Dalton’s Challenge by Penny Fairbanks

Chapter 10

“Dalton? Did you hear me?” Mama’s voice broke into Dalton’s thoughts, pulling him back into the sitting room. He looked up from the book in his lap, the pages flipped to a random chapter since he had not bothered to hold it open properly. He hardly remembered that he had been reading, or trying to.

“Forgive me, Mama. I must have been so engrossed.” He held up the book as if to prove his point, hoping that Mama had not noticed him staring out the window rather than at the pages before him.

Her eyes narrowed. Dalton knew she did not believe him even though she did not point out his lie. The baroness crossed the room, settling into the chair across from her son.

“Is something the matter, Dalton? You have been rather…preoccupied recently.” Mama watched Dalton carefully, her normally bright eyes now serious and thoughtful.

Dalton swallowed nervously. He did not want to discuss his current state of mind, not even with Mama. In truth, Dalton hardly understood what had been causing his discomfort. He knew it had started during his tilbury ride with Winnie, when she had brought up Mr. Mathis again. He still could not understand why he had lashed out at her, and he thanked God for her forgiveness. Dalton did not want to find himself on her bad side again. He did not want to hurt her again.

“Son?” Mama prompted, once again drawing Dalton out of his reverie.

“I have just been in a strange, contemplative mood. I am sure it will pass soon,” he said as reassuringly as possible.

“You know you can share anything with me, dear,” Mama gently insisted. Her warm smile almost made Dalton crack and spill all his thoughts out to her, as muddled and foreign and frustrating as they might be.

“I know, Mama, and I thank you for it.” He tried to smile as merrily as he usually did, knowing instantly from his mother’s brief frown that he had failed.

“Well, I came to find you to let you know that Papa wants to speak with you,” Mama continued, hesitating after every few words.

Dalton immediately found himself on edge. Mama did not usually hesitate about anything. Whatever Papa wanted to discuss, Dalton knew he would not like it.

“May I ask why?”

“He had an interesting talk with Miss Thirley after lunch—”

“I see,” Dalton snapped, already feeling his agitation growing hotter.

“Dalton, be patient and open-minded, please,” Mama said, a command rather than a request.

“I shall do my best,” Dalton grumbled through gritted teeth. “Where is Papa?”

“In his study. And remember, dear, he is not trying to badger you. He is simply trying to help prepare you.”

“I know, Mama. Now, if you will excuse me.” Dalton pushed himself up from his chair without waiting for a response, abandoning his book on the end table on his way out.

He marched through the house and up to the next floor, pushing the study door open as soon as Papa answered his knock.

“You wished to see me?”

“Dalton, have a seat with me,” Papa said, pointing to the chair beside him.

The calmness in his father’s voice almost frustrated Dalton even more. Papa was a good man—an excellent man. Anyone who knew him would come to the same conclusion. Dalton could not have been more different. Where Papa was gentle and reserved, Dalton was animated and active. Where Papa was wise and thoughtful, Dalton was superficial and brash.

Though he wanted nothing more than to run from the room, to run across the fields as he had done on that day of the lamb chase, to feel the openness of the world around him, Dalton still obeyed his father.

“I heard that Miss Thirley spoke with you earlier,” Dalton started as soon as he sat down.

“Yes, she did. She is such a lovely, bright young woman, is she not?” Papa smiled with genuine care for Winnie.

“Certainly,” Dalton agreed sharply. “I assume she told you of her idea to help Mr. Mathis?”

Shame roiled in his stomach. He felt like a child for behaving so defensively when he did not truly know Papa’s intentions for this conversation. Guilt followed quickly on shame’s heels. Dalton knew deep in his heart that he had no reason to resent Papa as he did. In all respects, Papa had been far more relaxed with Dalton than the fathers of his friends who would also one day inherit.

As Dalton sat across from Papa, he saw two men: his father—the man who had raised him and played with him as a boy—and the Baron of Welsted, who carried so many burdens on his shoulders with an elegance that Dalton would never be able to manage.

He saw his future, the future that terrified him.

“She did, and what a brilliant idea it is.” Papa nodded, quietly pondering the details of her plan. “She suggested purchasing another threshing machine to ease the burden on the older farmer, while employing him in less demanding tasks to accommodate for his age so he can still work until he is ready to retire.

