Page 51 of The Dare Before Christmas

“Er…” Belatedly, Barnaby realised he probably ought not to have mentioned that. “N-Not exactly that, no. I mean, it wasn’t a love letter, more a—”

Bedwin sighed and motioned for him to stop talking. “Never mind. I am not a fool, young man. My daughters are single-minded, and I have been aware of Victoria’s interest in you for some time.”

“You have?” Barnaby stared at the man in surprise.

Bedwin returned a scathing look. “A father with a daughter makes it his business to know who her friends are, and upon which men her gaze lingers. A duke with daughters would be a bloody fool not to know every detail of every person she ever interacts with. Not that the knowledge has helped me. I seem incapable of keeping my girls out of trouble. I blame their mother,” he added, though with such a wry smile Barnaby did not think it was really a complaint.

“Victoria did nothing wrong,” Barnaby said earnestly. “She’s entirely innocent.”

Bedwin snorted, eyeing Barnaby with interest before moving from his position, propping up the fireplace, and sitting down. “I know my daughter, Mr Godwin, and I do not doubt she has earned her fair share of blame in this little debacle. She wanted you and she set out to have you. Well, by God, my girls get what they want, no matter my feelings or my efforts to stop them. What I want to know is how you feel about that, and what you’re going to do about it? You clearly did not want an unequal marriage, which we both know this would be. So, tell me, how will this work? Will you spend your days making Victoria unhappy because you’ve lowered her social standing and feel guilty for it?”

Rather stunned by this, Barnaby took a moment to reply. “No! No, never that. I only ever feared she would regret me. I could not stand the idea that in a year or two she might look at me and regret not having married a duke or a marquess, someone of her own kind who could keep her in the manner she is accustomed to.”

“You feared? Past tense?” Bedwin said.

Barnaby nodded. “I’ll never be more than I am, sir. There would need to be a catastrophic amount of tragedy in the family before I got close to a title, however, my financial situation is rather better than I had reason to hope for, and… and I believe Victoria is sincere. At first I thought it was merely an ill-advised infatuation, a young woman’s fancy, but for all her imagination and love of adventure, your daughter is not flighty, nor silly. She’s an intelligent woman who knows her own mind, and I would be a fool to think she cannot judge her own heart. I believe she cares for me, and I— Despite my best efforts, I have fallen in love with her. I think we could be happy together if you will allow us to try.”

Bedwin seemed to consider this, taking another drink before he answered.

“Tell me of your financial situation. Lady Balderston informs me she is leaving everything to you, and that you’ve recently had a rather large bequest. Ten thousand, is it?”

Barnaby nodded. “That’s right.”

“I’ll admit that is far better than I hoped for from you, and my daughter is far from mercenary. If you ask her to live within a certain income, she will do it, but if you were to keep her as befits her station, that money will not last indefinitely and Lady Balderston strikes me as a lady with a deal more living to do. Of course, Victoria has a generous dowry, but you have hopes of being independent of that, if I have read you correctly. So, what else is there?”

Barnaby hesitated. “I have a small business.”

“Go on,” the duke said, narrowing his eyes.

“It’s doing rather well but, until recently, I have lacked the investment necessary to grow. With my recent, er, windfall, that will change.”

“I do hope this is not some get rich quick scheme,” Bedwin said darkly.

“Oh, no, sir. I own a small stud. Always loved horses, you see, since I was a lad. Spent all my holidays in the stables, avoiding my father and brothers,” he added with a wry grin. “We had the most marvellous horseman there. He’s old as Methuselah’s grandfather now, but he still knows more about horseflesh than any man I know. He’s taught me so much, and… so, about ten years ago, with his help, I began breeding horses. I had some success, and so, two years ago, I decided I could make a go of it professionally, and… it’s been doing quite well.”

Bedwin sat up, obviously interested now. “What’s the name of this budding enterprise?”

“Chevening Stud, sir.”

“Chevening!” The duke stared at him. “Are you quite serious?”

“Yes, sir,” Barnaby said, resisting the urge to tug at his cravat.

“Then I bought a horse from you early this year. A hunter,” the duke accused him.

“Yes, sir. Trooper. A very fine animal, if I might say so.” Barnaby felt his stomach drop, praying the duke was pleased with the animal.

“He’s the best horse I ever owned, drat you, but why the devil did I not see you or hear mention of your name if the place is yours?”

Barnaby held out his hands. “Well, as I said, sir, I had hopes of Lady Millicent and a gentleman does not work for a living. Also, my father would have had an apoplexy if he’d found out. It’s one thing for a fellow to breed a few horses, but this is very much a commercial undertaking and… well, I thought it best to keep my distance. So, my manager, Mr Granger, deals with sales and I occupy myself with the bloodstock.”

“And this little business is doing ‘quite well,’ is it?” the duke demanded wryly. “Good God, I should think it ought to be. I’ve sent St Clair and Cavendish your way in the past couple of months alone, never mind all the fellows who demand to know where I bought Trooper. For heaven’s sake, man, you ought to have begun with that. It’s a fine establishment, something to be proud of, and I, for one, don’t hold with the idea of not working. Idleness is fertile ground for discontent, and it’s a short path into the kind of trouble no young man needs.”

“Yes, sir,” Barnaby said, a bit winded by the idea the duke might actually have found something to approve of.

They sat in silence for a few moments as the duke ruminated over all that had been said. Barnaby judged it best to hold his tongue and let the fellow think in peace.

Finally, the duke spoke. “Whilst I am an admirer of your stud’s breeding program and quite agree the finest bloodstock is paramount in producing the best horses, it may surprise you to discover I do not feel that way about people. I have observed over the years that the great families of England who intermarry entirely with their own kind are peopled by a far greater percentage of beetle-headed nincompoops and outright lunatics than those who take a more moderate view. My Eliza’s Mr Demarteau is hardly the kind of son-in-law that a man in my position would seek, but Nic has two things that no other man in England has: the ability and the desire to make Eliza happy. This he has done, without fail, and I have discovered a man I both admire and like very much.”