Page 4 of Hearts at Home

4

D om left Thursday Market with a spring in his step and his coat pockets bulging. He’d wandered the stalls and the crafters shops that lined the nearby medieval streets, and found people who could make exactly what he wanted—an unusual courting gift, to be sure, but he thought the lady would like it.

Was he courting? After one meeting? Granted, he had returned from war with the vague notion of finding a bride and starting his family. He had not intended to look about him yet. He was in the north to inspect the estate he had unexpectedly inherited from his mother’s uncle, and in York as the last place on a round of reform meetings to fulfil Haverford’s errand.

That said, though, choosing a wife here in the north was not a bad notion. A bride with family here was more likely to accept his desire to live in Yorkshire most of the year round. More likely, too, to give their hand to the younger son of a peer who had been repudiated by his supposed father.

Dom didn’t have wealth to make him more eligible. The estate was large enough, but needed work to be made profitable again. Haverford had given him a loan to do the necessary work, and he was confident he and his potential family had a bright future. He could offer a wife a comfortable home and some elegancies, but certainly not every luxury.

He’d like to smother Miss Tavistock in luxuries. It sounded as if she hadn’t had many under the rule of the dire Uncle Swithin.

This was all too fast, though. He’d only met her yesterday, two days after he’d arrived in York. She was at the top of his bride list, but to be fair she was so far the only one on it.

On the other hand, she interested him more than any other lady he’d ever met. It wasn’t just the physical response, though he didn’t discount the importance of that. She intrigued, challenged, and amused him. She went to reform meetings. She rescued monkeys from thieves. She laughed at his jokes.

He wanted to know her better, that was certain. Yes. That was the way. Get to know her. Not courting, then. Not quite yet. But definitely a step in that direction.

Absorbing as his thoughts were, his soldier’s instincts continued to scan his surroundings. The song he was humming died on his breath as two tall gentlemen rounded a corner towards him, talking so intently they didn’t notice him at all.

Though he hadn’t seen them in a decade, he recognized them instantly. Totters—Pevenwood now, since his father’s death—hadn’t changed a bit, except his hair had receded a little from his forehead. Gary had just turned twenty on the night Dom left. He had broadened into adulthood in the last ten years and showed early signs of thickening into middle age.

What on earth were his Pevenwood brothers doing in York?

Dom didn’t want to meet them. He turned into the alley he’d found yesterday—a shortcut to the Tavistock residence—and hurried his steps when he saw a group of men clustered around a female who was attempting to back away.

He broke into a run. He would intervene to help any woman, but he’d seen that redingote before. Some primitive part of him had no doubt of the identification. Mine ! it growled, and when one of the insolent tormenters dared to put a hand on Miss Tavistock’s arm, grinning at his companions, Dom had to fight back a red fog of rage.

Fighting eight men might feed the possessive beast, and he was confident they’d all walk away bleeding. But he couldn’t guarantee they wouldn’t overwhelm him in the end, and then what would happen to Miss Tavistock?

He nudged one of the men out of his way and stepped into the circle, already talking, waving the pin he’d just pulled from his cravat. “I beg your pardon, my lady. I did not think it would take me so long. I found it, though.” He wafted the pin with one hand and knocked the offensive hand from Miss Tavistock’s arm with the other, making it look purely incidental to tucking her hand inside his elbow.

“When I suggested you stroll ahead, my dear lady, I did not intend you to take the shortcut to your brother’s home. Though I suppose we must hurry. Lord Tavistock will be sending out the servants to find you, and he may never let me escort you again if he finds I allowed you to step ahead of me.”

Several of the men stepped backward when he called Miss Tavistock ‘lady’, which was why he had done it. They fell further back when he mentioned Lord Tavistock. Dom could deal with the rest. Grooms, by the look of them. He raised a single brow as he pretended to notice them for the first time.

“Do you know these persons, my lady?” he asked, allowing his voice to drip doubt as thick as treacle.

“No, Lord Finchley, I do not,” Chloe replied. “I was just declaring my disinterest in any acquaintance.” Clever girl. Omitting his first name to give him a spurious rank had several more of the grooms slinking back into their mews.

