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

  “You make wallpaper?”

  “I do.” Daisy smirked. “I'm not much of an artist, but I can handle a simple geometric design, and I have a good eye for color. I made all the wallpaper for Father's inn. Do you remember it?”

  Gamely, Colin wracked his memory, and sure enough, an image floated up. “Green, wasn't it? With a pattern of brown leaves. It looked… attractive.”

  She beamed. “I did the bedrooms too. Stripes. Squares. I tried circles once, but I'm not as good at curvy shapes. Do you have a pattern you'd like in our home?”

  Our home? The words touched a deep place in his heart. I remember home. After Mother married Jack Turner and moved into a cozy London townhouse, and I would go to them and their daughters on holiday from school. Small, humble and filled with tasty smells. The aroma of the slow-cooked lamb stew Daisy had begun preparing for their supper wafted to him. She's like Mother. Warm. Homey. Also smart and business-like. I could love her…

  “Don't fool yourself,” the smug voice of his interior accuser sneered. “You have less than nothing to offer.”

  He shook off the intruding voice. Like a magnet, she drew him in her direction. Settled in a chair at his side, her sunny hair and sweet smile looked like… like home. She looks like home. She's trying to make a home for us. For me. All I have to do is reach for her. She'd love to kiss. I know it. Torturous memories of the handful of kisses they'd share warmed his lips.

  All I have to do is accept, just like I accepted her money. It was all good. The men are so much happier now that they have repaired their homes, their paddocks and even their garments, and of course, Daisy has been helping them. She brought them seedlings from the wild plants in the manor garden to supplement their own. She hired the women to help her clean what was left of the manor while the men and I dismantled the damaged portion. In short, she's worked herself to the bone to ensure the women are just as healthy, happy and confident as the men. Now, she wants to work on me—on us.

  The thought still surpassed his ability to comprehend, let alone embrace, and he shoved it—and Daisy—out of his heart for the thousandth time.

  “You may come,” he said shortly. “In fact, why don't you go on ahead. Take the train. I'm sure Mother will let you stay with her, and you might pay a call on the Bennetts, though given that Mrs. Bennett has two-month-old twins, she might not be receiving. If that's the case, wait for me, and we can call on Christopher and the mill together.”

  Daisy raised both eyebrows toward her golden hairline. “I had hoped we might travel together.”

  “Daisy, love. I'll be traveling with a flock of juvenile birds. It's going to be a loud, slow, smelly process. You won't enjoy that.”

  Daisy bit her lip as her expression changed from invitation to irritation. “I'm not such a fancy lady that some chicken droppings will offend me, but I understand. You still need 'time.' Very well.”

  Leaving her half-eaten breakfast abandoned on the table, she stalked out of the house, slamming the door behind her.

  “Good,” Colin muttered to himself, wishing he could believe it. “it won't do for her to get too close, no matter how she thinks she wants to.”

  Knowing he had a busy day ahead, he gobbled his breakfast and scooted out their door.

  * * *

  “Damn, damn, damn,” Daisy cursed as she stormed into the sunshine. “Soon, it will be the summer solstice. Everything is better. Everything except my marriage. It seems as though Colin couldn't refuse my help, and he'll never stop blaming me for offering it.”

  Suddenly craving greenery, she skirted the fence, admiring the half-grown lambs that would fund the tenants through the winter and provide the funds for next year's taxes. They bleated happily as they nibbled lush summer plants. Daisy ducked into the forest and wrapped her arms around the fat trunk of an oak tree. Laying her face against the rough bark, she took deep breaths of its green, living scent and tried to center herself.

  The warm summer sun filtered between the trees, dappling light onto her face. She closed her eyes, letting light and shadow play on her lids. “I will take the train,” she breathed. “Much as I might be ready to make our marriage real, I cannot force it on him. I'll take the train to London. I'll ask the Bennetts for fabric scraps for my wallpaper and see how Katerina is doing after that challenging delivery. Then, I'll pay a call on my mother-in-law. Maybe she can give me some guidance about how to deal with her son. I'll move my own life forward while I wait to see what Colin is willing or able to do.”

