Dalton’s Challenge by Penny Fairbanks
Chapter 14
The garden used to be one of Dalton’s favorite places on the Harcourts’ estate. Now it seemed rather dull and cold despite the hundreds of colorful blooms surrounding him and the bright sun shining overhead.
Mama had suggested a walk through the gardens after lunch, which everyone heartily agreed to except for one. Of course, Winnie had not even been there to accept or decline. She had started taking her meals in her room. Caroline had visited her a few days ago, and from the stoic look on his sister’s face, Dalton knew that their guest must be quite ill indeed.
Just a few months ago, Dalton and Winnie had enjoyed a pleasant afternoon in this very garden, where they had discussed her endearing nickname and had finally started their friendship. Now, Winnie suffered alone in her room, save for occasional visits from Caroline, with some illness.
Guilt raged inside Dalton, turning his stomach from stone to an anxious mass of pudding and then back again. Was he responsible for this? He knew the body did often have strong reactions to emotional and mental turmoil. Had he caused her to fall ill with his cruel words?
Dalton wandered aimlessly around the garden, mind racing with worry for Winnie and increasing disappointment with himself. He paused before a pale blue flower, almost silver in the soft sunlight. It reminded him of the dress she had worn on that fateful day in the garden.
Voices sounded nearby. Dalton found himself slipping away down another row of bushes. He had not been in a very talkative mood lately, though he tried his best to hide the turmoil that gripped him tighter with each passing day. Even on such a lovely afternoon, Dalton could not bring himself to enjoy anything—not the beauty of the gardens, not the carefree chatter of his family and their guests. He could not enjoy anything to its full extent without Winnie.
A future baron certainly did not behave like this, like a boy trying to hide before his governess discovered the vase he broke. A future baron did not let his temper get the better of him, causing him to hurt the people he cared about most. Yet Dalton had done all that within the span of a few short days.
His hand lifted up of its own accord, reaching out to touch a dark green leaf that was slightly out of place. To Dalton’s muddled mind, it looked almost like the leaf reached out to him, too, standing apart from the uniformity of the bush. He gently rubbed the leaf between his fingers. It was nearly the same color as Winnie’s eyes, though not as vibrant and loving and clever.
Dalton bit his bottom lip, barely clinging to his justifications that grew weaker with every passing moment. He had not wanted to hurt her again. Still, wasn’t this better for the long term? He had meant what he had said on the hill—he would not marry until he absolutely had to. At least, he had thought he’d meant it. It would have been even more cruel to make Winnie wait until he was ready to truly become an adult and accept his responsibilities.
That still made perfect sense, did it not? Dalton unconsciously gripped the leaf so hard that it pulled loose from its tiny branch. Another wave of guilt nearly drowned him as he brought the delicate leaf to his eyes. Must he hurt everything he touched?
“Here he is.” Papa’s voice jolted Dalton back to reality. He looked up to the end of the row to find both Papa and Patrick walking toward him.
Panic surged through Dalton. He dropped the leaf, taking a hesitant step back. Again, he felt like a caged animal, his mind urging him to flee and protect himself, though from what he did not know. It was just Papa and Patrick. Why should he be afraid of them?
Perhaps, Dalton realized as they stood before him, he was not afraid of them but afraid of what they represented—just like he had been afraid not of Winnie, but of the future he saw in her.
“Good afternoon,” Dalton said stiffly, as if greeting strangers rather than his own flesh and blood. He still felt immensely guilty for all the spiteful things he had said to them, even though he had apologized profusely after receiving an astoundingly merciless upbraiding from Caroline.
“Can we walk together, Dalton?” Papa asked. His melancholy expression told Dalton that he also sensed their issue had not quite come to a resolution.
“Of course.” Dalton tried to smile, feeling his muscles tensing with the unusual effort. Smiling had never been a problem for Dalton. He hated how foreign it felt now.
The three Harcourt men walked down the row of flowers with Dalton in the middle. No one spoke for several agonizing moments. Dalton prayed that they would get it over with, whatever it might be. Surely they had more to say to him, more disappointment to express.
“How have you been, son?” Papa finally broke the silence, looking over to Dalton with all his regal patience. He had to tilt his head back slightly to get a better view of Dalton’s face.
When Dalton finally found the courage to look back, he saw the man he had loved and admired so deeply his whole life.
“I have not been well, Papa. I am sure that much is obvious,” Dalton said with a forlorn sigh.
