by Andrea Kane
“Harwick, please. You’re choking me.” She caught at his hand, fought to free herself.
In one violent motion, he hurled her against the wall, watching with callous brutality as she crumpled to the floor. “I’ll do worse than that if you’ve encouraged her to deceive me.” He veered toward the door. “You’d best pray my suspicions prove false, Elizabeth. Else your life won’t be worth a damn.”
“Where are you going?” she whispered in a tiny, broken voice.
He turned, his features distorted by rage. “To teach our daughter the lesson of a lifetime.”
“She’s as beautiful as she looked in the shop window,” Daphne declared, holding up the flaxen-haired doll for the vicar’s inspection. “Don’t you think so?”
“I think you’re going to make little Prudence happier than she ever dreamed possible,” he replied, continuing their walk toward the schoolhouse.
“I know what one special doll can mean to a little girl,” Daphne murmured, reliving, once again, that long-ago moment at the House of Perpetual Hope—the child’s unforgettable stare as vivid now as it had been twelve years past. “I couldn’t bear for Prudence to be deprived of that joy.”
“I understand.” They trudged on in silence. “I was worried to death about you, Snowdrop,” the vicar admitted at last. “You were gone for hours.”
“I’m sorry. I expected to be back much earlier. But it proved more difficult than I’d imagined to find a buyer for Mama’s brooch.”
The vicar’s brows rose in surprise. “I would have thought the piece would be snatched right up. To me, it appeared quite lavish, a source of profit for any jeweler.”
“It was. The merchants were unanimously enthusiastic. Unfortunately, their ethics fell short of their enthusiasm. I had quite a time finding a jeweler who was even moderately honest.”
“I see.”
“In any case, I did finally locate one who, for reasons of his own, chose not to rob me.”
Abruptly, the vicar recalled something Daphne didn’t know. “Speaking of robbing, it seems your bandit struck again last night.”
She stopped in her tracks. “He did? Where? What happened?”
“From what I’ve heard thus far, he invaded the Earl of Selbert’s Mansfield estate, making off with a vast assortment of jewelry, silver, and notes. Coincidentally,” the vicar’s lips curved, “hours later the Mansfield workhouse was the happy recipient of thirty-five hundred pounds.”
“No one saw him?”
“No. Except for you, Snowdrop, no one has ever seen him.”
“Then he’s safe.” Daphne raised her eyes to the heavens, more grateful now than ever before. “Thank God.” She resumed walking.
“I see you’re still captivated by this altruistic hero of yours,” the vicar commented with a sideways glance. “I thought perhaps that would change in light of your feelings for Pierce Thornton.”
“One has nothing to do with the other. Pierce is a wonderful, compelling man. The bandit is…” Her voice trailed off.
“Yes?”
“I was going to say the bandit is a savior. But in his own way, so is Pierce. The difference is the bandit rescues many; Pierce has only to rescue me.”
“Both roles are indispensable.”
Daphne smiled. “Thank you.” Absently, she studied the doll she’d cautiously removed from her wardrobe and transported to the church at dawn, stroking the pink satin gown. “Let’s hurry, Vicar,” she urged suddenly, picking up her pace as they neared the schoolhouse. “As it is, we’ll miss the older children. They’ve doubtless gone home to do their chores. But I so want to see the little ones.”
Miss Redmund opened the door moments later, a surprised expression on her face. “Vicar, Lady Daphne. I didn’t expect you today.” She cast a quick look over her shoulder, her brow furrowed. “Our lessons are over. Half the children have already taken their leave.”
“Are the younger ones still about?” Daphne asked eagerly. “Timmy? William? Prudence? I apologize for arriving so late and without any notice but there truly wasn’t a choice, and I so want to see them. We won’t stay but a few minutes, I promise.”
“You’d be wise to agree, Miss Redmund,” the vicar added with pointed authority. “Lady Daphne has a miraculous gift to share with all of you.”
“Gift?” The schoolmistress’s speculative gaze fell on the doll in Daphne’s hands. “Very well.” She shrugged, evidently unimpressed by what she saw. “Come in.”
“Daphne!” Timmy fairly flew to the door, his eyes wide with delight. “See, William? I told ye she’d be back.”
