“They didn’t much care either way.” Daphne fiddled with the fabric of her skirts and smiled faintly. “I was merely permitted entry because your father arranged for it.” He started. My father. The cold, unfeeling bastard who’d sent the family spiraling into dun territory had vouched for the lady.
“My father made an appeal,” she murmured.
An uncomfortable silence descended. Daniel cleared his throat and picked up the nearest sheet. “Very well, then. A visit to the modiste tomorrow for a proper wardrobe. The following evening—”
“I expect it will take at the very least a week for gowns to be created.”
He chuckled. “I assure you, you and Alice will have no fewer than two gowns each by the following day’s end.” Such assurance came not from arrogance but in very specific dealings with the modiste.
She shook her head bemusedly. “How very foreign it is to me, this world you live in. Where you desire something and…” She snapped her fingers once. “It is vastly different for the rest of us.” She lumped herself in with an entirely different lot than the ton. And yet…that is what she was. She’d been a childhood friend and a neighbor of his late father’s properties, but they may as well have rotated in entirely different solar spheres. “You’ll need to host a ball for her debut,” Daphne said, shoving herself slowly up.
Daniel hopped to his feet and made to assist her, but she pointedly ignored his arm and, instead, reached for her cane. “Balls are costly.” His mind tabulated all the funds that would go into such an event.
Daphne limped around her seat, coming so close, her arm brushed his. “If you can afford to host those wicked summer parties every July you can afford to throw your sister a proper ball.”
Fair point. He followed her slow, painful march across his room. “Daphne,” he called out when she reached for the handle. She looked back. “If you wish to attend one of those wicked parties, there is always an invitation for you.”
Her lips tugged and she caught the plump flesh of the lower lip between her teeth. Her shoulders shook with her amusement and even with the length of the room between them, the light cast by the roaring fire in the hearth set her eyes aglow. “Goodnight, Daniel,” she said with a wry amusement.
“Daph,” he managed and, oddly, when he gave her a half-grin, it felt vastly different than the false one she’d taken umbrage to in the carriage ride.
Chapter 7
Thirty-three. Following her discussion with Daniel, Daphne had mastered those thirty-three miserable stairs once more.
She winced as she lurched forward down the hall. But for her brief foray into London all those years ago, she’d rarely ventured out of her family’s modest cottage. There had been jaunts to the village and Sunday services, but there had not been long carriage rides or opulent estates or townhouses with more stairs than there really should be inside a home. Yet, in being here and navigating freely, if slowly, a sense of pride buoyed her. It proved her right and Mrs. Belden wrong. Proved that she could, even with her limited movement, work on her own imperfect legs.
Daphne reached her temporary chambers and shifted her cane to her opposite hand. She shoved the door open.
“Miss Smith,” Alice said, hopping to her feet with such rapidity that a wave of envy assailed her. How very strange to remember moving with such speed and grace, that she could, in a moment, forget the very true state of her now mangled limb. “I hope you do not mind I came to wait. There was, is something I wished to speak with you on.”
“Think nothing of it,” she said gently. This room, after all, was far more Alice’s and she nothing more than an interloper here. An interloper with a wicked past; a past that would certainly preclude her from securing employment at both Mrs. Belden’s and Ladies of Hope. Shoving aside that kernel of unease, she limped forward. “And please, Daphne will suffice.” A spasm wracked her leg and she briefly pressed her eyes closed. “I expect whatever has brought you here is of some import.” She motioned to the bed, as more a desperate need for a seat.
Alice immediately settled into a graceful array at the edge. Daphne claimed the spot beside her. “May I be frank with you, Daphne?”
“I would be insulted if you are not.” She admired the young woman’s honesty. The ladies she’d had the misfortune of meeting during her Come Out had all been nasty, gossipy, and hurtful beings.
Her charge drew in a slow breath and then spoke on a rush. “I’m concerned about the whole matchmaking business.”
