Page 4 of A Bachelor’s Lessons in Love

Edward stood at the base of Briarwood House’s steps, arms folded tightly across his chest, the wind tugging at the edges of his greatcoat. The afternoon was as bleak as he half expected the meeting ahead to be, the sky a dull sheet of grey, the air thick with the damp chill of late winter, no promise of a brilliant spring.

In his gloved hand, he held a doll.

It was a small thing, made of mere cloth and wood, its painted face slightly faded with age. Mrs. Lane had produced it from one of the attic trunks, assuring him that it was still in fine condition. “Little girls like dolls,” she had said with a knowing nod.

A little girl.

His whole life would soon change with the arrival of the child. He would devote himself to her protection, her care, her upbringing. That was what his friend had expected of him. He would not let Anthony Price down; failing his old friend wasn’t an option. The little girl would find herself a haven at Briarwood—no matter how ill-prepared he felt.

His imagination supplied him with the image of a timid child of no more than eleven or twelve, weeping at the loss of her father, clutching at presumably her aunt’s skirts, terrified of being left in the care of a complete stranger. He had steeled himself for the encounter, even prepared what he suspected were awkward words of comfort. Despite the days he’d had to ready himself, Edward felt heavy with the uncertainty of how to handle a child who likely wanted nothing to do with him.

As the carriage rolled to a halt before the house, he took in a deep breath and forced a bright smile onto his face, moderating it slightly as he recalled the circumstances which had led to such an occasion. The loss of his friend.

The footman moved swiftly to lower the steps and open the door. Edward’s jaw tightened as not one, but two fully grown women emerged. Both dressed in heavy mourning attire, shrouded in grays and blacks, their expressions as cool and impenetrable as the sky overhead.

And this was the moment he realized his expectations had been entirely wrong.

The elder of the two had stepped down first, graceful and unhurried, and Edward knew at once she was no mere chaperone. She moved with calm authority, her spine rigid, her chin lifted. She took one sweeping glance at him, and the weight of her judgment settled like a stone on his chest.

She looked up at him from no more than three feet away, her head tilted back, as though she disapproved of his height, firstly, and the rest was a matter of course.

Edward’s jaw tightened. He couldn’t help being taller than average. He had no wish to stand out as he did, but most women looked at him with admiration for a height he could not control.

This woman did not.

The aunt. She had to be the aunt. Her somber expression and mature style of dress marked her as someone with authority in the girl’s life. A spinster—yet she did not appear all that old. There were no lines upon her forehead or around her mouth, no wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. Her skin still held warmth and there was a sprightliness in the way she had descended the carriage. She could not even be of an age with him, he would wager; she was surely younger than his eight and thirty years. By how much, he could not tell.

The second figure emerged more hesitantly, her gloved hands gripping the doorframe before she set foot onto the frozen ground. She was younger than her traveling companion, her form slight, her manner clearly subdued. But even from a distance, Edward could see the resemblance between the two—the same elegant bearing, the same delicate features, the same deep brown eyes carrying the weight of recent grief.

Daphne Price. Daphne Price was no child. She was nearly a woman grown.

And Edward, standing there like a fool with a doll in his hand, had never felt more unprepared.

He cleared his throat, shoving the toy behind his back with a swift, sharp movement. Bother. “Miss Price,” he said, inclining his head toward the younger woman. “I am Colonel Edward Halstead. Please accept my deepest condolences for your loss. Your father was a good man.” Then, turning his gaze to the elder, “And you must be⁠—”

“Felicity Price,” she supplied, her voice crisp as winter frost. “Daphne’s aunt.”

Edward pressed his lips together at her tone, at the way her gaze flicked over him, assessing, unimpressed. She was not what he had anticipated, either. He had imagined a quiet, soft-spoken companion, a woman who might cower in the face of change, who might be eager to relinquish responsibility to him and leave the child in his care.

This woman was none of those things.

She was unflinching, unreadable. If he was not mistaken, she had already decided that he was entirely unfit for the role he had been given.

Though he had agreed with her at every waking moment since learning of his new charge, Edward could not help but bristle. She knew nothing of him—yet her eyes passed judgment coolly. But on what grounds?

Miss Daphne Price, for her part, said nothing. She stood close to her aunt, hands clasped before her, gaze averted. It was not the shyness of a child, nor the petulance of a youth. It was the quiet reserve of someone who had lost too much too soon.

They had both lost much, Edward reminded himself of that with sternness, and the presumably long carriage ride could not have improved their humors. He had a responsibility to them, as host and guardian, to provide what they needed to regain their equilibrium.

Edward exhaled slowly, schooling his expression. “You must be cold after your journey,” he said. “Please, come inside.”

The elder Miss Price hesitated only a moment before she nodded, wrapping her arm around Daphne’s and guiding her forward. Edward gestured them through the door and into the small entryway of his home, acutely aware of the tension hovering between them like an approaching storm.

This was not going to be simple.

But then, he supposed, nothing about his life ever had been.

The servants waited in two rows, all of them wearing expressions of welcome as Mrs. Lane had admonished them to look friendly so as not to intimidate the newly arrived child. Edward saw the expressions flicker, however, when the housekeeper, butler, valet, cooks, and maids saw the newcomers, looked behind them as though to search for the missing child, then turn their attention to him; waiting for an explanation or, at the very least, clarification as to what had gone wrong.