“Turn in here,” Daniel Dawkin, Lord Scarsdale, called to his coachman as they reached a familiar crossroads.
“We could still go on,” his valet, Sunday Paul, murmured, looking hopefully toward the long, empty road ahead. “There’s plenty of daylight left.”
“No. We spend the night here,” Daniel said firmly.
“But home is only an hour away,” Sunday argued.
“Your ma will still be there tomorrow,” Daniel promised, patting the fellow’s knee. Daniel’s valet was more friend than servant, and he was eager to reach home and his doting mother. Sunday was bouncing in his seat with impatience.
Daniel was less eager, although this journey home had been entirely his idea. “Cheer up. It’s just one more night.”
“You keep saying that every time we stop. Lady Scarsdale will be none too pleased by these delays of yours,” Sunday warned.
“Well, my mother wouldn’t have known I was even coming home if you hadn’t written to warn them to expect us,” Daniel shot back. “I told you I’d take care of the matter of informing them.”
“By writing the night before we arrive?”
“My mother didn’t need weeks to prepare her litany of complaints for my arrival,” Daniel replied, his humor for Sunday’s grumbles evaporating. “I’m sure she has made an even longer list since I saw her last year in London now.”
“It’s been five years since you’ve been home to the estate. Maybe she’ll be happy to see you finally return,” Sunday suggested with a hopeful expression, because he must know that would be impossible for Daniel’s mama.
“Once every other year has been more than enough time to spend in close proximity with my mother,” Daniel announced with a nod as the carriage rolled to a stop in a muddy inn yard. “By all reports, the estate has thrived without my personal oversight. Secure lodgings for us.”
Daniel glared at Sunday until he exited the carriage and left him to the task of speaking with the innkeeper to secure rooms for the night for himself and his servants. But it was mostly so Daniel wouldn’t have to look upon Sunday’s disappointed face again.
Daniel had enjoyed his week’s long journey homeward. Sunday had not. They had meandered from London into Somerset, visiting any friends within a reasonable distance from the main roadways.
Daniel had a lot of friends and had taken an abundance of enjoyment in their company.
He’d ate well, slept sufficiently, and flirting with as many pretty women as possible. His journey was almost at an end, but he wanted one more night, more or less to himself.
Eventually, he got out of the carriage too and looked about the village of Wraxall. He had never actually stopped here before since it was so close to home, but would make the time to explore now. He doubted he’d ever have leisure to do so again.
The night before he announced to his family that he intended to marry was his last night of complete freedom as a gentleman. After tonight, he would never be unencumbered by a source of guilt again.
He intended to please himself one last time and then he’d buckle under like all his friends had done recently and devote himself to obeying the whims of just one woman. Marriage was the only reason he’d come home and there was no time for doubts any longer.
Yet they persisted.
He grimaced and then shook his head. Tomorrow he’d arrive home, hopefully at peace with his decision by then, and perhaps mother would actually smile at him for once when he told her his news.
But he wouldn’t hold his breath for that outcome. Mama had not smiled at him since his father had gotten sick and died. From then on, it had been one frown after another and constant disagreements about the careless way he lived his life. It was the main reason he avoided her and the estate. He’d done nothing there that made her happy since he’d inherited the title.
“The accommodation at the inn is not what you’re accustomed to,” Sunday announced when he returned, his expression and manner still sour.
“That actually is the point of staying at unknown inns,” he replied. “It’ll be adequate for one night and perhaps even memorable.”
“I highly doubt that,” Sunday grumbled. “There is only one small room available for the night. I’ll have to sleep in the carriage with the grooms.”
“Those are well-sprung seats in there. A place to rest our heads is all any of us need,” he assured his valet. “We’ll stay one night and then, refreshed, we’ll finish the journey together tomorrow.”
Sunday’s eyes narrowed on him. “Do you promise? No more detours? No more distractions? No more pretty women in your bed that you simply cannot part with after just one night?”
Daniel laughed at the picture he painted. He knew Daniel’s nature very well. “I promise.”
Yet Sunday turned back to the inn with a muttered curse about foolishness and wasting time.
It was Daniel’s time. Precious and not to be squandered by rushing anywhere. Shabby surroundings or not, he intended to enjoy his stay.
He smiled to himself as he removed his hat to enter the low-beamed establishment. But promptly smacked his head on the next beam, anyway. He let out a soft curse, shrank down a little more, and rubbed his poor head.
“Got to keep an eye on things in this place,” the balding innkeeper warned, rushing forward to welcome him. “Welcome, my lord. What can I get for you?”
“A pair of tankards to begin with,” he murmured, looking around the dim room. It seemed a cramped sort of place and hardly anyone obviously important or wealthy appeared to be present. That suited him just fine.
Daniel had no wish to meet anyone he knew too well from the area. He was here to have fun, not mind his manners and worry what gossip might spring from his stay and find its way back to Mother. There would be time enough for having his ears blistered for tardiness later.
Once Mother had exhausted herself of her complaints, Daniel would make haste to call upon his nearest widowed neighbor, and the man’s unmarried daughter, Amy. He would be the best version of himself from then on.
But not tonight.
He took a seat at a table by the small, dirty front window that looked out over the stable yard. He sat facing the room, a habit he’d picked up in London when drinking alone in low places, and hoped for some excitement to liven up the place.