Dom allowed the other eyebrow to drift upwards as he fixed the ringleader with a glare. “You made a mistake,” he told the man. “Don’t compound it.”

There’s always at least one idiot . The man took a swing at him, just as one of the other grooms exclaimed, “Here, that’s Cap’n Cuckoo. Leave ’im be, Ted. That’s Do-or-Die Cuckoo, that is!”

The warning came too late for the idiot, whose blow had missed its target when Dom swayed to one side. Dom used the idiot’s own fist to tug him away from a collision with Miss Tavistock, which would have been a piece of impertinence too far.

Idiot stumbled a few feet away, propelled by the force of his missed swing, and then roared as he caught himself and turned back toward his tormentor. Oh dear. A bull-brain. The man who had recognized Dom was shouting further warnings at Idiot, who ignored him.

“Would you be kind enough to step to the side of the lane?” Dom murmured to Miss Tavistock, who further showed her intelligence by immediate compliance. She was out of the way just in time. Bull Idiot charged, both fists swinging. Again, Dom swerved out of the way, but this time, he stuck out a booted foot, so Bull Idiot hurtled into the dust of the alley.

He rose again, still roaring. In Dom’s peripheral vision, a few of the remaining bystanders clenched their fists and hunched forward. Those on one side halted when Miss Tavistock invoked her brother’s title and their own sense of fair play. On the other, the groom who’d called Dom by his old army nickname interposed himself between the would-be assailants and the conflict.

Dom was, for a few moments, too busy to pay any more attention to those who were watching, as he allowed Bull Idiot a glancing blow as the price of getting close enough to finish the fight. A kick to the family jewels, a fist to the chin as Bull Idiot bent in half, the side of the hand to the back of the neck as he went down.

Dom stepped over the groaning man and offered his arm to Miss Tavistock. “Shall we continue our walk?”

She took her place beside him with admirable composure. “Shall we repair to my brother’s house, my lord? I find myself in need of a cup of tea.”

“An excellent idea,” Dom replied, only half his mind on the nonsensically calm conversation. His ears were doing service for his eyes, listening for movement behind him. Apart from some muttered conversation and a few groans, the alley was calm. His swift sideways glance as they turned the corner confirmed that his erstwhile opponent was still curled in a ball in the middle of the alley, and that the spectator numbers had swollen as more grooms emerged from their separate stable-yards.

They were ignoring Bull Idiot. From the enthusiastic arm waving, Dom guessed they were refighting the battle.

Dom let his own readiness for battle seep from his muscles and nerves. The street was a fashionable one, and busy enough that even Bull Idiot would think twice about accosting a lady on it. Besides, Miss Tavistock’s house was only a hundred paces away.

Miss Tavistock was trotting to keep up with him. What a wretch he was. She must be overset by such a display of violence, and now he was dragging her down the street. He slowed his pace. “I am sorry you had to witness that, Miss Tavistock.”

She surprised him, looking up into his eyes with her own wide and shining. “I am sorry you had to fight that horrid person, Lord Dom, but I am not sorry I witnessed you bringing him low.” She blushed and ducked her head. “Oh dear. Now you will think me dreadful. A proper lady would be swooning.”

“Please don’t,” Dom begged. “A swooning lady would be dreadfully inconvenient.” He slowed still further, pleased to draw out their time together. “I was very impressed with how you kept calm during the situation.”

She blushed still deeper, the rosy hue spreading from ear to ear and down to disappear beneath her redingote. “It was all my fault. I have taken that shortcut before, my lord, but never on my own. I did not realize…”

Yes, and why is she on her own ? It was not his place to ask, but he did not need to, for the explanation was tumbling out of her, along with her proposed assault on York Society under the umbrella of the Seahaven family, her concern about her Aunt Swithin’s increasing eccentricity, and her pleasure in the two new books that were the cause of her detour from the straight, much safer, way home.

“May I come in?” Dom asked, when their slow dawdle fetched them up on the pavement outside the Tavistock town house. “I know it is early for a call, but since I am here…”

At that point, the front door opened and a man—a butler by the look of him—erupted onto the doorstep. “Miss Tavistock, come quickly. Your monkey…”

He disappeared back inside.