  Something thudded against Daisy's shoulder.

  She opened her eyes, brow furrowed as she looked at a medium-sized round stone that still rocked in the leaf litter on the forest floor.

  “Is anyone there?” she called. “Bobby? William? Robin? If that's you, you shouldn't throw rocks. Do you want me to tell your mothers?”

  Silence. A heavy, waiting silence that meant someone was out there, not responding but not retreating. Just waiting. The tense mood seemed to pulse. This isn't one of the tenant's children making mischief. She swallowed hard and took a step backward toward the meadow and the safety of the sunlight.

  Another object zipped out of the forest.

  Daisy dodged another, larger rock and whirled, racing out of the forest. A third rock slammed into her back, almost knocking off her feet as she raced into the meadow.

  Colin stood in the pasture, patting a docile, patient ewe.

  Daisy leaped over the fence and raced to him, throwing her arms around his middle.

  “Daisy, what?” He looked bewildered, his whole face drawing inward, but his arms encircled her anyway.

  “Someone's in the woods. Someone who shouldn't be there. They threw rocks at me.”

  “What?”

  “I'm afraid, Colin. Please, don't let him hurt me.”

  Colin hugged her tighter, and she gasped as his hand compressed the bruise forming on her back.

  “What?” he asked again, loosening his hold.

  “It hurts,” she said. “He hit me twice. Colin, what's happening? Why would someone do that?”

  “I don't know,” he said. Then, he turned to other parts of the pasture where some of his men were examining the lambs. “Bullock, Ferrell, there's someone in the woods throwing rocks. Go see if you find him. Probably a child being naughty, but we can't allow it. Someone could get badly hurt.”

  The men nodded and stomped toward the woods.

  “It wasn't a child,” Daisy said.

  “How do you know?”

  She shook her head. “I can't explain. I could just feel it. There was no giggling. No slinking away when I called out. Nothing.”

  Colin paused, his tight expression easing to thoughtfulness.

  “You do believe me, don't you?”

  “Yes, Daisy. I do believe you. You see, a while back, I went into the woods, and someone threw a rock at me from up in a tree, but the leaves were thick, and I couldn't see. I did notice that the person who retreated from me through the branches was big. Too big to be a child.”

  “Why would someone do such a thing?” she asked. “Everyone knows it's dangerous to throw rocks at people.”

  “Who can say?” Colin said. His gripping hands softened to a soothing stroke up and down her back. “Some people get a sick thrill out of making others afraid. They have no other purpose. Others seek to cause harm because they are mad, and in their madness, they justify dangerous behavior.”

  “Will your men be safe? I worry about them. If this person attacked you, the lord and master, what will he do with two tenant farmers?”

  “Probably nothing,” Colin assured her, hugging her closer to the muscular wall of his chest. His hand slipped to her face, stroking away a stray tear and a strand of messy hair.

  She leaned into his comforting touch. The unspoken something that had connected them from the moment they met flared in his touch and flowed into her, reawakening hope.

  “I mean,” he continued, not seeming to notice how his demeanor toward her had
changed, “most likely it's the first type. True madmen are rare. Someone who just wants to stir up trouble is essentially a coward. He won't stand and face two burly men bearing down on him. He'll run.”

  Daisy took a deep breath, taking his essence deep into her. “You may be right, but it's still a danger. The children play in the woods. Women and girls gather firewood, mushrooms, and search for wild berries. We're all in the woods every day. What's to stop this troublemaker from harming someone, or from sneaking into the pasture after the sheep and birds or—heaven forbid—the cows. What's to stop them from doing something even worse? Colin, this must stop now!”

  “Hush, Daisy. Hush. I know. I won't let it get to that. We'll find this person and make him leave before any worse harm is done. Now, love, are you injured?”

  “A couple of bruises,” she replied, leaning into the hand that still lingered on her face. “They're not serious, but I'm still so frightened.”

  She looked up at her husband with wide, helpless eyes.

  His hand on her cheek tightened, holding her in place. He lowered his head. She pursed her lips ever so slightly in invitation.

