Chapter 2 #2
unlatched the door. She carried a jug—her mother’s apple cider, no doubt—and a silk reticule bulging with pencils. She’d worn
her favorite straw hat, newly trimmed with a riot of silk flowers. She was followed inside by two cats.
Dani and Miriam and Whittle watched her progress in silence. No one stood, no one relieved her of the cider jug, no one complimented
her hat.
“Shall I . . . ?” began Amelia, nervously.
Dani reached out a hand and pulled her to the next chair. In her ear, she whispered, “We are learning something about the
parents of my birth. And my betrothal. Apparently.”
“Oh!” Amelia gasped softly. She settled the cider on the floor, scattering cats.
“Right,” Whittle continued. “We’re aware that this news may come as somewhat of a shock, but this day, I’m afraid, was always
meant to . . . to come.”
“What day?” asked Dani. She found Amelia’s hand and squeezed it.
“The day that your lineage and your history,” explained Miriam, “will intercede with your life in our family. When that history and lineage would . . . reclaim you.” Her voice broke and her eyes brimmed with tears.
“But what do you mean, ‘lineage and history’?” asked Dani, feeling herself begin to panic. Miriam was crying—actually crying. Miriam never cried.
“The life I’ve lived these last twenty years,” Dani insisted, “is my past. Surely this unknown ‘lineage’ has less say in my future than the family that raised me—than our family? And why are you crying? If none of us wishes for me to marry a strange man—and let me be the first to say that I
do not—then surely I can’t be forced to do it?”
“It’s not an issue of being forced, love,” sniffed Miriam. “It’s happy news—what we are telling you is happy news.” Her voice
broke on a sob.
“No one in this room is happy,” Dani insisted, “me, least of all. I’m utterly confused. You’re saying words but you are not explaining.”
Whittle spoke again. “I know you are confused and alarmed, Moppet; and this is our fault, isn’t it? We embraced our role as
your parents these many years. You became our daughter so completely, and we’ve loved you so thoroughly, we failed to uphold
the truth about your other family; about your obligations and roles to fulfill.”
“What obligations? What roles?” Dani demanded. Now she wanted to cry.
“These people have a vested interest in your future and the lineage of their family—of your proper family,” he went on.
“It’s their right, I’m afraid, to play a role in shaping the next chapters.
It has been the honor and the joy of our lives to raise you up.
But now someone else will, in a way, step in.
And rightly so, some might say. What do Miriam and I know of proper matches and fine gentlemen?
We were fit parents in our own way, but we can hardly launch you into society. ”
“What care have I for being launched into society?” asked Dani.
“It makes no difference if you care for it,” said Miriam sadly, “nor if we care for it. Our preferences do not apply, do they?
We’ve been told in no uncertain terms that a husband has been chosen for you, and you will marry.”
“Chosen by whom? What future?” It was as if the three of them were having two different conversations. She was asking questions and they were responding
with pronouncements in code.
“We were never meant to keep you—not forever.” Whittle sighed. “But we will always be your guardians and this cottage will
always be your home. Ivy Hill will always be your village. Only now you are to become someone’s wife as well. And that someone
was chosen to be your equal in rank and station. Ivy Hill was never large enough for your potential, Dani—we’ve said this
all along.”
“What you’ve said,” protested Dani, “is nothing.” The apricot tart in her stomach threatened to slide back into her throat.
Beside her, Amelia Broom gently cleared her throat. “But can you say the name of Dani’s betrothed? Mr. Dinwiddie, Mrs. Dinwiddie?”
A pause. “Perhaps if we simply began there? Or perhaps the gentleman’s name is not yet known?”
“Oh yes, we’ve been told the man’s name. We can say, can’t we?” said Whittle, looking at his wife.
“He’s called Captain Lucas Bannock,” recited Miriam, holding the folded parchment and reading aloud. “Of Cornwall.” The cat
called Feathers jumped in her lap. “He has distinguished himself in military service apparent—”
“Oh my God!” Amelia gasped. She dropped Dani’s hand and leaped to her feet. “Dani? Captain Lucas Bannock! Captain Luke Bannock.”
“Who is Captain Luke Bannock?” asked Dani. She said the name like an ingredient in a recipe that made no sense.