“Of course I’m back.” Daphne ruffled Timmy’s hair. “Did you doubt it?”
“Well, ye said ye’d be back sooner, and William thought maybe ye didn’t like us much.”
“I apologize for my tardiness,” Daphne said solemnly, her gaze meeting William’s. “But I was needed at home and couldn’t get away. Then I wasted a great deal of time trying to coax Russet into joining me.”
“Did ye bring him?” Timmy interrupted, looking expectantly about.
“No, I’m afraid not.” Daphne sighed. “As I’m sure you’ve discovered with your lizard, animals often have minds of their own.”
“Yeah.” Timmy’s nod was sympathetic. “ ’enry won’t stay in the bed, I made ’im, even though I put lots of grass ’n bugs ’n stuff in there, ’e keeps crawlin’ out at night. The other day ’e was in my mum’s basin when she went to wash. Boy, was she mad.”
Daphne fought her smile. “Thank you for understanding. I promise to keep trying to soften Russet’s attitude.”
“Is it true ye was robbed? That the Tin Cup Bandit was at yer ’ouse?” Timmy demanded.
Daphne exchanged glances with the vicar.
“Yes, it’s true.”
“Tell us,” William urged, his reticence vanishing in a heartbeat.
“There isn’t much to tell. ’Twas the night after my last visit here. He took all our valuables and, evidently, donated the money to a Leicester workhouse.”
“Wow! Did ye see ’im? Did ye talk to ’im? Did ye—”
“I believe Lady Daphne has something for us,” Miss Redraund broke in, unknowingly sparing Daphne the strain of evading Timmy’s inflammatory questions.
“Yes, I do. The first part is for Prudence.” Smiling, Daphne gestured toward the child, who was hiding behind William, her eyes glued to the doll in Daphne’s hands. “I see you’re wearing your lovely new dress,” Daphne encouraged, as Prudence took a tentative step in her direction. “Did you guess I’d be visiting today?”
“No.” Prudence’s reply was a barely audible whisper. “I just wear it all the time—hoping.”
Emotion constricted Daphne’s throat. “Well, your hoping must be magic. Because it helped bring me here today. And what’s more, I’ve brought along a new friend.” She held out her arms. “Here is that lonely doll I mentioned to you. She was ecstatic when I told her she would be getting a home and someone to love her.”
“Dolls don’t talk,” Timmy protested. “Ow!” He glared at William, rubbing his ribs where the other boy had poked him.
“They only talk to those who listen,” Daphne amended with a conspiratorial wink at Prudence. “Right?”
Mesmerized, Prudence nodded, walking over and touching the hem of the doll’s gown. “She’s so beautiful,” she whispered. Her eyes were huge, filled, with hope. “Is she really mine?”
“She is indeed.” Daphne placed her in Prudence’s arms. “Now it’s up to you to cherish her. And, of course, to name her. Have you thought of a name?” Prudence shook her head.
“Well, take your time in doing so. Her name must fit her perfectly.”
“Like Snowdrop fits you?” the child asked with a shy smile.
“Like Snowdrop fits me,” Daphne agreed, feeling a warm tug at her heart. “Now, for the rest of you. I had hoped to bring you baskets of food and clothing for the winter. Unfortunately, that appears to be impossible at this time. H
owever,” she removed the stack of notes from her pocket, “I want you each to take a portion of this money and bring it home to your parents. I’ll leave enough with Miss Redmund to distribute to the other students tomorrow. The rest will be spent on a sturdy new roof for the school and new books and slates for everyone. How would that be?”
Miss Redmund’s eyes bulged at the sight of the enormous sum. “My goodness! There must be—”
“Five thousand pounds,” the vicar supplied. “Every pence of which Lady Daphne is contributing to our school and its children.”
“I see.” The schoolmistress’s eyes narrowed. “Why?” she blurted.
Daphne flinched, silencing the vicar’s oncoming protest with a gentle touch of his arm. “Because you’re my friends,” she replied simply. “And friends help each other.” Lowering her gaze, she began counting out bills.
“That’s an awful lot of money, Daphne,” Timmy said, his freckled face delighted and amazed all at once. “Where’d ye get it?”
