Page 2 of A Bachelor’s Lessons in Love (Bachelors of Blackstone’s #1)

Chapter Two

E dward stood at the base of Briarwood House’s steps, arms folded tightly across his chest, the wind tugging at the edges of his greatcoat. The afternoon was as bleak as he half expected the meeting ahead to be, the sky a dull sheet of grey, the air thick with the damp chill of late winter, no promise of a brilliant spring.

In his gloved hand, he held a doll.

It was a small thing, made of mere cloth and wood, its painted face slightly faded with age. Mrs. Lane had produced it from one of the attic trunks, assuring him that it was still in fine condition. “Little girls like dolls,” she had said with a knowing nod.

A little girl.

His whole life would soon change with the arrival of the child. He would devote himself to her protection, her care, her upbringing. That was what his friend had expected of him. He would not let Anthony Price down; failing his old friend wasn’t an option. The little girl would find herself a haven at Briarwood—no matter how ill-prepared he felt.

His imagination supplied him with the image of a timid child of no more than eleven or twelve, weeping at the loss of her father, clutching at presumably her aunt’s skirts, terrified of being left in the care of a complete stranger. He had steeled himself for the encounter, even prepared what he suspected were awkward words of comfort. Despite the days he’d had to ready himself, Edward felt heavy with the uncertainty of how to handle a child who likely wanted nothing to do with him.

As the carriage rolled to a halt before the house, he took in a deep breath and forced a bright smile onto his face, moderating it slightly as he recalled the circumstances which had led to such an occasion. The loss of his friend.

The footman moved swiftly to lower the steps and open the door. Edward’s jaw tightened as not one, but two fully grown women emerged. Both dressed in heavy mourning attire, shrouded in grays and blacks, their expressions as cool and impenetrable as the sky overhead.

And this was the moment he realized his expectations had been entirely wrong.

The elder of the two had stepped down first, graceful and unhurried, and Edward knew at once she was no mere chaperone. She moved with calm authority, her spine rigid, her chin lifted. She took one sweeping glance at him, and the weight of her judgment settled like a stone on his chest.

She looked up at him from no more than three feet away, her head tilted back, as though she disapproved of his height, firstly, and the rest was a matter of course.

Edward’s jaw tightened. He couldn’t help being taller than average. He had no wish to stand out as he did, but most women looked at him with admiration for a height he could not control.

This woman did not.

The aunt . She had to be the aunt. Her somber expression and mature style of dress marked her as someone with authority in the girl’s life. A spinster—yet she did not appear all that old. There were no lines upon her forehead or around her mouth, no wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. Her skin still held warmth and there was a sprightliness in the way she had descended the carriage. She could not even be of an age with him, he would wager; she was surely younger than his eight and thirty years. By how much, he could not tell.

The second figure emerged more hesitantly, her gloved hands gripping the doorframe before she set foot onto the frozen ground. She was younger than her traveling companion, her form slight, her manner clearly subdued. But even from a distance, Edward could see the resemblance between the two—the same elegant bearing, the same delicate features, the same deep brown eyes carrying the weight of recent grief.

Daphne Price. Daphne Price was no child. She was nearly a woman grown.

And Edward, standing there like a fool with a doll in his hand, had never felt more unprepared.

He cleared his throat, shoving the toy behind his back with a swift, sharp movement. Bother. “Miss Price,” he said, inclining his head toward the younger woman. “I am Colonel Edward Halstead. Please accept my deepest condolences for your loss. Your father was a good man.” Then, turning his gaze to the elder, “And you must be?—”

“Felicity Price,” she supplied, her voice crisp as winter frost. “Daphne’s aunt.”

Edward pressed his lips together at her tone, at the way her gaze flicked over him, assessing, unimpressed. She was not what he had anticipated, either. He had imagined a quiet, soft-spoken companion, a woman who might cower in the face of change, who might be eager to relinquish responsibility to him and leave the child in his care.

This woman was none of those things.

She was unflinching, unreadable. If he was not mistaken, she had already decided that he was entirely unfit for the role he had been given.

Though he had agreed with her at every waking moment since learning of his new charge, Edward could not help but bristle. She knew nothing of him—yet her eyes passed judgment coolly. But on what grounds?

Miss Daphne Price, for her part, said nothing. She stood close to her aunt, hands clasped before her, gaze averted. It was not the shyness of a child, nor the petulance of a youth. It was the quiet reserve of someone who had lost too much too soon.

They had both lost much, Edward reminded himself of that with sternness, and the presumably long carriage ride could not have improved their humors. He had a responsibility to them, as host and guardian, to provide what they needed to regain their equilibrium.

Edward exhaled slowly, schooling his expression. “You must be cold after your journey,” he said. “Please, come inside.”

The elder Miss Price hesitated only a moment before she nodded, wrapping her arm around Daphne’s and guiding her forward. Edward gestured them through the door and into the small entryway of his home, acutely aware of the tension hovering between them like an approaching storm.

This was not going to be simple.

