Chapter 8
Dani trailed behind Mr. Abbott, leaving the shadows of the library for the pale salon. Captain Bannock hadn’t looked up from
the bookshelf, and she left him to it. The house itself seemed to make little impression on him, but in the library, he could
not pretend. And wasn’t this an intriguing preference? England’s favorite war hero was a book lover and, presumably, an avid
reader. The reality of this made her smile.
She moved on, taking in the large, formal salon, its walls faded to the color of an eggshell. Previous residents would have
gathered here with their guests before dinner. Or perhaps this was where the family convened for tea or games or letters.
The furniture was draped but she could make out couches clustered around fireplaces; desks and chairs where the light would
be best. Mr. Abbott was at the first window, wrestling with drapes.
“Let me tie them, Mr. Abbott,” she said, reaching for the nearest rope. “The fire you promised would be most appreciated.”
He floated silently out the door, and Dani chuckled—a bell around his neck, indeed.
She moved from window to window, tying back stiff drapes to let in the sun.
The windows looked out on flowerbeds, overtaken now by brambles, their thorns pressing against the glass.
Everywhere she looked, Dani saw opportunity—for restoration, for improvement, for jobs.
“The furniture has not been checked for vermin,” Abbott intoned behind her. She jumped, startling again. He was at the fireplace
with an armload of wood. “But the settee near the fire should not soil your fine clothes,” he said.
Dani looked down at her yellow dress. Could her simple muslin be considered “fine”? She wore it to church, alternating with
two other summer frocks. She’d always had more dresses than most of the girls in Ivy Hill—Miriam and Whittle had made her
wardrobe a priority—but it was hardly equal to the gowns this salon had seen.
Would anyone believe that she and her three frocks were suited to this great house? Only yesterday, the properties in her
purview had been a crumbling parish hall and the Dinwiddie cottage. Restoring a manor house was quite a leap. She’d been named
chair of the parish-hall committee because she’d raised the most money for its refurbishment. She’d raised the most money
because, for two years, she’d doggedly sought grants from every historical society in England. But what had she done to gain
Eastwell Park? Village girls did not simply wake up one day and marry strange men and move into mansions. War heroes did not
suddenly marry village girls.
She glanced at the library door—still vacant—and went to the fire to warm her hands. An even larger improbability—if she was
being honest—was her growing fondness for the particular war hero in question.
If she was being honest, she’d say she was drawn to him.
She was hardly skilled in the art of flirtation, but she could identify someone who was paying attention.
She could feel him studying her while she explored the house.
And he touched her more than strictly necessary.
And he listened so intently to everything she said.
The notion of “attraction” between a man and a woman, although new to Dani, was not beyond her realm of comprehension. It
had never before occurred to her to feel excitement at the prospect of some man, but excitement was perhaps the most accurate way to describe her regard for him. Why else would her heart pound or her stomach
flip?
“Tea, miss,” intoned Abbott behind her, causing her to jump. He’d noiselessly rolled a tea trolley to the center of the room.
“How generous, Mr. Abbott,” she said. “Thank you. But can you—? I’ll just take it by the fire, if you please?”
“Very good, miss,” he said, wheeling the refreshments to the settee.
Say what they would about the caretaker, Abbott knew how to lay a perfectly serviceable tea. She examined a delicate teacup.
The porcelain was fine, if dull and a bit sticky. Everything in the house had the heft of luxury but the crust of neglect.
Her hands itched to scrub and polish; to raise windows and open doors and turn everything inside out.
But of course this house did not belong to her, not yet. She wiped two teacups and poured. The lid to the sugar dish took
some effort. When it finally popped off, she discovered a glob of tannish, petrified lumps. Right. No sugar. She eyed the
creamer. Nor cream. They would drink it black.
“Is he trying to poison us, you reckon?” came a voice from the doorway. Dani looked up. Captain Bannock ambled from the library.
“I would forgo the sugar, if I were you,” she said.
He chuckled and took his cup, glancing around for a place to sit.
“We’ve been relegated to this little settee, I’m afraid.” She gathered her skirts to make room. “The other furniture may harbor
vermin. Or so I’m told.”
“One can never be too careful.”
“There’s hardly room for the two of us, a mouse would be out of the question.”
Captain Bannock smiled at her joke but turned away, sipping tea.
