How the Lady Was Won

by Shana Galen

  “Thank you for the encouragement,” Colin said drily.

  Louisa linked her arm with Colin. “Father means that it wouldn’t hurt for you to try and be charming and romantic. Sweep Lady Daphne off her feet. Tell her how you adore her, how lovely her brown eyes are, how supple her lips.”

  “How supple her lips?” James looked slightly ill.

  Louisa huffed. “It doesn’t hurt to be romantic.”

  “It would probably do me no good to compliment her brown eyes as her eyes are blue,” Colin pointed out.

  Mary cooed. “You know the color of her eyes! That’s a good start.”

  “Forgive me.” Colin untangled himself from Louisa’s grip. “I don’t recall asking for advice.”

  “Another mistake,” Louisa observed.

  The carriages finally clattered to a stop at the door and the ladies took one while Colin, James, Pugsly, and the viscount climbed into the other. Fortunately, James and his father were more interested in talking politics than women, and Colin didn’t have to speak or think about much more than what shade of pink Daphne would wear and how many bows would adorn the dress.

  Although it was only a short distance to Mayfair, the streets were clogged with carriages bearing others to the numerous events of the Season, and it took a half hour to arrive in front of the duke’s town house. It was large and white and practically an entire army of footmen awaited their arrival on the front drive. Colin passed through that army unscathed and soon enough he was blinking in the bright light of the chandelier, divested of his greatcoat and hat, and set like a sacrifice in the center of the drawing room.

  He accepted a glass of claret from the servant beside the duke, who slapped him a bit too hard on the back and called him son. “So pleased to have you back from the Continent,” the duke said when Colin had made the appropriate greetings. “We heard you made quite the name for yourself.”

  “I did my duty,” Colin said. Daphne had not come down yet and neither had the duchess. One of her sisters, Clara or Cora—he could never remember their names—had taken his sisters aside while the Marquess of Shorstow, the heir to the dukedom, was speaking with James and the viscount who still held a softly snoring Pugsly.

  “No need to be modest, my boy,” Warcliffe said. “You can tell me how many Frenchies you killed. I’m not in the least squeamish.”

  Colin drank more claret. “I’m afraid I didn’t count, Your Grace.”

  “That many, eh?”

  Colin was searching for some other topic of conversation when the drawing room doors opened, and the duchess, followed by her youngest daughter, entered. Colin had a moment to note the duchess looked quite regal and sparkling in jewels before his breath caught as Daphne came into view.

  Pugsly woke then and barked, causing everyone to look in his direction. Everyone except Colin. He couldn’t look away from Daphne.

  There was no question as to why she always wore pink. It was her color. She was naturally pale, and her silvery blond hair did not add any color to her features, making her vivid blue eyes stand out in stark contrast. But the pink of her clothing always seemed to make her look healthy and warm her complexion. Her dress tonight was composed of a rose overdress with a paler pink dress underneath. The sleeves were long and tight, small bows at the cuffs. The overdress closed around the underdress just below her breasts with a satin sash that was also tied into a bow. Colin did not know if the bow was decorative or not, but he ached to rip it off.

  Instead, he bowed. “Lady Daphne.” He caught Louisa glaring at him and added, “You look very healthy.”

  Louisa rolled her eyes.

  Daphne curtsied. “Thank you, Mr. FitzRoy. As do you.” She addressed the room then, turning away from him, and he noted the pink rose caught up in the twist of her hair. “I do hope you stayed warm on your journey here. The weather has certainly grown unseasonably cool.”

  Pugsly struggled free of the viscount and ran about, sniffing the duchess’s feet. She ignored him, but Lady Daphne bent and scratched him behind the ear. “I haven’t seen you in so long, dear Puglsy.”

  Pugsly snorted happily. Daphne looked up and caught Colin staring at her. Her cheeks seemed to turn a deeper shade of pink before she looked away. He wondered if she thought he disliked her display of affection. On the contrary, he was surprised she not only remembered the dog but took time to give him affection.

