He knew they had to go out this evening so she could flirt and show the world she was not pining for any dead soldier. His mother expected him to go, too, he knew, instead of finding his own pleasurewhich hadnt been all that pleasurable recently, anywayin case they needed another diversion. He thought hed just interrupt Corie to assure her of his support, in case she was worried. But if she yelled at him like Cook when he tried to bring the dog into her kitchens, he was leaving, and she could face the
ton
on her own. Corie never had a problem finding fault with him at the best of times.
Miss Abbott did not yell, but she was pale, with dark circles under her eyes. She looked sad. Daniel knew shed been keeping late nights; now she had to worry about losing her status as the most popular female in Town, and losing her suitors.
Am I interrupting? I thought Id see if you wanted to drive in the park. You know, so youd be seen acting merry, not like a woman wearing the willow for a dead soldier.
Her lips turned down. Theyll think what they want no matter what I do. You know me, and still dont think Im worthy of becoming someones wife.
I dont think that.
You did.
And shed think him a wastrel no matter what he did. Daniel wished he could tell her about his work with the Finance Ministry, but that was to be a close-held secret for now. It was too hard to explain, too easy for the counterfeiters to hear of an investigation, especially with Daniels reputation.
On his way home hed considered some hypotheses: that an operation of this magnitude needed more than one man, an artist, a printmaker, a pressman; that a gentleman was in charge, someone of stature who could pass bills the easiest, without being questioned. Perhaps he held a title, so did not fear a public hanging. Peers had to be tried in Parliament, where the lords would rather wear donkeys ears than accuse one of their own. But he remembered Trowbridge chiding him for leaping to conclusions. It was too soon to speculate.
A drive? Corie asked, bringing him back to the morning room and his offer. It is pouring out.
It was? Daniel hadnt noticed. Hed been so intent on his new discovery and his theorizing, it could have been snowing. When Deauville handed him a fresh coat, Daniel had thought the dog hairs bothered the valet, not that it was damp.
Still, he did not think Corie ought to be sitting here by herself. Um, they are playing cards upstairs.
Corie picked up her pen again. I do not wish to lose what pin money I still have. And Miss Reynolds seemed comfortable enough with Lord Morgan.
She seemed more than comfortable to Daniel. He tried again. I thought Id visit one of the print shops, you know, look at the artwork.
That got her to put her pen down. You? That is, go to an art exhibit without being forced?
He bent down to give the dog a bite of pastry. I, uh, didnt intend to look at paintings, just some engravings for sale. I thought Id take a look. He wanted to see if any felt wrong, to test his new skill.
He must have looked guilty, because she turned back to her letters. There is nothing in those places but scurrilous cartoons of the prince and his brothers. Or salacious ones. She looked up and frowned at him.
So thered be no drive, no galleries, nothing to cheer her up. As much as the woman aggravated him, he hated to see her blue-deviled. Anything youd rather do this afternoon?
Yes, Id rather not be the center of gossip.
He fed the dog some more of his raspberry tart. Im sorry, but that cant be helped. Its a story straight out of some novel, a beautiful damsel, a forlorn love. Youll have to show them tonight.
By being merry as a grig, she said, scowling at the idea.
I dont know what entertainment my mother has planned.
Whatever it is, I will be on display again. Corie was tired of being onstage, always acting. She was writing to Lady Coras man of business, asking if she might call on him to ask for legal advice.
With the tart all gone, the dog started itching again.
Daniel looked at Corie, her green eyes all shadowed, her shoulders slumped with the weight of the world on them. Then he looked at Helen. I know just the thing. Lets give the dog a bath.
She did smile, faintly, as one would for a babbling infant.
Its great fun, and you look like you could use cheering up.
She was surprised he noticed, or cared. She was not altogether surprised a dolt like Daniel Stamfield would think bathing an old dog was fun. I cannot imagine enjoying that.
Neither can Helen, but shell feel better after. Well all get wet and look silly. Come.
I thought the dogs name was Pip.
Shes deaf, so it doesnt matter. The vermin on her do.
That made the job sound less appealing, if possible. Surely the grooms in the stables can give her a wash.
They are busy, and she doesnt know them. They dont know her, so mightnt care about getting the temperature of the water right, or not getting soap in her eyes, or drying her off right. I took her away from her comfortable digs, not that she was well cared for there, so she is my responsibility. But its definitely a two-man job. Or a man and a woman. Two people.
Corie tilted her head, as if looking at him for some kind of trap or sarcasm. Daniel Stamfield spouting responsibility. Wonders never cease. But she got up, petted the dogs head after letting the hound sniff at her hand. A bath it is.
They decided to use the bathing chamber upstairs, where there was piped hot water and plenty of towels. Neither mentioned what a breach of propriety this was, with his mother not at home and Miss Reynolds not free to chaperone.
Daniel took off his coat and neckcloth. Corie tied on an apron borrowed from the broom closet. Soon both of them were sopping wet, along with the floor, the walls, and parts of the dog. Soap suds were everywhere, and laughter.
Daniel was right: She was happier. So was he, except that he couldnt help noticing how the wet apron pressed against her breasts.
Corie couldnt help noticing how gentle he was with the dog, how his big hands stroked the old hound and calmed her.
He dragged his eyes from her bosom and noticed her hands, her bent hands scrubbing Helens back. What happened to your fingers?
