by Cheryl Bolen
As foolhardy as Heffington had been to jump into the fight when he had not completed his previous assignment, Jack could not help but to admire the man's courage. According to the plans Wellington had forwarded to Lord Castlereagh, Heffington led a charge at the very front—a most dangerous position, to be sure.
From the information Jack possessed, it was impossible to tell what had happened with Heffington's list.
If there was a physical list.
As much as it pained him to admit it, Jack could proceed no further without returning to the Peninsula.
His stomach knotted. He couldn't go off on a long voyage like that without seeing Daphne. And he couldn't see her without telling her what he was working on. That's how it was with him and Daphne. They shared everything.
And it wasn't as if she would go around blabbering about his duties. Everyone knew how discreet she could be.
There was nothing for it but to beg the Regent's permission to explain to Daphne—face to face—that he had to return to the Peninsula.
He had to see her.
His work had kept him so occupied that he hadn't been plagued with thoughts of her as he had during those four days when he'd had nothing to do except wait.
But his nights were sheer torture, lying there longing for his slender Daphne, dreaming of the night she would become his well-loved wife.
Before he asked the Regent's permission to visit Daphne, he drafted a letter to the Foreign Secretary requesting him to arrange for the necessary preparations for Jack to return to Spain. He gave the letter to the Regent's special courier, then begged permission to speak with the Regent.
* * *
Hatchments were on the windows at the Styles' House on Edgeware Road. Daphne knew she should be ashamed of herself—a perfect stranger—for intruding on the widow's grief, but she had a duty to her own sister to uncover the identity of the vile creature who was blackmailing her.
She had thought her visit would be more well received were she to arrive in the Earl of Sidworth's crested coach. Those not born to the aristocracy (except for Jack) were impressed over things like that. She waited in the coach while her father's tiger presented her card at the door of the fairly modest house.
A pretty young woman in black personally answered the door, and flicked her gaze out toward the street upon reading the card, then nodded to the tiger, who had been instructed to ask if his mistress could pay her respects.
A moment later, Daphne sat in the drawing room with Mrs. Styles. “So kind of you to allow me to call,” Daphne began. “While we've never met, I felt it my duty to come and offer you my condolences, seeing as how our husbands served together in the Peninsula.”
“That is very kind of you. Did you know my husband?”
Daphne could not lie. “No.” Well, maybe a little lie. . . “But my dear Jack often spoke of him.”
The petite brunette offered a wan smile. “He was always popular. And handsome, too.”
“Though I hadn't met him, I had seen him before. He was very handsome.” She needn't tell the poor widow she had seen her husband dancing attendance on her own sister at Almack's.
Mrs. Styles smiled again, a distant look upon her face. “One feels so alone---” She faltered. She was probably the same age as Daphne, but in her frail state she seemed younger and more vulnerable. Daphne's heart went out to her. The poor woman was obviously suffering over the loss of her husband. Which was completely understandable. How grateful Daphne was to the Regent for assigning Jack to his own regiment so Jack would not have to return to the Peninsula.
She studied the pitiable widow. Like Cornelia, she was petite. She also was possessed of dark eyes and dark hair. Like Cornelia. The major certainly ran true to form in his taste in women.
Daphne wondered if the widow knew of her husband's affair with the Duchess of Lankersham. If she were the blackmailer, of course, she would.
Since Daphne was coming to understand about the mental state of a woman in love (owing to her feelings for her very own Jack), she was confident she would be able to gauge the woman's reaction to a mention of the duchess. But she was not yet ready to spring that upon the lady. First she must establish a comforting presence with the widow. “Of course. How unnatural it would be if you did not feel alone now. Were you and the major married long?”
“Seven years.”
“You must have been quite the child bride.”
Mrs. Styles offered Daphne a faint smile. “I was seventeen, and my George was one and twenty when we wed.”
“Do you have children?”
There was affection in her voice and pride flashing in Mrs. Styles' eyes. “Our son is at school, and the baby—our daughter—is napping.”
“Then you've been blessed in other ways.”
“Indeed.”
Daphne gazed around the room. If Mrs. Styles had recently come into a great deal of money from committing vile deeds such as blackmail, there was certainly no sign of it here. The faded green brocade on the sofa had worn so thin in places that the stuffing showed through.
From the way she crossed her legs at the ankle, Daphne could observe that the soles on the widow's shoes, too, had worn so thin a small hole revealed her black stockings.
Now, Daphne would throw the first gauntlet. “My sister, the Duchess of Lankersham, has two little boys. I have discovered the joy of little boys. I'd never been around little fellows much before, owing to the fact there were nothing but girls—six of us—in my family.”
The woman did not register the slightest sign of recognition at the mention of Cornelia. “Your father must be a happy grandfather, then, finally to have little boys.”
Daphne gave her a warm smile. “Indeed he is, and he's unbearably indulgent toward the little rascals.”
“My only comfort after my loss is that my father is excessively fond of my son and will step in to help me with him.”
