“But I enjoy it. You hate doing it, though you are improving.”
“I took especial care as doubtless you intend to talk to the duke again.”
To be sure, the duke offered a little less temptation on this day than he had at the tavern. Was it conceivable that such a man, however rich he might be, would be able to kiss her as the stranger in the night had done? Daphne had tingled in a most pleasurable way. Indeed, just thinking about that kiss—and the intensity of his blue eyes—made her flush all over again.
But then, the duke had blue eyes and an intense gaze as well.
How curious.
Daphne smiled because her sister was watching her. “And here I thought you were considering a post as a lady’s maid, since Grandmaman has forbidden you to become a governess.”
They laughed together.
“And perhaps you don’t really wish to meet this particular duke again. Goodness, Daphne, but he reminds me of Falstaff.”
Daphne frowned as they left their chamber together. “In that play Grandmaman took us to see in London?”
Eurydice nodded. “Henry IV. Falstaff was so fat. I couldn’t believe that any man could be that large and still manage to walk, but your duke proves it can be so.”
“I can’t remember that actor’s name,” Daphne said, recalling another detail. “We scarce recognized him when we saw him in town.”
Eurydice laughed. “The power of disguise. Come along. I’m famished, probably because I didn’t have a scone in the middle of the night. Let us have something to eat before we walk to Bocka Morrow for church.”
Daphne slanted a glance at her sister. “You just want to tease me about the duke.”
“I just want to see you realize your mistake. I don’t think you will like him nearly as well on second acquaintance. He is a fool, Daphne, and not a man who will ever hold your heart.”
Daphne didn’t reply. She was thinking about the handsome stranger and wondering what she would say to him if they met again at breakfast. Her heart skipped at the prospect. Would he look as dashing in the daylight as at night? Would she recognize him?
And what was he doing, abroad in the middle of the night? She’d never asked and only wondered in the morning if his kiss had been a way to keep her from doing as much.
He might well be a scoundrel or a rake.
Then she thought of the duke, his fine legs and the intense glitter of his eyes. Could it be that he and the actor who had played Falstaff had a disguise in common?
Or had she become as whimsical as the maid Mary after her midnight adventure?
Chapter 3
Alexander awakened to find that a lush plant growing from his wine glass. Surely, his eyes deceived him. That small seed couldn’t have grown so much in a few hours!
He rubbed his eyes and rose to examine the plant, but it was no illusion. He could see its roots coiled inside the cup, and it had grown a vine of at least a foot long, one adorned with fleshy dark leaves. There was even a bud tucked beneath one leaf.
Rupert was suitably astonished by the sight of it, but Alexander didn’t explain. He didn’t think the truth would sound plausible.
He halfway didn’t believe it himself. Could Anthea have been right about the old tale and the vine’s habit of growing when the laird courted a wife?
If so, he knew which lady he would court. Miss Goodenham was the most captivating girl he’d met in years.
As he dressed, he considered that he scarcely knew her.
He recalled how he relied upon his instincts in all other matters and wondered whether to trust them in this one.
When the bells rang for church at St. David’s, the bud burst into a blossom. Alexander could almost hear the petals unfurling. They were as red as blood and the flower was as wide as his palm. Rupert swore and took a step away from the vine. Alexander could only take its blooming as a sign. He plucked the deep red flower and tucked it into his buttonhole.
It had a most enchanting perfume, and one deep breath of it reminded him of the fire in a certain damsel’s kiss.
There was no man at breakfast who might have been the mysterious stranger Daphne had met in the night. The gentlemen were fine, but not a one was the right height and breadth, had the right hands or the same wondrous blue eyes. None of them gave her more than a passing glance.
Who was he?
Where was he? Daphne supposed he could have been a servant or another guest who had not yet come down for breakfast. What had he been doing in the corridor at such an hour? The more she considered it, the more details she recalled. He had been dressed all in black, but he hadn’t worn a nightshirt. No, he had been dressed in breeches and boots, with a great cloak.
Had he been an intruder?
No one mentioned a theft or other villainous deed, which puzzled Daphne even more.
Why had her mysterious man been within Castle Keyvnor?
The conversation in the dining room was interrupted by a man’s hearty laugh in the foyer. All the women at the table looked up, particularly when he was greeted by the Earl of Bansfield. “Young Nathaniel! I hope you slept well!”
“I did, thank you, cousin. I trust that Lady Tamsyn is pleased?”
The earl laughed. “She is delighted.”
“Then my mission is complete. I shall ride for home this morning.”
“But you cannot reach London before Christmas, Nathaniel,” the earl said. “Surely you will stay for the wedding?”
“I would not be so presumptuous. I know I am not expected to linger...”
“But I have ensured there is a chamber for you all the same,” the earl said heartily. “We cannot send you from the doors at Christmas!”
“I thank you kindly, sir.”
The earl entered the dining room with a young man who smiled at the gathered company.
“My wife’s second cousin, Nathaniel Cushing, for those of you who did not meet him yesterday,” the earl said. “Surely you know everyone here, Nathaniel?”
“Those I do not I will meet soon enough.” Mr. Cushing bowed to the earl. “Thank you again for your generosity, sir.” The earl nodded and departed, and the new arrival helped himself to breakfast.
