Daphne glanced away. “As compelling as that story is, you have forgotten that mother was long passed before Samuel was impressed. I believe his death would have swayed her views toward her former homeland.”
“Elizabeth knew well the strained relations between our two countries. General Cornwallis had only just surrendered when she left with your father to live in Boston. She knew that peace was not guaranteed. She long wrote to tell me her fears that her children would be forced to take up arms and in doing so, would have to decide which half of their heritage they would claim and which they would fight against. She was not naïve.”
Her aunt stood and stepped away from the bed, just as a maid entered the room with a steaming bucket of water on her hip. Daphne glanced toward the succession of servants carrying rose petals and perfume, then returned her gaze to her aunt.
“Be that as it may, I wish to leave at the earliest opportunity. Tomorrow if possible.”
“That is in the hands of the physician. I will await his professional opinion before making any arrangements. Until that time, I advise you to take a bath and then get some rest, dear.” She gave Daphne one last lingering look and made her way toward the door. “Perhaps, in time, you may reconsider, after what I have shared.”
Yes, and perhaps in time, her aunt would realize the grievous error she had made in thinking the duke was anything more than a man driven by the guilt of innocent blood on his hands.
…
“Perhaps this will help ease your afflictions, Your Grace,” Farrington suggested, sliding a glass of amber-colored liquid under Edward’s nose. “It isn’t rum, but I’ve discerned you no longer have a taste for the drink.”
God dammit. Were all Americans terribly astute, or just the ones in his acquaintance?
He lifted the snifter of brandy to his lips and took a long draw of the liquid before setting it down on his desk. “I never did like the taste of rum. Far too bitter for the likes of my palate. I find that I prefer the simplicity and sweetness of more local fare.”
Farrington lifted his glass and swirled the French brandy Edward had imported before Napoleon wreaked havoc on the Continent. “I rather enjoy the bite rum offers as it slides down the throat. Most sailors would agree…especially those employed in His Majesty’s Navy.”
Edward lifted his head, his back hunched in the same position as it had been an hour ago when he had retreated into the depths of his study. “So I’ve been informed.” As he had been at least eight years prior, when a different source had brought that same information to his attention.
Farrington said, “We had quite the devil of a time keeping them supplied when Jefferson put his Embargo Acts into place.”
“You supplied rum to His Majesty’s navy?”
“Yes, though I’m not certain which was more difficult. Getting rum into the hands of the English, or hiding our illicit dealings from Daphne.”
Brandy, sweet and fruity, dribbled down Edward’s chin, the warm liquid splattering onto the desk as he sought to control the muscles surrounding his mouth. Sopping up his chin with a handkerchief, he lifted his eyes. “Has she discovered your past dealings or been made aware of their existence?”
“Such information was never deemed necessary for her to know. My father is an intelligent man, Your Grace. While he recognizes my sister’s skills and has allowed her more freedoms than most women of her standing, she is still a woman, and one who does not need to be involved in every aspect of a man’s business.”
“God in heaven,” Edward muttered. He pushed his empty glass away from his fingers. “I wish I had your foresight, Farrington. I was not as clever in hiding my business dealings from the overly intelligent woman in my family.”
Farrington gave a half-smile. “Are you referencing the duchess, Your Grace?”
“Unfortunately, yes. When I first entered trade, I assumed, and quite erroneously, that she would turn a blind eye to my investments. I was negotiating with tradesmen after all, a class of society she had never seen as worthy of her attentions. But I saw the potential and Mr. Burnham, a man who was recommended to me by one of the merchants, helped me to obtain success in my venture.”
Edward pushed himself out of the chair and stood. “I had no idea that she would seek to capitalize on my success and dip her fingers into a world she detested. But in her haste to fill the coffers my father did his best to empty, she was misguided, and made decisions I have no doubt had she been better informed, she would never have agreed upon.”
“Everyone is entitled to make mistakes, Your Grace.” Farrington set his glass on the sideboard and uncorked the decanter.
Edward snorted. “Yes, well, your sister does not agree with that sentiment.”
“Does Daphne know of your mother’s investments?”
“She would not allow me any explanations. She assumes I am guilty, and I am, though not of the smuggling, but of misplacing my trust and hope. I thought I could change her opinion of my countrymen.” He gazed past Farrington to the window where the late evening breeze tickled the curtains. “I thought she could be trusted. That she would not turn me away when the truth was revealed. But I was wrong.”
He ran his fingers through a hank of hair. “You should know that the ship my mother backed in her attempts to run American rum was captained by a cruel and exceptionally corrupt individual.”
Farrington frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Not as sorry as I am. I had no idea of his practices until they were discovered by Mr. Burnham. I can assure you, I immediately had the captain brought to justice, but not until he had made numerous raids…and had impressed at least fifty Americans into service on his ship.”
“Good God.”
“Most sailors, both American and British, died from the harsh conditions aboard the Seraphina. It was why the captain took advantage of the Royal Navy’s allowance for the practice of impressment, despite the fact that the Seraphina was not a frigate fighting against Napoleon.” He held Farrington’s gaze. “I am so very sorry for the fate that befell your brother. You have my most sincere apologies.”