“Miss Thirley made quite an excellent point. Though the elder Mr. Mathis may not be able to work in the fields as much as he used to, he still has plenty of energy for other tasks. An additional threshing machine would give the younger Mr. Mathis the help he needs until his son is old enough to join him.”

Despite his irritated mood, Dalton still found the plan impressive. Winnie truly was brilliant—and kind and understanding and persistent. His heart swelled as he imagined Winnie gripping her chin, brows furrowed in thought as she worked to find some solution for a farmer who essentially meant nothing to her. He knew that she wanted to find a solution for him because she wanted to help even those she had no obligation to.

“Miss Thirley also told me that she tried to bring her idea to you, but you refused to hear her out.” Papa’s voice hardened, his eyes piercing Dalton.

“She told you about that, did she?” Dalton muttered.

“Only after I asked her if she thought of telling you, since Mr. Mathis first brought the issue to your attention. I asked her twice before she confessed, so do not think she betrayed you in any way.”

“Will you implement her idea then?”

“Yes, I think I will,” Papa said thoughtfully.

“Then may I ask why you summoned me?” Dalton asked, trying his best not to sound as perturbed as he felt.

“Dalton, why did you not want to hear Miss Thirley’s plan?” The baron’s voice remained as patient and gentle as ever, though his eyes told Dalton that he certainly sensed the tension in the air.

Dalton sighed, chewing on the inside of his cheek, looking anywhere but his father’s observant gaze. “I did not think I needed to. As I told her, you are the baron. You are the one who can enact any changes, not I,” he mumbled, fully aware of how immature and childish he sounded. Yet he could not stop himself. His frustration seemed to be rising to the surface, ready to boil over at any moment. Dalton was powerless against it.

“I know that may be technically true, but you still have plenty of say in this household, my son—if you want it.”

“I do not want it, Papa.”

Papa remained silent for a moment, watching Dalton with both curiosity and concern. Dalton wished his father would not look at him like that, like he was just one step away from becoming a disappointment.

“Why do you not want it?”

“Because I do not need it yet,” Dalton growled. “I am still young. Why must I be bothered about all this now?”

“You know I do not want to pressure you, or any of your siblings, but you are my heir. You are still young, yes, but the fact remains that we cannot know what will happen in life. I do not want you to be ill prepared to face your duties when my title passes to you,” the baron said in a low, quiet voice. His tone gave Dalton pause, a chill racing down his spine.

“I know enough, Papa. I have watched you my whole life. Is that not enough?” Dalton could not hide the strain in his voice, the panic and fear racing through him. He did not want to have this conversation. He had been backed into a corner like a trapped animal.

“You are a smart young man. I know you learn just by observation. But there must come a time when practical experience needs to join observation. When I heard that Mr. Mathis had come to you with this issue, and that Miss Thirley had offered a solution…well, I hoped that you would take this as your first opportunity to gain that practical experience of what being a baron is like.”

A stone dropped into Dalton’s stomach, paralyzing him. “So I am a disappointment, is that it? Because I wish to enjoy my life a little longer before I spend the rest of it with all these responsibilities?”

“Dalton, I did not—”

Hot, angry energy burst through Dalton like lightning. He leapt to his feet, chest heaving. “If only you could make Patrick your heir. Even now we can already see that he would do a better job of it than me.”

Papa stood as well, slow and measured as always. Yes, Patrick took after Papa so much more than Dalton. He should have been born first, leaving Dalton free to live life however he chose. As much as he hated to admit it even to himself, Dalton knew he could not handle these duties. He did not have it in him.

“My son, you and your brother both have your own strengths and weaknesses. There is no need to compare. You are my eldest son, and I would never change that,” Papa whispered, the pain in his voice only fueling Dalton’s misery.

“Then why can you not leave me be?” Dalton hissed through clenched teeth.

“Believe me, I plan on being here for a very, very long time,” Papa started, his eyes filling with a profound sadness that shook Dalton to his core, “but that is not truly my decision to make. The Lord can call on me at any moment, and I cannot bear the thought of leaving you to manage all this without proper preparation.”

