Dalton’s Challenge by Penny Fairbanks

Chapter 12

The rain had finally broken, joyful sunlight spilling into Dalton’s room. He had not ventured outside much yet. In fact, he had not ventured outside his room aside from mealtimes. That alone was torture enough for him, having to sit across from Winnie and see the ice creeping back into her eyes.

He had barricaded himself in his room to sulk in his misery. Unfortunately, he knew it could not last forever. Perhaps now that the sun had dried out the fields, everyone would be outside enjoying the fine weather. Still, he paced back and forth in front of his door, debating whether or not he should leave with each pass.

Dalton had no idea what he would say to Winnie if he came across her. He had already said more than he had intended. He seemed unable to keep his temper in check recently, first lashing out at Papa and then at Winnie—the two people who least deserved his anger.

Finally, he faced the door head on. He must come out eventually, and he would have to deal with whatever he met on the other side of the door.

Of course, Dalton had not been expecting to meet his younger brother on the other side.

Patrick, who was on his way to his own bedroom, looked surprised to see Dalton as well. “Nice to see you again, brother,” the younger man said with a touch of frustration in his voice.

“You saw me at breakfast,” Dalton replied, trying to sound untroubled. “What are your plans for the day?”

“I was just on my way to get a different book from my room. Would you care to join me in the library?”

Always in the library, that Patrick. Still, perhaps some time in the peace and quiet of the library would do something for Dalton. Once Patrick had retrieved the book he wanted, the brothers made their way down to the library in silence.

Silence between Dalton and Patrick was not unusual, though something about this silence put Dalton on edge. Patrick, like Papa and Anna, had always been reserved and thoughtful. Today, however, Patrick seemed to have something in particular on his mind that did not have anything to do with the plot or characters of whatever play held his attention. Something told Dalton that he did not want to know what it was.

He considered turning around the moment they stepped into the library, making up some excuse about a headache. It would not have been a total lie. Dalton had been plagued with headaches nearly every day. Yet Dalton’s pride kept him from running away.

The two Harcourt men settled into their chairs opposite each other, Patrick immediately sinking into the fictional world of his book. Dalton took a while longer, his eyes going in and out of focus over the page before him.

Finally, to Dalton’s surprise, he found himself being drawn into the adventure novel Patrick had suggested. At least for a time, Dalton could pretend to be someone else with different worries, different battles to fight.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen.” That lovely voice brought Dalton crashing back to reality. He did not want to look up, yet he did anyway. Winnie stood in the doorway, beautiful as ever. Patrick and Dalton offered their greetings in return as she stepped further into the library.

“What are you reading today, Mr. Patrick?” she asked quietly, sending furtive glances to Dalton.

“I thought something a little different would be nice after Othello, so I have returned to As You Like It.” Patrick smiled appreciatively. He certainly had been enjoying having another lover of drama in the house.

“If you feel so inclined, I think Warren would enjoy hearing you read that one as well,” Winnie said, her eyes softening at the mention of her brother. Would she ever look at Dalton with that softness again?

“Certainly. He and I have been taking turns voicing the characters. In fact, he is rather talented at it.”

“Goodness, do not let him hear you say that,” Winnie chuckled. “I am afraid it would go straight to his ego.”

“Brothers and their egos,” Patrick agreed with a bemused smile, glancing over to Dalton.

Normally, Dalton would not have minded a little teasing from his younger brother. He would have made some sort of smart retort, laughing all the while. Dalton did not feel normal today. He had not felt normal in quite some time.

“Now that I am here, her ladyship is gathering anyone who is interested to join her in the music room. Caroline has been working on a new piece on the harp that she is eager to share.”

“I am perfectly fine here,” Dalton said sharply. He immediately regretted his tone when he saw Winnie’s frown yet he did not apologize or change his mind.

“Well, you know where we will be if you decide to join later on.” With all the grace she possessed, Winnie turned and left the library, walking with calm purpose. Dalton could see the tension and stiffness in her shoulders and neck as she disappeared through the doorway.

