The Coachman's Daughter (10 page)

She touched her neck, then her flat ribs and
lower stomach. Looking back up, she studied her bone structure,
with her face framed by her blunt cut chin length hair. Her eyes.
He said she looked like her mother, and that pleased Haven. She
chooses to think her mother wanted her, that she could not come see
her. However, it was enough—all that her father had done, to keep
her.

Turning, she took her usual trousers and
shirt off the hooks and pulled them on, later she was in her room
donning her boots before she took her longer coat out of the
wardrobe. Laying it aside in the parlor, she fixed herself coffee
and ate a bit of the eggs her father had put aside for her.

Musing on his father, her grandfather—she
reflected that love and desire did not always have a happy outcome.
Now she understood all that pain and reluctance Patrick showed when
she tried to get answers before. He had done everything he could to
make her life better, and she told him honestly, she loved him even
more for it.

Haven left and went to the stables, staying
in the back and out of the way when the guests starting
arriving.

The groom and lads interacted with them, but
she was too much in her head as yet to do so. Aside from that,
there was the last bit of their conversation—where her father told
her Deme knew the story, and that he offered to take her to York.
What was she to make of that, considering how their tryst had
ended? It was not like him. He was a selfish rakehell who could
give two figs about others. And her father? He had actually seemed
fine with the offer—after seeming not fine the night before when
discovering she’d had that tryst.

What the bloody hell had changed, other than
the fact she had a few drops of blue blood?

She brushed down the black stallion, patting
it when it snorted, hearing the mares on the other side. She had
been ready to say she was leaving, and that it was a departure
meant to start her life, finally. She had told herself she must.
She must in order to avoid Deme. She did not say that to her
father. She had merely promised to think about suggestion she go
with the Marquis, rattling on about how practical it was.

Now Deme had her completely confused. Why was
he interested and what did he care? They would bloody well strangle
each other on a trip that long.

Sometime that afternoon, Haven got a bit of
distraction from her thoughts. She was near the front when a
crested coach rolled up, and seeing the plush look if it, she
deduced it was Viscount Marston’s.

The captain and young lieutenant who had been
invited had arrived early, one of them brought his sister, as had
four friends of Aiden and James’s arrived from nearby.

While the grooms were busy, she cut across to
the main lawn of the manor in time to see a tall raven-haired man
in long ankle length coat speaking with the livered footmen, who
were seeing to his baggage.

Um. Lisette had some parts right. He was
around six foot and four, swarthy with a kind of craggy face that
was also unmistakably aristocratic. Hatless, he was pulling off his
gloves and putting them into his pocket, looking up at the
impressive façade of Wimberly hall.

Wind mussed his nape length hair. Remote,
possibly. Most assuredly, when he began to walk toward the entry,
there was a confidence and self-possession in that stride. She
could not see his eyes, but he had a strong chin and jaw.

Lisette may be in for something there, Haven
smiled despite her own problems. He did not look like a man so
easily ignored.

She winced and headed back to the stables, no
doubt Lisette would be sending one of the maids for her before
evening was over.

She did send for her. They met out in the
gardens.

“I’ve seen him,” Haven confessed. “He’s
handsome, in a dark way.”

“Handsome, he’s bloody sinister looking.”

“Aloof perhaps, but not sinister.’ Haven
laughed.

“I suppose I shall have to suffer him, in any
case.” Lisette threw up her hands. “Mama is gushing all over
him.”

“You’ll be fine. I must go. I’ve the stink of
the stables on me.”

Lisette took her hand a moment. “Pray for
me.”

Haven was still laughing as she headed
home.

* * * *

The next morning, Haven told Lisette she was
leaving after the party. She didn’t reveal any details save that it
was a kinswoman of her father’s she was visiting, because given
that Marston was there and there was a full house, there wasn’t
time to have a real visit or talk.

“Lady Juliette will be here for you.”

“You said Deme is taking you?”

“We’re sharing the same coach,” Haven evaded.
“He’s seeing to some business and its better to take one coach than
two.”

Lisette wrinkled her nose. “That should be
interesting. You are coming back aren’t you? There’s my birthday
ball, coming up.”

“Of course I am.” Haven heard noises outside
in the hall and stood, “You’d best get ready for your ride. I’m
going to slip in and see the Duchess.”

Walking her to the door, Lisette muttered,
“See if you can find me a mount with a loose shoe. Mama will
doubtless pair me up with him.”

“Maybe when he finds out you can ride better
than him; he’ll be put off by it. I will saddle one of the
stallions. You can out distance him.”

“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 each 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.