart her foul schemes and put her to rout, true love will triumph and all that, while you are the soul of sober manners.”

  Fairly had a bit of the demon in him too, a bit of the avenging angel, while what awaited in London left Daniel calm. Simply…calm.

  Did she but know it, Olivia was the one about to enter the lion’s den.

  “Let’s be on our way,” Daniel said. “Kirsten’s family will want to discuss matters yet again when we reach London, and Kirsten needs her rest.”

  Fairly was a physician, and his own dear lady was in need of frequent rest of late. He didn’t argue Daniel’s point but stalked off toward the head of the stairs.

  “I don’t understand you, Banks,” he said as Daniel took one last look at the study where he’d planned his lessons and finally read his father’s journals.

  “I’m a man in love,” Daniel said, closing the door and joining Fairly on the steps. “Love can require sacrifices.”

  Love offered gifts too, though. Wonderful, precious gifts that made all the sacrifices worthwhile.

  “Love requires that you seize your joy when it befalls you,” Fairly said, his stride purposeful. “You’re getting the woman of your dreams; she gets you. Her settlements are handsome enough, and Danny is doing well. If you can’t make a happily ever after out of that, you’re not trying hard enough.”

  “I’ll miss the boys,” Daniel said as they reached the bright sunshine of the back terrace. “Kirsten and I will be happy—very happy—but we’ll both miss the boys terribly. Both are true, the happiness and the sorrow.”

  Be happy, even in the midst of heartbreak.

  Be angry and sin not.

  Nineteen

  “Olivia, you’re looking well.”

  Such was Daniel Banks’s inherent virtue that, to Nick’s ears, the compliment to Mrs. Banks was sincere. Not relieved, not resentful, not ironic, simply sincere.

  With his civil greeting, Banks had cordially saluted an opponent across the space of a dueling ground. He’d also spoken accurately, for the fair Olivia appeared to be in the pink of health.

  “Who are they?” she asked, aiming a glance at Nick and Fairly.

  Fairly was in good form this morning, looking both dapper and menacing in his London finery, an avenging angel between celestial errands of divine wrath. Nick had attired himself in similar lordly splendor while Banks was simply…Banks.

  A sober suit of brown, plain black waistcoat, the same riding boots he’d worn to Haddondale months ago, and yet Banks was also different.

  His hair had been trimmed, his clothing fit him perfectly, nothing mended or patched, and his cravat was for once expertly starched and tied.

  He looked, in other words, taken in hand. Cared for. Married.

  Loved. Also determined as hell.

  In the middle of Fairly’s peacefully blooming London garden, Banks obliged with introductions.

  “Olivia, may I make known to you Nicholas, Earl of Bellefonte, and David, Viscount Fairly. His lordship to my left holds the living in Haddondale; his lordship to my right has the honor to be my brother-in-law. You were well acquainted with his present viscountess, my sister Letty, when she shared a household with us.”

  Ah, a gratifying hint of uncertainty passed through Olivia’s eyes, a nervous hand smoothed over her skirts, while Mr. Carmichael—a man to be pitied, according to Banks—said nothing.

  “Shall we be seated?” Fairly asked, though in fact he was giving an order, and Carmichael, at least, knew it. Fairly was married to the woman whom Olivia had blackmailed, the woman whose child had endured Olivia’s indifferent variety of mothering.

  “We’re to remain out-of-doors?” Olivia asked.

  Had she wanted to gawk at Fairly’s commodiously appointed town house?

  “I’d rather you not set foot in my home,” Fairly said, his rebuke chillingly pleasant. “Nor will I offer you food or drink.”

  “Come, Olivia,” Banks said, gesturing toward a wrought iron grouping beneath a pair of stately plane trees. “Our discussion should not take long, and you and Mr. Carmichael can be on your way.”

  His Saintliness was apparently amused at Fairly’s posturing, while Nick was impressed with Fairly’s restraint.

  Banks, Olivia, and Carmichael took chairs beneath the maples, while Nick and Fairly each assumed a post standing at Banks’s shoulders. Nick affixed a serious expression on his features, mentally folded his guardian angel wings, and prepared to enjoy himself.

  “What do you want from me, Olivia?” Banks asked.

  His tone was merely curious, and again, Mrs. Banks appeared to have enough sense to be uncertain. Daniel was not a fellow in anticipation of felony prosecution, not a man alarmed by the prospect of blackmail or scandal, and she must have perceived this.

  “You can have what you want, Daniel,” Olivia said, all sniffy graciousness. “I won’t stand in your way, but I’m your lawfully wedded wife and entitled to your support for the rest of my life.”

  Not a bad opening, also probably not the fanfare of threats and bullying she’d planned.

