Page 12 of Her Infuriating Earl
“Well, that is a pity,” Amelia said, though the twinkle in her eyes did not dim.
Caroline perched anxiously on the edge of the settee. “But you will make friends with her again, Daniel, will you not? I do not think I could bear it if there was any animosity between you and one of my friends.”
“I… will do my best to make amends,” he promised, his stomach rehearsing the knots it would twist itself into when the day came when he had to face Phoebe again.
Opposite, a dreamy look passed across Amelia’s face. “You know, your father was very clumsy as a child. He used to tell me all about it, and how his own mother worried terribly.” She sighed. “He, too, grew out of it, but there was a time, in our first weeks of marriage, when he could not speak to me without stumbling over his words. He once tried to pour a cup of tea for me, spilled it all over my dress and burned me. I thought it would scar! Goodness, I was furious with him for days.”
“But you forgave him,” Caroline said softly. Sadly.
“Well, of course, but only after I learned why he was so shaky and awkward in my presence.” Amelia’s twinkling eyes glistened with memory. “He told me he was falling in love with me and could not control his limbs nor his mouth whenever he was near me. I think that was the momentIfell in love with my sweet Lionel.”
Lionel had been the best father that any child could ask for and the best example of a husband that any man could hope to witness and emulate, his absence echoing through the halls of Westyork Manor even then. The loss of him still ached in Daniel’s heart, in everyone’s heart, and likely would until they all joined him in the hereafter.
Daniel cleared his throat. “There shall be no risk of anyone falling in love.” He hesitated. “Although, I had hoped to discuss something with you, regarding Miss Wilson. The younger Miss Wilson. One of them. One of the twins.NotMiss Wilson. Miss… um… Phoebe Wilson. Not her.”
He hurried to ignore the fact that thinking about Phoebe had madehimstumble over his words. It was nothing more than coincidence, and some residual embarrassment—he could convince himself of that.
“Joanna or Ellen?” Caroline chimed in, her eyebrow raising slightly.
“The former.” Daniel exhaled, wondering why there was an invisible lump of granite sitting on his chest.
He was about to continue, explaining his intention to court Joanna, but the maid entered with the tea tray at that moment, nipping his momentum in the bud. And as he sat back and watched the maid arrange the tea things, admiring the array of cakes, his mind turned to his father and something his mother had mentioned.
“You know, your father was very clumsy as a child. He used to tell me all about it, and how his own mother worried terribly.”
A tremor of anxiety juddered through him, bringing old fears to the surface. It was something he had not thought about in years, being too busy with his business endeavors and amassing a fortune worthy of a king to keep his family safe. Indeed, he realized that he had quite forgotten why he had initially begun his mission to build a vast legacy, in the material sense. His father’s death had sparked it, filling him with a desperate need to do as much as possible, gather as much wealth as possible, while he still had the chance.
“What were you saying about Joanna Wilson?” Amelia prompted, snapping him out of his reverie.
Daniel smoothed a hand through his dark hair, reaching for his cup of tea and taking a sip to steady himself. But as he began to tell his mother and sister of his plans, his mind remained stuck on his fears for the future—forhisfuture. For there was a curse on the Barnet men that rarely skipped a generation—a curse that the physicians called by another name. A curse that had every chance of taking him, too.
CHAPTERSIX
Having never visited Woodholme Manor before, and discovering too late that it was much farther than he had anticipated and much harder to find, Daniel arrived at the gates in the late afternoon. He had intended to arrive before midday, and the prospect of the return journey made him feel somewhat weary already.
The gates were hidden among a tangle of briars that the carriage must have passed at least ten times, and though they were now a greenish hue, Daniel suspected they shone bronze beneath the patina. Trundling down a surprisingly well-kept driveway of white gravel, flanked by ancient oaks, the manor up ahead was, perhaps, the loveliest he had ever seen. Red brick draped with dark green ivy, leaded windows glinting in the afternoon sunlight that whispered, at last, of spring. It was modest, certainly, but utterly charming.
The carriage pulled to a halt outside a pillared porch, rustic but not unrefined. Daniel reached for the flowers he had brought for each of the Wilson sisters, grimacing at the sight of the yellow and pink tulips he had chosen for Phoebe. They had wilted during the journey, now unable to stay upright on their own. And he had no ribbon with which to secure them.
What does it matter? At least Joanna’s daffodils are still in good condition,he told himself, opening the door and stepping out.
He had barely put a foot on the gravel when a figure came rushing out of the manor, striding down the steps toward him.
“I thought my message to you was crystal clear,” Phoebe said, standing on the bottom step as if to block his path. “You should not have come here. There is no reason for you to be here, for you shall not court my sister. Must I offer you soap to wash out your ears, or must I repeat myself, again?”
He thrust the wilted tulips at her. “I brought these for you.”
“Pardon?” She stared at the blooms, her expression confused.
“Yellow and pink tulips,” he said. “It means a sincere apology.”
Phoebe frowned. “I know what it means.” Her hand reached out hesitantly, taking the drooping flowers. “But tulips will not change my stance.”
“Miss Wilson, I have a sister.” Daniel paused, watching the way Phoebe’s face altered, her expression softening as she gazed down at the tulips, her fingertips gently caressing the silky petals.
There was a shine to her extraordinary, dusky blue eyes, and the ghost of a smile on her lips, but it was not a happy sort of smile—it was wistful. And that shine in her eyes, he realized, was the glisten of sudden tears.
She shook her head sharply, straightening up, the glittering tears in her eyes turning into ice. “What were you saying?”