Did she mean financially? Or was that implication to be a ruse for the purpose of covering up new-found wealth? “Having a man to help guide them will indeed be a great comfort. Is your father in London?”
She shook her head. “But he's not far away. He's in Middlesex.”
Daphne wondered if Mrs. Styles' father, like her own, had no sons of his own. “Did your father have only daughters, too?”
The lady nodded. “In fact, I am his only child. He's been after me to move back home, and I believe I will. It will be good for my little boy, and to be perfectly honest with you, I don't know how much longer I can afford to live in London.”
“I'm so sorry.”
“A widow's portion is so much less than what one has when one's husband is able to generate an income.”
Daphne was convinced of the woman's sincerity, convinced she knew nothing of her husband's affair.
As she took her leave, she prayed that Mrs. Styles would never learn of her husband's adultery.
Later that afternoon as Daphne was returning to Sidworth House and saw Jack's Warrior tethered in front, her heartbeat roared. She nearly leaped from the moving carriage in her haste to see her husband.
Chapter 4
She could tell from the considerable lather on Jack's horse that he hadn't been there long—and he'd obviously ridden a long distance. Thrilled almost beyond endurance, she raced up the steps and threw open the door to her parents' home.
Daphne hurried up the marble stairway and burst into the drawing room where Lady Sidworth and her youngest daughter, Rosemary, sat upon a silken French sofa speaking to Jack. At first all Daphne saw was the back of his dark head. He turned, saw her, and immediately got to his feet. He wore his regimentals and was still the most handsome officer in the kingdom.
Their eyes met. Her heart stampeded, and she launched herself into his arms. She stood there in the shelter of his powerful arms, glorying in the feel of being held by this man she loved so thoroughly.
Far too soon for her liking, he placed her an arm's length away and lowered his brows. Why would he be out of c
harity with her? “Your mother was just inquiring about my recent indisposition.”
Uh oh. Poor Jack had not have been apprised of what his particular indisposition was. The pity of it was, Daphne would be hard pressed to remember if she had attributed his infirmity to measles or to mumps. She always got those two mixed up, both beginning with the letter M and both being common contagious diseases she had never contracted. Which one was it that had caused that poor boy at Eton with Papa to be carried off dead?
Oh, dear. What was she to do? Change the subject of course! She turned a bright face to him. “How well you have recovered, my dearest! You look the very picture of health.”
“Frankly,” Lady Sidworth said, climbing from her seat, crossing the room, and squinting into Jack's face as if it were a portrait hanging at the Royal Gallery, “I'm astonished you've recovered so quickly. And so completely.”
“The surgeon was equally astonished at how quickly Jack recovered from musket ball wounds back in the Peninsula,” Daphne babbled. She had no idea if there was a morsel of truth in what she was saying, but she hoped to turn the conversation away from his recent infirmity.
The idea of Jack's body stopping a musket ball almost sent Lady Sidworth into apoplexy. Her hands clasped at her heart, and her chin dropped, mouth open. “A musket ball! How was your poor mother to bear it?”
Daphne cocked her head and peered at her mother as if she had completely taken leave of her senses. “Mrs. Dryden wasn't the one suffering; it was my poor Jack!” Of course, Daphne still had no idea if Jack had ever stopped a musket ball, but the story was proving to be a nice diversion.
“That's enough, Daphne.” Jack's voice was stern.
“What is my daughter getting you into now?”
They all turned as Lord Sidworth strolled into the room and shook hands with Jack. “Good to see you, Captain.”
Daphne stood back and glowed. It was impossible for her father to conceal the great affection he held for Jack. Much more so than with his other sons-in-law, the Duke of Lankersham and Sir Ronald Johnson, not that both of them weren't perfect dears. They just weren't as handsome or as brilliant or as brave or as out-and-out good as Jack.
“Well, Mother,” the earl said to his wife, “it looks like you're finally going to have let our Daphne go.”
Jack cleared his throat. “Though I am greatly looking forward to making my home with Lady Daphne, she may need to stay here a bit longer. I beg the opportunity to have a few private words with my wife.”
Daphne felt as if she'd fallen from high in the clouds. She linked her arm through Jack's. “It's been an age since we saw one another. Do allow us some privacy.”
“Come on, Mother.” The earl began to lead his wife and youngest daughter from the chamber.
Jack beamed down at her. “I was going to suggest we take a walk.”
“You've taken the very words from my mouth.”
* * *
A few minutes later they were strolling the paths of Green Park. God, but he wanted to kiss her! And he damned well did not want to have to leave her. Nor did he want to tell her he had to return to Spain. But he could not allow her to get her hopes up.
“I missed you terribly,” she said.
He smiled and squeezed her hand. “Not as much as I missed you. You, at least, had diversions and familiar company.”
“Are you at liberty to tell me where you went?”
“I am. Now.” Most women would have demanded an explanation. His Daphne, thank God, wasn't like most women. Perhaps that was why they got along so well. She thought rather like a man, though she was most definitely a woman. A woman he desired more than he ever thought possible. He allowed himself the luxury of remembering the feel of holding her slender body against his. He drew in a breath and gazed down at her. “I've been in Brighton.”