  After a few minutes, Pugsly sniffed about and the butler offered to take him to the kitchens for a bit of dinner. Pugsly happily complied when he heard one of his favorite words. With no further distractions, Colin was subjected to a quarter hour of discussion on the weather, and while he might have marveled at his wife’s ability to speak at length on every topic of polite conversation, his mind was occupied with how he might speak with her alone so she could make good on her promise to tell him everything.

  “My lady,” he said, when she had paused to take a breath. “I wonder if you and I might speak privately for a few minutes.” He thought he saw fear flash in her eyes before she was saved by the gong. The butler announced that dinner was served.

  They took their place in the procession down the dining room, Daphne forced to link her arm with him. Colin didn’t wait for another opportunity to speak with her. “You promised to tell me everything tonight,” he said quietly.

  “And I will,” she murmured back. “Later.”

  “Tell me now.”

  She shook her head. “Then you’ll have nothing to look forward to.”

  As it was considered vulgar for husbands and wives to sit beside each other, he was seated by Cora or Clara while Daphne was beside James. Considering the whole idea of the dinner party was to mend Daphne and Colin’s marriage, it seemed rather absurd to follow the protocols, but he dutifully listened to Lady Clara/Cora expound on the virtues of lace. He’d been distracted by the sound of Lady Daphne’s laugh and had accidentally responded to one of Lady Cora/Clara’s remarks with the observation that he had met Catarina Draven, the Catarina of Catarina lace, and Daphne’s sister had not ceased going on about it.

  Finally, about the time the roast was served, the duke turned to the topic they had all been anticipating. “Mr. FitzRoy,” he said, causing both James and Colin to turn his way. Colin envied James then as he could go back to eating while the duke bored holes into Colin with his eyes the same color as his daughter’s. “Now that you are back in England again,” the duke went on, as though Colin hadn’t been in England for many months now, “where do you plan to live? We like to have our daughter close, of course, but this time of year one has to take what one can get.”

  Colin did not miss the directive implied in the question—it’s time you and my daughter lived under the same roof.

  Colin cleared his throat. He was tempted to glance at Daphne but resisted. Another look at the bow straining beneath her breasts wouldn’t help him any. And he supposed it was time he lived with her. There was no acceptable reason not to—other than the fact that once she lived with him a few weeks, she’d want to move out again as soon as possible. He was not the sort of husband she wanted.

  Tell me your deepest, darkest secret...

  “I hadn’t really thought about it, Your Grace.”

  “Do you know,” the duchess began obviously trying to sound nonchalant, “this reminds me of a house I saw for let just the other day. It was small but quite charming. I think it would be perfect for you.”

  Daphne raised her brows at her mother, obviously no more fooled than Colin or anyone else. “Imagine that,” Daphne said. “This late in the Season.”

  “I know. It’s quite providential. Why don’t we three”—she looked at Daphne and Colin—“go take a look at it in a day or so? If you like it, we’ll lease it. It will be our wedding gift to you.”

  Colin recalled the duke and duchess had leased them a house seven years ago, when they’d first married, as a wedding gift. He’d never even stepped foot into it. He wondered if Daphne had.

  Colin looked
about the table and noted everyone was waiting for him to respond. He took a breath. “Thank you, Your Grace. I’d like that.” It would be as pleasant as swallowing glass.

  The dinner dragged on. Colin tried not to stare at his wife, but every time he looked up from his plate, there she was. It would have been easier to ignore her if she’d been beside him. Instead, he had to watch James converse with her. From what he could tell, they didn’t speak of anything particularly interesting, but Daphne always looked interested. She smiled and laughed and at one point, put her hand on James’s arm. Colin began to rise from his seat when he saw that, but Lady Cora/Clara spoke and he remembered himself and sat back down.

  “Are you quite well, Mr. FitzRoy?” the lady asked.

  “Yes.” Why had he never thought about Daphne touching other men before? Why had he never imagined her dancing with other men, flirting with them? Why had he not cared?

  No, he amended, nodding politely as Lady Clara/Cora discussed a recent outing to Vauxhall Gardens and bemoaned its shabby state. It wasn’t that Colin didn’t care what Daphne did. It was that he could not allow himself to care. He could not become attached to her, could not begin to care for her. That path would only end badly. Not only would she never return his affection. She would never trust him after the way he’d treated her, and who could blame her?

