“Of course, my lady.” Hicks opened the door and then stood at attention.
As they stepped into the sunlight, Daphne shielded her eyes, and myriad questions swirled in her brain. Dizzy, she swayed, but Rebecca provided unshakeable support and stability.
“Are you unwell?” the viscountess queried. “Should we postpone our errands?”
“No.” Daphne wiped her brow and then accepted the footman’s assistance. Settling into the squabs, she rolled her shoulders. “So much has happened in the past few days, and I find it a bit overwhelming.”
In that moment, in that fragment of space, at that very second of her existence, Daphne, at last, allowed herself to ponder Dalton’s proclamation. Given what she knew of the brooch, of its lore and predictive nature, how should she respond to his demand that she find a husband, when he offered not for the position?
“Then we shall fortify your defenses, Miss Harcourt.” Rebecca brushed her skirts. “As you will need all your strength, plus a few weapons you have yet to employ, for the forthcoming battle, in order to snare your prey.”
“I beg your pardon?” Confused, Daphne blinked, as the equipage lurched. “What do you mean? What battle? And who is my prey?”
“Come now, my husband shared the whole of your dilemma, in detail, as he tells me everything, and I am so sorry for your hardship. Yet that is behind you, as you are to be family.” Rebecca tugged on her gloves and adjusted her sleeves. “Be that as it may, the skirmish to net a spouse is unlike any you have ever encountered, as it is an unparalleled struggle, because the male sex is stubborn to the point of stupidity, on occasion. But you should know that when Dalton described your prospective candidate as ‘a simple, dull, uninspired fellow with an ocean of patience and deep pockets,’ he referenced himself.”
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Sidewalks filled to capacity with fashionable ladies and gentlemen, rushing in varied directions, as the merchant district presented a beehive of activity and all manner of temptations. And everyone who was anyone stopped to address Lady Rebecca, which Daphne found quite intimidating, given Dirk’s wife never failed to make introductions, and the unveiled scrutiny was almost more than a provincial could bear. After quick but productive visits to the milliners, the hosiers, and the glovers, whereupon the viscountess organized the purchases as a general outfitting the troops, Rebecca rushed Daphne to the coach.
“Hurry, my dear.” Rebecca bounced to her seat. “We are late, and I am famished, but that was such fun. Now I understand Beth’s predilection when I first arrived, as it is rather exciting to outfit you for war. Dirk’s mother and I shopped to excess, before my first season, and you and I shall maintain the tradition. And what do you think of the sheer confection I procured?”
“The burgundy?” Daphne could not suppress a giggle, when she pictured the garment, as it amounted to almost nothing. “It is beautiful, but will you not be chilled, given its transparency, and you bought nothing to wear beneath it?”
“Oh, no.” Rebecca lowered her chin and arched a brow. “The robe is done in my husband’s favorite shade, and it should light his fire, so I shall be quite warm. And I intend to model it for him, donning naught but a smile, when we return to Randolph House, this afternoon.”
“How wonderful.” To her chagrin, her cheeks burned with embarrassment.
“Does such talk make you uncomfortable, as there is nothing wrong in pleasing one’s spouse?” The viscountess narrowed her stare. “Have I made you nervous? You realize you may confide in me, and I do so wish you would call me Becca.”
“Thank you.” Daphne inhaled a deep, calming breath, as she needed a friend, just then. “Everything seems so confusing, and my life spirals beyond my control, offering no time to adapt to my new circumstances. But nothing discomposed me more than what I witnessed this morning, when I happened upon you and the viscount. You were kissing, and you looked so natural.”
“But it is perfectly logical for a husband and a wife to kiss.” Shock invested Rebecca’s features, as she pressed a hand to her chest. “You must know Dirk and I love each other, and I will not settle for less than such a match, for you. What about your parents? Surely they expressed affection in comparable displays?”
“Theirs was not a happy union.” The pain of the past revisited her, and she fought tears. “My father did not uphold his vows, and my mother suffered, in silence, as a result of his infidelity. May I confess that is my greatest fear—that I might endure a similar fate?”
“Over my dead body.” Rebecca compressed her lips and then reached for Daphne’s hand. “You will have the dream. I swear on my life and that of my unborn babe.”