But then, he supposed, nothing about his life ever had been.

The servants waited in two rows, all of them wearing expressions of welcome as Mrs. Lane had admonished them to look friendly so as not to intimidate the newly arrived child. Edward saw the expressions flicker, however, when the housekeeper, butler, valet, cooks, and maids saw the newcomers, looked behind them as though to search for the missing child, then turn their attention to him; waiting for an explanation or, at the very least, clarification as to what had gone wrong.

As the footmen took the ladies’ cloaks and gloves, he handed the doll to one of them with a wince and the hope that neither woman saw the toy disappear between the folds of their cloaks.

“I should like to introduce my staff to you both,” he said, eyes going first to his charge. She mattered a great deal more in the moment than her aunt did. “Miss Daphne Price, our butler, Mr. Jones, and our housekeeper, Mrs. Lane.” He calmly went down the list, introducing the ten members of the household staff as they bobbed bows or curtsies. “I will introduce you to the outdoor staff at another time.”

The aunt stood still during the entirety of the introductions, her body stiff beside her niece, her expression marble. Finally, Edward gestured to her with a slight lift of his hand. “And you are most welcome as my guest, Miss Price. I hope you will be comfortable during your time here.”

Her chin came up at the same moment her lashes lowered, as though she was unimpressed by him. Or perhaps, offended? “I am certain we will be well enough, Colonel Halstead.”

What on earth had he done to so swiftly earn her disapproval? He’d worn one of his finest suits of clothing, attended to his grooming with extra care, yet she looked at him as though he’d appeared in muddied boots and fraying trousers—or bore himself like a cutpurse rather than a gentleman.

Squaring his shoulders, Edward stepped back. “Mrs. Lane will show you both to your rooms. There is time to rest before the dinner hour, at which point I hope to have the pleasure of getting to know you both better.”

He’d originally thought the formal meal would prove a treat to a young girl unused to eating with adults at a large dining table. Now, he realized, it would simply prove a matter of course to his charge.

“Thank you, Colonel Halstead,” the aunt said, voice unbetraying of any emotion other than frosty politeness. “We will see you at the evening meal.”

Mrs. Lane curtsied to him, then gestured to the corridor that would lead to the staircase. “If the misses would follow me, please. We will see you comfortable in your chambers in a trice.”

The women followed, and as he watched them disappear around the corner, his valet Randall sidled up to him. “Not a little girl then, sir?”

“Apparently not.”

“How old is she, sir?”

“I haven’t the foggiest idea. Nearly full grown, I think.”

The valet nodded sagely. “That’s both good and bad, I s’pose.”

Edward looked down at his most loyal servant and former batman. “Both?”

“Aye, sir.” Randall winced slightly. “She’ll be fully grown and gone sooner, which means less worries for the raising of her. But…you see you’ll have to actually find her a husband? Not an easy task, I wager. It’ll mean going out. Into Society. London.”

A low, uncomfortable throb pulsed through Edward’s head. Into Society. London. To find Daphne Price a husband.

“Blast it,” he muttered. The valet was right—and there was nothing Edward abhorred more than making a spectacle of himself for the upper-crust of London. He turned on his heel and stalked out the front door, snatching his coat from the lad who held it and throwing it on in a whirl of heavy wool.

He needed a good, brisk walk in cold air to clear his head and form a new plan of action.

His charge wasn’t a child, but a woman of age to enter the marriage mart soon, if not immediately.

“Blast, blast, blast.”

He had even less idea of how to manage a woman-grown than an innocent girl, and that was before one considered the aunt . The woman looked as though she’d happily pitch him out a window the first time he proved an inadequate guardian.

Which he surely would within hours.

Not only did Edward have to determine how to be a protector to a young lady, he also had to win over the only person who might prove helpful to that cause. A woman who did not appear as though she wished to be won over.

He went to the rose garden, sat on a cold stone bench, and gave himself over to thought.

* * *

Mrs. Lane informed them of what each room was as they passed, making certain to give directions to the dining room as well. The corridors were rather austere, as were the rooms Felicity was able to peep into. The house was large and stately enough, but it felt rather…empty. Most of the walls were bare. The carpets they walked across were tidy, but plain.

It was clearly the home of a bachelor, functional rather than welcoming, clean and well-kept but lacking the soft touches of a woman. Trimmings were few, if not altogether nonexistent. The housekeeper was kind and thorough, her tone appropriately warm yet respectful for a servant addressing two gentlewomen.

Then Mrs. Lane brought them to the wing of bedrooms. She gestured to two doors on one side of the corridor. “These are for your use, Miss Price and Miss Daphne. The chambers have a door adjoining them, as we thought…er. We supposed you would want a close connection.” The housekeeper appeared momentarily uncertain, but opened the nearer door. “This will be Miss Daphne’s room.”

They walked through to a room with curtains open, a fire burning in the hearth, and a variety of trappings that made Felicity stiffen at once. The room did not appear at all ready for a young woman about to enter Society, but looked intended for a child of half Daphne’s age.