Wraxall did seem rather ordinary on the surface but, in his experience, first impressions were often wholly inaccurate. He was constantly surprised by how flawed his own judgement could be about places, and especially people.
Men routinely lied, and betrayed even their best friends for money or to gain power over others. Women were not immune either. They always wanted to have what other man could give them. His own poor judgement where women were concerned seemed to be something he could never save himself from, either. He lived in hope of love, but Daniel had never had much luck with women so far.
His brief affairs of the heart had only ever led to disappointment for him. He’d made friends of many women, but nothing deeper seemed possible in London. Which was why he was going home at last.
Daniel was resigned to make a proper match with a woman who would meet his basic needs and please his mother. He would set aside his preference for more exciting women for the sake of immediate peace in his family.
That meant he would finally settle down and lead a dull and unexciting life, the same his own father had lived when he’d married Mama.
The prospect of such a fate almost had him turning tail for London again.
Yet, he could not shirk his duty forever. A marriage must be made soon, and an heir produced in short order after that to ensure the succession.
He was getting closer and closer in age to what his own father had been when Daniel was born. Father had only lasted ten years more, and he barely recalled his face now. Daniel was the last direct male descendant of his line, and he had a family of women to worry about, too. He could not have his estate and title revert to the crown or have some far-distant unknown relation come forward to inherit it all after he was gone. Mother would never forgive him if that came to pass.
He took a long swallow of his ale when it arrived and pondered where his valet had taken himself off to. Probably sulking up in the rented chamber because he couldn’t kiss his mama good night tonight. Daniel exhaled and shook his head. He had never done that. Hugged or kissed his mother good night. At least, not that he could ever remember. A head nod was their habit.
All the love and comfort Daniel had ever known had come from his Granny Nolan, a feisty old wench who seemed to embarrass her daughter with every breath and recounted her past deed with such glee. Granny had come to live with them when Papa had died and never left, or left for long. She had visited her old friends in Portishead a few times over the years—but not lately.
He had missed Granny a great deal. He was looking forward to seeing her and hearing her wild tales once more.
A figure ran past his window, catching Daniel’s attention. When two more followed, running too, he grinned. Finally. Something exciting must be going on.
He rose and put his face closer to the dirty windowpane.
There seemed to be some sort of commotion taking place just out of sight.
A cheer rang out, reaching even the occupants inside the inn, who were on their feet and headed for the door the next moment. Daniel hurried to follow, his curiosity piqued, and eager for any event to enliven his stay.
A wall of people blocked his view of the ruckus in the narrow alleyway beside the inn. But over the din of noise, he heard a woman shouting in outrage. His smiled slipped. The sound of distress drew him farther into the melee.
The woman was incensed about something serious.
Daniel attempted to push his way to the front, not an easy feat since everyone wanted a closer look at what was going on, too.
“You can’t do this!”
“Oh, yes, I can,” a man answered. “Come along, gentlemen, don’t be shy. Who here needs a woman? She’s strong, healthy and has all her own teeth. How much will you offer for her?”
There was a profound silence after that, and then the lady blistered the air with a round of remarkable set downs. Her inventiveness impressed the hell out of Daniel. Not even the worst of his friends could match this woman for creativity. He certainly couldn’t.
He ended up at the front of the crowd and got a better look at the woman.
What surprised him was that she was young—couldn’t have been much more than two and twenty years of age—and despite the raggedy dress she wore, Daniel thought her rather handsome. He’d always favored blondes.
But her scowl could crack the earth and her tongue lashed fire over the man holding her by one arm. Their eyes met, and Daniel’s breath caught. He licked his lips, and the woman’s gaze dipped to his mouth. Attraction sizzled in the air between them, and he took another step forward, intending to rescue her or claim her perhaps.
But the old man must have sensed his intent and wrenched her back against him first, and the moment passed as her gaze left him. Clearly, she wasn’t happy with being sold off to the highest bidder like some prized mare at Tattersall’s, and Daniel couldn’t blame her.
Women were not property to be sold off to the highest bidder, unless they would be married into a good family as part of the process. That seemed hardly likely given this crowd.
Daniel folded his arms over his chest and scowled at the man holding her captive. It was none of his business, but he felt compelled to say something about the matter and put a stop to this ridiculous wife auction. “Have you not the stamina to mount her anymore, sir?”
The crowd laughed at his ribald taunt.
The man turned to face him, and Daniel was taken by surprise by his trodden-down bearing. He was old, his hair peppered with gray, and there were deep lines etched on his face. He seemed weary down to the bone.
The old man looked him up and down and nodded. “I’m dying,” he said simply, voice no longer as strong as it had been when he’d addressed the crowd. “I want her to have a good life after I’m gone. Are you married, sir?”
“No,” he blurted. Well, not yet. But he’d already decided about that. Amy Wilson would be his bride in a few short weeks. Eighteen years of age, bright minded, and a favorite of his mother’s, Amy would make a perfectly decent countess. She was already accomplished in household management. Her temperament, though, was sedate, utterly unexcitable, which made her perfect for the role of a country wife.
He glanced at the woman standing between him and the old man. She was more to his taste than Amy, but he couldn’t have her.