“Captain Luke Bannock is a national hero, of course,” Amelia exclaimed. “He rescued a cousin to the Prince Regent in a naval
battle. His ship was sunk and his crew was tortured but he managed to escape and tread water in open seas for three days,
keeping himself and the prince’s cousin afloat in the Atlantic Ocean. He fought off sharks and starvation and despair.”
“How does one fight starvation?” Dani asked, but she wasn’t really listening. What care had she for naval battles and sharks?
She was engaged. To be married. To an actual man. He became more real with every enthusiastic pronouncement from Amelia’s
mouth. Perhaps Miriam and Whittle’s approach had been best; perhaps they should go round and round and understand nothing.
If it made no sense, then perhaps it wasn’t happening. But now this person had a name. And the designation of “Captain.” Amelia
was practically levitating with excitement.
“But don’t you remember?” pressed her friend. “I read the account to you from the London papers months ago?”
Dani shook her head. No, she did not remember. Amelia was obsessed with London gossip, particularly newspaper accounts of
King George’s family and the royal court at St. James’s Palace. Her friend had read aloud every minute detail, but Dani comprehended
only a fraction—and she remembered even less. Certainly she’d not remembered Captain Whomever who’d swam for days and rescued
a royal cousin.
“But this is remarkable, Dani,” insisted Amelia. “You’re to be married to a national hero!”
Dani stared blankly at her friend. She felt the color leave her face and a prickly tingle in her fingers and toes. She had no air.
Meanwhile, Amelia’s enthusiasm escalated like notes on a scale. Dani may rarely think of marriage, but Amelia thought of getting
married second only to thinking about royal gossip.
“The wife of a war hero,” Amelia gushed. “Captain Bannock is one of the most celebrated men in Britain—absolutely, for certain,
you will be introduced to Queen Charlotte at some point in your life. You will meet the Princess Royal. Oh Dani!” She clamped her
hands together beneath her chin. “Can you imagine it?”
“No,” said Dani hopelessly. “I cannot imagine it.” Perhaps the truest statement of the morning.
“But do you remember the portrait of Captain Bannock I showed to you on the front page of the Times?” Amelia prompted. “Remember how I said he looked ever so dashing?”
Dashing? Dani repeated in her head. What use have I for dashing?
“Do not make this out to be a deficit, Dani,” warned Amelia, “do not. Dashing is better than wretched. Or sickly. Or spotted,
or—”
“I understand the universal appeal of dash, Amelia,” Dani said, “but how can we celebrate the nature of the man until we understand
who attached him to me—and why? Letters do not simply arrive in the post and bind unsuspecting women to strange men, I don’t
care how heroic they’ve been.”
“Remember I can also report from where the man hails,” announced Miriam, straightening. She lifted the letter above the cat and read, “ ‘Cornwall.’ ” She made a face. Everyone
in the room made a face. Miriam lowered the letter. She said, “It’s a misconception, cannot we agree, that the Cornish are
all—”
“What does it matter if he’s Cornish?” Dani cut in. “Start at the very beginning, Miriam. Tell me who has made this decision about me and my future. Tell me why. Tell me why him. Tell me when for God’s sake.”
The mention of schedules made Dani remember the parish house, her plan to arrive early, the threat posed by Giles Stinchcomb.
“Oh no—the committee,” she said, slapping a hand to her forehead. “How has this detonated on today, of all days? I’m due at
St. Andrew’s in ten minutes. I’m late already.”
“But you’re always due somewhere aren’t you, Moppet?” asked Whittle gently. “There was never a good time for this. That is
why we’ve not yet told you. There was never a good time.” His voice was so very sad.
“No,” said Dani, dropping her hand. “No, I don’t suppose there has been.”
Of course Whittle was right. Since the grant money had come through to refurbish the parish house, Dani had been single-mindedly
occupied with seeing it done.
And her surrogate parents were in obvious distress. Their shoulders were slumped and their expressions drawn. They clasped
hands or rubbed nervous palms on the arm of the sofa. A second cat leaped into their laps and they ignored her. Miriam and
Whittle would not purposefully waylay Dani; nor would they purposefully saddle her with a surprise betrothal unless they’d
had no choice.