She assessed Daniel’s sister; different in coloring but so very alike in the spirit of her rakish brother. With Alice’s flaxen hair, the color of spun-gold, and gently curved figure, she fit with all Society’s standards of flawless English beauty. “I do not believe you have—”
“I am not like the other ladies,” she cut in. “Or I wasn’t like the ladies at Mrs. Belden’s. I laugh loudly.”
“As you should freely laugh.” Even if Society disagreed.
“I speak my own mind.” Alice stared on, a challenge in her eyes. Did she believe Daphne would condemn her for that important trait?
“Which is good and commendable,” Daphne put in, tamping down a grin. In that fearlessness, Lady Alice was very much like her unrepentant brother.
Alice continued over that praise. “I have a brother who is a notorious rake.” Yes, there was that. A dangerously seductive gentleman, far more perfect in looks than a man ought to be.
“I never had a mother with whom to discuss the ideal candidate for a husband,” the girl said, hopping once more to her feet. “Or how to find the gentleman. Do they find you?” She cast a look at Daphne. If Daniel’s sister hoped that Daphne had guidance or advice to give on finding the gentleman, then she was better off hoping for that fairy godmother, she’d read of in The Girl With the Glass Slipper. “I’m warned away from rakes.” With good reason. “But some rogues make good husbands.”
Yes, that was the twaddle they fed young ladies, to give them hope about those wicked lords. Dangerous, dangerous stuff, indeed. Lord Leopold traipsed through her mind, grinning and seductive. She balled her hands hard and thrust his vile visage back.
“Do you know who will make you the ideal match, Alice?” she asked softly. Daniel’s sister whipped about to face her. “The gentleman who sees you for you. Who appreciates your spirit and doesn’t wish to stifle it. The gentleman who will respect your name, but also defend your honor, if need be. The gentleman who doesn’t wish to change you, but who helps you to see the greatness you are capable of. Trust your heart, listen to your mind, and you will find him.” Those were the hopes she herself had once carried, that had also been buried in that trunk and tucked away where all dreams went to die.
Alice looked at Daphne with dewy eyes. Alice sank to a knee beside her. “That is beautiful,” she breathed. “Have you ever known a gentleman such as that?”
I thought I did. Ultimately men of all stations, be they merchants or members of the peerage, with an appreciation for perfection would never look upon a woman so disfigured and see in her a match. Nor did they truly see anything in another like her; nothing beyond a charity case. “I haven’t,” she said quietly. “But that does not mean he does not exist,” she added for the girl’s benefit. In truth, she lied. At nearly thirty years of age, she’d long ago given up on the dream of the gentleman she’d described for Alice. Such dashing heroes existed in nothing more than the pages of books.
“I overheard what you said to my brother.”
Daphne’s mind raced. There had been the discussions in his carriage and back at Winterbourne Manor prior to their departure, and peppered within all those exchanges had been roguish innuendos and seductive comments from him that his sister had no place hearing. That no lady had any place hearing. “Uh…” She wet her lips.
“I know I should not listen at keyholes,” the young girl said quickly, wholly misunderstanding the reason for her hesitation. “But I did and I heard what you said to Daniel about my happiness being important and reminding h
im that I am certainly not a ship.”
She swallowed a groan. The girl had been listening belowstairs a short while ago. Oh, please don’t let her have heard all the talk about peignoirs and naughty parties.
“I had feared Daniel would rush to wed me off as quickly as possible so he could resume his scandalous pursuits,” Alice said. “As you said to him.”
Oh, God, the girl had heard that. Daphne’s cheeks burned hot. There was no doubt the young lady had listened in on too much. “Your brother will not do such a thing,” she assured her charge.
“Do you believe that?” Alice retorted, eyeing her curiously.
“Yes,” she said truthfully. Prior to their meeting in the library, that assurance would have been an empty one. But she’d witnessed his battle plans and his red neck and cheeks as she’d put her accusations to him. For the indifference he presented to the world, there was still some humanity left in Daniel Winterbourne. Something shifted in her chest. A lightness in knowing he’d not lost all of himself to wickedness.
