Colin's Conundrum: A Steamy 19th Century Romance (The Victorians Book 3) Read online

  * * *

  Long after darkness fell, Daisy sat on the edge of the bed, writing a letter by the light of the stove. When she finished, she tucked the missive under the pillow and settled down. It's not going to be easy getting Colin to listen to me, but I'll do whatever I can.

  Alone in an empty room, thoughts she'd suppressed throughout the last two days finally filtered up to her awareness.

  Father betrayed me. He knew I wasn't interested in Orville, and he decided my desires didn't matter when it came to choosing a husband. He thought his choice took precedence over my own. For my marriage. For my body.

  “My father arranged to have me raped,” she whispered aloud, her voice cracking and her eyes stinging. “He thought an assault on me would be a worthwhile means to an end.” A tear spilled over. “I can never go home now. Can never be near him again. My own father committed this crime against me.”

  Closing her eyes, buried her face in the pillow to muffle her sobs.

  Chapter 8

  Morning dawned cloudy and cheerless in the home of the unhappy Viscount and his equally out-of-sorts wife.

  Colin stumbled blearily into the kitchen to find coffee, tea and porridge waiting, hot and ready to serve. Daisy had even ferreted out a pot of honey and a few early berries to flavor the breakfast.

  Ravenous again, Colin devoured most of the pot before he stopped to think whether Daisy had eaten. Sadly, she was nowhere to be found, so he couldn't ask.

  “Well, she's an excellent cook,” he admitted to himself.

  Not able to see his wife anywhere in the kitchen or the pantry, Colin shrugged and stalked out to the field, where he found his five men waiting to hear new instructions.

  “Hello, all,” he said lightly.

  They stared at him, eyebrows drawn in five matching lines.

  “Are you well, my lord?” Bullock asked.

  He shrugged. “Fate has played a nasty trick on me. I'm married. I don't yet know what it means for us all, but for the moment, she's determined to stay. She would like to meet you, your wives and your children later on.”

  The men stared in silence, mouths agape to show stained teeth.

  “Sir, what?” Bullock asked.

  Colin shook his head. “It's a strange age in which we live when an innocent kiss on an innkeeper's daughter ends up with a vicar and a shotgun. It remains to be seen what the next course of action for her will be. I make no promises, but it seems, for the moment, she's here. Now then, what's been happening while I was away? Anything of import?”

  He looked from man to man, but all were too busy gaping at him to answer the question.

  “Men!” Colin barked.

  They shook off their astonishment. “Um, my house has a new leak,” Bullock said at last.

  “Damn.” Colin frowned. “I'm sorry, Bullock.”

  The older man scrunched up his face. “It's still mighty cold at night.”

  And your boy isn't well. Damn, damn, double damn. They can patch it, of course. They know how, but at some point, they will need to repair the walls, not just patch them.

  “The animals are doing well,” Jones added. “Most of the chicks and ducklings and all of the lambs have survived. They're growing fast. Another couple of months and the birds will be ready for market. And there are eggs aplenty.”

  “That will help,” Colin agreed. A couple of months with no income, he thought, the old sense of helplessness rising. There's food but no money.

  “The calf is growing and will be born any day,” Farrell added.

  Nods greeted this. “Milk from her as well as from the goats,” Bullock pointed out. “Butter and cheese to sustain the children. Perhaps a bit to sell, not in London, to be sure, but at the market.”

  Murmurs greeted the information.

  Crumbs, Colin thought. Crumbs of future hope, yet they grasp at it. They should all leave. Move to town and get jobs. Leave this wreck to the ravages of time. And yet, they stayed. Against all odds. Against sense or wisdom, they remained loyal to a man who had never yet provided them with any relief.

  “Well, there are good things on the horizon,” he said blandly. “Show me the livestock.”

  The men hauled themselves to their feet and led the way out of the manor yard and into the pens.

  Colin's new horse, black as its namesake nightmare but surprisingly gentle for a stallion, stared at the milling, bleating sheep, but consented to graze on sweet spring shoots. Lambs bounced and played in the sunshine, each one representing another moment of survival.