The other man nodded, his hand covering his mouth. With a deep inhale, his hand fell down to his side.
Edward let out a sigh and continued. “Lord Westbrook informed your sister of my connection to the Seraphina earlier this evening. I had hoped to tell her myself, with both of you present, but it seems fate had other plans.”
“Westbrook?”
“It seems he was in league with Mr. Burnham.”
There was a moment’s silence before Farrington cleared his throat. “Daphne has requested an immediate departure from Thornhaven. And while, given your revelation, I can understand her decision; I am at a loss to explain why she has directed her anger toward you. It was you, after all, who brought Samuel’s captor to justice, was it not?”
“I did and I watched him hang for his crimes. But what Westbrook likely did not know, and therefore did not relay to your sister, was my mother’s involvement. I told Burnham the rum was my own botched attempt at trade, and he believed me.” Edward fingered the white monogram on his handkerchief. “My mother places great value on her reputation, which, I am sure you know, would be irrevocably damaged should it be connected to this scandal.”
“So you took the fall.”
“I didn’t correct assumptions.”
“Including Daphne’s.”
Edward pulled on his sleeve. “She has made up her mind when it comes to my character.”
“Which is why I need to set her to rights, Your Grace. You are no more guilty of Samuel’s death than I am for sending him off to oversee the acquisition of more sugarcane.”
“That may be so, but as you have kept your secrets, so, too, do I ask that you keep mine. I shall invest in your company, but under the condition that you and your sister leave Thornhaven. Immediately.” The very idea of extra time spent with Daphne, of her golden honeysuckle-scented hair flowing over his pillows, his blankets, as she recovere
d from her injury, God. He couldn’t do that to himself. Couldn’t tempt himself to believe that maybe if she heard the truth she would change her opinion, would see him for the gentleman he was and not the beast she believed him to be.
But she had already set her mind against him. She saw nothing but a man tied to her brother’s death. A duke with English blood.
Farrington’s mouth settled into a thin line. “I do not pretend to understand your wishes, but I will do my best to fulfill them, Your Grace. I will notify my aunt of our change in plans.”
Edward gave a small smile. “Please see that you do.”
Chapter Sixteen
Somehow the fiery pits of Hades had frozen over, and pigs had suddenly sprouted wings. For despite her Aunt Susan’s insistence that they stay past the recommended day the physician had suggested, Thomas—yes, Thomas—had agreed with Daphne’s request for an immediate departure from Thornhaven’s confining halls.
She was quite certain should she glance out the now drawn carriage windows, she might see a piglet or two take flight, for truly, never had Thomas so readily sided with her in anything as he did with her on this.
Daphne peered at her brother who sat with his head tilted, his mouth half-open in slumber as his body swayed and jostled with each bump in the road. Nothing physical had changed. He still bore the sprinkling of fair whiskers that emerged far too quickly after a shaving, and the large nose that was an exact replica of the one gracing their father’s face. But his manner toward her, and toward everyone, if she were to think on it, had undergone a massive transformation. Why, the man had actually agreed with her. And had even smiled while doing so.
Perhaps he had been replaced with an unknown identical twin while he slept…or perhaps the dramatic shift had been incited by a certain and very persuasive individual. One whom she had avoided since their encounter two nights past. The very one who had hardened her heart much like the present ice crystallizing over Hades’s lakes of fire.
With Thomas’s exceptionally congenial attitude she could only assume His Grace had made the decision to invest in her family’s shipping line.
But would her family, upon discovering the duke’s past in smuggling, still wish to do business with someone whose morals fell below their standards?
Her brother muttered a stream of drowsy nonsense as he slouched into the lavish cushions of the carriage the duke had insisted upon for their private use. She had not protested his generosity. It was, after all, far quicker to agree to his thin claims of concern for her ankle than it was to argue against them and ride back to London stuck between her aunt’s woeful face and Henrietta’s sad one.
Most likely the carriage and the investment were a material way for His Grace to assuage his guilt, to somehow make up for his involvement with the Seraphina. Unless Thomas knew of other reasons.
“Thomas!” Daphne hissed, kicking his shin with her uninjured foot. “Wake up! I need to speak with you.”
He sat upright, his eyes half-glazed with slumber. “What the devil? Have we arrived at the townhouse?”
“Not unless five hours have passed without my knowledge.”
He rubbed his hands over his face. “Then why in God’s name did you find it necessary to tear me away from a pleasant rest?”
“Because I want to know the motivation behind it.”
“Weariness is not good enough?”
“Not while we enjoy the comforts of the duke’s carriage.”
“Why ever not? It is because of them that I have gotten any rest at all.”
“But why did the duke offer? Surely it was not over any real concern for my injury,” she said, glancing toward her elevated foot.
“Because he is a gentleman? And he cares for the comfort of his guests?” The drowsiness disappeared from his eyes as he peered at her. “What is this about? You had no objections when we entered the carriage.”
“Well, now I’ve had time to think over the matter.”