The equipage came to an abrupt halt before the London residence of the Marquess and Marchioness of Raynesford, cutting short the conversation, and Daphne’s jaw dropped, as the footman handed her to the drive. “Goodness, but it is a magnificent structure. Are none of your friends untitled paupers?”
“You will accustom yourself to it, in no time.” Rebecca chuckled and glanced at the butler, as they doffed their pelisses. “Hello, Banks. This is Miss Daphne Harcourt. Are the other ladies present?”
“Yes, your ladyship. Allow me the pleasure of announcing your arrival.” As customary, he bowed and then ushered them to a double door entry. “The Viscountess Wainsbrough and Miss Daphne Harcourt.”
Chatting and laughing, an array of dazzling ladies suddenly grew hushed, and Daphne found herself the center of attention.
“Here she is, Dalton’s prospective bride.” A heavily pregnant and boisterous woman, with raven locks, blue eyes, and a huge grin, grabbed Daphne’s wrists. “I am Sabrina, Countess of Woverton, but you must call me Brie, like the cheese. And loafing on the chaise, because she has yet to learn how to manage her swollen belly, is my elder sibling Cara, Marchioness of Raynesford.”
“Welcome to my home.” Cara waved a greeting. “May I address you as Daphne? And you must ignore my little sister’s forthright demeanor, as that is her way, and she has yet to outgrow it.”
“Of course.” Daphne nodded, as she knew not what to make of the contrasting relations. “You may call me whatever you wish.”
“Now what did I say that she does not already know, as we all understand why she is here?” Sabrina clucked her tongue. “And why temper the truth and lead her to believe we are something we are not?”
“Some things never change.” Cara rolled her eyes. “I hope you do not mind the casual atmosphere, but I had thought we could take our lunch in here, as my joyous bundle impedes my approach to the dining room table.”
“Hello, my dear. I am Lady Alexandra Collingwood, but it is Alex to family, and we never stand on formality, in private.” The charming, polished noble drew Daphne to an overstuffed chair. “On the sofa is Caroline, Countess of Lockwood, beside her is Lady Elaine Prescott, and at the other end is Lady Celia Devane, a friend of Sabrina’s.”
“I am honored to make your acquaintance.” That was putting it mildly, as Daphne shuffled her feet. “And I gather Sir Dalton would claim otherwise, despite your assertion.”
“That is because he is a man.” Caroline smirked. “And they are always the last to know what is good for them. But I suspect he is not what he would have us believe, given the time I spent with him, aboard the Siren, and he is ripe for courtship. But the road to happiness can be paved with heartache, so you should gird yourself for the fight.”
One by one, the wives, characters all, shared their tales of marital bliss hard won, with the single ladies. Some had endured incredible misery and humiliation, in the quest to win their mates. Caroline had been mistaken for a courtesan and kidnapped by her future husband, Rebecca had thrown herself in the path of a murderous traitor to save Dirk, Sabrina had enacted a painful personal renovation, of sorts, to claim Everett, Cara had seduced Lance, and Alex had thrown caution and societal precepts to the wind and chased her captain to Plymouth.
“I am humbled by your confidence and your courage.” Wringing her fingers, and plague
d by doubt, Daphne sighed, as the polished female collective served to emphasized her shortcomings. “Yet you must know I have no fortune or connections.”
“But you are Dalton’s choice, so it matters not,” Caroline asserted. “Do you not want him?”
“Given your candor, I must confess I am enamored of him.” Yet Daphne was a realist. Whereas in Portsea, she was the matriarch of the county, in London she was nothing. “But he wishes me to marry another and has stated as much, in no uncertain terms.”
“Oh, I do not know about that.” Rebecca poured a cup of tea from the trolley. “My brother-in-law recovered the pilfered brooch, refused to call the authorities after you twice raided his ship, purchased food for Courtenay Hall’s stores, and gave Daphne carte blanche to acquire a new wardrobe.”
“He didn’t.” Cara shoved a pillow behind her and grimaced. “Excuse me, but my babe grows restless. Now then, under normal circumstances, I would be inclined to covet misgivings in regard to the constancy of Dalton’s admiration, as he has labored to construct a dubious reputation, but nothing parts a man from his money faster than engaged affections.”