“What are you doing to Miss Thirley?” Patrick’s question—and the gravity in his voice—shocked Dalton to his core.

He stared into his brother’s serious, penetrating brown eyes. “I am not sure I understand what you mean.” His response sounded weak, even to him.

The look of disappointment on Patrick’s face sent a flare of anger and shame roaring through Dalton’s chest. Even this sixteen-year-old boy, still a child, could see right through Dalton’s lie. Perhaps he even pitied his older brother for his weakness.

Dalton knew without a doubt that Patrick should have been the one inheriting the title. He had the maturity, intelligence, and dignity for it, even at this age. Dalton, five years his senior, still wasted his time playing games and running away like a coward.

“I will not pretend to know the particulars of the relationship between you,” Patrick continued, sounding infuriatingly like a wise, gracious nobleman, “but please be kinder to Miss Thirley. Give her some indication of your interest, or lack thereof, so she can move forward with her life.”

Finally, Dalton snapped, his fury spilling over. He stood from his chair with such force that it nearly toppled over behind him. Patrick jumped slightly at the sudden movement. It almost made Dalton regret what he was about to say.

“How dare you presume to offer me advice?” he growled, his own voice sounding so unfamiliar. He had never spoken like this to anyone, let alone his younger brother. No matter how desperately he wanted to stop himself, the floodgates had been opened.

“Dalton, it is merely a suggestion—” Patrick fumbled over his words, holding his hands up in an attempt to placate his brother. Dalton would not be placated like some child who had been denied his favorite toy.

“I can make my own choices for my own life, Patrick. You said it yourself. You know nothing of the situation, so leave me to deal with it how I see fit.”

Patrick stood as well, watching Dalton carefully with something like pity in his eyes. “Brother, I did not mean to offend. I only wish to help. Anyone can see the turmoil between you two. It is plain as day.”

Dalton snorted. He could feel his eyes glowing hot with anger as he stared Patrick down. “You sound just like Papa—always thinking you understand everything, always trying to meddle where you are not needed. Perhaps it will surprise you to learn, Patrick, that I am perfectly capable of managing myself. I do not need you or anyone else to help me.”

Even as the words came out, Dalton knew they were false. This outburst clearly showed that he could not manage himself as well as he wanted to believe. Would a true gentleman, a future baron, behave so childishly, allowing his temper to get the better of him?

He stormed out of the room, his guilt, shame, and self-loathing propelling him through the house on a wave of scorching energy. He marched blindly, barely aware of the fact that he had made it out of Attwood Manor and onto the expansive fields surrounding the back of the house, his feet carrying him toward the closest hill.

Dalton had not visited these hills in years. His heart yearned for some safe place where he could seclude himself, hide himself from the world that insisted on dragging him right into the heart of his fears. He had loved these hills as a child, often climbing up to the top to look out at the lands below. It had filled him with excitement then, to see his future laid out before him. When had that excitement turned to dread?

Pausing at the bottom of the hill, Dalton wondered if he really should go up there. What would he see at the top? How different would it look? Had the world been moving forward while he fought to stay the same, fought to preserve the life he knew and loved?

With a deep breath, Dalton took the first few steps up the gentle slope, his body instinctively leaning forward to keep his balance. He kept his eyes trained on the crest of the hill, green grass blending into soft blue sky.

The sight at the top of the hill took Dalton’s breath away. It was just as beautiful as he remembered. Stretched out before him lay a vast forest with more pastures and hills beyond it. He looked back the way he had come to see Attwood Manor in all its glory, rising proudly into the sky with a unique mixture of architectural eras blended into one building that had raised generations of Harcourts. He could see the main garden bursting with color, the rock garden with stones of all shapes and sizes, and fields upon fields with sheep, cattle, and horses happily grazing on a lovely late summer afternoon.

Dalton’s shame landed in his stomach like an impossibly heavy stone. He had taken his beautiful home for granted. Worse still, he had taken out his frustrations on the very people who had loved and supported him his whole life.