There was a dollhouse on a side table, its delicate furniture and miniature figurines arranged neatly inside. Toy horses stood guard along the mantel. A selection of children’s books, thin volumes with brightly covered covers, filled a shelf near the bed. A bed with a quilt in a riot of colors. A large painting over the mantel depicted children playing with puppies and kittens, a piece better suited to a nursery than to the room of a seventeen-year-old young woman.

So, the man truly has no idea what he is doing, Felicity thought, shaking her head in dismay. Men rarely did, she reminded herself. They promised futures they couldn’t be bothered to build, left rooms and hearts half-furnished…half-forgotten.

Mrs. Lane cleared her throat, and when Felicity turned sharply at the sound, she felt a momentary pang of guilt when the housekeeper winced. “Dinner is two hours from now, Miss Price. I will send a maid up to assist you both a half hour before. If you have need of anything, there is a bell-pull beside each of your beds.” She curtsied. “A pleasure to serve you both, Miss Price, Miss Daphne.” She had backed out of the room and shut the door before Felicity had recovered her tongue.

Daphne walked listlessly to the dollhouse, lifting a small chair from inside. “What…what is the meaning of this? I haven’t played with dolls in ages. This is more like my old nursery than my bedchamber at h-home.” Her voice wobbled on the last word, and Felicity hurried to wrap an arm around her niece’s shoulder.

“You are quite right, my darling.” Felicity led Daphne with gentleness to the bed. “I am afraid your guardian is out of touch with what a young lady requires. But never mind, this is why I am here—to put matters to rights and make certain you are well cared for.”

Daphne nodded rapidly as she sank down, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Yes. Please, Aunt, you cannot leave me to this. He obviously knows nothing about women, and I cannot even think of what I could say to repair the situation.” She looked about her with dismay. “This is awful.”

“There is nothing to fret over, Daffodil.” She sat next to the young woman, her heart breaking yet keeping her face calm, as best she could. “Men like Colonel Halstead, bachelors, they rarely have need to think about what young women need. They simply assume. Perhaps he thought these things would make you comfortable. I doubt there was any malice in the room’s preparation. Everything would be quite lovely…were you a decade younger.” She tried to inject humor into her tone, but her words did not calm her niece.

“Papa wouldn’t have made such a mistake. This man is a stranger, he doesn’t know me, and I am supposed to live in his home?” Her niece sniffled, her eyes full of tears. “I like novels, and music, and drawing. Not—not whatever all of this is.” She gestured around her helplessly.

Mention of Anthony made Felicity’s throat tighten. She had to clear it, softly, to keep her own tears at bay. “You will not be alone in this, Daphne. I am here. I will not leave you.”

“But what if he sends you away?”

Felicity forced a smile, though her stomach knotted most uncomfortably. It was a challenge, to hear her greatest fear vocalized by the person she cared for the most. “He will not, my dear. I have a plan. We are going to prove to Colonel Halstead that he cannot do without me. That you cannot do without me.” She smoothed the sleeves of Daphne’s gown, then tugged a handkerchief from her own and pressed it into her niece’s hand. “Dry your tears, my dear. Lay down for a time. Rest before dinner.” She kissed Daphne’s cheek before standing. “I will go inspect my room and hope I do not find it full of tiny tea sets and Indian rubber balls.”

That made Daphne’s smile appear, though only in brief. “I should prefer rubber balls to all of this.”

“Then if I have any, I will share.” She went to the door that joined their two rooms. “All will be well, Daphne. You will see.”

Felicity entered her room and barely spared it a glance as she marched to the trunk which had already been brought and left at the end of her bed. She knelt on the floor, glowering as she opened the lid to her things.

“Edward Halstead is ill-equipped for his new responsibilities,” she muttered as she found a dress for the evening that would suit her, the gray of mourning adorned with cream-colored embroidery at its hem. “And it’s my duty to ensure he doesn’t ruin Daphne’s future.” She took in a deep breath as she held the dress to her chest. “Even if I have to fight him for control over it.”

She went to the bellpull and gave it a tug. She needed a maid to press her gown long before it was time to dress. Her brother, Anthony, may have been a soldier, but she knew well how to dress for the sort of battles only a woman could fight and win.

Looking around the room, Felicity shook her head. Her niece’s chamber had been filled with things that were, while not appropriate to her age, at least pretty. Her own room was sparsely furnished. It was not a welcoming chamber for a guest, let alone one closely related to the gentleman’s new charge.

It felt all too painfully familiar. She knew what it was to be given the bare minimum of care, just enough to suggest she was remembered, but not enough to feel wanted.

Once had been enough. She would not endure it again.

Biting her lip, Felicity shook her head. “You will not rid yourself of me by making my room unwelcoming,” she said sternly to her absent host. “I am here to stay as long as Daphne needs me.”

She had sworn it to herself, and to her brother’s memory. Felicity would do everything in her power to ensure Edward Halstead realized how much he needed her at his side.