Miss Tavistock muttered, “Oh dear. Someone must have let her out.”

Dom followed her into the house. They stepped in on a tableau. Several women servants gathered around one of their number who sat on the parquet floor of the entry hall, her apron over her head, waving a bloodied hand in the air and wailing. On the stairs that rose from the hall, an elderly lady was cackling with laughter. Two footmen were poking at the chandelier with brooms. No. Not at the chandelier. At the monkey who had taken refuge there.

“That beast has bitten Peggy, Miss Tavistock,” complained a woman dressed all in black, right down to the apron. A housekeeper, if Dom had ever seen one.

“How did she get out of her cage?” Miss Tavistock wondered.

Peggy wailed louder, and the housekeeper glared at her. “I can’t get any sense out of the girl, Miss.” She drew her dignity around her and returned to her complaint. “But I can’t be having a beast in the house that bites the maids. You must see, Miss Tavistock, that the monkey is not fit to live with civilized people.”

“We shall discuss this later,” Miss Tavistock decided. “For now, please take Peggy to the kitchen and see to her wounds. You may call the doctor if you think it appropriate. I want everyone cleared out of the entrance hall immediately. We shall not get Rosario to calm down enough to descend by poking at her.”

What a soldier’s wife, Miss Tavistock would have made! One wild situation after another, and all met with calm competence. Dom backed her up by removing the brooms from the hands of the footmen and sending them after their fellows.

* * *

It was too much to hope that Aunt Swithin would take her dismissal with the servants. She sank onto a stair near the upper landing, settling her skirts around her. “Well, Chloe? Are you going to introduce your handsome friend?”

“In a minute, Aunt Swithin. Hush, now.” She changed her voice to a sing-song croon. “Rosario. Come down, Rosario. It’s safe now, darling. I’ve sent all the noisy people away.”

Dom edged around her to make his way up the staircase and sit on the step below Aunt Swithin’s. “I’m Dom, and I take it you are Mrs. Swithin. Or should I say Lady Swithin?”

“Heavens no, dear. Swithin never had a title. Except for Vicar, until he told the bishop and the rector that the established church had too little regard for God and too much for the established order of society. If he had remained Vicar Swithin, might I have been called Vixen Swithin?” She cackled, startling Rosario, who leapt two layers higher in the chandelier.

“Hush!” Chloe whispered. “Please,” she added.

Mrs. Swithin mimed clamping her lips shut and turning a lock on them, then winked at Dom. He grinned back and turned to watch Chloe crooning soothing nonsense to the monkey. Rosario, indeed! The villainous monk called Rosario in the gothic novel The Monk had in truth been a conniving female by the name of Matilda, who had disguised herself in order to pursue the man with whom she was infatuated into the very monastery.

Dom wondered which member of the little household had named the capuchin. She did not look like a villainess at the moment, to be sure. She had consented to lower herself by one hand from a sconce, setting the chandelier swinging. As he watched, she dropped into Chloe’s arms, wrapped her own around Chloe’s neck, and laid her head on the lady’s breast with a little sigh.

“Butter would not melt in her mouth,” Mrs. Swithin commented, in a loud stage whisper. “Who would have thought that such an innocent scrap of a creature has set the house at sixes and sevens?”

Chloe climbed the stairs towards them, still murmuring to Rosario. Dom stood as she approached, moving to one side to let her pass. Without changing her tone or looking away from the monkey, she said, “Aunt Swithin, would you take Lord Dom to the parlour and order tea? I shall just put Rosario back in my room. I shall be with you shortly, my lord.”

“Come along then, lad,” Mrs. Swithin instructed, after Chloe had continued up the stairs. “Help me up.” She thrust out a gaunt hand, and he helped her to her feet. “When I sat down, I forgot my old bones. Aging is a terrible thing, my boy.” She cackled again. “Better than the alternative. I am not looking forward to meeting Swithin again.”

She directed him to the parlour by way of tucking her hand into his elbow and dragging him in the correct direction. “Have I shocked you, Lord Diomedes?”

Dom suspected she intended to, and refused the conversational sally, saying instead, “Perhaps he won’t be in heaven?”