“Do you wish to share with us what is on your mind?” the baron prompted gently.
Dalton felt his old habit creeping back up. “You already know what is on my mind.” He had said a similar thing to Winnie on the hill. It was his way of trying to protect himself from introspection, from confronting terrible truths.
“We cannot help you if you do not let us,” Patrick murmured. Dalton looked to his other side, gazing down into the boy’s face. He was still taller than Patrick by a few inches, yet he could see the man his brother would grow into. For once, Dalton felt a welcome stirring of pride rather than jealousy.
“Patrick,” Papa warned.
“Forgive me, Dalton.” Patrick lowered his gaze, looking ashamed. Dalton smiled. He knew his brother’s heart was in the right place. It always had been.
“No, it is I who must ask for your forgiveness—both of you—again.” Dalton stopped, taking a step back to put some distance between himself and the two other men. They turned to stare at him, one confused and curious and the other understanding and serene.
“You see, I have had many struggles recently, and I have been trying to bear them on my own. It felt impossible to share my fears with anyone because I hardly understood them myself. But now I do,” Dalton continued, his conviction growing stronger.
“I have been a terrible fool, and I have hurt you and others with my words and actions…all because I did not want to confront my fears. An heir should not behave in this way. I am hardly right for the role I have been born into.
“Patrick, you have the intelligence and patience for this type of leadership and responsibility. I often feel as though you should inherit the barony instead of me. I used to think it because I did not want to give up my carefree lifestyle. Now I know that it is because I fear I will not do justice to Papa’s legacy.” Dalton paused to gather himself. He had never come this close to speaking his deeply rooted fears. If he said it now, he could never truly bury it again.
He realized that he had been staring at Papa’s and Patrick’s feet. He lifted his eyes, finally meeting their gazes. Dalton only saw love and compassion there. Patrick smiled encouragingly, which gave Dalton another boost of strength.
“I have never thought that I deserved to be baron one day,” he continued quietly, “but I know now that it is because I know that becoming baron will mean losing you, Papa. You are an incredible guardian of this family and this estate. I am not sure I will do half as good a job as you have, and I am terrified of not having you by my side to advise me or tell me I am doing well.”
Dalton’s head dropped, not in shame, but in relief. Winnie had been right, of course. She usually was. It did bring some measure of comfort to finally give voice to all these worries that had been trying to drown him.
“My boy…” Papa whispered, his voice pained yet grateful all at once. Dalton felt the pressure of his father’s hands on his shoulders, strong but kind.
“I am sorry, Papa.” Dalton barely choked the words out through the lump forming in his throat. “I do mean to put more effort into learning from you. I want you to only be proud of me from now on.”
Dalton found the breath being forced from his body as Papa enveloped him in a tight hug. Instinctively, Dalton wrapped his arms around his father as well, squeezing just as tight.
“You already make me so very proud, Dalton. You need not worry about that. And I know you will do just fine when your time comes,” Papa said, his voice trembling with emotion. He pulled back, keeping his grip on Dalton’s upper arms, gazing at his eldest son. “You have been learning, you just have not realized it. You really should give yourself some more credit. The festival, for example, was a great success all thanks to you. I hear that the townsfolk still talk about it.
“But even more important than that, son, is your heart. It is not easy to come to terms with life’s sad realities, yet you still put in the effort to face them, even when you felt like you were simply hiding and hoping they would pass you over. You have opened yourself up to learning from and apologizing for your mistakes. I know many, many men who would rather die than admit they had done anything wrong, let alone ask for forgiveness from those they have hurt. It is a terrible, lonely way to live, but I have complete faith in your ability and your spirit.”
Dalton inhaled deeply, the air around him suddenly full of beautiful aromas. He grinned at Papa, his chest feeling lighter than it had in weeks. “Thank you, Papa. I still have a long way to go before I am as wise and wonderful as you are, so you will have to teach me as much as possible with whatever time we have left.”
Papa chuckled, slapping Dalton on the arm. “You are closer than you think, but it would be my honor.”
A small cough interrupted the heartfelt moment between the father and son. Papa turned, moving out of the way to reveal Patrick standing awkwardly in the middle of the path, kicking at the gravel with his head down.
“You know, Dalton,” he started, clearing his throat again, “I never thought you had any reason to doubt yourself.”
Dalton patted Papa on the shoulder, leaving the baron behind to stand before his younger brother. “Thank you, Patrick. And I am so terribly sorry for being such a grump to you before. It was not right of me to take my confusion and fear out on you. Though I do hope you will always remember that I admire you—even if I am older.”