  The viscount had read her well when he’d said she needed an emotional connection. That was why she enjoyed the theater so much and the opera. That was why she discussed novels with James, tears in her eyes, across the table.

  That was why Colin would never make her happy. He was uncomfortable just thinking about those displays of emotion.

  And yet, he had little choice but to do his duty. He must at least appear to act the role of the husband. He’d done it before. He could do it again—hopefully, a bit more skillfully this time around.

  Finally, the last course was eaten, and the dishes were cleared. The ladies adjourned to the drawing room and the men were left with cigars and port. As the ladies rose to exit, Daphne glanced at Colin. The look on her face was a mixture of guilt and regret. He would have liked to follow her, except the door closed, blocking his view of her. Colin tried to think of an excuse to go after her, but the duke was already passing out glasses of port.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” Colin said, rising. “I’ll find the retiring room.”

  “No need,” the duke said, pulling a chamber pot from beneath the sideboard. “Here you are.”

  Colin took the thankfully unused chamber pot and set it back down. “I’ll wait.”

  “Pass it here then,” James said. Colin did so, trying not to cough when the cigar smoke wafted his way. He’d been in many places over the years—battlefields, taverns, ships, sewers—but he had never felt so out of place as he did in his father-in-law’s town house.

  “So,” the duke said, sitting back with his cigar in one hand and his port in the other, “I expect you will want to relocate to your new house by the end of the week.”

  Colin didn’t see as he had any choice but to agree. “Yes, the end of the week.”

  “Good. By this time next year, I expect I will be a grandfather again.” He gave Colin a long look. Colin gave it back to him. “You are capable of giving me grandchildren, are you not, Mr. FitzRoy?”

  Colin had the urge to hit him at that moment. His father, sensing trouble, broke in. “Of course, he is. Colin loves children. You should see him with my grandchildren.”

  “Good, good. Daphne needs children to keep her busy. That girl too easily falls into trouble.” The duke sipped his port and exchanged a look with his son, whose lips thinned.

  “What sort of trouble?” Colin asked. “The duchess mentioned some trouble to me before, but Lady Daphne has not been forthcoming.”

  The duke nodded. “It’s good to see you take an interest. I think we both know that the duchess’s mention of trouble was a ruse, but I have noticed that Daphne hasn’t been herself lately. I thought it might be because you had returned, but it seems there is more to it. I have no proof, but...”

  He trailed off. If Colin knew anything, it was how to listen, how to ferret out information. If he kept silent, the duke would say more. He would probably say more than he wanted. Unfortunately, Colin could not count on his father or brother to know the rules, and he dared not leave it to chance. “Go on,” he said. “What do you suspect?”

  “Something with Battersea,” the duke said, surprising Colin. He’d thought the duke would wave a hand and dismiss the matter.

  “Who is Battersea?” he asked.

  “He’s an earl,” James said. “Something of a reprobate from what I’ve heard.”

  Colin nodded. “I’ll look into him.” Rather, he would ask Jasper Grantham to find out what he could. One of his fellow soldiers, Jasper practically lived in the rookeries as he often worked as a bounty hunter for hire. He knew every sort of vice in the city and who perpetrated it.

  Colin stood.

  “It can wait until tomorrow,” Daphne’s brother, the Marquess of Shorstow, said.

  Colin didn’t think so. “If you’ll excuse me.” Colin bowed and left the dining room. He stopped in the drawing room, intending to take his leave of the ladies and perhaps have that private conversation with Daphne. Now if she hesitated, he would ask her about Battersea.

  “Ah, Mr. FitzRoy.” The duchess nodded at him then looked behind him expectantly. She was seated on a couch, listening as her older daughter played at the pianoforte. Mary, Anne, and Louisa were listening politely. “Are the other gentlemen not coming?”

  “Not yet.” Colin scanned the room and frowned when he didn’t find a splash of pink amongst the other ladies’ gowns.

  “She has a megrim,” the duchess said. “Cora, do stop playing for a moment.

