Chapter Twenty-Six
They heard the horses coming and soon a mix of voices in front of the inn. Daisy’s heart fluttered like a caged bird in her chest. Someone intended to catch her here with Ashton, someone who knew he had defended her to the family elders and who was determined to disgrace them both.
Innkeeper Bascom hauled out his long gun and laid it on top of the bar, just in case, and Ashton nodded to him and pulled back his coat on one side to reveal a revolver tucked in a holster at his waist.
“Ashton,” she gasped, “you can’t—they’re your family!”
They pounded on the door, demanding admittance, until someone tried the door and, finding it unlocked, thrust it open. It swung freely and banged back against a boot boy’s stool by the wall.
In surged Bertram and Seward at the head of a pack that included a uniformed constable, who stepped inside and moved away from the group, his hand on his truncheon. Behind the old uncles came Arthur, Reynard Boulton, and the Baron Kettering, who had a hold on Arthur’s arm. For a second, the intruders stared, confused, clearly not expecting to find their victims sitting respectably in the keeping room of the inn.
“There they are—just as reported.” Bertram forged ahead, pointing at her and then Ashton. “She’s come here for an assignation—foul harlot that she is—with His Grace’s own brother!”
“You see, Arthur?” Seward stepped behind Bertram’s shoulder, as always, needing his bluster for support. “Just as we said. She’s faithless and immoral—a slattern who would deceive you with your own despicable kin.”
“Good evening, Uncles, Arthur,” Ashton said with defiant calm. “Oh, and you’ve brought the Fox with you, I see. Good evening, Reynard. And the good Baron Kettering, always a family accomplice. But I am puzzled by the constable. Did you think there would be some reason to—”
“He’s here to close down this vile establishment where adulterers and fornicators are permitted to meet—making it a house of ill-repute.” Bertram looked to the constable, who suddenly seemed less certain of his role here.
“How many times have you met him here?” Seward aimed at Daisy.
“There is no adultery going on here, nor has there ever been,” Ashton said, waving to the innkeeper behind the bar. “As Mr. Bascom will attest, Miss Bumgarten arrived minutes ago, answering a summons from me.”
“You see, he admits he invited her!”
“Ostensibly from me.” Ashton rose, fists clenched. “I sent no such note.”
Daisy watched in horror as history repeated itself . . . on a more devastating scale. She was caught again, accused again, shamed to the bottom of her soul. Her face flamed and she shrank within herself. What had she done to deserve such humiliation? Was she so wicked that her affections and longings now counted as sin?
“A likely story . . . You would have one concocted to cover your misdeeds,” Kettering put in, looking to Bertram, who seemed desperate to get on with it.
“Do your duty, Constable,” he snapped. “Arrest them both!”
“Don’t move,” Ashton countered, slipping back his coat to reveal his gun. “Not until you’ve heard the whole story. The note that was sent was not my handwriting. See for yourself.” He thrust the note toward the constable, who opened it, looked, and shook his head helplessly. Arthur wrenched free of Kettering’s grip and shoved past his uncles to grab the note before Seward could.
He read it and looked up at Daisy and Ashton. Mercifully, there was no accusation in his face. Daisy’s heart stopped for a moment.
“This is not Ash’s hand.” He sought out confirmation. “Look for yourself, Reynard. You were at school together, you would know.”
The Fox pushed forward to take the note from Arthur and developed a wry half smile. Daisy thought she would expire before he announced slyly: “Definitely not Ash’s writing. His has never been this legible.”
Arthur snatched it back and glared at the script. “With an alteration or two, it could be Aunt Sylvia’s.” He looked up at Bertram with recognition dawning. “It is hers, isn’t it? She sent this to Daisy.”
“You’re not sensible, Arthur.” Bertram bulled his way over to his nephew, only to have Ashton meet him there with a look daring him to use the fists that were now clenched at his sides. “You’ve never had the judgment God gave an onion,” Bertram snarled at Arthur, “and you’re clearly overwrought. She’s worked her wicked charms on you and you’re not rational. Look at her.” He pointed at Daisy. “That harlot has lain with your brother and you still listen to her lies!”