He could not understand why his emotions had chosen this time to break loose. He could hardly understand his own thoughts. Dalton hated this confusion. He had never been one to second guess himself or spend too much time dwelling on far off possibilities. Dalton had been blessed with the ability to know what he wanted, to make his decisions quickly and confidently—or so he had thought. These past several days seemed to have shattered that ability.

Dalton closed his eyes, the breeze just a bit colder at this height, yet wonderfully refreshing. It pushed his tousled hair back from his forehead, cooling his face. He prayed with everything in his heart that these strange, tumultuous feelings would pass. He longed to return to his old self, to the Dalton who only thought about the present and did not lose his temper or raise his voice at his loved ones. He missed who he had been before—

“Dalton?”

His eyes snapped open as the wind effortlessly carried her voice to him, as if she stood right beside him. Dalton’s aching heart froze in his chest. He looked out at the landscape before him, searching for some answer. The landscape remained silent, staring back at Dalton with an empty gaze. He would find no answer there.

He turned slowly, watching his feet as he did so. He did not want to look at her just yet. Instead, he saw the hem of her dress, tugged by the wind. She took a step closer, silent on the soft grass.

“Please leave, Winnie,” Dalton begged. He could not deal with her, too, with the spark in his heart that told him to run to her and take her in his arms.

“I will not.” The firmness in Winnie’s voice finally caused Dalton to look at her.

She stood before him, proud and determined. His stomach churned. He knew she would not let him get away so easily. She never had.

“You must tell me what troubles you,” Winnie demanded in that unique combination she had perfected—gentle but unyielding.

Dalton shook his head, ripping his gaze from her. “Must? There is nothing I must do.”

It happened again, beyond Dalton’s control. His frustration manifested in his harsh words. He could not stop them from spilling out.

Winnie took another step forward. From the corner of his eye, Dalton could see the desperation in her expression, the way she cared for him so genuinely. “Are we not friends, Dalton? Is this not what friends do—support each other? Why do you insist on pushing me away?”

Dalton spun around to face her again. Those words cut him deeper than he had thought possible.

They were friends now, finally, after years of being enemies. In fact, Dalton had been the one to first mend that bridge. As absurd as it had seemed back then, Dalton had pushed forward, seeking peace between them. Something unexplainable had compelled him to take that step. If he had ignored that feeling, would he be suffering like this now? Would Winnie be suffering?

“Why do you insist on forcing me to spell it all out?”

“Because you will not find relief until you do. Remember, Dalton, that I am stubborn. I will not give up on you so easily.”

“There is nothing I can say now that you have not already heard in some capacity,” he grumbled, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. They were coming dangerously close to something, though what exactly Dalton could not yet tell.

“But it is affecting you in unusual ways. If we can discuss it together, perhaps we can determine why and what can be done to improve the situation.” Now Winnie begged, putting all her effort into bringing Dalton around to her idea.

Dalton scoffed, glaring at the woman who had once vexed him to no end, who had made him smile and laugh more than he had thought possible, and who now intended to drag his troubled heart out into the open.

“You make it sound so simple,” he said quietly through gritted teeth. “There is nothing you, or I, or anyone can do to improve the situation. This has been my fate since before I was born. I never asked for this role, to be a baron’s heir. Why can everyone else live their lives as they see fit while I must be forced onto this path that I am clearly not suited to?”

Winnie softened, her lovely eyes so pained for Dalton that he nearly crumpled to his knees. “Why do you think you are not suited to your path?”

Dalton squeezed his eyes shut, the truth simmering just below the surface now. Just like everything else, he was about to lose control of it.

“Because, Winnie, look at me. You know me. I am not my father. How can I possibly hope to do his legacy justice? How can I do this without him? Once he is gone, it will just be me to make these decisions and guide this family on my own. There will be no help.”

When Winnie did not respond, Dalton dared to glance over at her. She stared at him with understanding and realization. She nodded slowly, as if she had finally figured him out. The wind tossed her golden curls around. She had not even put on a bonnet before coming outside.