  “Olivia is prepared to be reasonable,” Carmichael said, sending the lady a look that said she’d best heed that guidance. “A sum certain in exchange for her willingness to leave you in p
eace, Banks. A civil bargain. Everybody can go about their business.”

  “Unmolested and undisturbed,” Banks murmured, plucking a daffodil from beside his seat. “What sum certain had you in mind, Olivia?”

  While Banks sniffed his posy, Olivia courted utter ruin. Letty, Viscountess Fairly, would have enjoyed this exchange.

  Olivia named an impressively greedy figure. Carmichael found it expedient to study the leafy canopy above.

  “And you believe that sum will sustain you for the rest of your days?” Daniel asked.

  “She does,” Carmichael interjected into the small, telling hesitation from Olivia. “Installments over time will serve; you needn’t pay it all at once.”

  “Olivia, I will pay you nothing for your silence,” Daniel said gently, so very gently. “You betrayed me, my flock, and my loved ones, and I will not be further victimized by your greed.”

  If Nick recalled his catechism accurately, greed was a deadly sin.

  “You will pay me,” Olivia hissed. “I put up with you for years, and we’re married, and you owe me support. That’s the law. The law also says you can only be married to one woman at a time, Daniel, and I’ll tell the entire world what you’ve done if you turn up stubborn now.”

  Daniel took another sniff of his flower, a lovely specimen though a prodigiously late bloomer.

  “My father castigated me for stubbornness when I announced my decision to marry you,” Daniel said, “and he was right. I was determined to wed you, and maybe the resulting years were penance for my disregard of his advice.”

  “I want my money, Daniel. I can make trouble.”

  Slowly, Daniel twirled the daffodil. “Papa was worried about me, you see, so worried he confided his fears in many letters to his friend, Bishop Reimer. Papa documented his reservations about our marriage night after night in his journal. I would not listen, Papa claimed. I was willful and misguided. The union did not have his blessing, though Papa would always pray for my happiness and my eternal soul.”

  Carmichael, a businessman according to Fairly, shifted back in his chair, but Olivia did not yet sense her looming defeat.

  Nick resisted the urge to scratch his nose and instead flexed his fists.

  Olivia’s lily-white hands were fisted as well. “Your father was a theological drudge, Daniel, and I wish you the joy of the same fate. If the Church finds out that you’ve committed bigamy, your only pulpit will be in a jail.”

  “Banks hasn’t committed bigamy,” Fairly said evenly, “despite your attempt to shove him down that path. Banns were cried, a gathering held, a special license procured. No ceremony. No bigamy.”

  The twirling of the daffodil stopped.

  “We drank some excellent punch, though,” Nick volunteered. “Consumed a quantity of first-rate victuals. Got to see all my relatives and lark about in my silk knee breeches. No wedding, though.”

  Olivia was off her chair, storming away to the fading lilacs. “You lied to me, Daniel? You misrepresented? Made a farce out of a holy sacrament?”

  The lady’s indignation was as genuine as it was laughable. Her scheme required that Daniel be stupid and predictable in his piety, that he come along like a sacrificial goat into the wilderness of Olivia’s choosing.

  Fairly put a gloved hand on the back of Olivia’s chair. “Madam, I suggest you compose yourself.”

  Even the meanest, scuttling hedgehog had instincts in the direction of self-preservation. Olivia was no different. She resumed her seat, perching on the very edge.

  “You were always honest, Daniel. Even when dissembling would have been in your interest. Even with the boy, you never told anybody in Little Weldon outright that he was your son, you merely allowed the assumption. And now this.”

  “Honesty is a virtue,” Nick said into the yawning silence. His observation provoked more silence but for a pair of robins, chirping enthusiastically in the branches above. Probably on the nest, spring having arrived in all her glory.

  “We’re still married,” Olivia said, her chin coming up. “Unless you reach an accommodation with me, Daniel, you will always live alone. All it will take is a word from me in the ear of the right bishop—”

  Banks raised a hand rather than allow Olivia to spin that fancy. “I married you against my father’s wishes. I was twenty years old, and thus not of age to marry without my father’s consent. Our union is being annulled, Olivia. The evidence has been submitted, and the decision a foregone conclusion when my father’s position was made clear to one of those very bishops whom you’d seek to manipulate.”

  Carmichael, oddly, looked pleased with this development. Had Nick been sitting beside Olivia Banks—was her name Banks?—he might have scooted his chair back.

  “An annulment?” Olivia whispered. “You’re having the marriage annulled, Daniel? Our marriage?”