“No!” Ashton thundered. “She has never dishonored herself in such a way—nor dishonored Arthur.” He turned to his brother. “She has nothing but the highest regard and concern for you.”
“She’s a whore!” Seward shouted, trembling. “How can you think of letting a whore into the bed where your mother gave birth to you?”
“There is already a whore in it,” Ashton roared. “Sylvia could barely wait for our mother to die to claim her place at Betancourt. She moved into her chambers the very next day! Ask Edgar if you don’t believe me. She and our uncles have schemed and lied and stolen from us our entire lives. Now that they see that their treachery is about to be uncovered, they set up this trap to disgrace Daisy and keep you under their control.”
“Lies!” Bertram growled. “Foul lies from a proven adulterer who betrayed his own brother!”
“No!” Daisy found her voice, and stepped around the table to defend herself. “I am not an adulterer and neither is Ashton.” She looked to Arthur, wounded by the pain in his face. “I am so sorry, Arthur. I knew they hated me, but I never imagined they would go to such lengths and drag you into such a foul scene.” She swallowed hard and lifted her head. “I may not be what they wanted for your wife, but I met the test they set before me honorably. And I hoped that someday—”
“What test?” Arthur asked, glancing at Seward and Bertram.
“She lies! Don’t listen, boy.” Bertram seized Arthur by the arm.
Ashton moved to defend his brother, but Arthur stuck out an arm to hold him back. “No!” It was meant for both Ashton and his uncles, his voice deep and resonant with emotions he had never before expressed. When his uncle tried to pull him away, Arthur yanked his arm free and glared at him with outright fury.
“You think I can’t see what is going on?” His chest heaved and his hands clenched. “You think I am so ignorant and isolated I know nothing of the world?” He looked to Daisy. “You might have been right before she came into my life. But my eyes have been opened, and I’ve seen for myself the scheming and malfeasance that have surrounded me for years. I might have forgiven your negligence . . . but now I see just how wicked and manipulative you are—to accuse and berate a young woman whose only crime is to desire a marriage with me.”
Daisy gasped.
“Well, here is my answer to your treachery. I intend to marry Daisy Bumgarten and there is nothing you can do to stop me. Far from being the vile things you have called her, she is a woman of worth and decency.” He looked to Daisy, who swayed and grappled for balance like her world was turning upside down. When he turned back, he was cooler, but no less angry. Determination had taken hold. For the first time in his life, Arthur felt the power he’d been born to wield.
“The lot of you will be out of Betancourt, by this time tomorrow. Do you hear?” He stalked forward making Bertram retreat with each step he took. “You’re banished from Betancourt and will take nothing with you but the clothes on your backs. Every document, every sale or purchase of land, every foreclosure that turned tenants out will be examined by me and held in evidence against any claim you make of entitlement to compensation.”
“You can’t do this!” Seward declared, then grabbed Bertram by the arm. “He can’t do this, can he?”
“Oh, I can. And I will. Betancourt is mine. The title and all of its holdings are mine,” Arthur said, clipping each word. “I will no longer suffer your slights, dismissals, and insults. You and Seward are banished. Aunt Sylvia will be allowed to live out her days in one of the many empty cottages on the estate—cottages that you emptied of tenants and workers.”
“You sniveling ingrate!” Bertram snarled. “You’re nothing without us. We took care of you when you were a boy—we raised you—”
“I believe you have already taken your reward for that, in the form of a living that has beggared Betancourt.” Arthur turned to the constable. “Please see them to the nearest station, Constable, and put them on a train bound for London. I’m sure they have forged connections there who will take them in.”
Daisy’s knees gave way and she sank into her chair with a plop.
“You forget—Boulton is here,” Bertram said as the constable began to push him and Seward to the door. “He will let everyone know how infamously you’ve mistreated us. We’ll see you pilloried in the London press for your crimes against us!”
“Who, me?” Reynard said as Bertram was shoved past him. He folded his arms and leaned against the door frame. “I haven’t seen a thing. Just out for an evening stroll and maybe a drink at the local watering hole.”