“But perhaps Amelia Broom should remind us more about the dashing Captain Bannock, if she’s so familiar with the man,” suggested Whittle.
“We’ve been told so very little, haven’t we Miri?
Perhaps we’ll breathe a bit easier if we learn Dani is to be united with a man of good manners and character.
Valiant and honorable. If he swam for days and saved his friend, he must be rather young, mustn’t he be?
Amelia Broom?” His gaze was almost desperate, studying Amelia.
And now Dani realized that Whittle and Miriam were as terrified as she was.
“Give me the letters,” Dani said, holding out a hand. “All of them. It’s my future, I should be permitted to read them.”
“First allow us to explain how news of the betrothal came to us?” tried Miriam, clutching the parchment.
“Fine,” said Dani, “explain it. I’ve been begging you to—”
She was cut off by the sound of footsteps, muffled male voices, and then a very clear exclamation of, “Oh.”
She twisted in her chair. Now what?
Framed in the sunny square of the open Dutch door stood the figure of a man. He was tall, broad-shouldered, finely dressed.
Dark auburn hair curled beneath a black hat. He was flanked by a second man—shorter, rounder, balder—another finely dressed
gentleman.
Dani looked from the tall man, to his companion, and back to the first. Their gazes locked. He had pale green eyes and the
hungry, assessing expression of a predator.
Expression of a predator? Dani thought. What did she know of predators? She lived in a leafy, swan-dotted village called Ivy Hill. There were no predators.
Even so, a cork popped loose inside her chest, revealing an open hole. Through it, she heard the beating of her heart.
Dani blinked and looked again to the men. She was not accustomed to feeling what went on inside her chest. But she was also
not accustomed to broad shoulders or black hats or male visitors. She glanced at her parents. They were frozen on the sofa
like prey.
Oh, for Pete’s sake, Dani thought. He was just a man. She stood. “Good morning, sir. May I help you?”
Ever so slightly, the tall man raised his brows, the gesture of someone insulted or unimpressed or—? Dani couldn’t guess the meaning of the subtly arrogant brow lift. She knew only that he’d interrupted the most important discussion of her life.
“I beg your pardon,” he said. His words were polite, but his tone barely endured. “We’re in search of the home of Silas and
Miriam Dinwiddie and the prin—”
“I am Silas Dinwiddie,” cut in Whittle, struggling to his feet. “And this is my wife, Mrs. Miriam Dinwiddie.”
The man at the door squinted beyond Dani to her parents. He studied Whittle, studied Miriam, studied Amelia and the cats and
their cottage. Finally, he looked again to Dani. He had the expression of a man surveying a guest room before he agreed to
the price.
“I am Lucas Bannock,” he went on. “I’ve come from London to introduce myself and—”
When he said his name, the uncorked thing in Dani’s chest was matched by two, three, four more holes. Her insides were perforated;
she was a sieve. Her lungs could not retain air.
“How do you do, Mr. Bannock—er, Captain Bannock, is it?” Miriam was saying. Out of her seat now, Miriam was grinning at the
man—nay, she was welcoming him.
Dani was suddenly too hot, she was breathless. She felt like she’d stumbled into a buzzing hive. The name “Lucas Bannock”
expanded inside her like a swarm.
“We’d not known when to expect you,” Miriam was saying.
Dani blinked at her surrogate mother and father. She looked at Amelia. Her friend had clamped a hand over her mouth, her eyes
huge. Dani swallowed. She looked at the floor. She took a deep breath.
Right, she thought.
Fine.
This person has come.
I’d not known of his existence before three minutes ago, but he’s here now, and . . .
She glanced at her parents. Miriam and Whittle stood before the sofa like they faced a firing squad. Amelia embodied blissful
shock; a statue of anticipation.
Meanwhile, the man called Lucas Bannock, her fiancé, stared at the lot of them like he barely recognized their shapes as human.
Well, Dani thought, someone has to acknowledge him. Her family mustn’t appear witless or without manners.
She drew in another deep breath. She would reckon with the whys and hows after he’d gone. Surely he would not toss her over
his shoulder and haul her away today?
Pasting on a smile, Dani bobbed a quick curtsy and made her way to the door.
“How do you do, Captain Bannock?” she said. “Please do come in.”