“That’s my little secret.”
“Like the Tin Cup Bandit!”
A private smile played about Daphne’s lips. “A bit, yes. Only not nearly as exciting and mysterious.” She moved from child to child, carefully placing several hundred pound notes in each of their hands. “Guard these carefully, and make certain to deliver them to your parents, all right?”
A series of heads bobbed up and down. “That’s quite a generous sum Lady Daphne is donating,” Miss Redmund muttered to the vicar.
“Yes, it is.”
“What does the marquis have to say about it?”
The vicar turned to regard her soberly. “I think you know the answer to that question. Lord Tragmore has no knowledge of Daphne’s contribution. You also know that, should he learn of it, he’d swoop down upon us in an instant and seize every last shilling—not to mention what he’d do to his daughter. Daphne is taking quite a risk, bless her tender heart, and asking for nothing in return. Therefore, I strongly urge you to forget the source of your endowment. Permanently. Am I making myself clear, Miss Redmund?”
“Perfectly, Vicar.” The schoolmistress flushed in embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to appear ungrateful.”
“Perhaps not. But it would serve you well to open your heart, at least enough to recognize true goodness when it stares you in the face.” With that, he walked off, coming to stand behind Daphne. “It’s getting late, Snowdrop. We should be on our way.”
“I know.” Reluctantly, Daphne nodded.
“Already?” Timmy protested. “But ye just got ’ere.”
“The sun is beginning to set, Timmy,” Miss Redmund intervened. “We want Lady Daphne to have a safe and uneventful walk home. That way she’ll be more inclined to continue indulging us with her visits.”
Daphne looked up in surprise, seeing the schoolmistress’s pudgy cheeks lift in a semblance of a smile.
“Well, all right.” Timmy chewed his lip. “Daphne, do ye think Russet will come with ye next time?”
“I hope so,” Daphne grinned. “But remember, foxes can be as difficult as lizards. You understand.”
“I sure do.” He stood up tall.
Prudence tugged at Daphne’s skirt, clutching the flaxen-haired doll to her chest. “Thank you,” she said in a breath of a whisper.
Daphne hugged her. “Now remember, Prudence, you have to love her with all your heart, and choose just the right name for her. All right?”
A wide-eyed nod.
“Good. Then you can properly introduce us on my next visit.” The school clock chimed and Daphne’s smile vanished. “I must be getting home.”
“Yes, indeed you must.” Chambers urged her toward the door. “Good day, children, Miss Redmund.”
“Good day.” Miss. Redmund followed them outside, looking as if she wanted to say more. “God bless you, Lady Daphne,” she barked suddenly. “God bless you both.” Red faced, she disappeared into the school.
The vicar and Daphne looked at each other and dissolved into laughter.
“I think you’ve even managed to thaw Miss Redmund,” he chuckled, guiding Daphne toward the road. “And to think there are those who claim miracles don’t exist.”
They’d just begun their walk when a speeding carriage rounded the bend, bearing down on them and screeching to a halt.
Daphne went sheet-white as her father leapt from the carriage.
“Why am I not surprised to find you here.”
“Father. I—I—”
“You were visiting those filthy urchins again, weren’t you? Even though I expressly forbade it.”
“Harwick—” the vicar began.
“Shut up!” Tragmore’s head snapped around, his eyes blazing with rage. “How dare you encourage my daughter to disobey me? You, who presume to call yourself a man of the cloth? If I have my way you’ll lose your parish, your home, and your reputation.”
“Father, no!” Daphne shook her head emphatically. “The vicar has done nothing. ’Twas my idea to visit the children, not his.”
“Get in the carriage,” Tragmore bit out through clenched teeth. “I’ll deal with your vicar later.”
Daphne’s whole body began to tremble.
“Did you hear me? Get in that carriage!” He grabbed her arm, twisting it violently as he dragged her with him.
A cry of pain escaped Daphne’s lips.
“Let her go, Tragmore.”
Pierce’s voice sliced the air like a bullet.
“Pierce?” Daphne’s head whipped around, and she stared at him, stunned.
“Well, Your Grace, why am I not surprised to find you here as well?” The marquis made no move to relinquish his punishing grip.
