by Lily Dalton
Daphne looked at Cormack, who stared at his sister’s portrait. She could not discern what emotions he felt, which was strange, being that from the first moment it seemed she’d been able to read him like a book.
“No, Havering,” Cormack answered softly. “As much as I would have liked things to turn out differently, I can find no fault or malice in your actions. At last, you have put Laura’s spirit to rest.”
“Yes,” cried Lady Champdeer. “You can’t know how much hearing this account means to us. My dear daughter. How I would have wished to have known Vinson. She loved him that much, I believe, that she would hold her silence rather than cast aspersions on his name after his death. Now, at last, you have given Michael his proper name.”
“And, Havering, you have given me the greatest gift.” Lady Margaretta kissed the now-sleeping boy in her arms. “A piece of my son, and his dear father through him, that lives on.”
“Grandfather will be beside himself with joy,” cried Clarissa, rushing forward to embrace her mother and the child. “Mr. Kincraig? Perhaps not so much.”
Havering exhaled with relief, his cheeks flushed. “Actually, I think he will be…relieved.”
Daphne’s mother stood, passing the child to his other grandmother. “And now instead of a debut ball, we shall surprise everyone with a wedding celebration. Lord Raikes.” She extended her arms to him. “I am shocked, of course, but could not be more pleased. I can think of no gentleman whom I would rather embrace as a son.”
“Ahem,” interrupted Claxton.
“Except for Claxton,” she exuded, “who has made my dear Sophia the happiest expectant mother on earth.”
“What is this about a wedding?” said a voice from the door.
Yet another visitor appeared. A short and rather portly fellow stood at the door, walking stick in hand. His sharp gaze immediately found Cormack, who pulled Daphne into his arms. “I was out for my morning walk and saw all the carriages.”
“Sir Snaith,” said Lord Champdeer, both of his eyebrows raising up his forehead. “I do believe you and I have some business to discuss.”
“My lord,” said the Duke of Claxton, before looking to Cormack. “If there is no objection, I would like to sit in on the discussions. I have negotiated treaties between the world’s empires. Perhaps I can be of some use here?”
Cormack left Daphne’s side, pressing a kiss to her temple. “This should be interesting.”
Daphne, left alone, immediately snared her sister to the side and in a quiet voice asked, “How serious are things between Mr. Birch and our mother?” She laughed happily. “Should I be concerned that she will be wed even before me?”
Clarissa grasped her by the shoulders, and smiled. “My dear sister, I would not be surprised. They are quite serious, I believe. He dotes on her, and she on him. You should have seen them in the carriage ride all the way here. Mother would have been hysterical, but for him calming her and entertaining the both of us with the most charming stories.”
Hearing this, Daphne felt compelled to cross the room to where her mother still sat, cradling Michael. She wrapped her arms around Lady Margaretta’s shoulders, careful not to disturb the boy. “I am so happy.”
“I am so happy for you, my dear.”
“I am so happy for you.”
“Truly? You like Mr. Birch?”
“I do. Very much so.”
“That is very good to hear.” Her mother’s eyes glazed with tears and she smiled. “Because I do believe I love him.”
“Mother!” She pressed a kiss to her cheek, and whispered against her skin. “That’s wonderful.”
Margaretta murmured, “I’ll always love your father.”
“I know you will. But you have such a big heart, there is just as much room in it for Mr. Birch. And in mine as well. I’m going to go give him a kiss.”
“Daphne!” her mother exclaimed, beaming. “He would be so delighted, I think.”
In that moment, a beautiful warmth slipped over her shoulders and down her arms. Something like peace. Something like…forgiveness.
*
An hour later, the men emerged. To Daphne’s great relief, everyone wore smiles. Sir Snaith joined the others for tea, and soon everyone sat around the enormous fireplace, on chairs and big comfortable pillows, for conversation.
Eventually, though, Cormack drew her away to the privacy of the nearby corridor, the look of love so strong in his eyes she could hardly bear not to push him onto the carpet so that she could cover him with kisses from head to toe.