Corie couldnt hide them in her skirts, not when they were full of soap and water. Besides, she was more in charity with Daniel than ever before, so why not tell him? Everyone else was discussing her; he might as well, too. He hadnt given away any of her history yet.
Mostly she decided to tell him because hed already seen what she kept hidden, and seemed only curious, not repulsed. She could not keep the bitterness from her voice when she started: It was when my father dragged me away from that inn.
He did not need to ask which inn. You fell down the stairs? Your hand got caught in the carriage door?
She did not answer until they rinsed Helen off and wrapped her in towels in front of the fire in Daniels bedroom. I suppose shell be sleeping there now that shes been evicted from Lord Morgans room, he said, then took up a dry towel to wrap around Cories hands, carefully patting them dry so he did not hurt her. Your fingers? he persisted.
She said it all at once: My father slammed a book down on my hand when we got home.
You mean he dropped a book? That was the accident?
She laughed. Oh, no, there was no accident. He picked up the family Bible, a heavy, ancient volume, from its place on the book stand. I thought he was going to pray for me, or read me some edifying passage. Instead he said Id broken his dreams, made him break his word to Sir Neville. Id broken the chain of life inscribed in the Bible because hed never let me marry or bring forth tainted seed. So he broke my hand with the book, to show the world. I suppose if he had a flaming brand he would have marked my forehead the way they used to do.
Daniel stared at her crooked fingers, the enlarged knuckles. Her own father had done that? And no one straightened them for you?
He would not permit anyone to call for a surgeon. He locked me in my room until there was proof that I was not breeding. By then it was too late to repair the damage.
Daniel still held her hand, still could not look at her face.
That was not the first time my father grew violent, only the worst. Lady Cora says I may stay with her, but hed have the right to reclaim me at any time. I will never be safe without another mans name to protect me. Thats why I went with Snelling, even knowing him for a scoundrel. He had to be better than my father. So now you see why I cannot go home, why I need a husband so badly.
Now he saw why she hated him so much.
Chapter Twenty-two
C
orie felt better for the telling.
Daniel felt worse for the hearing. He let go of her hands, to pace the length of his bedchamber, where the dog was no proper duenna. He did not care.
She hated him, and with reason. Hed thought she despised him for keeping her from eloping with her lover. Instead hed helped Squire Abbott, without knowing about Sir Neville, without knowing about the squires cruelty. Daniel was the one who condemned her to life with a sadistic bastard. And all without asking a single question. That was what he felt guiltiest about. Hed accepted his neighbors frantic call to save his daughter from ruination at the hands of an unscrupulous fortune hunter.
One question, one simple question, and he would have known the truth the way he always knew the truth: Why? Why did she go, and why didnt he ask?
Because, as always, hed jumped to conclusions. Fool he was, hed rushed in, where the proverbial angels were fearful enough to ask for more information. He did so now, three years too late.
You said that was not the first time.
Corie untied the strings of the wet apron and draped it over the back of a chair. No. He is a violent man.
The idea of a man striking a woman was repugnant to Daniel. Any man, any woman. But to lift ones hand against a child, a young girl who could not defend herself? Ones own flesh and blood? He thought of the tiny infant hed held at his goddaughters christening, his cousin Rexs baby daughter. Rex could hardly bear to see her in another mans arms; hed kill anyone who threatened her in any way. So would Daniel, the mites godfather. Now he wanted to murder Abbott.
He kept pacing, rather than putting his fist through the wall of his uncles house. Was that the last time?
He never wanted me near him, and I made sure to keep my distance, especially when I knew hed been drinking.
Which did not entirely answer Daniels question. Abbott was always drinking, as far as he knew. He was always looking for new servants, too, for few stayed long in his employ. A child had no such choice. Daniel was furious at himself. Why hadnt he asked, damn it? Granted, Abbott hustled the girl away at the inn, while she was screaming and crying.
Not because she was leaving her lover, he knew now, but because she was returning to her father. Hell and damnation.
Corie mistook his anger. He never hurt me so badly after that, although he threatened to. II took to carrying a small knife in my pocket.
He looked at her. She was tall for a woman, but light-boned, almost delicate, except for her impressive bust. Now was not the time to be noticing that the dampness from the apron had seeped through to her thin muslin gown to outline her breasts. If he stared, he might be able to see her nipples, hardened with the chill. He turned his back. Can you shoot?
Shoot? A pistol?
Not a bow and arrow, by Zeus. They make tiny pistols that fit in your pocket. A man would have a knife out of your hand before you could shout for help. Then hed use it on you, for thwarting him. At least you could do more damage with a gun. Ill get you one.
Corie was not sure she could actually shoot someone, much less her own father, but she was touched by Daniels concern. Then again, she could trust Daniel Stamfield to know the best way to injure a man.
He was still pacing, still angry, but not with her, she was certain. Even knowing his reputation, even alone in a room with him and his fury, she did not feel afraid. He was outraged on her behalf, for once, instead of being angry at her. Remembering his gentleness with the dog soothed her, took away the trembling when he asked about her mother.
I cannot prove he killed her, if that is what you are asking. When I was young, she always claimed she was clumsy, that she fell a lot. As I grew older and felt his hand, I suspected she was not clumsy at all, but she would never say anything against him. Then it was too late for me to help her. She took to her bed and died.
There was nothing you could have done. The authorities would not have stepped in between a husband and wife.
Or a father and his daughter.