Daphne took the opportunity to study him. Nathaniel Cushing was about a decade older than herself. He had dark hair and was both fiercely handsome and elegantly dressed. He appeared to be a most genial individual. He heaped a plate from the sideboard then took a place beside Daphne, introducing himself before he sat down.
He could have been the man she had encountered the night before. He looked suitably dashing, to be sure, and bold enough to have demanded a kiss in the night. But when he bestowed a warm smile upon her, his gaze lingering with appreciation, she noticed that his eyes were brown, not blue.
He had not been the one to kiss her, of that she was certain.
“What a marvel this place is,” he said with enthusiasm. “Have you been here before?”
“Once. This autumn we visited briefly.”
“How fortunate for you, Miss Goodenham. Perhaps I might prevail upon you to give me a short tour?”
“I mean to attend church this morning, Mr. Cushing. It would have to wait until after lunch.”
“That would be marvelous. What better than a walk on a Sunday afternoon?”
“Cushing, do you know what Great Uncle Timothy sent to Lady Tamsyn?” asked another guest from down the table. It was one of the gentlemen.
“I would wager it is a gem,” Mr. Cushing said. “Though I could not imagine which one. When I make a delivery for my great uncle, the box is sealed and locked before it is given to me. The key is dispatched separately to the recipient.”
“But surely someone could steal the box?” Daphne asked.
Mr. Cushing’s manner turned grim. “They would have to kill me first,” he vowed.
“Indeed?”
“Indeed. My uncle entrusts me with these tasks and I would never fail him.” He winked at Daphne and tucked into his eggs. “Beggars canno
t be choosers and poor relations must earn their own way. I do quite like being Uncle Timothy’s runner, though.”
“Why is that?”
“I see the most wondrous places.” He gestured with his fork. “I should never be invited to such a place as Castle Keyvnor at Christmas, much less have the opportunity to meet so many people throughout the year. His gifts give me purpose and adventure. I hope he never runs out of gems to give away.”
“Does he often give gems away?”
“He is a collector of some renown, and has neither wife nor children. As he ages, he seems more inclined to bestow fine gifts on others. It is a mark of his splendid character.”
“He might honor you with such a gift, surely?” Daphne suggested.
Mr. Cushing laughed easily, as if he had never given the notion any consideration. “But why? If he made me rich, he might lose me as a servant. Indeed, I might decline such a gift if it meant surrendering the opportunity to meet ladies like you, Miss Goodenham.” He smiled at her, his eyes twinkling merrily, and Daphne could not help but be flattered by his attentions.
He had admitted he was penniless. He certainly had no title. Encouraging his attentions would do naught in the achievement of her goal to ensure the future of herself and Eurydice.
Daphne smiled, then excused herself. She did not want to be late for church, lest she miss a glimpse of the duke, and she did not want to walk to Bocka Morrow with Nathaniel Cushing, lest his presence keep the duke from speaking to her.
Her grandmother had taught her much of choosing practicality over romance.
Miss Goodenham came to church.
Alexander hid his smile behind the gesture of taking a pinch of snuff, for he was absurdly glad to see her. He watched as she surveyed the congregation and noted that her gaze lingered upon him. His smile broadened that it was admiration lighting her gaze and not revulsion.
Yet he had chosen this hideous outfit of mauve and silver to appall one and all. Even the red flower clashed.
Perhaps the lady had bad taste.
Or perhaps she was sufficiently perceptive to see beyond illusion to the truth. As if to reinforce that notion, she smiled prettily when their gazes met, then seated herself with her cousins.
How could he determine how trustworthy she was? Anthea had hit the mark when she suggested he wed an honest woman. The trick was to find one.
Perhaps he could charm a dinner invitation from the family. It would give him both the opportunity to observe Nathaniel Cushing and to learn more about Miss Goodenham.
Before the bells of St. David’s had finished their merry pealing after the service, Alexander was expected at eight at Castle Keyvnor for dinner. Miss Goodenham’s pleasure in the news was unmistakable.
“What a marvelous buttonhole you have today, Your Grace,” she said, then leaned closer to sniff the flower. Her eyes widened and he wondered if its perfume sent the same surge of desire through her.
Her gaze dropped to his lips and parted slightly, even as she flushed.
He recalled the sweetness of her kiss and wanted another.
“Wherever did you find it?”
“Ah, I could never tell!” he said with a giggle. “A man must keep some secrets to himself.”
“As must a lady,” she agreed. “Secrets, do you not think, add a wondrous spice to any exchange?”
“Secrets,” he agreed, “sift the observant from those less so.”
Her smile was radiant. “I see we are of one mind in this. Do you ever attend the theater, Your Grace?”
Her cousins were heading for the castle and her sister gave her a glare, but Miss Goodenham lingered. Alexander offered his elbow to her to escort her a bit of the way, and she accepted with a smile. She leaned against him a little so he could feel the curve of her breast against his arm.
“The theater?” he echoed, raising his quizzing glass to examine her. She was utterly perfect. “I do. And you?”