  The pond beyond the meadow rippled in a spring wind, which ruffled the feathers of so many ducks, each leading a string of ducklings. Geese honked and squabbled in the reeds along the bank.

  So much life here, he admitted. Will it be enough? Will the birds stave off disaster until the lambs are grown? Will the calf be born alive? Will the old cow survive the delivery? Will she make enough milk to nourish our children and hers? So many questions and as usual, no answers.

  “You've done well,” he said in a raspy, unsteady voice. “Since everything seems to be under control for the moment, would you all gather your families? I'll go find Lady Gelroy and bring her here.”

  The men nodded and scattered. Colin leaned against the fence for a long moment, looking out at the future of his farm.

  Then, with nothing answered, as usual, he returned to the house.

  Again, he found no sign of Daisy. Did she run off already? But no, the breakfast dishes had been washed and lay on a towel on the counter to dry. The bed had been made. Where is she? “Daisy?” he called.

  “Just a minute,” came her reply from the vicinity of the pantry. She popped out, dressed in a gray skirt and matching blouse. “Here I am. What's going on?”

  “Where were you?” he asked. “Is there anything that interesting in an empty pantry?”

  “Oh, Colin, wait until you see. Um… how often did you come into this part of the house before… before the main wing collapsed?”

  He shook his head. “Rarely. I might have ducked into the kitchen now and again, but… but father's servants didn't like me milling around. They got all sullen and, well, rude, when I did. Not to mention, Father didn't want me mingling with the servants. If he found me where I didn't belong…” Colin broke off, shuddering.

  Daisy considered him for a thoughtful moment. “I know why the servants didn't want you around. Come on.” She grabbed his hand, dust and grit crunching between them as she dragged him through the door into the pantry.

  There, another door stood open, and she hurried toward it.

  “Isn't that the root cellar?” he asked, curious why she was racing in that direction. “I never got that far because… why bother? Any produce in there would have long since rotted by the time I got back to London.”

  “It isn't,” she told him as the moved through the dark, cavernous room filled with shelves. “The root cellar is outside. This is… something a lot more interesting.”

  She pulled him through the door into… a parlor. A small sitting room with a dusty sofa and two armchairs positioned in a U around a stone fireplace. A dirty but attractive rug sat on the floor.

  “What is this place?” he asked.

  “I would guess it's the servants' quarters,” Daisy replied. “It's in excellent repair. Just look at this room. The sofa could benefit from new upholstery, and the whole thing needs a good cleaning, but it's a usable space, and look here!” She tugged on his hand again, toward two doors that stood open off the back of the room. “Bedrooms! The mattresses are not trustworthy. There are mouse droppings everywhere, but the walls are solid and each one has a fireplace. The bedframes, the wardrobes and the chairs are usable. All the walls are solid. All the windows are intact. There's even a water closet. Someone invested a fortune in this room while the rest of the manor crumbled.”

  Colin stared in shock. A comfortable living space had lain, beyond his awareness, only a few steps from where he'd been squatting like a vagrant in his own home
.

  “I think I know,” he croaked, “how this happened.” He continued as though talking to himself. “I never could figure out what happened to all the money my father's land steward embezzled. I fired him, but… he built this place for himself and his wife, the cook/housekeeper. They must have done it while I was away at university.”

  “It is odd that you didn't notice,” Daisy pointed out. “Couldn't you see this room from your bedroom window?”

  “My bedroom faces the front, not the rear. The opposite bedrooms were in worse shape, so I just didn't go in them. Besides, the second I inherited, the estate manager informed me of the grim conditions of the estate, the back taxes and generations of debt we owed. We created a repayment plan that required so much effort just to meet each responsibility, I didn't have time to be curious.”

  Daisy frowned in sympathy. She reached for Colin's hand, but he withdrew, not wanting her pity.

  When she spoke, it was to return to the subject at hand. “They built this for themselves, not realizing that it would one day house the lord's son. We should move in here as soon as I finish cleaning it up.”

  “I agree,” Colin said, still dazed. “Thank you for the breakfast,” he added. “It was tasty. Where did you find the berries?”