“Papa, please—” Dalton shook his head fiercely, as if that could block out his father’s words.

“I know better than anyone else how much work goes into this title, son. I fear I have already wasted too much time, time I should have spent guiding you and teaching you. As you know, I became a baron far too young, long before I was ready. I did not want you to miss out on the youth that I was denied.”

Dread filled Dalton from head to toe as his father’s words sank in. He knew his grandfather had died when Papa was not yet eighteen, younger than Dalton was now. The thought of losing his own father at such a young age, when he still had so much to learn and so much he wanted to do together….

“I am sorry you had to go through that, but you must not blame yourself for my failings. Whatever happens will happen and I will have to deal with it then. But not a moment sooner, I swear it.”

Dalton spun around, flying across the room and out into the hallway, slamming the door shut behind him. He must not think those dreadful thoughts. They would break his heart. He could not face that reality, not yet. Just as he had told Papa, he would not face them until he had no choice.

A sudden craving for fresh air gripped Dalton. Fresh air always helped him. The wide open skies and sprawling fields reminded him that life was limitless. The gentle breeze reminded him that life was meant to be enjoyed, not spent dreading the future.

This house, the house he had grown up in, that his father and his father’s father had grown up in—this home that he had loved all his life—now felt like a cage. The dark wood walls closed in on him, portraits of his ancestors glaring down at him.

Dalton raced through Attwood Manor, barely aware of anyone or anything else as he went. He found himself on the veranda, the cool wind caressing his face. He inhaled as deeply as he could, desperate to drink in the refreshing air, to restore some calm to his hammering heart.

His eyes searched the lands, searching for some escape. Finally, Dalton settled on the thicket of trees behind the main garden. He marched forward, long legs carrying him swiftly across the grass, the bright sun above beating down on him. Beads of sweat formed at the nape of Dalton’s neck. He did not care. He would much rather be out here, free for just a bit longer.

No matter how hard he tried to still his mind, to let the breeze carry his thoughts away, Dalton still could not erase the conversation he had had with Papa and all that it implied. Dalton’s rapid walk had turned into a run, his arms and legs pumping while his heart thudded rhythmically against his ribs, his eyes never leaving the tree line.

Once Winnie had come into his life, Dalton had found himself hurtling toward the future he was not ready to face. As he had told Papa, he was still young. He wanted to enjoy his freedom for a while longer. Besides, nothing would happen to Papa for a long time. He had to believe that.

Dalton shook his head, groaning at the sudden headache that pulsed against his temples. No, those thoughts must stay far, far away.

He slowed as he came around to the back of the garden, his eyes searching the ground for that sweet little rabbit family who loved each other and jumped through life so freely. Instead, Dalton found something else entirely.

Winnie looked up from the blanket spread at the base of the trees, her beautiful eyes like dark green emeralds glittering under the shade. A gust of wind picked up a tendril of her hair, sweeping it against her cheek. Her lips slowly parted in a surprised smile.

“Dalton, how lovely to see you out here!” She greeted him with such warmth, a warmth he had once thought impossible for her—a warmth he now cherished to the depths of his heart.

“Good afternoon,” Dalton mumbled, trying desperately to regain control of this ache raging through him.

“Would you care to join us?” Winnie patted the empty space next to her on the blanket, her every movement infused with gentle elegance. She watched him expectantly, hopeful.

“Us?” Dalton asked, his mind so muddled he was not sure he could speak more than a word or two at a time even if he wanted to.

Winnie peered over her shoulder between the trees. “The young ones are around here somewhere.” She stood, adjusting her lavender skirts so they flowed around her perfectly.

A moment later, Harriet’s head appeared from behind a nearby tree, breathlessly grinning at the adults. She held up a finger to her lips before retreating once more. Warren appeared next, jumping out from a tree on the other side. He glanced around, pouting as he hid again.

“Hide and seek,” Winnie explained fondly. “I never had anyone my age to play with, so it is quite fun to watch these two.”

“Winnie,” Dalton started, surprising himself.

“Yes?”

“Do you feel as though you grew up too fast?”