“Excepting Dirk.” Rebecca giggled. “But his mother warned me, from the outset, so I knew what I was getting in the bargain.”
“Is he no longer gifting paperweights?” Sabrina snickered. “My Everett still brings me daisies, by the armful, on a weekly basis.”
“Oh, I receive them, with regularity, along with roses,” the viscountess replied with a ghost of a smile. “But I would argue Dirk relishes grousing about the purchases as much as he delights in my thanks.”
“As does Trevor.” Caroline swiped a sugary scone from a plate of sweets. “He procures knickknacks faster than I can place them.”
“And Lance has resumed his childhood habit of obtaining wooden figurines to add to my collection.” Cara averted her misty gaze. “How I love him.”
“Men are such funny creatures.” Alex glanced at Daphne. “By his own admission, Jason neglected me during our courtship, but he never forgets me, now. In fact, every time he docks in Deptford, he brings a surprise, of some sort, and poetry, written in his own hand.”
“That reminds me. Why have you never read us one of his original offerings, as we are the souls of discretion?” Elaine inquired. “No offense, but I struggle to imagine Jason composing prose of adoration and romance.”
“Well therein lies the quandary, as the captain of my heart does not employ the usual refined language you might expect.” Then Alex vented a half-smothered snort. “Suffice it to say his ribald work is not for mixed company, but the sole focus of his bawdy efforts entails various descriptions of my body, his unorthodox utilization of his tongue, and his effuse appreciation of our…connubial activities. However, I am continually impressed with his resourcefulness, as I never knew so many words rhyme with breasts.”
In concert, the ladies collapsed in a fit of hilarity.
“Poetry, paperweights, knickknacks, figurines, and daisies? Oh, what a sweet treasure.” Celia rested elbows to knees and cupped her chin. “That sounds nothing like my father. Then again, my parents have an arranged marriage, and I narrowly escaped the same fate.”
“Lance threatened to contract my nuptials.” A delicate Elaine peered at Daphne and frowned. “But I told him I would run away, as did Caroline, if that happened.”
“Worry not, dear friend.” Cara balanced a plate, piled with small sandwiches, atop her prominent protuberance. “Because I declared my abandonment of his bed, should that occur.”
“So there will be no more talk of arranged marriages in this household.” A veritable mountain of a man, with hair as black as a crow’s feather, chiseled features, and emerald eyes strolled into the room, and Daphne would have wagered all the women of Portsea would have swooned at his toes, at first glance, as he was gorgeous. “Good afternoon, ladies. And how does my glowing mother-to-be fare?”
“Give me a kiss, and I shall answer your question.” Cara bit her lip. “And welcome Miss Daphne to our coterie.”
“Now that is a command I dare not refuse.” Without hesitation, Cara’s husband bent and set his mouth to hers.
To her dismay, Daphne grew warm, as she could not stop herself from gawking at the charming pair. As was the case with Rebecca and Dirk, Cara and Lance expressed mutual admiration with unimpaired aplomb, as though they knew no other way, yet Daphne found such unrestrained passion a foreign concept. When Sabrina whistled in monotone, the tension broke, and the twosome came up for air.
“How do you feel?” Lance rubbed his nose to Cara’s. “Are you all right?”
“I am perfect.” Cara patted his cheek. “So you may stop fussing over me.”
“Not a chance, love. Ah, yes.” He pulled a silver bell from his coat pocket. “You forgot this at your vanity. How can you signal me, if you do not keep it with you?”
“Lance, you are being silly.” Cara huffed. “Dr. Handley assured us there will be plenty of time to summon him, so you must relax.”
“Darling, I will not risk your life or that of my heir, so you will indulge me.” With that, he kissed her hard and fast. “Now I shall adjourn to my study, and you will ring for me, if you need me. And welcome, Miss Daphne.”
“Yes, sir.” Cara sketched a mock salute. Just as Lance neared the threshold, the marchioness jiggled the bell, and he whipped about, in a flash. “My lord, I need you, without fail.”
With a wide grin, the marquess lifted his chin and winked, and then he exited the chamber.