“I don’t think you heard me.” Pierce advanced toward him, predatory hatred glinting in his eyes. “I said take your filthy hands off Daphne.”
Tragmore’s lip curled in a snarl. “You audacious bastard. How dare you interfere. This,” he jerked Daphne’s arm, eliciting another muted cry of pain, “is my daughter. I’ll deal with her in whatever manner I choose.”
Liked a coiled viper, Pierce struck, lunging forward, his fist cracking into Tragmore’s jaw. “Not any more, you won’t.”
“Pierce, don’t!” Falling free of her father’s hold, Daphne regained her balance in time to see Harwick retaliate. Charging at Pierce, he swung violently, his fist aimed at Pierce’s jaw.
The blow never found its mark.
Pierce caught Tragmore’s arm, simultaneously slamming his own fist into the marquis’s gut—once, twice, three times. Dragging air into his lungs, he watched Tragmore fold at his feet. “Get up, you son of a bitch. Get up and find out what a gutter rat does best.”
“Pierce!” Daphne blocked Pierce’s path, beseeching him in the instant before the marquis rose. “Don’t do this.”
Ignoring Daphne entirely, Pierce stood rigid, staring down at Tragmore and awaiting his next onslaught. The venom darkening his gaze from forest green to nearly black was blistering in its intensity, but somehow Daphne was not afraid. Instinctively she knew Pierce was somewhere else, somewhere far away, and it was up to her to bring him back.
“Pierce!” She gripped his lapels, shaking him. “Please,” she added in a wrenching whisper.
Slowly, he glanced down, seeming to see her for the first time. “Daphne.” He reached out, touched her arm. “Are you all right?”
That brief contact seemed to infuse the marquis with renewed ire. Gasping, he shoved himself to his feet. “Don’t lay one lowlife finger on my daughter.” He thrust Daphne aside, unsteadily preparing to deliver his next punch.
“Stop it, Father.” Daphne stepped between them.
“Stand aside, Daphne,” he shot back.
“No.”
Tragmore’s eyes bulged. “You dare defy me?” he thundered.
“Yes.” Her chin came up. “I dare defy you.”
“Why you insolent—”
“Strike her and you’re a dead man, Tragmore.” Pierce’s voice w
as lethally quiet. “Not just now, but ever. As of today, Daphne is no longer your concern or your victim.”
“I’m her father, you odious bastard.”
“And I’m her husband.”
The proclamation erupted like thunder, a deadly silence hovering in its wake.
“You’re lying,” Harwick spat at last.
“No, Harwick, he’s not. I married them today. In my church.”
The vicar’s false declaration jolted through Daphne, and she jerked about, staring at him in amazement.
Utterly composed, he continued addressing the marquis. “Now cease this violence at once. It will accomplish nothing.”
“You married—” Tragmore was still reeling. “Who else was present at this farce of a wedding?”
Another silence.
“Elizabeth.” Harwick abruptly answered his own question. “So that’s what my faithless wife was desperate to keep from me, damn her. Well, I’ll deal with her first. Then I’ll have this bloody marriage annulled.”
“No, Father, you won’t,” Daphne heard herself say. “The decision was mine, and I’ve made it. Neither threats nor violence can alter that fact.”
Tragmore’s fists clenched and unclenched. “We’ll see about that,” he ground out through gritted teeth. Abruptly, he turned, climbed into his carriage, and disappeared in a cloud of dust.
“Mama,” Daphne murmured, gripping Pierce’s sleeve in alarm.
“I’ll have her out of the manor before Tragmore arrives home.”
“But he’s already on his way.”
“I’m faster. Trust me.”
Daphne looked up at him through bewildered eyes. “I have no idea what just happened.”
The lines of fury on Pierce’s face eased, a corner of his mouth lifting slightly. “I believe you just accepted my marriage proposal.”
“Evidently, I did.” She turned to the vicar. “You lied. Blatantly. You’ve never done that before.”
“Nor have I done so now. I merely told Harwick I married you and the duke today in my church. Which I fully intend to do, just as soon as the duke returns from Tragmore with your mother.” Chambers frowned. “If Harwick should reach Elizabeth first—”