They stared at each other in silence as his unexpected question hung in the air between them. He did not know why he would ask such a thing, or choose this timing to ask it.

Winnie fiddled with the ribbon of her bonnet, almost the exact same lavender as her dress. “I suppose in some ways I did,” she said quietly, looking over her shoulder again to ensure the children would not hear.

“Things changed for me when Warren was born. I resented him at first, but I love him more than life itself now. He did not choose the position he was born into, and neither did I. I thought the best way to earn my parents’ love again, to remind them they still had a daughter, was to be as proper and perfect as possible. In that sense, I suppose I did grow up too fast. I became too rigid.”

She finished with such sadness in her voice that it nearly broke Dalton’s heart. She had been robbed of her childhood, too, because another child had replaced her. Meanwhile, Dalton did everything in his power to extend the already wonderful childhood he’d had.

“Do you not regret it?” he whispered.

Winnie looked up at him, her eyes locking onto his. “Sometimes I do,” she confessed. “After all, my efforts have not earned me anything yet, and I doubt they ever will now. But I suppose I would have grown up either way. Everyone must, sooner or later. I just did it sooner.”

And me later,Dalton thought to himself.

“I can see that something is upsetting you,” Winnie said gently, as if speaking to a frightened child. “Sit with me and we can discuss it. Or you can simply let your thoughts spill out while I listen. I promise not to interrupt.” She smiled, clearly trying to bring a little cheer back to the atmosphere.

When had Winnie become the one to cheer Dalton up? Was it not his job to bring joy and laughter? He seemed incapable of even that simple task now.

“No, thank you. I really must be going now,” he mumbled, turning away before he could see the disappointment and concern in her eyes.

“But you just—”

Dalton walked faster, leaving Winnie behind as quickly as possible. The fresh air had not done him as much good as he had hoped. Of course, he had not been expecting to run into Winnie, which had not helped his predicament at all—she was a major source of his issues.

Why must he always run into her when he least wanted to see her? Why must she always send him into a whirlwind of confusion? Why must he long to turn around again, to join her under the shade of the trees, to share every thought that passed through his mind, both mundane and profound?

Again, Dalton found himself back inside Attwood Manor, his body carrying him through the grand house of its own accord. His hand turned the doorknob to his bedroom, closing it gently behind him as his back pressed against the wood.

He kept trying to escape. Instead, he had run into all the things he feared, all the realities he dared not accept. At least in his own room, Dalton knew he should be safe from anyone trying to bother him. He needed to be alone, to untangle the mess in his mind.

Dalton sank down onto his bed, lowering himself back onto the soft blanket, pillows cushioning his aching head. Perhaps a nap would do the trick. He did not nap often since he had more than enough energy to last through the day, but he did not normally endure so many draining conversations.

As soon as his eyes closed, Dalton’s mind conjured up vague images. They seemed like memories, yet as they solidified and became clearer, Dalton realized they were not memories at all. They were glimpses of the future—his future.

He saw Winnie’s smile, Winnie’s lip trapped between her teeth as she concentrated, Winnie’s ears growing red with shyness. He saw Winnie in the drawing room, laughing and chatting with his family, her eyes meeting his from across the room, so full of love. He saw Winnie by the thicket of trees, sitting on a blanket while children he had never seen before chased each other between the trunks—children who looked like Winnie and a bit like him.

Dalton gritted his teeth, pressing his palms against his still closed eyes. The pain rippled across his forehead from temple to temple. He must not think of that future, either. He must not think of any future—a future where his father was not Lord Welsted, a future where Dalton alone carried all the responsibilities of the barony, of a family.

Once he married, Dalton would take the first step toward that terrifying destiny, the destiny he had been avoiding like a coward.

He knew in the deep, overpowering, exquisite ache in his heart that he loved Winnie.

He suspected that she loved him, too, despite—or perhaps because of—their strange history fraught with trials and triumphs. Still, that love threatened to carry him to a place he did not want to go. Not yet. It all happened too fast.

With a deep breath, Dalton made a promise to himself, one last attempt to regain control of his life before it slipped through his fingers completely.

He must not get any closer to Winnie for the rest of her stay. The closer he came to her, the closer he came to the fate he had been trying so hard to run away from.