“Oh, not very often, but I did see a Shakespearean play the last time we were in London.” Her smile was impish. “Grandmaman took us to see Henry IV.”
“Perhaps she thought it a good way for you to learn more of border politics.”
“Perhaps, though it would have been a more compelling lesson if she had not fallen asleep herself.”
Alexander chuckled.
“I should have preferred to have seen something more amusing.”
“Which of the plays would you have favored?”
She cast him a knowing glance. “Twelfth Night is my favorite, Your Grace.”
“Because love conquers all?”
“You sound like my sister!”
“And mine, to be sure. But that is not your reasoning?”
She frowned. “I should like to think love would be triumphant, Your Grace, but find it easier to believe that justice will prevail.” She met his gaze. “It is a more reassuring notion, do you not think?”
“I do.”
“Plus I find characters in disguise most beguiling.”
Alexander’s heart stopped, then leaped. “But surely it is implausible for people to so readily err in identification?”
“I do not think so. Few people truly look or pay attention. And people pretend to be other than they are all the time. Some simply do it better than others.”
“Does that make them dishonest?”
“Not if they have good cause. I am certain, for example, Your Grace, that if you or I ever donned a disguise, it would be for only the very best reasons.”
“And how might you be so certain of that?”
She smiled sunnily. “My heart tells me so, and I trust it implicitly.” She continued, not giving him a chance to reply, “But what I most remember from that play was Falstaff.”
“A rogue and a scoundrel.”
“To be sure, and a very fat one, at least upon the stage.” Her gaze dropped to his belly and he had the sudden suspicion that she had seen through his ruse. “Your waistcoat is most splendid today, Your Grace,” she said lightly. “I have never seen such lavish embroidery.”
“For church, you know. Lord knows one must wear one’s best.”
“Indeed. This silvery shade of mauve is most attractive. What do you call it?”
“Lavande, of course.”
“Of course. Lavendar. And the grey?”
“Argent.”
“Oh, no, sir, it cannot be argent. Argent is darker, like the spots on a dappled horse.” She bit her lip and surveyed his waistcoat, which was filled with such bulk that it had required a considerable measure of cloth. Then she smiled. “It is the color of a dove. Gris tourterelle.”
He simpered, to disguise how thoroughly he was charmed. “Everything sounds so much better in French, don’t you think?”
“I do!” She laughed up at him. “While it sounds worse in German.”
“More earthy, to be sure.”
“I also think that your inspiration will cost Grandmaman a fortune once we reach London. Why, each suit you wear makes me wish for a dress in the same combination, Your Grace. Imagine a dress in this lavande, embellished with silver beads. It would be like moonlight.”
He could imagine her in just such a dress, with his mother’s amethysts. Daphne Goodenham would look like a goddess who had set foot on the earth. “It would be magnificent,” he agreed. “With slippers of silver silk to match.”
She laughed. “You would be perilous to a dressmaker’s budget, Your Grace.”
“So my sister has often said.”
“You mentioned before that you had a sister. Will you tell me of her?”
“She is younger than me by a few years. Anthea is her name.”
Daphne looked up at him, her expression sober. “You are very fond of her. I hear it in your words.”
“Indeed. She is the sweetest of ladies.”
“Has she had her debut?”
Alexander frowned despite himself. “It did not proceed well, despite my best efforts. Her heart was broken, and now she remains
at Airdfinnan. No amount of cajoling will convince her to leave.”
“How sad! Since you have said you frequent Town, it must be lonely there.”
“She insists she prefers solitude.”
“But she will never find a man of merit or fall in love so long as she remains secluded.”
“You think I should compel her to leave her sanctuary?”
“No, no, Your Grace. I think it is a fine and noble thing that you offer her a haven, and that you defend her desire.” Miss Goodenham frowned a little. “But it is so much easier when a beloved sister desires something that will make her happy in the end.”
“Might I assume that you refer to Miss Eurydice?”
“I do. She thinks she does not need to wed, or that she can marry for love independent of fortune.” The lady shook her head so that her blond curls danced. “It is whimsy, Your Grace. Women like us must be practical.”
He was intrigued. “Women like you?”
“My sister and I were orphaned nine years ago, when our parents both died in an accident. We were very fortunate that Grandmaman saw fit not only to take us into her home, but to see us educated. She even intends to give us each a season.”
“But surely you are her only granddaughters.”
“We are, but her fortune is not infinite and she is of an age that I rather imagine she would prefer to be left to her letters and her gardens. The fact remains that she grows older.” She lifted her chin, looking valiant and wise. “When our parents died, Grandmaman was in Bath. It took a fortnight for her to hear the news and come for us. I will never forget feeling responsible for Eurydice, that we two had only each other in the world. I vowed then that I would ensure our futures myself with a good marriage.”
She must have been very young. It clearly had been a frightening experience.
“Eurydice thinks I wish to wed a duke because I am a frivolous fool,” she said with a little smile.
“Perhaps you are not so frivolous as that.”
“I do like clothes and I like parties and I suspect I could love a man simply because he granted me the security I desire most. Does that mean I am frivolous?”
“Not entirely so.”
Charmed at Christmas (Christmas at Castle Keyvnor Book 1) Page 23
