Page 2 of A Bachelor’s Lessons in Love

Edward’s thoughts swirled as he entered his study, one of the only rooms he had taken time to fill with things that brought him comfort, the faint scent of leather and aged paper greeting him like an old friend. This was the one room in Briarwood where he had allowed himself the luxury of comfort. The deep green walls, lined with shelves of books collected during his travels, instantly comforted him. He’d never been one for frivolity, but books—those were necessary. Histories, treatises on war, scientific explorations, even a few novels he knew most men wouldn’t admit to owning—were all neatly arranged with military precision on his shelves.

A roaring fire in the hearth kept the room warm, the flickering light casting long shadows over the dark wood furniture. His desk, a sturdy oak piece inherited from his father, was free of unnecessary clutter, save for a silver inkwell, a neat stack of correspondence, and a small brass carriage clock. A single chair, upholstered in worn yet supple brown leather, stood behind it. That chair had molded to his frame over countless hours of reading accounts, answering correspondence, and studying documents. It was now as much a part of him as his own clothes.

To the left of the hearth stood a battered armchair with a matching footstool, its upholstery faded from years of use and blistering sunshine. A woolen scratchy blanket, a relic from his days in the army, was draped over the back. It bore the faint scent of campfires and distant memories, and though it had no place in such an elegant room, he could never bring himself to part with it. The place was as close to a sanctuary as it was possible for a mortal man to make.

Edward walked toward the hearth, holding his hands out to warm them as he waited for Mrs. Lane to arrive.

His gaze flickered, unsettled. On the mantel above the fire a handful of mementos were arranged with care: a small framed sketch of his parents’ estate, a miniature of his mother, and a carved wooden horse gifted to him by a fellow soldier. Each item had a story, though he rarely indulged in retelling them, even to himself.

His gaze roved on. The windows, framed by heavy velvet curtains, overlooked the garden. By day, they allowed light to spill into the room, but now that dusk had fallen the panes reflected only the flames from the fire and the faint, ghostly outline of his own face.

This was his retreat, a place where the weight of the world could be set aside—at least for a time. As he took his usual place at the desk, the letter in his pocket sapped the room of its familiar warmth. Soon, this quiet refuge would no longer belong to him alone.

His gaze shifted to the large armchair by the fire. Would a child consider it comfortable? Would the stories on his shelves hold any appeal to a girl? He shook his head, dismissing the thought. This room was his alone, and it would remain as it was—a sanctuary of order in a world of chaos. Daphne would have other rooms in the house and people to wait upon her needs there. He would see to that.

A knock on the door had his shoulders relaxing. Mrs. Lane’s direction would be most helpful, indeed.

“Come in.”

Price had trusted Edward to care for a daughter. Edward would prove himself worthy of that trust easily enough—and there was always the woman coming with Daphne. Surely she would not mind giving him some advice before going on her way again. Between the three of them, they could make certain Miss Daphne Price had everything she needed to begin life at Briarwood. It would not be all that difficult. One little girl would fit quite easily into his home, and it was ridiculous of him to fret.

“Mrs. Lane,” he said, putting a confident smile in place as his housekeeper bobbed a curtsy. “We are expecting guests.”

Everything would be fine.

* * *

“Everything is not fine,” Felicity Price said tautly, trying to keep her tone calm despite her overwhelming desire to shout at the disinterested man behind her late brother’s desk. The solicitor barely looked up from the papers in front of him to acknowledge that she had spoken. “Fine, indeed! You are sending my niece to live with a complete stranger, a man she has never met before. A bachelor, too, from all accounts. She has never known her mother, she lost her father a fortnight ago, and she is at a delicate and important age—are you listening to me?”

She curled her hands into fists in her lap, trusting the folds of her skirts to hide that detail from Mr. Vole, her brother’s solicitor and executor of the modest estate left behind. He barely looked up at her when she asked her indignant question. She had learned long ago how little her protests meant when a man had already made up his mind. Once, she might’ve believed herself capable of persuading someone to wait, to stay, to choose her.

But that had been a long-ago foolishness.

“Why can she not remain here, in the home where she grew up? She will inherit it upon marriage or her twenty-first birthday, and I can remain here and look after the household. I could send you weekly reports or you can visit monthly or…” Felicity’s voice trailed away as the man shook his head at her.

“That is not how the law works, Miss Price, surely you must know that. Your brother left explicit instructions in his will. It is my duty as his executor and solicitor to see that everything is done according to his wishes and within the bounds of the law.” The man cleared his throat as his gaze dropped to the paper before him. “Miss Daphne Price is now under the guardianship of Colonel Halstead. Everything will be held in trust for her. You received an adequate sum from your late brother’s estate to set up a household of your own. After you accompany the younger Miss Price to meet her new guardian, the matter is no longer your concern.”

Though the solicitor was in truth a handsome enough man of fifty, Felicity had never felt so repulsed by a person. His words alone made her wish never to see him again.

Unfortunately it was not likely to be fulfilled.

“No longer my concern?” she repeated incredulously. “Daphne is my niece—my flesh and blood. She will always be my concern. How can I possibly hand her over to a stranger as though she be nothing more than a parcel, and leave her to an unknown fate?” Her voice rose enough toward the end of her question that Mr. Vole’s expression changed from disinterest to disapproval.

“Come, Miss Price, there is no need for dramatics. An unknown fate? Colonel Halstead is apparently quite respectable, and if your brother trusted him with his daughter’s care, you can have no objections.”

Oh, she had plenty of objections; just none that this man would hear. Why hadn’t her brother told her when he took ill what his plans for Daphne were, should the worst happen? Why had she found out a week ago during the reading of the will that her niece would be ripped from her?

“Dramatics?” she repeated, reminding herself to stay calm. “Sir, I assure you, I am not being dramatic. My niece’s whole future is at stake.”

There was no reason, apart from male stubbornness, why she and Daphne could not continue to live in this house, her home, and live their lives. Daphne was due to come out in Society—had already made her debut locally—and had looked forward to spending a few weeks in London with her father and aunt at the end of the Season. She was a lively, beautiful girl with her whole life ahead of her.

Until this moment, it seemed.

“I am certain Colonel Halstead will be mindful of your niece’s needs,” Mr. Vole said vaguely, looking down at the papers again. “He will prove an adequate guardian. If there is nothing else, I have more to attend to with the estate and your niece will need your help to pack. Good day, Miss Price.”

The disinterested dismissal hit her as a slap in the face, making Felicity draw back and press her lips closed. Living with her brother for the last several years, she had grown used to being spoken to with naught but respect—listened to, even, when she had an opinion on a matter. For a time she had forgotten that her status as an unmarried woman marked her as someone with barely more self-governance than a child—and less legal right, now, than her own niece.

Felicity rose and offered only a shallow curtsy to the top of Mr. Vole’s head before leaving her brother’s study. Once the door shut behind her, she rubbed at her temples. She felt one of her headaches coming on, but she had to fight it.