“Are they always like that?” Daphne asked Rebecca, as the fervent exchanges would befuddle any well-bred backwater girl.
“Has no one told you?” Sabrina shoved almost half a sandwich in her mouth. “Brethren marry for love.”
“And who, precisely, are the Brethren?” Daphne had heard Dalton and Dirk make the same reference, when they thought her unaware, and the curious moniker intrigued her. “Or is it some great secret?”
Alex glanced at Rebecca, who gazed at Cara, who peered at Caroline, who, in turn, stared at Sabrina.
“It is what we call our somewhat odd extended family.” Elaine chuckled, as she leaned back on the sofa. “As children, we fancied ourselves great warriors for the Crown, and the fantasy lives in each of us, even today.”
“Sabrina told me you played pirate games, when you were young.” Celia daubed the corners of her lips with a napkin. “Do you imagine the next generation will follow suit?”
“Oh, I hope so.” Caroline splayed her fingers over her belly. “As I would have them know the same fellowship with which we have been blessed.”
“Are you increasing, as well?” Daphne asked.
“Although I am just beginning to show, Trevor and I eagerly anticipate our third babe, as my husband desires a large family,” Caroline explained. “His upbringing was not so whimsical.”
“And this is my second, and Everett is thrilled, as he shared Trevor’s difficulties, and they are lifelong chums.” Sabrina scooted to the edge of her seat. “And we want the same happy matches for you, Elaine, and Celia.”
“Indeed.” Alex inched forward and clasped Sabrina’s hand. “And I vow on my third offspring to see you merrily wed.”
Soon, the ladies mirrored the simple gesture, forming a circle of sisterhood that brought Daphne to the brink of tears. “But how should we proceed, as Dalton does not cooperate?”
“With the exception of my remarkable spouse, most men never do.” Rebecca furrowed her brow. “But if Dalton wishes you to consider other candidates, you may have to do just that, for appearances. And I know the perfect foil for the younger Randolph.”
“Sisters, it sounds as if we intend to embark upon another matchmaking campaign.” Alex fidgeted. “And I gave Jason my word I would never enact such contentious business again, after Lance and Cara’s affair. If we do this, I must tell him, else he warned I would not sit comfortably for a sennight if I ever broke my promise.”
“But I do not want to cause t
rouble.” Daphne reflected on the possibility of success, which seemed fleeting, given Alex’s declaration. “If I cannot win Dalton on merit, I will not take him by trickery.”
“How do you define trickery?” Sabrina stretched her slippered feet. “When Dalton may need nothing more than a bit of enticement, as did my Everett.”
“Yet I would rather not involve Trevor.” Caroline studied the floor. “As I am not sure he would approve.”
“That is all the more reason to enlist their aid.” Rebecca nodded once. “In fact, Alex is a genius, as we would do well to make use of our happily wedded husbands, which would enable us to engage in a two-pronged assault, such as no bachelor has ever confronted.”
“And that is a good thing?” Daphne shuddered, as she pondered the prospects.
“Of course.” Cara’s eyes grew wide. “And what male, sane or otherwise, could resist such temptation?”
“Then it is settled.” Rebecca squeezed Daphne’s fingers. “Tonight, you shall meet the whole of our family, and you will wear the green gown as an opening salvo. And tomorrow, we recruit our men to bring Dalton to his knees—I mean, to the altar.”
THE LUCKY ONE
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Not bad, for a provincial.” Dirk elbowed Dalton in the ribs. “Instead of staring at her, from across the drawing room, why not talk to her?”
Dalton had been asking himself the same question since his arrival at Randolph House for the family dinner, and he had yet to form a sensible response. While Blake and Damian buzzed about the backwater girl turned sultry seraph, outfitted in emerald silk, which highlighted her creamy complexion and transformed her already piercing blue eyes into something altogether ethereal, Dalton had remained rooted to the floor. But he worried not, as the dynamic ducal duo were confirmed bachelors.
“When I asked your wife to prepare Daphne for the ton’s ballrooms, I never said anything about remaking her into an enchanting seductress.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “Look at her. She is Venus, Aphrodite, and a virginal handmaiden, all rolled into one. What was Rebecca thinking?”
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