“But for holidays and a handful of weeks in the summer, I see my brother not at all,” Alice informed her. “I spent more time at Mrs. Belden’s because Daniel didn’t wish me underfoot.” The sadness in those words tugged at Daphne. Alice would have never known Daniel as he’d been before Alistair’s death. Joyful. Teasing. Loyal.
She held the young girl’s gaze. “Given his rakish existence,” short of abandoning his pursuits, which he never would, “sending you away was the honorable recourse.”
“You know him better than I,” Alice added casually.
Once she had. “Me?” No longer. A memory flitted in of her first ball; her seated on the sidelines among the wallflowers as he entered to the whispers and admiration of the crowd.
“The servants used to talk about how you and he were quite close.” The girl’s revelation snuffed out that remembrance.
They had been the best of friends. Again, time changed them all. Her heart pulled with the poignant reminder. “He was my friend,” she said softly. “And it is how I know that despite your worries, your brother will not see you wed to the first suitor to come along.” He was desperate to wed her off, but she could not believe he’d be one of those ruthless sorts. “He’ll listen to your opinion.” His asking her for help, when most gentlemen wouldn’t humble themselves by revealing a weakness, was testament to that. “Now you should go rest.”
As she herself desperately intended to, in the privacy of her thoughts without Daniel traipsing through her mind; of the way they’d once been and the dreams she’d once carried.
“Do you know,” Alice said coming to her feet. “I agree, Daphne, and I also believe it is because of your influence. The servants would tell me about your friendship. Daniel will listen to you.”
She managed a lopsided smile. The young lady gave her far more credit than was due where her rakish brother was concerned. After the girl had skipped from the room, leaving Daphne alone, yet again, she layered herself back onto the bed and closed her eyes. She wanted to sleep. She wanted to close her eyes and forget the precariousness of her situation that had found her in this unlikeliest of places. And more, to forget Daniel with his teasing eyes and naughty words who stirred a dangerous hungering deep inside.
Her eyes popped open and she stared overhead. The fire cast shadows upon that bucolic scene painted above. It was futile. The irony was not lost on her. All she’d wanted was to climb into bed and lose herself in sleep and forgetfulness and now her thoughts ran amok making such a feat impossible.
The truth was, not even two days ago, she would have possessed the same reservations about Daniel’s intentions for and of his sister. Her one Season alone and the reports she’d read in the gossip columns, and the same gossip to follow him into the country, had proven he had gone from loyal, steadfast friend to cold, empty-hearted rake.
It had been easy to despise the life he lived and to disavow him and all he represented. By very nature of that title rake, the one he so prided himself on, he was very much Lord Leopold. Or so she would have said—two days ago.
But he had proven remarkably unlike anyone she’d known since that long ago fall. From servants to villagers to the lords and ladies in London, men and women who looked at her with varying degrees of pity, disgust, or not at all. By nature of her disfigurement, she’d found herself unwed, unemployable, existing on the fringe of the world for so long.
Until Daniel.
He’d offered her first real, meaningful employment, dismissing her disability and seeing her as more capable than any credited. Yes, desperation had driven that offer, but he was an earl—a powerful earl who still had the funds for wardrobes and balls, and surely there was coin enough for an appropriate companion. Nonetheless, he’d hired her and had called her belowstairs without thinking of the injury that plagued her. Because he still saw her. When no one truly saw her beyond the uselessness of her limb. A woman who had been coddled by her father and the handful of servants in his employ. And pitied by everyone else.
Yes, two days ago, she would have said she hated Daniel. Hated him for being a disloyal friend who’d not been there when she most needed him. Hated him for not having been the one beacon in a lonely London world for a girl relegated to the status of wallflower. But he’d cast shadows and doubts upon everything she’d believed about the careless rake.
Mayhap there is still good in him…
As soon as the thought slid in, she slapped her hands over her face. “Do not be silly,” she muttered into the quiet. She was making castles out of sand and, invariably, the rains always came. She would do well to remember that. Daniel might have offered her employment, but she should not lose sight of the necessity that had driven that request and his eagerness to be free of his responsibilities. Nor should she forget the danger in his pretty words.
