The woman needed to be imprisoned for pulling such a stunt, but stupidity wasn’t a crime. “She’s probably a little chilly but very much alive. She’ll not be back.”
He sank against the wooden spindles of the seat. Slowly, he started the motion Hope liked, back and forth, not too fast, not too slow.
“No like her. Pa-Papa, just need you.”
“You have Phoebe’s heart, don’t you? She wrote that she just needed me.” He hoped that part was true. So much had been left unsaid.
Hope closed her eyes. “No more anyone go, Pa-Papa. Stay.”
It was hard to be so small and understand big concepts like death and termination. The little girl burrowed deeper into his arms, grabbing his pearl buttons, some of Mr. Weston’s, London’s elite tailor’s best.
Daniel kissed her brow and kept the chair rocking until his little angel became a sleeping, drooling sprite. Nothing seemed better or more perfect.
Too much was at risk from scheming women, daring widows, the Lord Mayor’s inquiries, and Hope’s nightmares.
Yet Daniel might be his own worst enemy. With his increasing fascination with notes from the rumor-torturing, lovely St. Maur, things were bound to spin out of control. He needed to take charge or be caught in the cyclone, the maddening desire of a Creole Jamaican woman.Chubble. Chubble. Trouble.
CHAPTER 18
DANIEL—TEAWITHLADYSHREWSBURY
Pocketing the sleeve buttons for his cuffs, Daniel took a final look at Hope. The child lay in her crib, sound asleep. Her arms locked about Mrs. Feebs, a wooden doll with big glass eyes. She looked peaceful.
He tiptoed to the hall and swatted the polished oak balusters of the railing forming the steep stairs. Slowing his steps, he crossed the pristine whitewashed hall and remembered with whom he was about to deal.
Lady Shrewsbury could smell weakness. She thrived on people underestimating her to gain full advantage.
She taught him everything he knew.
It was why his court prowess was hard to rival, why his losses were rare. He pushed on the crystal knob and stalked into the room.
A chill swept through him.
Mrs. Gallick and his aunt had pulled chairs from the dining room and lined them about the stone hearth, just as they did when his mother lived. They even left a seat as if she was expected to join them.
His aunt didn’t fight fair. He refused to move closer and fall into the emotional web she’d laid. Yet, Daniel couldn’t help thinking of his mother’s last days. At eight, he gave her a proper burial, then returned to Finchely only to be turned away by his uncle. The man used some legal scheming to wrest control. That was the day Daniel purposed to know more of the law than anyone.
He posted at the threshold, becoming a fixture as much as the burnished paneling covering the walls. “Lady Shrewsbury, have an exciting evening? Not often do you discover a naked nanny in cahoots with my former mistress.”
Mrs. Gallick must’ve heard the edge in his voice, one Daniel rarely ever offered. She sprung up, wiping her hands on the white apron atop her blue checked gown. “I’ll leave you two to chat. Always a pleasure, Lady Shrewsbury, Lord Ashbrook.”
His housekeeper fled as if her termination was next.
The woman should know that was impossible. How does one terminate Mrs. G, a second mother, one of his three counting Lady Shrewsbury?
He shut the door with a thud. “I could’ve handled things.”
“Daniel, you’re upset. Your mother always said to relinquish hard feelings before sunset. It’s why she kept forgiving my wayward brother, your father.”
“Well, since it’s past midnight now, I’ve gained over fifteen hours to stew until next sundown.”
Aunt padded the arm of the chair next to her, inviting him to sit . . . in his own study. “Daniel, the art above the mantel, that’s new. The waters look so true.”
“A local artist in Covent Garden made it. An abandoned woman, the poor pregnant lass was trying to make income. I’m drawn to the colors of the blue water, the oranges and reds of the sunset of Port Royal, Jamaica. This painting is what the artist imagined of the city before an earthquake and tidal wave destroyed it. Sort of a Sodom and Gomorrah in the Caribbean.”
Arms folded, he moved a little closer. “Beauty before wrath. You look lovely tonight, Aunt. Banishing infidels agrees with you.”
“You have a right to be angry, Daniel, but at whom?”