  “There's quite a garden in the back,” she told him. “It's wildly overgrown, but there's a surprising amount of food there. Berries. Asparagus. Herbs. Who knows what will pop up as summer comes.”

  Colin nodded absently. “I see you've been busy.”

  “It's in my nature,” she told him. “Colin, why did you never explore this place? Did you even know there was food back there?”

  “Honestly,” he replied, “I never had the energy. The struggle is too great.”

  “Melancholia?” she asked kindly.

  “I…” His voice cracked. The diagnosis made him sound unbearably pathetic, and yet… “It's true. I have little strength. It's mental exhaustion. Once the day's work is done… I collapse.”

  This time, she did grasp his hand, and she squeezed gently. He allowed it but quickly changed the subject.

  “I told my men about you. I told them to gather their families so they could meet you.”

  “All right,” Daisy agreed.

  “Would you like to change clothes?”

  “Good idea!” Daisy dropped Colin's hand and darted back through the pantry while Colin sank into one of the armchairs. A cloud of dust wafted up and set him coughing. Good Lord. This place has been here all along and I never knew. Daisy found it in a second because she still has hope and energy enough to be curious. Well, I don't know what good it will do, but this apartment is nicer than sleeping in the kitchen… and much nicer than trying to find a comfortable spot in one of the ruined guest rooms.

  “Colin!” Daisy called. “I'm ready, love. Let's go.” She bounded back into the room, eager as a gazelle, a fresh, light blue dress floating around her curvaceous figure. “Silly man, don't sit there. You'll hurt your lungs with all that dust. Let me clean it first. Come on!”

  Covered in grime, his boots caked in mud, Colin hauled himself to his feet and took Daisy's hand. Her fingers felt right in his.

  The realization made him grumpy. There's still no future for her here. No matter how sweet, cheerful or clever she might be, it would be wrong to keep her here.

  Still, he let her lead him back through the kitchen, through the ruined hallway and out into the spring sunshine.

  “Where do we start?” she asked.

  “Shouldn't we wait for them to come to us?” he suggested.

  “And line up like horses in a stall?” Daisy protested. “I don't need any such formality. They're people. We call on people in their homes. Who do we begin with?”

  “Bullock,” he grunted, pointing to the tenant house furthest to the left from the door of the manor yard. “He's my foreman. He's married to Miranda. They have four children: Kate, who is nearly grown, Alice, William and Bobby. Next, there's Farrell, my second. His wife is named Mary. They have one son, Robin. In the third house is Jones. He has a wife, also called Mary, and they're expecting their first. Billings, who lives in the smallest house, is the oldest. His wife passed away two years ago, and all his children are grown. Last is Smythe. He's also widowed but younger. His late wife was Billings's daughter. I think he has a sweetheart in town, but this is no place to bring a bride, so who knows how long he will stay. Are you ready to meet them all?”

  “ 'Lay on, Macduff,' ” Daisy urged. Her casual allusion to Shakespeare captured some forgotten lightness in Colin's heart.

  He responded in kind, “ 'And damned be him who first cries, hold, enough.' ”

  Daisy beamed.

  Sighing, he tugged her hand, leading her past the animal pens. Pesadilla trotted over to the fence and whickered at Colin.

  “Hello, friend,” he said, petting the horse's black nose.

  “Here you go, sweeting,” Daisy added, holding up a wizened apple.

  The horse eyed the wrinkled fare warily but eventually gobbled it up.

  “Good boy,” she praised him.

  “Daisy, this is a stud stallion,” Colin pointed out. “Don't turn him into a pet. He needs a bit of aggression or no one will want him to breed their racing mares. He's already too friendly.”

  Daisy giggled. “No promises, my lord. He's a lovely horse.” She patted his nose. The attention-greedy animal accepted her caresses eagerly.

  “I thought you wanted to meet Bullock and his family,” Colin said sourly.

  “Don't be gloomy, love,” she urged.

  Colin wanted to snarl. Her casual endearment hit him in all his weak places. He clamped his lips together and escorted his wife toward the largest of the tenant houses. Though a small, three-room space, it had once been an attractive home, with decorative strips of wood adorning the dormers and a mossy slate roof.