Four gowns and a peignoir…
As though a gentleman who took wicked widows and glorious creatures to his bed would ever feel anything less than revulsion for her imperfect form. Not that she wished him to. She didn’t.
Filled with a restlessness, Daphne flung her arms wide and stared up at the ceiling, attempting to shove Daniel from her mind.
…If you wish to attend one of those wicked parties, there is always an invitation for you…
A painful laugh escaped her. It was futile. There would be no sleep. And it was not fear of again seeing Lord Leopold, the bastard she’d gifted her virtue to. Or facing the ton, again. Or worry of what would become of her after this.
It was Daniel. It was always Daniel.
Chapter 8
It was a universal truth that every woman, regardless of station, status, or level of wit and beauty, enjoyed a visit to the modiste. Or, it had been a universal truth, until Daphne Smith had gone and shattered it.
The lady stood with her head tipped back, the sharp lines of her cheeks etched in planes of equal parts horror and terror as she gazed upon the establishment. She stole a frantic look down the street and, for a long moment, Daniel expected the lady to bolt in the opposite direction as far and as fast as her legs could carry her. With her determination, she could outpace any man should she so wish.
But now, given that horror, the last place she wished to be was here.
“Oh, how exciting,” Alice piped in, the excitement in her tone contrasting sharply with Daphne’s behavior. “Just so we are clear, I am not wearing white and ivory, Daniel.”
He cuffed her under the chin. “I’ve no idea what is appropriate for a lady. We will have to defer to Miss Smith.”
His words had the intended effect, springing Daphne into movement. “I don’t—”
“Then, we shall defer to Madame Thoureaux,” he offered up, instead.
She looked blankly at him and he favored her with a wink.
His sister rushed ahead, yanking the door open, and Daniel gestured for Daphne to enter. The lady wet her lips and cast a single, longing look back at his carriage. He dipped his head close to hers. “Miss
Smith, they are gowns and shifts and chemises, not venomous snakes and spiders.”
The fire in her eyes was enough to singe a man. “You cannot speak of a lady’s undergarments in the street,” she hissed, frantically searching her gaze about at the curious passersby staring on.
He motioned with his hand. “Then, come inside,” he paused. It was unconscionable to deliberately bait her. “So we may discuss them in here.” But he’d never been accused of having a conscience.
Daphne emitted a strangled, choking sound and hurried inside.
He closed the door behind them and as it closed in their wake, it set the tinny bell ajingle. Madame Thoureaux, the small, turban-wearing woman rushed forward, speaking in a hideous rendition of a French accent.
“My lord, I zee you have brought me,” she jolted to a stop, flaring her eyes as they settled on Daphne, “another…” She passed a critical stare over the redhead, her gaze lingering on the wooden cane. The proprietress grimaced. “…lovely creature to attire.”
Daphne stiffened and he stole a sideways glance. Her thin shoulders brought back, she elongated that long, graceful neck with a regal grace befitting a queen.
At the thinly veiled attempt at the modiste’s disdain, fury stirred. He opened his mouth, but Daphne cut into the scathing comment on his lips with a pleading look. “Indeed,” he said in clipped tones. “My sister,” he motioned to Alice who stood assessing bolts of fabric. “And her companion, Miss Smith.” The modiste swung her eyes back to Daphne and understanding dawned.
“Of course, she is zee companion.”
Of course. Daniel stitched his eyebrows into a single line.
Madame Thoureaux clapped once. “I will see to zee young lady.”
“Miss Smith will also require garments befitting her station as companion,” he informed the woman. He could all but see her eyes counting the coins before she rushed off to aid his sister.
One of the woman’s assistants came forward to collect Daphne, who made a sound of protest. Her desperate gaze found his, but he winked, studying her as the younger woman urged her over to the fabrics.
To Redeem a Rake (The Heart of a Duke Book 11) Page 9