“How did you find me here?” The ridiculous question slipped out before Dalton could stop it. It seemed pointless to wonder that now. Until a moment ago, he had completely accepted that Winnie would always end up in the same place as him, whether he wanted it or not.

The corner of Winnie’s mouth twitched up in a small smile. “I saw you marching in this direction from the window of the music room. I could tell even from up there that something distressed you.”

“I see.”

“Do you, Dalton?” Winnie asked carefully. She took another half step forward, her eyes searching Dalton’s. What she hoped to find there, he could not begin to guess.

“Do you see that you are not truly afraid of the responsibilities you will have someday? You are afraid of change, of loss. Inheriting your father’s title means that your life will have changed forever, that you will have lost someone you love so dearly.”

Winnie’s words thundered through Dalton’s mind, their truth nearly suffocating him. He shook his head again, the pressure building at his temples. No, he had promised himself to never think of that. What good did it do to think of it now? That was still a long, long way in the future, even if Papa himself said that no one could truly know when their time on Earth would come to an end.

Another realization slammed into Dalton, knocking what little breath he had left out of his body. His head snapped up, his eyes locking onto Winnie’s face—her beautiful, bold, heartbreaking face.

Of course. How could he have been so blind? All his troubles had started the day Winnie had arrived at Attwood Manor. All his fears of the future had converged right there in the woman standing before him.

Yes, when he looked at Winnie, he saw someone he admired despite the difficult start to their relationship. He saw someone with a kind heart and a sharp mind who knew her values and stood by them. He saw someone who might stand by him, giving him strength and guidance. He saw someone he wanted to love as she deserved to be loved.

Now he saw something else. He saw all those things he did not want to think about, could not bear to think about.

“That is ridiculous, Winnie,” he coughed out, the words barely scraping past his lips.

“I am right, aren’t I?” she pressed on, holding firm.

“What does it matter if you are right?” Dalton snapped. “It will not change reality.”

“But together—”

“There is no together! Not now, not ever, Winnie.” His voice cracked, just as his heart did as he finally said those dreadful words. “I will not marry until I have no choice, and I will not allow you to waste your time waiting for me.”

It was as close to a confession as Dalton had ever come. Neither of them had stated their feelings for the other. He had known deep in his heart. Based on the tears welling in Winnie’s eyes, she had known it, too.

Somehow, it broke Dalton’s heart even more to confess the truth now—that he loved Winnie, that he wanted to marry her. He saw the same desire reflected in the tears spilling down her cheeks, the trembling of her bottom lip as she desperately tried to hold herself together.

Dalton had only one prayer in his heart now—that she would find it in her heart to forgive him one day. She had done it once before. Perhaps she could do it again.

The woman he loved transformed before his very eyes. She looked so much like she used to when she had first arrived at Attwood Manor, when they had crossed paths in London…when he had turned around to see her standing behind him as he told his friends about how unfeeling and dull she was.

Winnie’s tears stopped flowing, glistening streaks the only sign that they had ever existed. Her lip stopped trembling. She held herself with poise, staring at him but seeing through him.

“Very well then,” she mumbled before turning her back on Dalton and disappearing down the other side of the hill.

All the rage and confusion that had been holding Dalton up fled from his body as soon as he lost sight of Winnie. He sank down to his knees, slowly falling back onto his bottom. With his elbows on his knees, Dalton let his head drop into his hands. The headache had left him, too, spilling out with his horrible words. Or perhaps Winnie had drawn it out by giving voice to his fears, finally giving him something solid he could understand.

He had no idea how long he sat up on the hill. The colors in the sky had started to shift, falling from light blue to purple and orange. He felt no need to return home…if he could still call it that. Suddenly, it did not feel very much like home any longer. Not with Winnie there, heartbroken and no doubt hating him with renewed passion.

As soft rays of golden evening light peered out from behind the clouds, Dalton felt something stirring in his heart. It seemed almost like relief, though not quite.

He had removed one danger from his life—the biggest danger of all. He had had to break her heart and his own to do it. Now Dalton knew he could keep pushing his future away for as long as possible. He could not do that with Winnie in his life.