  “Very likely a fait accompli,” Fairly said, “certain donations having been cheerfully made to certain charitable interests. Banks is not liable for your debts; he’s not liable for your support. You are a woman cast out of the vicarage to fend for yourself as best you can. My wife, whom you sent to the same fate, did not counsel further retribution, though believe me, madam, her counsel is all that stays my hand.”

  Daniel passed Fairly the daffodil, which earned him a blink of mismatched lordly eyes, while Nick endured a wave of sheer affection for his relations. Whatever this meeting was, it was the opposite of a mess.

  “I received good counsel from a lady as well,” Daniel said, drawing a packet from an inner pocket. “She advised me that mercy was in order, so this is a bank draft, Olivia. If you’re prudent, it will last you a good while or pay off a portion of the debts you’ve accumulated buying fripperies. Your fate is in your own hands, and you may say whatever you like to whomever you choose. I wish you well.”

  His final sermon delivered, Reverend Daniel Banks rose, bowed, and simply walked into the house. Nick wanted to applaud, but that would have been un-angelic of him.

  “I’ll see your guests out, Fairly,” Nick said. “And I’ll lock the garden gates behind them.”

  Fairly sent a curt nod in Carmichael’s direction, spared Olivia the king of all ironical bows, and took himself across the garden.

  “Olivia, come,” Carmichael said, extending a hand down to her. “There’s nothing more you can do here.”

  “Nothing more she can do without ending up in jail herself,” Nick said pleasantly. “We have your little epistle, Carmichael, the one condoling Daniel on Olivia’s supposed death. We have the testimony of the Great Weldon vicar, whom you retained to perform an internment of an apparently empty coffin. We have all the evidence of fraud and conspiracy to commit fraud—”

  “I have a commodious estate far to the north, your lordship, and the weather has moderated. It’s time I looked to my acres. Olivia, come along.”

  She sat staring at the bank draft. The funds were not enough to keep her in any style, not enough even to pay off the exorbitant bills she’d run up clothing herself in new finery.

  “You could take ship,” Nick suggested. “Start over in India. A woman of enterprise might manage there well enough.”

  If the diseases, perils, and general lawlessness didn’t put a messy end to her.

  “Olivia, bestir yourself,” Carmichael said. “It’s over and you’ve lost. If you’ll marry me, I’ll take you north.”

  The poor fool was sincere. Daniel had predicted this, having known Carmichael as a lad.

  “Madam, your welcome here is at end,” Nick said, because the damned woman had started to cry. “Carmichael, must I signal the footmen?”

  Nick would not put his hands on Olivia Whoever She Was, lest he pitch her over the garden wall like the contents of last night’s chamber pot.

  “Daniel didn’t remarry,” Olivia croaked. “You told me he’d married that woman, you said the entire villa
ge was celebrating, and now all I have is this, this—”

  “You have an offer of marriage,” Nick said, sending a meaningful glance in the direction of the house. “You have some funds, you apparently have an ally in Mr. Carmichael. I suggest you tour the north permanently, because Fairly would see you hanged but for his lady’s merciful nature. The viscount has the means and the meanness to do it too, and Banks would not stop him.”

  That got Olivia’s attention. She was on her feet in the next instant, her hand lashed around Carmichael’s arm.

  “Bertrand, take me away from this place. Daniel has deceived me, and I’m well rid of him.”

  Her own greed had deceived her, had led her to view the world through her own avaricious lenses, while Daniel had simply been wise. Carmichael ought to put Olivia on the first ship bound for Cathay.

  They left the garden arm in arm, the bank draft peeking out of Olivia’s reticule, the birds overhead having for some reason gone silent.

  * * *

  “I am not very happy with Bishop Reimer,” Kirsten said, whipping Daniel’s cravat into a tidy mathematical. George had taught her a half-dozen knots, and Daniel preferred the simplest. Kirsten liked it too, for it was simple to undo.

  “This parting from your pulpit by degrees has to be agony,” she went on. “Of all the curates starving in all the rural parishes of England, he couldn’t find one willing to come to Kent on short notice? Isn’t there one who—”

  Daniel kissed her, and as always, his kisses made Kirsten stop what she was doing as gratitude had its moment. Gratitude was a fine way to start the day, to end the day, to middle and between the day.

  They were married now. A quiet ceremony in Reimer’s parlor, a few family members in attendance, some late daffodils clutched in Kirsten’s hands.

  She and Daniel were married, and they could kiss whenever they pleased.

  “I’ll wrinkle your cravat,” Kirsten said, subsiding against her beloved. “Will you tell the boys today?”

  “I thought telling my pastoral committee would be the worst,” Daniel said, looping his arms around her. “I thought Reimer would have some disappointed sermon to inflict on me. I thought—telling the boys will break my heart.”