Chapter 6 #2
Dani glanced up, hoping he would provide some answers, but they’d come upon a toppled cart with firewood strewn across the
road. He was forced to navigate around logs without hobbling the horses.
When they rolled clear, the subject was lost. Dani was oddly relieved. She had no wish to discuss Miriam and Whittle and their
strange anxiety. She wanted to know about him.
Dani cleared her throat. “What of your parents, Captain?”
“What of them?” he asked, not taking his eyes from the road.
A flush stung her throat. She knew a dismissal when she heard it. She glanced at him. His jaw was clenched, his profile rigid.
He did not look evasive so much as uncomfortable.
“Were they informed of our betrothal by post like mine?” When in doubt, she thought, make a joke.
“My parents don’t know if I’m dead or alive. Given this, I’d say my marital status is even less considered.”
“Your parents don’t know you’re alive?” she marveled.
“Forgive me,” he said, glancing to her. He gave a strained smile.
“I’ve not seen my father in many years. He is a sailor who’s rarely in England.
He is little more than an acquaintance to me.
As for my mother . . . It’s inaccurate, I suppose, to say she thinks I’m dead.
She knows I’m alive because she writes to me on occasion.
Despite the fact that the two of us have never met. ”
“But how can someone not have . . .” and here she chose her words carefully “. . . met his own mother?”
“The woman who gave birth to me was . . .” a tired sigh “. . . not the person who raised me. As a baby, I was taken in by
my paternal grandmother.”
“Oh, I’ve no notion of grandparents. Whittle and Miriam’s parents were deceased before I was born.”
He kept his eyes trained on the road. “My grandmother was unhappy and given to drink, I’m afraid. And she never missed an
opportunity to remind me the mother of my birth had abandoned me. As caregivers go, I cannot say I recommend it.”
Dani had been watching him from the corner of her eye, but now she turned on her seat. “I’m so sorry, Captain. But you were
raised by this person?” She’d never known anyone who’d been abandoned as a child—well, except herself. But her surrogate parents
had been loving and grateful.
“Forgive me,” he said, “I’ve said too much. I’m not accustomed to discussing my life with young ladies. Or with anyone, for
that matter. To answer your question, I left the care of my grandmother and was raised in boyhood by a surrogate father.”
“Oh, a surrogate,” she repeated. “Like me.”
“Yes. I suppose you could say that. He’s called Linus Welty.
Like your surrogate parents, he is,” he cleared his throat, “a very important figure in my life. After I was painted a national hero, the mother of my birth read about me in the newspaper and was compelled to write. I make it a practice not to read letters from people I do not know, so I’ve no notion of what she wanted and certainly made no reply.
It’s safe to say that she has no idea I’m betrothed. ”
Dani gaped at him. The cryptic details of their betrothal seemed inconsequential compared to terrible grandmothers and unknown
mothers whose letters go unopened.
“Oh,” she said, searching his profile. He had the look of a man who’d been forced to admit a crime.
“Yes,” he repeated. “Oh.” He looked to her again with the same strained smile; an expression of sad resignation. Dani couldn’t
properly identify the source of that look. There was no cynicism or mockery. He didn’t sound cavalier. He was simply . . .
honest. A new pang twisted inside of her—not a stomach flip, more like a stab to the heart.
Captain Bannock cleared his throat. “Careful of this low spot,” he said. “Hold to me if you can.”
The road disappeared into deep standing water, too muddy to gauge the depth. He pressed the horses forward and their hooves
splashed. Dani snatched up her skirts and ducked her head against the splatter. Captain Bannock dropped an arm around her
shoulder and pulled her to him. Dani’s hand flew out and she splayed her open palm across his thigh. It felt like grabbing
hold of a thick anchor, solid and unmoving. Her body swayed and listed with the movement of the wagon but she held tight to
his leg. It was senseless; she’d driven Whittle’s wagon along this road dozens of times and been perfectly secure. But she
wasn’t holding to him for safety, she held to him because it was exciting—he was exciting. Bold, and independent, and compelling. A man fully grown, a man who’d survived. She’d never made the acquaintance
of anyone like him in her life.
“The road’s been washed out,” he said. “A small bridge might be in order.”
Dani peeked up. “The sort of repair a landlord might make.”
“But this isn’t Eastwell land here, is it?”
“It is, in fact. We’re nearly to the house. The front drive is around the bend. Brace yourself, it’s dramatically long. The
house will be concealed until we come to the very end. The land on either side—which is the land you see here—is your property
as well.”
“The estate is massive,” he muttered.