“Or perhaps there is not room,” she quietly observed.
“Miss Allard,” he said.
“Captain,” she replied.
He set down his cup. He sniffed at the cream in the small pitcher and blinked. He removed the lid from the sugar dish and
frowned. He did not sit.
“What do you make of the library?” she asked.
“Extensive. Well organized. The interests of the previous owners seemed to center on astronomy, Roman roads, and cricket.
Among other topics.” He drained his cup. “The collection of periodicals that Abbott has painstakingly archived is remarkable.
The London papers. Science journals. Gossip rags. Abbott can clearly read and catalog; he’s kept up with five subscriptions
that arrive weekly, monthly, quarterly—everything in careful order.”
“Well done, Abbott,” she said. “And he’s prepared this tea.”
Captain Bannock regarded her. She should be accustomed to his scrutiny; she’d felt his eyes on her all day. But he’d not looked
her square in the face, not really. Dani looked back, blinking slowly. Her stomach did the flipping thing, and she felt a
flush rise on her cheeks.
“We should talk, Captain.” She forced the words out.
“Have we been silent all day and I dreamed the hours of chatter?”
“Not about the house,” she said. “Please.”
She scooted to the edge of the tiny settee. He was given no choice but to sit, wedging his large frame between her and the
opposite arm. The spindly wood creaked under his weight. He took away her empty teacup and draped his arm behind her.
“And what are we to talk about?” he asked.
Dani took a deep breath, trying to think around the buzzy, pinging sensation of his closeness.
“My parents will not discuss the letter that announced this betrothal. Either they do not understand it or they feel threatened
by it. But I understand most things, and I cannot see the threat. What I do see is a lack of vital information. How, pray,
did this house, and you—how did all of it—come about?”
The captain nodded but did not speak.
Dani continued. “Please do not think me ungrateful. I am thrilled by the prospect of Eastwell Park, obviously. Also, I’m not
opposed to—to you.” Here she cleared her throat. “But it would be imprudent for me to tour another room or indulge in your,
er, attention without gaining some understanding about how all of this has fallen in my lap.”
“Right,” he said, exhaling. He took off his hat and balanced it on a piece of draped furniture. He ran a hand through his
hair.
“So, this house was given to me as a reward,” he began. “You know this much.”
“Yes.”
“And the reason I was given this house, and these lands, is because the Prince Regent hoped to, in a way, redirect my professional
focus.”
This had not been her question, but it was new information. “Your professional focus?”
“Yes. From sea to land.”
“From sea to land?”
“That’s correct. That is, the reward was partly property and partly . . . a chance for a fresh start in life.”
Dani wiggled against him. The tiny settee now felt smaller. “The Prince Regent hoped to see you remade from sea captain to
something like country squire?”
“Probably,” he said.
Probably? Dani repeated in her head. She was so very confused but she said nothing, hoping the silence would compel him to explain.
“I believe,” he finally said, “the transition from life at sea to life, er, on land will be so very opposite, the prince feels
a wife, especially a local girl, might help settle me in this position. He wants success. For me. Here in Kent. And for this
estate. That is what I believe.”
“More success, you mean? The prince wants more success for you. You are, after all, a national hero.” She tried to read his face but it was impossible at such close range. She
looked at his profile.
“Different success, I suppose? And the house alone was no guarantee of it. In fact, without a proper wife to help manage it, the house
could overwhelm a man like me.”
She chewed her lower lip. “Forgive me, I struggle to understand why the prince would want such a dramatic shift in vocation
for you. Obviously you are a talented captain or you would not be so decorated. You do seem ambivalent about country life, though. Now that you mention it. Why would Prince George make you forfeit the sea?”
“The misunderstanding here—and you’ll forgive me for perpetuating it—is that I am a sea captain.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“It’s true, I do captain a ship at sea—or I did, before the thing was set on fire and sunk—but not as part of His Majesty’s
Royal Navy. I am, Miss Allard, a smuggler. By trade. If smuggling can be considered a trade.” He glanced down at her.
“A smuggler?” Dani dislodged herself from the seat and stood, squaring off with him. “But what do you smuggle, sir?”
“Guns, actually,” he said, rising beside her. “They fetch the highest price. Also, brandy. Silk. Whatever contraband is in
demand.”