Patrick laughed, finally meeting Dalton’s gaze. When he smiled like this, Dalton did not think them all that different. “I forgive you, Dalton. And I admire you as well. Perhaps I should have said so more often…but I will hold firm that I am smarter.”
Dalton’s head fell back as the first burst of true laughter spilled from him. “I will not argue with you there.”
“Now that you have made amends with us, perhaps it is Miss Thirley’s turn?” Patrick suggested.
The lightheartedness Dalton had experienced in these last few moments immediately crumbled away at the mention of her name.
He swallowed, forcing a smile. He knew Patrick only wanted to help, but he had no idea how badly Dalton had ruined his relationship with Winnie. “Yes, perhaps you are right,” he mumbled. “Now, shall we go join the others?” he suggested weakly.
Dalton grimaced at himself for running away again. He had already confronted many issues just now. He could only handle so much at once.
Patrick was right, of course. Dalton wanted to make things right with Winnie. He had precious little time to do it. For that, he knew he would need help.
Caroline shookher head as she stepped into the drawing room. She did not make eye contact with Dalton as she said, “I am sorry. I tried my best, truly.”
A fresh wave of despair washed over Dalton, chilling him to the bone. His plan had failed.
“I know, sister. Thank you for doing this for me,” he mumbled, so quietly he could not be sure if Caroline had heard.
Caroline crossed the room, holding her hands out. Dalton took them, though he remained seated. “Is there anything else I can do?”
“No, I think that shall be it for now. I do not want to press too hard or cause her any more stress.” Dalton sighed, his heart sinking lower than he had thought possible. Winnie had refused to see him, even with all of Caroline’s skills of persuasion on his side.
In truth, Dalton had not expected her to accept his invitation of a talk in the drawing room, but it still stung. He longed to run to her bedroom, to knock on her door until she opened, no matter how wildly inappropriate that would be. He only wanted to see her, to apologize for being an extraordinary fool. Dalton knew that course of action would get him nowhere with Winnie.
She had made up her mind against him, for good reason. It had taken years to reverse her feelings before, after what was now a very minor mistake in light of what had just happened. He dared not hope that she would forgive him again, at least not in the foreseeable future.
“Will you be alright?” Caroline asked tentatively, her normally sharp and confident eyes now crestfallen.
“In time, I think,” Dalton lied. “For now, we should get some rest. It is quite late.” He adopted his rarely used strict older brother tone. Caroline did not argue, though that did not surprise Dalton. Not now. Even she seemed to accept the finality of Winnie’s refusal.
“Do not stay up all night fretting,” Caroline teased with a dejected smile.
“I shall try my best.” Dalton stood, offering his arm to Caroline. She accepted, resting her head on his shoulder for a moment.
“You can always come to me, you know.”
“I know, Caroline. Thank you.” Dalton kissed the top of his younger sister’s head before leading them out of the drawing room and up the stairs to the family wing’s hallway of bedrooms.
Caroline paused at her door, glancing over her shoulder at Dalton. When he tilted his head in a silent question, Caroline rushed at him, throwing her arms around his waist. She buried her head into his chest and Dalton nearly wept right then and there.
Lovely little Caroline. She had such a sweet, beautiful heart when she was not busy proving her superiority.
“Go to sleep now. I will be fine, I assure you.” Dalton pulled back, cupping his sister’s face in his hands and then squeezing her cheeks.
“Ugh!” Caroline huffed, swatting his hands away. “Goodnight, brother. And remember, I will be able to tell immediately in the morning if you did not get enough sleep.”
With that, Caroline disappeared into her room, leaving Dalton alone in the hall. He dragged himself to his own room at the far end of the impossibly long hallway. With every step he took, Dalton marveled that he had not fallen straight through the wood floor.
When he finally made it, Dalton looked from his bed to his writing desk and back again. Despite Caroline’s commands, Dalton had no desire to sleep yet. As a matter of fact, he had never been more exhausted, but this was a different, profound tiredness that lived in his very bones. He knew instinctively that no amount of sleep could cure it.
Instead, he chose his desk. The sound of the chair’s legs scraping against the floor as he pulled it out grated against his ears. He had never noticed that sound before. These days, all sorts of unexpected things caught his attention. Dalton paused, hovering over the chair, wondering why the sound bothered him so much now.