Dani nodded, gazing out on the rolling parkland. The verdant hillside rose to meet the bright morning sky, green pressing
against brilliant blue. Mist hung above the grass, smudging the horizon with lavender. Did he see it? Or had their discussion
been a distraction? God knew she was distracted, but she needn’t be convinced about the beauty of Eastwell. For more than
a year, she’d prayed that someone, anyone, would claim it and bring it back from the brink. Now he’d come, and Dani herself
had been—remarkably—included in the revival. And she wanted to help. She wanted it so much, she felt homesick—nay, destined—for
Eastwell Park. And she’d never even been inside the house. Oh, but she knew the land; and she knew the potential it held for
Ivy Hill.
Do not get ahead of yourself, Dani, she scolded. Captain Bannock was exciting and the estate held great potential, but there was so much she needed to understand
before she became anyone’s wife or lived anywhere but New Bridge Road.
“We should prepare ourselves for the worst,” she told him. “If any servants have remained these last five years, I’ve not heard of them. There’s been no one to beat back the wilds of nature, which, as you can see, can be very aggressive. The brick will be climbing with vines. The fountain mud—”
“There is a fountain?”
“Oh yes, Captain. There is a fountain, and a small vineyard, and a hedge maze, and a bowling green. Your reward for rescuing
the prince’s cousin is very grand, indeed.”
Five minutes later, when they turned from the road and onto the sword-straight drive that led to the manor house, Dani pushed
forward on the bench, clutching the box rod with both hands. “See, I told you there would be signs of abandonment. Nothing
that cannot be restored, but look at the condition of the road. Gravel washed away, weeds growing tall. This hedge has entirely
lost its shape. The previous baron pruned the yew like boxy sentinels.” She turned to him. “But are you excited?”
“I am . . . not unexcited,” he said. “I am—”
He stopped talking. They passed the final yew, and the drive emptied into a large gravel rectangle. And there it stood. Eastwell
Park. All twenty-two windows, nine gables; thirty chimneys; four floors bearded with fluffy ivy, and a large, paneled front
door. The shrubbery and sod were uneven and overgrown; the roof was missing shingles. A gutter had fallen loose from the north
wall and it jutted from the cornerstone like a hangnail. But the imposing elegance of the house remained; the sculptural trim,
the thick windowpanes, and sand-colored stone that glowed in the sun.
“Good God,” he muttered, reining in the horses, “it’s a bloody castle.” The sad resignation in his voice had returned. She
glanced to him.
“No, no, not a castle,” she heard herself assure. “There is a proper castle in Maidstone. Eastwell is modest in comparison, although more beautiful, in my view. But is it to your liking, Captain Bannock?”
“Ah . . .” he began. “Do you like it?”
“I do like it,” she admitted. “I like it very much, indeed. More importantly, I like the good it will do. But may we have
a closer look?”
“We came for no other reason.” The sadness in his voice was gone, but his tone was inscrutable. He neither fawned nor diminished.
He tended to the reins, securing the wagon with swift, efficient movements.
“No need to jump, Miss Allard,” he said. “Wait five seconds, I’ll hand you down.” Dani did not wait, she made her way to the
edge and was gathering her skirts.
“Not partial to waiting, I see. Alright, hold on.” He forwent the steps and reached for her, fastening his hands to her waist.
She grabbed hold of his shoulders as he lifted her up and over in a sweeping arc.
“Thank you,” she said, laughing a little. “If you lift me so easily, perhaps I can be foisted up to peer in a window? You’re
too large to return the favor, but if we maneuver the wagon very close and—”
“Why would we peek through windows?” He had not released her. They stood face-to-face beside the wagon. “If we want to see
inside, we’ll walk through the door.”
“But the house will be locked, sir.”
“And I have keys. So many keys. The palace put me in touch with an estate agent in Swanley. No house should require the number
of keys I was issued. Although standing in the shadow of it, I see why.”
She stared at him, reminding herself that this was not a dream. He’d come, and he would inhabit Eastwell Park, and he was including her in every part of this so that she might inhabit it, too. And now they would look inside.
“Shall we?” he said, turning to face the house. He kept a hand on her lower back and squinted at the house.
“But should we say a few words?” she ventured, following his gaze. “Mark the awakening of this ancient house and lands; something
about the return to prosperity?”
He looked down. “You’re either highly sentimental or aspire to hold public office, Miss Allard. Which is it?”
“Sorry. I’ve been told I suffer from delusions of grandeur.”
“A little of both, then, perhaps.” He caught her hand and guided her toward the door.
He was so very amicable about being matched with her—her. Danielle Allard. Adopted daughter of Whittle and Miriam Dinwiddie. A maid of Kent. A girl of no—
“Do you want to see the interior of this behemoth, Miss Allard?” he called. “Or don’t you?”
She touched a hand to her lips, trying to suppress her grin. The mystery of this betrothal was as exciting as it was unexplained.
Why her? Of all people? Why this man? It made no sense. She must ask him. Immediately after this tour, she promised herself,
she would ask.