  Ah, so it was Cora.

  Lady Cora played a wrong note and huffed.

  “As I was saying,” the duchess continued, “Lady Daphne has a megrim and went up to her room.”

  “It was only a few minutes ago,” Louisa added.

  “We do hope you will call on her tomorrow,” the duchess said, eyes wide with expectation.

  Colin almost nodded and agreed. Then he remembered he was married to Lady Daphne. She didn’t have the luxury of avoiding him any more than he did her.

  “I’ll just go up and check on her,” he said.

  The duchess’s eyes widened with shock and also pleasure. “Oh!”

  All three of his sisters sat up and looked interested now. Even Lady Cora looked away from her music to stare at him.

  “Her chamber is still the same?” He ignored the many pairs of eyes fixed on him.

  “Yes.” The duchess’s cheeks had turned pink, and Colin wanted to roll his eyes. As though he would run upstairs to ravish his wife when her head was pounding—though, as to that, he didn’t believe her excuse for an instant.

  He bowed and started for the stairs, taking them two at a time so that he was practically breathless by the time he reached the floor where the family had rooms. He went straight for Daphne’s chamber, rapped on the door three times, then waited.

  No answer.

  He knocked again. “Daphne, may I come in? It’s FitzRoy.”

  Still no answer. Was she asleep? Was she ignoring him?

  He clenched his hands. Or was she not in her room at all?

  He tried the handle. It was unlocked, and he swung the door wide. Her room was just as he remembered it—pink, with a white coverlet on the bed. Daphne was not in the bed. Her robe and nightrail had been laid out by her ladies’ maid and a fire burned in the hearth, but Colin didn’t need to step inside to know the room was empty. He did anyway, just to be doubly certain.

  A few moments later, he was back in the drawing room. The duchess and Lady Cora had been whispering together and they broke apart almost guiltily when he entered.

  “You’re back,” Anne said, as though warning the others he was now present.

  “That was certainly
quick,” the duchess said, disapproval in her tone.

  “She’s not there.”

  “Not there?” the duchess looked confused. “Yes, she is. I saw her go up myself. She was going straight to bed.” The other ladies nodded in agreement.

  “Is there anywhere else in the house she might be? Perhaps she went to the kitchen for a tonic.”

  The duchess rang a bell and a moment later the butler entered. “Yes, Your Grace?”

  “Dowling, have you seen Lady Daphne? Is she in the kitchen, perchance?”

  “No, Your Grace. The last I saw her, she was slipping out the back door.”

  “What?” The duchess practically screeched. “But she’s supposed to be in her room!”

  Colin didn’t wait for the duchess’s shrill cries to bring the duke and the rest of his family running. He walked out, down the stairs, and through the front door.

  If he hurried, he could catch her.

  Seven

  Daphne adjusted her sister’s navy cloak and pulled it closer about her face. She’d pilfered it from the room where the footman had stored it, and she didn’t feel guilty because she’d return it tomorrow. The cloak’s dark color hid her hair and dress. She didn’t want to be seen by the carriages passing the duke’s residence, and the best way to avoid notice was to travel along the lane in the back where the mews were located. She moved toward the back of the house and was in the midst of the servants’ yard, where laundry was hung to dry and rugs were beaten, when a loud yip rent the air. Daphne turned to find Pugsly hunched low and with his fur bristling.

  “Pugsly,” she hissed. “It’s me. Daphne.”

  Pugsly’s head cocked to the side, but when she moved closer to him, he backed away and yipped in warning.

  “Pugsly! Shh!” Daphne lowered the hood of the cloak, and seeing her face, Pugsly straightened and trotted to her. Daphne petted him, obliging him when he rolled over to have his tummy scratched. Then she rose. “Quiet, boy. Sit.”

  Pugsly sat, blinking at her with those big, dark eyes. Daphne pulled the cloak back over her hair and started again toward the mews. She’d lost precious time, but if she hurried, she would still be able to escape before anyone realized she was gone. The men would spend at least another quarter hour with their port and then they would join the ladies. Even then, they would have no reason to question that Daphne was ill. No one would come and check on her for at least another hour.