“Forgive me,” he said, glancing to her. He gave a strained smile. “I’ve not seen my father in many years. He is a sailor who’s rarely in England. He is little more than an acquaintance to me. As for my mother... It’s inaccurate, I suppose, to say she thinks I’m dead. She knows I’m alive because she writes to me on occasion. Despite the fact that the two of us have never met.”
“But how can someone not have...” and here she chose her words carefully “...met his own mother?”
“The woman who gave birth to me was...” a tired sigh “...not the person who raised me. As a baby, I was taken in by my paternal grandmother.”
“Oh, I’ve no notion of grandparents. Whittle and Miriam’s parents were deceased before I was born.”
He kept his eyes trained on the road. “My grandmother was unhappy and given to drink, I’m afraid. And she never missed an opportunity to remind me the mother of my birth had abandoned me. As caregivers go, I cannot say I recommend it.”
Dani had been watching him from the corner of her eye, but now she turned on her seat. “I’m so sorry, Captain. But you were raised by this person?” She’d never known anyone who’d been abandoned as a child—well, except herself. But her surrogate parents had been loving and grateful.
“Forgive me,” he said, “I’ve said too much. I’m not accustomed to discussing my life with young ladies. Or with anyone, for that matter. To answer your question, I left the care of my grandmother and was raised in boyhood by a surrogate father.”
“Oh, a surrogate,” she repeated. “Like me.”
“Yes. I suppose you could say that. He’s called Linus Welty. Like your surrogate parents, he is,” he cleared his throat, “a very important figure in my life. After I was painted a national hero, the mother of my birth read about me in the newspaper and was compelled to write. I make it a practice not to read letters from people I do not know, so I’ve no notion of what she wanted and certainly made no reply. It’s safe to say that she has no idea I’m betrothed.”
Dani gaped at him. The cryptic details of their betrothal seemed inconsequential compared to terrible grandmothers and unknown mothers whose letters go unopened.
“Oh,” she said, searching his profile. He had the look of a man who’d been forced to admit a crime.
“Yes,” he repeated. “Oh.” He looked to her again with the same strained smile; an expression of sad resignation. Dani couldn’t properly identify the source of that look. There was no cynicism or mockery. He didn’t sound cavalier. He was simply... honest. A new pang twisted inside of her—not a stomach flip, more like a stab to the heart.
Captain Bannock cleared his throat. “Careful of this low spot,” he said. “Hold to me if you can.”
The road disappeared into deep standing water, too muddy to gauge the depth. He pressed the horses forward and their hooves splashed. Dani snatched up her skirts and ducked her head against the splatter. Captain Bannock dropped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her to him. Dani’s hand flew out and she splayed her open palm across his thigh. It felt like grabbing hold of a thick anchor, solid and unmoving. Her body swayed and listed with the movement of the wagon but she held tight to his leg. It was senseless; she’d driven Whittle’s wagon along this road dozens of times and been perfectly secure. But she wasn’t holding to him for safety, she held to him because it was exciting—hewas exciting. Bold, and independent, and compelling. A man fully grown, a man who’d survived. She’d never made the acquaintance of anyone like him in her life.
“The road’s been washed out,” he said. “A small bridge might be in order.”
Dani peeked up. “The sort of repair a landlord might make.”
“But this isn’t Eastwell land here, is it?”
“It is, in fact. We’re nearly to the house. The front drive is around the bend. Brace yourself, it’s dramatically long. The house will be concealed until we come to the very end. The land on either side—which is the land you see here—is your property as well.”
“The estate is massive,” he muttered.
Dani nodded, gazing out on the rolling parkland. The verdant hillside rose to meet the bright morning sky, green pressing against brilliant blue. Mist hung above the grass, smudging the horizon with lavender. Did he see it? Or had their discussion been a distraction? God knew she was distracted, but she needn’t be convinced about the beauty of Eastwell. For more than a year, she’d prayed that someone, anyone, would claim it and bring it back from the brink. Now he’d come, and Dani herself had been—remarkably—included in the revival. And she wanted to help. She wanted it so much, she felt homesick—nay, destined—for Eastwell Park. And she’d never even been inside the house. Oh, but she knew the land; and she knew the potential it held for Ivy Hill.
Do not get ahead of yourself, Dani, she scolded. Captain Bannock was exciting and the estate held great potential, but there was so much she needed to understand before she became anyone’s wife or lived anywhere but New Bridge Road.
“We should prepare ourselves for the worst,” she told him. “If any servants have remained these last five years, I’ve not heard of them. There’s been no one to beat back the wilds of nature, which, as you can see, can be very aggressive. The brick will be climbing with vines. The fountain mud—”
“There is a fountain?”
“Oh yes, Captain. There is a fountain, and a small vineyard, and a hedge maze, and a bowling green. Your reward for rescuing the prince’s cousin is very grand, indeed.”
Five minutes later, when they turned from the road and onto the sword-straight drive that led to the manor house, Dani pushed forward on the bench, clutching the box rod with both hands. “See, I told you there would be signs of abandonment. Nothing that cannot be restored, but look at the condition of the road. Gravel washed away, weeds growing tall. This hedge has entirely lost its shape. The previous baron pruned the yew like boxy sentinels.” She turned to him. “But are you excited?”
“I am... not unexcited,” he said. “I am—”
He stopped talking. They passed the final yew, and the drive emptied into a large gravel rectangle. And there it stood. Eastwell Park. All twenty-two windows, nine gables; thirty chimneys; four floors bearded with fluffy ivy, and a large, paneled front door. The shrubbery and sod were uneven and overgrown; the roof was missing shingles. A gutter had fallen loose from the north wall and it jutted from the cornerstone like a hangnail. But the imposing elegance of the house remained; the sculptural trim, the thick windowpanes, and sand-colored stone that glowed in the sun.
“Good God,” he muttered, reining in the horses, “it’s a bloody castle.” The sad resignation in his voice had returned. She glanced to him.
“No, no, not a castle,” she heard herself assure. “There is a proper castle in Maidstone. Eastwell is modest in comparison, although more beautiful, in my view. But is it to your liking, Captain Bannock?”
“Ah...” he began. “Do you like it?”