Mrs. Swithin shook her head at that. “I have no hope of it. He was tediously virtuous. Now, tea. Do not expect much. I daresay the whole household is still in the housekeeper’s room, advising on the treatment of a bite that did not even break the skin, and which the silly girl deserved for opening the cage when she has been told over and over to leave it alone.”

She tugged on the bell as she spoke, then noticed he was still standing. “Sit down. Sit down. Tell me about yourself, Lord Diomedes. Or is it Captain Lord?”

“Just Dom, if you will, Mrs. Swithin. I have sold out of the army.”

She fixed him with a suspicious glare. “You have? How do you plan to support yourself, then? Do you have a position? An inheritance?”

Inquisitive old besom ! On the chance she was concerned for her niece, and not just rudely obvious about satisfying her curiosity, he answered politely, if vaguely, “I am not in danger of starving, thank you for asking.” Thanks to his long-dead mother’s brother. He was taken by surprise when the solicitor’s letter arrived. It said his uncle had died and Dom was his principal heir.

Dom had seen the man once in twenty years. On his eighteenth birthday, when he had approached the Marquess of Pevenwood about his future, the marquess had informed Dom that he’d supported his unfaithful wife’s brat for long enough. He would allow Dom to live under his roof until he was twenty-one, but nothing more. No allowance. No university. And certainly, no boost into a career.

Dom did the round of his relatives, hoping that someone would buy him the commission he longed for, or at least loan him the money. His mother’s brother refused him, and Dom never heard from him again until the unexpected bequest. Perhaps the man regretted turning his nephew away. Or, possibly, given the condition of the estate, he would have helped at the time, if he’d had the money.

Mrs. Swithin’s next question recalled Dom from his memories. “Ready to settle down, are you?”

“One can grow tired of constant travel,” Dom replied, “particularly when people insist on shooting at you.” As a description of the past decade, it worked, though on the whole, the army had suited Dom, and Dom had suited the army.

Mrs. Swithin’s ruthless interrogation covered his history, his prospects, and his intentions. He managed to put her off with vague answers, quips, and anecdotes, but expected her to demand at any moment that he open his mouth so she could examine his teeth.

He was rather dazed by the time Chloe arrived, leading a procession of servants bearing the tea makings and plates of food—a cake, little pastry cases with meat filling, some slices of bread cut into small triangles and spread with a savoury conserve.

Chloe was still carrying the monkey. “I could not leave her,” she explained. “She is too upset. I am sorry I deserted you for so long. I went down to see Peggy. She has a bruise but is mostly upset because she feared I would dismiss her. She opened the cage, though she has been told not to do so. She said she just wanted to pat Rosario, but of course Rosario tried to get out of the cage. Peggy panicked and tried to slam it shut. Then Rosario panicked and…” she trailed off and shrugged helplessly.

“Perhaps these might help?” Dom pulled his packages from the pockets of the coat he’d draped over the arm of the chair, since the servants had been too occupied when he arrived to offer to take it.

One handed, since the other hand was occupied in stroking Rosario, Chloe undid the bow of string on the first package and unwrapped the brown paper to disclose the harness.

The harness maker and smith had collaborated to produce something as pretty as it was practical—rose-coloured leather patterned with punched stars and circles that disclosed the metal forming the foundation of the harness. Rosario would have no chance of chewing through that! But the metal was wrapped in the softest of calf leather to protect the monkey’s skin.

The second package was the leash, which could be clipped to a loop in the middle of the back. It was made of a light but strong chain, with the same rose leather forming a hand grasp at the other end of the chain.

Chloe lifted it this way and that, her eyes shining. “Why, it is marvellous, Dom. Lord Dom, I mean. Wherever did you find it?”

“I had it made,” he explained. “I wasn’t sure of the size, so I had them drill a couple of holes for the buckles. It buckles at the back, since that part had to be leather only, and I didn’t want her to be able to get her teeth to it. If it doesn’t fit properly, I’m to take it back, and they’ll make another hole or two.”

Chloe had to try it, of course. She managed to persuade Rosario to don the harness, clipped the chain to the back, and set Rosario on her lap, where the monkey proceeded to pick at the harness, sniff at it, and generally examine it as best she could.