“Tell me what was said.”
“The Northmore lands will be returned to their rightful owners—”
“Cormack! That’s wonderful.” She threw her arms around his neck.
“—in exchange for a ridiculous amount of money, which is of no consequence to me.” He bent to passionately kiss her mouth. “I am forever in Claxton’s debt. He has additionally obligated himself and the duchess to give little Ernestine, when she turns seventeen, the season of any girl’s dreams. As you can imagine, the sponsorship of a duke and duchess is of no small consequence.”
“That will be no great hardship. My sister loves to plan such occasions.”
His face grew suddenly serious. “You don’t mind marrying by special license? Because I can’t wait a day more than necessary.”
“Wait for what?” she giggled.
His eyebrow arched up. “You know what.”
Daphne’s hand found his, and drew it between them to press a kiss to his knuckles. “I would marry you now, in this moment, if I could. My darling, I don’t believe we shall ever see such a day like this again, ever in our lives. I felt nothing but despair this morning, but now I am the happiest woman alive.”
“I vow now, in this moment, to make sure that smile stays there for the rest of your life.”
“You are the most unselfish man I have ever known.”
“I’m purely selfish,” he murmured. “You have a beautiful smile.” He grew serious and pulled her closer. “Never doubt that I loved you from the first moment I saw you.”
She kissed him, raising her hands to frame his face. “Never doubt that I will love you forever.”
Epilogue
Just look, Sir Keyes. The flowers. The candles. Everything is beautiful. Just beautiful!” exclaimed Lady Dundalk, peering over Daphne’s shoulder into the ballroom. “Your dear mother always puts on the best parties.”
Daphne stood between her mother and grandfather in the reception line, welcoming guests to her debut ball. She could barely contain her happiness. Surrounded by her family and friends, there was nowhere else on earth that she would rather be.
Sir Keyes leaned forward on his cane. “I hadn’t noticed any of that because of the pretty young lady standing here in front of me,” he said, his eyes twinkling.
“You always know just the thing to say,” she said, and kissed them both affectionately before they moved on down the reception line.
She turned to welcome the next guest in line. Her favorite guest of the evening. The one she’d been waiting for, with breathless anticipation, to arrive. She got light-headed and fairly trembled, lowering her hand into his.
“Hello there, Miss Bevington,” Cormack said in an intimate voice, offering a smile that made her toes curl with pleasure inside their beaded satin slippers. He bent to kiss her gloved hand. “Thank you for the invitation. I hadn’t expected one, you see, being so new as I am to town.”
“Oh, you,” she said, giggling. How fun. She rarely giggled, except with her sisters. But having him here…looking at her that way…
She giggled again.
“Harrumpf!” said her grandfather, who glowered up from his chair—but the smallest smile turned the corner of his lips, and his eyes twinkled. All was well.
“I see that you are not wearing flowers,” the earl said.
“I am not.” Apparently the florist had forgotten them, but her mother decided not to make a fuss.
“Th
en I hope you might consider wearing these.” With gentlemanly flair, he produced a small box from behind his back, which he deftly opened and removed an artful cluster of flowers, ivory and the palest yellow, with ribbons shining throughout. They complemented her gown perfectly. She glanced at her mother, but her mother was smiling at Cormack.
The florist forgot. What a story. They had plotted the flowers, and nothing could please her more.
“They are lovely,” Daphne said, beaming adoringly at Cormack.
“May I?” He raised the corsage toward her bosom.
“No you may not,” interjected Lady Margaretta with a good-humored glare. Taking the flowers, she pinned them at Daphne’s shoulder. Beneath her breath, she murmured, “Everyone is already staring.”
A glance down the line of waiting guests proved that to be true. A host of wide eyes peered at them with interest.
“I hope you’ll save a dance for me tonight?” said Cormack.
“The two of you are holding up the reception line,” her mother warned softly, reaching a hand for Cormack and gently guiding him through.