“Evil, backstabbing bastard—you’re in it together, the lot of you—”
The constable had his truncheon out and seemed keen to use it to force the arrogant masters of Betancourt down the road on foot. Their curses faded into sputters and moans as the full horror of their banishment took hold.
“This is outrageous!” Baron Kettering declared, shaking a fist. “I won’t stand by and see my oldest, dearest friends treated with such cruelty.”
With an icy smile Ashton stepped between the baron and Arthur.
“If you feel that strongly, you’re welcome to go after them, Baron, and offer them a place in your household,” he said, challenging the baron to pay for his outrage with charity.
Kettering huffed and stammered, then pivoted on his heel and barged past Reynard and out the door. In short order he was mounted and giving his horse the spur—away from Bertram and Seward.
Reynard’s laugh broke the silence as he clamped an arm on Ashton’s shoulder. “Well done, old boy. Thought you were done for, at first.” He turned to Arthur, but the duke was already moving toward Daisy.
Daisy watched in disbelief as Arthur knelt before her on one knee and took her icy hands in his.
“Daisy, my dear Daisy. I know I’m not the most aware of fellows or I’d have seen it earlier. It took something as dire and terrible as this to make me see what was before my face all along. I respect you and like you very much. I could not ask for a better or more capable wife and partner. I know this is hardly the time and you’re probably in no state to answer—but, I have a feeling you are probably better prepared for this than I have been. You always seem to know more about what is happening than I do.” He shifted on his knee, gripped her hand tighter, and swallowed hard.
“Daisy, say you will marry me and be my duchess—be my confidante and sounding board—my smarter, wiser half. Marry me and help me be a proper and worthy duke.” He suddenly remembered: “And a husband.”
It was not exactly the proposal girls dreamed of; no declarations of undying love, no promises of joy and bliss, not even a mention of making a family or growing old together. It was purely and truly Arthur.
His earnestness tugged at her heart and pricked her eyes.
This was what she had wanted and worked for two long years to achieve. It was a victory over huge odds, a restoration of her self-respect . . . the start of her family’s redemption. Why did she feel so damned miserable?
She only had to look up to see the reason.
Over Arthur’s shoulder she saw Ashton watching with his heart in his eyes. Their gazes met. She felt the pull of longing, of need, of a connection she had never felt with anyone else.
Then he turned his back, leaned heavily on the bar, and demanded that Bascom pour him some Irish.
She blinked to release tears down her cheeks and clear her vision.
With her heart breaking, she managed a smile.
“Yes, Arthur. I’ll be happy to marry you.”
She and Arthur rose together and he embraced her and held her for a moment. It was almost more than she could bear. She grabbed his coat, overcome, tears flowing. After a time, he turned her toward the door and led her out into the warm night.
Bascom watched Reynard stroll to the bar beside Ashton and scowled.
“I guess you’ll be wantin’ a gob full, too.”
“What a perceptive fellow you are,” Reynard said with a sardonic smile. He clapped Ashton on the back and tossed back the draught of whiskey as soon as it landed before him. Wincing as the liquor burned its way down his throat, he dragged a breath to cool if off and then fixed a look on Ashton.
“He’s a twit, you know. Your brother. Any fool could see you and the Silver Girl are madly in love with each other.”
“Reynard!” Ashton snarled, grabbing the Fox by the shirt.
Reynard just smiled. “Save your threats, old boy. I’m not cruel enough or stupid enough to try to ruin the lady’s future. I just thought you should know that not everyone is as blind as good old Arthur.”
Ashton had the grace to release him and smooth the front of his shirt before turning back to his drink. Three morose draughts of Irish later, Ashton turned and stumbled up the stairs to his room, leaving Reynard in the sole company of poor, sleep-deprived Bascom.
“I am usually a right bastard about these things. Don’t know what the hell’s got into me lately.” Reynard lifted his glass, holding it to the light, considering his odd behavior. “Think I might be in love with her, too?”
Bascom’s snort was reply enough.
“Yeah, I didn’t think so, either.”