The realization landed on him like a stone. Of course, it all came back to Winnie. She never made a sound when she pulled a chair out.
Dalton sank into his seat, resting his elbows on the desk in a very ungentlemanly posture that would surely have sent Mama into a tizzy if she had been there to see it. His eyes scanned the desk, landing on a stack of letters he had received that morning. He had not opened any of them yet—unusual for him as a fan of frequent correspondence.
Yet there was one letter he thought might provide some solace now. He tossed the others aside, opening the folded note from Anna with heavy fingers. Her delicate handwriting sprawled across the page, starting with the words that had never failed to bring a smile to his face since she had moved into her own home to start her life as a wife and mother.
My dearest brother…
Dalton desperately wished that Anna could have been here to help him with this situation. She and Winnie had gotten along so well, and Anna had always been the most thoughtful and empathetic of all his siblings. She had been through her own love story with its ups and downs and had come out the other side stronger and happily in love. Dalton sighed to himself, disappointed. Even if Anna had been here, he knew that he likely would have pushed her away just as he had done to everyone else.
As he read her words, Dalton felt as though Anna sat with him at that very moment. He could hear her calm, gentle voice rising from the page.
She informed him right away that Beth was well, growing stronger and smarter by the day, though she recently had a bad habit of tugging at Anna’s loose curls or Noah’s cravat. Dalton smiled as he imagined his darling niece exploring her world, which apparently included testing the elasticity of hair and clothing.
Anna only spared a sentence to assure Dalton that she and her husband were happy as ever. The majority of her letter focused on Dalton’s predicament. He had written to Anna after returning from the hilltop, berating himself for all the horrible mistakes he had made. He had only felt comfortable sharing those dark thoughts with Anna in written form, saving himself from seeing her reaction and praying that by the time he received a response, everything would have improved somehow.
Dalton, I know you fear the future and your role in it. I know you fear that marrying will just bring you one step closer to the inevitable. I once feared my future as well, for different reasons, but I am sure I can understand some of what you are feeling now.
You told me once before not to give up. I shall tell you the same now—if you can answer yourself this question. You may share your answer with me if you wish, but I understand if you prefer to keep it private.
Why Miss Thirley? Of all the women in the world, after all the vexation you have caused each other…why her?
Anna’s question nearly stopped Dalton’s heart. Why Winnie? He supposed he had never asked himself that so directly before. Dalton smiled down at the page, Anna’s kindness and wisdom shining through each letter. He finished reading the rest of her thoughts before returning to that important passage.
Without delay, he pulled out his own paper and writing utensils. He kept Anna’s letter by his side, glancing back at it as he answered her question on the page. He did not stop to think about what he wrote. He allowed his heart to guide his quill, spilling out all the love and happiness and sorrow he had experienced in these past few months.
Why Miss Thirley? Why Winnie? He started, the sound of his quill scratching against the paper matching the hammering of his heart.
Simply put, Anna, she is perfect. The idea she shared with Papa to help Mr. Mathis was brilliant, and wholly unnecessary. Yet she thought it necessary to help this stranger purely out of the kindness of her own heart.
I know beyond the shadow of a doubt that she would truly be an excellent partner for me. Not just a wife, not just a friend, but a true partner. I feared that I would have to carry the burdens of my title alone. I know now that she would never allow that. She is far too obstinate to sit idly by with all her wonderful ideas while I flounder about, undoubtedly making a mess of everything.
As impossible as it may sound, she grounds me yet lifts me up at the same time. How can such a thing be? They do say love comes with incredible powers. It all seems so contradictory at times, including Winnie herself. I once thought her cold and unfeeling. Now I know that she is so much more than that, when given the chance. She is thoughtful and determined but also sweet and just as capable of fun as I am when the mood strikes her.
Dalton’s hand stilled, his heart slowing to a weary, aching beat.
She is exactly what I need. And now I have ruined it, possibly forever. She does not want to see me, and I certainly do not blame her. Her family will return to Wiltshire next week. I have run out of time. No, I have wasted my time.
As that devastating realization sank in, Dalton’s quill dropped a dot of ink onto the letter. He scribbled an apology for the mess and signed his name. It was an unusual way to end a letter, but as soon as those words left Dalton’s quill, his mind went blank and his blood froze in his veins.
His body slumped forward, head falling into his hands, fingers tangling in his hair. It was all too little and too late now. He had pushed the perfect woman, the woman he loved, right out of his life. He was the only one responsible for this, and he would not be able to run from it.