Page 1 of A Bachelor’s Lessons in Love

Chapter One

FEBRUARY 20, 1817

It was a cold Thursday afternoon, and Colonel Edward Halstead stood alone in the garden of his estate, staring at the bed of roses. The bushes were stripped bare by winter’s hand, their branches skeletal and dormant. He brushed his gloved hand carefully along one stem, avoiding a large thorn.

“Sleeping the winter away,” Edward murmured aloud, his voice the only sound in the quiet of the well-manicured garden. “I miss the vibrancy you bring to this place. Enjoy your rest, but come awake again as soon as you can.”

He ought to have been in his study, poring over the reports from his man of business, making financially responsible decisions for the care and keeping of his home, his accounts, and the people who relied upon him. Instead he found himself lost in thought, his mind tangled with the same familiar worries which had plagued him all winter.

The rhythmic crunch of shoes on gravel broke into his thoughts before they could take him down a familiar and unproductive path. Edward turned to see a footman approaching, the servant’s breath clouding in the frosty air.

“Sir, a letter has arrived. The messenger said it is of the utmost importance.” The young man extended a thick folded paper, sealed with deep red wax, his gloved hand trembling slightly from the cold.

“Ah, thank you, Samuel. Is the messenger still present?” Edward accepted the missive and studied the unfamiliar seal, a stylized P with a laurel wreath encircling it..

“No, sir. He went on his way, quick as anything.” The young man stood at attention, and Edward almost chuckled. He never asked his servants to act so similarly to the soldiers he had once commanded. He supposed it was something about himself which brought it out in them.

Breaking the wax with a snap, he unfolded the letter and studied its contents. His jaw tightened as he reached the heart of the matter: the death of Mr. Anthony Price, a man who had saved his life on the battlefield—and the unexpected news that Edward had been named in the man’s will as guardian to Price’s only daughter, Daphne.

The words blurred slightly as Edward’s grip on the paper tightened. He had not seen Price in…goodness, near a decade. The man had been a good soldier, and almost impossibly, a better friend. Price had left the military long before Edward had dared do the same, and the last two years of his civilian life he had spent putting everything in order. Had put off seeing old friends. He had, in fact, buried himself in other responsibilities. And now, from beyond the grave, he had left Edward a most daunting responsibility.

A child. But what did Edward know about children? Especially the female sort?

Edward read on. The girl was to arrive at Briarwood House in three days’ time, accompanied by a female relative. The solicitor’s tone left no room for negotiation, nor any time to protest the decision. Edward’s guardianship was not a request, but a legal obligation.

He exhaled heavily, the cold air stinging his throat. “A child,” he muttered aloud, folding the letter with deliberate care. When he had last seen Price, had the man mentioned a daughter? Yes. He had. And his wife had passed away. Edward sent his regrets to the family, in the midst of a battle that had nearly seen him captured. Details had certainly slipped away from him.

Dash it all. His life had gone through too much upheaval, he had been injured too often, to remember the details of other men’s lives. Did that make him a monster? Perhaps. Here, Price had left Edward the most important thing a man could have—a child bearing his name—and Edward could not even remember the particulars of Price’s life.

He owed Price his own life. The man had saved him from certain death with a well timed push. Edward would not refuse, even if the option were presented to him in that moment.

“Send word to the housekeeper,” Edward said to the waiting footman, his tone brisk. “I must speak with her at once. We’ll need to prepare rooms for two guests—one of long duration.”

The footman bowed and departed, leaving Edward once again alone with his thoughts and the hibernating roses.

This would change…everything. Briarwood had always been his haven, the one place where he could escape the weight of his past. Now, it seemed, it would become a household of responsibilities, a new little face, and unknown challenges.

Edward turned back to the garden, his thoughts heavier than the gray clouds overhead. What had possessed Price to leave a daughter in the care of an old soldier like Edward?

He winced. “I am hardly in my dotage, I suppose,” he muttered to the gravel path beneath his boots. At eight and thirty he had his health, a strong physique, and mental fortitude. Many a man his age began new ventures surely far more daunting than caring for a child. He could likely find a governess or a school for the girl, if he couldn’t provide what was needed in his own home.

“Poor little mite,” he muttered, tucking the letter into his coat. “Losing her father, having to come live with a stranger.” And here he was, already thinking of how he might send her away.

The letter had mentioned she would arrive in the care of a female relative. Having another person intrude in his home caused him the briefest moment of annoyance. He could send the woman on her way, he supposed, but it seemed cruel to deprive Daphne of all family mere days after she lost her father. Perhaps he could convince the woman to stay—take responsibility for the child.

He frowned and pulled the paper out once more, reading over it to see if the relative had been named. But no, the solicitor had left out that detail.

What could that mean?

Edward shook his head and put the letter into his pocket again, striding toward the house. Mrs. Lane would be waiting for him in his study in short order—after all, the woman ran his household with the strictness of a sergeant. She would know how to efficiently prepare for Miss Daphne Price’s arrival.

As he entered the house, handing his winter things to a footman, he looked about with new eyes. His home suited him, of course, in its simplicity. But what would a little girl think of the place? Was it too dark? Dreary? He marched down the corridor to his study, his gaze sweeping along the walls.

He had bought the house at auction two years ago, and most of the trappings had been sold separate from the dwelling. He hadn’t bothered to fill the house with much, either. A soldier for most of his life, he’d learned to travel light, live sparsely, and place value on things necessary for the day-to-day. Because of this philosophy, his house did not have the same comfortable feel to it that his friends’ homes did. Would it matter that he did not have paintings of meadows and sheep along the corridor? That he had not painted the deep green walls a more fashionable shade of…whatever was currently considered fashionable?

A child could not care for such things, surely.

As long as he set up a well-appointed nursery and school room, things would surely be fine. He would fill the child’s rooms with everything she could want—the rest of the house would hardly matter then. He owed that to Price, at least.