“Yes, because who wouldn’t ponder why a duke would be hospitable to his guests. Really, you may want to stop thinking and do more resting. The short amount I had was quite remedial.”
The sarcasm, however irritating, was reassuring. Perhaps her brother hadn’t been replaced by a twin after all.
Daphne released her skirt and pointed a finger toward his chest. “You have not told me what you and His Grace discussed last evening.”
“I should think it would be obvious, Daphne.” Her brother allowed his eyes to once again roll heavenward. “We made arrangements for our departure. I offered my gratitude for his hospitality. And we discussed how we will proceed with his investment. Dull and droll business, really. Was there something else you had expected?”
“No. No, of course not.” She should have known better. The duke was incapable of acknowledging the truth. And it was best she remembered that. “When will the Mary Frances be departing? I would very much like to return to Father.”
“Return to Father?” Thomas said, righting himself. “In Boston?”
“Yes, of course. Unless he has gone elsewhere. He hasn’t come to visit us here, has he?”
“No. But I had assumed you just wanted a short period of separation from society, some time to mull things over before coming to a realization that—” He broke off, his fist pummeling into the tasseled pillow. “Have you mentioned your urgent plans of departure to Aunt Susan and the girls?”
She nibbled on the bottom of her lip. “Not yet, though I am sure Aunt Susan will understand.”
“Are you so certain? I thought you were getting along quite well here. You seemed to have formed an attachment with our English relations.”
And Daphne had. She had allowed herself to become far more attached to her aunt and three cousins than she had initially intended. Leaving them was regrettable, and not something she wished to do lightly. They had become her family and, despite her words of confidence, Aunt Susan might not understand her immediate need for departure. But her relations knew her time in England had always been a temporary one.
“We have completed what we came to do, Thomas. We’ve acquired investors and restored family connections. It is only logical that we would return home now that our task has been completed.”
“And sometimes logic is not always the best course of action. The heart is, at times, more compelling than the mind.”
His face was all innocence, and yet, it was clear he knew more of her motivating circumstances than he acknowledged, solidifying her conviction that she needed to retire from England and its people in all due haste. “Which is why I find that I need to leave immediately. As soon as the Mary Frances is loaded, I wish to be on her deck, setting sail for Boston.”
After a long gaze and a despairing sigh, her brother nodded. “We set sail in a week.”
One week and she would be free of the guilt, the lies, and the betrayal.
One week and she would no longer be in the company of her cousins and their laughter, or her aunt’s warm smiles and maternal guidance.
One week and she would leave the very place she had so long despised.
So why was she suddenly filled with regret?
…
“Edward, dear, you’re moping.”
“I prefer brooding, but one is given the freedom of interpretation.”
His mother lifted a delicate china cup off its plate. “Regardless of what you call this” —she said, waving her free hand in his direction— “it is most unbecoming for a man of your station. A duke does not display sulky behavior.”
“That is a gross misstatement, for I am a living testament to its contradiction.”
Edward lay on the floral chaise, one leg draped over the edge, the other extended on top of the plump, upholstered cushion, his polished Hessian boot gleaming black against the dainty floral pattern.
He had, for a better part of the three days since returning to town, assumed the languid position, while perfecting his dour expression and monotone responses. He was, after all, a man
rejected, and thought he ought to do the role justice.
“It displeases me to see you so melancholy.”
“Really? I should think you would find triumph in my misery. It has, after all, come to me by the hands of a woman of whom you do not approve and repeatedly asked me to avoid. I must say, I half-expected you to declare victory far sooner. With at least one lilting chorus of ‘I told you so’ thrown in for good measure.”
His mother set her cup down and gave him a reproachful glare. “Regardless of what you may think of me, Edward, I do not take pleasure in your agony. Were I to do so, I would not have sought to offer you my good counsel in the first place, warning you against inevitable tragedy.”
“Ah, yes, there it is, though your voice was not quite as lilting as I expected.”
“At least now you can move forward. You’ve scratched your itch. It is time to consider more favorable pursuits.” She lifted a small biscuit off the nearby tray and eyed it critically. “Lady Isabella is willing to overlook your inattentions and begin anew. Perhaps we can arrange for a luncheon on the morrow next?”
Edward sat upright, his boot-encased foot hitting the floor with a loud thump as he sought to prevent his lower jaw from unhinging and hitting his knees. “Does your depravity know no bounds? The only woman I ever considered marrying despises me for sins I did not commit. I’m afraid I’ve lost all interest in marriage. As such, I do not wish to hear of Lady Isabella. Now, or ever.”
“What sins does Miss Farrington hold against your character, dear?”
“She knows of my connections to the Seraphina. Her other brother was impressed on the ship’s deck. He died aboard the vessel, one of the many casualties inflicted by the captain’s disregard for his crew.”
His mother glanced down at her hands. “I see.”
“Miss Farrington holds me responsible for her brother’s death.”
“That is absurd. It was the captain’s doing, not yours. She assumed the worst of you. She does not deserve a man of your moral character.”
The Duke's Obsession (Entangled Scandalous) Page 17