Chloe turned her delighted gaze from her pet to Dom. “Lord Dom, how can I ever thank you. You could not have thought of anything to please me more.”

“Cream, milk or lemon?” Mrs. Swithin asked. “Sugar?”

On campaign, Dom had learned to drink his tea strong and without additives. “Just tea, thank you, Mrs. Swithin. I am glad you are pleased with it, Miss Tavistock. I thought also of a warm coat for Rosario, one without pockets. But I guessed you could probably handle that yourself.

“Without pockets,” Chloe repeated. She beamed at him. “Why did I not think of that?”

“It won’t stop the little fiend,” Mrs. Swithin warned as she handed Dom his cup.

“It will limit her to stealing only what she can carry in her hands,” Chloe retorted.

* * *

Lord Dom stayed a little over his half hour. When he stood to go, he asked if he could call again the next day, but Chloe explained she had promised to make calls with her stepmother and stepsisters.

“I could come at one of the clock, if that suits, and we could perhaps take a stroll along the New Walk? I would be sure to have you back in plenty of time for your afternoon calls.”

He appeared anxious for her to agree, which had to be ridiculous, for what would a successful, personable man like him want with a woman like her? “Yes, I would like that,” she said. She might as well enjoy his interest while it lasted.

He took his leave then, and Aunt Swithin showed every sign of wishing to dissect the visit, so Chloe declared the need to feed the monkey and to mend the hem that had been slightly torn in the scuffle in the alley. She escaped to her bedroom.

Nonetheless, it was only a temporary escape. She had to endure a dinner in which Aunt Swithin regaled Martin with a description of the call, including Aunt Swithin’s opinion of Lord Dom’s intentions and his eligibility.

Chloe did her best to divert the discussion to plans for the ball, and Martin talked about his trip with a man he’d met at the club he’d joined—a Captain James Bentley. Bentley and his cousin, who was a viscount, were debuting a colt in the race meeting that ended the York Season, and Martin had been out to see the horse and the cousins’ training facility. Aunt Swithin kept returning to Lord Dom. She was convinced he was courting Chloe.

As always, Martin retreated to his study after dinner. Chloe followed. “Martin, I hope you will not take Aunt Swithin seriously.”

“Do you like the man?” Martin asked.

Far too much. “He cannot possibly be interested in me, Martin,” Chloe protested. “Not romantically. I mean, look at me!”

Martin did as asked, studying her with a puzzled look. “What do you mean, Chloe? Why should he not be interested in you? Any man would be lucky to win you for a wife.”

“You have to say that because you are my brother. But I am too short, and too…” she waved her hands helplessly in the general vicinity of her bust, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks at the thought of discussing the curves that had so offended Uncle Swithin. “My shape is not ladylike, Martin.” She lowered her voice, though there was no one to hear her but Martin. “Uncle Swithin said I looked like a barmaid, and that no gentleman would ever make me an honourable offer.”

Martin muttered something under his breath that he would not repeat when Chloe said she hadn’t heard it.

“Not something I should have said in front of a lady. Look, Chloe, Uncle Swithin was a bit peculiar. You know that, don’t you? Ignore anything he said about your…” He flushed red. “He was odd about women. He blamed the women, but he was the problem.” He picked up the papers in front of him, rifling them and dropping them edge first on the table to straighten the pile, keeping his eyes from meeting hers. “He liked curvy women, Chloe. Most men do. He had impure thoughts, and they made him feel guilty. Do you understand what I am saying?”

Chloe thought she did. It was a nauseating thought. To distract herself and Martin, she returned to the main point. “Do you seriously think Lord Dom might really be interested in me? To court, I mean?”

“It seems so,” Martin said. “Has he asked to meet you again?”

“To take me walking,” Chloe admitted.

“Do you want to go?” Martin asked. “Or do you want me to warn him off?”

“Warn him off?”

Martin sighed. “I am your brother. If you have a suitor who is objectionable to you, it is my job to warn him off.”

Chloe blushed. Lord Dom was not objectionable. Not in the slightest. “No. I do not want you to warn him off.”

“Well, then.” Martin shrugged. “Go walking and see what happens.”