  “There was no one there, my lord,” Ferrell's voice shrilled out, shattering the moment. “We found ashes from someone smoking and some trampled leaves—not to mention quite a pile of rocks—but no person.”

  Daisy sagged in disappointment, a litany of swearwords running through her mind as Colin straightened and his arms fell away from her body.

  “We'll have to set a watch on the animals,” he said gruffly, “and tell your wives and children to keep out of the woods until we find out what's going on.”

  “Yes, my lord,” the men said in unison.

  “Ferrell, spread the word, won't you? Bullock, watch the pasture. I need to take my wife to town.”

  The men nodded.

  “How long do you need to pack?” Colin asked. “I mean, we only just had this conversation. You can't possibly be ready.”

  “I'm not,” she said, “but my needs are simple. I should be able to ready myself in a quarter-hour or so.”

  “Please get started then,” he suggested.

  You want me when you forget you shouldn't, Daisy thought, her eyes locked on his. I must work with this. You're my husband and my soul mate. I will not rest until you stop fighting me.

  Colin broke eye contact and turned towards a little lamb that had wandered, bleating, up to his leg.

  Scowling, Daisy picked her way across the pasture, climbed over the fence and entered the manor—which now resembled a farmhouse with an oversized kitchen—through the rear door from which she had emerged a short time ago.

  * * *

  “Ahhh,” Daisy sighed as warm tea slid down her throat, relaxing her. It helped dispel the stark white walls of the Turner family's parlor. “Thank you, Ma'am. This is just what I needed.”

  “Not much tea at the estate?” Mrs. Turner asked kindly.

  Before Daisy could answer, three adolescent girls whose brown hair matched their mother's to a shade tumbled into the room, giggling. “We're going to the park for a walk, Mother,” the oldest said.

  Mrs. Turner raised thin, light-brown eyebrows and rotated on the green brocade upholstery of her sofa to regard her daughters. “Daisy, these are my three younger children, Christine, Samantha and Marjorie.” She turned to the oldest. “Will young Henry and his brothers be meeting you there?”

  The oldest daughter blushed until her face flamed. “I think so.”

  “You know so,” the youngest tattled, sticking her pert, upturned nose in the air. “You just received the note.”

  “Stuff it, Marjorie,” the middle daughter said, elbowing her sister.

  “Girls,” Mrs. Turner said sharply, “is this really how you want to behave in front of company?”

  “Isn't she Colin's wife?” Marjorie asked, showing her youthful tendency to argue over everything. “If she's family, she'd better get used to it.”

  “I don't mind you going to the park, and I don't mind you meeting with Henry and his brothers, but you must remain in the public eye, girls. There is to be no nonsense, do you understand? Henry has not talked to your father or me yet, Christine. If he's not ready to make a declaration, it's not a courtship, and friendships can be conducted in public. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Mother,” Christine said with painful decorum. Daisy noticed that she too elbowed her sister as they scooted out the door.

  Mrs. Turner shook her head. “Getting those girls safely grown may be the death of me,” she commented.

  Grown, not married. How interesting, Daisy thought. I think I like this woman already.

  “So, what brings you to see me today, my dear?” the midwife asked.

  Not midwife. Not only. She's your husband's mother. Don't let her professionalism distract you from the familial connection you're trying to draw on.

  “Well, we were in town…”

  “Were you? I didn't expect Colin to return, and certainly not so soon.”

  “It's the spring fowl,” Daisy explained. “The ducks and chickens were ready to come to market, so I begged to come along for a visit. I stopped by to see Mrs. Bennett and her twins, and goodness those boys are handsome already.”

  “Aren't they just?” Mrs. Turner agreed. “They're going to be heartbreakers when they're grown. Their sister dotes on them.”

  “I don't blame her. I'm the youngest, and I would have loved a little sister to play with growing up. Mine are older, and while they made a pet of me for a while, the oh-so-serious concerns of adolescence interested them more. They're married now and scattered across the country, but they send a letter now and again.”

  “Well, that's nice, I suppose.”