“I can’t make promises,” Daphne called after him. “My dance card is very full.”
His gaze remained fixed on Daphne until he arrived in front of Sophia and Claxton, who also stood greeting guests in the line, at which time the duchess raised a hand and, with a fingertip to his jaw, redirected his face toward her.
“Good evening, Lord Raikes,” she said, with an amused smile. The duke rolled his eyes.
A half hour and a score of guests later, and Daphne, Sophia and Clarissa entered the ballroom, an entrance the small orchestra announced with a majestic flourish of music. They passed Mr. Kincraig along the way, observing from the stairs. Since Michael’s arrival into the family, he had remained friendly but held himself somewhat distant. Kate was there as well, as Daphne’s special guest, dressed in a lovely gown a shade darker than Daphne’s. Her mother waited there, having already joined Mr. Birch, and she reached for Daphne’s hands and drew her to her side, while Havering pushed Wolverton’s chair to the center of the floor.
The room grew silent as Wolverton stood, with Havering’s assistance. Leaning on the young lord’s arm for support, he straightened his shoulders proudly. Light from the chandeliers shimmered off the medals on his chest, awarded in his younger days for valiant acts of bravery in the service of England.
“Thank you all for coming,” he announced. “As you know, we are all here to celebrate the debut of my granddaughter, Miss Daphne Bevington. However, I want you all to know Miss Bevington is unable to be here tonight.”
His gaze met hers, his aged countenance a portrait of pride and love.
A murmur rippled through the room, and two hundred curious glances came her way. In that moment, Daphne’s eyes filled with tears of happiness.
After a long pause, Wolverton continued, “That is because the woman you see before you tonight is now the Countess of Raikes.” The volume of voices arose in the room, exclamations of surprise and congratulation. “I’d like to introduce you to her now, as well as to her new husband, Lord Raikes, whom she married this morning.”
Suddenly, Cormack was there at her side. Lord and Lady Champdeer appeared nearby, their faces flushed and beaming.
Daphne’s husband tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and led her forward to join Wolverton and Fox. As they walked, he peered down at her with such bold and unconcealed admiration that Daphne could only blush from the intensity of it.
As they grew closer, Havering smiled and murmured to Cormack, “You know this dance was supposed to be mine. But I suppose I can’t call you out over it now that you’ve married her. Congratulations to you both.”
Daphne kissed Wolverton’s cheek. “Thank you, Grandfather.”
He nodded. “He loves you. That much is clear. Be happy, my dear. Your father would be so pleased.”
He gestured to the orchestra, who launched into an elegant but lively waltz.
Cormack drew her into his arms, and smoothly guided her into the first turn. “I feel as if I’m dreaming.”
“As do I,” said Daphne. The room whirled about her, a magical night filled with family and friends. “But all this is real. You are my husband, and I am your wife. Which makes our lives, and our future together, better than any dream.”
This season takes its most scandalous turn yet when Miss Clarissa Bevington has a salacious secret all her own…
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Never Surrender
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Available in Winter 2015
Chapter One
I can’t remember ever being so happy,” Clarissa Bevington exclaimed, looking about in flush-faced wonderment. Truly, she had never seen her grandfather’s ballroom look more beautiful, nor felt any more special. She inhaled deeply, delighting in the heady scent of roses and delphinium.
At the far end of the ballroom, the head footman, Mr. Ollister, carefully lowered an enormous crystal punch bowl onto the tea board. The housekeeper, Mrs. Brightmore, perched at the top of a ladder, steadied by two housemaids, certain she’d glimpsed a sneaky bit of dust atop an archway that none of the rest of them had been able to see. The room had been thickly festooned in garlands, and profuse arrangements of pink and ivory flowers overflowed urns that had been placed before each of the massive Corinthian columns that lined the marble floor. Cook’s voice could be heard shouting orders, all the way from the kitchens.