“At the Royal Pavilion?”
He nodded.
“No doubt the Regent had need of your superior sleuthing skills.”
“Superior? Is that not one of those words I forbid you to use when describing me?”
“I know, dearest. It's beastly difficult to describe you without using those kinds of words. You are quite the best at all you do. And it is just the two of us.” She looked up at him, rather adoringly, he thought with satisfaction. He took her hand and kissed it.
“As it was, the Regent was the liaison between Lord Castlereagh and me.”
Behind the spectacles, her pretty green eyes widened with astonishment. “The Foreign Secretary?”
“Yes.”
“I'm well acquainted with his wife. She's one of the patronesses at Almack's, but he doesn't often come to the assemblies. I understand he stays terribly busy.”
“I can well believe it.”
“Can you tell me the nature of what problem he laid in your lap?”
He chuckled. “What makes you think the most important people in government would need my help?”
“A woman's intuition.”
“As it happens, I have been on an assignment for the Foreign Secretary and the peninsular commander.”
“The new Duke of Wellington?”
He nodded.
“And now you have solved the problem!”
He drew in a breath. “I did not. It was impossible for me to glean the necessary information from a distance of several hundred miles.”
Her brows lowered, her spectacles slipped farther down toward the tip of her nose. “I don't think I'm going to like what you're about to say next.”
Lord and Lady Sidworth did not raise a stupid daughter. He nodded ruefully. “I'm afraid I must go to Spain, but it will be a very short trip.”
“You could be killed!”
“My dearest Daphne, I could be killed by a footpad right here in London.”
She pouted. “I don't like to talk about you being killed. Just this morning I spoke with a Peninsular widow, and I told myself I would die if I ever lost you.” Her face was ravaged with pain when she looked up at him. “And I would.”
“I feel the very same about you, my sweet, and I promise to hurry back to you.”
“No, you don't, Captain Dryden! You will not go to the Peninsula without me.”
Their eyes locked and held.
Good lord! Was she thinking the same thing he was thinking?
He was almost robbed of breath. Both stilled. They drew closer. He possessed just barely enough self control not to pull her into his arms.
But not enough to deny what she was offering.
Suddenly the prospect of bringing his wife to Spain held great allure. “You could be killed.”
She giggled.
“Very well, my vixen. I'm to be in Portsmouth tomorrow morning.”
She squeezed both his hands. “It shall be a grand honeymoon.”
Chapter 5
Daphne promised her husband she would be ready to depart for Portsmouth in a little over an hour. Selecting clothing for the journey was not the sort of thing she applied her energies to. One dress was the same as another to her. And she had been told her wardrobe was now exemplary since Mama had put Cornelia in command of her wedding trousseau.
Only one matter pressed on her as she prepared to depart for Spain. She needed to tell Cornelia she would not be able to accompany her to the money lenders. In her note, she urged the duchess to take Virginia into her confidence and suggested those two sisters go together. “I am sorry, pet, that I must leave,” she wrote in conclusion. “If you have not extricated yourself from this problem by the time I return, I vow to help you then.”
For the journey to Portsmouth, Lord Sidworth insisted the newlyweds take his luxurious coach.
“I don't know how I can bear allowing my first little girl to go off across the ocean.” Lady Sidworth clutched at her heart. “What if the ship sinks?”
Daphne's pragmatic father stepped up and put a reassuring hand at his wife's shoulder. “She's only going to be gone for a few weeks, and the Royal Navy has provided one of its finest frig
ates to take our distinguished son to Wellington.”
That her father had referred to Jack as his son melted Daphne's heart.
As the new Captain and Mrs. Dryden departed, Papa pressed a bottle of his favorite port into Jack's hands. Mama had Cook present the wedding couple with a basket brimming with food for the journey.
For someone who had never been farther north than Derbyshire or farther south than Brighton, Daphne was thrilled to be going to sunny Spain. And on an ocean vessel! What a grand adventure awaited her.
She settled back into the squabs beside her husband and bid a cheery farewell to her family as they rode off into the London twilight.
Once her family was no longer within view, Jack drew her to him, and they tenderly kissed.
“Dearest?” she asked.
“Yes, my love?”
“When do we arrive in Portsmouth?”
He frowned. “Tomorrow morning. Just in time to board the ship before it sails.”
“When will we have our wedding night?”
His sultry eyes met hers. He did not respond for a moment. “I have requested that we have a private chamber on the ship. Tomorrow night.”
She knew how difficult it was for him to wait. After all, he was a man. And men did have lusty . . . needs. “Do you think it's something that could be managed in a . . . carriage?” She hated to admit how ignorant she was of such matters.
He did not respond for a moment. She thought maybe that male anatomy thing might be at work. “It could,” he finally said. “But we're not.”
“Why? I am your wife!”
“My dearest wife, while it is something that experienced couples could manage, it is not the way I plan to make love to my very own, beloved wife the first time.”
Jack always considered others over himself. It was one of the things she loved about the honorable man she had married.