  “Better than nothing,” Daisy said, “but we're so different both in age and, well, attitude, that it's hard to communicate with them sometimes. They became rather… I don't know… stuffy after their children came along.”

  “That can happen,” Mrs. Turner replied cautiously. “Why do I feel that this is building up to something? I mean, I could be wrong, but it seems like you're doing more than just getting to know me as your mother-in-law. Is that right?”

  “You are remarkably astute, ma'am,” Daisy said. “Yes, I'd like your advice about my marriage. I don't have a mother, I live far from my sisters, and I want more information about my husband, so I'm here to beg you for insights.”

  “I'll do what I can,” Mrs. Turner replied mildly, “but I'll not get into the middle, you understand? Your marriage with my son is for the two of you to work out.”

  “I don't want you in the middle, Mrs. Turner, and I don't want you to take sides. I just want to understand Colin better. Has he always been so gloomy?”

  “Oh, yes,” Mrs. Turner said. “He was my moody boy, but that should be no impediment. Moodiness is also a sign of intensity, and intensity is wonderful for passion.”

  Daisy felt her cheeks heating. “He's certainly passionate about his tenants.”

  “Well, yes, dear,” Mrs. Turner said gently. “They're his responsibility. He's worked so hard to save them from poverty. I do hope the sale of the spring fowl will ease his worries.”

  “He doesn't need that,” Daisy mumbled.

  “What was that, dear?” the matron asked, sipping her tea from a cup with a gilt and rose pattern Daisy found unnecessarily fussy.

  “Nothing.” Daisy took a bite of cake and closed her eyes, savoring the sweetness of the sugar on her tongue.

  “Come now, Daisy. At least be honest. Oh, and you are welcome to call me Beth, or even Mother if you'd like. I won't mind a bit.”

  “Beth, then,” Daisy said firmly. “I don't know you well enough to call you Mother.”

  “That's fair,” the woman conceded without offense, shoving a long, gray-streaked strand of brown hair back into her simple, functional bun.

  Daisy took a deep breath. Don't be shy. You won't get what you want that way, and this seems like a blunt, honest woman. “I inherited a
tidy sum of money, and I encouraged Colin to use it to pay this season's expenses. He did. He paid the taxes in full and made a large enough dent in the debt that it is no longer threatening to crush them. Yes, he needs this sale to keep things moving forward, but the burden of this year's expenses is already a distant memory.”

  Beth's eyes went sharp. “How did he take you handing him money?”

  “Badly.” Daisy sighed. “I thought it would help. I thought it would make him feel less hopeless about our marriage if he had more money for his estate, but it didn't. He accepted it, but he became even less open and caring than before. It's like I offended him somehow, but I don't even know what I did.”

  “I don't think you did anything wrong, dear,” Mrs. Turner said gently, sipping her tea again. Her cake lay ignored on her plate. “A timely infusion of cash was just what the estate needed, but… you'd have to understand Colin. That was a deeply hurtful thing, not for you to do, but for him to need.”

  “But I don't understand Colin. I don't understand at all,” Daisy cried. “Sometimes, he seems so passionate, like he's on the verge of sweeping me off my feet and carrying me… I don't know… somewhere private. Other times, he's furious, but there's never a reason for it.”

  “The reason has nothing to do with you.” Mrs. Turner sighed and crumbled a piece off the corner of her cake. “Daisy, listen. Colin has been struggling to turn the Gelroy estate around since he reached his majority. Even longer, really. It's his mission. His lifeblood. He's so tied to that land and his people, he can do little else. He's been fighting to save them for so long.”

  “Then why—”

  “Think, Daisy. He's been fighting, giving the very food off his table, to keep the estate afloat for years. Then, you swoop in, unasked for and frankly unwanted, and throw the money he needs but was never able to earn into his lap.”

  Daisy lowered her eyebrows. “I wasn't trying to insult him.”

  “Of course not. He's angry at fate, not you. I imagine he doesn't know what to do with you. You're everything he's ever needed, but he cannot accept that anything other than tragedy will ever come his way. It's all he's ever known. He's simply out of the habit of hope.”