Clarissa Bevington grabbed Daphne, her older sister, by the hands and together they spun in wide circles across the ballroom floor, blonde curls and skirts flying. At the ages of twenty and twenty-one, respectively, and a shade older than most London debutantes, they still sometimes delighted in being utterly silly.
“Just like when we were little girls,” said Daphne, laughing. “Wishing we could go to one of mother’s parties.”
“Only now, we are without a doubt mature ladies, and won’t be sent off to bed with our governess before the guests start to arrive.”
Of course, it had already been a season to remember, with Daphne recently wed in a surprise turn of events to the dashing Earl of Raikes.
But tonight belonged to Clarissa, and the occasion of her debut ball. All her friends and family would be in attendance including her grandfather, the Duke of Wolverton, and her widowed mother, Lady Margaretta, who would be escorted by her new beau, Mr. Birch, whom they had all come to love. And of course there were her sisters: Sophia the Duchess of Claxton and her husband, His Grace, the duke, who excitedly awaited the birth of their first child. And Daphne and Lord Raikes, who had insisted on delaying their honeymoon until after tonight’s grand event.
Her family, after years devastated by the deaths of her brother, Vinson, and then her father, had at last remembered how to be joyful again. Much of that had to do with the discovery of little Michael—Vinson’s young son and now Wolverton’s declared heir, who, without a living mother or father, had been welcomed into the family with boundless love and endless kisses.
His sudden appearance in their lives had been especially welcome in light of last month’s disheartening disqualification of Mr. Kincraig as Wolverton’s successor. Until then, Mr. Kincraig had been the earl’s only hope for continuing his line, but the earl’s investigators—the very same investigators who had presented Mr. Kincraig as a potential heir—had at last made sense of the reckless gambler’s tangled lineage enough to prove he wasn’t a relation after all. No one had seemed more relieved than Mr. Kincraig, which she supposed proved him to be no imposter or scoundrel. He had announced his intention to depart England by the end of the month to seek—and likely lose—his next great fortune (or two, or three!) abroad.
Daphne led her toward the stairs. “We’d best get upstairs to prepare, else our mother will come looking for us.”
“You only want to see Cormack again.”
“That too.” She laughed, blushing. “But you know how Mot
her gets when we are late.”
“Girls!” Clarissa mimicked, with her hands on her hips. “I know very well that you both have perfectly accurate timepieces—”
“—because Aunt Vivian gave each of you one for your last birthday,” concluded Daphne, in the same familiar voice.
Mrs. Brightmore, having descended the ladder, cast them a gently reproving look.
Daphne laughed, and set off toward the doors.
Yet for a moment, Clarissa could only stand motionless, savoring the bittersweet immensity of the moment.
Daphne, her dear sister. Clarissa’s heart squeezed tight with affection.
And their mother. How glad she was that Her Ladyship had found a happy and welcome companion in Mr. Birch. Her grandfather. He doted on them all so much, and never once had she doubted his love. She would miss living here and seeing them every day.
Her life as she had come to know it would change very soon…though no one could know that. Not yet. That was because she carried a secret, close to her heart. The most wonderful secret. One she shared with the most eligible bachelor in London. Two weeks ago, Lord Devonby had asked her that most important question—and she deliriously and most happily had said yes. But he had wanted everything to be perfect for her and insisted that they wait until tonight at her ball, where he would very properly request an audience with her grandfather, and ask for her hand.
While at first she’d believed Devonby to be just another handsome face, consumed by the same youthful and sometimes empty pursuits as all young gentlemen of the ton, he’d revealed to her the sincere, magnanimous, and honorable man beneath. Once she knew the truth, there’d been no holding her heart back.
They’d kept their romance a secret, wanting to savor the unfolding feelings between them away from the curious eyes of the society and its gossips, but also for the simple romantic fun of doing so. How glad she was to have found someone with whom she could have fun. She was almost sorry to see their game end, one in which they’d stolen away for every secret moment and exchanged clandestine notes of the most intimate kind, but for a couple as deeply in love as they were, certainly all that would continue even after they were wed.