  Colin knocked on the door. His foreman appeared, his silvering blond hair more neatly combed than he'd ever seen it.

  “My Lord,” he said to Colin, winking at the unaccustomed formality. “My lady.”

  “Oh, please, don't!” Daisy exclaimed, dropping her hold on Colin to grasp Bullock's hand in both of hers. “I'm no lady, just an innkeeper's daughter from a village outside London.”

  “Well, you captured Lord Gelroy's eye,” the man teased.

  Oh, God. Colin thought, rolling his eyes. I'll be hearing about this for years.

  “It was a stroke of fate,” Daisy said, her face deadly serious. “I think we can all be good for each other, and for this poor, abused estate.”

  “That's what we're all trying to do, ma'am,” Bullock said kindly, clearly enamored by Daisy's sweetness. “Achieve some good. Won't you come in?”

  Colin led Daisy into the Bullock family home. Inside, a crack in the wall admitted extra sunlight as well as drafts of April chill into the large central room. More cracks had been repaired with mud and straw over the years, many more. Too many more. We should tear this place down and rebuild, Colin thought, shaking his head.

  Inside, a middle-aged woman with prematurely gray hair rose to meet the visitors. Her dress was ragged, but her manner had an almost-painful dignity. Three attractive, half-grown children stood around her, neatly combed and washed but lacking the energy they should have had, as they were still recovering from a late-winter illness. It grieved Colin in particular to see the youngest, Bobby, with his crooked back, coughing into his hand.

  “Hello, all,” Daisy trilled. Her cheer had taken on a rather fixed aspect, but she kept it in place, nonetheless. “Please, call me Daisy.”

  “You look like a daisy,” Bobby said. Then, he coughed again.

  “Thank you,” she said with a warm smile, handing the boy a handkerchief.

  Well, Colin thought, they seem to like her, and I don't blame them.

  * * *

  Stepping out of the overstuffed hut into the sunlight, Daisy took several deep breaths and closed her eyes as the late-spring sunshin
e fell on his face. That is until a loud, quarrelsome chatter interrupted. “I won't have it, I tell you. No one shall invade my privacy!”

  “No one is invading, Mary,” a high-pitched male voice protested. “You complain we never have callers…”

  “No one!”

  “What goes on here?” Colin asked.

  Daisy opened her eyes to see a woman storming toward them, her wild gray hair bouncing above her head. She bustled straight up to Colin and Daisy and blurted without preamble, “Are ye a Christian woman, lass?”

  “Mary,” Farrell piped, “that's no way to speak to Lady Gelroy.”

  “Bah.” She waved her hand in front of her face and stomped up into Daisy's face. “God is no respecter of persons, and neither am I. Are ye a Christian woman?”

  “I am,” Daisy said, raising one eyebrow.

  Mrs. Farrell nodded, her loose, graying curls bouncing above her head. “Then ye can stay. I'll not have visitors though. No one told us you was coming, and I ain't prepared.”

  “Very well,” Daisy said amiably. “I'm not here to invade anyone. I only wanted to meet you. Um, I'm pleased to meet you.”

  Mrs. Farrell ducked into a mocking curtesy and skittered away. Farrell tossed them an apologetic glance and trailed his wife back into their house.

  With all the commotion, the door to the third house opened and a much younger couple popped out. The man, young and handsome, though thin, had a mop of curly hair. The woman, blond and fragile, wore a dress that barely fastened around her belly.

  She's expecting, Daisy realized. About halfway. That must be hard with so much stress. This has to change.

  The woman dropped into a curtsey that looked both elegant and awkward. “My lady.”

  Daisy smiled sadly at the woman. “Pleased to meet you.”

  She lifted her head and returned a matching expression.

  “Daisy, this is Jones and his wife, also called Mary, as I mentioned earlier. Jones's father worked for my father. Now, Jones works for me. This is my… my wife.”

  The young man bowed.

  “I'd invite you in, Lady Gelroy,” Mary said, “but I haven't felt up to cleaning, and the place is a mess.” She laid a hand on her burgeoning belly.